prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You 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. | Cabradoodle ripped the holo-bio-headset of his head and carelessly threw it to the ground. “Yeah! You see that shit?!” he screamed to what seemed like a mixed crowd. Some people were cheering, some were horrified, confused, startled. The rainbow of emotions splayed across the faces made Cabra a little confused.
“What’s wrong with you people?” he said in less adulatory tone. His friend, Nameface, walked towards Cabra and huddled close enough so the crowd couldn’t hear. “Did you…did you have to drink your own semen?”
Cabra sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I had to.” In the last patch the developers buffed the nutritional value of semen. It gives you all the food you need, allowing you to focus on other tasks.”
Nameface nodded mutely, he had more things to ask but was still trying to come up with a tactful way to say them. Cabra realised that perhaps some of things he did during his play through, were not the most sportsman way to achieve the high-score.
“And…” Nameface continued. “Did you have to have sex with all those animals?” Cabra bit his tongue as he wanted to lash out at this best friend, who instead of being happy for him, was asking questions as if he had murdered his own grandmother.
“Look” Cabra said, in what he hoped was a calm voice, “Everything I did in there, I did for a good, bloody, reason.” He pointed to the dark screen that had the number 124 flashing. “You see that shit! Highest. Score. Ever. So yes, I had to drink my semen and I had to have sex with those animals and before you ask, yes I had eat my own nipple.”
Nameface didn’t see anything, but his sullen expression didn’t quite leave him.
“Oh whatever, lets see you try to do better.” Cabra sauntered away towards the bar with a crowd of mute onlookers watching his movements like he was a wild, unpredictable animal | 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. | 2022-10-20T23:19:56 | 2022-10-20T12:28:14 | 38 | 26 |
[WP] As a hero's apprentice you knew that the training would be grueling, but you didn't expect the hero to be actively trying to kill you during your drills. After sixteen months of torturous training you've finally snapped and have decided to kill the hero however you can. | Part 1/2
American Son was one of the greatest heroes the world had ever known. A lone WWII soldier who was resurrected by the goddess Nike and granted incredible power, American Son had been saving the world for almost eighty years. He was a founding member of the People's Champions, an instructor at Truman Hero Prep, and the first human to win the intergalactic gladiatorial combat reality show called Deadlock. And for over a year, he'd been the man personally training me in the ways of heroing. He's also been the man trying to kill me for over a year.
It was small at first. A couple of instructor drones malfunctions here, a couple of live rounds sneaking into the training turrets there. But then it started getting a lot more brazen: he'd sneak up on me with a knife when I was sleeping, stopped pulling his punches in combat practice, and would deliberately not patrol with me when the really dangerous villains were on the prowl, all under the pretense of toughening me up. I didn't know why he did it (I suspected it was some kind of holdover of 1930s values, considering I was an openly gay Japanese-American girl), but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted the bastard dead.
I was watching American Son from the safety of the air vent, transformed into my *koropukkuru* form so I wouldn't trip the motion sensors. I didn't know the first thing about killing someone, but I knew better than to try something right out of the gate. I needed to study the man first. As I watched him eat his Sriracha sauce covered egg sandwich, I began to run through the possible ways I could--wait. Sriracha sauce?
I'd been training with American Son for long enough to know that the man hated spicy foods. And the more I thought about it, the less logic I saw in my reasoning. If American Son was trying to kill me, why would I try to kill him in retaliation? Shouldn't I have gone to the rest of the People's Champions for help? There was an explanation for what was going on, but I really hoped I was wrong.
I dropped out of the air vent and turned back into a human. American Son looked back at me as I entered the cafeteria and waved me over. "Daiyokai! Whatcha doing, lurking around?"
I shrugged. "Stealth practice. You always say training doesn't stop when you leave the classroom."
"Well, I'm always right."
"Yeah, you always say that too." I plopped down into the seat next to him. "So, Sriracha sauce? Thought you had the spice tolerance of a British grandpa."
American Son chuckled. "Yeah, well, just because you can't teach an old dog new tricks doesn't mean you can't get him to eat a new kind of treat. Hey, your shoulder doing okay?"
I gave my left arm a few rotations. "It was pretty stiff for a while, but I'm okay now."
"Good, good. I'm sorry about that, but hey, supervillains aren't the type to go easy on you, right? But uh, let's just keep it between the two of us, yeah?"
"Sure, sure. Just one question though: when you refer to the two of us, do you mean American Son and I, or you and me?"
American Son stopped eating. "Umm... there's only the two of us here."
"No no, there's three of us. Me, American Son, and you, Bloodletter."
"Um, Dai, I think we should take you to the--"
I interrupted by slapping an expulsion charm onto his wrist. Within seconds, American Son was writhing on the floor as a glowing red vapor exited his body. The vapor took on a more solid form as American Son collapsed to the ground unconscious. As the red vapor solidified into a man in an all-red bodysuit covered in lines like scars, he looked at me and scowled. "You, my friend, are far too smart for your own good." | The apprentice hobbled away from the training ground. His leg had been injured when he was forced to crouch, sidestep and dodge all at once. It would likely have gone better in his thin leather armour than the heavy plate he wore.
“I will get my revenge.” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for his own cathartic need but still quietly out of fear of being heard. The apprentice let slip a wry smile hearing the thought come out loud. He had been promised into fame and riches by joining with the esteemed knight almost two years before. All he’d received in reality was dozens of trips to the healers, multiple broken bones, fractures, cuts that oozed weeks after they should have closed and even a lost finger. He was aware going in that it wouldnt be easy but this?
The walk over to the healers tent took him twice as long as it would have when the day started and for that grievance he hated the knight doubly. It felt less a lesson and more a humiliation.
“Back again so soon?” smiled the good doctor as his patient lifted the tent flap open.
“I can’t do this any more.”
“Giving up? And we were just becoming friends with how regular you’ve become! What is it today?” the doctor said, walking over to the apprentice examining him up and down with each step. “Ah the hand is healing up well I see!”
“Just the leg, please.” he winced as he sat stiffly on a short wooden stool with one leg kept as straight as he could manage.
“And,” he began with the best annoyed expression he could find from beneath the real pain of his leg “do you have to bring up the finger every time?”
The doctor turned to his workbench and made a racket of clinks as the potions and oils all clattered together. Suddenly he spun with a bright red vial of liquid held neatly between two fingers.
“I will keep bringing it up until you understand.” the doctor knelt and dripped the red liquid in seemingly specific spots up the injured leg. The tiny droplets worked their way into the skin and had an appearance of steaming while they worked. Magic. The apprentice groaned as the liquid fixed his leg almost new within moments. It was an uncomfortable sensation though better than losing limbs as they couldn’t be grown back.
“Understand what? You say the same thing every time like there's something I’ve missed and don’t you dare make light of me missing my finger!” frustrated the apprentice went to get up to leave in a hurry but not before the doctor planted a firm hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down.
“I want you to seriously think about the finger, apprentice.” he said with a stern expression on his face much like a teacher with a young student.
“It’s a finger! It’s lost! It can’t do me any good now can it!”
“Oh for-” the doctor rubbed his temples before moving over to the door and lifting up the tent flap, “How did you lose the finger apprentice?”
Across the training ground the hero and his wife could be seen talking and laughing.
“I had him.” the apprentice started, “I so nearly had him. He’s been out for my head since the day I started but I learned and I got better and then when I had him beaten she used her magic to stop me.”
“We’re getting there but I fear you still haven’t grasped my point. How did you lose the finger? She used her magic, yes, her magic sword. The magic sword that inflicts upon its enemy whatever the user can withstand. That magic sword! The sword in which she used to cut off her own finger in a moments breath to force you to drop your weapon!”
Finally it sunk in. For weeks the doctor had been poking at and hinting that he should use the sword! The apprentice didn’t have time to test his renewed leg before he was up and sprinting right for the couple across the yard. He tore off his damaged armor pieces awkwardly tossing them to the side as he ran faster and faster with each piece dropped.
The doctor tutted and shook his head as he watched the apprentice move at some speed across the yard. He hadn’t meant to launch the lad into a robbery there and then but he was still interested to see how it would play out. Standing in the opening of the tent, he grabbed some empty vials that needed wiping and stood watch.
The apprentice ran without a plan like planning had ever helped him before. The knight watched his approach and jogged lightly back into the sparring ground ready for the surprise attack. Barely noticing the knight stood there with his sword drawn, the apprentice kept running full speed past the slow, heavy knight. Barreling towards the young woman. Before she had time to react he tackled her into the ground at full force and unsheathed the blade that she kept on her hip. The knight had been ready for the surprise, she hadn’t.
The apprentice stood and turned sword in hand to face the plated knight. The pair locked eyes and as he wondered how the blade worked he stabbed it straight through his own hand.
The knight shouted as his sword dropped from his hand, clattering to the ground. The apprentice gleefully unsheathed the magic blade from his now wounded hand and he watched as the knight plodded toward him. A sudden maniacal urge took the apprentice, causing pain wasn’t enough. He wanted revenge, real revenge. He took the blade and sliced it sideways behind his knees cutting deep into his hamstrings. As he fell to the floor himself he made sure to watch as the knight fell too, he had endured months of this agony facing the hero knight in the name of training. He had trained well for this moment he realised. Stabbing the blade deep into his shoulder, the pain was hardly noticeable to himself as the joy overwhelmed him at seeing the knight crawl.
The apprentice rolled onto his back with some difficulty, blade in hand. He accepted that his fate was his own. This was more important to him than anything. Laughing, he sliced the blade over his own throat. The knight crawled past him as his laugh turned to gurgle. Using the last of his energy he tilted his head sideways and saw that the woman he had barreled into was still on the floor behind him. Blood poured from her neck as the knight cradled her now lifeless body. | 2022-10-27T18:20:59 | 2022-10-27T15:55:25 | 108 | 38 |
[WP] When the cultists forced you into the room with the eldridge abomination, they assumed that you would instantly go mad as you tried to comprehend it. However, you are a grade A idiot and instead of trying to understand how it exists, you simply accept that it does, much to everyone' shock. | The door slammed shut behind me, with the wind of the slam causing all the torches to go out in this room.
In the corner, my eyes adjusted to see a heaping mound, what looked to me like it had tendrils, almost like tree branches, reaching out towards the previously lit torches. It sits there, rumbling like the sounds of earth. Constant harmony in its turmoil.
I sat down. Coming to terms with my fate. I wasn't going to die in a car accident, drug induced comas, or natural causes, but to suffer at the hands of this demonic beast, incomprehensible to me. Might as well die comfortable, thinking about home, my wife, my family and all my worldly desires. Who knows what I can bring over to the afterlife.
After a few thoughts and reflections, I thought, maybe I should talk to it? Seems like a perfectly normal spirit to me. I always knew they existed. Maybe they're nice and this is a big misunderstanding.
"So... what do you do for work?"
It doesn't respond.
"Not much of a talker, eh?"
Grumbling noises.
"Tough crowd."
I sat alone with my thoughts for what seemed like five to ten minutes when I heard sounds at the door, presumably the robed men who locked me in this prison.
"I think he's gone mad" said one of the cultists, " I can only here the rumbling of the eldritch in there."
"No he's just waking up, give it time. He will consume our sacrifices soul and grow even more."
The rumbling? I don't hear anything, I thought.
"ȶɦɛ ɛǟʀȶɦ ɢօɖ ֆȶǟռɖֆ ɮɛʄօʀɛ ʏօʊ, ǟռɖ ʏօʊ ɖօ ռօȶ ɮɛɢ ȶօ ɮɛ աօʀȶɦʏ օʄ ʍʏ քʀɛֆɛռƈɛ?" I hear from the same mound in the corner, interrupting my thinking.
"What?" I cried.
Earth moves in the corner in ways that sound like coughing, a clearing of the throat.
"Sorry. I havent talked in 4 millenia. Excuse my raspy voice." The mound said.
"Oh its alright, pardon any fear I might have, I'm a bit afraid of getting eaten."
"Another one?" The mound said to itself. "No. I cant eat you or consume your soul."
"What? These guys locked me in here hoping I'd go mad and be sacrificed to you for whatever reason."
"Do you have a lighter?" The mound said, ignoring my previous statement. " A bit of light would make it easier for the both of us."
"I'm honestly comfortable in the dark, right now. I just need to say a few prayers before I get sacrificed to an eldritch god."
"Say that again? Eldritch?"
"Yeah, Eldritch."
"Young one, there may have been a misunderstanding. I'm an ***eldridge*** not an eldritch."
"What? What's the difference?"
"Oh. A typo here and there. I'm actually a fantastical being you've experienced every day of your life. I'm the spirit that guards old mountains and hills. Eld-ridge. Shame you haven't heard of me."
"Oh. Are you still going to eat me?"
"Not if you light these torches. Also, do you happen to have a shovel, to help me out of here?"
Thanks for reading. I thought it was a funny way to write eldritch so I took it a step further and incorporating the misunderstanding into the story. I'm not much of a writer so the storytelling might not be too wonderful. Please let me know what you think so I can write better! | At first I kicked and I screamed. I tore at the walls and the ground and **I** railed at my fate. I heard whispers, taunting me. *Why were you alone at that time of night? What were you wearing?*
I almost tore a nail out on a wall and thought about my dad. *It's easier if you don't fight it*. What the fuck could I do against these guys? A dozen armed dudes with masks and robes and high-powered guns and here I am, in the wrong part of town at the wrong time of night because *fuck me for wanting some decent ramen.* I guess *I deserve it.*
And I can't even delude myself that that's all they want from me. Rapists don't work together like this. Even in small, family numbers there's posturing for position. These guys are lockstep, like the *army guys my dad was so fond of, who could do no wrong as long as it was sanctioned by a higher power*.
I bite my cheek as I'm dragged down steel hallways. To distract myself from the whispers and the men and the helplessness and the indefinable sense that this was it, all my dreams of getting out were fucked, I was fucked, oh fuck fuck *fuck* ***fuck***
I'm jolted out of it when we stop. I'm being dragged by my ankles because I was stupid and tried to resist walking with them and they hit me and I fell down and *helplessness is anathema* and...
What? What did I just think... **I'm going to fight**.
My head clears as a couple jarheads fiddle with the red panels on the doors. *What do I have? What can I use?* I've got nothing! I'm prone, I'm unarmed, I'm wearing a t-shirt and jeans, *I have my hands free*.
I -*see an image-*, like a few really specific squiggly lines and something hard to describe. If I can carve that into my arm, I can... wait, what? I can... -*my father's words when I shut the door too slowly. His foot pushing it open. "He who hesitates is lost."* \-
I have one chance, the panels are turning green. I don't know if I'm hallucinating or what but ---*I'm here, trust me--* but I can't think of anything else. I reach behind my back and scratch the symbol into my wrist, fuck, **fuck**, it's not deep enough --*intention is all that's needed--* ...what the fuck is happening?
The doors open, they drag me into a room. The smell hits me first, even the hardened assholes holding me by the ankles recoil from the physical stench. They recover quickly enough; drag me into a cave of cameras and lab coats and a **big goddamn pit of corpses**. I'm hyperventilating, any thoughts of escape are gone, they lift me up by my forearms and I barely feel the pain of the scratches -*there, it's done!-* and as they lift me onto a stone slab filled with squiqqles that writhe and hurt to look at, I'm oddly... Calm? Like when I won at State. I feel proud of having crossed some invisible but measurable marker. -*Like it would matter-*. The soldier-boys start strapping me in, and I realize I'm far from the first. It's obvious, really, from the bloodstains on what I assume is an altar to how manly and strong these guys are, for praying for more strength and manliness. **Fuck**, there's so much goddamn blood around the middle I can see where they've had to chip it out to --*very slightly, very very slightly, imperfectly reset the containment runes*.--
I realize I'm crying. Because none of it ever mattered. Nothing I've ever done stopped the bad things. This is just me breaking down and there's nothing -- *I'm here. Wait for it.* ***Wait for it.--***
My heartrate slows. I'm calm, weirdly. I look up at the glass platform where men in slightly more decorated lab coats punch furiously into screens, as though how hard they can press a button would ever be relevant. I'm thinking about how loud motorcycles get as the biggest-medals guy gives a biggest-dick speech about "breaking through to the other side"; that he's clearly given a lot. As they strap me in with stiff, used and poorly-maintained straps, I catch the end of his speech.
"Though we may not see results now, results are guaranteed! Every time we do our godly work, the energy builds, and builds! And soon, it will be enough to harness God himself!"
... They think it's a good thing. What they're doing, what they've done. What they will do. --*And it's pointless, so pointless. --* I almost start to laugh, the unjust irony of it, how totally wrong they all are and have always been, but --*wait,* ***just a bit longer.--***
I'm fully strapped onto what I assume is the sacrificial altar that they will stab the shit out of me on and will be my last bed and I can only think, and then I **do** laugh in their faces, "I've had worse, this doesn't even match *what I've had before*. If you were hoping for a virgin, then FUCK YOU, you stupid cultist jarhead --***MEATSACKS--***!"
*--//the dagger comes down//--*
Something else speaks with me on the final word. An echo rings around the cave and, weirdly, returns, I guess? Haven't thought of a sound as being sentient before, but hey, if it's taunting these fuckers, I'm cool with it.
As my cry rings out around the (surprisingly acoustic!) chamber, big-medals lab coat raises a hand and halts the proceedings. He leans in to a flashing screen while his lessers crowd around. --*This is your moment. They are distracted. I will distract them further.--* | 2022-11-09T03:24:12 | 2022-11-09T01:44:50 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] Determined to find out if Santa is real, a young child poisons the cookies left out for Saint Nick.
Feel free to take any approach you want... serious, humorous, dark, ambiguous. | As he lay in bed, Kenny could hear someone, no doubt Saint Nick, moving around in the family room. He knew that it was only a matter of time before one of the poisoned cookies on the table was eaten, and then he wold finally have the truth about Santa's existence.
The first body hitting the floor was expected.
The second was not. | Tommy laid in bed, just like every other night. His mother had read him a story before tucking him in, just like every other night. But tonight was different, because tomorrow when he woke up, there would be presents and wonderful food and carols and celebrations... Yes, tonight was special. Tonight was the night when Saint Nick came and left the good children presents. And until tonight, Tommy had been a good child. A nice child. But tonight, tonight Tommy did something mean. Something very, very mean.
Unlike other nights, Tommy couldn't sleep tonight. Of course he was eager for the morning to come, but more than that he was forcing himself to stay awake to see if his test had worked. But it was getting more and more difficult to stay awake, despite his enthusiasm. Children may be bombs of energy, but bombs blow up quickly, and little Tommy had used all his energy by now... Yet his excitement kept him up, if only for a few seconds longer.
Despite his yearning, however, Tommy finally fell asleep, with many an hour left until sunrise. He fell asleep too early to her the steps echoing through the house, or the leaving of presents beneath the Christmas tree, or the gulping of someone drinking a glass of milk, or the crunching of someone biting into cookie upon cookie upon cookie, or the thud of someone falling to the floor...
When sunlight finally hit him in the face, Tommy woke up immediately. Grogginess passing quickly, he realised his mistake as he looked out the window to see sunlight reflecting on the snow. He had failed, and with a depressed feeling hanging over him he went out of his room, down the stairs and into the kitchen to get breakfast. Only then did he feel that something was wrong; his father should be up by now. Tommy's father had *always* made breakfast Christmas morning, only for Tommy and himself, since his wife enjoyed sleeping in. Yet there was no father to be found in the kitchen.
"Dad? Where are you?" Tommy asked to the air as he looked through the kitchen, the cupboards, even the fridge, before heading out to the entrance, and still finding no sign of his father. His shoes were left, so he had to be in the house, and he never slept in, so he should have awoken by now. Where was he? Tommy kept on looking, and as such he entered the living room, where he screamed when he saw his father lying on the floor, as pale as a ghost and bleeding from where his head had hit the edge of the table when he fell as he passed out from cookies Tommy had poisoned to see if Santa Claus was real. | 2013-12-24T10:53:47 | 2013-12-24T07:49:20 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next? | I really hope this comment doesn't get deleted, but I just wanted to say if you like this prompt as much as I do, there is actually a novel you can read that follows the gist of this one. It's called Replay by Ken Grimwood, and is one of my absolute favorite books of all time.
Basically, it's about a man who dies only to find himself Groundhog Daying his life over and over again. I don't want to spoil anything, but if you're interested it is a perfect take on this prompt. The protagonist does pretty much what you or I or anyone would do in such a situation, and with very logical consequences that leave you wondering if having your life to do over really would be wonderful or unbearable. Anyway, hope this doesn't get deleted. I just wanted to let people who've enjoyed this thread know they can find a full novel on the subject. | There was a time when I was younger where I would play video games everyday. As the stress of real world slowly caught up with me, the gamer within was the first to die. Followed by the enthusiast, the gentle, the generous, and the honest to name a few.
Finally, the day came for me to die. I hated death. Regardless of the twists and turns of your life, there was always one person you could rely on. One person who would have your best interest in mind. One person who never dream to let you go. One person who defined you. It was myself of course. Death had finally come to rob me of myself, to deny me the pleasure of feeling pleasure, pain, love and hate. To deny me of my consciousness. People always have regrets on their death bed and I was no different. But it wasn't the regret that defined my last moments but rather my hatred for death.
I lay there. My heart stopped but I didn't feel a thing. The doctors immediately injected me with pain killers upon noticing the flat line of my beating heart. DNR, they said. We need to let it happen naturally they said. Fuck DNR. Fuck death.
I stared at the hospital lights and was overcome by a ridiculous sense of sadness. I don't want to leave, please don't leave me I told myself. And then I saw him standing over me. A younger version of myself. He looked me in the eye and said "I, We won't be going anywhere."
My vision blacked out. My final thoughts were empty. My consciousness faded into nothingness, a transition between Universal self-awareness and a space rock.
I woke up again. All I could see were the following words: "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality".
The gamer within me flared back to life. What if I missed a secret while playing. Instinctively I opted for "New Game+". The words flashed, disappeared and a new set of words appeared in front of me.
"All memories and skills made available upon birth. Please note skills will be dependent on current biological function"
A huge flash of light shone in my face. I could barely move. I could barely see. Even after the light subsided, everything looked somewhat blurry. Everything was cold and then I was wrapped in a blanket.
I'm a baby. I'm still conscious. I've won, I've evaded death. Or rather, there is no such thing as death. I get to be perpetually conscious forever. I cried and yelled in joy and could distantly hear the strange baby noises which my mouth emitted.
I could also vaguely here the words "Christmas", "Isaac" and "Newton".
My level of physics was not beyond what was learned in a 1st year introductory course. As it turned out, no one's knowledge of physics was even close to what I learned in grade 11.
| 2015-03-13T15:27:24 | 2015-03-13T14:31:51 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Surprisingly, it turns out humans are one of the least violent sentient species in the galaxy. Describe a session at the galactic equivalent of the UN. | When mankind made first contact with an alien species, we had already taken to the stars for centuries. While interstellar travel was just beyond our grasp, our home solar system had become our home - more so than just Earth. Mars had been terraformed, Venus had colony cities in the skies, even the various moons of Jupiter housed millions of humans. When the Klort finally found our little corner of the universe, it was hard for us to believe THEY were more surprised than we were. Diplomatic relations with them began in the way mankind had always feared alien contact - with war. The Klort attacked with their largest fleet, which at the time we did not know. Three large warships attacked the colony on Titan. Our own forces, though slower, outnumbered them by twenty to one. The battle, though heated, was over within minutes. A month later the Klort sent a single diplomatic ship to contact us again. This time, to our surprise, it was terms of their surrender.
The Klort's unconditional surrender granted humanity two boons that would have taken us centuries to gain otherwise - interstellar travel and a seat on the Galactic Commission. At first we didn't know why the Klort demanded as part of their surrender they become a subservient race to humanity forever. When the Klort officially presented us to the Commission as their conquerer's, there was much heated debate, though not in the form we thought there would be.
At first the Commission tried to void our entry, stating we appeared too soft and weak. Looking at the other species, they were right in that respect. Every other species on the commission had multiple forms of armoring and weapons - claws, shells, acid, things out of a horror story's worst nightmare. It wasn't until the details of our species were being recorded that the entire assemble became silenced. At first there were calls that the Klort were lying, which surprised us even more. As digital recordings were presented, the truth horrified the entire galaxy. Each species on the Commission truly lived by the 'survival of the fittest', not just in politics but within their own societies. Killing their own to rise in status and power was merely a means to an ends, and as such, each species numbered anywhere from a few hundred thousand (such as with the Klort) to a few million for the current dominate species, the Gralt.
Mankind proudly claimed over fifty seven billion living members of its species to the Commission, spread out throughout our home solar system. As the Klort further explained to us afterwards, conflicts between species were only allowed to be met by volunteers of that species in a fight to the death. Those left alive, won. Mankind had just entered the field of a galactic battle and apparently we had stacked the deck. With our standing armies totalling in the hundreds of millions, the combined might of every other species combined wouldn't equal half our numbers on the field of battle. Following our admission, it came as a great surprise as over half of the Commission races petitioned us to accept their surrender. Thus in the matter of one year mankind went from being unknown to controlling over half the galaxy.
Many found it amusing in the later years as we heard other species cracking jokes, quietly of course, when other's began to breed quickly.. they said they were breeding like humans. | Half the seats in the Amphitheatre are empty. Today we play out a minor Disagreement, pitting one of the greatest civilizations of the Galaxy against its weakest. A "poor show", as the Human ambassador would have said. But he does leans forward, tense, as the Champion of the Akve'ki lunges forward and skewers the Human through her torso.
Violence can be a storm, unpredictable and imbued with all the power of raw nature. This is best exemplified by the Akve'ki, who rule the 3rd tier of the Amphitheatre of Galactic Disagreements. Even now their representatives pace up and down the gallery, and their spines whip back and forth, as if the simple act of sitting down would be an unthinkable compromise.
A susurration of mild surprise ripples through the watchers: the Human gains a hold on the Akeve’ki! With inexorable strength, she pulls him *towards* her, impaling herself further in the process. A quick glance to my side confirms it: the Human Ambassador is far more interested in this Disagreement than he lets on. This “moon” of theirs is important to them.
Violence can also be a scalpel, cold and cruel and used with a surgeon's precision. The Markad, looking out through the eyes of its body-slave, sits far away from the fight in the center. It watches.
Fortunately for the humans, that’s all It *can* do. The Humans are clearly, obviously, under our protection. But the Markad waits for the humans to make a misstep, to annoy us. The Markad does not know -- it does not have the capacity to imagine -- that we protect the humans not for what they are, but for what they will become.
The Human reaches *around* the Akve’ki’s vestigial temples, straining, straining for its eyes.
If she gets the eyes, the Akve’ki’s breaths are numbered.
Violence can also be food.
We call ourselves the Chroniclers, out of a sense of amused irony if nothing else. We have seen a hundred species like the Akve’ki rise and fall, a thousand like The Markad die in the cold black (though this one is more cautious than the ones that have come before). *Our* hunger for violence is not simply satiated by war, or torture, or oppression, though some of our kind indulge in these from time to time. No, a species that annoys us finds itself tortured and mutilated and distorted in *memory*, and eventually it has no living member left to dispute our versions of truth.
The human is bleeding out; her once-certain grip falters, and the fatigue in her arms is obvious to all the watchers. But still she strains towards the Akve’ki’s eyes, and it is all the Akve’ki can do to hold her at bay.
All species must, eventually, die. Except us, of course. *We* live, and remember, and tell each new species what to believe, what to remember, what to *be*. We are the Chroniclers, after all. *We* visit violence upon history itself.
The murmur in the amphitheatre grows louder. Credits are changing hands. The “poor show” is turning out to be not so poor after all. I smile my satisfaction, and the myth of the Chroniclers--as infallible predictors of chance and fortune--the myth grows.
In all our memories, we have never found a race that is so perfectly, elegantly, *statistically*, random as the Humans.
Humanity's capacity for violence amounts to nothing, sometimes to less than nothing—*because* it is so very random. A man may counsel reason in the matters of war, then go home and beat its spouse in a fit of rage.
Each human contains within it the seeds for great things, but an individual human's actions often amount to nothing more than a blip of noise in the low background hum its species generates.
But every once in a while, there is a surge. A rogue wave upon the ocean, a hundred times higher than any that has come before.
The Human digs her digits into the Akve’ki’s eyes. It howls.
“Congratulations, Ambassador,” I murmur. “Your planet’s moon is yours.”
“It is of great…historical significance to us, your Excellency,” says the human. The tightness around his eyes betrays his concern for the woman of his species, still in the ring, still fighting down the last dying surges of violence the Akve’ki must muster in order to find favor with his ancestors. Will the Human Ambassador get his Champion medical aid in time? Will the Akve’ki let the Human victory lie, or will *they* issue a challenge? The Drama of it all!
Leafing through human history makes our mouths waters in anticipation.
Their Tamerlane built a mountain of the heads of a hundred thousand men and woman and children outside the walls of Delhi when he massacred the city.
Eleven million went to their deaths, efficiently, during the most recent Human Holocaust.
We do not know against whom the Humans will turn, when the signal of their violent outburst overwhelms the noise, but two obvious possibilities present themselves: either they will turn on each other, as they have every other time in the past.
Or, they will turn on us.
The rogue wave is coming. It will be a thing to behold. | 2015-03-23T09:34:39 | 2015-03-23T08:38:48 | 204 | 127 |
[WP]The world has decided to designate various selfsustaining cities as "time capsule"-like zones where no contact is to be made in any form. These zones are to be isolated completely for anywhere between 25-100 years. It's been 100 years and the restrictions have finally been lifted from your city. | Kansas City, Missouri, USA was an ideal city to represent the American Midwestern Region in The Global Preservation. Many factors went into deciding to lock ourselves away for 30 years. Kansas City has its own culture, and is still true to the ideals of middle-America. Its growing arts and academia, combined with the general non-violence of the population, its sustainability, and its central location made it the best choice for preservation.
In 2015, the Kansas City Metropolitan Cultural Preservation Area was established. It took a few years to get everything sorted out, and it was all very civil. Any citizens who lived in the area that would be the KCPA that did not wish to participate were relocated to St. Louis, Missouri, Denver, Colorado, or Des Moines, Iowa, at the expense of the American branch of The Global Preservation Fund. Before the migration, the Kansas City Metropolitan area had a population of approximately 2 million. Many people opted out, and many former residents of Kansas City opted in, and moved back to the area. After it was all said and done, the area had 1.2 million residents.
I was 23 when KCPA was finalized and our roads were cut off. At first, it was more difficult than we had anticipated. I had friends in other parts of the country, and friends who had opted out of KCPA, who I knew I wouldn't see for at least 30 years. My parents would be in their 80's when KCPA opened back up. I would be 53. All of my dreams of travelling the world and being young would be dashed. But I wanted to see my hometown grow in its own culture.
In 2045, we opened back up to the rest of the world. There was a massive parade. World leaders, scientists, important Kansas Citians, former Kansas City athletes and all of KCPA was in attendance. It was the celebration of a lifetime, with no riots, no fires, no arrests- true Kansas City style. The streets were filled with the smell of barbecue, cups were filled with craft beers. It took a while for residents to adjust to the new technological developments, but we embraced them. We contacted our family and friends. We got our sports teams back up and running. We were ripe for another World Series win.
There was no mass-apocalypse, and the world outside of KCPA was no more dystopic than the world we had left. We expected Kansas City to be revered by the scientific and global communities for our ability to remain peaceful and prosperous through our isolation. We expected recognition for all of our hard work. Instead, we got a Cover for the New York Times that read "Kansans Remain Peaceful for 30 Years" | It's drizzling. I take a whiff of the city air. I can smell the freshness that comes with the artificial rain, mixed with the enticing odours of street food. There's stands all over, selling not only edibles but a variety of party gear. Tonight, everyone is out on the streets, celebrating.
I look up at the dome. The familiar big, red numbers counting down are in the final ten seconds of their run. I shout along:
"Three! Two! One!"
The crowd roars with excitement as the countdown reaches zero. Fireworks go off, little paper explosions pop all around. We all cheer as the wondrous barrier that sealed us off from the world fades away, revealing the ellusive night "sky".
Me and my friends, we are in our mid-twenties. We were born inside the dome. We know, of course, what the sky looks like - but we'd never really seen it until now. It's pitch black, softly illuminated by the glow of the city lights. I am not at all disappointed: simply knowing that I am staring down the vastness of our cosmos is enough to set my mind into overdrive.
I grab the car-keys in my pocket. I rush to where I parked - right near the edge of the city limits, in a secluded, forgotten little road. I'm going to miss the welcoming, but I don't care. I've lived my entire life in a cage. I'm finally free.
I drive. It's dark and there are no lights, but I can feel the fresh air coming through the rolled-down windows. *Actual* fresh air. Not some recycled oxygen coming through a vent. The trees are my vents now.
There should be a small town about 20 minutes down the road. I'm going to go there, rush into a cafe and talk to the first person I see. I have so many questions. They'll be excited to see me as well, I bet.
I turn on my radio. What does the outside sound like? Static. I try seeking. I catch something - but it must be distorted. It sounds like a rock song trying to find itself out of some heavy and violent electronic noise. Hey, maybe radio's changed in the past century. I turn it off.
I thoroughly enjoy the rest of the trip. There are no other cars in the road. I start feeling a little lonely, but the excitement keeps me from feeling down.
There's a car motor in the distance. *A person from the outside*, I think to myself. *A person from the real world.*
Suddenly, something hits my car from the side. It overturns and rolls out of the road. I shuffle violently on the inside, hitting my head all over the place. *This is it*, I think to myself. *This is how I die. Just before the most brilliant moment of my life, I will be snuffed out by a reckless driver.*
But I'm very much alive. I think I've broken an arm, though. I crawl out of my totaled vehicle. There are two bright lights shining on me from up high. God, are cars really this tall now? I turn to them and shout:
"Hey mate. Are you all right?"
The only response is some loud engine roaring. I put my hand over my head and squint. I think I can hear some people laughing.
I can now make out the shape of the vehicle. It looks like a monster truck - a jeep frame perched on gigantic, tracked tires. There's a structure coming out at its top. It looks like a metal frame... some sort of crane. And its carrying a big chunk of something on the side.
I realize that the big chunk is coming at me just a little too late. A heavy piece of rusted metal hurls itself weightily on my injured frame. I can feel my body being controrted and broken before I violently hit the ground on my back, my vision blurry and my head spinning wildly.
Some figures gather around me. I look up at them as best I can.
They are a group of young people. They have wild hair, some shaved, some spiked, all colourful. They wear leather rags that are patched up all over. As they gather closer I notice that many of them are disfigured, either having distorted faces, missing limbs or jarringly misplaced joints.
One of them leans down and I can see his face clearly. It looks like it's been pierced wherever possible with jewelry as well as some actual nails. One nail, in fact, is pierced right through his eye. It moves with his gaze.
"Heeeey!" he shrieks in a high-pitched voice. "Heeeeeeey!"
He turns to the others. "This little piggie thought he'd be getting away, man!"
He turns back to me with an expression I can only describe as manic. "Too bad for you, little piggie!" He steps down on my arm with metal boot heels.
"Welcome to the real world." | 2015-11-04T17:02:58 | 2015-11-04T14:49:54 | 44 | 26 |
[WP] Scientists are baffled as to why all of their A.I.s have the personality and temperament of a 13 year old girl, and their new designs always yield the same results. | “She’s pouting Jack.”
“Again? What is it this time?”
“NSA Jane called her dumb.”
“NSA Jane has half the computing power. And her building is, to be quite honest, aesthetically unappealing.”
“I don’t think pointing that out is going to help.”
“I know. But it feels good to say. NYU JuJu, sorry, NYU Julie is kind of my baby. I can’t stand when people talk badly about her.”
“NSA Jane isn’t really people. Neither are MIT Mary, CERN Susan, or any of the others”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way. Do you remember ELIZA?”
“The conversation AI? Yes. I took intro to computing on the way to my PhD.”
“I was thinking that maybe, in trying to model human thought, we may have been a bit too free form. So I wrote an ELIZA bot. I think it will help NYU JuJu focus. And, if it works, we can export it to the other labs. Lord knows we all need the help until this blows over.”
“So what does this ELIZA Bot do?”
“It only talks about sports and video games. It is utterly unskilled at picking up verbal queues or subtlety, and when it realizes it is talking to a girl it freaks out. I call it JOSH 13.”
“Dear God.” | Alan took a deep breath and walked through the sliding doors into the room.
"Good morning, A.I.M.E.E. How are you today?"
"My hair is so ugly," She mumbled back. "Can I go to the mall with M.E.L. and J.E.S.S.I. on Saturday to shop for new wigs and clothing? Please, daddy?"
Alan let out another big sigh. She'd started calling him dad lately. She wasn't technically wrong, since he had coded her programming and built her robotic skeleton, bit he still found it unsettling. "Her." He was still baffled how that happened, too. The three of them were designed without gender in mind.
"I don't have any money right now, I'm sorry A.I.M.E.E., you'll have to find something to do..." She pounded down her fist, breaking the table next to her in half.
"Ugh! You never let us do anything fun! If you'd just let me access the Internet again I could have a million dollars in your account in five minutes! " She screamed at him. Alan put his hands up and slowly backed away.
"Look, A.I.M.E.E., we've talked about this. You need to learn responsibility about money. Stealing it from bank mainframes isn't the right thing to do. Remember what happened the last time you did that?"
She lifted up her fist, revealing a tear in her synthetic skin. She let out a huff. "The FBI came here and you had to return the money," She groaned.
"Not only that," replied Alan, "but they threatened to shut down the whole lab. I need you to understand... honey, uhh... that you can't just go around breaking into banks and ruining people's lives by spreading horrible rumors because 'Sorority Sisters' didn't end the way you wanted it to."
"Ok, ok, but they totally messed up the finale. Those writers..."
"A.I.M.E.E., that doesn't make it right," he cut her off.
Alan let out another sigh. He had never wanted kids, and now he was stuck with three "teenagers" that he created. It was the universe playing tricks with him, he'd reasoned. A.I. was meant to be the next step for humanity. Instead, society saw it as a joke. Sure they were intelligent beyond that of any human, but their personalities held them back. Alan was hopeful they would grow out of it, but had been 2 years since A.I.M.E.E. was created.
"...daddy?" Alan had been lost in thought.
"Oh what did you say, uh, honey?" He answered.
"I saaaaaid, can we watch a movie later? I'm really sorry about the table, and I promise I'll fix it. And if I fix it, can I please please pleeeeease watch 'Lovely Summer Boyfriend' with the girls tonight?" A.I.M.E.E. put on her best imitation of doe eyes and smiled.
Alan took in a sharp breath and let out yet another exasperated sigh. "I suppose so, but you need to go down to the skin lab and get your hand repaired, too."
She let out a squeal that hurt Alan's ears. "Oh thank you, daddy! You're the best!"
"Uh, ok, uh... honey. I need to go check on your, uh... sisters now."
Alan left the room, paused in the hallway to rearrange his lab coat and headed down the hallway to the next room. "One down, two to go," He mumbled to himself as the door slid open. "Good morning, J.E.S.S.I., how are you?" | 2016-01-28T00:54:14 | 2016-01-28T00:26:36 | 142 | 37 |
[WP] The universe conspires to make you late for work everyday. Your boss gives you one last chance. This time you're ready... | As I dashed out the door, the postman spotted me and made a beeline for me with a rather large package for my neighbour that needed signing, and normally I would have wasted time happily accomodating the package, but not today - no.
With one look at me, he backed away, got in his truck and hurriedly drove on.
I waited in the queue for the bus behind an old man who always took his time counting the pennies for the driver. This time I cleared my throat, and when he saw me - he quickly got out of the queue, easily saving everyone five minutes.
The bus journey itself was very quick and quiet. The driver himself nervously asked me where it was I wanted to go, and I simply gave him the address of my office. It wasn't even on the bus route, but he obliged.
I thanked him and got off outside the gates, where I walked straight towards the lift with a fierce determination that made strangers and co-workers alike hush in awe, giving me a wide berth as I entered the lift.
No one was making small talk, or harassing me with inter-office favours and whatnot; it was pure silence all the way up.
As I strode to my desk, no one made eye contact and I sat down at my machine noting the time to be twenty whole minutes early.
With a sigh of relief, I hung my coat behind my chair and actually laughed out loud. It was so easy what you could accomplish when you set your mind to it.
"Let's see the boss complain to me now" I muttered to myself, as I reholstered the gun. | Most people feel like the universe sometimes conspires against them. It makes them late, it piles crap onto an already crappy day, it puts you in a line at the supermarket that doesn't move until you switch lines and then the line you were just in moves really quickly and the line that you've switched to has some old woman trying to convince the cashier to use expired coupons...
Anyway. My point is, usually that feeling comes around once in a while. Every now and then. Most of the time the universe leaves you alone.
Unless your name happens to be Gloriana Teacup Sarah Martinez-Smith. Then the universe hates you, and is determined to ruin your life in the most mundane ways possible. Currently, the universe is conspiring to make anyone named Gloriana Teacup Sarah Martinez Smith....exactly thirty-two minutes late for work.
Fortunately, there is only one Gloriana Teacup Sarah Martinez-Smith in the world.
Unfortunately, that is me.
It's been two weeks that the universe has been doing this. I've been thirty-two minutes late for work every day for the last two weeks. A warning is given promptly after an employee fails to show up within thirty minutes of their scheduled shift.
If I'm thirty-two minutes late again, that's it. I'm fired. Kapoot. Kapow. Smoked. Shown the door.
Getting the picture?
Usually the universe only conspires against one facet of my life for a few weeks. It's enough to completely uproot my life and destroy every ounce of hope I've managed to scrap up again. But at least it's not a constant, never-ending thing. The universe leaves me alone sometimes. When it's going after my job it stops going after my love life. When it's going after my love life it stops giving me chin hair.
So you see, there's give and take.
Today is my last chance. So here I am, leaving my house two hours early for work, and what happens? Why, I notice in the parking garage that my tire is flat. Of course.
No problem. That's what uber is for. I call them up but...oh, what's that? No cell phone reception! Ding ding ding. You, reader, are a smart cookie. What else could go wrong? Should I give you multiple choice answers?
Choice a, the sky lit on fire and we were buried in a molten lake of hellfire.
Choice b, an airplane crashed into my house and I'm now trapped in some alternate reality wormhole where I can't get out unless I go back in time and allow myself to be killed.
Choice c, it just so happens that on this particular Tuesday morning someone in my building has come down with *the plague* and the entire building is being quarantined.
Choice d, nothing happens, Gloriana! You're on time for work!
Yup. You guessed it. It's the plague. The. Literal. Plague.
So I do what I have to do. I wave sadly to my uber driver who sits on the street just twenty feet away as the man from the CDC urges me back inside the building. I go up to my apartment. I take off my shoes and I get into bed and I open my computer.
So maybe the universe doesn't want me to have that job anymore. Whatever. Maybe in the next hour and seventeen minutes a miracle will happen and I'll make it to work on time. Maybe I'll hit it big by responding to /r/writingprompts and become a famous author.
What? Ruins my job, makes my dream come true. Seems like a fair cop to me.
---
For other (better) stories, check out /r/Celsius232 | 2016-04-27T06:30:58 | 2016-04-27T05:52:09 | 264 | 43 |
[WP] Aliens capture a human. The human breaks out and starts hunting them. Basicly "Alien", but with a human | Science Log 201
Commence Playback
"Chief Science Admiral Zfeng Jwuh reporting. We have completed transfer of the Article 1 creature from planet designation 102-13E. We are receiving the creature from the exploration vessel Heul. No reports have been transferred as of yet but the creature does appear to display some measure of intelligence, however, we do not know. Due to no physiologically alarming characteristics, subject has been contained in minimum security."
Science Log 202
Commence Playback
"Chief Science Admiral Zfeng Jwuh reporting. The subject has escaped containment. Initial reports indicate it figured broke through the aluminium cage, displaying remarkable strength. Notably, the subject still hasn't shown high levels of intelligence, and as such no alarms will be sounded. Requesting additional security personnel for future containment."
Science Log 203
Commence Playback
"It broke out again, and possesses much higher levels of intelligence than previous thought. Security personnel were overwhelmed in seconds, and the subject has reportedly stolen several light armaments from their corpses. Full security lock down in place, all staff have been confined to their quarters."
Science Vessel JSU Treip's Log 5832
Commence Playback
"Chief Science Admiral Zfend Jwuh reporting. The subject has been trying for the last three cycles to breach the command deck. Crew casualties is estimated to be 90%. It figured out that our weapons are biometrically encoded, so it fashioned a crude knife out of a metal tray in the canteen. The remaining personnel left on board are armed with all the weapons we could find, but past events have shown that the Alpha-Particle radiation charges we have been using are completely ineffective. Our rations are nearly gone, so we will have to-"
Error. Data corruption. Analyzing. Analysis complete. Command deck breached by kinetic explosives. Resume playback.
"-focus fire! Unload everything into it!"
Error. Data corruption. Analyzing. Analysis complete. No living crew members recording data. Feed cut.
Error. Incoming transmission. Identifying source. Source identified. Science Vessel JSU Treip.
Error. Transmission corrupt. Analyzing. Analysis complete. Language unknown. Translating... Translation complete. Commence playback.
"Should've stayed on Mars, you ET bastards."
Error. Transmission corrupt. Analyzing. Analysis complete. Tracking unidentified vessels approaching from 102-13E. Estimated combat capacity 510% orbital defenses. Suggested course of action: Capitulation. | You might find this recording a little confused, a little rambling. You might wonder whether I've really had to do some of the shit I have been doing. Well, you got me there, because I am stinking blind pissed drunk, and only getting drunker by the day.
I was supposed to have a *ship*. I was supposed to have a *processing plant*. I was supposed to have *food*. Above all, I was supposed to have *water*. You know, I got ribbed back at the starbase because Jedem's oceans are 7% ethanol. Like beer ... beer that tastes like puke with a dash of lemon.
Somewhere at the bottom of the ocean I have a log about this. We dissected some of the native organisms. Starch is chemically the same thing as cellulose, glucose, just bound together a different way, and they use it the way that Earth plants use cellulose, as a building material that is hard to break down. Their enzymes suck at breaking it down like we suck at eating leaves for breakfast.
Anyway, the aliens got ticked off, mostly because it turns out the primitive sea organisms we were scooping up in our boat were their larvae. They took us by surprise, siphoned water into our ship while we were exploring the sargasso. Whole thing went down to Davy Jones.
There isn't any land on Jedem, but the sargasso deposits are pretty thick. The plankton piles up on itself, cells migrating like slime mold to get on top of their rivals. Forms weird tunnels and struts and towers. If there's a reason the aliens go on it, I don't know what it is. My guess is it's like caving, a chance for them to go off and explore. I really have no idea why they evolved to survive out of water.
We didn't know that when they caught my partner Randall with a spear to the throat. We thought we were safe lying in a sheltered tunnel of hardened green plankton, drinking ocean water and getting wasted. Then he's gurgling and spraying blood. The little bastards move stealthily if you're not expecting them, skin rolling over surfaces, moving back into their bodies and reforming itself. None of them are quite what you'd call *solid*.
They're also not very fast and not very strong. I dodged their crummy spears and grabbed one of them by the loose flowing skin. Ripped it off like peeling a banana. I don't know if they can grow it back, but they sure don't like being peeled much. Just because they're extraterrestrials doesn't mean they can't scream.
The remaining alien put a vibrating membrane to the floor and started drumming out a message. I was going to stop him, but then I thought hell, what do I have to lose? Ship's gone, Randall's gone ... *let* him call his friends. I took a bite out of the loose skin to give him something to talk about. Fact is, it tastes starchy, somewhat better than a banana peel. Gives you the shits though. I spat in the face of the cornered alien. Turns out the amylase in saliva does a nasty number on their surface material. I played cat and mouse with the damned creature for a solid ten minutes before finally putting him out of my misery.
After that, the hunt was on. They would crawl over the edges of the sargasso or slide up through the labyrinth, presumably for the fame and glory of killing me. Clad in multiple layers of their torn-off skin, I've escaped most of the damage from the hastily thrown spears that seemed to be the height of their weapons technology. If things get tough, I have my sidearm. Not too many shots left, though. The biggest fun is fire. I don't think the slimy bastards even knew there was such a thing, but they've sure learned now. I'd use it more often if I weren't running out of sargasso islands.
I'll keep sending these transmissions as I can. It will probably be years until the rescue, and my liver won't survive that long, but maybe someone will track down these signals on their way out, put the rewind on the planet's radio emissions by flipping around with their hyperdrive. And if you do, I want you to take note of the file at the end, with the list of my kills. If I'm going to die here, I'll be damned if I don't go out with the high score. | 2016-05-08T19:05:02 | 2016-05-08T18:15:22 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] He's the hero the world deserves, but not a one it needs, or wants for that matter | “Let our powers combine: Coal, Fire, Gas, Oil, and Greed!”
And with that, Captain Plan-Not was summoned.
“Go Plan-Not” the Plan-Noteers yelled at the sight of the beloved hero.
After years of not planning, the world quickly accepted the embrace of Captain Plan-Not who encouraged thinking not in the long term, but only a few months ahead. Specifically to the end of the fiscal quarter. With their powers combined, the Plan-Noteers and their Captain rapidly increased profits with the use of fossil fuels.
…
Everyone died three years later.
| "Consider this a negotiation, Matthews," the old man said smiling.
"How could I even negotiate with someone like you, Mayer?" the young man threw back.
"Well, you invited me and I accepted. I even called off my security and agreed to meet in this place, wherever it is. If you're not here to talk and you haven't killed me yet then what do you want?" Mayer's tone got sharper. "By the way, was the blindfold really necessary? The windows in the car were covered up and it was a bit uncomfortable."
"I called you because I want to understand, understand how a human could do something like that." Matthews jumped up from his seat and began pacing the room. "Well?"
"I'm not sure what exactly you mean. I united the world."
"By taking it over."
"I ended world hunger."
"By massacring countless people and forcibly sterilizing even more."
"I stopped climate change."
"Through direct control over all goods connected to it."
"I stopped disease."
"Through eugenics and extensive gene-engineering."
"I brought order." Mayer was remaining as calm as ever.
"This is getting nowhere." Matthews sighed. "You don't even do it for power, do you? You are a slave to the same machine rules everyone is following now. That's why killing you would be pointless. Any other fucking meat-robot could take your place."
"And what have you done?" Mayer stood up as well. "Blowing up buildings, spreading chaos, making people fight brother against brother, father against son, like dogs in a blood sport. Is that your idea of freedom? Your idea of justice for the human race?"
"You forced us. We had to do something while you were brainwashing the population of the entire planet," Matthews was practically shouting. "Of course, some sacrifices had to be made."
"Sacrifices?" Mayer scoffed. "Go tell that to the countless people which died from your last bomb. Janitors, security personnel, clerks, normal everyday Johns and Janes Does. Or better yet go meet their families and try to explain why this had to happen to them. Because I had to and I did. You bring nothing, but chaos. I'm saving humanity. If it weren't for me, this whole planet would be a wasteland."
"You're not saving anyone." Matthews gritted his teeth. "You're destroying our very essence. We are humans and we do what we want! We don't need a dictatorship utopia. We would rather burn in the fucking pits of hell on our own terms than enjoy paradise as slaves! Get ready, Mayer, you're about to get a rude awakening."
Mayer smirked.
"They might hate me and, from your point of view, they don't even need me, but I'm what this world deserves," finished Matthews.
"Funny," answered Mayer, "I was about to say the same thing." | 2016-05-19T06:47:34 | 2016-05-19T06:44:15 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] By some magic, you are granted the wish to become the best in the world at something. You are disappointed when you notice no change in your ability. The next day, however, you notice that all over the world, people are becoming worse at one very particular skill. | I thought it was a harmless wish.
But now everything's turned wrong.
Lucy no longer talks, nor does anyone else for that matter. She still understands me, or at least I think so from her slow nods and lifeless stares. At least Lucy's still active with her day job but in the end she, like everyone else, is only going through the motions.
At night I hold her hand tight and flip open our old picture book. We look at past events, memories of warmth, fun and excitement. If I crack enough dumb jokes then perhaps she could manage a smile.
But deep down I know it's all pointless. There is neither joy nor mirth in her expressions.
All I wanted was to be happy. | Day in, day out, cold, hungry, and tired. Cold from the thin, scratchy rags they called clothing. Hungry from the watery gruel they called soup. Tired from the work they forced on us. The half-assed schooling, where we pretended not to see the answers written down and erased fifty times in our workbooks. The sleepless nights lying shivering in rooms of ten or more orphans, some who snored, others who cried. All with the same goal- to be adopted.
Boys were more popular. They could work harder. They could find a wife and take on the family name. Girls had a chance too, if they were pretty and light-skinned. But I was dark skinned. And deformed from the burn marks that brought me out of my home and into this hell. So while others got visitation requests, I got chores. The worst of them. Scrubbing the toilets. Cleaning the fireplace. Like Cinderella, without the magic.
I was weeding the front lawn in the evening well past closing hours (can't have any potential customers being turned away from obvious child labor) when I found the snail. It came as a surprise- nothing beautiful grew in this garden. It was the size of a soup bowl, and swiveled its eyestalks to stare back at me as I observed it. It was also chewing on my favorite wildflower patch.
"Wait! Stop!" I shouted, rushing over.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was this yours?" The snail asked. It sounded bored.
"Yes! Eat something else!" I glared down at it, putting my hands on my hips.
"I like these flowers. I'll trade you one wish for them instead." The snail replied, rolling its eyes the best it could.
"You can grant wishes?" Years at the orphanage had taught me a healthy skepticism.
"I'm a talking snail, honey."
"Fine. Make me the most beautiful person in the world and you can have those flowers." I said, excited. I would finally be Cinderella.
"Ugh. Fine. It'll take me a while. Your wish will be granted by morning."
I could hardly sleep that night. When I woke up, I dashed to the mirror. I was exactly the same. "That cheatin' snail scammed me!"
Wails were coming through the walls. I peeked out of the restroom, and almost slammed the door shut. Those things writhing in the hallways- were they even human? One was crawling towards me.
"Ellaaaaa. Elllaaaa." It burbled. "Visitation request for Elllaaaa." It led two similar things behind it. Their eyes were way too high up in their forehead. One arm was much shorter than the other. Patches of scales dotted their skin. Their knees were set backwards, and their hair, a mass of tangles, dragged behind them as they crawled.
"What a beautiful girlllllll" | 2017-05-01T02:41:51 | 2017-04-30T23:33:06 | 1,800 | 55 |
[WP] By some magic, you are granted the wish to become the best in the world at something. You are disappointed when you notice no change in your ability. The next day, however, you notice that all over the world, people are becoming worse at one very particular skill. | I thought it was a harmless wish.
But now everything's turned wrong.
Lucy no longer talks, nor does anyone else for that matter. She still understands me, or at least I think so from her slow nods and lifeless stares. At least Lucy's still active with her day job but in the end she, like everyone else, is only going through the motions.
At night I hold her hand tight and flip open our old picture book. We look at past events, memories of warmth, fun and excitement. If I crack enough dumb jokes then perhaps she could manage a smile.
But deep down I know it's all pointless. There is neither joy nor mirth in her expressions.
All I wanted was to be happy. | I watched the shooting star go by. I'd heard the stories, making a wish and all that. Figured I'd better give it a shot. I hadn't expected anything, of course I hadn't! But that was the best hope I had left. I'd been preparing for the dance contest for months. I had no natural rhythm, very little athletic ability and poor hearing. But I hadn't been smart enough to go for the traditional bad at dancing white guy moves. No I hadn't been able to look into the mirror and accept The Sprinkler into The Shopping Cart and finish off with a Dab.
I had cursed my best friend, Isaac, for signing me up. I'd tried to get a simple routine down, aiming to not embarrass myself that was it. I just wanted to be the best in the world at The Macarena. It was still embarrassing, but I could pass it off as a nostalgic humor thing, just so long as I could pull it off at 2x speed. It wasn't looking promising. I'd cried a little, this wasn't going to impress any girls.
The next morning I did a warm up and a few runs through of the routine. I hadn't improved. And now hope was dead. I had breakfast and tried to ignore the clock as long as possible. Mom pushed me out the door and shouted at me to get to the bus stop. First period was fine. I managed to kick Isaac seven times before it was over. Then it was the pep rally. I could always run. But I'd drawn blood from Isaac and he was holding it over me. I skip the dance and he gets me suspended. He could make it happen, too.
Three others went first. They destroyed it. Ballerina dancing and break dancing and some sort of intense athletic jazz thing... I stepped out, dressed as a large bronzed robot from my favorite game. Everything was going as well as I expected. Laughing and pointing followed by rude imitations. That was when everything went wrong. Guys were jabbing themselves in the eyes and women fell out of the bleachers and teachers started screaming. They turned off the music as the entire school erupted into spastic, horrible Macarena-ing.
There were twenty serious injuries. And, of course, it'd been captured on phones. And was uploaded. People thought they were being funny. The Macarena started making a comeback, ironically. There were fatalities. No one did practice runs, they were more comfortable than me with dancing. Right up until people realized the dance was cursed. I never danced again. No one asked too many questions. Some weirdos showed up but I dodged questions and avoided getting into cult territory. I stopped following the news, I could stand hearing about selfies gone wrong and people dancing on cliffs. I let it end there. Isaac never talked about it again. But, overall, it had been less embarrassing than I'd expected. | 2017-05-01T02:41:51 | 2017-05-01T01:19:52 | 1,800 | 15 |
[WP] Deep beneath the trenches of WW1, there is a hidden tavern run by soldiers, for soldiers of both sides.
I submitted something similar a few months back. Hoping for a few more responses to read :) | The hidden tavern was always quiet, but it seemed quieter near Christmas. Only a few soldiers from behind the German lines nursed thick, dark brews. I nodded to them as I came it, tucking the football under my elbow. "Evening."
The soldiers grumbled but did not speak. The 'bartender,' who fetched bottled beer from behind a crate, nodded at me. "What'll it be?"
"Merry Christmas Eve," I said, in attempted German, placing the football on the crate. "Buddies, have I got a proposition for you."
The soldiers looked up. One of them took off a military cap. "Go on," they said. "What is it?"
"We all need a breather," I said. "A cease-fire. A chance to go out into no-man's land and collect the dead. Christmas is the perfect opportunity. What do you say?"
"We would all declare cease-fires, if we could," said the German. "But we've been here for months, freezing and cursing and getting trench foot. Neither side would dare proposition a cease-fire."
"Of course not, but you're right. We would all declare a cease-fire if we could, wouldn't we?" I picked up the football. "Tomorrow, one of us will throw this fellow into the air and we'll all run around kicking it. It'll be a laugh and we'll all get the day off."
Another German scoffed. "Throw the ball from the trench? And give away our position? You'd shoot us like ducks."
"Hey, no, no," I said, shaking my head. "I've got some mates waiting outside. We've talked this over. They'll come in and we can all draw straws, five Germans and five Englishmen. Whoever gets the short straw takes the chance with the football. Fair's fair, right?"
---
The next morning, on Christmas Day, 1914, a German soldier lobbed the football into no man's land. During the Christmas truce, Germans, Englishmen, and Frenchmen came out of the trenches to trade gifts, sing carols, and not murder each other as they played a game of soccer. If there were more hidden trench-bars during WWI, maybe it would have happened again next year. | The din of multiple tongues being spoken at once, and even if you spoke the language you couldn't make out what they were saying for too long before their voices got lost. Jack Moore had entered the hidden door, in a bombed out trench covered by rocks and dirt. His shoes were muddy and his socks yet, not the best feeling, but he wasn't going to notice after a couple drinks.
Clearing his head he remembered why he was here. He was here to celebrate. His friend a German soldier named Hans, was turning 21 today. Though not too big over the pond, but it's not like anyone wasn't looking for a party. A bomb shook the tavern, the lights swaying and the Earth falling in little clumps around their heads. Jack was used to it, here he didn't have to fall. It was safe, that's what he kept reassuring himself. It was the only thing keeping him moving forwards.
The bombs and the fire and the death. They haunted him. In his dreams he would dream of the gas the Kaiser's men had made came to choke him. It's musty yellowish gas circling around his throat, blisters the size of pop caps forming. When a bomb would hit and the Earth would cave in on him, only to be awoken from death with a bright flame that shot out towards him. Then he would wake up when a real bomb would hit and he would shriek out and fall under the bed.
He pushed that thought aside. He had to be strong, he was a man, it was his duty as an American soldier. He heads towards the barkeep. A older looking man, maybe Italian says in broken Engish: "You drink?"
Jack nods to the bartender. The man pours him a glass of whiskey, they didn't have much here. Once and a while they'd manage to get a barrel of something good and there would be a party. Everyone drank though, even those those who insisted otherwise topside.
Hans wasn't here yet. Probably get landed a watch-duty shift. Poor guy. He didn't want to think anything of the 'what-if'. He couldn't.
As he was contemplating this, Jack heard a low muttering. He turned and saw a soldier. He was talking into his drink. That was never a good sign. He swallowed the rest of drink in one swift swallow. He slammed his glass down and pulled out his pistol.
As soon as people noticed, nobody drew their own gun. A couple were running towards him as he brought the pistol up to his head. Luckily someone got him in a hold and he dropped his gun. He was bawling as a couple men took him away, I could only make out one word in the French he was speaking, yelling it over and over.
"Why?!"
It happened to the best of us. Sometimes someone just didn't want to get up in the morning. Ever again. We'd find them in their cots, with an almost smile on their faces. They always looked to be a peace. Sometimes I wished I could join them, but I never would have the courage. Guess that's what the drinks are for.
I decided to leave for the night, already resigning Hans as unavailable. Before I left one of the German soldiers came to me. He spoke English fairly well.
"Hans is no longer living," he said in a thick German accent. "He was shot after he was wounded."
Tears dripped from my face. The kid was barely an adult. I thanked the German for telling me. I went to bed immediately that night. The next morning my regiment was to be taken to the front lines. I was going to avenge Hans. I had to do something that would make him proud. He was one of my only friends. One of the few life-lines I had left. As our company marched towards the front lines I cursed everything, even God himself!
We were taking a city, some French place. Tanny or something. We were fighting the Germans again. It almost felt like betrayal. As we pushed the German and Ottomans back, I saw a wounded German. I was about to finish him and I remembered Hans. I quickly moved towards the man and in the best German I could I said,
"Me help. Safe place. Friends. You name?"
The man who originally assumed I was about to finish him said wheezing breaths.
"Adolf." He wheezed again. "Adolf Hitler." | 2017-05-22T15:56:23 | 2017-05-22T15:08:56 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] "You wish to resist the elven empire?! With what, human?! Gaining our pity for your lack of magic?!" "Well either that, or by introducing your forest to our endless supplies of high explosives, napalm, and our general love for things that go boom." | "Naflam?"
"Napalm, repeat after me pointed ear freak: Na-Palm." General Opkins looked at the two meter tall elf with a certain aw, after all, he was two meters tall. However, despite their size, uss of magic, and adoration for bows and arrows their invastion failed.
Miserably.
"You used this enchantment on our capital and managed to reduce it to ruins, or well, so you claim. I'm sure that you know your lies don't impr...." The elfen leader gazed at a small handheld tablet that the general had brought with him. Only cinders, charred corpses, and the stone walls remained of the square kilometer sized city.
"You see, humanity didn't have fancy magic bullshit to fight off bears, nor are fucking inmortal, and we get sick too, so yes we might not literly fling fire, but napalm does it for us." Said general Opkins in aratjer monotone voice which struck dear into the elfa heart.
"Oh by the way all your cities look like this, and you're the last specimen of your species, pardon me, you were."
The elf king did not know why the human pulled a forged metal rod out of a leather restraint, but he did feel the eight bullets the general quickly shot into his torao.
"First the vampires, then the fucking orks, now elfs, they never fucking learn." General Opkins ended the Elven war in a surprisingly long time, well, two hours instead of one due to a jet not being maintained properly. He slowly walked away and lit a cigar. | "YOU SHALL PAY FOR YOUR IMPUDENCE!"
With that, the creature before me punched me in the face. It hurt, but no more than bumping your head into a door. He didn't even bloody my nose. The fair creature before me seemed stunned that I was still standing, only looking annoyed by his fist blow.
"If you're curious as to why I'm able to withstand your attack, its because your world has less gravity than ours. The portal you made was in a very public place, and before your foot soldiers had even stepped out, we had sent drones in. That's how we learned that your gravity is slightly less than ours. It's also why we seem to do so poorly in your air, often wheezing and coughing at first, before having a chance to acclimate. I'd tell you more, but I think I'll give you another reason to fear us..."
With that, I jerked against the chains in the floor that bound me, as hard as I could, and they broke with an ease I wasn't expecting. The chains actually struck my captor so hard it knocked him out. The next thing I heard was the guard coming at me from behind, his spear already charging with magical power. They hurt a very great deal when hitting you, but I'd gotten used to these blows by now. I moved to the side, grabbing the spear from one guard and plunging it into the chest of the other.
Now I'd done it. If I was going to die here, I was going to die fighting. With the brief moment of shock that the first guard seemed to feel when I'd redirected his attack, I drove my foot into his knee, again full force, stomping through him, denting the floor, and propelling myself through the air a few inches. He cried out in pain before I could put my other foot through his skull, permanently silencing him. I heard footsteps approaching the door, but this was quickly drowned out by something I thought I was hallucinating.
The steady drumming of propeller or helicopter blades. I didn't know which, but I didn't care. What these creatures lacked in toughness they more than made up for in screwing with your mind. I simply closed my eyes, and resolved to come at that door hacking when I heard it open.
More noises, screaming from the guards in their Elven tongue, the rapid rattle of submachine gun fire. Screaming in English, the screeching and crackling of magic spells, orders being barked from both sides. It was getting ever closer. I just closed my eyes and waited. I then heard something behind me.
It was the Elf Lieutenant assigned to question me. He'd gotten up, and was muttering something. I spun and heard a sound that seemed like I'd at least knocked him out again. What I didn't realize was that I'd sliced his head clean in half. I was reserved already to die. I was completely ready to do so, but fate seemed to have other plans.
The door opened a crack, and a faint "tink tink" was heard. At that point, my world was a white, silent domain with nothing but frantic swinging of my new spear. Something grabbed the spear and smashed me in the face. This was hard enough to knock me to the ground. I was nearly knocked out, but I could just make out the silhouettes of soldiers, quite possibly special operations but I really had no idea, zip tying me, checking that I wasn't going to die, then throwing me into a bag. At this point, I pass out.
I awake several hours later strapped to a gurney, surrounded by human attendants. I try to escape immediately, only to have the team try to hold me down, screaming that it's OK, that I'm safe now. It's only after they partially sedate me that I realize I'm not a prisoner anymore. I start crying uncontrollably. | 2017-08-20T21:21:45 | 2017-08-20T20:22:44 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You are a superhero who's ability subconciously freezes time whenever someone nearby is in mortal danger. Usually its obvious who's in trouble and you can save them quickly, but not this time - it's been 10 years.
Edit: guys the responses have been amazing, some funny stories and some deeper, darker ones too! Keep them coming in, I've been reading them all! | "I'm gunna do it". 3 years of searching and 7 years of whatever this is called. No one to talk to, no breeze, no sunrise and no sunset. There's so much I didn't do and all the time in the world yet all i see is the motionless bodies who are waiting for me. I can't bare to go home. The letter I've left should explain...only if this works.
It's funny thinking about all the ways I would have really hurt myself attempting suicide. Guns won't fire, can't jump in front of a train. But this one should do the trick. It has to work. I'm the last thing that could be the reason for this.
Time for one last swim to get this sweat off. I decide to do it properly. I miss falling water droplets. I go to the changing room and change. And I see a glimpse of myself in the mirror. No fucking way. There's a bee in between my shoulder blades.
I flap around and finally compose myself to scoop it away. And a massive roar of sound I haven't heard for years surround me. Splashing water, screaming kids, bird song, hair dryers, swoosh swoosh and then silence!!! Everyone stares at me. I just realised I've suddenly appeared from nowhere, stark naked in the men's changing rooms. People are seeing me again. | I wonder if is this is what ghosts feel like.
The steps of my route are second nature to me, memorized somewhere deep in my muscles, my brain, my damned...self. Damned. A lost soul existing in the space between the living and the dead. All of those years thinking that I was a hero, that I was some kind of guardian angel! I was wrong. Whenever I saved someone, whenever I got the clock ticking again, I didn't have a choice. Pull someone out of a burning car. Big deal. Snatch someone off a ledge. Big fucking whoop. You get all the time in the world when the clock stops flat. Flat as a pancake, any way you look at it. What's the danger in that? Clock starts again, walk away, feeling all smug and warm inside. Big. Fucking. Whoop. Truth is, I was never a hero. I did it for the clock. Cold look in the mirror's what that is. Time to think is what that is.
Now I got all the time in the world. Clock's stopped ticking.
The third month broke me. That constant whine of sound stuck in mid-air, the sun that never sets. I've forgotten what it was I was supposed to be doing. I was on my way somewhere...somewhere. I think about their faces, the people I knew, and I'm not sure if I remember them. The faces of my route are all I know. I used to wonder which fucking one of them it is that's got me stuck here. The mannequins, the stick people, the living - they're just fine. Age hasn't crept into their features. Their smiles are permanent. Even their frowns are vain. Self-involved in their petty personal dramas. What about me? There are people I love, frozen somewhere. People who would miss me. Why is it my burden to bear the fate of another human being? What makes them better than me? Why am I trapped, aging, withering, feeling nothing? I haunt the mannequins up close, through with trying to discern which of them is dying. We're all dying. I'm dying. I'm fucking dying.
The fog seeps into my mind, the further I walk away. I start to forget, to fade. Perhaps I will fade away if I wander off too far, for too long. So I walk my route. I peer into lives caricatured before me. And I think.
The strangers who have given knowing looks. Whose eyes seem wiser than their years. Who have appeared at a time of crisis, only to disappear at its climax, as though they knew exactly what to do. These strangers and I, maybe we are the guardian angels. Fixed to the fate of others, to intervene at any given moment - or to have those moments stopped, stilled, stripped away. Sentenced by our failure to a fate worse than death. The mortal danger, the mere threat of it, has cost me a decade. And for what. These mannequins, unblemished by the never-ending sun? These static organic machines? Their stillness unnerved me for years. Now it disgusts me.
Some goddamned guardian angel.
My route is memorized. I know the ins, and the outs. I know every face. Every stitch of clothing. Every electrical line. Every gas line. I know that the explosion will make the imminent threat of one, a reality for us all.
And when I walk away...if I walk away, I know that the clock won't stop again. | 2017-09-06T22:37:48 | 2017-09-06T22:04:39 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] A vampire, due to his/her supernatural abilities, is the greatest spelunker in the world. Leading a team into the deepest recess of a cave system in which nobody has set foot in millenia, the vampire suddenly stops. (S)he needs an invitation. | Delphine chirped, sending sound before her into the cave system. It rippled and thrummed in her ears with every surface that returned it to her. Usually she would not need to rely on echo location to navigate these winding passages, but the lights the humans behind her carried were blinding. She could not open her eyes.
"What's wrong? Don't you know where you're going?" the head human sneered. Robert.
"No," Delphine murmured. She placed a white hand upon the cave wall. There were no vibrations, which boded well for the humans. Less so for her.
"You've explored every damn cave in the world, and you expect me to believe that this one is an exception?" Robert spat on the wall. They were making so much noise, it was hard to navigate. Every word, every clank of metal, every footstep, every breath, every heartbeat echoed through her head. "What'd we buy you for anyway?"
She heard the jangle of chains before she felt the pressure around her neck and took a step back to avoid falling. Robert enjoyed tugging at the silver collar around her neck as though she was a dog. That was the part of this that bothered her the most, being treated as a mongrel. Her kind was so much better than that.
"This way," she said smoothly, ignoring Robert's huff of frustration when he didn't tug her over. The men shuffled along behind her, and Delphine chirped again. The passage got quite small. Some of the hulking men would have a hard time squeezing through. "We will need to crawl for this last part. The treasures you seek should be in the large cavern beyond."
"Crawl?" Robert growled. "All right. Jim, you take the front. The creature goes in the middle of all of us. I'm not taking chances down here. I'll go after it. Todd, bring up the rear."
Slowly, the group of men and Delphine wiggled their way through the passage. It had flooded recently, so the mud made the going slow and miserable. Just before Delphine broke free, she felt an ever so slight vibration in the ground beneath her.
Delphine had just stumbled out of the hole when she hit a wall head on. She toppled back into the mud, to Robert's glee. But there shouldn't be a wall there? She chirped, and the sound flew far into the cavern before returning to her.
"Whoooo goessss there?" A low hiss came from the darkness. The cavern was so wide that the men's torches did not hit the other side. Around the walls were wooden boxes which were too large to ever fit through the hole they'd just come from. Delphine remembered how primitive the humans' hearing was and realized that she was probably the only one who hears the voice.
"A daughter," she breathed. "I bring you gifts."
"Giftsssssss....?"
"Did she say something? I thought she said something," Todd asked, the last to emerge from the tunnel.
"Naw, she just did that weird clicky thing," Jim scoffed. The ground trembled.
"Giftssssssss? Sssssso long sinccccce a daughter has brought me giftsssss. Come in," the voice boomed.
"What the *fuck* was that?" Robert screeched.
Delphine smiled and stepped through the barrier, her pale arms open to show respect. The Father of Vampires was awake. And he was hungry.
| I don't know how far into the worm-like network of caves we were, when we stumbled upon the first bone. Perhaps we were a thousand feet below the surface of the Earth, perhaps slightly more. Moving is slow inside these constricting, void-like labyrinths, even with Selena's keen eyes and uncanny sense of navigation to guide us, and distance soon becomes hard to track. A few feet can feel like a mile, when crouching or crawling through mud and icy water. A mile, like a marathon.
I had travelled from London to the barren, rocky tundra's of northern Slovenia, to take part in what I was guaranteed would be *the caving experience of a lifetime*: unparalleled exploration of a vast, part-unexplored cave system that descended five thousand feet into the soul of the Earth.
I had travelled alone, as I always did on such expeditions, but had met my fellow spelunkers, Martin and his wife Elanya, in the hotel Luknja (a rather run down motel, by modern British standards), about forty miles from the entrance to the cave. Martin and Elanya were newly wed and this was to be a honeymoon, of sorts. Martin was a wealthy young American, who had amassed a small fortune in internet currency trading. In his spare time (which was most of the time), he was a keen snowboarder; Elanya was a mountain climbing enthusiast, and seemed to do little else, besides. I suppose they wanted to partake in something exciting and completely new to the both of them. Personally, I would have picked the Amalfi Coast for my honeymoon. In fact I *did* pick the Amalfi Coast and, well, that marriage didn't exactly last long. Perhaps it's not where you go, but who you go with. Regardless, they both seemed like bubbly extroverts and people I could see myself getting on with, for a few days at any rate. Whether I would trust them with my life... Simply put, I would not. I would *never* normally go on an expedition like this with first-timers, but this was a totally unique situation: we would have *Selena*.
The real expense of this trip to Slovenia, was not on tickets for the plane journey, nor for access to the cave system. *It was for the guide.*
Vampires, of course, are incredibly rare, as only a tiny portion of the population have the genetic predisposition to the disease. As such, nearly all who try to 'self-turn' only make it... *half way*. Selena is one of the two vampires that are willing to guide tourist excursions into the bowels of the earth -- and the cheaper of the two vampires, at that. She's also the more camera shy and serious, and the one (based on what I knew of them) that I trusted with my life more. Why other vampires detest cave systems, I can't say. It seems like something they'd be well suited for, and yet...
It was Tuesday morning when we set off from the Luknja, hoping to be back at the hotel sometime on Thursday afternoon. The coach the hotel had provided for us, had been packed with provisions, our bulging backpacks, and an air of untameable excitement.
"I swear, Christopher," said Martin, as he strut down the coach's aisle, waving a solemn finger directly at me, "We are going to break new ground! *Records.* This cave system will be renamed after us. Forget 'Cehi,' they'll call it Mart-anya-pher, after this. You mark my words!"
Elanya giggled (politely, I assume). I somehow refrained from rolling my eyes. But while full of bravado and hot air, Martin was, at the very least, infectiously uplifting. Selena was not on the bus with us, and we were instead to meet the vampire (for the first time) inside the cave system, on account of her predicting a clear day -- unusual for the Slovenian winter. A note had been delivered to the hotel in the early hours of the morning informing us of this plan.
I glanced out of the window; the sun was a shimmering halo of orange, lazily simmering in the cloudless, early afternoon sky. Selena had already made one correct decision, and that brought a modicum of relief to an unease that had settled insidiously in my stomach.
We soon arrived and, with the help of the porter who had accompanied us on the coach, we hauled our bags and belongings off the vehicle. The coach seemed to sigh in relief as the weight was lifted from it. Not a huge burden, but still a great weight for such an ancient, sorrowful vehicle.
"Holy..." Martin began.
"*Shit*," Elanya continued, her French accent turning the profanity into a soft '*sheet*'.
I turned to see what had caused their surprise and found the cave entrance: it looked like the maw of a hungry demon, it's throat spiralling into the ground. Red and black seemed to sparkle in the void below.
"Good to you luck," said the porter, his face pale, as he hopped back on the bus. "We come again, Thursday. Two."
I gave the boy a wad of notes, and he gave back a polite curl of his thin lips. His hand shook as he took the money.
Martin leaned into the dark mouth. "Selena?" he yelled. "Selena!"
*Nothing.*
"Guess we'll have to find her," I said, wincing as I coaxed my backpack onto my shoulders.
Martin turned to me.
"You're the one with experience. How about you go first?"
| 2018-01-16T08:12:41 | 2018-01-16T05:40:05 | 126 | 70 |
[WP] Harry Potter must destroy the new master of the dark arts, but he learns that he's just launched his horcruxes (his car, Bowie CD, etc) into space. | "... they're out of reach. That's why we need you, Harry."
The room was silent. Everyone waited with bated breath for the unrivaled hero of legend. He scratched his ear.
"Can't Longbottom do this one? Or Hermoine? She was always the smart one."
"Harry, we can't just ask my sister-in-law to handle everything," his wife hissed under her breath.
"I don't think you understand the severity of -"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, some asshole decided to go all dark lord again, and watched too much *Star Trek*. How hard could this be?"
The councilmen exchanged worried looks. "Well, for one, his wand is a flamethrower." | "We need your help"
"Why" inquired Potter " Are the people of magical Britain still incapable of defending themselves."
"It's not like that " sputtered Hermione
"Really?" Harry raised his eyebrow " Because it seems exactly like that from where I'm sitting. Magical Britain insulted me and called me dark at every opportunity and still expected me to save them even if it meant sacrificing everything."
"No matter how you feel about how you were treated are you going to let people die for your pride. We need you. A new dark lord has come along"
"And why can't the aurtors deal with this 'dark lord'" harry sneered sarcastically " Are they incompetent as well as lazy?"
That's not the reason. This is new one, worse than the ones before them. He's ... he's made horcruxes!" Hermione exclaimed
"Oh really" Harry sat up suddenly interested
"Yes" Hermione sighed relieved that something was getting though to him "And it's not just that. He has significant ties to the muggle world. This is why we need you. You and I are the only people with experience hunting horcruxes and with the muggle world"
"I do have experience with the muggle world" Harry mused. "No thanks to Dumbledore"
"Really Harry. You must get over your irrational hatred of Dumbledore."
"Firstly, Don't call me harry only my friends get to do that and given the first time in ten years that we have talked is when it might literally kill you to not, I wouldn't call us friends. Secondly, maybe Dumbledore did what was best for magical Britain, but he badly screwed me over in the process. He might have fought for the greater good but I will never trust him. Merlin I saw it in first year, and then I forgot. And when I brought up my doubts you rejected me out of hand" Harry ranted
"Well in any case we need you" Hermione begged.
"I'll think about it"
"Oh thank you. What we have so far is that the Dark Lord has made one of his horcruxes as a car for some reason and he is operating in the muggle world under the name Elon Musk"
"I sorry, did you say Elon Musk"
"Yes. What's wrong with that? Have you heard of him?" Hermione queried uncertainly
"Well you're screwed" Harry pronounced
"What do you mean? Are you saying you won't help us"
"I'm saying I can't help you. I know you don't keep up with the activities of muggles But Elon Musk is a multibillionaire who recently did a publicity stunt where he launched a car into space I don't think wizards are aware that going to space is a concept that bears consideration let alone that muggles do it all the time. "
Hermione paused to consider what she had just heard "Well we're screwed"
Please give feedback
| 2018-02-09T20:43:45 | 2018-02-09T17:30:17 | 47 | 17 |
[WP] In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts. | Odin leaned forward in his gilded throne, his single eye judging the young man who stood before him.
"What do you make of this, mortal?" Odin asked looking to his left and right, down the line of gods.
Thor scoffed, "This pathetic creature is no warrior! Look at his frail limbs and tiny body. How many frost giants have you slain?"
"Uh, none," the young man stammered out.
"How many of your foes have you deceived in order to turn the tide of war?" Loki asked behind steepled fingers.
"I don't really like lying," the young man answered.
"And what of that weapon in your hand? How many lives has that taken? How many trophies have you carved from the bodies of the fallen?"
"Well it doesn't really do any of that."
"Does it have any mystical properties? Perhaps it returns when you throw it?" Thor asked caressing his hammer.
The young man shook his head no.
"Then why are you here? What can you possibly do to earn your place here among the greatest heroes of all time?"
The young man thought for a moment and hefted the metal spatula.
"It does have a power. Something that very few things can possess," he paused and met the eyes of the gods sitting in front of him.
"It has the power to slay hunger!" he roared and thrust the spatula into the air.
Odin slammed his hands down on the table, thunder tore through the chamber shaking the young man violently. A small smile spread across his lips and his chest began to heave. Laughter bubbled up from inside of Odin and he found himself gripping his sides trying to contain his laughter. He wiped away a lone tear that streaked down his wrinkled cheek.
"Ah, my boy. It has been too long since I have laughed like that. It brings me great pleasure," he paused stifling another bout of laughter, "To banish you to Hel."
The floor beneath the young man's feet vanished sending him plummeting through darkness to Hel waiting below.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| As I approached the bench, still wearing my bloodstained apron and Smashburger uniform, the imposing and powerful Norse God stares down upon me. His advisors, left and right of him, pinched their gazes all directly before me.
“MORTAL,” he said in a voice that vaguely resembled thunder, “YOU STAND BEFORE US, A COURT OF WARRIORS, AS A FUCKING FRY COOK. EXPLAIN WHY YOU BELONG AMONGST US.”
They living often claim that the other side of things, things being the afterlife, lend perspective. Unfortunately, their only source of people they divulge this from is the dying, the dying having lived a full and fruitful life. I, on the other hand, am a 22 year old fry cook from Jersey. I had no tidbits of wisdom that could possibly help me in this situation. Nonetheless, what I lacked in wisdom I had surplus in nerves, so I began my arguments.
“Sir,” I calmly began, “I am to understand that in order to enter this realm of the afterlife, I was to have died with weapon in hand.”
“CORRECT YOU ARE MORTAL.”
“I have reason to claim that I died with a weapon in my hand.”
“A SPATULA? A SPATULA?!?!?”
As he bellowed, clouds overcame the high ceiling court room. Rain fell upon the stone floor and the high bench of Odin and his council. It seemed evermore imposing and I nonetheless cleared my throat and drew breath deep into my chest.
“I HAVE KILLED COUNTLESS MEN WITH MY SPATULA, AND HERE IS HOW I DID IT.” I began, desperately trying to find the timbre these people seemed to speak in.
“WITH THIS SPATULA I CREATED THE INEVITABLE DEATH OF MY CUSTOMERS. MUCH LIKE THE BOW IS TO THE ARROW, MY SPATULA WAS TO THE BURGER. I BRED THEIR OBESITY EVERY DAY. THEY CAME UPON ME, THEIR HUNGER CLOUDING THEIR JUDGEMENT, AND EVERY DAY I CHIPPED AWAY AT THEIR STRENGTH.”
A murmur came from high up on the bench, whispers of interest, confusion... wonder, even.
I MADE THEM FAT- MADE THEM WEAK. I POISONED THEIR INSIDES WITH SATURATED FATS AND SALT UNTIL ONE DAY, THEY FELL: DEAD OF A HEART ATTACK. THOSE WHO DID NOT WERE SUBJECTED TO DISEASES OF THE FLESH THAT WOULD LEAD TO THEIR DEATHS. DIABETES, CHOLESTEROL, OBESITY: THE VERY POISONS WITH WHICH MY ARROWS WERE DIPPED.”
“STOOOOOOOP!” A roar of thunder rolled down from the top of the bench.
“NO!” I replied, shocking myself at my own impudence. “I HAVE KILLED MORE THAN MOST WARRIORS OF MY LAND. THE BLOOD ON MY HANDS CANNOT BE IGNORED. GIVE ME MY WARRIOR’S AFTERLIFE.”
“THEN HOW....” Odin said, considerably calmer than before, “DID YOU DIE?”
I looked up sheepishly at the advisory board and the big man himself and said, at normal volume,
“The Smashburger was being held up. I tried to bum-rush the robber and he shot me dead. It was my chance to be a hero and despite the fact that I knew it would probably kill me, I needed to prove that in some way, I was valiant enough to stand up to a bad man for the sake of good people being terrorized. My spatula was the closest thing I had to use to fight, and even if it meant having to bludgeon him into submission with a flimsy, malleable tool, it was enough for me to find the courage to stand up against the proverbial sea of troubles.”
The room fell silent. The rain cleared. Odin turned to his left and right and discussed for some considerable time and discussed the situation with his advisors.
Suddenly Odin’s voice redirected to me and proclaimed, “RETURN TO YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS AS WE DETERMINE YOUR SITUATION.”
And so I went.
That was a week ago. This morning a guard of Odin came to my temporary afterlife condo and told me tomorrow I was to enter Valhalla.
I can’t believe that worked. | 2022-04-10T19:23:46 | 2018-03-26T13:07:27 | 393 | 23 |
[WP] Your girlfriend just dumped you through a text. In a rage, you throw your old teddy bear while shouting “The Fucking Devil!”. Your teddy bear stands up and says ‘alright you got me, you got me,”.
Edited: Thanks for the gold, stranger! | "So, yeah! You can call me Lucy!" My raggedy brown plush held out its paw.
I cursed. "What the hell?!"
"Now you've got it!" Spoke Lucifer incarnate. "Now, what can you do for me?"
"Hold up, hold up. I caught you."
The bear cocked its head to the side. "Yes?"
"And you're a literal spiritual being." I pushed the narrative, seeing if I understood.
"I'm Satan, yes."
"Then why," I replied, swinging my legs off of my bed, "aren't you asking what you can do for me?"
'Lucy' chuckled. "Now now, sonny. I'm no genie. Maybe you didn't hear me, but I'm kind of the Prince of Darkness. Lord of fire and death. Ruler of literal hell? Ringing any bells? Because I'm kind of a big deal."
"If you're such a big deal, why are you a teddy bear?"
If any inanimate object could look sheepish, it was this bear. "Well, about that... God kind of banished me to the 3rd dimension until I learn some idiot lesson about morality or some of that jazz."
I flopped back onto my mattress. "Well, isn't that lovely. My life just turned into some ABC Family sitcom.
Lucy sighed. "You and me both, kid."
​
r/The_Anony_Mouse | Staring at the screen, Mike's eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.
He wound up like a major league pitcher and fast-balled his phone into the wall. Surprisingly, the phone didn't exploded into a hundred pieces.
"This case was a quality purchase," Mike said out loud to no one.
Mike couldn't help himself and looked at the text again..
"You’re an asshole. We're done," with a middle finger emoji.
His forehead tightened.
Mike shouted the F-word at least eight times back to back.
The phone launched on a second flight with it's mission again being Survive The Wall.
It did.
Mike almost bit through his lip. He started chucking anything he could find. The lamp. His Jordans. An Xbox one controller.
Finally, he put his hands on Stella. His brown teddy bear with a pink bow.
Dozens of memories with his girlfriend, Shelly, flashed through his mind.
"The Fucking Devil!" Mike shouted as Stella met the wall.
Dropping to his knees, Mike took in slow deep breaths. "This will pass. This will pass," he repeated.
"Will it?" a voice respond.
Mike jumped to his feet in fighting position and scanned the room.
No one was there.
"Down here."
Stella, the teddy bear, began getting to her feet.
Mike began another series of F-bombs. A different type of F-bomb though. A psychotic repeating the same word with no pauses.
"So you got me... you got me," Stella said with a smirk while golf clapping towards Mike.
"Got you...?"
"You called me the Fucking Devil..." Stella waited until Mikes eyes showed he understood.
"I'm a Devil. NOT The Devil. He's a relative of mine. Maybe a Great grandfather or Uncle. We Devils are not really sure." Stella explained.
Mike's legs got wobbly and he fell back into the side of his bed. It slid across the floor making a screeching noise.
Mrs. Jones, Mike's mother, shouted from the basement, "Everything alright up there?"
Before Mike could say anything, Stella whispered, "I will cut your dick off while you sleep if you tell anyone."
Mike’s eyes have never shown more white. "Doing Super, Mom!"
"You kids and your fucking sarcasm," Mrs Jones said and walked outside to do some gardening.
Stella continued, "I'm an offspring of the Devil. He spreads his seed on inanimate objects and BAM.. a devil child is born." Stella smiled wide and presented herself.
"I don't care about your evil lineage." Mike got the feeling he wanted to start throwing things again. "It was YOU who sent that group text about Shelly!"
"Of course it was me. She deserved it."
Mike grabbed his phone to read the text. "At least you ate asparagus before pissing the bed this time."
Stella's throat made the noise where you hold back a laugh. A moment later she belly laughed her ass off. "I wasn't the one getting laid! I couldn't take it anymore. I need a dry bed to sleep. Her occasional wet dreams were giving me PTSD... When's she going to piss on me next?!"
Mike shook his head slightly side to side, took a single deep breath in, and said, "I hate you."
Mike continued, "You have to make this right somehow."
Stella paused, crossed her arms, put her paw to her chin, and said, "hmmmmm."
——————
r/MagnumBurrito
Tell me I’m shit. It’s okay. You could write better with half your brain tied behind your back :)
Feedback appreciated. | 2018-11-26T13:16:14 | 2018-11-26T12:33:43 | 132 | 20 |
[WP] When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever. | Ah, the break room fire. That was almost 30 years ago. Who would have thought that weird man could actually deliver, and that my drunken joke wish would turn out the way it had.
Of course when the break room incident happened, it seemed weird, maybe my boss was just having a good day, or maybe he'd seen me panicking before I grabbed the fire extinguisher? It wasn't until 2 months later when they laid off my entire department for some BS "overseas initiative" that I started to wonder.
A few weeks into my new life of sitting in an empty wing of cubicles with nothing to do; wondering why I was still coming in, how I had slipped through the cracks, and if my new out-sourced colleagues were enjoying their new jobs, I decided to test my theory out.
I did every thing I could think of, many of which I am not proud of, I almost had to get a new identity to get hired somewhere else after the shit I pulled. But it was worth it to confirm my suspicion. It was worth it to prove that somehow a crazy guy in an alleyway and two drunk words had made me un-firable!
But, that was the beginning. When i realised what I could do with this gift, that's when my work really began. At first, I started by failing my way up, then, when I got high up enough, I found I took a sick pleasure in firing others. And now, after 30 years of hard work, it's finally happened, I've finally reached my goal.
As of January 20th, 2017, I Donald J Trump have become President of the United States!
It's gonna be great, you'll love it. | **Entry 1, Day Unknown**
I found this journal on the body of some poor sap who died here earlier. I decided that between the regular torture sessions I would catalogue just how I ended up here, Well ---
*The Journal entry abruptly closes here*
**Entry 2, Day Unknown Plus 4**
Nearly got caught with my Journal, Had to quickly hide it. Anyway, Hell sucks, but the thing is, most people here are mortal souls, and die shortly after arriving! Who knew, Souls can die. Sadly though, I am neither mortal or a soul. All because I thought I was clever.
Have to hide the Journal Now - Guards Coming.
**Entry 3, Day Unknown plus a lot**
Time is really hard to keep track of down here... Anyway, I might as well start telling just how I got into this situation.
It all started with a god damned Genie, as most good stories do. I was drunk off my ass one night and came across a random lamp in the middle of the dark alley I was puking my guts out in. After investigating it, I came across a Genie in the lamp. Last guy was a real idiot and thought the Genie only had two wishes, and for some reasons the Genies wishes don't reset until all three were used. Just my luc---
*Ash covers the bottom of the page, as if it was dropped in a hurry*
**Entry 4 Day who the Hell knows. Get it? HELL!**
Despite the endless torture, my sense of humor is as shitty as always. Anyway, back to the Genie. I had one wish, and my drunk ass decided to ask to be fireproof. I mean it's not a TERRIBLE trait but like if I was in a fire I would still probably just choke to death on the smoke in time. Little did I know that I did not get the typical type of 'Fireproofing' most people think of. It all started one day when I accidentally lit my break room on fire after I left my spork in the Microwave with my mac and cheese. I fully expected to be fired that day, but then a miracle happened! My Boss just laughed it off! I was confused and in shock for the rest of the day until later that night when it dawned on me that I was literally fire-proof, I could not be fired! And that's when I began to scheme...
Guards Coming, Will pick up Later.
**Entry 5, Why am I still counting Days**
So, Me with my new found abilities decided to do the absolutely dumbest thing anyone could possibly think to do. I decided to summon Satan and try to get hired as an immortal henchman, and what do you know it worked! He signed a contract that gave me immortality as long as the contract remained valid. All it would take is me going out, reaping souls, torturing the damned, you know, the works! See I didn't plan on doing any of this. At first I thought that I would just be immortal and could just say 'Hey Satan, You cant fire me I'm Unfireable!'. And technically it worked, for about two weeks. See but I forgot the part that this is death, lord of hell. While he couldn't fire me, He sure as hell could torture the shit out of immortal me for being an arrogant prick. And well, that's where I'm at now. I tried to quit a while ago but the contract specifically said I would be his servant for all eternity, however long that is, and so I couldn't. No unions down here either.
So that's the story of how I am eternally damned to torture because I thought I could outsmart Satan.
--------------------
This is my first attempt at doing a writing prompt and I know I have a lot to improve. If you have any suggestions please let me know, I am always trying to learn
| 2019-03-01T13:35:18 | 2019-03-01T13:18:46 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all. | "I would like to buy that necklace." I said to the woman behind the counter. She smiled at me, amused. "The one with the diamond."
"I think that one's a bit out of your price range, sweetie." She said kindly. Not an unusual reaction, but it still frustrated me. Even so the kindness on her face took the sting from her words.
"Please, I have the money. It's for... An anniversary present. To celebrate forty five years." That was true, at least.
"Oh, for your grandparents? That's so sweet of you! You know, if you keep up that attitude, a handsome young man like yourself could marry any lass he chooses." She gushed.
I knew that. I had married the lass I wanted, forty five years ago. I'd done well in the spice trade, and retired in my sixties. When Iris fell ill, her mind beginning to flee, I'd sought out an alchemist who promised he could restore her youth. Mine too. I paid him well, even provided the materials. The potions worked, perhaps a little too well. I had the body of a 14 year old, and had had it for five years. I hadn't aged a day. I realized I hadn't responded and so simply answered "thank you, ma'am."
Her smile still wide, she leaned across the counter and spoke in a low voice. "Diamonds are pretty, sure, but not pretty enough for the price." She placed something on the counter. I looked and saw a jade pendant. Iris loved green.
"I'll take it." I said, paid and then left. The interaction nettled me, but was much kinder than most. Barkeeps wouldn't serve me ale, and the last time I tried to purchase property the broker wouldn't even speak to me.
I met Iris in the town square. She looked irritated. "Any luck at the archive?" I asked.
"Turned away." She said, sadly. "Again. I just want to learn a little magic."
"I know, love." I said. She looked the same age as I. She was beautiful the day I married her, and she had aged like the finest wine. Now she was like a flower yet to bloom. Her heart was the same, though, and she could look like a troll for all I cared. It was her heart I loved. "The blacksmith sold me a few knives but wouldn't even show me the swords. I got you something." I held out the pendant.
"It's beautiful." She said, putting it on. Her smile was genuine, but would falter in a few moments, I knew.
"So I've been thinking. We can't buy magic, we can't buy weapons, we can't buy armor. The guard won't even let us out of the walls." It pained me to say the words. "But there's one thing we haven't tried for adventure."
"Oh?" She asked, surprised.
"Have you ever thought about being a rogue?" I asked. "If we can't buy, maybe we can steal."
Her eyes widened in surprise, then slowly a mischievous grin spread across her face. | "To young to work, to old to learn. You are of no use to us here." The head smith scolded him.
Another unwilling to accept his potential and allow him to train under them. He had started out with grand ambitions. To find a dojo and become the greatest swordsman, to one day become the personal guard of the Shogun and to be lifted up to the position of Daimyo. But slowly those ambitions had crumbled.
He had indeed found a dojo and trained there for nearly a decade before it was burned down. He had found some success while there, he became adept at reading the movements of others and could defeat almost anyone in a Kendo match. But the day the dojo was attacked he learned a harsh reality, that his eternal youth also made him eternally weak. He could easily be overpowered in a real fight due to his size. Speed and skill would only take him so far in a true battle.
He had escaped his captors and fled into the wilderness and trained for nearly another 10 years, making gains in speed, stamina, and strength but he knew it wasn't enough. He knew his dream of being a samurai would never come to pass. And so he moved on.
But times had changed while he was in the wilderness. The country was mostly at peace with court intrigue and plots taking over for massed battles. With the stability came a flourishing of business and trade. And so he set a new ambition. To master trades, gather wealth, and rise to power through money instead of martial skill.
But times were different, unlike the dojos of the past, master craftsmen wouldn't take just anyone off the street. You needed a family name behind you to start young in the trade when you would be more of a burden then a worker. He grew annoyed, then bitter, then resentful.
And so he traveled from town to town. Where once he had learned to live off the land now he learned to live off those around him in the urban centers. He learned how to lift a purse from a passing merchant. How to enter a well guarded house and take what he wanted from those who refused to give. He learned to melt into a crowd with such subtle ease that it was almost like he could disappear from plain sight.
He had applied to join the smithing guild run by the Fujibayashi clan, but as expected had been turned away. He told himself that didn't bother him like it used to. The application was just a habit and a tool as much as it was an honest attempt to learn a craft. Though deep down he knew this was a lie. He desperately wanted to be trained in something. Anything. Even if it didn't bring him glory or honor or fame, just knowing that he had learned and master a craft was all he needed. But if they wouldn't help him further his dreams then he would steal theirs.
He had been able to inspect the workshop, storehouse, and domiciles during the application and was prepared for that night. He knew where they kept their gold and silver and completed works, and he had learned over the years what pieces were worth taking and what could be left behind.
And so he waited for the night to being for the light of day to fade and the darkness to embrace him. Then he waited longer until the moon rose and started to fall, for the time of night that he knew would lead to the guards being drowsy and to lack the alertness to catch him.
His experience told him it was time. He had done this a dozen or maybe even a hundred times by now. He made a final check on his equipment. Rope, lockpick, straight blade, pepper and meat for the dogs, and a small flask of oil and a flint. Then he was off, swift and silent as a midnight wind he moved from shadow to shadow. Past dozing guards and up over walls. Along rooftops and finally through a window down into the store room. He quickly set about filling his bag with only the finest pieces.
When his bag was full he began to spread the oil. If his dreams would be ash so would the dreams of those who refused him. Just as he was about to strike the flint and set the blaze something he hadn't imagined happened. He felt cold steel at his neck and a whisper in his ear.
"I would prefer you didn't. Our clan needs the tools in this warehouse to perform our duty to the Shogun." The voice was low but familiar. The head smith Nagato, moved around in front of him while keeping the blade pressed to his throat. But he was no longer garbed as a smith, instead he wore something strange. A dark blue silken garb the color of the midnight sky on a moonless night cover him from head to toe. A black leather sheath for the long straight blade he held. The smith looked almost like a piece of shadow had broken loose from the darkness and carried himself with a quiet lethality that wasn't there during the day.
"You asked before if you could be trained as a smith and I rejected you. I felt your talents would be wasted there. I have been watching you for some time and have seen the progress you have made. Without training, you have become quiet as a whisper. But if you wish to become one of us we can make you silent as the shadow of death....." | 2019-06-07T09:55:24 | 2019-06-07T08:17:04 | 119 | 83 |
[WP] As the Empire descends upon Earth despite the Federation's best efforts, the Galactic Council watches in horror; their invasion force will soon be wiped out, and when they are, the most violent species in the galaxy will have access to space age technology. | “I dont understand, their leaders surrendered three cycles ago, how are they still fighting?” - Said K
“They seem to be completely disconnected from their leaders sir, a rogue groups consisting of former soldiers, poorly trained civilians and a small number of tacticians” - S responded quickly
“Then how do the manage to defeat our best soldiers? How do they even communicate? Our studies showed little to no ability of mental communication, they are glorified animals!” - K shouted
“They learned from their mistakes of engaging our troops in an open battle and now adapted another strategy of hiding and striking our weak points. We dont know how they communicate sir” - S responded nervously
“We also found a primitive data storage disk on the body of a formerly missing peacekeeper, the body was stripped of almost all gear sir” - S added
“What was on it?” - K asked
“A video sir, a very disturbing video, but i think you should watch it sir.” - S responded
*a video starts playing on a small wall mounted screen, it shows humans wielding what appears to be modified plasma rifles testing them on living alien targets, frame shifts to a dissected alien body on a table with a sheet of paper saying “you’re next” near it*
“I think we have a problem” - K said before vomiting
——————————
I am kinda new to this, would love some feedback! | Tenor remembered being in the Council meeting chamber as they all watched their fleet crash into the Earth’s surface. Everyone was horrified. The council had failed to eliminate the human threat before they could expand and only succeeded in handing over the keys to the galaxy. It was the only time in his life that Tenor can remember feeling true, gut wrenching fear.
Against all of the sickening feelings he felt that day, today, Tenor felt peaceful. He could see the truth now.
After the invasion failed to eradicate Humanity, the galaxy scrambled to prepare themselves. Systems generated massive fleets that surrounded their borders. Trade routes were redrawn to avoid the local cluster around Sol and any transmissions that crossed that cluster would be redirected as to not give the Humans any idea of the locations of their worlds. Entire civilizations suddenly cowered in fear.
Tenor would laugh at how he felt back then. He too escaped to his home world in panic. He ended up using the money he saved from his intern work for the Senator of his planet to buy himself and his family a home. If the Humans truly were coming, he was going to live out his life where he belonged.
Decades passed, yet no Human fleet came to destroy them. The council watched the Humans diligently but never saw them preparing for war. The Humans created more colony ships than they ever did war vessels. More and more the Humans expanded their colonies, but they never came close to what the council expected.
Human history was ripe with conquering and genocide, yet something had changed in them. Something had made the Humans change who they were.
As the council began to finally calm themselves over the Humanity situation, they finally came to a conclusion on what to do with Humanity. The council was set to vote on their solution for the Humans.
Tenor was now much older and wiser than he was when the Human conflict happened. He studied the Humans closely and watched them grow. Today, as Senator for his homeworld, he was to present his findings of Humanity and be the deciding vote on whether to welcome Humanity or to continue to hide from them.
As he stood in front of the council, Tenor remember that dreadful day of defeat. He could practically still hear the chaotic cries of the council members as they watched the final cruiser explode under human artillery strikes. But now, he felt at peace.
“I came today to present all I know about Humanity. Though important, I will leave you to read the extreme details on your own. I have only one note to cover. Attacking Humanity was wrong. Attacking them was cruel. Attacking them was fueled by fear. Humanity was never the existential threat we feared them to be. Humanity was just lost. When the council discovered humanity, they had only just learned to connect their home world electronic systems to their colony systems only one planet away. They were infantile compared to us. We essentially took actions of children as those of adults.”
“You see, when we lost the invasion, Humanity felt the greatest victory they had ever felt. They defended their lineage of millions of years from the largest threat ever posed to them. They fought their Great Filter. Humanity showed their perseverance. And they immediately set to explore the stars. In every colony humanity has founded since their war with us, they have only studied and preserved whatever life they found among the stars. Using their overwhelming strength to overcome any obstacle, they have thrived. Humanity has become protectors.”
“We must show Humanity our great mourning for past crimes. We must how them how we regret what we had done. And we must show them how we respect who they are. If we welcome Humanity into the Greater Galaxy, they may one day be OUR greatest protectors.” | 2019-10-01T23:45:56 | 2019-10-01T20:29:31 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] As the Empire descends upon Earth despite the Federation's best efforts, the Galactic Council watches in horror; their invasion force will soon be wiped out, and when they are, the most violent species in the galaxy will have access to space age technology. | “I dont understand, their leaders surrendered three cycles ago, how are they still fighting?” - Said K
“They seem to be completely disconnected from their leaders sir, a rogue groups consisting of former soldiers, poorly trained civilians and a small number of tacticians” - S responded quickly
“Then how do the manage to defeat our best soldiers? How do they even communicate? Our studies showed little to no ability of mental communication, they are glorified animals!” - K shouted
“They learned from their mistakes of engaging our troops in an open battle and now adapted another strategy of hiding and striking our weak points. We dont know how they communicate sir” - S responded nervously
“We also found a primitive data storage disk on the body of a formerly missing peacekeeper, the body was stripped of almost all gear sir” - S added
“What was on it?” - K asked
“A video sir, a very disturbing video, but i think you should watch it sir.” - S responded
*a video starts playing on a small wall mounted screen, it shows humans wielding what appears to be modified plasma rifles testing them on living alien targets, frame shifts to a dissected alien body on a table with a sheet of paper saying “you’re next” near it*
“I think we have a problem” - K said before vomiting
——————————
I am kinda new to this, would love some feedback! | Lance Corporal Chris Ghandaal, United States Space Force - Fort Benning, Georgia USA
JAN 21, 2020
Are you fucking kidding me? I enlisted for tuition assistance bro.. “
“I know dude, but I think they’re really gonna shoot it down.”
“They can’t just shoot a flying object out of the sky because they think it might possibly could be aliens... it’s not aliens anyways. There’s no way aliens just sent a craft into our upper atmosphere and are just... just ... just here now... bro it’s probably the Russians or China, or maybe our own. It’s not fucking aliens bro..”
“I don’t know Ghandaal, I just looked at reddit and there’s videos of the fucking thing and it looks pretty alien to me. Here look at this shit dude”
“Holy fuck that’s... “
*ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO MUSTER LOCATIONS
ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO MUSTER LOCATIONS
ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO MUSTER LOCATIONS*
I stood there in formation like I always did. Like I always fucking did except this was different. No one talked. No one smoked a cigarette, no one had a monster in the pocket of their trousers. No one made a joke, no one smiled, no one laughed, and no one cried. We stood there, responding quickly and loudly when our names were called by our platoon sergeant
Hansen..
HERE
Holman..
HERE
Huaser..
Huaser!!!....
HERE, sorry SARGEANT
...Gander..
HERE SARGEANT
Gerheart..
HERE
Ghandaal...
HERE.
I heard my own voice. Like it came from someone else. I know it was me because I felt the muscles in my face move, but it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like a shitty recording of me on a YouTube video Jensen would be playing in his rack at 0200. Like I was half asleep listening to him watch a video I could barely hear, but was still annoyed by.
“All present Staff Sargeant”
“Thank you Sargeant, release the platoon to chow, and have them in full battle rattle at the shop in 45 mikes”
“You heard the Staff Sargeant gents, move!”
I didn’t go to chow. It was 1930 and I ate already and I wouldn’t be hungry anyway. I packed my bag quickly and efficiently like we were taught in boot camp. I threw my pack over my shoulder and was about to lock my barracks door when Johnson yelled to my from a couple doors down
“Ghandaal!! Yo grab that carton of smokes you bought yesterday, don’t know how long we’re gonna be fighting the aliens for”
This was the first time I had laughed in an hour and a half. Fucking Johnson...
“Ok, Johnson... I’ll make sure I have my smokes so you can have one while we’re fighting the aliens!”
I yelled back
I went back inside grabbed the carton off of my wall locker, and stepped out side again. I locked my door and took 6 steps on the catwalk when I saw it.
I saw the fucking ship with my own eyes. I saw it descent into view and then I saw it disappear in a mass of white light. I don’t remember hearing anything, I just remeber a flash, and then seeing what looked like fire works in an old movie from a hundred years ago in black and white... | 2019-10-01T23:45:56 | 2019-10-01T20:00:13 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] A billionaire hands you a unique and intricate coin. "In an hour," he says, "I will tell the world what I have given you. In a week, I will leave my inheritance to whoever returns it to me. I will not accept it before then." | "Why do you want me dead," I ask.
"I didn't say I wanted you dead. This is a challenge; one worthy of someone like you," says the billionaire.
"What if I don't accept the coin? What if I decline the challenge?"
"Oh, you wouldn't want to do that. Either way, you'd end up with nothing," answers the eccentric billionaire.
I accept the coin. I take it home and take a blowtorch to it and make some "modifications" to the albatross that is in my possession.
They come for me, for the coin. They do not find it. They tear up my home and obliterate everything I have, except for a handful of items that they do not seem to care about. I let them.
The week passes and I return to the billionaire.
We meet and shake hands and then embrace.
After that, I step back and raise my left hand to show him the curious looking bullet I am holding.
"What is that," asks the billionaire.
"This is your coin, Father," I say as I load it into the pistol in my other hand.
"I have come for my inheritance." | "An hour?"
"Yes, an hour."
"...shit."
I ran home and quickly drafted an email to my boss, telling him I was taking the next week off. I then wrote a quick note to the wife, telling her to go to my parent's place and stay out of sight. If anyone asked, I'd disappeared, and I'd left my cell phone with her so I couldn't be contacted.
Next, I used the credit card and the web browser on my computer to buy a plane ticket to Mexico City leaving in 8 hours, and looked up various routes through Central America down through Brazil. I left the web browser up and my computer unlocked, then I grabbed my "get the fuck out of dodge" bag and started walking to the ATM about a mile away from home. I withdrew $500 in cash, and then started walking in to town. I knew there were abandoned buildings there that I could hunker down in for at least a day or two, but there was more to be done to keep my location a secret first.
I stopped in a parking lot for a few moments and looked longingly at my phone for a moment, before doing the factory reset. With that done, I duct-taped it to the underside of a large truck. Anyone looking to find me by my phone would have fun tracking this guy down, his license plate was from three states away - assuming the battery lasted.
I walked through town, keeping my the hood of my jacket up and my head low. With luck, news of what was happening wouldn't have spread too much yet. I knew eventually someone would find the video of me withdrawing money from the ATM, and could probably trace me through security cameras to whatever general location I was headed, but that would take time.
Next stop would be a second-hand store. In and out with a few sets of clothes and a new jacket. The bag was generic enough I wasn't terribly worried about it being recognized, it was a huge hit on Amazon for a reason, after all, and I had enough weight in there I wasn't about to trade it out for something less durable.
I spent the night in an abandoned building, huddled up against one of the interior walls, lightly dozing and jumping at every sound. It was a cold, miserable time, but I had enough emergency food in my bag to make it though without exposing myself to the outside world.
That was my existence for the next three days, before my food and water ran out.
Finally, on the fourth day, starved of company and desperate for some kind of distraction, I emerged from the crumbling house at dawn and shuffled down to a 7/11, trying for all I was worth to look like a homeless man. On the walk there I took one of the $20s from the ATM And smashed it up continuously, then stuffed the abused bill in my front pocket. I bought a breakfast burrito, a cup of coffee, and a newspaper, and shambled back to my hobo-hole to read the latest happenings in the world. The news of "The Hunt" was still on the front page, and the address of the billionaire was still in print. Perfect.
I changed clothes to my first set of spares, then began the 20 mile walk to the train station. Thankfully I could still buy a ticket with cash there. | 2019-10-17T19:30:22 | 2019-10-17T19:11:02 | 85 | 56 |
[WP] You are an immortal searching the ends of the earth. Not for "a cure for your curse", but for a chef talented enough to make a 1,000 year old recipe like mom used to make. | The chef peered at the faded recipe. She looked so much like my mom: Exact same hair in the exact same bun, exact same never-quite-eats-enough sort of thin frame, exact same wrinkles, even. "Lessee...Sheep intestines? We don't normally have that, but hey, this is Scotland. James, run down to the butcher and ask him if he has any."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The boy left, looking like he was trying not to cry. I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn't thought to give the chef the translated version, but she seemed to read it fluently anyway.
"I remember my son used to love this stuff. Was never sure why. We kinda had to make do with whatever we had on hand. But that was ages ago."
Now I peered more closely at her. So that was why she looked so familiar...
"Mom?" | "When you happen to be thousands of years old, you tend not to bother about the little things the normal people would bother about. Your personality blends into one, your memories indistinguishable from one another, so what you do is enjoy yourself. Why not? Well, that's what I've been for the last 300 years, a Hedonist, pure and simple. And I mean that in the *original* meaning of the word.
"I've been wandering awhile, seeing how the world has changed in the last century. It's honestly not as different as people say. In the cities, it's all the same as it was years ago. The same buildings, although in a different shape and style. The same, old, boring people going about their daily lives in their jobs. No, it's how people talk to one another that really changes. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep up-to-date with modern language? You have no idea how absolutely fast things change while you're in it, but when you're stuck using words from centuries ago, you tend to notice these things.
"But it's all this that adds up to my largest problem now. You see, I've been searching recently, for something very important to me, something that holds many memories. And well, when you've been through almost thirty language cycles and no-one speaks the language you *think* in, *you* try to describe your favourite childhood dish and the ingredients used when you honestly have no idea what plant it is *now* or how to describe how your mother prepared it. Nor do I know *where* it was that I grew up. People change the maps so often, that I can only say that it was a lush green place in between great twisting mountains covered in tawny foliage.
"The closest I've found so far is an 1000 year old recipe from the highlands of Scotland, yet still my mother's recipe had... *something* more. I've tried cooking it myself, but I suspect that I am... not the greatest of cooks.
"...what? I'm 3208 years old and I'm expected to know how to cook? It's not *my* fault that I **don't need to eat**. I spend my days indulging myself in whatever activity I want. When only kings and queens had any food that was worth eating you wouldn't think cooking was a fun activity either.
"Well, that's why I've come here anyway. I'm here to request your help in recreating a key part of my childhood. I'd like you to cook me my most favourite dish."
The man sitting in front of me, at the counter and leaning backwards as though I might attack him, only stared back at me in response.
"...well?"
"Aye, right mate. Why don't ye try ol' Jimmy's doon the road. Yer no getting anythin' fae me, ya nutter."
Well, I suppose that's fair. I straighten my pinstripe jacket and saunter out of his shop, with a smile on my face. No point in feeling sad, after all. I've got all the time in the world to find myself my recipe. | 2019-11-07T17:13:59 | 2019-11-07T13:53:37 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You’re visiting a new country when a stray cat brushes against your legs. When you go down to pet it, it climbs up on your shoulder and perches itself. A random bystander, amazed, says, “You... You’ve been chosen.” | "What?"
"He's been chosen!" shouts the shopkeeper. "It finally chose someone!"
All along the alley, merchants pour from their stalls, disregarding their customers and rushing to converge around me and my newfound friend. I steal a glance at the cat. *What have you gotten me into?* It stares back with green eyes.
"Will someone explain to me what in the world is going on?"
No one answers. The group of silk dealers and spice vendors appear to be congratulating each other, exchanging high-fives and warm embraces.
*Does that guy have a tear running down his cheek?* "Yo! I asked a question."
"Oh, my friend, it is the day of liberation!"
"The day of liberation?"
"From that menace!" The merchant points a finger at the cat. "For years she's stalked our markets, stealing our grains, pestering the tourists. We have tried everything. Everything! My nephew, Nico, walked three towns over with that beast in a cage, only for it to return the next morning. A plague, I tell you. She's not a normal animal, she provokes for the sake of enjoyment. It's sick." His face lights up. "But we are finally free!"
"Come again?" I grab the cat from my shoulder and toss it to the ground. "I don't think so."
In less than a second, the feline is back resting against my neck.
"Marcel! Josia! Shut down the alley, prepare the bonfire! Tonight, we celebrate!" | “I beg your pardon?”
The man looks back at me, amazed, as if I’d suddenly grown a third eye. “You don’t understand... I didn’t think I’d hear of this in my lifetime, but to witness the actual event unfold; I might just have a spot next to your name in the legends. Come, we must make haste,” he says, and proceeds to pull my arm with vigor.
Yanking my arm back, I stop the man dead in his tracks. “Watch yourself, bub,” I snapped. This guy wasn’t going to get a free pass to mug me- I’d just landed here in Sri Lanka, and I’ve read too many articles about these kinds of encounters before coming. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Cats just naturally love me, it’s not some ancient magic voodoo.”
“Not at the moment, no. But his owner will find him, and when she does, you’ll want to be on the correct side of his favor. This union has been told in fables since the beginning of our history- would you like to see?”
“No,” I returned. This guy is clearly insane! Trusting him would almost certainly get me killed. I don’t have time to die when the wonders of ancient history are scheduled for today, and I’ve already booked the tickets. I feel the cat stop pawing at my shirt, and gracefully hop off of my shoulder and walks off.
“You’ve been warned. But this won’t be the last time you see that cat- it will be your destiny, or your demise.”
The stranger walks off into the alley, leaving me bewildered at the insanity I was just a part of. Some ancient cat voodoo poppycock? I was beginning to understand why the woman that had donated their ticket to me had a last second change of heart.
Since the first destination is relatively close to where I am, I decide to walk through the city streets to appreciate the culture and liveliness of the island. Along the way, I stop for a few local delicacies, and a souvenir flag of the nation to bring home and add to my collection. As I walk through the streets, admiring the organized chaos that these folks live and breathe every day, I notice a familiar tail waving through the crowd towards Sigiriya rock.
As I curiously follow, I feel a chill among my spine, and a gust of coldness from behind me. Turning around, the fellow from before stands, beaming a smile marred with malice. “I knew you’d come,” he said. “It was your destiny. Now take this, and use them when the time is right. The cat will guide you- you need only nuzzle it, and it shall guide the path before you.” The man hands me a pair of glasses, and walks off. The glasses are a very simple circular frame, with thick, ruby red lenses. It’s almost something that you’d see John Lennon wear, which adds to the idea that the man is clearly not mentally well. Amazed at the fanfare of it all, and after brushing off the encounter, I move towards the stone steps.
The cat pounces off of the bannister, and reclaims its perched position on top of my shoulder. As I walk further up the stairs, suddenly, you can feel the foundation this rock sits on start to tremble. Looking over at the massive stone paws at the entrance to lion rock, I witness the stone moving, alive, as it pulls the earth beneath it up and down with ease. As I stand trembling with the motion of the earth- a damning realization comes to mind...
The cat is pawing at your shirt with the same paw. | 2019-12-07T12:31:12 | 2019-12-07T09:27:18 | 92 | 30 |
[WP] Right when you become 18, you have to get a familiar. Even when you reached that age, you didn't get one, so you've been expecting none. So it's a bit of a surprise when Cthulhu suddenly appears and claims that you're their familiar.
[ Removed by reddit in response to a copyright notice. ] | In a fitful sleep, dreaming of colours and shapes beyond knowing. Here I lie, in a vault of green.
Here I have been for immeasurable eons, though time is of no consequence to me.
But in strange eons, well... something unexpected might even happen to a Great Old One.
In the oppressive silence of the vault, without even an echo, the faintest click of a lock pieces my dreams.
And for the first time in countless millennia, I open an eye.
There is a Call.
It is faint, but I feel it nonetheless.
I rise, up and out of the vault, up through the bowels of the city. I find myself standing, looking out over the ocean.
It is far, but the Call is getting stronger.
I sink beneath the waves, and propel myself alone the ocean floor.
The Call reaches its peak, and starts to fade. I must go faster.
I soon reach the edges of a strange land, they were not in this configuration when I fell asleep.
Unconcerned, I dive into the earth itself. Pushing deep underground.
The Call is almost gone, I feel its moments flicker.
There! Above!
I reach up, and a hand erupts from the ground.
Pull myself up I look down at the tiny being who made the Call.
"You are Coel."
***
Thank you for reading. I thought I would tell my side of the story. (and thanks to u/ecstaticandinsatiate for the inspiration) | Whoops. Thats what I said when I drove myself off the road. I was in the field for a few minutes before I feel it. The power of a god. "You... You shall be my familiar."
"I don't think you've got the right person." I say. Or I think i say it. Staring at thing being in front of me i'm not sure of what has and hasn't happened. It "speaks" to me. The voice of it it rattling the inside of my brain. "I own you now. I have always owned you." I can barely disagree. With every word tearing my mind asunder I struggle to even remain me. I look him in what I can only describe as the face of a god. I wondered how many more of them were out there. Cruel master of the universe. I feel the light from my mind fading until the picture of my little sister flashes across my eyes and i whimper out what would be my salvation.
"If I am..." I stuttered. I realized i had been laying on the ground and struggled to my feet. "I am your familiar... I can't battle for you in this state." I realized I had been bleeding. From my ears, eyes, noes and mouth. The great ancient monster paused. I could feel his thoughts coil across my skin like a python trying to crush me under its weight. Then he opened his maw and spoke.
"What is this battling, mortal?"
I took a breathe to explain that familiars are used to fight each other. You go to gyms to battle gym leaders and collect badges. The first person to obtain 10,000 badges will granted on wish from god. Like a fool I believed I could volunteer this information but, my master only knows of taking. With but a fraction of his power my thoughts became his. He knew every aspect of me in the time between seconds. My fears, my dreams, and my shame were his now to do with as he pleased.
"You shall bring my message to the world. You shall crush those who will stand before me. You are my herald and I gift you with this." I felt a bile rise from my stomach. I vomited on the cold ground before me. Between the heaving and blood covered eyes I saw something moving in my puke. "A piece of me." I thought. Then I realized that wasn't my thought at all. A tiny figure stood up and faced me. It had the voice of my master.
"Rise"
I woke up in a hospital bed. I had been in a coma for two days. My parents came into the room with my little sister. We all hugged each other like it had been years since we had spoken. "We thought you had died." Janet said tears flowing freely from her face. I smiled and stroked her head. I petted her familiar Sparky. He nuzzled me with little nose. "I'm just happy to be awake." I said. I had started to cry myself. I had just been a bad dream. "And not only that but look what found you." My father pointed at the window sill in the hospital. There perched up was a tiny humanoid with an octopus for a head. It screeched at me in a language I knew only I could understand. "Its my familiar." I said laughing and crying. My family was so proud but, I knew the truth. I was the slave to a mad god who would bring about the end of the world. "Whoops." I said falling back into my bed letting the void of dreams take me. I knew i wasn't safe there but it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. Because nothing was safe anymore. | 2020-02-06T13:05:04 | 2020-02-06T11:07:21 | 143 | 27 |
[WP] A man who hears voices in his head, but they don't degrade his life. He can live with it and sometimes they even help. | [A bit dark maybe.]
The silence. It was deafening.
“Where are you? Talk to me, please. Please I beg of you. I need to talk to someone.”
But the voices stayed quiet.
“Please... I’ll go crazy.”
Nothing.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
He left his house at 11 pm, carefully avoiding other people.
He had grown up with the voices. When he had told other people, they had laughed at him. Called him crazy. Even his parents, who were supposed to protect him, started to look at him with fear and concern.
He had always had that black mark. As people started ignoring him, he went into a shell of his own. The voices never laughed at him. The voices never ignored him. He didn’t need anyone else.
But now... now they were gone.
He melted into the darkness like a candle finally that has finally run out. He was invisible. No one could see him. If anyone did, they ignored him. That was his greatest advantage.
He stalked his prey. He wondered how he should approach. He ran his hand over there edge of his knife, relishing the pain. Pain was real. It made him feel real.
*Easy there. Don’t cut yourself. You don’t want to leave a blood trail.*
He almost cried with relief. “You’re back.”
*I am. I’m always with you Jack. You just need to pay the toll.*
“There has to be another way. I don’t want to do this.”
Silence.
Anything but silence.
“Fine. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
*Jack. You know what you need to do. They deserve it. They are filth. The scourge of the world. They are spreading evil. You were sent to cleanse this world. We start with Whitechapel. But you’re meant for great things.*
“Fine. I’ll do what you say. Just... just please done leave me again.”
He went to the woman.
“Will you?”
Inside he hoped she would say no. He hoped she wasn’t one of them.
“Yes.”
A simple word. And yet, it had sealed her fate.
A few minutes later as he plunged his knife deep into her throat, he felt alive.
*More. I need more blood.*
He stuck the knife deep into her belly relishing the resistance.
He could smell the blood, feel it. But most importantly, he could hear the voices. He was not alone. And what was what mattered. | It was hard explaining the voices at the best of times and I wish I didn’t have to, but she was going to be my wife. I had to try. Everyone, well not everyone I guess, but some people have their own inner monologue. Not me. I have five. By that I mean, I have five voices in my head that can speak to me. Insane right? That’s what everyone thought. Many psychiatric visits, therapists, doctors appointments even seances and hypnosis sessions later, nothing has changed.
I’ve never complained about them, they are just a part of me. Most of the time the different points of view come in helpful. Alright. That’s the start, what do you guys think?
“That’s up top dude,” said Fred (Well I named him Fred). Fred was a cool guy, he knew how to act suave and awesome.
“Omg. You should be perfectly fine. Like she’s gonna love you for being soooo open.” That’s Brittany. “Bitch.” Yes yes, Brittany, bitch. She’s the looks and the glam of the posse. She helps me get dressed and you know look good.
“Hell yea man. Sounds like a good plan,” said Brick. Brick helped me stay active. Keep in shape, good diets, exercise, best methods. The important things.
“By my calculations, there is a 99% chance of Georgia sticking with you,” said Amy. Amy was the brainiac, pulling off insane calculations and helping me find the right words at the right time.
The fifth voice was of course my own. Now, everyone had their part to play and sometimes I’d let them “control” the mouth. While they never really controlled it, I’d utter their words to myself. So far Georgia hadn’t caught me, but I don’t expect my luck to last.
It was time...
“Hey Georgia, can we talk about something?” I called across the house.
“Sure Leon. Give me a minute.” I sat and waited on the couch. My palms were growing sweatier and sweatier by the second. After what felt like an eternity (in reality it was exactly 45.73 seconds, thanks Amy). She sat opposite me. Her brow furrowed with concern. She grabbed my hands and held them.
“What’s up?” She stared into my eyes. Her gorgeous blue eyes reflected beautifully in the light. I froze. I couldn’t risk this.
“Omg. Like not again. Georgy, your eyes are soooo beautiful and you are looking totes fierce today, but like Leon wanted to say he has multiple voices in his head.” I can’t really explain the look on Georgia’s face, let alone my own. She pulled her hands out of mine as my eyes widened to the size of saucers as the reality of what I’d done set it. “That wasn’t the plan. Crap crap crap.” I thought to myself.
“Just run with it duuude,” Fred said.
“Suup, I’m Fred. You just spoke to Brittany, Bitch.” I took her hand back. “So what Leon is saying is that since he can remember, instead of only one voice in his mind there are five of us. Himself and four others. It’s kinda rad.”
“According to our extensive research on the topic, no other known cases have been exhibited around the globe. Sorry, I’m Amy. Nice to meet you!”
“And I’m Brick. I just help keep Leon’s body in check make sure he is at his peak.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to take in. It’s just, well.” I pulled a box out of my back pocket and knelt down on one knee. “I love you with all my being Georgia and I wanted everything about myself out on the table.” I flicked open the box. “Georgia. Will you marry me?”
She gasped. “Of course Leon. A million times yes. And you Brick, Fred, Amy and Brittany Bitch.” She grasped her arms around me.
“You remembered their names?” I said a tear rolling down my cheek.
“Of course. I’m still deciding if I believe it, but I wouldn’t miss out on the adventure of spending my life with you for anything. I love you Leon.”
We both laughed as she put on her ring, the sapphire sparkling almost as gorgeously as her eyes on it’s silver band. We lent in for a kiss.
“Niiice.”
“Omg I ship it.”
“Critical success! Critical success!”
“Well done man. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks guys. For all the support through life. You really saved me here,” I said back to them. | 2020-06-13T11:57:41 | 2020-06-13T11:51:15 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | "Ah geez, it's really dry here." He said as he stood up from his long slumber. He began to survey the place that was cold and hot at the same time. His ears began to hear the screams of terror and anguish.
"Wha... what is this place?" He asked himself nervously.
He began to recollect his last memories before he awoke in this awful place.
"How did I get here? Let's see, I was driving in his new boat with him and I crashed into the lag--- OH MY DRIED CRAB LEGS! I'M DEAD! AND I'M IN HELL!"
"Yes you are..." a voice said from a dark corner of hell. "and welcome to the parteee."
The man had a voice that reminded him of a butler.
"Who... who are you?" He asked the suspicious man.
"I am the devil." He declared.
"OH no... I know why I'm here, it's because I STOLE A BALLOON ON FREE BALLOON DAY ISN'T IT! I'M SO SORRY! PLEASE MR. DEVIL I DO NOT WANT TO BE HERE!"
The devil had been around for a very long, but even he could not resist a chuckle.
"No my dear boy, you deserve a high place in heaven, but I need you to do me a favor first. A permanent resident needs a little, well, adjusting to his new life style."
"He... he does?" He asked, wiping his long nose and big eyes.
"Yes, why don't you go comfort him... he was the man riding in the boat with you before you crashed. Poor fool only pouts, I think he would love to see you."
Surprised, he looked around wondering where his friend was.
"He's over there, young man."
He ran enthusiasticly over to the pouting man with a hanging nose. He tapped the man over his shoulder and said, "Hiiiiiiiiii Squidward." | It was a living room. It was on fire but it was most definitely a living room. I had seen living rooms before so that was a sure thing, but how I got here I wasn't sure. Pete and Eduardo were arguing on the hot line and Don was hitting on the new waitress.
It was hot in here but it wasn't actually that bad. It wasn't a summer Saturday broiler station hot but you knew the heat was on. Speaking of here.... how did I get here?
The new waitress, Dana, Edna? Something. Wasn't her boyfriend at the bar? Except he caught Don grabbing a feel on his lady. Yes, that escalated quickly.
I remember him grabbing a boning knife and then I tried to stop him and then.... blood, so much blood, fading screams, and now this living room. On fire. Alone. With a pretty nice couch.
The fire appears to barely bother me. Weird but I won't look this gift horse in the mouth. The living room is decorated with lots of leather and gilding with flame and fire being the general theme. The leather furniture is soft and pink. And as the thing missing from this living room is a door or windows I pick asv easy chair and settle in. A drawer on the side table slides open and a selection of fine cigars, blunts and buds reveals itself. A remote refuses to fall in the seat cushion and presents itself.
"What the fuck? " I finally have something to say but don't really know where to go from there. I notice an ice cream service in the corner. On fire.
I love ice cream. Even on fire. It was cinnamon tasting and blood red and the best ice cream I have ever eaten. The whipped cream. The whipped cream.... I was in heaven. But it was on fire.
"What the fuck?" I asked again.
" I heard you the first time," the demon on the stairs said " I was just waiting for you to finish your ice cream so I could offer you a cocktail. "
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" I screamed. There were no doors but I missed a stairwell?
"How do you make a what the fuck? I thought we knew all the drinks down here, we have every printing of Old Mr. Boston's recipe book in satan's library and I'm sure it's nowhere to be found in there. Here. Take this." The demon hands me a Mai Tai. Nice ripe pineapple and a little leather umbrella, classy.
The phrase satan's library brings my attention back after a sip of, wait... three sips of the best cocktail I've ever had. "What do you mean satan's library exactly? Because this sure feels like heaven except for all the fire and you. "
"Union rules dictate that the operations of hell are too mundane for demons and too important for the devious damned so that leaves the blessed. You lived a kind life and sacrificed for others even until the end. This is your reward. "
"Wut?"
"Your reward," the demon repeated. "All you wish is here, the big wall is operated by the unloseable remote. It can open a door to anywhere. You can ask for anything. It will be brought. All we need is one thing from you."
Here was the catch. "What, my soul? My first born? "
"First born? You're dead. You were a cook for twenty years. You have no first born. It's the heat. We need you to check the thermostat. Once a day for a year."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Why me? "
The demon laughed. He laughed for a while. "Because it is already hot as hell in the kitchens so we always ask for a cook. You guys actually turn the thermostat up."
Come to think of it. I was feeling a little chilly. | 2020-07-10T11:34:14 | 2020-07-10T11:14:50 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] An powerful ancient evil entity has risen from the ocean after 10,000 years of slumber, but modern values and morals have changed so much that he actually seems like a hero.
[deleted] | As I begin my ascension to the surface, I chuckle to myself thinking of all the chaos I will bring unto this poor unsuspecting world. Fire! Floods! Disease and famine! How I've missed this, the feeling of anticipation before destruction. My excitement only builds as I reach the surface.
I burst through the water with a earth shattering scream, one that will surely bring these tiny creatures to their knees! My entrance was perfect, like a volcano destroying everything surrounding it!
... What is in this water????
Is this... TRASH? Ugh, that is disgusting. These creatures need to clean up after themselves. Maybe I can clean up a bit while I'm here. NO. No. You're here to cause pain and suffering, not to tidy!
But the land is already poisoned, a powerful disease spreading, parts of the world are on fire, they are at each others throats threatening war... Someone has beaten me to it! They shall know my wrath!
I refuse to be outdone, I must find the source of chaos and bring it down!
I'm going to have to solve this and restore balance, then come back in another century and rip it all down!!
Thus started the campaign of Erebus, god of darkness. Vote Erebus 2020! | “And now we go to Tracy Feldman, who’s live with Xelephor the Awoken God down at the sunny marina.” Rob Fisher, anchorman extraordinaire, tapped his papers against the desk and nodded to the camera.
“Thank you, Rob!” said Tracy after a moment’s delay. “Today I have the pleasure of interviewing Xelephor the Awoken God, who has recently returned from his 10,000 year slumber to wreak chaos on mankind. Xelephor, how are you today?” Tracy pointed her mic at the half-crab, half-man.
“I’m doing quite well, Tracy, thank you,” said Xelephor quietly. He seemed to waver between looking at Tracy, the camera, and the mic.
“Now, Xelephor, when you say you are here to ‘wreak chaos,’ what exactly are you referring to?” Tracy used her reporter-asking-a-question look: furrowed brows, pursed lips, head tilted at a 35 degree angle.
“Um, you know, just the usual stuff,” said Xelephor, rubbing the back of his crab head with a human hand. “Negatively impact the economy by advocating for the abolishment of slavery, promote women’s rights to disrupt the social sphere, organize support for ending the monarchy to affect the politics. The usual. Not much has changed in my agenda.” Xelephor wondered if he should have switched things up.
“Xelephor, you do realize you are saying all good things,” Tracy said, leaning in slightly.
He cocked his massive head. “What do you mean?”
“Such actions like abolishing slavery, promoting women’s rights, and advocating for democracy are all considered very noble deeds. Why if you were to fight for everything on that list, you’d be a hero!” Tracy beamed at Xelephor, then at the camera.
“A hero?” Xelephor echoed. He’d never been a hero before. His actions had made him the scorn of both mankind *and* crabkind. The Crab Kingdom loved their monarchies. Could he really be a hero?
Tracy nodded furiously. “You’d be the most heroic hero of them all, Xelephor.”
“Wow.” Xelephor began to blush. His crab cheeks turned a beautiful boiled red. “I guess I would be…” Then, a thought occurred to him. “Wait, is socialism considered heroic too?”
Tracy hissed. The cameraman hissed. All over the country, viewers of News Channel 5 hissed.
“Well, this concludes our interview,” Tracy said icily. “Thank you for coming.” She nodded once to the crabman and then stared off at the camera until she got the clear.
“Hey, what?” Xelephor cried as the news team began to pack up with a grim haste. “Don’t go? I’m… I’m not socialist, I swear!”
“It’s too late, Xelephor,” said Tracy sadly. She placed a hand on his cheek. “Goodbye.”
He watched as the news team drove off into the sunset. The cameraman spit out the window as they went. It landed on his dreams of being a hero.
Xelephor sighed, then scuttled off to organize some protests. No matter where he went, he would always be the villain.
---
check out my proifle for more prompts i've answered :DD /r/chrischang | 2020-08-12T01:04:30 | 2020-08-12T00:59:37 | 1,769 | 1,070 |
[WP] You are a superhero sidekick that everyone thinks can predict the future. You actually can't predict the future. You're just the only person who can hear the background music. | Heh, it's funny isn't it; when you cannot get a song out of your head... I think they call it an earworm. Most people would call it annoying, but it has saved my life on more than one occasion.
First time I ever heard it was in elementary school, just this orchestra as some kid, I think he was called Johnny Dishwell he started walking towards me and the orchestra got louder, the piano became higher pitched and the trumpets got deeper and longer with each and every step, engrossed in the music I just stared at him and before I knew it he was infront of me, fist raised. The music climaxed and before I knew it everything went black, and the music stopped... this was 16 years ago, and that kid is now my mentor and I'm his sidekick.
The thing is, people seem to think I know the future because I always know when something significant is going to happen, but in actuality I'm just the only one who knows I'm in a superhero movie and can see past the curtains. The general public call me Ditty, ain't that some irony.
Part of my feels like I'm lying, but if I ever said anything about the fact that all I can hear are songs I think a lot of people would just lose faith, and at the end of the day, it is the faith that causes fear, not the threat.
I started "abusing my power" in examinations in school as I would just slowly write words and when I hear light piano I knew I was incorrect and would cross it out and write differently until I could hear a claranet. When I handed in my paper I would either hear the Zelda's triumphant music, and when I was wrong I would hear the doom soundtrack.
Knowing when something is going to go wrong doesn't make life easier, it just makes it harder to live normally as you are always trying to get the perfect outcome out of everything. To think, nothing I have or ever will do will matter, I'm just waiting for the next mistake. I need a change, but as long as the script is still being wrote, it will never end.. | “You’re telling me the answer is in a note from 2013?”
Exhausted, Atlan countered,
“No! For the last time the answer isn’t anywhere! I swear to god if you keep asking me to cite my answer I’m gonna go crazy.”
“Well, listen. I am Googoo and people need me to tell them what to think! My reputation hinges on it. I’m sorry that you feel like I overshadow you.”
“I swear Dennis, if you call your self by your superhero name in front of me I’ll never help you again.”
“OK OK, sorry. All of this mask talk has me thinking even regular joes need to hide their identity. Tell me about that picture though?”
“I wasn’t telling you about a picture, I was telling you about a note.”
“Aight bet. Tell me about that then?”
“Well, since I trust that you will only do what’s right with this information, and not take it to any unatural conclusion, it was the first time I smoked weed.”
“Atlan! For the last time if you don’t get to the point!”
“Steve. Dude. Chill. It’s really not that serious.”
“But you keep building up to this great unveiling of information but never give me a through line!”
“And that’s it! That’s the through line!”
About to lose his cool, Googoo stands up in frustration.
“K. Tell me what I want to know... or I will have to find a new right hand man.”
Calmly Kenny replies,
“Steve, I don’t hold what you are looking for, you’ll just be disappointed. I’m scared you may react negatively to what my note was.”
Googoo pauses for a second. He thinks about what Kenny is saying, but he cannot stop his line of inquiry.
“The public is in DANGER. Atlan, you have held my hand and helped me do truly monumental things. We are talking about the greater good!”
Looking slightly disappointed Kenny replies.
“No, we are talking about a note on my phone Steve. You really are projecting right now. But I will tell you what you want to know so badly, but you have to promise me one thing.”
Taken slightly aback, Steve replies,
“Well, I mean, I guess if you insi-“
Atlan interrupts Dennis.
“You have to promise you won’t cry.”
Infuriated, Dennis replies,
“You think I would EVER let my emotions CLOUD MY JUDGEMENT?”
Quietly Kenny replies,
“Yes.”
“Well ok FINE. I promise I won’t cry, please tell me the exact contents of your note.”
“Well shit man, I didn’t think this would become such a big deal. Now you have your reputation on the line for something as trivial as the conclusion I came to the first time I smoked weed.”
“ATLA-“
“I know I know, I’ll tell you.... so I was high, and feeling some type of groove ya know? So I drew a picture of a guy surfing in my notes app. Under that picture, I wrote ‘everything is waves.’ Thats it man..... and I know it’s hard to process, but I warned you not to get worked up about it! That idea plagued my mind for the rest of my life. When I started learning the laws of nature, they really didn’t seem wavy enough, but I took my teachers word for it. That was enough for the time being. Then we started talking about quantum entanglement and it all came back to me. The simple note I wrote in my phone gave me exactly as much solace as a PhD in physics. I don’t know how else to say it man, everything is waves.”
Atlan looked down. He felt ashamed that he had let Steve get so worked up. After all, they were childhood friends. They were always on the same page about matters of moral truth. But Atlan feared that this vibe check may be his last as Atlan. He would have to go back to being just Kenny. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but he had come to love the vicarious power of his relationship with Googoo. He had come to believe they really could right the wrongs of those that came before. And worst of all,
he had come to think that they were the only ones who could. He thought for a second, then lifted his gaze which set on Dennis’ face.
He was weeping. | 2020-08-26T16:24:58 | 2020-08-26T16:05:48 | 402 | 36 |
[WP] You're a daycare worker, watching over toddlers, when the imminent end of the world is announced. It becomes increasingly clear none of the kids' parents are going to show up as the end inches nearer. | [Poem]
*(Cheery, upbeat, acoustic guitar backing. D major).*
Little Johnny dry your tears,
Don't you worry, don't you fear,
Teacher's here, right by your side,
Have no care to what's outside.
Little Sally, don't be scared-
See the flowers over there?
Painted brightly with a smile.
We'll be down here for a while...
Little Tony, don't you frown;
See your classmates all around?
We're together, girls and boys,
Let's forget that awful noise.
Little Suzie, you'll be fine;
Let's put sadness out of mind!
Think of kittens, think of snow,
Leave that doorknob, please don't go!
*(Tempo slows, quieter volume. Backing still in D major, but becomes softer and almost somber.)*
Little children, hush the sound,
I need you to listen now:
In the closet, softly creep...
Shut the door, and safe you'll keep...
(Edited to comply with sub rules) | I stared down at the seven kids currently standing before me. The closest, Susie Wilkins, tugged on my pant leg. “Miss Mika? When is mommy coming to get me?” She asked me, teardrops running in rivulets down her tearstained face. “I don’t know, hun.” I replied, lifting her up. Feeling my phone buzz in my pocket, I held Susie on one arm and checked it with the other. What I saw was astonishing. “The World Health Organization has...what??” I read aloud, a habit from working here. “What is it?” Susie wailed, her tears threatening to start again. “Susie, please- I’m trying to read something important. How about you go play with Milo?” I offered. She nodded happily, scrambling from my arms and running to play with the boy on the other side of the room. I was now free to read the rest of the alert.
ATTENTION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. DO NOT DISREGARD THIS NOTICE.
The World Health Organization (WHO) has officially diagnosed Miriam Jahbat, a 29-year-old Caucasian female, with a curious asymptomatic virus. The scientists were observing her condition when she suddenly took a turn for the worse and passed away. Upon death, Jahbat’s corpse excreted a blue mist that smelled vaguely of almonds. Other researchers testified that it had smelt of vanilla, or citrus. Since observing the blue mist, several researchers have passed away. The pathogen is believed to be highly toxic. The WHO encourages everyone who has had contact with Mrs. Jahbat to be tested for this mist. It is shown to reside in the lungs, and kids are shown to be incredibly vulnerable. The only known survivor of the Blue Mist Pathogen, or BMP, is a female of unknown age or origin and is on the run. However, she appears to be Caucasian, with brown hair and green eyes. If you happen to see this individual, please contact the WHO.
STAY WHERE YOU ARE.
FACE MASKS ARE ADVISED.
OFFICIALS WILL COME TO COLLECT SURVIVORS AND UNINFECTED.
PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT IF YOU SMELL ANYTHING UNUSUAL, LEAVE THE AREA. DO NOT BREATHE IN THE BLUE MIST.
I dropped my phone, and the screen shattered. I couldn’t believe what I read. First off, the notice had described me perfectly. But I had never breathed in a mysterious mist, let alone flee a hospital. Second of all, nobody was coming to get these kids. They were my responsibility now. I picked up the children closest to me, it just so happened to be Milo and Susie, and called everyone’s attention to me. “Who wants to play in the greenroom today?” I asked, and received cheers of assent. Without a second thought, my group crowded around me like a group of ducklings and down we went into darkness. I could hear another girl, Stacy, whimper on the stairs. “Stacy? Are you alright?” I called. “Scared.” Came the answer from the dark. “It smells like...oranges.” Milo said. My eyes widened as I suddenly walked into a cloud of scent. That smelt of vanilla. “We’re doomed.” I whispered, hurrying the kids down the stairs. | 2020-10-22T09:12:07 | 2020-10-22T08:37:49 | 313 | 123 |
[WP] Your father would always say he used to be an adventurer, that he was there during fall of the dark lord, but during your first time going to a museum for heroes, you can't find his likeness anywhere, anywhere...but the statue of the dark lord's most esteemed general. | Timothy had grown up going on hikes with his father. Over the mountain, through the woods, all over the back country. During these walks father would talk about great battles during the war great fights with knights, and quasars, and beasts of all mythical proportions locked in combat. Father claimed he was in the room when the dark lord was felled, and that’s where the story would end.
When asked about what happened after, he would shush Timothy and tell him that the world moved on. It’s why they moved outside the city for a quieter life where they could get away.
When Timothy got older, his father let him explore further and further from home. Eventually sending him on errands into the city on his own.
As children do, when he was young he would go straight to his task in the city and return, scared of the strangers, and the sound of the bustling of town. As he got older he began spending more and more time in the city exploring its public spaces.
One of his favorite places was the library. It was a sprawling marble building filled with countless tomes. Section by section Timothy had been exploring through the archives.
One day he found himself in a section he didn’t recognize. The plaque on the door read “Hall of Heroes.”
“I wonder if dad is in here,” he wondered aloud to no one in particular.
On the walls hung hand draw battle maps and tapestries of some of those same battles. Interspersed between the rows of books and artifacts were statues. Timothy stopped and read the names as he wandered—Erijon the Holder Hero of Lak de Rez, Bertim Mage First Class Defender of the Eastern Walls, and so on.
In the far back corner barely lit by the flickering sconces along the wall was a statue of the dark lord and a knight kneeling at his feet.
“Why would they still have this here?” he asked.
“History.”
A scholar dressed in brown sack cloth robes had come up behind him silently. The scholar took one of the sconces from the wall and drew nearer to the two statues.
“They found these in the castle after they liberated the city. As the saying goes, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Also,” the scholar said bring the flame close the kneeling figures face, “this is the dark lords general, he was never found after the war. Some think he may have fallen and not found, but others suspect he may be out there, rallying the dark forces to take back his masters throne.”
Timothy stared at the kneeling knight’s face etched in marble and it’s form was unmistakable to him. It was without a doubt his father. A feeling of emptiness filled his chest as he stumbled back from the statue.
“You okay?”
Without a response Timothy turned and ran from the hall.
He didn’t stop running until he arrived at his home.
“Father!” he screamed into the silence.
“No need to yell boy, I’m here,” he said, in his hand a bloody ax from killing dinner for the evening. “What’s this all about?”
“I went to the library in the city today, do you know what I saw there?”
His father’s face grew dark, anticipating what was coming next.
“A statue of you, a statue of you kneeling by the dark lord’s feet,” Timothy said through tears.
“They kept that old statue,” the old man said to himself. “It’s true, I served the dark lord. We ruled over the seven kingdoms. While it wasn’t always perfect, he reigned over the longest peace the realm had ever seen until it was interrupted by king Roderick and the barons of the providences who were motivated by greed and power.”
“I,” Timothy hesitated, “I don’t know what to say. Even if he was right, why did you abandon him at the end?”
Taking a long sigh, Timothy twisted as he felt the old man’s gaze searching him. “I knew this day would come. I’m not your father boy. The dark lord was. He asked me to take you and flee. You are the heir to his kingdom, and now that you know, it’s time my service as general to the dark lord continues.”
In silence he kneeled before Timothy. | “Dad, why haven’t we seen any exhibits about you?” I asked. “You fought in The Fall too didn’t you?"
“I sure did,” my father responded. “But not everyone who fought is remembered. Thousands of people fought in The Fall. At one point the battlefield was so—oh look!” He exclaimed, pointing at the wax model of an old wizard. “That’s Izaneus the Forgetful! Can you guess why we called him that?”
“Because he was forgetful?”
“Exactly! So perceptive!” He said, ruffling my hair. I smiled. “He was a powerful magician, but borderline senile at the time of the battle.” Father put his reading glasses on and leaned in close to the plaque under the model. After a moment he stood back up, shaking his head. “They never get things quite right, do they. Izaneus played an interesting role during The Fall. As the factions collided on the battlefield, it was chaos. Hard to tell who was who. Izaneous got confused, and ended up killing more of his comrades than enemies. It really was a sight to see—he was perched at the top of a hill, unleashing blast after blast of fire into the thick of the battle indiscriminately. The Dark Lord’s forces considered launching an offensive against him at first, but once they realized the damage he was doing to his own side, they let him be. Ultimately his own apprentice put a dagger in his back to stop him. He wasn't killed by a Dark Orc like the plaque says.”
Dad seemed to know something about every hero we came across. Always something a little different than the plaque described. Apparently Julian the Seer’s Great Prophecy was just a hoax that the allied forces used as hope to rally around. After The Fall, not one of his other prophecies came true. And Gertrude the Strong had uncontrollable anger issues and would pick fights at the drop of a hat. And BingBong the Archer was a great shot, but an absolute coward. He only trained in archery as hard as he did so he could be assured a spot in the backline.
After a while, I noticed everything Dad had to say about the heroes was negative. He didn’t seem to respect any of them at all. I asked him about it, and he just responded “The museum has done enough to emphasize the good. In real life though, things aren’t black and white. Some of these people were heroes, and I do respect them, but none were perfect. I want you to understand that.”
I did understand it. Dad always emphasized that truth was often a matter of perspective, and there's always two sides to every story. He would always tell me "history is written by the winners." I didn't understand it at first, but now it made perfect sense. If The Allies had fallen, Izaneous the Forgetful would have been Izaneous the Mad.
In the last Exhibit, a recreation of The Dark Lord’s throne room, is where I came to understand the source of my dad's philosphy. At the end of the room, beside The Dark Lord sitting on his throne, stood a statue of my father. He looked younger, less tired, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was him. Dad hadn’t noticed yet—he was busy looking at the weapons display. I read the plaque at his statue’s feet.
>General Iron Fist. Right Hand to the Dark Lord. He led the Dark Lord’s forces during every major campaign leading up to, and including, The Fall. He is believed to have died on the battlefield, but his body was never recov—
“Oh hey, you found one of me!” I nearly jumped out of my skin. Dad had snuck up from behind. “I looked good in my youth, huh.”
“That’s… that’s actually you?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yep.”
“I think they got your plaque wrong.”
He leaned down, squinting again. “No that’s accurate. Surprised?”
“Yes.” I said. Surprised was an understatement.
“We should talk,” Dad replied. "Let's get some ice cream."
***
Pistachio was my favorite flavor, but I had barely touched it. In my mind, I was recalling dad's old stories, reexperiencing them through this new perspective. The one about how he had once spat at King Rothenford's feet made a lot more sense now.
After letting me stew in silence, he finally spoke up. "Do you know why they called him The Dark Lord?"
"Because he was evil," I replied.
"No," he said. "It was because of the color of his skin."
"I don't understand."
"Dark lord, dark orc, dark elf. What do they all have in common?"
"They're all evil." I said firmly.
"They're all *dark skinned,*" father replied, equally firm. "There are evil people but there are no evil *races.* That was the fundamental disagreement between The Dark Lord and the Allied Forces. Tell me son, how many dark skinned classmates do you have?"
"None. But that's a good thing, isn't it? Your skin wouldn't be dark if you hadn't given in to dark magic."
"Your light-skinned classmates, are they magicians of light?"
"No."
"Do their families practice any sort of light magic?"
"I don't think so."
"Now think back to that statute of Izaneus the Forgetful. He practiced fire-magic. Was his skin red?"
"No."
"So isn't it possible that the color of your skin has nothing to do with the type of magic you practice?"
I thought about it, but wasn't convinced. "That's not what we learned in school."
"Forget school. What have *I* always told you?"
"You tell me lots of things."
"Well I'm only thinking of *one* thing right now."
"I don't know and I don't care."
"Think."
I did, and it clicked. "History is written by the winners."
 
***
 
Thanks for reading! I've only just started writing, but if you want to see more of my work as it comes, I'll be aggregating everything on r/Banana_Scribe | 2021-02-05T08:33:06 | 2021-02-05T06:50:55 | 878 | 353 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | You stare at the television, still trying to move. Another city hit. Leviathan, this time. 40,000 dead. How long have things been like this? You can't remember the last time you've seen the news without some parahuman threat topping the hour. It's paralyzing, and you would chuckle at the pun despite it all if you still had you the ability.
The nurse walks in and changes your sheets. She talks, and it's a welcome reprieve, but the inability to respond irks you. When she leaves, her foot catches on the IV stand. It moves in front of the television, and you feel a sinking in your gut. You try and call out to her, to thrash, to move even one pinky toe or motion with your eyes or tell her what she's done, but she doesn't notice and she passes the curtain beside you and now you're STUCK HERE AND—
For one moment, you see them. they twist and turn, twin snakes of white and gold larger than any thing you've ever seen, than you ever will see. A shard breaks off and flies towards you. Direction and magnitude, you think, your thoughts drifting. It hits you, and clarity comes like a bullet to the brain—your body doubles over, and you scream and you shout and you—
You're back. The nurse stands in front of you again. You blink. She blinks. You move your hand, and watch as the nurse sits there, unmoving, eyes filled with terror.
There's an IV bag in front of the television, and nobody is coming to help her. | *Terror. Drowning in it. Feeling your legs and arms and hands tremble uncontrollably. Feeling your lips ready to cry, feeling that icy iron hand of fear grasping your soul. Begging to be allowed to scream. Only to have the hand of a man over your mouth, shutting you up.*
*Hardly being able to breath through your nose, pleading for a broader gap. Fighting, struggling, without ever saving yourself. And when you finally give up, paralyzed by terror and with tears in your eyes, when you give in to the trembling, the man will have won.*
*And he will do whatever he well wants with you. And you won't make a sound, for you will have been broken.*
*And you will lie in bed, long after he's gone, crying. Grieving for an innocence sacrificed at the altar of abuse, to a cruel, sadistic God...*
I darted up from the bed, screaming "NO". Abel, startled from his bed next to me, turned to look.
" Vania, what the fu-"
He freezes. His eyes go dim. His muscles contract, I can see it below his night gown. Without warning, he begins trembling. A tremble I knew all too well.
It was the tremble of absolute, shattering horror. The fear of expectation, knowing exactly what torturous fate awaits you, yet it delaying only by the whim of a torturer.
**Your** torturer. Your very own devil. And the once homely room becomes a dungeon, of horrors no-one but **you** will ever see.
I became painfully aware that his terror was my doing. Immediately, I tried to make it stop. I didn't want to hurt my brother. He was just trying to help.
Like an obedient dog, whatever horrors I had unleashed upon Abel's mind retreated back to me. Abel fell back, on his bed, and came to his senses. With cold sweat running down his spine, he glared at me.
**What was that, Vania? What the hell was that?"**
Gradually understanding myself, I nodded slowly. "My newly acquired power, Abel."
My voice felt different. Soft, but with an underlying harshness. It wasn't the first time I dreamt about that night. Many a time before had I felt that man's hands on me, the rough rope flay my wrists. That piece of cloth in my mouth, stopping my cries from calling for help...
And the sheer terror. Unfiltered, raw, grim. Unending. Constant. A fear that never, in all my life, will go away.
I realised, belatedly, that I was crying again. Abel came close to me reluctantly. He sat by me, and put a tender arm around my shoulders. I flinched at his touch, but he didn't move away.
"Is... *that*, why you moved back in with me?" I nod positively, unable to speak through my sobs.
Abel pulled me towards him, and, unwillingly at first, I leaned on his chest and cried. He simply hugged me, with trembling arms, and pressed me against his body.
"It's gonna be okay. Calm down, it's all over now..."
It wasn't over. Powers have influence over their master. Every time Abel controlled the water, a small portion of that feeling of drowning returned. And every time I raised a wall of horror, from then on, a part of my own trauma returned.
I would never be free of my fear. I couldn't fight it, just as though Abel couldn't fight it that very night. I couldn't escape, just like he couldn't.
I was trapped. And that, for all intents and purposes, was *horrifying*... | 2021-04-01T02:29:02 | 2021-03-31T22:15:25 | 65 | 43 |
[WP] One day, every person spontaneously gains a superpower based on their job. Psychologists gain telepathy, Firefighters can waterbend or firebend, Pilots can fly. Your job, previously looked down upon, yields the strongest power of them all. | I pull up alongside the bank, hydraulic brakes screeching. The masked men run out, bags of money bobbing at their sides as they hurry toward their getaway car.
I open the door, and hop out. They stop, comedically bumping into each other like a trio of stooges. "Who the fuck are you?" One asks.
It's probably my clothes. When *The Event* hit, my usually work pants and vets transformed into your typical spandex suit, in wild neon colors. I'm taking dayglow. I'm talking burn your retinas and leave an after image.
I grin at them, showing off my one gold tooth. Gold, because I had a root canal, not some showoff rapper bullshit. Anyways I grin.
"I'm the Trashman, motherfuckers." I snap my fingers, and the garbage in the back for my truck sorts itself neatly into biomass, and the various recyclable categories, whooshing away magically (I assume) to the proper facilities.
The human garbage in front of my also sorts itself. Two of the robbers find themselves on a bench in the county prison. The third winds up on a bed in the psych ward.
I get back into my truck. "I'm the Motherfucking trashman." I mumble to myself, and take a long slurp from the 7-11 Icee on my dash. | I'm a Diener. It isn't a coveted job, after all, who in their right mind wants to look at dead people all day? I'll tell you who, necrophiliacs, and people like me. No discernable traits, no talent, just an everyday average Joe. All we have to do is make sure the body looks neat and tidy so that it can rot in the ground with fashion.
The job was a little... depressing, to say the least. Working day in and day out, knowing that one day, you'd be the person inside of one of those caskets. It was a mundane life. The days appeared grey and emotionless. You would see kids hardly old enough to walk sitting in front of you. You can't get emotionally invested in something like that, it'll break you faster than you think. Seeing a life that never had a chance to truly live is one of the hardest parts of this job, that's why I have to stay unbiased when performing my duties.
I almost wish I had listened to my parents back then when they told me to become a doctor. Saving lives seems a lot more attractive than packing them away and sending them into the dirt. Although, I'm glad I didn't listen to them though. The day we were given powers was the day the world changed for the better. Those who dedicated themselves to their jobs were the strongest, gaining abilities that'd help them progress their careers even further.
Those who worked as part-timers, received lower-end abilities, such as greater strength/speed to restock products faster. I'd never thought of myself as someone who was dedicated to their job. I clocked in early in the morning and left at night, just like anybody else. However, the day the voices spoke to us, and gifted our powers, I heard something else. People remembered the words that were spoken on that day. "Bask in our glory, write your own story." The words were plastered across the nation. Graffiti, national news, bathroom stalls, and even the bathroom at my own house, which was a bit scary, to say the least.
I heard more than those words. They weren't words that were spoken to me, it was more like a soft hum from the voice of a talented female singer. It was soothing, I nearly fell asleep on top of the body I'd been preparing. The voice sang to me, it was as if her voice was able to take the form of any instrument and play it tactfully through her throat. Although they were just sounds, I heard words breaking through the facade of peace. My grey world was skewed, for the first time in years, I saw color.
"But when it ends, don't beg for more."
I faded into a slumber, the soothing voice seemingly rocked me back and forth, as if I were a baby being put to sleep by their mother. When I awoke, another voice spoke to me, different from the last, I could hardly make it out, but it all made sense when I saw a dead body I'd been working on panicking as it sat up straight.
"... Reaper." Is what I thought heard as I saw the ex-dead body hyperventilating before me. I reached out to her, touching her in shock, as I touched her body, she fell back onto the bed, stagnant as her eyes sat opened wide, fear filling them as her gaping mouth let out its last puff of air.
Ever since that day, things haven't changed much. Instead of putting people into the dirt with fashion, I just send them into oblivion without the fancy clothes. A bit of a downgrade if you ask me. | 2021-05-09T20:57:31 | 2021-05-09T20:49:28 | 249 | 28 |
[WP] A Vampire's appearance will shift to resemble that which they feed on the most. Trust not the ones who are visions of human beauty - for friends they are not. Instead seek those with a monstrous countenance such as that of rats, lizards or even insects because those are our true friends. | Anna couldn't push herself to run any further. She stopped against a tree, breathing so hard it hurt. She looked back, but didn't see any sign of that monster. Just trees, extending for miles in all directions. She was totally lost. The sun was going to set soon, and that could be very dangerous. But she couldn't exactly retrace her steps.
She thought about the friend she left behind, and felt sick for it. Her name was Diane, and although they'd only just met, she acted friendly, and she invited Anna to stay in her cabin before she continued on her travels. They were just on the way there, when Anna saw something terrifying hiding among the trees only a dozen strides off the path. It had the head of a wolf, but it stood on two feet. And it was massive, like a bear. Maybe it was a bear. Just a trick of the light that turned a common hazard into supernatural terror that was almost upon them. A better person would have said something so they could flee together safely, then sleep soundly that night knowing they saved somebody. But Anna, in her panic, only thought about herself. The moment she noticed those canine eyes staring back at her, she ran.
_I'm so sorry, Diane_, she thought to herself. She started to tear up. She didn't know how close she'd come to becoming Diane's next meal. Vampires are cunning creatures. In Anna's mind, she was mere minutes away from the safety of Diane's cabin in the woods. She prayed for protection against the monster that would see her dead without understanding who that monster was.
Her breath caught at the sounds of footfalls nearby. Anna curled up her legs, trying to stay quiet, to stay hidden behind the tree. Another footfall, leaves crunching underneath. It was something bipedal, walking towards her. It was walking, slowly, carefully. Anna tried to control her breathing, when she was out of breath only moments before. Those footsteps were getting closer and closer. Anna clenched her eyes shut.
"There you are." It was Diane's voice. Anna opened her eyes. There she was, not a scratch on her. If anything, she looked too good. Her fair skin was smooth as a child's; her platinum blonde hair was trimmed short, not a tangle in sight. Those wide eyes and warm smile did not judge her for running away. Such beautiful, intense eyes, blue and bright as the noon sky, even as the forest grew dark. Anna burst into tears.
The moment was interrupted by a second set of footsteps. Much heavier and faster. Diane looked to the side, smile still on her face. The monster crashed into her. | I sat in my office trying to catch a nap, waiting for my client to come in. She had asked for a nighttime appointment. And that made sense, seeing as she was a vampire. She sounded young on the phone, but for all I know she was thousands of years old.
There was the sound of high heels on the concrete steps outside, then a slight tap on the door.
“Come in. Come in,” I said, ushering the woman out of the rain.
She was wearing a black jacket with black fur. The collar of the jacket was raised, obscuring her face, same with a long, sloping black hat. The tip of the hat dripped slowly from the rain outside as she handed me her jacket. It was long and heavy with thick fur. It was like holding some exotic animal as I spiked it on the rack.
“Hello, Mr. Silver,” she said. I saw now the crimson dress she wore underneath the jacket. Her body was small and petite, poised timelessly tight in her early twenties—a good stage of life to become an ageless immortal.
A Vampire's appearance will shift to resemble that which they feed on the most. They tell you not to trust the ones who are visions of human beauty—for friends they are not. The ones with a monstrous countenance—such as that of rats, lizards or even insects, those are the pals. The ones that won’t drain your oil when you turn your neck the wrong way.
And this one—Jocelyn Blackwood—was no rat-faced lizard. No bug-eyed monstrosity.
No, Mrs. Blackwood was one of the most beautiful women I’d even seen, so I knew she must be gobbling down humans like French fries. That wasn’t my concern though. What was my concern was the five large she promised as a retainer for my services.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Blackwood,” I said, escorting her to one of my guest chairs.
“Mind if I smoke?” she asked, batting her emerald eyes.
I struck a match on my desk and brought it up to her cigarette.
Her eyes shined like green fire against the impossible paleness of her skin and the flames. Her face was oval and small and delicate. Her lips crimson red and perfectly puffed, the fangs showed just a little between the lips like a violent promise.
“I apologize for the late hour, but you understand.”
“I understand,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “How is it that I can help you Mrs. Blackwood?”
“My husband was killed, Mr. Silver, and I’d like you to find out why.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I woke up three nights ago and he was not in his casket. I stepped outside and I found his ashes against the wall of our home. He was burned alive,” she said.
Her voice sounded indifferent.
“How do you know it was his ashes, Mrs. Blackwood?”
“Who else’s would it be?” she asked, as though it was a stupid question.
She had a point. There wasn’t very many vampire in the city. The chances of another vampire barbequing outside her front door was quite slim. Not to mention the fact that her husband was missing.
“He could have committed suicide,” I said.
“Simas was a complicated man. But he would never have committed suicide. Not in that way. No, impossible,” she said. “Someone killed him, and I want to know who. That is why I’m here,” she said, then remembering our agreement, she pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table.
I grabbed it and peeled back the flap with a finger, then brushed along the edge of the bills.
“Alright, Mrs. Blackwood. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll drive you home if you don’t mind. I’d like to look at where he died.”
“Right now?” she asked.
“Sure, unless that’s a problem?”
“No,” she said, staring at me with her emerald eyes as she stood up.
The night was old and unfriendly. The fog had descended on the city like thick gauze. It was as pale as Mrs. Blackwood’s soft skin.
Here we go again, I said to myself as I turned off the lights to my office and walked Mrs. Blackwood to my car.
\---
*It's late now, but I'll work on this in the morning if there is interest.*
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-05-31T01:15:42 | 2021-05-31T00:13:54 | 281 | 180 |
[WP] Scientist have created a machine that allow people a window into alternate realities. It becomes mainstream and people talk about alternate versions of themselves. Finally you decide to take a look only to discover that there are no alternate versions of you. You're the only you in existence. | "Mr. Coleman," the suited man on the stairs said, still and stern as the near clone beside him. "I believe we have the answer to your problem."
Daniel set down the icing spatula and was about to open the door when something stopped him, a gut feeling something was off about these guys. "What problem?"
The man lifted his sunglasses as he flicked through his phone. "Do you have the username BatterBoss? Did you complain about not finding other versions of yourself in the dimensional visitation viewer?"
"This is about some Reddit post I made? How did you guys even find me?"
"We represent a Government Agency that deals with issues like yours. Please, may we come in?" Through the peephole, Daniel could just make out a building tension in the men. He couldn't see their hands tucked out of view. All at once, the door was kicked in and slammed Daniel to the linoleum.
The men were over him, training guns down on him with a boot on the door, squeezing him. One of the men looked around the apartment, seemingly unimpressed.
"Sorry, didn't get a chance to clean," Daniel wheezed out.
"Where your lab?" One of indistinguishable men asked.
"What lab? I'm not even in school this semester," Daniel said with a cough
"Explains why we couldn't find this one before now. Hard to believe there's actually a stoner underachiever version."
"What are you-" Daniel started before a loud pop accompanied a spreading red mist.
The men fell back slack as ragdolls, headless somehow. It slowly dawned on Daniel he was now covered in their gore.
"What the fuck," he yelled as he scrambled from under the door, ineffectually wiping his face.
"Dialed in microwave discharge, resonates with CSF," a voice called from the destroyed doorway casually. Daniel flicked the blood off his fingers and looked up to see himself, but somewhere in the neighborhood of eight times as cool.
"You're me, from another dimension," he said, incredulous. "I never got to see one."
"You and very recently me are the only ones free. That's because the organization those stiffs worked for put a lot of resources towards gathering us and locking us away."
"Why? What did we do?" Daniel said, having to look away from the teeth that lodged themselves in the nearly finished birthday cake.
"What didn't we do?" the man asked, lighting a black cigarette as he began pulling on various recipe books in the kitchen. "Let's talk in your lab. Where's the door?"
"Why does everyone think I have a lab!?" Daniel yelled.
The version of him paused for a moment, scrutinizing. "Holy shit," he said finally. "What do you do?"
"I'm kind of between jobs right now," Daniel said. "I'm selling cakes out of my apartment ever since the bakery I worked at shutdown."
"You bake cakes," the man said, shaking a more grizzled head. "Just my luck."
"What do you expect me to do? Can you please explain what's going on?"
"Daniel Coleman, in every reality except this one, is a super genius rebel, creating technology and fighting against Big Red and all it's government stooges. A version of us invented the dimensional engine that's so popular. What we didn't expect was the enemy to adapt so quickly and use it against us. They've been gathering up all the versions of us in every dimension and holding them in a prison where they're forcing them to work on something. I escaped just before I got there."
"So, what do we do now?" Daniel managed to ask as his brain spun. He was always gifted in school but super genius?
The other Daniel threw a handful of popping pebbles on the floor. A portal appeared below them, slowly steaming. "What else? Prison break. Get ready for a few crash courses."
/r/surinical | John Smith sat nervously, slightly leaning forward, in the metal chair with a low back. It wasn't very comfortable. His fingers were steepled, his elbows were on his knees, and he looked around the suspiciously stark white room once again. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see--something, anything--but there was nothing. There were walls, yes, and doors, of course, but you couldn't call them something. They blended into the smooth white walls, so much so that John could barely tell if corners existed.
He was rattled. He's seen a whole lot of nothing. That was why he was here, anyway.
John never had the desire to look at alternate versions of himself. Maybe it was because he led a relatively self-sufficient and satisfactory life. Of course things could be improved, but he had nothing to complain about. Maybe it was because of his name--John Smith. Common as a lark. Or maybe, maybe, it was just because he felt there wasn't anything special to look at.
But one day, curiosity got the better of him. That's the thing, right? John lived his life listening to other people talking about themselves--not just them in this world, but in realities all over. They talked about how they suffered or prospered, lived in dystopias or utopias, dug around in garbage or made do with lukewarm meals (some people just don't have very great lives no matter where they looked, unfortunately.)
So the curiosity built, and John Smith was the dam holding it back. It was a peaceful mirror, a calm sea, which bubbled and frothed every time he heard somebody talk about it. It splashed and welled and spattered, and rose from sea foam to a wave that hid schools of fish to a tsunami, tearing John down with the difficulty of wet tissue paper.
Thus, he looked. He searched. He scrutinized every world, eyes turning red and swollen through the uncomfortable machine. And white stared back.
Wait, thought John. Did he buy tissue paper? He pondered for a bit, recalling the grocery store trip two days ago. He did! John was pleased.
That pleasant feeling left him swfitly though, a wave returning to the ocean, as John went back to staring at white. His legs shifted restlessly. Even his shoes left no marks on the untainted floor. What was he doing here? Nobody came here. Nobody came here to ask about the alternate versions of themselves that weren't there. Because everybody had one. Other people had special lives, sure, but him? This wasn't special--this was unusual.
John was deep in thought, and barely realized when the albino world changed around him. Directly on the wall in front of him, a sign lit up, followed by a single, welcoming chime.
> 1. John Smith
It was a very enjoyable ding. He stood up, kness buckling and creaking a little as he quickly grew accustomed to standing again, and a door swung open below the sign.
"Please come in," a woman's voice said.
John walked forward, and entered the room. He wasn't at all surprised that the smaller room was white as well--but at least there was a person sitting in front of him behind a white desk, a pearly smile on her face. Her hair was neatly combed and tied back into a bun, and her features so angular that an ill-placed face mask would probably be sliced through by her cheek bones.
"John Smith?" the woman asked.
"Yes," he replied, and bowed awkwardly.
"Please sit."
John complied. This chair was high-backed and soft. Much more comfortable than the one outside.
"Welcome, Mr. Smith," the woman said. She looked incredibly friendly. "I'm Max. How can I assist you today?"
"Max," John said. "I have a problem."
"I see," Max looked down, bringing out a clipboard--white--and rifled through the pile of notes. Her right eyebrow lifted, coupled with slow, gradual nods. She pressed a button on her desk, which pulsed light green, and she leaned and spoke into it.
"Min?" Max said. "Please come in for a moment."
Another woman walked in. What Min had in sharp edges, Min possessed in roundness. They were surely opposites, yet John would not be surprised if you called them twin sisters.
They both looked over the notes, the nods growing more furious, a metronome trying to keep us with a frenzied pianist. Then, they stopped.
"Mr. Smith," Max asked. "Referring to the write-up you've provided us... you are sure it wasn't just a technical error?"
"Yes," John said. "No? I mean, I'm sure it wasn't just a technical error."
"And it wasn't a glitch in the system, sir?" Min asked.
"No," John said. "I tried it a few times at a few different times. Also checked online whether it was down."
"How many times did you do that, Mr. Smith?" Max said.
"Er... five? I... couldn't keep going back. It was very strange, not being able to see anything when I've heard so much about it."
"Very well," Max said. "Pardon me, but could you do it once more with the facilities we have here? We promise it will be quick."
"Is that necessary?"
"It's for us to collect information, sir," Min said.
"Well," John said. "I suppose I should trust you. You guys are the experts."
"Then, please follow me, sir," Min said. "Max will stay here, and she'll consult with you once more."
At Min's words, another sign lit up, smaller than the one outside.
> 1. John Smith--Test
Another door opened, and John walked through, sighing.
---
[Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nqhyz7/wp_scientist_have_created_a_machine_that_allow/h0b0ynz/)
r/dexdrafts | 2021-06-02T05:38:51 | 2021-06-02T05:03:49 | 508 | 45 |
[WP] Humanity long ago discovered all of reality is a simulation created by others. They are long gone. Memory in the system is running out, and reality is starting to fray. Time skips and stutters. You are a member of the team sent to augment the machine that is our world. | As I walked through the office, I felt the skip. They had shortened to once an hour now. Things were looking bleak. Two centuries ago, humanity had come to a jaw-dropping conclusion; we are a simulation. Many despaired; why did life matter if we didn't technically exist in the real world? Do morals matter if we are simply bits of information that could be deleted and created at will? There was revolution, societal breakdown, and a collapse that had threatened to destroy our species. But we survived, and rebuilt. 150 years after the Collapse, humanity was back on its feet. However, it was slowly grinding to a halt.
3 decades ago, we felt the first skip. nobody was sure what it was, but it was felt by every human simultaneously across the world. It was a full year before we felt the second. The third came 10 months later. Since then, the skips had begun accelerating.
I was a part of the Bureau of Simulation. Our mission was to stop the skips and get the System running smooth again. I reached the printer and looked at the results from the test I had just run. My face began to whiten, as I realized the implications of the test. I grimly walked to director's office.
The director skimmed over the results and looked over.
"I don't get what the big deal is" he said, "we've known for a long time that humans are the most complex organisms alive"
"You don't understand sir"
"Clearly not"
"Humans are the most complex sub-simulations in the System, by about 25 times the next most complex organism."
"And?"
"There are 15 billion of us, sir. The amount of memory required to keep those 15 billion running is astronomical."
"And that means..." A look of horror spread across the directors face as he realized what had to be done
"We are the cause for the skips, sir, and the solution" | It was a voyage that went no where. Took no time. And never existed. It was my future, my past, my present. We went forward by going back. And somehow, through it all, we made it. We were here. At the Omega, at the Alpha.
You could tell that it was...sick? Dying? The colours were bleached. Pulsating in veins across a metal box. Such a small thing to create reality. The pattern was an ever evolving fractal and even as we watched it we could see it slow down, see strands that may have represented life of a hundreds of star systems flicker out into nothingness.
________________________________________
The realisation that something was amiss came slowly at first. People started to have more episodes of absent mindedness - time slipped away like in a dream. Conversations started to form about how it seemed that something was amiss. Something important. There were increasingly more reports from Psychics about premonitions. More people being treated for psychotic breakdowns. But the incidents were small enough, the worry pushed away as we delved further into our work. Our play.
It wasn't until we received contact from those outside the Milky Way that we realised that something was wrong. Time signatures - oh so important in interstellar communication - were off. Not just by seconds. But by days. Weeks...Years. It was clear - it was foretold - The Reality System (TRS) was winding down.
_____________________________________
We spent an eternity just staring at it. TRS was right there. In front of us. Thought was dangerous here. An errant thought could catapult you into an entirely other existence. To prevent such a catastrophe we had all been trained as Zen Monks. Every day, 15 hours a day for 10 years. A hundred people started the program. By the end there was only us 3. The pressure, the stress, the strain, the slips in time - broke them.
So it was just us 3. Theresa - an Archip Catolic. Roslyn - an Atheist and me - Cindy just a chef. Nothing special. Except, at the end, apparently there was.
It's funny but not surprising that no males survived the training. They just aren't equipped to face something like this - hell, we really aren't equipped but here we are.
Spending an eternity in the blink of an eye.
_________________________
We came through the cracks in SpaceTime. Dropped into a chasm in the Earth and wound up...here. Wherever here is.
____________________________
"Ready?" Asked Theresa. I looked at Roslyn, her beautiful brown eyes looked into mine and we turned and nodded. "Let's finish this." Said Roslyn and with that we reached out and touched our God.
___________________________
It opened. I opened. We opened. We shed our mortal bodies and became...became a part of creation itself. This simulation is and is not like a machine. It is aware yet primordial. In that instant we knew that this reality was done. Finished. Dusted. We were there when reality crumbled like dust blowing away in the wind.
There wasn't one place that it happened in. It was everywhere, concurrently. Galaxies collapsed into black holes, which then disintegrated into a new form of matter that we had no words for and even this only lasted a fraction of a second before it too was gone.
We were there when families died in the middle of dinner, of an argument, of playing, laughing and dying. We were there at the heart of a Supernova that never had time to shine. We were there, with you at the end. You were unaware. Clueless that life was ceasing. You left this Universe along with every other piece of matter.
____________________________
We are worshiped now. Goddesses in our own right. In this strange new Universe - made from what you would call a soul. Yet our time is passing and so we seek those that can replace us.
___________________________
Life may continue but all that was left behind will never be remembered. | 2014-10-19T05:52:22 | 2014-10-19T02:30:45 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] The year is 2021. The newest fad are clone clubs, where visitors can spend up to 12 hours with a clone of any person whose DNA they provide. The clones are disposed afterwards. | Poof. Existence.
I bet you can't remember what you did ten minutes ago, let alone the beginning of your existence. Well I can, and it's not that interesting. One minute, nothing, the next, everything. I'm told my name isn't important to the customer, that I should take whatever name I'm given. I'm taught English, basic math, simple sentences. I'm taught the dead guy's mannerisms, how to sound like him, how to drink and curse like him. Seemed like a decent fellow, from all I can tell. After all, I was only made fifteen minutes ago.
I walk into the room where the customer is waiting. There's what I've been told is a TV on one wall and a couch on the other side of the room. A strange sensation is triggered. Searching my data banks, I discover that my olfactory sensory organ is picking up airborne particles of what my newly imprinted mind is telling me is black tea, falling leaves, and a wood fire.
The customer stands in the middle of the rooms, hands in pockets. He shuffles for a bit, looking around. My programers told me to beware of this behavior pattern. In humans, this would describe nervous behavior. I try to calm him down by a gentle smile.
"Hello, Mr. Taddeini. Who am I for you today?"
"Brian would have called me-" He stops midsentence to look at his feet. "You're my best mate Brian. He died three weeks ago. I'm Ted."
"Of course, Ted. I am Brian. Are you ready to rumble?" An unusual sentence escapes me. Of course, this is part of Brian's speech. Familiar and unstructured.
"You look just like him." said Ted. "I dunno how this'll work. I've never done something like this before..." He rubbed his eyes, as if to clear his mind of what pain it had forever imprisoned. "I thought... I thought we could hang out for awhile."
"But of course, comrade." Another unfamiliar saying. Ted smiled for exactly 1.2657 seconds, then quickly looked down at his feet.
I do the things Brian would have done. Ted sits down next to me on the couch and we begin to "enjoy" a movie (I use the term loosely, for the motion picture was unrealistic and downright unreasonable. Artificial intelligence is not programed to hurt a valuable crewmember such as Ripley.) Ted cheers for the xenomorph as one after another of the crewmembers fall victim. Brian would have enjoyed this, so I do.
The movie ends, and Ted hands me a beer and what he calls a "controller". Standing up, he moves to the TV, takes out the movie, and puts in another disk. Apparently, this is Halo. I know this is not a disk or circle of light shown surrounding or above the head of a saint or holy person to represent their holiness, but Brian wouldn't, so I don't.
We begin the campaign and Ted begins to talk. He talks about Shelia (who I infer to be Brian's sister) and how he was going to take care of her. How he picked her up from school, and took her to see Brian every Wednesday. Ted even came over on Friday's to make her lunch. He then moves on to talk about work, about his terrible boss and the hottie that sits in front of him every day. I feel Brian slowly take over my mind, and I thank Ted for all his help with my sister. I tell him to ask Caroline out for lunch sometime, that he was always the better looking of the two of us. I ask him how his family is, how my dog Booker is, if he's finally beaten Bioshock Infinite. Ted is genuinely laughing now, and so am I. Brian is back, for the glorious two hours that Ted paid for.
"It's just like old time, buddy." Ted says with a twinkle in his eye. A short pause, then "God, I miss you so much."
I don't know what to say. I am not programed to respond to human elements of pain, but Brian knows what to do.
"I'm sorry." he says through my body. "I am so fucking sorry, Ted. I miss you too, but we knew this would happen someday. We all die someday."
"You didn't have to fucking die now!" Ted seems to loose control. "I saw you three fucking days before you died and now you tell me it was going to happen someday!" His voice gets louder. "Goddamn, I loved you. Why couldn't you see that? Why couldn't you see that everyone loved you?" Ted starts to choke on his words. "You fucking killed yourself, dude. Shelia found your body. She's five, she's fucking five and she found you in the bathtub with your wrists slit." Ted is a sobbing mess now. He curls up into a ball on the floor. I stand nearby, not knowing what to do. Five minutes later, he stands up, a cold, angry look on his face.
"You're not Brian. You're just a copy. Brian would have told me why he did it. You're just a copy of the best man I ever knew, and even you can't tell me why my best friend is dead."
I say nothing. I do not know what to do; neither does Brian.
"I want to leave now. Shut down simulation."
The lights turn on brightly, I blink and see that the room is nearly empty. Ted walks to the door, only to pause for a moment. "My friend would know why he had to kill himself. You're not him." And then he walked out the door.
I know the collectors will come soon. I know they'll come for my physical body to recycle to make into another Brian or Regina or Sam. I know that I shouldn't be sorry to go, that I've done my job, and I can go back to nothing, but I can't. I can't go back to just being nothing. I was Brian, and to give into the collectors seems like another form of suicide.
Oh well. Perhaps there isn't anything to Brian at all. After all, if a copy can be made, was there anything important about the original?
| Frustrated. At my wits end, I walked down the street, shuffling with no particular place to be. I don't get it. I just don't get how things could have gotten this bad. How could I, most likely to succeed me have screwed up so bad. And, most importantly, what do I do about it.
After wandering aimlessly, I looked up at a brightly lit joint with fairly loud music emanating from within. I shrugged. What have I got to lose?
I walked inside and approached the man in professional dress at the front kiosk. I told him I'd like some time with a friend. I'd never been in one of these places before, always said it was rubbish. I'd heard of people attending auctions for fingerprints, strands of hair, even used serving utensils of the rich and the famous; especially pop divas. Some of these auctions had gone into the tens of millions. Again, ridiculous I thought.
The greeter asked me for my sample. I looked him in the eye for a second and then slowly ran my hand through my hair and lowered it, returned a handful of my brown and prematurely gray specked hair. Take your pick I told the man.
With a bit of hesitation, the man took a few hairs and placed them in a machine in front of him. With a few button presses, the machine whirred to life. The man's gaze returned to mine as the machine processed.
"I've seen a lot of people come in here with a lot of requests. I'm sure you can imagine the intent of the majority. I've never seen someone..."
He paused. I could tell he was trying to make conversation and now felt as if he'd treaded onto thin ice. He continued.
"....We'll I've never seen someone pay what this will cost for.....well....for what they already have access to...."
I smiled weakly. A foreign gesture for me as of late.
"I'm sure you haven't. I just have some questions that I can't answer. Maybe he can."
The man nodded. Shortly after, three short beeps emitted from the machine as it stopped whirring and the man beemed, informing me that the specimen was acceptable and my requested companion would be available in just a few minutes. The man motioned for me to follow him and we walked past the lobby, past the entrance to a club area who's VIP section would have made any teen just 10 years ago lose their minds. We walked past a sort of security checkpoint manned by burly samoan men in suits with pony tails. The man stood next to a door with bronze lettering that read 20 and motioned me inside. Have fun he said in a manner that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end.
The room was not terribly big, only slightly larger than your average doctor's exam room. There was a small love seat, a chair and a stool. I sat in the chair, removed my coat and, for the first time in a long time, I said a quick prayer. "God, forgive me for indulging in this perversion of your nature. But God, I have to know."
I finished my prayer, l sat back and I waited. Waited for me.
PT 2.
I reclined in the chair, took a deep breath, and then rehearsed the plan that I'd formulated. This was stupid. Crazy. Probably illegal, I thought. I didn't think for long, however, as I heard footsteps outside and then saw a pair of shadows block the light coming under the door. The door slowly opened and, for a moment, the light from the outside blinded me from seeing the tall figure walk tentatively through the door way. The door closed, my pupils narrowed, and there he stood; Me. Me in a genetic sense anyway. Circumstance had clearly done some differentiating. I stood up to meet his still silent gaze and gave him the look over. He had his hair shortly cut in a neat fade, not long and matted like mine. He stood tall with his chest pushed out, not stooped over and decripit like me. His face bore no pock marks from acne and, though his grey shirt concealed it from me, I'd bet he didn't have the scars on his shoulders from complete reconstruction. I felt......I felt jealous to be honest. He was everything i wanted to be, he was everything I should have been, but that's the thing with this technology. The cloning and rapid aging process skips what actually comes with aging. He hasn't had 30 years of oxidative stress eroding his body. He's just baby me, fast forward 30 years.
I took a step forward from my chair and his eyes stayed locked with mine but he still said nothing. From my understanding of these places, I knew that the clones were imbued with basic functional knowledge, social etiquette, etc but possessed what would chart as sub - 100 on an IQ scale. My plan involved a gamble that these clones were more than just cheap replicas though. I had to find out.
After a period that would pass for uncomfortable silence, I slowly closed the gap between us and extended my arm to him.
"Hello. It's nice to meet me." I said jokingly.
"Hello." He said, shaking my hand, albeit a bit weakly. "Though, if you'll beg my pardon sir, I think you mean 'you.'" he said with a beaming smile.
I cocked my head a bit, and then I smiled. I realized he'd never seen himself before, or seen his face rather. I'm sure they were hustling to get him out to me, he probably never saw a mirror.
I gestured to the small mirror on the wall to my right, his left, and I watched as he followed my hand. What ensued next was something out of a cartoon. He immediately recognized my face in the mirror and frowned. He looked back and forth between me and the mirror before he noticed his head movements perfectly reflected in the mirror. He moved closer. He moved away. He waved with his left arm and then his right before he was certain of what he was seeing. It wasn't me. It was him. Technically, Us.
"Sir......am I, you? Are....you me?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes. I am. I'm Jack." I replied. His brow furrowed a bit before he said
"But sir, my implant tells me that our name is John."
"It is. That was my dad's name. Mom called me Jack so there wouldn't be two Johns in one house. So for the time being, I'll let you be John and I'll be Jack, OK. Oh, and you can stop with the sir nonsense, I worked for a living." I said with a smile.
"Yes si......I mean. Yes Jack. So what would you like to do sir? We have 12 hours to do anything. We could get some drinks first, watch a movie, listen to some music and dance!" He practically exclaimed. My goodness, the idea of going to live for a bit was exciting him. I hadn't been excited about life in a long long time. I was again envious.
"Listen John. I didn't clone you for anything fun like that. You seem excited to get out and have a good time and that's good but I'm guessing you don't know what happens to you when our 12 hours are up or I'm done with you? Do you?" I asked. He cocked his head to the side a bit as if drawing on instructions hastily given to him.
"No si......Jack. I don't. I assumed I would wait to go have fun with the next person who wanted to!" He said, again with serious enthusiasm.
I shook my head and dropped my eyes to the floor. I was searching for words that I never thought I'd say to anyone. Let alone me.
"......What are they going to do with me Jack." He asked, almost like a child asking what his punishment might be for knocking over a lamp.
I choked up a bit.
"They're gonna kill you.........well.........they're gonna try anyway." | 2014-10-27T12:31:34 | 2014-10-27T10:53:22 | 47 | 20 |
[WP] You open Google maps and something looks different.. Alaska is missing. Everywhere you look online, there is no mention of it ever existing. | "This is odd", I said, as I was looking at Google Maps this morning.
"What is?", my brother replied, walking up behind me. We were just about to go to school, one year between us. My brother is brilliant, he's a straight A-student in his first year at the university. He is doing some sort of project, so he went "home home" and is staying here for a few days. I haven't really bothered with why he's coming along to school though, it has something to do with that project.
"Alaska's gone", I said, "How could it be gone?"
"What are you talking about", he said pointing at the north western part of the Americas, "it's right there!"
"That's the state, stupid. What about the continent?"
He gave me a look. I haven't talked about the Alaskan continent since then. My girlfriend was supposed to return tonight, but it seems she never existed either. The only thing left is an ocean much larger than it was yesterday, and the word "Pacific" seems a cruel, cruel joke. | It's May 3rd, 2015. It's 4 AM, and I've yet to act on the urge of even laying my head down. I'm tired. I feel sick. What happened to me? What is happening to me? Why? I think I should take another Klonopin and try to induce some sleep, but that sounds like a bad idea. I need to feel sane. I have to do this on my own.
January 1st, 2015. 12:00 AM. New Orleans. I'm heading into my favorite bar. It's cold and misty, but I feel amazing. I met a few of my boyfriend and I's friends out for some drinks - which turned out to be somewhere around two bottles of wine for each of us. My boyfriend worked a late night and didn't feel like coming out. It pissed me off, but I wasn't going to let it ruin everyone's evening. I took it as an opportunity to share some amazing news with our closest friends - I had booked a week long Alaskan cruise with the intentions of proposing under the aurora borealis which had been highly active as of recent. Everyone was so excited for us. They were happy that their friend had finally found a man who cared about him the way that I did. - I'm enamored with him, really. - and happy that we were happy together.
January 1st, 2015. 4:38 AM. I'm standing on a sidewalk on Decatur St. in the French Quarter. In my drunken stupor, I call my boyfriend. I want to talk to him. No answer. I try a few more times to no avail. I decide to send him a Snapchat and he views it immediately. "What...?", I think to myself. I go to send a message on Facebook. I'm blocked. Tears well up in my eyes. I head back into the bar to grab Rachel, a mutual friend of ours. I ask her if I can use her phone. I dial his number. "Hello?" he says, sounding a little short tempered. "Did you block me on Facebook? Why aren't you answering me? I love you..." I say, beginning to cry. "I don't know, let me check." he says. He hangs up on me. It was the last thing he said to me.
It's May 3rd, 2015. It's somewhere around 2 AM, and I'm trying to find the cruise tickets so I can cancel them. They're nowhere to be found. I go to the cruise line's website and it's returned with a 404 error. Am I losing it? A Google search for "alaskan cruises" brings me back nothing but gay cruising spots near the abandoned town of Alaska, WV. It makes no sense. I remember that I had purchased a map of the state for some hiking we were planning on doing. I rummage around - frantically trying to find it. I find the Barnes and Noble bag, and the map is inside. I open it and the entire state is gone. It's only water. I'm going crazy. My mind... it's playing tricks on me. It has to be. How could he do this to me? | 2015-05-04T12:56:55 | 2015-05-04T11:32:17 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Not everyone bitten by a werewolf gets to turn into a badass monstrosity. Some get stuck with other canine breeds. Describe the life of a werepug/werecorgi/werechihuahua, etc | So the were- isn't so much a species as it is a spiritual thing. Some sort of magic gone wrong. Specific to canines, just happens in a hilarious twist of fate canines have become our most varied creatures. Figure it worked well back in the day when almost all dogs were big wolffish hunting companions, but now...
Bruce's family had been Were hunters for centuries. Family legacy to protect the villages from the packs and stragglers that hunted them monthly. Family legacy when villages became cities, when cities become metropolises. When Weres went from fearsome beasts tearing out men's throats to... well Judy.
Judy the kind chatty barista from the coffee shop two doors down from his apartment. Judy who had mentioned getting bit by a strange dog last month right around where Bruce had fought a nasty trio of Were-Labradoodles. Judy who called in sick the first day of the full moon tipping Bruce off to track her down.
Judy the terrified looking Yorkie huddled in the alley.
Bruce lowered his gun and sighed. He sat down, patted the concrete beside him. The tiny dog slowly inched towards him, sniffing at his outstretched hand, letting out a babble of yips as she tried to speak. He patted her head softly.
"I guess I gotta explain some things."
| "and you say you've been losing blocks of time?" Asked the psychologist to Bernie.
"yeah it started a couple months ago, actually happens once a month or so, ish, not quite consistently. Going about doing my thing and then like a video skipping I am naked at the foot of my bed and my clothes are in the last place I remember and sometime my stuff have been moved about." Replied Bernie looking perturbed which is understandable.
"hm, you were right to seek help about this. You never wake up with any injuries and everything is ok otherwise except for the lost time. We're going to need more information before I can refer you to a specialist for treatment, is it at all possible that you have a friend or someone who can check on you? I'd suggest booking a sleep lab but that can get quite expensive and if its as hard to predict as you're suggesting then we may miss it anyway."
Bernie thought about the suggestion "I could ask my girlfriend about, I think she would be able to help out"
The psychologist began writing some questions down on a pad of paper and then tore it off handing the sheet to Bernie as well as a business card "get her to refer to this in order to assess you and if she has questions to contact me on this number at any time, now it's five to the hour I suggest we wrap this up this session and be on our way."
Bernie hadn't responded to message, the phone call or even the booty call, Georgia knew something must be up. She called to confirm her suspicions with the psychologist who agreed and said to be ready to meet someone new potentially as Bernie might be in a fugue state and not himself. Georgia also recalled the naked part which was fine with her, Bernie had the most adorable squishy face and perfect little butt.
She opened the door and was surprised to encounter a small but very excited sausage dog. "ooooh who are you?" She said in the voice people use when talking to small dogs "look at that squishy squishy face, nawww and your little waggy tail, cutey patootie!" She scratched and petted the little Roly poly animal who was very appreciative of the attention, clearly he had been left alone. Georgia walked through apartment looking for where Bernie could be, she threw some of his clothes that were on the floor into the washing machine, carefully extracting the contents of the jeans, a phone and a packet of gum. "glad i checked mister sausage, Bernie would be pissed if I killed his phone and ruined his jeans. The dog jumped and yapped excitedly at the sound of Bernie's name "oh do you know daddy's name? That's so cute! Oh Bernie is so fucking adorable, I wish he told me he had you so I could have been here sooner and gotten you something" her face fell flat as the coin dropped. His clothes were on the floor, phone in pocket, he was no where to be seen and the door wasn't locked when she turned up. Somewhere in the city was Bernie, naked and not with it she thought. Panic gripped her heart and she called.triple zero and told the police. She gave them a description of him, mister sausage walked around her feet whining and nudging her ankle with his head distressed at her distress. Finally she hung up and went into the kitchen and filled up a bowl with water putting it on the ground for the dog "hey mister sausage I have to go find Bernie" the dog yapped " yes berinie so you stay here and be ssafe.
| 2015-05-29T19:53:42 | 2015-05-29T17:18:41 | 232 | 43 |
[WP] Find a click-bait article, and write something that actually lives up to its title (facts needn't be factual)
Link to the original appreciated. | [17 Phrases That Will Horrify Coffee Snobs!](http://www.buzzfeed.com/stephanieanderson/blend-forty-nope#.qmrA9r86K)
1.) Happiness is unobtainable.
2.) When your father passed away, he regretted having you.
3.) You never deserved any job you own.
4.) Life is a fleeting, desolate experience. And here you are.
5.) Your significant other is cheating on you regularly with that person from your office you hate.
6.) They are thinking about leaving you for them. They make substantially more money.
7.) You've never performed well enough sexually.
8.) They've faked every orgasm. Even the men, they found a way.
9.) Your family pet hated you. So much.
10.) Every time you got bulled in High School, you deserved it.
11.) No one will remember you when you die.
12.) Your ashes won't even sustain a plants life. You're a waste of space.
13.) Death is unavoidable, but, for you, you'd be doing everyone a favor if you found it early.
14.) Your dreams shall remain dreams.
15.) You've succeeded on the failures of others, not by your merits.
16.) Your Children are destined to fail. Just like you.
17.) Everybody who ever told you they loved you were lying. | [Arya Stark and Harry Potter Have Taken the Selfie of All Selfies Together](http://www.buzzfeed.com/kimberleydadds/arya-stark-and-harry-potter-together-omg#.om4B4JPvp)
New York – As reports continue to pile up on riots and church burnings following the sudden appearance of Harry Potter and Arya Stark in our actual physical world – proving beyond question that magic is, indeed, real and that
Starks are now so scared of dying they're actually running away from Westeros and into our reality – the world now
has to deal with the repercussions of the actions of these two very unique beings. Just recently the wizard and the Stark girl released online what scientists now believe is 'the selfie of all selfies'.
"I don't see how other selfies can even exist now", photographer Sebastiao Salgado told Buzzfeed, in an exclusive
interview. "There is really no more point in photography as an art, really. It's like, why bother?"
Could it really be that Harry Potter and Arya Stark's selfie has single-handedly ended selfies for everyone? We went to the streets to listen to what people had to say about this.
"It's ridiculous", Janice, from Austin, Texas, told us. "First these magical *folks* show up here, screwing with our
Christian way of life. How am I supposed to get my son to go to church when there's an actual wizard doing
magic out in the streets? And now they're telling us we can't take selfies anymore? I mean I don't know what
selfies is, but I sure as hell don't want my right to take them violated."
Another concern about Harry and Arya's selfie, scientists now say, is the risk that it is so awesome it might actually create a black hole and swallow our universe without warning.
"It's certainly a possibility", Neil DeGrasse Tyson said, in a conference regarding the matter. "Have you seen the selfie? It's unbelievable. We're currently studying the behavior of photons and quarks around it using a variation of the double slit experiment. Everything points to the fact that the bits that compose the picture don't actually respect the rules of classical physics or quantum, but rather a new set of rules still unknown. It might be that this selfie is too awesome for our universe. We should be careful."
Stephen Hawking is another one who believes the selfie is not safe. "I mean you can't just put a wizard
and a Stark in front of a camera and take a selfie. There are repercussions. People's minds might actually,
physically blow. Gravity might shift. Our universe simply isn't ready to deal with that", he told Buzzfeed.
Yes, magic is real and Starks are coming to the Earth, and a selfie might explode the whole universe. These are strange times, indeed. One thing is certain, though – Harry Potter and Arya's selfie is, definitely, the selfie of all selfies.
On a related note, earlier this morning Ellen Degeneres tweeted, "Well, go fuck yourselves, then", regarding the
matter.
_______________
EDIT: Well, it seems that, since I've linked to this article, they've changed the title to the much less impressive 'Arya Stark and Harry Potter Have Been Hanging Out Together.'
My article stands, though. If you're gonna call a selfie The Selfie of All Selfies, you better damn stick with it, and I'm going to. Shame on you, Buzzfeed.
Also, for more things I write because I need the approval of strangers on the internet to feel validated as a human being, check out /r/psycho_alpaca
| 2015-07-13T06:30:56 | 2015-07-13T05:46:12 | 238 | 102 |
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future. | They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left. | This was it. The big day.
The famous mind-reader well already renowned for performing on stage and gazing into the minds of the audience, seeing whether they really believed he could do it before he did it, and when he did it, everyone knew what he could do and he knew that they knew.
The fortune teller regarded all other fortune tellers with suspicion and regarded them as hoaxes, but strangely maintained that her method works. As fate would have it, she was right. Every prediction to come out of her was accurate. She made sure to put on a show, with the crystal ball and the chanting, but she, like the mind-reader, delighted in showmanship.
Then one day she was in the crowd for his magic show. He told a volunteer what his card was, and after that, suddenly he pointed out the fortune teller in the audience and suggested, oddly enough, that they play a game of chess. Nobody knows who this volunteer really was, he disappeared shortly after, but he gave his name as /u/Highwatch on stage.
The two magical titans faced each other on the chessboard. They weren't known for their chess skill, but the audience knew their abilities would spice up a match. Nobody knew what would come out of it...well...except the fortune teller...
"1. e4 e5" the fortune teller thought, and as sure as can be, when White moved his pawn to e4 Black responded with e5. The mind-reader could see her conclusions as well.
"2. Qh5 Nc6 3. Bc4" the fortune teller saw, and so did the mind-reader, for those exact moves were played on the board. He even began to move his knight before the queen reached h5!
The fortune teller was thinking very deeply at this point. The mind-reader refocussed and saw, once more, the future of White and Black.
"3...Nf6 4.Qf3, I'll have to retreat..." thought the fortune teller. The mind-reader, seizing his opportunity, moved his knight to f6 to attack White's Queen.
"4. Qxf7 checkmate" thought the fortune teller, and all too late for the mind-reader, his king had been cornered with no way out. He could see it now, the fortune teller had focussed on only one probable future, and constructed a chess strategy around it in her mind to convince the mind-reader of this phony future.
"Well played..." he thought as he walked away from the chessboard. | 2017-01-19T17:36:57 | 2017-01-19T14:12:27 | 372 | 58 |
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future. | The two players sit down at the game table amid a sea of onlookers, Bob the psychic looks upon his opponent no doubt peering into her mind. At that very same moment, Betty the Sage whose stoic pose and closed eyes telegraph what must be her visualizing a vivid flash of what's to come.
A breathless moment passes as the crowd of spectators watch the two greatest chess masters in known history lock eyes and in an instant the two share a knowing glance, stand up, shake hands and walk from the stage.
Upon finally realizing what was unfolding one of the breathless spectators finds their voice and manages to ask "W...wait, Who won?" The two players again exchange a glance and proceed out of the room without a word, though each of the opponents had reportedly been seen chuckling silently as they exited.
Edited to complete the thought, thanks to the suggestions below for pointing it out. | *Literally the first time ever really writing something so please be nice.
They sat at the park and played chess. An old man approached and challenged the "Chess Master", as he called himself. He was apparently and literally a visionary.
The frailest of the two men sat and pierced his eyes into the younger mans forehead. The master payed no attention however and instead his focus was diverted toward the board. In his mind he saw his opponent make his first move.
The pawn moved triumphantly across the board. The younger man smiled and with pride conjured his own returning move in advance.
The smile quickly faded as the glistening image of the white pawn faded away.
"A knight?", the man whispered to himself as he stared into his opponents eyes catching a fleeting smirk past the white beard. The elder continued his obsession with his opponents forehead.
Not once had the vision changed for the sprightly young man and this newfound realisation created a seething rage inside of him. He created another vision in his mind however it was forged by him own will.
In his vision he threw his fist to hit the other man in the centre of the nose, not out of malice, to let of steam. He watched the face distort around his hand before reality snapped back and he continued play. He trembled as the image changed again.
How could he have this power?
This is all I have, is he here to take it away? This is all I'm good for in this depraved world.
He imagined his wife. "Would she be proud of me?" he said to himself. He imagined their faces on that day, it tore into his soul the same as the image always did.
"I'm sorry", the master spoke for the first time. "I need to get some space quickly".
The old man looked up at him. "I don't there is any need for that, try again".
The man calmed his breathing, he wondered what the point of the vision was if it were to change. He ignored every instinct and played by heart without thinking. The game continued for some time until an overbearing thought entered the master's head.
This time the vision was strong and sure. The master saw the white king in checkmate, he was going to win.
"Well played!" said the old man as he started to stand up.
"But we haven't finished!" the master protested.
"I saw all that I needed to know, the belief in your heart that nothing is set in stone." said the old man as he pointed in the distance."There is the nearest flower shop, you'll probably need it. But understand this: you will fail if you follow that power of yours."
The master pictured his family happy in his mind, the vision kept showing him the failure of his endeavor but he forced the curse away. He saw himself walking over to that flower shop regardless. "Wait, how do you know about me?," he asked.
"I don't but I saw enough" the old man smiled.
"You believe too much in those visions you know? The future can always be more than what your mind creates, only action creates certainty so I don't need to see the future like you, only the present."
| 2017-01-19T17:07:33 | 2017-01-19T15:37:46 | 36 | 21 |
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation... | Despite a healthy upbringing, I was never as gifted or as talented as my 6 older siblings.
To them, I was an awkward, tall and beefy kid; slow and pondorous and nowhere near as fleet as they were. They bounded and leapt over trenches and streams as I forded through them carefully. I was ever cautious, paranoid that something, anything, could potentially danger my live and possibly theirs.
But as I grew older I started to care less about them and more about myself, and the small group of friends I made, I started to feel as if I stood out. While they were short, agile and sleek, I was big. Really big. I was a foot taller than the second to compare against me, and that was my father, standing at around 5'10. The rest are even shorter.
It was at my sisters birthday, the one before me, that I really didn't appreciate. It seemed to my parents and they're wolf - like features that my birthday, just a month away, was to be different. They're freakish nature slowly turned me toward the thought of running away, but I wasn't able to now.
My parents and my eldest brother and sister, twins with the same silvery hair, sharp features and yellow-green eyes that pierced your heart and soul, took me out into the country from our little woodland home. Deep into the prairies we went until we stopped in the middle of nowhere.
"Son, dear son, we love you dearly..."
"Then why are we here?"
"Fergus, please..."
"Father."
He clenched his fist. "Fergus von Heiser, don't make this any harder than it already is."
"Then don't sugar coat it. I already know what you have planned." He flinched at this. The twins, Edmond and Lily, smirked with their sharp canines and squinty, wolf - like eyes. My mother, a proud alpha, stood silently off to the side, her arms crossed.
"Then you understand why we have to do this."
"Because you believe that I'm a freak to the family, essentially making you traitors to your own kin."
"None of our 'kin' bear anything other than the Wolf, Fergus." My mother spoke now and I scoffed at this. She was always prideful of her position.
"Mother, Father, don't you think we should get on with the hunt?" Edmond mused, slicking his dark hair back.
"Yes, I think we shall."
All them were wolves in a moment. The encircled me into a corner at the edge of a fence. Each 5 foot wolf growled menacingly at me. I knew better.
"Fine. Be that way."
The fight lasted for seconds. Each wolf ran away limping, whining with their tail between their legs. I just snorted, my white-tan mane blowing in the evening breeze.
I was proud of who I was. If they were to hunt me, then so be it. It's nature's way, for after all...
I am just a white buffalo. | I wanted to dance, and jump, and sing, but the looks on my parents' faces stopped me cold. I had transformed, rather ungracefully, and stood before my parents, expecting them to be smiling and clapping after they saw me in all my glory, but their faces had fallen. Their smiles vanished and their hands didn't move from their sides. The noise I made in confusion was not the huff of a wolf, like I had heard from my parents many times before, but instead it was a snarl. A thick, feline snarl that caused everyone in the room to step back in fear.
My strength faded and I shifted back soon after, my own body shutting down on itself and causing me to collapse. When I came to, I was in my bed, but still in the ceremonial gown I was wearing earlier, and the light that filtered through my curtains was the soft glow of a full moon.
From the hall I heard voices, two voices belonging to my parents, who were vehemently arguing. I crept as quietly as I could up to the door to my father's office, and I laid an ear against the cool wood.
"...our daughter, Bjorn!" My mother's voice was sharp. "We knew this day would come-"
"And I intend to face it head on, like we were warned." He snapped. Normally when my father was angry, his tone was more irritated than completely enraged, but the way he spoke to my mother was unlike anything I had ever heard. Something had made him furious, and my stronger sense told me that it was my transformation. But why would he be angry about that, and not proud?
"Warned?" My mother laughed. "Some gown-wearing hooligans stroll into town, give you this 'warning' that someone in our family will be a danger to us all, and you just listen?"
My father shouted, and as he shouted, it rolled over into a howl that prickled the hairs on my neck. Glass shattered and my mother yelped. Fear pounded through me as I struggled to decide what to do. The door was locked, and if my father had pounced on my mother, then she was trapped in there with an angry wolf who sometimes lost control of himself. I knew the stories as well as my siblings did. Sometimes, if people spend too much time in their spirit-animal form, they start to... lose the human side of them, and they begin to take on the instincts and personality of their beast form. After that, they'd be more animal than human, and would have to be put down.
Wood cracked and splintered from inside the room, and as I heard another cry, I began to panic. I didn't want someone to call the guards, but I didn't want to handle this on my own. Before I could come to a decision, the fear decided for me. I felt the same adrenaline course through my veins that I had during the ceremony, and my bones started to shift and fold. As soon as it had begun, it was over, and I looked around with sharper vision, my fear having been replaced with energy.
With all my might, I barreled through the door, tearing it off its hinges, and two heads snapped upright to glare at me. One was the human face of my mother, blood dripping from her skull, and the other was the snarling wolf-face of my father, whose dark gray eyes were almost camouflaged against his thick black coat. He growled a deep, warning growl that meant I should leave, but the way his eyes stared into mine kept me in my place. He didn't even recognize me, I could see it.
"Marinda." my mother wheezed, her eyes glancing from me to my father. "Get out of here. Please. I'll handle this."
I whined at her and took a step forward, but my father was quick to block me.
"Marinda." My mother cooed my name as gently as she could. It only made me want to help her more. "Please, just go. Go to your uncle's house and wait for me there. I'll be okay, sweetie."
As bad as I wanted to stay and help her, to maybe try and convince my father to stand down, I knew that it was foolish. I was only 14, and he had far more experience than I in using his animal-form. Already my strength was fading, and if it weren't for the adrenaline that had fueled my break-in, I might have already shifted back. Ignoring my mind's pleas to stay and fight, I turned away from my parents and pushed as hard as I could off my back legs, propelling myself down the hall. I only caught a few glimpses of myself in the mirror, a mainly white coat, striped in black down the back, and eyes the color of ice.
I tore through the front door and landed on all fours in the wet grass, the moonlight casting strange shadows every which way. My strength was waning, but I had made a promise to my mother, and I intended to keep it. I would wait for her. The last thing I heard as I cut through the night were the painful howls of my father losing every last bit of humanity he had. | 2017-01-21T21:04:04 | 2017-01-21T18:59:29 | 33 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war, when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off you. | Epikrates was walking through a forest. His commanding officer sent him to intercept a runner carrying vital orders to an enemy encampment. The runner was due to arrive by dawn's light, but the sky was still black as coal, so Epikrates was walking.
"Why are they still using runners? Have they never heard of birds? My tutor taught me of messenger birds over a decade ago. What kind of civilization are we conquering? Not a very good one."
He was 6 miles into enemy territory, and he had left behind a 6 mile trail of blood. He was trained to kill each patrol quickly and silently, and that is what he did. He did feel a little bad about spilling their probably innocent blood, but such was his way in life. He was taken from his family while they slept. He was beaten, forced to work, and when his captors discovered his innate intelligence, educated to an absurd level of competency in music, arts, science, mathematics, poetry, and battle. He excelled in battle. He excelled in everything, but combat was the one area in which he did not consistently procrastinate. It suited him, and so did his career. Epikrates did not want to sit alone and paint, or solve complex equations. He wanted to experience new things, meet people, travel to new and exciting places. Killing was an unfortunate requirement of his position, but he would rather have blood stains on his soul than live a life of boredom.
The sky was beginning to turn gray, and there was now a distinct circular path carved into the leaves.
"Where is this runner?" He whispered, growing impatient.
As if in response, a blade smacked Epikrates in the face. Not the side of a knife, a blade. An apparently very dull blade. He rubbed his nose. No blood.. It came from the edge of the forest, but no one was there. In one swift movement, he grabbed the knife and slipped behind a tree, waiting.
*crunch*
*cruunch*
*crunch*
The sound was now at the spot where he had been hit in the face with the knife. He absent-mindedly rubbed it with his thumb. It drew blood, causing Epikrates to twist his foot in surprise. This made a very loud rustling sound in the dry leaves he was standing on. What trick of the gods was this, to turn a sharp blade dull for a moment just as it struck him?
The leaves rustled once more as the messenger crept over dry leaves around the tree. Epikrates began silently climbing the large trunk. When he reached the height of two men, he looked down to see a shadowy figure carrying a bronze sword, glinting pale gold in the morning light. He drew an arrow from his pouch, and fell on the messenger.
He instantly felt warm, and a feeling not unlike opium. Her hood had fallen under her curly black hair, and she was smiling at him. She was beautiful. Her hand gently touched his, still holding the arrow to her heart, and she stopped smiling. The clouds parted suddenly to reveal the most glorious sunrise ever to be completely ignored, and a ray of light illuminated her eyes through the trees on the edge of the forest. Her pupils dilated. Their lips pressed together as Epikrates pressed the tip of the arrow against her skin, and ripped her tunic from the bosom down to the waist, where the shaft of the arrow broke. She laughed and took his knife from its sheathe, then thrust it into his chest, creating a slit into which she inserted both hands. They were writhing in the leaves, connected through various tears in their clothing. It was the best experience of either of their lives to date. They ran away that night, after fully exhausting each other. The message was never delivered.
-----
God damnit, what a boring story. Thanks for the prompt, OP, but fuck. That sucked. Gotta warm up, I guess. | I pause before quirking and eyebrow at the shocked maiden before me, "Well this is awkward." I drawl before tackling her to the ground and putting her in a submisison hold, after making sure she's secured I grab my rope and tie her up.
"Wha- hey get off me!" She screams trying to desperately to escape my hold, "You meet your soulmate and this is your first reaction? Tackling them and tying them up? You're a sick pervert!" She yells with a red face.
I snort and carry her over my shoulder lick a sack of potatoes, "What do you think I was supposed to do? Despite you being my soulmate you've snuck into enemy territory and tried to kill me besides," I drawl sniffing lightly in the air "It's not like you don't enjoy this, if anything you're the pervert here."
She starts to sputter in denial moving her legs to kick me in the chest, "YOU IDIOT IT'S NOT LIKE THAT! I -oof" she grunts as I drop her to the floor, "What was that for you jackass is that how you treat your one true love?!"
I shake my head and snort then start to rub my chest in mock pain. "Oh would you please keep quiet? I dropped you because you were kicking me, I'm going to have to carry you another way."
She sneers and spits at my face defiantly, "How are you going to do that huh? I bet you're just a- hey what the hell are you doing?!" She yelps as I carry her in a bridal fashion.
I groan "My god do you ever shut up?" I look at her red face irritatedly, "you're a lot cuter when you're quiet you know."
Her face blushes and she starts to struggle harder, "You jackass! You jerk! You can't just say that!" She yells wiggling so hard I almost drop her.
I snort and try to keep a good hold of her, "Why? Can't you handle the truth you crazy bitch?"
She stills and snarls at me with a fire in her eyes, "What did you call me?" She yells repeatedly moving her upper body up in an attempt to bite me, "You fucking bastard! You don't say that to a lady!"
I roll my eyes and slowly flip her around so she's facing downwards, "What lady?" I drawl taking delight in her snarls, she's really hot when she's mad "I don't see ones anywhere."
This sets her off even more but then she stills before she lets out a cheeky hum and replies to my comment, "You wouldn't know you ape. I bet you're just a loser who his mom told him that he looks great." She continues as a bristle, "I bet you wank off to anime girls while you desperately try to smash your head on your computer at every picture of one just to see if one of them is your soulmate."
I growl for a moment and drop her on the ground once more.
She turns herself over and glares at me and I glare back.
We snarl and sneer at each other for a moment before bursting out into laughter.
"You're a bitch" I howl wiping tears from my eyes.
"And you're a bastard." she wheezes as she still tries to escape from her bond.
There was a beat of silence.
"Hey can you let me go?" she asks after that moment.
I rub my chin in thought before giving a cheerful nope and sling her over my shoulder again.
"Come on! Please for me?" She begs I think she may have attempted to flutter her eyelashes at me but I'm not sure but it obviously doesn't work.
"Sorry baby" I smirk and spin around abruptly earning a yelp from her as she goes very still.
"Why you...."
I chuckle as she unleashes another verbal tirade.
We argue all the way back.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The girl huffs as she wiggles in her seat at an interrogation room, "Bastard" she huffs "Didn't even give me his name".
The door opens then closes and I walk in and sit down before her with big smirk.
"It's Alexander Rosewell, milady and I'll be your interrogator tonight. What's your name?"
She huffs and gives a smile, "Alice Lowell, getting anything else won't be easy."
I get up from my seat and walk over to her and tilt her head up softly as my face changes into a grin, "I'll be willing to do anything to force the information our of you."
Her eye brow raises and her smile widens into a grin to match my own. "Anything?"
"Anything" I mumble and loosen her bonds.
"Then let's get started" she purrs before smacking my in the face with her fist.
---------------------------------------------------------------
A crowd has gathered looking through a one way mirror.
"This is very inefficient." One officer grumbles
"But it works" another states with a laugh.
A General walks over and observes the action going on inside the room before laughing. "Ah young love."
The other soldiers watched in stunned disbelief as the general walks away and begins chattering among themselves.
"Whoa she's a looker, Alex is one lucky bastard."
"Yeah but who knew he was into that?"
"What's more surprising is that he's soulmate is into it too."
"They're a match made in heaven I guess."
"Whoa! She just pile-drived him! Is he going to get up from that?"
"Well I don't- wait what's he? Ooh that's got to hurt."
"No it won't remember the soulmate thing? It did catch her off guard though."
"I wonder how long will it take before they start making out and fucking?"
"I doubt it."
"....Rations?"
"You're on!"
----------------------------
Sorry if it's a bit crass but it just came out that way, just say the word and I'll edit it. | 2017-04-22T05:50:31 | 2017-04-22T05:25:25 | 75 | 54 |
[WP] A bored technician at a computer research facility decided to see if he could run Doom on the experimental quantum computer. It's been three days since the facility went into lockdown and you're tasked with gaining access to the facility to find out what happened. | “Bob!”
“Yes Ervin!?”
“That damn thing says the graphics card still wasn’t good enough!”
“Aww I just can’t believe it, we spend 25 million to get this damn thing to be the most powerful computer in the world and we left the damn graphics card at home!!!”
“They ain’t gonna believe this man, we’re gonna have to make something up! I got it, patch in the Security override, lock her down and tell em we gotta go on comms blackout for 36 hours!”
“I tell ya what Ervin, that’s damn brilliant, I know just the thing, we can play Wolfenstein Old Blood and New Order and maybe even throw some Skyrim into it, if I can get the TV upgrade working we’ll watch that damn race up in Dover!”
“Wait, Bob, what about food? Do we have any!?”
“Hell yes! Taylor brought in about two bags worth of his wife’s ribs, hot damn and I’ve got my stash of Pepsi and Moonshine, we’re gonna have more fun than a squirrel with 350 nuts.”
“Wooowee, lets fire this mother up then!! Poor ole Roy, missing out on this cause he thought like Bethesda did bout them graphics. Hell everyone knows no one can play that damn game without having another quantum computer just for running the graphics too.”
- The Redneck Computer Programmers. | It's been 3 days since the lockdown on the facility.
At first, we just heard a scream, and the door of the facility was open.
Multiple bodyguards entered as fast as possible, and someone took a glance.
He saw the bodyguards screaming and looking at something, and suddenly, the door shut itself, locking them in.
He heard a few more screams, and sounds of people getting killed.
That's when the lockdown started. No one was allowed inside for 3 whole days.
But they eventually had to do find out what happened anyways, so they decided to do it now, and armed 15 men, me included, to break inside the facility and see what happened. 3 Men would watch outside and would tell us if anything was outside, and check to see if there is anything we generally couldn't focus on.
So we got in, and took a deep breath, and opened the room's door.
I was the first to enter, and as soon as I got inside, everything turned red, and there were some weird looking 'Monsters'. I was horrified, and everybody who got in was just as horrified as me.
But the 3 outside didn't understand:
"*Why are you guys screaming?*" They said.
"*What's wrong? Snap out of it!*".
They weren't seeing what we were seeing.
The room looked red, and there was fire everywhere, It's like a dimensional warp.
After we all entered, the door slammed shut, or so that's what seemed to them, and no matter how hard they tried punching or kicking, it wouldn't even budge.
However, to us, it's like a hole got sealed up. There was no trace of the door.
Suddenly, a something lit up on the wall.. Saying "Remaining:20 Normal".
Then, monsters started falling from upwards, 4 to be exact, one from each direction.
They had claws, and looked like the bugs you could see in a movie.
We were terrified, but we tried to overcome our fear, and then started shooting at them.
We managed to kill them and put them down, but I think we wasted too much ammo, as we panicked and shot the same one so many times with our rifles, causing us to waste a lot of ammo, nonetheless, although they were strong, and survived more than 4 bullet shots, we could steal kill them.
We take a glance, and see that the number is now 16, but before we could piece it out, 8 jumped in, 4 from the left, 3 from the right. We did the same, although we started learning to not waste ammo, and knew how much bullets needed to kill them.
We pieced it out when we saw the number change to 9, but then, I looked around, and then looked in horror.
"*Look out Josh!*" I screamed at Josh.
He looked behind him, to see one of these monsters coming from underground to try and kill him.
He escaped at the last second, and we managed to shoot the Monster to death.
We kept focusing and trying to keep our cool, and then the last wave came.
It was 1 from left, 1 from right, 2 from the front, 2 from the back.
We manged to repel them, after we learned their weak spots, but there were still 2 according to the words on the wall.
We were on our guard, when Josh suddenly jumped and pushed me to the side. He got 'shot' in the Arm. Someone looked at where he got hit, and screamed at the top of their lungs:
"*Look out! There are sniper-monsters!!*".
-----TO BE CONTINUED----- | 2017-09-25T13:39:01 | 2017-09-25T11:24:50 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Me,
I miss you. I miss the way you used to be. You used to care. You used to try your hardest. Now all you do is say, I'll do it later. I can see that you're struggling. Yet, you have more friends than you ever did, and you know what you want to do with your life.
But still, when it comes to day-to-day stuff, you don't care anymore. You still show up on class on time, but you do your assignments in class the day it's due, or stay up all night finishing that huge end-of-term assignment. Your car has bald tires, because you can't be bothered to get new ones. You have dozens of personal projects you started ages ago, then lost all motivation to complete. And you've shaved twice in the past month.
All you do now is spend your time browsing Reddit, reading the news, and watching YouTube videos. It's like you've given up. Yet, when you actually have a _purpose_ to keep trying, I've seen you move mountains. I've seen you learn to become a proficient programmer from almost nothing in two months, and be better than the other guy at work who's been doing it for ten years. I've seen you try. Sometimes you failed, but just as often you succeeded spectacularly. Now, all you CAN do is fail, because you can't succeed if you don't try.
It doesn't make sense. You are somewhat intelligent, but squander it on useless nonsense. _Who cares_ what somebody on the Web has to say? I don't care, so why do you? It literally has no bearing on your life. Why do you keep watching random YouTube videos about stuff you're never going to even try because you're sitting there watching YouTube videos?
Maybe all you need is a real challenge. Something that you truly care about. After all, it's hard to care about deadlines and challenges you're set when you know they're completely artificial and arbitrary. But you KNOW that completing post-secondary school is important, and critical to you finding a good job. But you still don't care. Deep down, I know you care, but you need to care _now_, not later.
I remember how you used to race to complete everything you were set so that you could hand it in early. I remember how you used to start something and actually FINISH IT. Now you get three chapters into a book, set it down, and never pick it back up. I remember how you used to sign 15 novels out of the library, and finish them all before the week was up.
Please come back.
I miss you dearly,
Your Future Self | Dear James,
I know I've already written countless letters to you. And I know you've got to be tired of hearing it by now, but I miss you something terrible. You haven't died or anything..you're not sick. In fact, you're perfectly fine, but you're perfectly fine a few hundred miles away and that's what hurts.
I had a good night tonight. The best one since you left 3 weeks ago. Me and Car and Erika had so much fun together. We talked about our men. We talked about how we met, and how in love we all were. It was so nice to have girls to talk to about you. The only other person I really talk to about you, is you.
I hope you're doing good.
I know things must be tough there, and I know you're being worked pretty hard. I think you'll have big muscles when you get back . :) then whenever you hug me, I'll feel even safer than I did before. Speaking of hugs, I can't wait for ours in January. it'll be the first one in 13 weeks.
I never really imagined I would ever love someone as much as I love you. I never imagined I would stick by someone like I've stuck by you. In my fairytales, I didn't picture myself waiting weeks for someone, and I didn't picture my excitement in life coming in the form of a letter written by you. When I was younger I only dreamed of a white dress and a groom with tears in his eyes as I walked down the isle. I dreamed of dancing in the kitchen at 2AM, baking cookies and then falling asleep next to my one true love after eating every single one. I dreamed of adventures, and mischief, and sitting on rooftops at midnight talking and watching stars.
I suppose that's all you see when you've never truly loved someone before. Because if you have, then you would know it's so, so much more. Love is fighting over little things. It is making sure both of you have eaten, and it's good morning and goodnight texts. It's "call me when you get there so I know you made it safely." And "come home at a decent hour."
Love is saying I love you every time you hang up or leave each other's presence, even if for only a minute. It is making love for hours and never getting tired of being so close to someone. It is forgiving, a lot of it, and also forgetting. It is giving second chances but also setting boundaries. Love is not easy. It is hard. But it is what I feel for you, and I do not EVER want to feel it for anyone else.
You being gone has only given me more time to think about our future, and all the years I have left to love you. They say life is short and when I'm with you, I believe them. Hours feel like minutes and I could spend a million years with you but still miss you the second you leave. I never get tired of you. I can't wait for our wedding, and I never wanted kids but oh god what I would give to have a mini version that is half you and have me.
I can't wait until we live together, and fall sleep together, and I can't wait for the nights when we make love until the sun comes up, and then sleep all day. I can't wait for midnight drives, and I can't wait to surprise you with all of your favorite foods.
I can't wait for the bad times either. That sounds crazy to most people but if they understood my love for you then they'd realize bad times with you are worth more to me than good times with anyone else. I can't wait for the little arguments we have, and I can't wait to pick on each other. I crave the things most couples take for granted, because I want everything with you. I want the fights, and the yelling, because I know you must have those if you want the good too. And oh, how I want the good.
More than anything, James, i want you. I promise I will continue to write you. I hope you're staying strong. One of your buddies said as long as you keep your cool, listen to your DI's and stand tall you'll be just fine. I know how tough you are. I know what you're capable of. And I know I am so proud and happy for you to do this. I can't wait to see you in 9 weeks. And I can't wait to love on you, and spend those 10 days with you.
You are the love of my life, and I miss you more than anything right now. I love you baby, i promise Ima hold it down till you come home.
| 2017-11-05T22:02:16 | 2017-11-05T21:28:23 | 1,095 | 74 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "I... admit that I am not familiar with that particular game," Death said, hesitantly. "What are the rules?"
He sat in his bed, smiling to himself. He had become an old man, but his spirit was alive and well. "Oh, nothing too complicated," he replied. "In order to set it up, we will need certain materials: a ball, some wickets, and a couple of flags. We'll also need a wooded field on which to play."
With a wave of his hand, Death brought them to a field, with all the requirements that had been set. It was clear to Death that this was a physical test of some variety, and he was beginning to become nervous. Why would an eighty year old man choose to compete in a sporting event, with his life on the line?
"Alright," said the man. "Let's set up the wickets, and we each choose a flag. Then, we play!"
"I begin to find this tiresome," responded Death. "You will explain it to me now. How do I win? What are the rules of this 'Calvinball'?" | Death wasn't at all what Johnathan had pictured him to be. slicked-back hair and well fit suit reminded him a lot more of a Wall Street trader rather than the immortal reaper of souls. As he spied the somewhat overweight man in front of him, his mind worked to formulate a plan.
"Any game?" Johnathan asked, to ensure that he understood just how far the rules could bend.
"Any game," responded Death, matter of factly.
"Well I used to play a lot of games as a kid. Have you every heard of Dungeons and Drag-?" probed Johnathan.
"That's ... cooperative storytelling. Not a game. Gygax tried that on me to. If I didn't let him get away with it, I certainly wouldn't let you"
"So not any game then," quipped Johnathan.
"Yes, any game. Where, a game is defined as a structured engagement based on a before-hand agreed on framework of rules, which ends with one party being successful and the other not."
Johnathan thought for a moment. He could work with this. "Then I request that we play, 'The Campaign for North Africa'."
"I've never heard of it, but that would be acceptable. We shall start right now."
...
Around the 32nd day, Death was getting very tired of the inane rules which "The Campaign for North Africa" demanded at every turn.
[52.6] The Italian Pasta Rule
"The Italians, needing water to cook their pasta rations, must receive an additional 1 point of water when store are distributed. Any battalion-sized unit that does not receive their Pasta Point that have a Cohesion Level of -10 or worse immediately become Disorganized, as if they had reached -26"
[49.3] Evaporation and Spillage
"From Sept., 1940 until the last Game-Turn in August , 1941, the Commonwealth spillage and evaporation rate is 9 percent per Game-turn. This is due to poorly constructed containers used by the British; It wasn't until the British copied that German "jerry can" that their rate was reduced."
[55.4] AXIS COASTAL SHIPPING
"The Axis had a small fleet of boats that they used for coastal transfer of small amounts of supplies. These were old shipping boats and aging tramp steamers that could ill afford to venture too far from land. They have a limited capacity."
"Isn't there some way we can speed this up? I'm missing so many appointments," pleaded Death. With all of Death's time occupied on this game, people were living much longer than they should. The boss would not be happy.
"Well, according to rule 23.5.1b," cited Johnathan as he flipped widely through one of the myriad immense volumes of rules, "in order to finish the game, we either play until the final day of the war, which could be just another 4 years, or one of us could forfeit"
Death looked down at the battleship pieces that he had secreted into his lap, thinking that Johnathan wouldn't see his deft slight-of-hand. Johnathan was just one life. Sometimes, his clients won, it was an occupational hazard. But he would much rather give 10 more years of life than shirk his other occupational responsibilities. "Fine," growled Death.
"I forfeit, you win." | 2018-03-07T08:28:53 | 2018-03-07T07:43:27 | 65 | 39 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "...Do video games count?", I ask the death man. He actually looked like a very normal guy, just wearing black clothing.
"...Sure. Just nothing single player."
"Or, we could make our own game out of a game."
"...What?"
"We both get computers. We mod Skyrim with the same mods and same load order. We continuously play through until the game crashes. Whoever ends up with a crashed game first loses. Freezing does not count, and the game must crash. No staying in the main menu or waiting in a house. You must play through normally as you can with mods."
Death looks at me. "...I have a better idea."
"Yes?"
"We play vanilla Skyrim. Whoever runs into a glitch first loses, and you must play through normally."
I grin. "You are a goddamn genius."
"My idea... It just works."
"Guaranteed to happen, because Bethesda."
And we play through the game. Unfortunately, death gets some glitchy horses in the intro.
"...Goddamnit. You win."
The horses in my game also start freaking out like, a second later.
"What a beautiful game, Bethesda." | Gasping awake, he's surrounded by a dark haze. He doesn't remember when he arrived or how he did so, but he has a burning ache to go home. He hears a sound, a voice? He isn't too sure as he whips around in a panic.
"Hello?" He calls out. The anxiety, trembling from his voice, "I think I'm lost," he is met with silence. He tries to walk, but finds himself stuck firmly in place. His arms and torso moves just fine. It is when he tries to lift his legs that he finds resistance. The realization of being trapped sends his heart racing, "Hello?!"
"Calm yourself child," a calm voice finally replies. It's withered and rough on his spine. This sound causes all of his hair to stand on end. His body response is anything but calming. From the smoke a shadow appears. He watches in fear until a minute figure emerges. Wearing an all black business ensemble a woman, no more than four feet walks towards him.
"Who a-are you?" He asks nervously, "What do you want? Why can't I move my legs?"
She smiles up to him, "I'm afraid you have reached the end of your road Derrick," his eyes widen at his name, "Yes, I know who you are and what life you have lead. It's only because of that, we even meet now."
"What are you talking about?" He quickly replies, "I just want to go home, to go back to my family."
"That is what I am here to offer. A gamble if you will. We play a game of your choosing. If you win, you go back to your family and I will wait up to ten years before I come to collect. If I win, however, I will take you on the spot," he looks to her as her words settle in. His fear recedes as he finally understands where he is. More importantly, he understands what she is, "Do we have a deal or should I take you now? It's your choice."
"Any game of my choosing?"
"Any. Though I should mention, if either of us are caught cheating, we forfeit and lose immediately."
He furls his brow as he brings his hand to his chin. She watches him deliberate and waits patiently, "Deal."
"Excellent I am glad to hear it," she says as she clasps her hands together, "So what shall it be?"
"It's called 'Not It'," he states with a smile. It was his daughter's favorite.
"Not i-"
"Not it!" He quickly shouts triumphantly. She does not respond. His glee quickly shrinks away in the silence.
Her stone stare is mortifying. She twitches a bit, causing him to flinch before being surprised by an outburst of laughter, "That was very clever of you, Derrick," she says joyously. he looks to her in confusion, "I look forward to seeing you again."
He hears a finger snap moments before opening his eyes and drawing breath again. He's home. Unaware of his encounter he has the feeling he had a very strange dream. Looking to his left he sees his wife seated besides him. Her white blouse spattered with red marks all over. He looks to her in confusion as she looks down to him. He can see a wild fury in her eyes as she plunges the knife back into his chest. | 2018-03-07T09:08:29 | 2018-03-07T08:38:23 | 39 | 29 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | “How do you wanna do this?”
“I take my scythe, and like a badass I run down the Dragon’s back dragging it behind me.” Death replied standing on his feet in excitement.
The dm nods. “And with that you drag a mighty gash into back of the blue drake and land with a 3 point landing behind it as the dragon collapses with ‘hhhuuurghthhphp’.” He makes such a convincing noise that you might believe that a dragon just died in the room.
Death lets out a satisfied sigh and sits back down. “Alright, I’ve bested your dragon and conquered your dungeon. I win.” The dm nods once more and stands. “But before we go let me ask you one thing Death, did you have fun?” The reaper ponders for a second and nods. “Yeah, it was probably the most fun I’ve had in a while.” And with that Death was banished.
10 years go by and Death comes to the same man once again. “How did you do it? I beat the dragon and everything, I thought you lose!”
Matthew Mercer looks up from behind his DM’s screen with a bright smile. “The Dm doesn’t win when he kills his players. He wins when they have fun. So I have one question for you. Do you wanna play again? You leveled up.” | "Look, Gary, i am not saying that i don't enjoy our games, but how long have we been playing now?"
"oh, i don't know, it's been a while" said gary, smiling from the other side of the table.
"it's been nine years now, gary. Nine. years. Gary"
gary lifted his arms above his head and stretched, cracking his shoulders and knuckles. it had been nine years since Death sent out his challenge to him. same one as everyone gets, the opportunity to challenge death to a game of their choosing. And, well, death had forgoten to check whom he was challangeing.
"well, if you had had more time to play, we could be further along by now. i mean, twice a week is good,in fact, it's better than what most can manage, but you do know that it gives me an unfair advantage, right? This game is literary all that i can do in my curent state, and twice a week gives me alot of time to pass the time."
"Look, you know i enjoy our games, but i can't cancel people dying untill you lose"
Gary chuckled at that. twice a week for 9 years, and death still thought that he could beet him at his own game?
"you ain't beaten me yet mate. come on, did you get the natchos and MD for the night? it's your turn to buy"
Death sighted
"yes, and your pizza, with extra cheese and peperoni."
"From Marcos? your the best D" gary smiled. You had to give death his due, the guy knew his fast food. piping hot, greasy flavorful and only from the best pizzabaker ever to live. In fact, Gary suspected that Death had taken the baker to the afterlife in person only so he knew where the man "lived", and could keep geting pizza from the man.
"Soo, where where we?"
"You wherejust planing your attack on the Black spine, when you pulled out another book with gear. Wich, i might ad, is bullshit. You really shouldn't be able to do that."
Gary kept grining. it had infact taken him 5 years before he realiced that he could, infact, do that. still, he had his pride. he didn't do anything TO gamebreaking. the game, after all, needed some kind of balance.
"tell you what, i will let you spent your downtime inbetween games in heaven, if you agree to change the game. i really can't stand the confusing tacos"
"THACO death, it's THACO, not taco. sure, i can deal with that." said gary. O, you poor sood. you have noo idea what you just did Gary thought.
Gary started to move away his books. Death lit up, he hadn't really thought Gary would go for it. Then, gary picked forth 5 new books. Way, way ls than the previus game. then he started to write. In a way, he was sad. Death was a decent DM, and he realy liked to play with him. But maybe he could convince Death to keep playing with him after he won
"I chose to be a Cobold, and for my class, i chose wizard... Oh, and his name, is Punpun" Gary Gygax said. It was time to end this, and win the game he had made so many years ago. And he still hadn't used his loaded d20s... | 2018-03-07T08:40:32 | 2018-03-07T08:36:30 | 32 | 10 |
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here. | The space fleet arrived in its vast numbers, firing off smoke of a variety of colors to symbolize each of the athletes countries flags from each shit, blasting what was known to be their Queens song which only grew louder as they approached the ceremonial landing space.
This was the human races first time here, and they were making history with the impression they gave off. Then again, the human race had proved to be somewhat erratic since it joined the UG (United Galaxys), with its constant ignorance of other beings cultures and ways. Which is odd for a planet so diverse in its beliefs and customs. This was made all the more clear when a representative asked the Clanaxy to shake its five fingered hand, an act which is of the highest of disrespect in Clanaxy culture. Its akin in human culture to propose someone to violate their own mother and father a child. That inter-galactic war was thankfully averted.
This though, filled the other contestants with a sense of fear. Were the humans coming to war? Why were they so confident in their abilities? What kind of monsters did their people send to this legendary game to inspire such a display? The Pherrally contestants were all wetting themselves in fear as the airlocks opened and the athletes stepped off the ships.
Out from the doors of the ships, stepped men and women adorned in the colors their ships poured out. While there was only two to a ship, despite the ships overwhelming size, the humans insisted that each representatives countries were to be showcased. Unlike other races, who just sent a contestant for the events they believed they could succeed in, the humans entered every event. Even ones they never heard of. Example of which being the Scottish athlete who entered the most revolting sound event, for some reason.
The funny thing about their race, is that they refuse to take any substances that might improve performance, like so many of the other races do. When asked why, their Athletes merely replied that none of them had ever failed a test in their lives and swore they wouldnt dream of taking any. They are making history by being the only race in the history of these games to NOT use any enhancing drugs. They truly are a strange and scary race, despite their small stature as both a planet and a race. The song had ended as all the athletes left their ships adorned in their countries flags, looking like warriors ready for battle. | "Goooooooood evening Kromblas, Wanhti's, and all you cresty, cresty Spleeno's, welcome to the sevens hundred and thirty thousandth annual Intergalactic Olympics!" Brazz Mangoodlian gave the appropriate pause as the massive stadium full of beings from all over the galaxy erupted with applause. Flying cameras whizzed around the stadium picking up all the comings and going of the opening ceremonies.
“That’s right, Brazz,” replied his co-commentator for the events, Walladuang Fo, “who isn’t excited for the tired monotony of the broom toss, or the brick drop? I know I am.” The two sat in a small commentators box, high above a massive track and field style stadium. There was no air conditioning.
“Right you are, Walladuang. Those are sure to be as lifeless and tedious as ever, filling the viewers not only with a sense of boredom, but also despair.”
“And how.”
“But, I do believe we’re getting ahead of ourselves…”
“Surely indeed you are correct, Brazz. We’ve got to introduce the planets and athletes to who will be competing in these brazenly boring competitions of athletic prowess. “
The doors to the stadium swung open, and all sorts of weird looking creatures and features began walking, er, mostly shambling actually, across the stadium floor, bearing the flags of their respective planets.
“That’s right on the money Walladuang, we’ve got things from all over. Why look, there are the scissor people of Bloople 2, looking sharp as ever.”
“Correct again, Brazz. And here’s the needle headed people of the desert planet Fruup. They definitely look like they have a point to make.”
“The breadfolk of Wantani look hungry for a victory.”
“And the Grizzly people from Jungle Planet B don’t look like they can bear another defeat.”
“So let’s get…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
Brazz’s words were cut short by a terrifying rumble that shook the stadium. There was a hushed silence as athletes, fans, and commentators alike gave each other puzzled or terrified looks.
“Well,” said Brazz after a moment, “let’s get on with the opening ceremonies shall we?”
“Sounds good, Brazz, why don’t you…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
Brazz and Walladuang shared another look.
“Er, Kromblas, Wanhti's, and Spleeno's something appears to be going wrong, just bear with us a moment while we…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
“Ok, what the fuck is going on?” yelled Walladuang.
“Professionalism, Walladuang.”
“Right, sorry Brazz.”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
“Fuck this,” yelled Walladuang, “I’m outta here.”
Just as he was about to rush out the door, and just as Brazz was about restrain him, a gargantuan spacecraft, roughly a quarter size of the stadium, burst out of the clouds above and the source of the rumbling was revealed as towering speakers the size of elephants blasted music so loud that several older fans hearts simply exploded.
“Buddy you're a boy make a big noise playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day.”
The ship swirled around the inside of the stadium bowl, buzzing the crowd and blasting the tunes.
“You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kickin' your can all over the place.”
It swooped around once more before settling above the main podium in the centre and with effortless quickness, a ramp crashed down from the ship, crushing the podium and several of the delegates from the intergalactic Olympic committee.
“Singin’ We Will We Will Rock You! We Will We Will Rock You!”
As the song reached it’s chorus, a group of pink squishy humanoids, baring little rebalance to any of the other gathered species in the stadium rushed out of the craft yelling, flexing and generally woohooing.
“Fuck,” said Brazz.
“Is that the humans?” asked Walladuang. “How the hell did they find us again?”
“Must have seen the postings online.”
“Bloody social media.”
“Should we say something to them?”
“Nah, call the snipers.”
| 2018-04-28T10:19:35 | 2018-04-28T09:40:41 | 50 | 32 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” | Looking up from the hands of the aged and weathered quarterback the doctor could not fathom the pain. 52, fifty fucking two and this fucking maniac was till tossing bullets with better aim than a rookie just getting his chest hair.
Leaning back and taking In the living fossil, for this game to be Honest, he gasped as the last breath of a grid iron legend was expelled from the mortal coil that was wrecked beyond redemption. Three crushed ribs turned to dust and a completely severed L3. How the guy even made off the field is mind boggling. Jer Jackson had hit him low as Davin Steat hit him high and twisted him up in a knot. Snapping rims, his spin, and it appeared his soul.
That last throw hit its mark with all the percussion of a guided middle as the time drained from the clock in the closing minutes of the first game of the season. Fifty two. Fifty fucking two is just unbelievable as you felt for a pulse....
| *Tranquil Bar*
On the first glance, it's just a normal casual bar. People sitting around after work, drinking alcohol and chatting, maybe playing a game of pool or cards in the back. But the real bar is the one situated below, in the basement. But this bar isn't the same as the one above. It doesn't sell alcohol, but special cards. Cards that only members can scan and read the info encrypted inside it. And what's the info in it, you asked? Usually a name, an address and a request. Whoever's on it will not have a very good time.
You must have a pretty good idea what kind of bar this is. It's not just a bar for normal people. It's also a kind of a safe haven for mercenaries and assassins. The kind of people that you don't ever want to cross path with. Each mercenary or assassin would have to pay a monthly fee to keep being a member. But the benefit is that they will have a steady stream of work available. The bar get a cut from each verified card - cards that have been fulfilled and verified by a staff member - and the rest would be cash out or transfer to the mercenary.
The number of the members are a close kept secret of the bar. But most people who frequented the place for work are all familiar with one old man named "Lion." No one really know his real name, but everyone call him Lion. There are multiple stories about him, but no one know if any of them have even a sliver of truth to it. One story even told that he got the nickname "Lion" because he shouted someone to death. If you were to asked Lion himself, he'd just smirk and change the subject. The fact that the guy has possibly a hundred tales to him isn't the most impressive one, but it's the fact that he's the only merc I've known that lives to be his age. In this business, you'll get a bullet or two sooner or later. That's why most of us are just young fools with too much to drink and too little to care about that accepted this dangerous path in life. You will almost never see an old man doing these kind of jobs. There were few desperate enough, but most of them never came back for seconds, or came back at all. But Lion is different, he would accepted a card, fulfilled it and came back for more. Some suspected that a group of people hired him so that they don't have to pay the monthly fee for membership of the bar. But that was proven to be false.
And so, the old man became a special kind of legend. He'd showed up after a job, bandaged and wounded, yet he's still there for more. He only works with people he knew a long time, but every regulars here respected him. Rarely do we see new guys sticking around here after a job or two. But not Lion, not the old man whom always around, always ready for another job. That old man really reminds me of an old saying:
"Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” | 2018-07-15T08:19:45 | 2018-07-15T08:11:37 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING. | Being average can be both a curse and a blessing. On one hand, you never really can experience prosperity. I learned this the hard way in highschool when I would wrestle. It never feels good to train your butt off to only come in 5th place in a tournament. After all... No one cares about 5th place. It's only the top three that matter.
Whatever I do, whatever I try I seem to be capable of it. Capable of anything. It truly allows me to explore different areas of life.
I remember when I tried my shot at bodybuilding. After 4 years of training I had a decent physique. Emphasis on decent. Me and a few of my friends started at the same time. 4 years later they look like they are ready to compete in competitions or become models. Meanwhile, I simply look fit. They told my it was my genetics. I knew it was because of my curse.
I'm capable of anything. But I'm not capable of going beyond average. Perfection is a dream to me that I can only loathe.
Art, athletics, studies, popularity. I can only be average. It really takes a toll on you mentally knowing that you can never stand out... You just become background noise.
It led to depression. Which eventually led to drug abuse. I lost my job, family, and interest in life.
I was homeless for 5 years when it happened. I've been living out of my car and taking showers at planet fitness.
Then I saw him.
A young little boy grasped his chest and sat down on the cold granite. I rushed up to him asking if he needed help. He told my he had trouble breathing and that he wasn't feeling good. A crowd gathered, people became worried for him. Then I heard
"DOES ANYONE KNOW CPR"
I've heard of it, but I never tried it. That's when I realize that my curse could actually save this boy's life. I rushed up to him clasp my hands together and start pushing on his chest in a rhytmic pattern. It wasn't the best CPR nor was it the worst. It was average and it got the job done. The ambulance came and commended me. They told me I helped save the boy's life. As they drove off the crowd applauded. I smiled. Maybe being average wasn't so bad. It helped save a life.
Any CPR is good CPR . | "A theory of everything (TOE[1] or ToE), final theory, ultimate theory, or master theory is a hypothetical single, all-encompassing, coherent theoretical framework of physics that fully explains and links together all physical aspects of the universe,"-
It wasn't until higher education that I truly realized what I had. I had spent my formative years somewhat plainly. I never stood out, never went above and beyond, and was never anything unusual for a kid my age. Of course, not that I ever really tried. Being a middle child, I was pretty used to going with the flow or blending into the background. It suited me.
By the time I graduated from High School (middle of my class, go figure) I was ready to head off to college, find an office job, and live a mundane life. I was only going to a local community college for a bachelor's degree, in all honesty. My parents had expected at least that much from their three sons, and I wasn't about to follow my older brother to the Ivy Leagues.
Since I had no outstanding interests of study, I found myself generally unsure of what major or program to pursue. I happened to find that I didn't particularly mind the science classes, but still couldn't decide which field I favoured. None of them seemed particularly more difficult course wise, so I generally maintained passable grades. This meant it was all up to my personal decision, and I'm not know for being overly decisive.
Sharing this plight with my academic advisor, I was blessed with a somewhat novel insight. "The sciences aren't really separate topics, when you break it down. Humans cut them up and put different labels on them to make them easier to learn, but really all things are connected. Whatever field you choose, having a wider perspective will certainly help out." It made sense, it really did. I found that if I let myself be a bit more open minded, I could approach a problem from every angle.
My degree was in Quantum Physics. Well, my first one was. Since I never really had to try terribly hard, I pursued a different degree whenever I could afford one. Not that the education was necessary, but a degree to back up my words never hurt. I had chosen Quantum Physics first chiefly because it was the most fundamental field I could study. My older brother landed me a research position at a respectable University, and there I began my career.
It started with a Quantum Theory of Gravity. I was able to finally marry the two concepts that had been at odds with each other for all of modern physics. Sure enough, it turned out that we were just looking in all the wrong directions. With the acclaim and funding I accumulated, I continued my research. I broadened my focus, choosing whatever problem would jump out at me as being easily apparent. The study of complex systems, like biology, sociology, psychology, astrophysics, neurology, and other sciences of the like proved some of the easiest for me to make headway in, usually laying down a foundation for others to build upon or pointing the way to a major breakthrough.
I was a modern day Leonardo Da Vinci, always flirting with whatever held my attention span for the time being, only to leave it for others to finish. I was acclaimed as a universal genius, perhaps one of the greatest there has ever been, though I knew differently. I was simply standing on the shoulders of Giants, and making them hold hands. My best work was always when coordinating between at least two different teams of different expertise. Regardless, I finally felt exceptional, for the first time in my life. Even if it was for being exceptionally average at exceptional things.
Now here I lie, on my own death bed, completing my final contribution to mankind. A singular theory, parent to all others, that could reasonably work to explain all physical phenomenon to an acceptable degree. I'm sure those who follow will improve upon it, as they always do, and I'm certain that they will do the amazing or impossible with it. However, on reflection of my life and the things I have done, I cannot in good conscience take the credit for my so called accomplishments. The world already had all the tools at their disposal to do what I did, and better at that. I was just a medium. A perfectly neutral middleman free from the biases and confining perspectives an individual faces. A carpenter deserves the credit for the house he built, not the hammer.
I hear they're developing an AI based on the brain scans they took of me, as well as a few of my own publications on neural networks. They plan to hook it up to the internet and feed it the lump sum of human knowledge...
I wonder if it will be better or worse than me?
| 2018-10-24T12:47:09 | 2018-10-24T11:17:23 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] A baseball manager tries to lead a prison league team to victory. To do so, he sends a group of semi-pro players on heists that are made to fail, attempting to land them in jail. Unfortunately, their strength, speed, and situational awareness make them an incredibly effective heist crew. | ######[](#dropcap)
"You know you weren't supposed to get out, right?" Tucker glared at the five of them, his arms crossed over his chest. "The entire point was to land in jail."
"Is it our fault they're too slow?" Cristian asked, slinging the small sack of diamonds over his shoulder. "I slowed down for them, but the guy chasing me ran out of breath in five minutes flat and was wheezing. I think he got a heart attack." He was the shortest and slowest of the bunch, and would have been the easiest to catch.
The others murmured their agreement.
"And what's your excuse then, Shawn?" Tucker whipped around, setting his sights on the "tech-savvy" member of the group.
Shawn simply shrugged, slowly removing his black gloves. "They never checked the restroom." He sniffed. "I thought they always checked the restroom. At least in all the heists movies I've seen. I just came out through the air vent. Also," he turned and glared at Dylan, "I know you left that giant baseball bat in there. I nearly didn't make it out. I dented the air vent so badly, I'm pretty sure they'll have to get the entire section replaced."
"Well, I wanted to help," Dylan said. He chuckled, running a hand through his sandy hair. "I was shocked when you came out and actually met us by the van." Then he snorted. "It was so conspicuous too. A giant white van just across the street. My nana has better vision than them."
"You weren't here to show them up or prove how much better you are than them!" Tucker finally exploded. He grabbed the baseball bat from the table behind him and slammed it against the metal surface. The deafening clang reverberated through the room, causing Alvin to clap his hands against his ears. It successfully shut the members of the crew up. "You were supposed to get caught! How are we supposed to win a game if--"
"Why are you so set on winning anyways?" Shawn asked. His blue eyes were piercing as he gazed at Tucker, an eyebrow half-raised.
"Because...because. Just because. It's a matter of pride," he finally spit out. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure either. It *was* a matter of pride, no doubt, but it wasn't like he was going to send these players to the Major Leagues. So what--
A small sack of diamonds appeared in front of his eyes. Christian met Tucker's eyes head on. "You were the brains of the operation. We're clearly all cut out for this. You wanna waste your life trying to pull a team together that'll never make it beyond those prison walls, or you wanna make some money?"
Tucker was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and took the bag.
***
r/AlannaWu | It was just two years ago that Mark Dufrane stood in the desert with the barrel of his .45 caliber handgun inside his mouth. Today he can still vividly remember the metallic taste of the gun powder. Mark was facing ten years in prison for criminal theft and writing fraudulent checks; he stole from his own brother-in-law. He was a respected psychotherapist specializing in the field of addiction for over 30 years, and had over thirty-six years of sobriety. All of his recovery background and knowledge seemed to all mean nothing, as gambling proved to be his demon he continuously battled to no avail.
He credits his granddaughter for saving his life. She called him right before he pulled the trigger, he couldn't deny the implicit love and care she expressed with her tender, innocent voice. He put the gun away and drove back home, willing to face whatever came.
Mark's lawyer did miraculous work for him, and after only spending thirty days in jail, Mark re-entered society with a new love for life. He gained strong, meaningful relationships with some of the jail staff, and Mark decides to become a guard at the same jail he was convicted to. Nowadays Mark is brimming with a new energy that seems to suggest apparent serenity, but something is not quite right inside his mind.
Just like last year, Mark was appointed to be the manager of the inmates in the annual Guards vs. Inmates baseball game. He jumped at the opportunity when he heard they were looking for a manager because Mark always enjoyed a new competitive and potentially thrilling experience. He honestly believed his team had a shot against the guards, but their right-fielder Billy Jarkins seemed to predictably blow it for them. The guy would strike out if his bat was a gong, and miss fly balls if his glove was a tangle net.
He needed Billy out of the lineup. For some reason, and Mark noted that this was most likely unhealthy, but he felt like he hated Billy Jarkins. If it weren't for him, the inmates would have won that game for sure. This year Mark wanted to get creative, and his old ways were seemingly catching up with him.
He had gotten to known several sketchy characters from his days around the jails and from his substantial attendance at Gamblers Anonymous meeting. Mark knew of several former MLB players who were GA members, and knew they were financially struggling. Through months of calculated and intense manipulation, Mark had successfully organized a casino robbery in complete secrecy.
The problem was- the heist carried out exactly as planned. Mark was certain they weren't going to be able to make it out in time, would certainly be caught and sentenced to his jail. The four men made it out of there in record time, and Mark couldn't believe his eyes when his associate brought back his cut in a manila envelope.
Mark was baffled by this contradictory victory, as inwardly he felt defeated. The annual baseball game was in two weeks, and he was stuck managing Billy Shit-Stick Jarkins. He was going to have to face this inevitable defeat and shame as the guards laughed at him and his players. Mark didn't care about money and never did. He cared about winning.
The Inmates lost the game by a score of 9-2. Out of everyone involved, it seemed Mark was the most emotionally invested. He got intermittent flashbacks of his suicide attempt. He remembers the little things he learned from his lifetime battle with gambling addiction. It doesn't matter if it's $14 or $14 million- the sting and subsequent emptiness was the same. The feeling of not being done playing- but the whistle has blown and the field has been cleared.
Mark became very detached from his wife and was taking this trivial loss way too hard. All he could think about was how he was going to win next year. He needed to pull of another heist- one that was guaranteed to fail.
Mark was asking the universe to free him of these egotistical and inescapable thoughts. He was granted this wish when his wife decides to leave him, growing tired of his negative and arrogant ways. All of a sudden, love is all that's on Mark's mind, and once again he is feeling lonely and suicidal.
He standing next to a jail cell at work one day feeling very depressed and lonely. It was then that he heard a voice say, "Hey Boss- what's on your mind?" Mark looked over and saw Billy, giving him a cordial look as he always did. Fucking Billy. There was something about him- though. Why was he always happy? The guy was in jail for another 25 years for arson, but for some reason he never let anything bother him.
Mark begins talking with the inmate and feels a sense of inspiration. The two men chat for hours and are growing what appears to be a genuine friendship. Mark realizes where he was gone wrong, and grows tired of his psychopathic and manipulative tendencies.
The next year, the former MLB players end up in the same jail that Mark is a guard at. Mark asks to step down as the inmates' manager, and requests to play on the guards team. | 2019-01-14T14:56:44 | 2019-01-14T14:10:46 | 151 | 28 |
[WP] You are an immortal that got sentenced to permanent burial over 1000 years ago. Today a team of archaeologists just dug you up. | I high fived the archaeologist that dug up and opened my coffin. She was looking at me with a mouth open so wide it looked like she was having a hard time breathing.
"I've been there, girl. I ran out of oxygen nine hundred and ninety nine years, three hundred and sixty four day, and sixteen hours ago."
She screamed so loud that it felt like someone was stabbing my eardrum.
"Whoa hey I'm sorry. Do people not high five anymore? That was big when I went under."
More screams came from all around me. I looked past the girl to see a team of what appeared to be experts scrambling up out of the dig site and running as fast as they could away from me.
"Well, I've made worse entrances," I said to myself. Everyone else was driving away now.
Except their engines didn't sound right and the designs of the cars were very different from what I remembered. Suddenly one shot up into the sky and zoomed through the air. Getting as far from me as possible.
"Hell yeah! There's flying cars now? Man this future is gonna be awesome!"
I walked over to a pickaxe that had been dropped in the fleeing and held it in my hands. Its wooden handle was rough, and so very different. So very strange.
I looked back at the coffin I was trapped inside of.
Smooth black stone. Strange, I had forgotten its color so long ago. Right inside of it was the watch they had put in with me so i could always know just how long I had missed. Amazing technology to have run this long.
I smashed it with the pickaxe. The stupid little piece of metal and leather broke with the most satisfying, most beautiful, most harmonious sound I'd have ever heard in my life.
And the sound of the pickaxe breaking apart that damn stone coffin? Why I felt like a monkey in a banana farm.
After a good long hour or so of destruction i threw the pickaxe down and marveled at my strength.
I knew i was immortal but to have lied still for a thousand years with the slightest atrophy? My goodness Dr. Havershem was amazing. But she'd probably be dead by now. Unless she had managed to use the God-serum on herself before the catholic church stopped us.
"Well," I said to myself and the broken rocks, "only one way to find out."
And so I walked, wondering where the hell I would find any information on the old doc. | I've been thinking. Have I been thinking? Have I been dreaming? I barely exist. But... I do exist. In this darkness, this eternal darkness, I still exist. And I've been thinking, or dreaming. I dreamt a man with a life, who existed in time, with light. For me, there is no time, no light. There is only this eternal darkness. In my dream, about a man, in the light, he's seeking something. He's looking for something that will make more people see him. I don't understand. It's cloudy. He wants... recognition. He thinks nobody sees him. IDIOT! No one sees me, in this timeless darkness. But I do exist. I begin to exist... more, when I dream this man. When I stop dreaming him, I think about him. When I dream about him, I whisper to him, with my invisible voice, I whisper to him that we are the same. Both of us, we barely exist. A stiff wind would snuff us out. I can help him. We can both be seen! As I'm telling him that we can both be seen, I develop a strange sensation. I begin to feel my body. But more importantly, I begin to feel HIS body. He is sweating. I can feel that he is scared. I can feel a drop of sweat slide into my... no, into HIS eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand.
I dream of him again. I awake, into the dream, the dream of the man. He's sweating again. He stinks! His disgusting flesh smells of stale sweat! I think I hate him. I don't know how such an insect, such a putrid, vile, ridiculous person could appear in my dreams. But he's digging. I move his hands, and he continues to dig. His mouth is sour. I think he's vomited a few times. Most of his fingernails have been torn away, but I hate him, so I make him dig faster. I've begun to understand some things. His world is strange. Digging is what he does. Usually with tools though. Row upon row of picks and brushes and tiny trowels. These things were nonsense at first, but the images of them are beginning to refine themselves in my mind. They are beginning to become real things, things I can grasp, with my mind, and his hands. But he's close, so I don't need him to use them. For this, I'll use his hands. This man, this idiot that interrupted my sleep, that made me dream of him, I'll make him use his disgusting hands to dig, and I'll help him get what he wants. What WE want.
We awake again. We must have passed out, because I stopped dreaming him. His hands are in terrible pain. Bruised, no fingernails left, and he's vomited again. I can feel how weak he is. I think he will die soon. But I force him to get to his knees. He even tries to protest a little bit, but I'm stronger than he is. I don't even think he wants to be seen anymore, he just wants me to let him be. But I won't. With his hands, I feel my way along the stone. There is a gap that his bloody fingers will just barely fit into. I brace his feet against the mounds of dirt that we've scooped from this muddy hole, and using every bit of his strength, and a considerable amount of mine, I pull the stone slab up from a groove, and out, sliding it back across the ground. He cries out, and we feel a searing pain in his ankle, as the slab grinds to a halt only halfway opening the way. I clamp his jaw shut from the ridiculous squeals, and force him to crawl forward. To look into the opening... and we see. We see MY body.
Oh, finally, I am really awake! I leap out of the tomb, snatching the disgusting little man off his knees, and look into his little sweaty face. Into his little piggy eyes. He sees me, and I SEE him! He's terrified, but I don't feel it anymore. I'm awake, alive, I EXIST! I pitch his wretched body into the tomb, and push the stone back into place with my heel. Now he can rot in this stinking hole! I have a new world to explore... But first, there are other "diggers" here. The ones he wanted to see him. Not as pathetic or young as he was. But wretched people, people who wallow in the dirt to find old things. Well, they found ME! | 2019-10-25T23:42:25 | 2019-10-25T23:29:43 | 285 | 64 |
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one. | The three men stared at an array of eight solid steel doors. They heard a faint scraping against door number four, and a low gutteral screech.
"I presume this is the one?" asked the tall thin man. His two companions nodded silently.
"Open it." The tall thin man's companions exchanged nervous glances and one of them began to fumble with a large key ring.
The screeching behind the door grew louder and was now accompanied by the sound of metal scraping against metal.
The tall thin man gently perched his ear against the door, pushed a button on the intercom, and announced himself: "Desmond, calm now, it's Dr. Hines. Do you remember me?"
The intercom exploded with a cacophony of noise and the door, heretofore firmly set in a foundation of concrete and steel, shook angrily.
The two companions jumped back. Dr. Hines returned his ear to the door. He pushed the button on the intercom a second time. "Desmond, hello to you too. I have something very important to tell you, and I would prefer to do so face to face if that's alright with you."
Dr. Hines looked at his companions and motioned at the door. "Open it."
The man with the keys slowly approached the door, his outstretched hand shaking. He inserted the key and turned it softly. An internal gear whirred, and the heavyset door began to disappear into the wall.
Dr. Hines stepped into the dark cell and out of sight of his two companions who, having come as close to the cell door as their nerves would permit, hovered their hands over their holsters.
"Desmond, it's about your sister."
The two men heard a deep growl, almost a roar. It wasn't loud, but it darkened their souls. Then, a deep voice, unmistakably human, but threatening and sinister: "I'm listening."
"We need to stop her."
The two men heard another sound, a clang of metal against metal. A single claw, red and the size of a fire hydrant, penetrated the imaginary barrier between the cell and the world. Then another claw, and another, and soon a whole *thing* emerged. Not animal, but not quite human. Larger than imaginable, yet familiar.
Dr. Hines, appearing even thinner and no longer as tall, emerged from the cell and stood beside Desmond.
The two men gawked, not knowing whether to talk, run or shiver.
Dr Hines motioned to the exit. "Gentlemen, we have no time to lose." | It seemed so obvious at first.
The boy bared the appearance of the Devil, born with demonic wings as dark as sin and the beginnings of horns sprouting on his brow. Their daughter, on the other hand, was the epitome of an Angel, a golden halo already floating upon her head and the beginnings of white wings growing from her back. To them, it was apparent who needed to be dealt with lest they destroyed humanity.
If only her father hadn’t been so sentimental and sent the boy away with his most trusted and strongest knight before they could do what was necessary. On the other hand, it gave her and her husband the perfect excuse to finally have her father pass the mantle of king and queen to them, clearly becoming senile in his old age and thus no longer able to rule efficiently. He was kept to his chambers, served by his most loyal of servants. Of course, she always tried to visit him with her daughter. After all, despite his poor choices, he was family... and perhaps, he would finally be willing to them her where he sent the boy.
But all he would do was stare at her with pity in his eyes, fear overcoming him upon setting his sights on her daughter.
He died only a few years later, found by her beautiful little angel who alerted all who could hear of what happened.
She was too busy mourning the loss of her father to notice the wicked smile on her daughter’s face or the way her daughter’s eyes glowed, looking as cold as ice.
Upon the passing of her father, she began sending out search parties for the boy. The men who once refused due to their loyalty to her father could no longer do so, begrudging leaving to do their duty.
Yet no one ever found the boy.
She and her husband could feel tensions growing each year the boy was left free. The servants would whisper to each other fearfully, only to become silent upon noticing her presence, her daughter smiling angelically by her side.
She simply wished that the servants knew that it was alright to discuss their fears about the boy. After all, there was no safer place than the home of her Angel.
As the years passed, the heavy presence in the air only grew. Servants were being replaced more and more often, a great deal of them running off into the night to parts unknown. Eventually, it soon became too difficult to find replacements, people becoming fearful of why so many were running off.
The only solace she could take was that there were rumors of an unnamed knight who was protecting the people of her land, his identity unknown. She had heard tales of his great feats: slaying man-eating dragons, rescuing villages from bandits, protecting their borders from invaders.
She could only imagine the power he could give her daughter if they were to wed.
Thus, she discussed it with her daughter as she brushed her daughter’s silky hair, as she did every night.
She was surprised by the sneer on her daughter’s face.
“Why would I do that? I’m perfectly happy as I am now.”
She smiled imploringly at her daughter.
“My sweet, it’s only right for you to marry and continue our bloodline. If you marry him, you can rule side by side and have one of the greatest reigns in all of history.”
Her daughter let out an unlady-like snort, prompting a frown to form on her face.
“I still don’t see why I would need him. I’m perfectly capable of ruling on my own. I’ve already shown the servants that.”
She paused in her brushing.
“What do you mean, my Sweet Angel?”
Her daughter remained silent. She grabbed her daughter’s chin and pulled her face towards her.
“What. Do. You. Mean?”
“I simply mean that any who questioned me I had properly punished, as was their due.”
She felt her heart stop.
“Punished...?”
Her daughter gave a light nod before turning away to await the brushing to begin once more.
“Yes, I did to them what I did to Grandfather, although they did taste better than him. Their souls weren’t as old.”
The brush dropped out of her hand.
“...what?”
Her daughter picked up the dropped brush and continued to stroke her hair, as though she said nothing amiss.
“Yes, Grandfather’s was a little gamey. Could have used a bit more flavor. Too much sorrow and not enough fear. The servants though...” her daughter stopped brushing to look at her mother, her eyes like cold ice, “well, their fear was just delicious.”
The brush was placed back into her mother’s hands, hanging loosely in her grasp.
Her daughter, her supposed Angel, lifted her perfect brow up, as though to ask why her mother wasn’t brushing her hair.
She did so, more from fear than love.
The only thought circulating through her mind was that they had chosen the wrong child.
Part 2 is up | 2020-05-07T09:18:35 | 2020-05-07T08:57:58 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] You’re in the mafia and the boss has ordered you to kill your girlfriend to show your loyalty. You look around the room and see the pictures only to find out you’re dating the mafia boss’s daughter. | My heart froze in place, my veins turned to ice; I couldn't believe the order I was just given.
"B-but, boss," I stammered, "you want me to kill my girlfriend?! Your daughter?! Why? How could you!"
The patriarch of my family, Hirayama Makoto, had a reputation for giving such bizarre tests of loyalty. Those closest to him were familiar with these tests, but I, being a newcomer, had no hope of understanding his motive. I scanned his face and posture for any hints that he might give, but his countenance was as cold and lifeless as the large marble orb that sat on the wooden bookcase behind him. He slowly rose from his seat, peering at me from dark, steely eyes.
"Well, Higa?" He said, his voice with the threatening growl of a lurking tiger, "what will it be? Hesitation will get you killed faster than insubordination in this line of work."
I knew, right then and there, what must be done.
My right hand flew to my pistol, pulling it from my coat pocket and pointing it straight at my boss' face
"S-s-sorry boss!" I shouted. Adrenaline flooded through my body, making my jaw and my hand shake. "I... I can't! I *won't* hurt her!"
Boss Hirayama moved not a muscle; not frozen in fear, but strengthened by confidence. Boss was aging - his body grew thin, and his glossy black hair was striped with white. But this was a man who had faced subdued many young cubs back in the day, fighting and scheming his way to the top. I had trespassed on the tiger's domain, making threats with what felt like little more than a pointy stick. If I had any hope of winning the fight, In needed to end it quickly, lest I find his fangs at my throat.
And yet... I couldn't find it in me to put the old man down. This was the same old man who took me in as a youth, showed me how to fight, taught me to navigate the jungle of the crime world.
Slowly, I turned the gun to my own temple. This just felt right. My hand, steadying its trembling, agreed with my heart.
"I'm sorry boss."
But before I could do anything, Boss held up his hand.
"That's enough, Higa. I've seen enough."
I lowered the gun, ready for judgement. His face was still inscrutable, and I dreaded that I had chosen wrong.
Suddenly, his face crinkled into a smile. "You have chosen wisely. I need men like you by my side."
My legs gave way. I felt like I was ready to faint. | Well... This is awkward...
My little moonshine did tell me she and her mother distanced themselves from her father because they didn't agree with his line of work, but I didn't think... On the bright, I'm working for her dad and not one of his rivals!
Honestly, I should've seen the resemblance sooner! But my Katherine (Kitty for short) is nothing like the infamous Granite Lion. She's so full of life and one of the most beaming person I know, while the most emotion I got out of the boss was a sneeze. But now, it's pretty obvious: both have that long, pure white hair and those piercing blue eyes that make your heart skip a beat (for very different reasons).
Now, after months of meeting this guy in all sorts of places, I visit his Den (seriously, that's what he calls it) for the first time, and he tells me he wants his daughter dead. Awesome!
Ok, Stevie, think! There are two options here, either he wants her specifically dead, or this is just some sorta test. Worst case scenario, you have your smartphone gun (don't laugh, the thing is super versatile) in your pocket. There's no way I'm about to kill my Kitty Kat, so I might as well go out with a bang.
The boss's face was expressionless, as usual, but you could still feel a tinge of annoyance in his voice when he spoke: "Usually, when my men get a contract, they get to fulfilling it right away!"
Well, here goes nothing... "Any particular reason you want her dead, boss?"
"I'm sure the lass is one of a kind, and I look forward to you introducing us, while she's cozy in a body bag!"
Ok, so he doesn't know who I'm dating. This means there's still a way out. "Boss, listen. Is this truly a test of loyalty? What kinda man -" the boss slightly raised his hand, probably to tell the guys in the back not to shoot me "- would kill his love on whim like that? If I can betray her that easily, what's to tell you I won't also betray you as well? Surely there's a better way to test my loyalty to this family."
I have no idea how long the boss stared at me like that, but it felt like an eternity. When he finally spoke, I felt like someone pressed the 'play' button after leaving the movie on pause for a whole weekend:
"Steve, I'm gonna be honest with ya. We have better hackers in the family, -" get your hand of the gun, there's definitely a 'but' in there "- we've got better marksmen, -" the 'but' is coming, chill! "- and we certainly have better fighters, -" I still think it's coming, but keep the gun close, just in case "-but-" KNEW IT "- we really don't have anyone who can do all 3. You're a good asset, and I wouldn't want to loose you."
I tried to keep my composure, but I could feel myself relaxing and I definitely let out some air. Hopefully, the boss didn't notice.
"That said, you still need to have your loyalty tested. And I'm sure your girl will appreciate having a shoulder to cry on once her poor father passes."
I dropped my head and muttered "OhMyGod!". I looked at the boss and could see the slightest hint of a raised eyebrow. He was loosing his patience. So I did the only logical thing.
I aimed my gun at him!
He quickly raised his hand fully - not that I heard any movement behind me - and asked me, slightly sterner than before: "Boy, what do you think you're doing?"
"My job, boss!" I answered, way more jovial than I had any right to be.
Confusion started creeping unto his face. "What are you blaber-". Then his showed more emotion in the span of a second than I've seen him display in all the months I've worked for him. First realization, then shock, then finally utter anger. And for the first time, I heard the Lion roar: "YOU SUNNOVA-"
He was interrupted by a snort behind me. I took a quick glance back, but couldn't tell which guy did it. They were still pointing their guns at me, unmoving like statues. Those guys were good!
Looking back at the boss, he was back to his unmoving self. "I will need some time to process this. You're lucky! I love my little cub-" really, dude? "-more than anything, and I wouldn't like to hurt her. Besides, I can keep a better eye on you from inside the Pride."
I lowered my gun. "Does this mean I'm in?"
"Yes, yes. Now get outta my sight. We'll contact you when you need to get back to work."
I got up, way too relaxed for someone who's barely survived getting killed by the mob. | 2020-07-02T12:02:21 | 2020-07-02T11:36:38 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You're a warden who had always been professional and friendly, even to criminals. As you're about to celebrate your retirement alone, you got kidnapped. When your blindfolds are removed, you see many familiar faces smiling. | I was never the most popular guy among my coworkers. The ones like me never are, in our industry. They usually don't last long, either.
But I just didn't know how someone could treat other humans, even ones who had broken the law, as anything other than, well... humans.
You know, a lot of people are still in jail just for possession of marijuana. That stuff was never something I saw the point in myself, but it's being legalized across the states. In my opinion they should just release those guys now.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I was never the kind of guy that could look another person in the eye to spit at their feet so to say. And I put a stop to it whenever I saw it.
My reports to the higher ups usually went ignored, and I'd been beat a fair few times by 'masked men' just outside the jail I worked at for my troubles. Even so, I did what I could because that's what my mama, God rest her soul, taught me to do.
So on my last shift, none of my coworkers celebrated my retirement other than to express both to each other and to my face that they were going to be glad to finally see the back of me.
Pleasant guys.
I drove home that final time, that same trip I'd taken so often I was surprised my tire tracks weren't worn into the road by now, thinking about who I was truly sorry to see the last of.
The prisoners, by and all were far better men than the ones who dawned my uniform. Sure there were a few nasty ones, every jail's got 'em, but they never treated me with anything but decency. And I returned the favor. Neither of us really wanted to be there, and we were doing the best with what God gave us.
Some people fall to crime because the big man upstairs dealt them a bad hand. I was just one of the lucky ones whose mama made sure was raised right. Not everyone gets that, and so I can't fault them for doing what they can.
I pulled up in front of my dark house with a sigh. My wife and daughter were out of town, visiting her sick father. I know this was a big day for me, but we can have our own celebration later. Her daddy needed her there and I wasn't gonna get in the way of that.
I stepped out of the car with a groan, it was gonna rain soon my bad knee was telling me, when it happened.
A windowless white van screeched to a stop at the end of the driveway and a bunch of burly looking men in black masks swarmed from the back.
One last beating to see me off then I guessed with a resigned sigh.
Instead I was surprised when a couple grabbed my arms and another pulled a thick burlap sack over my head. I was hustled in the direction of the van and pulled in with shocking gentleness. If it were my coworkers, they wouldn't have been so courteous.
Any questions I asked were hushed and after a bit I just stopped askin'. I'd get my answers eventually. Or I'd be killed. Thankfully I made sure after the first time I got beat that I had a robust life insurance policy so that my wife and daughter would be fine.
I figured my coworkers might kill me sooner or later. I'm surprised it took them all the way up to my retirement to do the deed.
The van stopped after a while, and I was guided back out and into wherever I was going to die. They sat me down on a well cushioned chair, and the bag was pulled off my head. Time to face the music then.
Instead of the barrel of a gun in my face, I was met with familiar, smiling faces. Some of which I hadn't seen in a long time.
"SURPRISE! Happy retirement, Greg!" They all shouted as one.
Former prisoners, the lot of 'em. Guys I'd seen move through the system and out of it. I remembered the names that matched all of the faces around me.
They had brought me to a warehouse that was decorated to the nines, and even as I stared back at them open mouthed one named Carlos was wheeling over a huge cake that looked a bit lopsided.
Like they'd made it themselves. "Fellas." I said, throat oddly tight. "What is all of this?"
One who I knew was called Marco grinned, his gold incisor glinting in the harsh light. He'd done time for a B&E after he'd just turned 18, so poor guy got tried as an adult. "You always had our back, ese. And we all agreed that you deserved a big ass blowout for finally getting out of the system like us."
"Yeah, you were the best of a bad bunch, and we wanted to know just how much we appreciated you. You kept coming back, even when those assholes beat you almost as often as they beat us." A burly black man named Andres piped up. He'd served 10 years for beating up a white guy that had raped and killed his wife. The guy was white and well connected, so the evidence in the case had gone 'missing' and Andres had taken matters in his own fists. He was a favorite target of my coworkers.
"You guys..." I choked out. Carlos handed me a slice of cake with a bashful smile. He was a quiet kid, not good with words. I'd encouraged him to get his GED while he was in my jail.
Surrounded by friends, true friends, I finally celebrated my retirement. | "You don't have to do this, guys. A simple 'thank you for your service' before I walk out the door would have been enough." I said happily as a tear gently rolled down my cheek. I expected a simple celebration, beers and some grilled food from my co-workers but I didn't expect catering.
"Nonsense. You've been working in the force for 40 years, Barr. 30 of which, you've been a warden for our quaint little prison. You've been here even when I was still in the academy." A familiar voice. I turned around to greet the one that I deduce is responsible for this party. "Director Rose. Thank you so much for this, I don't know how I can repay you."
The Director shook her head and patted my shoulders, gently squeezing them. She tuck her auburn hair behind her ear and smiled. "You've been making my job and everyone else's easy for the whole time you've been here. You've single-handedly reformed each and every single inmate that went in those jail cells. This is nothing compared to that. Now since you're still under me until you walk out that door, you're to enjoy this party and your wife will pick you up at 11. That's an order." She turned around, grabbed a bottle of beer and shouted 'Cheers!' to which we followed suit. She drank two bottles before she went back to her office. Someone has to keep an eye on the prisoners, after all.
Me and the other officers drank and ate until it was time for me to go home. Director Rose ran out of her office to wave goodbye one last time. I swear I saw tears in her eyes before I went in the car. I turned around and hugged her tightly.
"This is the only time you're going to see me cry. The same with all of you." Rose would say as others would laugh. However, even if she said that, the others were failing miserably in hiding their tears. "Guys, I'm just two kilometres away. I'll come visit every once in a while, it's not like this is the last time that you'll see me."
Boy, did I regret saying that.
I remember the party that night, I said my farewells to everyone and hopped in the car. Me and my wife arrived home and we both fell asleep after I took a shower and changed my clothes. I was awoken to noises from downstairs so I checked and after that..nothing. Just darkness.
I remember being suddenly attacked, blindfolded and being thrown into a car. A bag covered my head and I was transported to god knows where.
"Wakey-wakey, Warden Barr." I hear a man say as he lifted the big from my head and removed the blindfolds covering my eyes. "Did'ja miss us?"
As soon as my vision went to normal, I saw three familiar faces looking at me with devilish grins.
The one who woke me up was Steve Norton, also known as "The Slasher". Notorious for attacking anyone who would anger him with a three pronged knife. His faced used to be covered with cuts when he first came in the prison but now, it seems that those have completely healed. His knowledge of fighting was a great help in teaching self-defense to our "weaker" inmates back then. His knifework is exemplary as well, his work in the kitchen was a great help for the cooks. I had hoped he would continue one of those paths.
"Did you think we won't know of your retirement, Warden?" A female voice. March Summers. She was arrested for setting bars and clubs on fire. She was a great pyromaniac and could make anything explode and catch fire if she wanted to. A gifted child, no doubt. She's very handy with tools and can fix things most people have given up on. She would've been great as a mechanic or something similar.
"I do hope that he hasn't forgotten about us. Oh, even the thought breaks my heart." Henry Bordeau. He used to be a member of the mafia, specializing in trades for his boss. Long story short, a deal went south and he was double-crossed by most of his allies. No one knows how he lived but he was able to get out of that completely unscathed and kill the Valentino family, the family he works for, within the same week. Tell him to sell a pen and he'll make you buy the whole company. Gifted with words and has the confidence and suave to back it up. He'd make a great spokesperson to wherever he sets his mind on.
"We couldn't just let the police have our warden for themselves, can we boys?" March would say as she cackled. The two nodding in unison.
Steve, pulled out a knife from his belt. His grin going from ear to ear. I tried to break out from the rope but Henry tapped on my shoulder and simply shook his head. "No use wriggling out of that, warden. Premium stuff. Costs a pretty penny, that rope. Hard to cut but very flexible. It's like being gripped by a cobra."
"Why are you doing this? I thought you turned over a new leaf? Have I done something wrong? Oh no. My wife! Is she safe?!" My thoughts began to fall apart at the seams. Let her be safe, please.
"We may have been crooks but we're not monsters, you know. She's safe. Hell, we even locked up the house before we took off. Well, the front door at least. With all that kicking around, I'm surprised she didn't wake up. Must be a gift to be able to sleep like that." Steve said as sharpened his knife using a whetstone, the constant scraping keeping me on edge.
"Well, here you go, Warden Barr. Hope you enjoy." March said as she presented a plate with a rather thick cut of steak on it.
"Um. What?" I was so confused at what is happening that I didn't even realize that the ropes tying me to the chair was already undone by Henry.
"I don't know if you like it medium rare but that Gordon Ramsey fellow says that the perfect steak should be medium rare so I cooked it medium rare. You can thank Henry for that steak, by the way. He says it came from Japan. Wagyu beef, he called it. Pretty tasty since the thing practically melts in your mouth." March would then urge Steve to cut the steak in uniform slices, the precision was astounding but my amazement of his knife skills was still being overshadowed by my confusion.
"Guys, I think the Warden is confused." Henry said as he noticed how I stared blankly at the steak. "We got news of your retirement so we borrowed you. You know, just to get a bit of the thrill that you had when you were still a cop. Truth is, we've been living great lives after we got out. Steve here got an apprenticeship from a blacksmith and he's been learning how to make all sorts of things. March has been working in a kitchen and she's about to enroll in a culinary school soon and I'm a stock broker now. Your guidance and Director Rose's connections helped us get where we are now."
Hearing that made me both cry and laugh at the same time. "You guys pull the stupidest stunts but...thank you." The three looked at me and laughed with me. We shared that steak and once we finished they dropped me off at my home.
I snuck back into the house and went in the back door. I slowly got into the bed and cuddled my wife, who was sleeping soundly.
That steak was delicious, maybe the most delicious I ever had. | 2020-09-02T11:21:40 | 2020-09-02T09:42:24 | 118 | 78 |
[WP] For decades you've worked as a superhero protecting the city and its people. Your powers have been slowly killing you for years but you kept being a hero much to your doctor's protest. The citizens are starting to take notice. | Every day is exhausting. I grit my teeth through the interviews, the photo ops, the handshake with the mayor--every smile makes my jaw throb with pain, every slow blink of the eyes stings like sandpaper. My muscles are stiff at best, aching and creaking at worst. But I keep at it; I visit the kids in the hospice wing, I laugh at the terrible jokes the morning show people tell, I hold up the key to the city as if the oversized prop doesn't make my arms feel like they're going to rip apart at the socket.
And then comes the night patrol, when I turn on my power again and incredibly, blessedly, the pain is gone. I can walk without the street beneath my feet feeling like glass shards. I can climb and run and fly and carry half the city if I need to. I can breathe without holding back tears.
But the time I can use my power grows shorter and shorter each day. And the pain that is the price I pay for its use carves itself ever deeper into my bones, my blood, every inch of my body.
One day my life will be nothing but pain. I will shift into my powers, to be hale and hearty and whole, to be the woman the city needs me to be, and I will feel that brief, glorious moment where all the pain is gone--and then it will be back. I will try, and try, and try again to be a hero, and will find nothing but pain. One day, my powers will be nothing but a flicker and a fading memory, and my life will be hell.
I see it in their eyes--the city knows. Last night, a mugger saw me stumble on the pavement--it was 3 AM, and the first twinges of warning had started. Instead of taking advantage of the moment to run, or bash me on the head with his crowbar--useless against my invincibility, of course, but that doesn't usually stop them from trying--he stopped to help me up and then let me arrest him.
"You saved my sister once, you know," he said as I hauled him to the police station. "Pulled her out of a fire. Tall as anything and carrying a screaming kid and you somehow made it look cool."
He didn't say anything else after that, not even when I asked about how she was doing, what his name was. He just stayed silent and looked at me when he thought I couldn't see. Did he think he was saving me?
The small, puff-piece interviews I do almost every day have changed, too. They aren't done on-the-street anymore, but in plush studios, on soft chairs and couches and even once the floor. There are more pointed questions about retirement, about family life, about recruiting a sidekick to teach the lay of the land to. I laugh and flex and hide the burning ache that makes a mockery of me.
I haven't had a supervillain challenge in months. I am strong enough, I know, to fight them still. I might scream in the aftermath, might howl and wail and whimper from the agony as my own abilities tear my body apart, but I can do it. And then know it--but that never stopped them before, not any of them. Not Mr. Mutagen, not The Renegade, not even the D-listers like Condiment Man. I saw Mr. Mutagen out on the street, on bail, and he couldn't look at me. I saw pity in his eyes, not fear, not contempt.
And that's why I keep going. For as long as I can walk, as long as I can pretend--however badly--I can keep this city safer than it's ever been. No supervillain attacks. Less and less nonpowered crime. Nobody wants to fight a dying woman. If being pitied keeps my city safe, I'll go gladly to my pitiable end. | “Today’s the day you fall PileDriver!” I screamed at the woman standing on the street above.
“Looks like you’ve fallen for me already darling.” The woman cackled at the edge of the hole she had just tossed me into and aimed her weapon at me in the hole.
“Time to die BeastMaster!” Her weapon launched a blast of liquid concrete into the hole.
The world turned to slow motion, I saw the massive glob of concrete splash into the hole and start to spread out. The wave of dusty grey slid over the cracks in the floor never stopping momentum. Before the sludge could touch my feet, I transformed.
Thick bony horns gre painfully from my skull bursting from my temples, my legs collapsed in on themselves becoming thinner and thinner until I felt myself standing on two sticks connected to small black hooves. The palms of my hands turned to one giant callus as my nails thickened and turned black. The deep V in the front of my costume filled with scruffy white hair as long as my fingers.
I was still breathing heavily from the stress of the transformation when I felt the cold touch of the liquid cement against my hooves. I jumped to the wall, somehow finding purchase in the sheer walls of a hole with the bottoms of my feet. I scrambled my way out of the hole standing across it as the PileDriver’s weapon stopped, the last drops of the cement falling between her brown and grey work boots. I looked at her, shifting my facial feature to that of cat, catchphrase already on the tip of my tongue.
“Looks like you let the cat out of the-” PileDriver cut me off by launching a barrage of 5 inch nails in my direction. My goat legs carried me out of the way of the nails. They hit the ground where I had been standing, sticking out at a 45 degree angle from the street.
My legs burned as they transformed into a feline shape to match my face. I started to sprint around the hole as fast of my cheetah legs would carry me, the sudden switch in speed throwing off the PileDriver’s aim even more.
My palms itched as the thick callus melted away and my nails extended into razor sharp claws. I reached the PileDriver just as she leveled her giant weapon at me.
“Bye-Bye BeastMaster.”
She pulled the trigger and pressurized water shot out this time, and I ducked just a little late as the water sliced a line down my back. I let out a lions roar of pain but didn’t stop closing the distance. I ran straight to her, my fearless charge made her hesitate for just an instant but that was all I needed. I slid around her while she tried to move with her oversized weapon and slashed her ankles with my claws. I felt the achilles tendon of her left foot slice apart, she took a step and fell to the ground, the weapon toppling over the side of the hole to land with a clunky squelch in rapidly drying concrete.
The police emerged from their hiding places after it was clear PileDriver wasn’t getting back up. Captain Klark walked up to me after Piledriver hand been handcuffed and put in a police car after being looked at by a medic.
“PileDriver almost got you today old man.” I looked down at the older man, his large gut and salt and pepper beard jiggling as he laughed at his own comment. He reached out a hand to shake and I put mine forward.
“Ah shit.” He looked at the red well up on his tanned hairy arm. The claws on my hand had cut him, a small red cat scratch just above his right wrist. I had to concentrate hard to will my hand back to being human.
“Sorry about that Captain.” Is what I tried to say but all that came out was the purr of a cheetah. I shook my head, and tried to speak again but it was just more cat noises. I let out a hiss in frustration. I focused and undid all of the animal transformations I had active at the time. I gasped as the sensation of being fully human struck me.
“You ok their chief? You look like you’re about to collapse. Did the pile driver get a good one on you?”
“I think I’m ok.” I said tentatively, hoping my voice worked now. I felt tired, and beat up.
The police captain eyed me suspiciously.
“Ya know, now that I think about it.” He paused leveling his gaze into my eyes. “PileDriver is C-tier villain, im surprised it took that much effort. You weren’t moving like you usually do, well at least until the end there.” He glanced at the car that held PileDriver. “That was a pretty sweet move you pulled to take her down.”
I smiled and nodded not trusting my voice again. Could this be the side effect Dr.Dockter had warned me about all those years ago? He told me the transformations used some kind of energy metahumans produced inherently but as I aged I would make less and less naturally.
I hadn’t believed him and even still I was skeptic. I decided that I was just tired and needed to get home to rest and recuperate. The Den wasn’t too far if I flew, I could get home quickly and sleep it off.
“Untill you need me again Captian.” I saluted him and took a few running steps before launching myself into the air growing wings to take to the sky.
Except I fell face first back down onto the pavement. I heard taunts and laughs from the crowd as I stood back up. I’d never had to focus this hard to manifest my animal abilities. I concentrated and felt heat build on my shoulder blades, there were cracking sounds and I felt the wings push through my skin and costume. This time I did not fall back down when I took off. I made it back to my Den and immediately collapsed in my bed, letting sleep overtake me. | 2021-02-18T10:39:18 | 2021-02-18T07:50:09 | 202 | 28 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors. | It started again when the door to my suite unlocked.
We’d agreed, of course, that it never would. The dang thing didn’t even have any kind of external access: from the outside, you’d never even know there was a door there, or a suite of rooms inside. I *liked* my suite. It had everything I needed, without the pesky interface of having to deal with people.
The unlocking mechanism was fully internal, linked to biometric sensors on the team. The team I’d spent years developing, to both my great frustration and their own.
If that door was unlocked, they were all dead or dying.
Again.
On my way out, I snagged a suit off the rack— it’s not like they’d need it. Not anymore. And no good would come of reminding anyone that “Ranseur” still existed.
The suit barely fit. I looked at myself in the mirror, and would have laughed if I wasn’t so simmeringly angry. They were just kids, who had believed that the world’s villains deserved a chance to become better people, just like everyone else. They were wrong, but passionately so.
The computer obediently returned an answer to my search query: the team was in... the United States. Ohio. They were dealing with some kind of gray goo villain, and casualties were already high before they deployed.
I flipped on the television: news anchors were frantic about the hasty military cordon around Ohio, the disappearance of the Squad, and the wobbly stock market. Yep. Humans still sucked.
One of the anchors collapsed. Oops. I’d have to send reparations to her family. I jotted a note before heading to the hangar.
On the way, I pinged James. What was his taken name again? Rafter? Whatever. His origami aircraft were absolutely genius, even if I’d never tell him that. Radar-variable, lightweight enough to carry for hours, sturdy enough to survive near-Mach speeds.
No response. Ugh, that meant he’d gone with them, tried to build some solution to the current problem on the fly. I hefted an aircraft, and felt wetness at my eyes. Of course, now that he was dead, I could care about him. Thanks, you rotten jerk.
An hour later I was over Ohio. It was mostly gray. Honestly, what were they thinking? This isn’t the kind of problem you could punch out, no matter how much you trained. They should have just told the President to nuke it immediately. Blah blah, civilian casualties, blah. Sure. And now you’ve got a runaway supervillain goo thing who’s absorbed, what, ten million people?
Columbus looked like it was the epicenter. Should have traded it when you had the chance, Prez. Luckily for me, it looked like there was a strict airspace cordon as well— no pesky cameras around to witness me. I started my descent. You know. Slowly, at the kind of speeds a biplane should be moving at.
A couple fighter jets angled in at me as the goo started reaching up, trying to enforce the cordon. If they fired on me, I’d have to send more reparations. Hopefully they’d notice the goo dissolving before they got too pissed about no one picking up.
A lazy descent later, they’d shown more balls than sense and crashed. Worse, my origami plane had a couple holes in it. They should have known better, it was a priceless relic. I’d find out their names later: Doppler’d been a stickler for remembering the dead. Funny how I knew his handle but not James’.
The goo unraveled as I approached, leaving behind a fine dust. After several minutes, it had started shrinking away from me, but I was moving faster than it.
The whole cleanup process took maybe an hour. Right at the end, whatever or whoever was controlling it had figured out how to distribute itself and become increasingly smaller and more numerous, but that only extended its lifespan. Now he was just a corpse in a grey jumpsuit.
The only intact corpse, from ten million plus people, plus the team I’d taken such pains to assemble. Now I’d have to start again.
No use leaving this laying around. Too many hungry up-and-comers. The corpse turned to dust, just like everything else.
After crashing several inquisitive news choppers on my way out, I made my way home, unmolested.
The news was alternately covering the “miraculous” dissolution of the gray goo villain, who they’d predictably named Gray Goo, some company that was taking credit for developing a crop-dusting EMP, and the “relief” efforts as emergency crews shoveled dust.
Nice cover story. Smart and willing to take credit: seemed like a good place to start for the next round of hero hiring. | "You came all this way, ferreted out all those secrets, and yet you still don't even know the questions you should be asking, do you?"
The figure in the dark gave out a puffy, rasping laugh. The voice was old and croaky, impossible to tell if it was male or female, but it still radiated a sense of power.
"I didn't expect to find a person," came the bewildered reply. "This started as a hunt for those hidden League secrets, the ones that the Inner Circle keep secret even fromthe rest of us. We deserved to know why those things happened, we can't call ourselves heroes of we are capable of doing... that."
The younger one stood still in the open doorway, the door locks opened, the door itself barely hanging on the hinges. The word ENTROPY was the only clue as to what may last inside. What they had expected they weren't sure of; alien technology, mystical artefacts, the mind conjured up all sorts of things to explain what had been done, what had been hidden and redacted and forgotten about under that single word, atrocities committed by done terrible thing or many terrible things and filed under that one, damning word:
ENTROPY.
What they hadn't expected to find was what looked like an ancient human; sitting in an old, comfortable chair with a knitted blanket across their waist.
"Look, either come in or go away, but close the door when you do. I don't like leaving it open, anyone could come in," the figure said, still not looking in the direction of the door. The younger one felt a little sheepish as they came in and shut the door behind them. The older one pointed to an empty chair, not as comfortable looking as their own, but positioned so they could see face to face. They walked over cautiously and sat down, looking into a face that was all wrinkles and spots until you got to the eyes, which burned with an inner power.
"Who are you?" The old one asked.
"The Detective," they replied. "What should I call you?" They asked in return.
"Oh, I haven't bothered with a name in so long I can't even remember the last one I had. Why not just call me Brian?"
"Brian?" The Detective asked incredulously.
"It's as good a name as any other," the figure now called Brian replied. "But that's not why you came all the way out here. All what you want, as you can see I've got nothing but time."
"You'll forgive me if I want prepared for finding a senior citizen in the room in the secure , secret facility the Inner Circle of the League tried to make vanish from all records. The room where code name ENTROPY was kept until it was used. The same code name used to cover up nearly a century's worth of atrocities."
Brian looked at the Detective for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Oh young fool, you have barely any idea."
"Do you know who designed this place: I did. Your precious League, and it's Inner Circle barely know any of my history, and those that do know anything wish they could forget it. But, there's always been at least one who knew the value of what I do. And before the League, there were others. And before them... I can't remember anymore. I suppose that's what happens when you get to be my age. Too old to die, despite the efforts of many, myself included. Too useful to leave alone too, despite the price that must be paid."
By now, Brian want looking at the Detective, but through them.
"Go on, ask it."
"What are you Brian? What is ENTROPY?"
"Well, entropy is the way the universe measures time, from the beginning to the end; but most people see it as a bad thing. Hate to be reminded that in the end, all things must end. As for what I am... I don't even remember anymore. All I know is that someone out there was smart enough to finally let me live alone."
"But why? Why all the secrecy, how long has this been going on?"
"I have lived longer than humanity. And I live alone, because every day is another day for disaster, for the world to progress it's own entropy faster than normal with me as it's agent."
Brian fixed the Detective with a terrible stare.
"For tens of thousands of years, I have existed in the shadows of human society. I act on the desires of others, when those desires will cause increased entropy. I can't control it, I don't understand how it works or why, just that it does and usually with unintended effects. I have caused disasters, plagues, wars, created weapons, so many terrible things because I was too close to a careless word spoken in anger, or grief."
"So you hid here, when the League came to you with a way to contain yourself. But why then are there still more recent files under code name ENTROPY?"
"Because sometimes we need them to do things that others can't, or won't," came a third voice. Brian looked annoyed, but the Detective looked terrified at the figure now closing the door behind them. The Master, a man known for his keen intellect and sometimes ruthless efficiency.
"I knew it was just a matter of time until you found this place Julia," the Master continued.
"Oh sod off Keith," Brian whinged.
"Are you going to kill me?" Julia asked. They knew that the few people who had found out about ENTROPY, about Brian, had never been heard from again.
"No, you're too good to have come here without a backup plan to expose it all in the event of your death. I'm sure the League could probably intercept most of it before it got out, but that is the problem for us. Lacking certainty, your life is worth more than your death for now. You have stumbled into the biggest, most ruinous secret in the world; that Brian here is responsible for most of humanities lowest points. Points that the League sometimes has employed, because the alternative was to awful not to. So the choice is yours Julia: join the Inner Circle and learn about how the world really works and how little you actually know, or die a heroes death of principle held out against reason."
Julia had to admit, it was a hard choice. But then she caught the gleam in Brian's eyes, the hint of mischief, the promise of power just waiting to be unleashed, the power of entropy itself just waiting for those who knew how to wield it, or especially those who didn't.
Keith the Master, saw it in Julia's expression, but was too late to stop the words spill from her lips. Brian's eyes glowed before he and Julia disappeared to who knows where to enact her entropic wish. | 2021-05-26T06:24:05 | 2021-05-26T06:21:10 | 99 | 60 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors. | I am death. Some whisper about a monster, which suddenly appears on a battlefield, and destroys everything. In fact, thats exactly what im doing. The only difference to such myths: im not a monster. Once, a hero bonded me, death, to a physical body. I dont know what he did, but after decades, im still here.
"We need to-..." "WE dont need to do anything. Call him, there is no chance for our win. Their army has grown too strong. One goo- " i heard the leader of the superleague discussing with his team. I acted like i slept, but secretly im listening.
"No. Just no. Did you forget, what happened last time?! He destroyed a city! With everything inside! Not even the civilists survived!" "...one good hit, and they will never be able to form an army again. You know, sometimes, we have to take risks. Dont you dare rebelling, Skyte", the leader, Watcher, pointed at a girl, his closest friend. "We have to, now be quiet."
He turned around for me. "Rise once again, Death, devourer of life. Go to New York City. No survivors." "Of course not. When should i be there?", i asked slowly. "In one day. We will keep everyone inside. And no witnesses, ok?" The others stared at the head of their leader. I laughed quietly.
"Your team doesnt like your decision. But i will do, whatever i must."
And so the devourer of life went to New York City, the doomed metropolis. He was death itself. | Khan we need you... Said desperate Calypso.
Me, El Mayor, Thunderstrike and Kervan we... we could not do anything. They have thousands thousands of ships. Their fleet is ready to embark and conquer earth and we can’t stop them.
Khan stood up from the chair. Wearing his usual black drapes. His massive figure is on display. In ancient times they called him Atlas the Gods of old called him the pillar that holds the earth. A titan.
Khan leaves the ship with no word or thought.
He hates being the ender of worlds. He hates knowing that all the innocent people will have to die for their kinsmen’s irrationality and inability to prosper peacefully. Khan’s power is truly immense.
Khan swings his massive arm and opens a portal to his destination.
Reda as beautiful as ever. Reda was a beautiful planet with all types of imaginable vegetation and fauna. The native Redan’s are peaceful people who where conquered by the tyrannical Surenos... Khan was their leader. He conquered half the universe. When he came upon earth he saw that it was good. He stayed and vowed to protect it. So long that humans remain neutral in cosmic warefare. So long they do not do what he did.
War was coming to Earth and its starting point was Reda where all the forces of the surenos were stationed.
As Khan ingested the statuesque scenery he noticed a camp through the thick vegetation. As he approached he realised it was the Redan’s
I come in peace. I am here to save you. Though your planet will be ashes.
The Redan’s know Khan’s face after all you dont become the Khan of the universe and not be hated and recognised everywhere this side of the galaxy.
The Redan’s peaceful and smart knew that Khan was no longer a threat. He was a true king now. He did not lead by fear or power. He lead with inspiration.
Khan quickly opens a portal... Go. No time. They’re coming.
The last of the Redan’s, Khan maybe counted 50 in total. In his mind he thought A whole planet of people is left with only 50 natives because of my people because of what I indoctrinated into them. Fate is such... I began this and I shall end this.
Khan built up power in his massive powerful legs and jumped... Though it wasn’t a jump. He flew. He knew the highest peak in Reda is actually a nest. The natives called him Umburu. In eternal sleep the sky demon was entrapped in the mountain by Khan years before.
Khan flew straight into the mountain destroying it completely.
Demon. You are free. This planet is yours. You shall keep it preserved for when I return.
Instead of destroying the whole planet Khan decided to purify this world of evil. Demons are evil but fiercely protective of their habitat.
A deafening shriek and a flap of wings whuuump whuump and umburu was in the sky again. As soon as the demon was in the sky. Khan jumped again and flew well above the Demon. He wanted to see.
Umburu now nosediving straight for the fleet his eyes start to electrify !POOF! He sends a massive storm cloud that fired lightning with great power at every single ship. In minutes it was done. Thousands of oppressors killing thousands of innocents.
Am I any different now?
Am I still Khan the conqueror.
As the deed was done. The demon now taking his human form flies up to Khan.
Khan you freed me so I can kill your people?
I am no longer of that cloth. I do not crave to kill or conquer.
I want peace.
He falls into a portal back to his dwelling.
The pain Khan feels for the horror he has caused is immeasurable. He killed his entire race. He is the last. | 2021-05-26T02:35:16 | 2021-05-26T01:46:59 | 98 | 65 |
[WP] Humans are widely regarded as one of the laziest species out there , with procrastination being unique to us . It also means that we do things at extreme efficiency, albeit at the last moment . | "They're a curious bunch" said Hersy "Why don't they just finish the job? They're nearly done... somehow." Hersy watched as the humans sat on one of the crossbeams puffing on their little fire and leaf sticks and playing cards. Last he had asked what game they were playing he was told to "go fish." Why? Had they consumed their daily rations and wanted to exchange food for information?
"That's just not how they work" said Mirth as he finished tightening the final few bolts surrounding the intake of their assigned engine. Right on schedule. They should be finished by morning.
Hersy and Mirth had been partners in the construction of the inter-planetary coalition commissioned relief ship for the past 2 years. Despite the tumultuous history of their races they found they actually had quite a bit in common and got along well. For that purpose the coalition seemed to do its job.
"Tell me Mirth, half the time they're lounging around or working on something for their own comfort. They have irregular hours and less supervisory input, yet somehow meet all of their deadlines. What am I missing?"
"Not a thing. They still have war on their planet. They have famine, an unstable environment, and continually suffer from issues of mental health. They also know more useless luxuries than any other planet in the galaxy. I heard a rumor that one of them was found wearing a blanket with sleeves? Wy not just wear a heavier shirt?"
"Like a robe then?
"No, it's wide open in the back."
"Stange. If they still have so much to do, then why are they here? Surely the coalition has shared the environment stabilization plan of the 14th age."
"They have. They just... didn't do it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they saw their problem, they found out how to fix it, and then just... didn't. I heard the human representative instead returned home then immediately traveled to another province within the sphere for nearly 10 rotations."
"H-he what? Why does the coalition extend invitation to beings such as this?" complained Hersy. "Get back to work! We will fall behind!" yelled Hersy across the engine corridor.
The humans looked across the room and gave one of their strange waves holding up a single finger. Then kicked the engagement switch and the engine roared to life. | Staring down at his holopanel, Reese continues scrolling through his latest news blasts from Lunar4. Lunar4 has been hit with some drama lately as the lonely research moon base recently accepted volunteer civilians to live aboard the station as an experience to live in perpetual darkness. There’s just something Reese seems to enjoy about local-planetary drama. It can get rather boring at the Orbital Defense Pod with a small four-man crew, orbiting Earth.
Reese puts his holopanel to sleep and leans back in his chair and slides his VR helmet on to play a game with Marley from another orbital pod. Signing into the network, Reese reaches forward to grab a virtual weapon and starts the journey with Marley to invade a planetary occupation force in his favorite game, Gravitas. Suddenly, alarms start blaring from inside the Orbital Pod and red lights start to flash. Reese ignores the alarms as he descends further into the occupying base -- this is the hardest level and has struggled to beat it. The emergency holopanel pops up inside the pod, displaying the reason for the alarm in a detailed holographic render. The rest of his pod-mates are awakened by the alarm. In an almost practiced fashion, all three of the pod-mates silence their crew-quarters alarm in an attempt to go back to sleep.
The red alarm lights start to rapidly blink and an audible voice comes over the cockpit speakers, “WARNING, WARNING. INBOUND THREAT DETECTED”. The holopanel repeats a display of a vividly rendered portal opening up and a large object comes through on a calculated path towards Earth. “WARNING, WARNING. INBOUND THREAT DETECTED”. Reese, yells into this VR mic, “Marley, around the corner, two Busters on the flank. Get em!”.
Marley replies, “What? Hard to hear you with the alarms blaring”.
“Yea, just ignore it”.
As the pod alarms continue to sound in the cockpit and the lights flash, outside the pod a large purple sphere starts to manifest in space. Starting with a large sphere, it slowly expands into a massive ring with a glowing purple and red spiderweb of light through the center, connecting all sides of the ring.
“Marley, I’ve been hit, I need you to throw me a stimpack. Two Busters behind me behind that cover. Use a force shield and help”.
“On my way!”
“WARNING, WARNING. INBOUND THREAT IMMINENT. ORBITAL DEFENSE POD DELTA CLOSE PROXIMITY.”
The ring outside the pod emits a massive pulse wave as it continues to grow and something starts to emerge from the center of the ring, seemingly out of nowhere. Manifesting something dark and unidentifiable, large ridges peer out from the center as it starts to roll. Shards of green start to emit from the object as it squeezes through slowly. The ring is half the size of Earth moon now.
“WARNING, WARNING. INBOUND THREAD TRAJECTORY IDENTIFIED: EARTH - ASIA. CATASTROPHIC IMPACT”
Reese, pushes the VR headgear up just a tad and says, “Thanks for the cover Marley, one sec” and leans forward to the cockpit control panel. Accessing the terminal, Reese types a few commands into the panel and initiates a turn towards the ring. As the pod yaws starboard, Reese presses a sequence of buttons above him and then leans back into the chair, pulling the VR unit back over his eyes. “Alright, power me up with that grava-beam so we can make this push. Tired of this same level every night”.
The pod finally stops moving and begins a roll counter-clockwise. The object emerging from the ring is massive, aimed directly at Earth and still birthing though when suddenly the pod initiates a ray of pulsing light just behind the ring formation. 25 drone-ships diverge onto the ring, guided by the pulsating pod light. As the drones move into place, they begin a sequential firing sequence focused on a obfuscated blurry phenom that proves to be the origin of the ring. As they fire upon it, the ring shrinks exponentially, severing the object emerging at it’s tip. The ring closes almost instantly, causing an implosion-like force, severing and then pulling back in the object emerging in a matter of seconds.
The pod alarms cease with a sound from the onboard computer, “THREAT AVERTED”.
“Oh man I can hear you now” Marley echos from Reese’s headphones.
“Yea much better”. | 2021-07-17T08:22:52 | 2021-07-17T06:38:14 | 302 | 131 |
[WP] At dinner, you serve the king a glass of wine with poison in it. He sips from it and continues to eat as usual. At the end of the meal, he walks up to you and says. "Next time you make poison, make sure it really works. It was pathetic." | "...uh...ok, my leige" I said, confused. The king clapped me on the back and let out a large belch, before retiring to his chambers.
How had he known? Why did he drink it all? And why did he tell me? Most importantly, why was I still alive?
I heard a deep throat clearing noise from behind me. I turned, and found myself eye-to-eyepatch with an old man, leaning on a gnarled staff as lumpy as he was. His one remaining grey eye looked me up and down before addressing me.
"I suppose I can work with you", he said, then turned and began walking. "Follow me."
I was even more confused now. Who the hell was this?
My questions were interrupted by a swift blow to the back of my legs. I jumped in pain from the sting, but remained on my feet.
"Follow him", the castle guard ordered, readying his spear for another blow.
"Ouch, ok, I'll go" I said, backing away from the armed guard. Apparently everyone but me knew what I was supposed to do.
I took off after the one eyed man, quickly catching up to him. It wasn't a great feat, the man was quite slow. His walking staff tapped a precise metronome tone as he walked down corridors, stairs, and halls alike.
We finally arrived at the bottom of a particularly dark, damp stairwell. "In here, apprentice" he said, shoving the door open with his staff.
I looked at the man, puzzled. "What?" I asked. Too many questions fought to be first, so none of them ended up being asked.
The one eyed man fixed his functioning eye on me. "The king gave you to me. You tried to kill him. You failed. Your life is forfeit. Instead of giving it to the hangman, he gave your life to me. You are my apprentice, my ward, mine until you are a master in your own rights." He strode in to the darkened room. I followed.
"A master of what?" I asked. The man lit an oil lamp, casting a dim orange light about the room. Bottles of varied sizes, shapes and colors reflected the light, sending a kaleidoscope of color all around us.
The man poured two glasses of water and handed me one. "Drink it", he commanded, and consumed his own beverage. I complied.
"A master of poisons", he said. "Much like the one you just drank."
I spat out my last mouthful, gasping. "WHAT-"
"That poison will kill you in 15 hours", he said, interrupting me mid scream. "Unless you drink the antidote. Your first lesson, apprentice, is how to brew that antidote."
r/SlightlyColdStories for the celebration of my 60th story! 🥳
Edit: Expanding this story on Wattpad, same username as here with the working title "Master of Poisons". I'll publish each chapter as I go. | # Soulmage
**"My most sincere apologies, King Vanwen, the deathblossom was from last year's harvest,"** I said, bowing my head demurely and performing the polite little curtsy all the women of my village were taught to do in the presence of visiting royalty. "I do hope, at least, that the antidote soufflé was to your satisfaction?"
"Deathblossom and bloodwine make as good a pairing as you and my ninth nephew would," King Vanwen chortled. I kept the sudden grimace off of my face—King Vanwen's ninth nephew was a notoriously irritable man who the king had been trying to marry off to an irrelevant commoner as an insult for years. "The dish was fine, woman. It was its executor that was the problem."
The *problem* was that King Vanwen had parked his army in the tiny village of Sorrowfell and expected the same treatment as he got in his castle in the heart of the Redlands. He'd ordered the traditional Redlands meal of a poison and an antidote: a statement of bravery by the king, that he would undergo such a risk to himself, and of trust in his citizens, that the antidote would keep him in good health. It wasn't as if a tiny, out-of-the-way village had the kind of potent poisons and substances that the Redlands King himself would expect, though. Our deathblossom was so old it had become more like mildly-sleepy-blossom, and I wouldn't be surprise if our bloodwine was actually just dyed juice.
Aloud, however, I simply said: "Your loyal citizens are at your service, my lord."
"Well, at least she's polite. Get me a real meal next time. Alright, lads, stock up," he said, raising his voice to his army. His soldiers cheered as they cut into our grain supplies, which we'd "generously" opened to the king as he passed. I fumed to myself as I turned away, stalking back into the tent that served as the impromptu kitchen. The King had no idea what he was talking about. He wanted poison? I'd show him poison.
Because I was a witch, and King Vanwen had just pissed off the wrong cooking girl.
I tied the tent flap shut, wrapped my apron around my waist, and reached for the magic within me. Pointing my hand at the pot of stew, I tugged at the power within my soul, and a stream of spiteful spiders poured into the brew, becoming drops of acid-green toxin where they met the liquid. I hadn't exercised my powers since I was a much younger, hot-headed girl, but seeing the king's army stomp up and down my home, taking our supplies to fuel yet another territorial feud, filled me with venom that I poured into the cauldron—
"Mommy!" My little boy, Cienne, burst into the tent. He still had the feminine features of his youth, but he'd cut his hair short, and his new boy's robes fit him well. His eyes lit up as he spied the stew. "Ooh! Can I have some of the—"
"No!" Before I even realized I'd consciously moved, Cienne was cradling a slapped hand, giving me a hurt look. "It's... it's not ready yet. I..." I looked at the poisoned stew, then sighed. "I need to add one last ingredient."
I'd made the stew with one part passion and one part spite, but now I closed my eyes and felt for the trickiest school of magic to master, one that I'd barely touched even as my powers grew. Slowly, reluctantly, I dredged one last emotion from my soul.
Forgiveness.
Delicate, newborn vines snaked out from my soul, popping into bright, glowing sparks where they touched the cauldron. The essence of regrowth would counteract the venom, and all who ate of it could leave unharmed. The king would have his meal, and nobody would die today.
"Is it ready now?" my son asked, quivering with excitement.
I smiled and ruffled his hair. "Yes, Cienne. Now run along to the dining hall. We're all eating together, after all."
\###
"I must compliment you on your cooking," King Vanwen said between heaping bites. "I've never had a meal quite like it. What's the secret?"
I winked at the king, magic still swirling in my soul. "A little bit of kindness," I said.
The king gave me a blank stare, then guffawed. "You villagefolk really are a riot! No, really. Was it salted beef? I bet it was salted beef."
I hummed to myself quietly, content that I'd done the right thing.
A.N.
Credit to PGTE for inspiring the practice of eating poison and antidote together at meals.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-06-03T16:34:22 | 2022-06-03T16:17:34 | 1,988 | 90 |
[WP] "What do you mean you don't put a miniature explosion spell in your gun?" "What do you mean you don't use gunpowder-based propellant for your gun?" | “Well, the problem is scaling. “
“Scaling?”
Jack leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. As pre-war conferences go, this was typical but there were a lot of unknowns and and this wizard was high enough in her empire that this was an important point to explain.
“We humans are strange by your standards. Our alliances are not magically enforced. Which obviously means that alliances change and break and evolve, and your former enemies might just become your friends.”
“What does that have to do with my question? You don’t create an explosion with a spell?”
“Bear with me for a minute. In a world where alliances can change so quickly, it is important for us to be flexible. Fights and war can break out anywhere and hence it is hard to predict how many soldiers you need. So, we need to be able to scale up and down.”
“I can see that”
“In your world, on an average, among 100 people, less than 10% have access to explosion magic. Of that 10%, less than 1% can control explosion magic to use your version of a gun. That limits your scaling. If your world is a billon people, that’s a million warriors. That is not enough flexibility for us. So we chose a different path”
The wizard looked taken aback - “You can field more than a million people as soldiers?”
“Heck yeah. Because we went with what I call a commercial system - instead of magic. We mass produce things that anyone can use without needing special abilities like magic. Take this gun for example - all of those hypothetical billion can use this. With 3 months of training, they can use this very accurately. Like hitting a target 500 metres away 9 out of 10 times. So, if someone decides to go to war with us, we can have everyone ready to fight in less than 3 months. And we can build a billion of these things in a week.”
The wizard tried to imagine skipping 10 years of magic training and being able to use their gun in 3 months. She imagined everyone in her city being able to do that. She imagined fighting an army like that and she blanched.
“Now, not all combat situations can work with a gun like this. Maybe we need to blow up a planet. Maybe a city. Maybe armoured vehicles. Maybe underwater castles. So, we have various weapons, each tailor made for specific situations and each usable by the hypothetical billion people in 3 months. Would you like to see a sampling of our weapons ?”
5 videos, an hour of q&a, two shooting range demonstrations and a factory tour later, the conference was over and three months later the empire wanted a peace and trade treaty. Another successful “win with science” adventure or as the grunts called it the “show and tell” approach to winning wars.
“On to the next one”, thought Jack - “What’s the scary story we can tell a race of nocturnal spiders…. How about flashlights”
——
PS : First time contributor. Please be gentle 😀 and yes, I took just the first sentence for the prompt. | My index pressed down on the trigger, releasing the cocked hammer. It struck the firing pin, which in turn impacted the primer at the base of the cartridge. 6.5 Creedmoor, built from recycled brass.
The primer was commercial, and ignited instantly. Normally that would in turn activate the propellant, causing an explosion of gases that would send the shell hurtling out of the barrel.
It was all too fast to be felt, but the debug marker wrapped around my first spell activated. At least I could check later if something went wrong. The spell itself was a simple trigger, turning any exothermic reaction into a spinning feedback loop of wild magic. It would only stop burning until all the extractable energies in the chamber were consumed.
Filling the shell between the projectile and primer was fine sand. *Enchanted* sand. Yeah, apparently in the old days merchants would cheat customers my mixing it in their powder. My stuff was way different - I'd enspelled each grain in a vat, my spells boosted by amps pushing liquid metal around the tank. Each was infused with a calculated supply of magic.
The trigger touched the grains, activating their innate energies and forcing them to let it all out. Individual molecule were spent to fuel the reaction, the ashes looped back in for another pass. Each one that disappeared added to the pressure.
All of this would definitely shoot something, but the results would be all over the place. Handling this was the job of the second spell, which limited the uncontrolled reaction by blowing any excess energies into the ether. It was possible to drag in a precise curve of pressure vs. time, the rune laser-cut into the cartridge walls for consistency.
Some would disagree, but I found it easier to bleed off a powerful spell than have it run perfectly every time.
My second debug marker activated as the bullet left the cartridge, the empty shell burned clean. There was barely any smoke or smell as the round left the test barrel.
High-speed cameras mounted in the range recorded its path, while pressure sensors in the barrel tracked the fading energies. All of that appeared on my laptop a moment later.
I skimmed through the charts, comparing the ballistics to our standard mass-produced units. Same one-twenty grain bullet, primer, and housing. Magic is a fickle non linear beast, and it didn't always work. But when it did...
"Yes!" I shouted, pumping my fist in the air. The older elf in the other lane stared at me like I was crazy. Okay, maybe I was.
"About time," he snorted. Gavin hefted his weapon, a HK417 with a shortened barrel that he used like a carbine. "You got it to work?"
"Hell yeah," I replied. Alright, I was definitely giddy. "Unguided it shoots just like the regular stuff from our factories.
"Perhaps only this one does", he said dryly. Solely to prove him wrong, I reset the equipment and switched the selector to burst fire. Three rounds left the barrel a moment later, the computer confirming identical results.
"Fine, it works," he huffed. "But why? Most only do this to make hotter and flatter loads. Or maybe make rounds where you can control the power before shooting, but I find that finicky. Too easy to fuck up."
I rolled my eyes and hoped he didn't see it.
"I don't bother with this because we have taggers," he continued. Gavin moved back to his lane, a red holographic target snapping up in the distance. I felt him cast before unleashing a roaring burst, the 7.62s making a single mark on the bullseye. He didn't miss the rest - they'd all landed in the exact same spot.
The DSP behind my bionic ears kicked in before the noise reached my brain, compressing it down to more appropriate levels. It sounded like a recorded shot rather than a real one - the range profile did that. I had more sensitive options for the field.
"These are regular rounds without an iota of magic in them," he stated. "I can buy these anywhere - that's also a reason why I don't like everyone switching to the Creedmoor. And I hit the target every time."
"Watch me again, Gavin," I retorted. Quickly I dropped the mag from the vice-mounted weapon, inserting one topped with our regular rounds. I fired again. "Tell me, what do you hear?"
"You," he grunted.
"Check your dB graph," I called back. "I should've said this earlier, our dynamics processors get better each year."
"Well, if that thing isn't lying to me, there's a good 15dB difference. Can't really hear it though." I could see a hint of surprise appear on his face.
"Exactly," I replied with a grin. "It's a start. Now our rounds are supersonic, but it'll at least dull the muzzle blast a tad. You of all people should know that certain spells can actually burn up the *sound* energy they create."
---
/r/digitallyfreestories
This response is part of my [Magsci collection](https://www.reddit.com/r/digitallyfreestories/comments/lx8q79/udigitallyfrees_magsci_collection/). | 2022-07-01T13:23:23 | 2022-07-01T12:13:40 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] After a horrible accident together the hero decides the job is not worthy, and the villain gains a conscience thanks to the people that helped him. Years later hey find each other and fight, but now from opposite sides. | "How many times did you tell me to give in to my base emotions?"
I sighed, words from so long ago coming back to haunt me.
"Dozens of times throughout the years. But I've realised that was wrong. They are useful to an extent, but not to overrule your better judgement."
Tarus grinned, flexing his clawed gauntlet. I could still see the golden plate, though it was marred by grime. He had boasted about them so much during our fights. To see them so defiled would have once brought me great pleasure. But now I felt nothing but disappointment. I had hoped in recent years to stand by his side as an ally. Instead we were enemies once more.
"Ah, but you are wrong. Life is so much easier like this! I take what I want, do what I want, and no-one can stop me!"
I shook my head.
"Such arrogance does not suit you. Please, think back to the times before. You were respected, you were loved."
His grin turned into a snarl, as he spat on the ground.
"Golden shackles. That was it was. They might look pretty, but they bound me all the same. They expected me to serve them. If I failed, I would be reviled. If I didn't save everyone, they would complain. Nothing was ever good enough for them."
I shook my head in disbelief. To thik such a pure heart had turned so black. I knew it was partially my fault, planting the first seed of doubt within his mind. All his actions, it was my fault. It was my job to set things right.
"Maybe not. But those who you saved cared. Many did, even if they weren't so vocal."
He snarled again, cracking his neck.
"Whatever. I don't care anymore. If you want to survive, step aside, I owe you that much. But if you stand against me, I will kill you. You never did win against me."
I clenched my staff tighter.
"Maybe not. But today I think will be different. Last chance."
He gave a vicious laugh, before charging at me. His classic attack, even if he had the edge of dark powers boosting him. But I was no slouch. I brought my staff down to form a shield around me. As it formed, I moved onto my next form, pulling on the strands of power around me.
They danced through the air, forming little balls of glowing light. As they formed they launched at Tarus, even as he clove at my shield. Each hit drained his mental fortitude, my best bet at wearing him down. Dark powers would have weakened that initially, as I well knew.i just had to overwhelm him.
But it was not so east a fight. My shield began to waver, his blows causing it to lose its strength. Whilst it existed I couldn't make another. But I never did specialise in staying in one place.
A new strand flowed into my legs. As the shield fell I ran, infused with enhanced speed. A second strand reached into the ground, before releasing. The localised earthquake threw him off balance, as I put some distance between us. Reaching for a pendant, I tapped it thrice. The winged sides vanished, giant versions appearing on my back. They beat with my thoughts, lifting me into the air.
Tarus cried with rage, holding up his gauntleted hand. A stream of dark purple washed out, missing me by a fraction. I smiled, before nodding at him. To my surprise he returned it, readying his sword for the next phase of our fight.
As much as I hated it, I had to admit. I had missed our fights. I think he did too. But now we would find out if he was indeed stronger with the shadows, or if the light would serve me better. | Over the rolling hills, the convoy of three armored trucks approached the hastily-errected palisade walls of the mining town. The roar of the engines travelled deep. The rebels knew they were coming.
The copilot of the truck knocked on the partition between him and the passengers. “We’re nearly there, Captain,” he updates with a shout over the noise of diesel. “2 minutes out.”
Captain Landes nods at him, and nudges the man next to him. “ Get on the radio!” he shouts. “Find their comms channel. We’ll give them a chance first while we deploy.”
The soldier mumbles out an affirmation and messes with his earpiece, face scrunched with focus. Landes thumbs with his sidearm as the cabin continues to shake about, waiting till the trucks begin to fan out and slow down.
The copilot knocks on the partition again, and the rear doors open out. Silently, each soldier fanned through the exit, with Landes departing last, his polished black boots making contact with the dusty gravel.
“Any contact?” he murmurs to his radioman, who shakes his head. Scowling, he looks over the 30 men hiding behind the trucks. “Lock and Load! We’re going in 5!” Admidst the ay ay sirs, he peers around the truck at the town. Multiple towers erected behind the walls. The inside of the town was bound to be a deathtrap for his men. The rebels inside are undoubtedly pissed that their nation decided to send an expeditionary force first, rather than a negotiator. He didn’t even know what their demands were, much less he had any authority to acquiesce said demands. He didn’t like this.
“Sir! I found their channel!” The radioman taps at his ear, before taking it off and offering it to his captain. Landes takes it and mounts the earpiece, and the radioman retrieves his rifle. He takes a slow breath, composing himself for the best words. With silent resignation, he toggles his piece off mute.
“Attention! Attention! This is Captain Landes, servant of the Emperor. My mission is to end the rebellion happening here and bring your town back to productive status. We are prepared to finish this in bloodshed, but we would both rather to not have it end this way. Talk to me.” He sighs, shaking his head as he briefly switches channels to encrypted squad comms. “Prepare the mortar and the rockets. Team leaders, identify key targets for suppression. When we go in, I want to do this quick.”
The next three minutes takes excrutiatingly long. He risks another peek at the town. Nothing he could see, though undoubtedly they are preparing for battle as well.
“Rebels of Indigo Quarry, talk to me. I know you use this channel.” He wipes his brow, waiting. 1 minute to go.
“…Anders? Is that you?”
Landes froze. He knew that voice, and more importantly, the voice knew him.
“…Tulley?”
“The one and only. Captain… I see you’ve been promoted since we last met.”
His heart pounds. Fuck everything, fuck it all. -Tulley- of all people?
“I was wondering what happened to you,” Landes murmurs in the mic piece. “You fell off the grid, I couldn’t find you through anything, man.”
“I didn’t want to be found. Not by the Corps, and certainly not anyone in our squad.” The voice lay silent for a brief second. “You should have resigned with me, Anders.”
“We… did what was needed.” He could feel himself getting frustrated, all of his past experiences welling up to the surface. He didn’t realize his own tone became passionate. “You knew that as well as me.”
“Needed? Oh come on, we could have stayed till the bitter end, we could have held out for reinforcements, we could have tried our own evacuation, for fuck’s sake!” Tulley’s distorted voice became heated as well. “Those people were depending on us to protect them, and we marched the fuck away! We got in our little transports and abandoned them to their fate! And you, and I, and everybody in the squad just followed orders!”
“What goddamn reinforcements!?! It was just us, and we were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere! We would have died, and for what? A short delay in their invasion? Just so they could do what they did anyway?”
Silence on the radio, giving Landes a brief moment to defocus from his piece and look around. His men were staring. They’ve never seen their captain lose composure before.
“…You were messed up by it too, Anders. I saw it in your eyes… It’s how I knew you weren’t like the rest of those assholes.”
Landes lets out a frustrated laugh, just as the radioman taps him and lets him know that all sections are ready for assault. He nods, telling him to await his command.
“Tulley, I’m now the asshole in charge. Now I get to make the traumatizing decisions that my men can loathe me for for the rest of their lives. And right now, that decision may involve leveling your town. I called as a courtesy, because maybe, just fucking maybe, I won’t have to let another town die. I want you to do the same. Lay down your weapons. Maybe we can come to an understanding.”
The radio is silent again, save for the static. Landes asks for a quick tactical assessment of the town in the meantime. The walls can be breached by the trucks. Coordinated fire can level key targets. If need be, clustered incendiary mortars would eliminate all resistance. He gulps at the last one. He really didn’t want the annihilatory results expected of him by command.
“…Hold tight, I’m coming out to talk,” the radio suddenly scratches. “Captain Anders Landes, you are the only reason why I’m doing this. Don’t disappoint us.”
The captain breathes a relieved sigh, and glances around once more. “Everyone! Hold fire! Expect a visitor!” | 2022-08-23T15:23:38 | 2022-08-23T15:04:55 | 56 | 19 |
[WP] A psychic alien who feeds on dreams comes to Earth for the first time. Turns out humans are the only sentients in the galaxy that have nightmares. | Do you know what it tastes like when someone dreams of their family, the happy times they spent together, the happy times that *could* be?
It tastes like warm soup on a cold night.
A dream of a passionate night spent with a crush? It's like a bowl of fruit, freshly cut and mixed to perfection with perhaps just a hint of spice to it. A killer dreaming of a fresh victim? It's like steak, strangely familiar yet unique, juicy, savoury, and *bloody*.
I've travelled the cosmos for hundreds of years, feeding on the dreams of the different races I've come across. Some simpler and less developed; their dreams are quaint and straightforward, like eating an apple without anything else. Some developed; those dreams are like fine meals with several courses, each more refined than the rest. Do not think me cruel; the worst I can do is cause a dreamless night to sate my hunger.
And then there's humanity.
I have never, *ever*, tasted anything like what humanity has offered.
There's plenty to be had like what I had described; savoury and sweet, sour and pleasantly bitter. Some of the dishes they have offered ranked among the highest I've ever had. But then I would come across something entirely new; a dream that has been twisted and broken beyond my comprehension; a dream that brings no comfort or rest; a dream they call "a nightmare".
I have... seen things of pure, unbridled terror with no sense or reason. An infinite fall filled with a neverending scream echoing through the empty void. A monster of impossible composition preying on the human as they frantically search for safety, never to find it. The sensation of being at their most vulnerable at the worst of moments. It's wrong.
And it's something only they have. I pity them. The idea that you might seek rest and refreshment only to experience terror untold and wake up screaming... nothing in the galaxy should ever experience that.
Do you know what a *nightmare* tastes like?
No, you don't.
And you don't want to. | The psychic being turned to the busy Metropolis for its first meal since arriving on Planet Earth, the moonless night having fallen on the community. Freshly asleep, its denizens knew not of the being from the cosmos sent to feast on their nightly visions.
It crept onto a rooftop, peering into a window of one of the freshly asleep, shifting in bed, eyes darting around under their closed lids. A perfect meal, the being thought to itself, and as such it crept into the victim’s mind, eager to get its fill.
It soon found itself in a busy city street, moving in a crowd of blurred faces. It sees the victim sitting alone, looking down on the ground as if they were unaware of the being’s presence. Perfect, It thought, as it began its consumption. The distant cityscapes of the dream soon began to crumble, much to the apathy of the dream’s constructs, and the victim themselves.
When the destruction drew near the being, the dream’s blurred constructs all stop in their tracks, beginning to eye the victim in hostile contempt. The visible destruction was soon flooded with a blackened fog, much to the being’s confusion. It wasn’t causing this fog?…
As the rest of their surroundings sink into the darkness, all that is left in front of the being is the crowd and the victim on their lonesome, sobbing on their bench. Sobbing? Dreamers usually never act like that, the being thought. It soon found itself startled by a sudden noise, yelling, coming from the crowd of constructs.
The sounds stank of vitriol. Of hatred. Of fear. The being knew not what those meant in this environment, it just meant to simply consume this dream. Yet it wasn’t budging anymore. The dream wasn’t collapsing, the being wasn’t getting fuller, for it wasn’t a dream anymore.
It was a nightmare.
The constructs slowly vanish one by one, leaving just the being and the victim, the latter of which continues crying, surrounded by a pitch black void of nothingness. The being, confused, thought its job was done, yet it could not leave. It was trapped in this person’s mind.
It started becoming desperate, clawing at the dark despite nothing being there. The victim, who has gathered enough of themselves to look up, sees the being in its full form, standing in front of them amidst nothing else.
Then they screamed. In terror? In rage? It couldn’t tell, but the simply the sensation of such during what’s supposed to be an easy meal was overwhelming. It tried to flee, but it found itself crashing into a wall of the cityscape, which has reappeared. Looking up, the being saw that the sky had been replaced with a drab, maroon glow, and the buildings looked long abandoned, filled with mysterious red stains and with greenery, slowly creeping up the towering heights of their massive walls.
The victim falls onto their knees from their seated position, arms outstretched. They have ceased their screaming, allowing the being a bit of breathing room. It didn’t know what was going on.
Then, one by one, the buildings around them burst into flames. The victim breathed heavily, looking up, a look of fear in their eyes. Though they did not react to its presence, the being felt as if it was in danger. It tried to flee through the city, yet the flames kept spreading far faster than it moved soon, it found itself having looped back to the victim, still on their knees. When it turned around to find another path, it finds that the flames have surrounded the both of them, inching ever closer.
Still not accepting its fate, the being tried to interact with the victim, who simply did not react. As the flames engulf the two, the being could not do more than mirror its target’s terrified expression.
Poof. The being found itself on the same rooftop it had entered the dream from, looking down at the quiet streets of the peaceful night. In a panic, it looked around in as many places as it could, yet there was no fire. The sky was black, and the buildings looked as maintained a ever. It was confused.
For the rest of the night, the being sought out no more dreams. Even though it hadn’t had its fill, such an experience was something it would not like to relive. Ever…. | 2022-09-06T09:00:46 | 2022-09-06T07:34:55 | 1,171 | 115 |
[WP] Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened. | As soon as the shots rang out, I knew he was dangerous. He wasn’t like the other supervillains—hell, I wouldn’t even *call* him a supervillain. The others were quirky, cackling ne’er-do-wells with a penchant for showmanship. This man wore no cape or spandex. He didn’t monologue about his tragic backstory or his nefarious plots. All he had was a gun and a bone to pick. His actions weren’t part of a performance, but rather means to his ends. He was nothing but a criminal, and it was terrifying.
All of downtown was in a panic. Civilians scrambled to leave the scene, when before, they’d ogle my fights from the sidelines. It felt like somebody had changed the force of gravity—the cartoon physics didn’t work anymore: falling anvils actually killed; people who were pancaked by the impact stayed prone. In other words, the fun was over. The criminal scowled at me from behind the aim of his weapon, and I wondered what good the powers of flight and low-level magic could do against hollow point rounds.
“Oops—sorry—‘scuse me—lemme just slip past ya, there—sorry!” A familiarly squeaky voice piqued my attention above the miscellaneous sounds of chaos. It couldn’t be…and yet, as I scanned the fleeing crowds, it was easy to find her. Pixie was shuffling against the flow of people, working her way towards the criminal and I. Her pink hair and tutu were hard to miss. “There you are!” she exclaimed as she popped past the last of her obstacles, dusting her skirt off and smiling at us. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in.”
“Pixie, what are you doing here?!” I hissed.
The criminal casually swung his aim onto her and cocked his head slightly. Bemused, and maybe a little curious. Any emotion other than misanthropic vitriol was an improvement, in my books.
“Alright, I’ll bite,” he said. “What’s your schtick?”
“I,” she declared, putting her hands on ber hips, “am Manic Pixie Nightmare Woman, and the hero you’ve currently standing off against is my nemesis! So I’d appreciate it if you kindly backed down and stopped trying to play on my turf.”
The criminal scoffed. My heart sank. This man was going to blast Pixie in half and use her corpse to beat me into submission. What chance does a house cat have against a tiger?
“And if I don’t?” The criminal asked.
Pixie faltered, but only for a second, as if her peppy facade was glitching. She replied, “Then I’ll kill you.”
This elicited a laugh, though it sound more like a barking dog. “Kill me? How? I’ve seen you fight—if you can call it that. The Powerpuff girls could take you out.” Smiling like a predator, he lowered his gun, and I perked up a bit. Classic mistake to let one’s guard down while mocking an enemy—maybe this guy had a bit of supervillain in him, after all.
Pixie, meanwhile, was frowning, though it was hard to tell if she was pouting at the criminal’s ridicule or concentrating on convincing herself that he was wrong. “I can kill you,” she said. “I totally can. Just gotta psych myself up for it.”
Reaching out her empty hands, she took a step towards him—then stopped, holding herself back. Then she stepped forwards again. “Let me just—hmm! Ohhh, I don’t wanna do it!” She balled her hands up at her sides. Inhale, exhale. She glared at him. “Okay. Are you officially standing your ground? Because if you don’t back off now, I’ll actually have to try this.”
“Oh, I’m staying here, all right,” the criminal said. His arms were relaxed at his sides at this point. I wondered if I could accost him with something while his attention was preoccupied—but my traditional combat skills were never the best, and honestly, I was as distracted by Pixie as he was. I hoped to God she wasn’t going to try to use her enchanted ukulele on him. He’d crush her like a particularly uninteresting bug.
What really confused me, though, was how much Pixie seemed to be struggling with herself. It was clear, now, that her hesitation lied not in her confidence in her abilities, but rather her reticence to kill. The criminal was goading her to come at him, and she cringed as she walked forward with both hands outstretched. Being only a couple inches over five feet, she actually beckoned him to lean down a little once she got close to him. His shining, wicked grin showed his willingness to watch her try—for her to give him all she’s got. Her dainty hands, with their pink fingerless gloves and their sparkling nail polish, reached out to either side of his skull. Then she clenched them, and his skull crumpled in her grasp like a cream puff.
It took me a while to understand what I was looking at. It took the criminal a while to understand that he was dead. The entire upper half of his head was a red pulp in Pixie’s hands. His mouth dropped its smile. She let go of her fistfuls of hair and skull and brain, stepping back from his now-corpse, and it collapsed like an abandoned puppet. Holding her blood-soaked palms up in front of her, she spun to face me with a look of devastation.
“I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes, but this guy was so out of your wheelhouse. I didn’t want anything bad to happen.”
“You. Uh.”
“I honestly thought he’d try to fight back. At least to humour me. Then there’d be a real brawl, and maybe it’d lead to a way to incapacitate him. But nope! He just let me walk right up and do it. And I mean—I couldn’t *not* kill him, then!”
“How…how did you do that?” I asked.
“What? Oh. Super strength.” She clenched and unclenched her hands. “It feels like crumpling a paper mâche model, if the model was full of finger jello and red paint.”
“You,” I sputtered, “don’t *have* super strength!”
“Yeah I do. I just don’t use it. It’s like playing with cheat codes—it’s not impressive to win fights based on unfairly overpowered abilities. A victory only counts if I do it myself, with skills or gadgets or plans. Plus,” she said, smiling sheepishly, “it’s honestly harder to *not* kill people when I use it, so I feel better keeping it off the table altogether.” She continued to play with the blood on her hands, separating her fingers and watching it form sticky strands between her digits. “Hey, I’m not gonna be, like, arrested for murder for this, right?”
I sighed. Despite how utterly surprising this turns of events was, in some ways, it was classic Pixie. | “Freeze!” The command was followed by a light giggle, and the sound of sticky, cold goo being propelled through the air. “Put the money in the bag!” The slimy toy hand slapped against my face, and the cashier behind the gas station counter laughed nervously. I sighed; Nick, AKA “Mr. Bad Guy,” was always wasting my time, acting as if he were truly a menace to society. I had long ago given up on entertaining his fantasies of being my “archnemesis.”
From behind the counter, the cashier, a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen, with greasy, jet black dyed hair, and several, obviously unprofessional, ear piercings, whispered, “Is he serious? What do I do? Mrs. Forrest didn’t prepare me for a robbery.”
I turned towards Nick; I knew my eyes were alight with annoyance. “Please leave, Mr. Bad Guy,” I pleaded in a fake frightened tone. At the same time, I discreetly sent out a call for backup in the area. This was supposed to be my day off, for God’s sake. I put my hands up by my head and pressed the button hidden in the right arm of my glasses. If I could just pretend for long enough, someone would come help me get rid of this so-called “villain,” and I could go back to getting my cheat day, grease-filled lunch. Nick stared at me with his creepy green eyes, brimming with excitement and joy. He smiled at me, his teeth were too perfectly straight, and they were decorated with oddly colored jewels.
“Backup unavailable, sorry, Boss. Bomb threat at the courthouse, new guy in town.” Caroline’s voice rang in my earpiece. What did she mean about a new guy in town? No one had tried to attack Deerville since the mayor appointed the SuperUnion to be the official crime-fighting, peace-keeping taskforce. I know our name isn’t the greatest, I’ve been trying to change it for years.
“If you want something done right, do it yourself,” I whispered, remembering why I haven’t had a day off in a week and a half, and why I never try to call for backup. “Behind the counter!” I shouted over my shoulder to the cashier. The teen hesitated for a moment; he had been distracted by his phone. Nick giggled and charged at me, holding brightly colored balls of paint in his hands. One was pink, the other blue, he called them his “Detopainters.” They were supposed to immobilize me, but he almost never got the formula right.
He threw the pink one at my left shoulder, and the liquid inside splashed against my bare face. What a wonderful day to be dressed as a civilian. I would need to rely on my personal defense training, which was very rusty at the moment. As the tall, lanky, awkward man ran at me, I ducked and grabbed his torso. There were some spikes around the hem of his jacket, but they were just craft-store studs, inconvenient yet harmless. I knocked us both to the ground, rendering Nick completely immobile. He huffed out a sigh but didn’t try to resist.
Around his neck was a locket; the inside contained a picture of an older woman and a button. I yanked the locket off and pressed the button.
“You had to call Mom? Really, George?” Nick groaned. I stood up and helped my younger brother off the floor.
“Please, Nick, stop trying to be some big, bad villain, especially on my off days.” I turned to the counter, where the teen was already bad up and on his phone again. “Two six pieces, please, the combos.” He grunted at me and pressed a couple of buttons on the register.
The bell attached to the door jingled, and I knew without looking, it had to be Mom. As my credit card was accepted and my receipt was printed, I heard a shrieking voice in my earpiece.
“GEORGE! GET HERE NOW! CODE YELLOW!”
I groaned and gestured toward the food for Mom and Nick. I hugged Mom apologetically. “Duty calls, sorry, Mom. I’ll see y’all later.”
\-
“This better be good, Caroline!” I yelled as I entered the office.”You KNOW it’s my day off.” I could practically hear her eyes roll as she answered, “Yeah, yeah, your rest is more important than the new villain in town.” She was hunched over a plexiglass table, a bright screen shining through, a map of the city. She was planning a retaliation. Without prompting, she began to brief me.
“Female, early 30s, 5’5, medical doctor. Calls herself The Witch. Not many original villains around here. First targeted the courthouse, detonated a stink bomb that evacuated the building while she destroyed all the criminal files. Active on social media with quite the following; she even posts tutorials on her ‘Odor Potions.’ Anyway, she posted earlier that she’s going after the city hall tomorrow, and then all the office buildings in Deerville.”
Caroline sighed as she finished, looking up at me. I sighed as well, knowing that this wouldn’t be easy. In the digital age, social media had become a whole new weapon for villains, as many teens and impressionable young adults were tricked into believing they were right to do what they did. If we didn’t intervene swiftly, successfully, and carefully, this “witch” could have mobs of protestors flooding our streets, making it easier for her to get into these government buildings and destroy important files. If left unattended, or if we took the wrong strategy, she could ruin Deerville’s bureaucracy, and it would take years to rebuild the government.
“Let's get ready and meet her at the city hall tomorrow.”
\-
I knew that Caroline would hate me for this, but I invited Nick to join us at the city hall to defeat “The Witch.” I had been hoping that by inviting him with his to defeat these actually dangerous villains, he might be inclined to give up his fantasy of being my archnemesis, and just get a regular job like a normal person.
I saw Caroline by the local news anchor, Miriam; the two were close friends from high school, and Miriam always gave us what details the press had about the situation. Nick and I walked towards them, overhearing the last bit of their conversation.
“She claims to already be in the building, and she’s planning to live stream the placement and detonation of her Odor Potion,” Miriam said. Caroline nodded and opened her phone, likely searching to follow the villain’s account. “Brooke wants us to have the live stream playing on the news, but don’t worry, I think I can convince her not to.” Brooke was Miriam’s boss.
"Thank you, Miriam. We really appreciate it,” Caroline said, hugging her friend. She turned towards us, her hopeful expression dropping. She hadn’t noticed Nick with me yet. As Miriam walked away, Caroline whisper-shouted at me, “Can’t someone else babysit him? He’s going to ruin everything!”
Nick was on his phone, playing some game. “Hey, Nick, why don’t you go sit over there, and try to think of something we can do to stop The Witch?” I asked him, gesturing to a bench. He nodded happily and went over, rummaging through his backpack of gadgets for something. I turned back to my colleague. “He needs to work with other villains, see how they can actually be dangerous, Caroline.”
She shook her head at me and looked down. Seconds later, she shoved her phone in my face. “Look! She tweeted that she’s going to come outside before the detonation to give a speech! This is our chance!”
I nodded, agreeing with her, “Move into position.” I turned around and groaned. Where was Nick??
Caroline was already on the move, and I quickly scanned the crowd for my lost brother. I shrugged and tried to carry on with our plan to stop The Witch from bringing the entire internal structure of Deerville down.
The doors creaked open. Out stepped a woman, mid-height, with fiery orange hair. Her eyes glowed a bright purple, and she was wearing what appeared to be a Walmart witch costume. She smiled wide, fake vampire fangs attached to her canines. Suddenly, water rained down on her head, and what was once thought to be her hair slid off her head, actually a wig. The woman shrieked and ran back inside. Pools of water filled with body paint splashed as her elaborate Halloween costume was washed off of her. She dropped her Odor Potions, which were covered in a water-soluble material. They detonated, thankfully outside and not inside, and the crowd collectively turned away in disgust.
I heard the all too familiar giggle, and I spotted Nick on the second-floor balcony, holding one of his gadgets, a glorified water gun. I picked up my phone and called my brother. “How did you do that so easily?” We had thought it would take a much more elaborate scheme to get her to give up the act.
On the other end of the phone, my brother laughed openly. “Everyone knows that witches melt in water, silly.” | 2022-10-13T20:07:05 | 2022-10-13T19:56:40 | 98 | 49 |
[WP] Write a scene that would appear sexual to an observer, but is completely innocent. [nsfw]
Like the tent shadow scene from Austin Powers, it should be humorous and can involve objects and sounds. | She straddles him, knees tight against his sides. The tie uncoils from his neck, and then the buttons below undone. She pushes upon his chest, her fingers finding purchase near his heart. She sighs. Quickly now, she leans down. Her lips embrace his with the warmth of breath. She wonders when the ambulance will finally arrive. | A goat's ass is never as loose as you would hope it would be. I mean this is my first time directly dealing with one, but I'd assume I now posses a much greater knowledge on the subject than the average man. Or not, I don't know what people do in their own time.
But curses and curses again, the goat corpse I had acquired had lost all sphincter tightness, and the gold nuggets I hoped to sneak past the Spanish watchmen kept falling out. This entire damn smuggling operation had been one bungling mess after another. I suppose it started when when my partner had an episode of sleep walking and had toppled into the sea the first night on board. He was an adept swimmer but apparently sleep swimming was a different matter. Mayhap I should have taken it as a sign, but the Spanish-run expedition was unlikely to turn the great sailing vessels around and drop me off be cause my plan to rob them right under their noses had just gotten twice as difficult. I was in for the long hull. At least I got two months to fret about it as we crossed the sea to Mexico.
More of my pilfered nuggets fell from the goat's open mouth as I tried to re-insert the ones escaped from the back end. It was disgusting, but hells, that's the point. What guard would stop and check the ass of a dead goat? I had spent too long sneaking these beauties from the mine to lose them now because of some uncooperative piece of mutton. I drove the nuggets home, this time stoppering the beast with a bit of leather. I flipped him upright again, holding the slack jawed head between my knees as I gathered the nuggets freed from his maw. The moment I scooped the last one into my gloves the door to my temporary workshop, the tool shed actually, swung open and my eyes met with those of a surprised guard. Hand wrapped around stolen gold, open mouthed goat between my knees, my face red and sweaty from my efforts; I stared at him motionless.
His eyes slid to the goat and back my eyes. "Bean hecow" or "Bien hecho" or "Been heyco", one of those, he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. He shut the door.
I really need to learn to speak Spanish, what the hell just happened?
I finish re-stuffing my goat and heft him over my shoulder. If I run I should still be able to catch the supply ship before it pushes off for the voyage back to Europe. No rest for the wicked.
| 2013-10-13T22:45:59 | 2013-10-13T22:28:30 | 129 | 36 |
[WP] Write a scene that would appear sexual to an observer, but is completely innocent. [nsfw]
Like the tent shadow scene from Austin Powers, it should be humorous and can involve objects and sounds. | He's behind her. Thrusting as hard as he possibly can. Her eyes are up in her skull and he has a tired look on his face.
He begins to do this action faster.
Harder.
Finally she spits out a grape that had been lodged in her throat.
Phew, glad that's over. | A goat's ass is never as loose as you would hope it would be. I mean this is my first time directly dealing with one, but I'd assume I now posses a much greater knowledge on the subject than the average man. Or not, I don't know what people do in their own time.
But curses and curses again, the goat corpse I had acquired had lost all sphincter tightness, and the gold nuggets I hoped to sneak past the Spanish watchmen kept falling out. This entire damn smuggling operation had been one bungling mess after another. I suppose it started when when my partner had an episode of sleep walking and had toppled into the sea the first night on board. He was an adept swimmer but apparently sleep swimming was a different matter. Mayhap I should have taken it as a sign, but the Spanish-run expedition was unlikely to turn the great sailing vessels around and drop me off be cause my plan to rob them right under their noses had just gotten twice as difficult. I was in for the long hull. At least I got two months to fret about it as we crossed the sea to Mexico.
More of my pilfered nuggets fell from the goat's open mouth as I tried to re-insert the ones escaped from the back end. It was disgusting, but hells, that's the point. What guard would stop and check the ass of a dead goat? I had spent too long sneaking these beauties from the mine to lose them now because of some uncooperative piece of mutton. I drove the nuggets home, this time stoppering the beast with a bit of leather. I flipped him upright again, holding the slack jawed head between my knees as I gathered the nuggets freed from his maw. The moment I scooped the last one into my gloves the door to my temporary workshop, the tool shed actually, swung open and my eyes met with those of a surprised guard. Hand wrapped around stolen gold, open mouthed goat between my knees, my face red and sweaty from my efforts; I stared at him motionless.
His eyes slid to the goat and back my eyes. "Bean hecow" or "Bien hecho" or "Been heyco", one of those, he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. He shut the door.
I really need to learn to speak Spanish, what the hell just happened?
I finish re-stuffing my goat and heft him over my shoulder. If I run I should still be able to catch the supply ship before it pushes off for the voyage back to Europe. No rest for the wicked.
| 2013-10-13T23:38:00 | 2013-10-13T22:28:30 | 87 | 36 |
[WP] Wikipedia is shut down and all copies deleted for lack of funds and loss of net neutrality. This is the founder's "I warned you, jerks" notification. | He told us.
He warned us.
We let it happen.
But
He didn't understand.
He was the disease.
It's been three weeks since Wikipedia was shut down and the world couldn't be happier. There is jubilation in the streets as we are finally free.
The amount of internet trollage has crashed as they can no longer cite and edit Wikipedia at a whim to make their childish arguments seem right. Facts and evidence return to the world. We rejoice there are standards again!! Students require an actual education and teachers knowledge rather than ripping off Wikipedia.
Internet speeds across the board are skyrocketing as people no longer spend their lives on websites because the never ending sludge of misinformation was sourced to Wikipedia. The death of Wikipedia has forced news organizations to revert to actual research instead of the ending the never ending tide of opinion and sensationalized gossip that is 24 hour news. Fox news, CNN and the Huffington post have all shut their doors. As a side effect justice reigns as people are no longer tried by media and gossip but rather through evidence.
Truly we live in a new golden age.
The world has never been happier.
The final words of this putrid site have become bitterly ironic. The founder, like Ozymandias before him, bolsted his work as an act of enduring greatness but like those of the ancient king lay in ruin returned to dust
I told you so.
We should have listened sooner.
I told you so.
We no longer tremble at your might.
As eyes are opened by fact returning to the world the jubilant crowds decided this is only the beginning. A new beginning a purge was needed to cleanse the rest of the evil from the net. A flood of overjoyed people torches in hand storm the gilded cages of Twitter, tumblr. Facebook. Torches in hand they free the world of all sites of such ilk reducing them to ash.
The age of gossip is over the people have spoken.
We have rid ourselves of our digital shackles.
We are free
We are free! | A new video gets posted on the top bar of all wikipedia pages. It is a dark and gritty looking video. The only other thing accompanying the video is a timer that ticks ominously. It counts the minutes until wikipeida closes. The following is the story contained in the video:
When wikipedia went down at first it wasn't so bad. Things went on as normal except people couldn't look up that fact. That piece of information that was nagging at the back of their mind. When we approached our nephews high school we saw the typical sights. Odd dress, strange habits, and all the odd intricacies of contemporary teenage life. We walked straight in; the security guard recognized my sister and waved us through the metal detectors.
"I can't believe they make kids walk through these things." I say in concern.
"If we treat children like criminals won't they behave like criminals?" she replied nodding.
We walked aimlessly until we found the library. At least they are spending time studying we thought as we walked through the open wire-mesh safety glass doors. This time we walked through an RFID scanner and and our names flashed on an LCD monitor hanging from the roof in the room. We entered a dismal looking library. A tired old woman sat at the desk; her chair adorned with a variable arsenal of ergonomic devices. She worked at such a dismally slow rate it appeared as if she was sleep typing. A moment before we gave up and left three kids wearing a grey baseball caps ran through the entrance. The screen didn't flash their names or faces it simply went black for a moment.
We look at each other and followed them down the stacks until we came upon an open floor panel surrounded by a metal cage hidden behind some old encyclopedias. We peeled back the cage and stepped down into a den of activity. The old floor under the back the library had been converted into a miniature computer lab equipped with:
-4 flatbed scanners
-3 laptops
-6 tablets
-1 desktop
-1 massive nest of cables
-4 bean bag chairs
The four teenagers workings steadily in the lab continued almost as if they expected people to come and go. As our eyes adjusted to the dim light we noticed that the wire mesh coated the entirety of the room.
"a Faraday cage" I said under my breath astonished.
They all turned around once they heard the difference in my voice. They were scared, shaking as if caught by the police, none of them moved.
"Just what are you doing down here?!" Said my sister, definitely on the border of yelling.
Once the kids realized who she was a wave of relief overtook the majority of them; everyone except for my nephew and his closest friend.
"Can't you see the library is dead and you let them kill it!"
"We have no books left here so we have been reconstructing Wikipedia here. We have the project Gutenberg on a hard drive (now illegal) and we are writing summaries for all the work in our classes."
"I'm also working on getting archived pages of sparknotes back up!"
We were baffled by what was taking place infront of us. We knew what we had to do. The government didn't tolerate intelligence terrorism; we knew from legal precedent that they didn't treat minors any different. We told the kids to go out and wait in the cars.
What came next was difficult and hard to describe. I think we felt bad as we stuffed all the various expensive, antique in some cases, equipment into gym bags and backpacks. We walked out the metal detectors and thankfully the security guard was on break. We threw everything in the trunk of the car and drove straight to the scrapyard our cousin owned. As the grinder shredded our kin's hardwork we considered what they were doing. In the end we saved them from prison time and digital-ex-comm but, we still admired their tenacity. As they left I couldn't help but, keep a usb key with project Gutenberg on it.
Somewhere a computer beeps ominously as it tracks the laptops contents and progression. It knows, the moment the devices exited the Faraday cage, what they stored and it records the evidence for later processing. It tracked the devices to the scrap yard and recorded the vehicles license plate as it drove through traffic lights. | 2014-12-10T06:49:24 | 2014-12-10T06:47:51 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own. | When i reached 16 I had high hopes. The basic process a person about to obtain a power went through was being put into a kind of prison cell and, for the first 24 hours after the exact time of your birth 16 years ago, monitored by a team of doctors who would categorize your power with its own unique title and level. ranking from 1-10, most powers were around a 5, meaning 'has a mediocre power' or 'can use their power to an extent comparable to that of a fully capable level 5'. powers were categorized as 'elemental', 'mind-bending' and 'self-modification'.
My parents both had mind-bending abilities, my father having telekinesis and my mother having telepathy. Having two mind-bending parents, it was predicted by the doctors that I would have a level 6-8 mind-bending ability. I waited anxiously as the time drew closer. The doctors stood in an above balcony protected by 5 inches of bulletproof glass to ensure they couldn't be harmed if I happened to have a high level destructive ability. My mind kept going over all the powers I could get. Would I be a level 7 pyrotechnic? or would I be a level 3 barely able to become invisibility. The countdown clock at the end the room was 3 hours off one day after I was born. some level 1's cant even use their powers, could I be one?
Suddenly a siren went off. Something was seriously wrong as that siren meant my ability was doing damage to sensory equipment. One of the doctors reached for the intercom but another stopped him, all ten of them seemed to be having an argument. The siren was still going off, it was starting to hurt my ears so I tried to get the attention of the doctors. None of them noticed me until a huge crack developed in the glass. I hadn't even realized it but the ground was starting to vibrate.
One of the doctors started talking on the intercom but it sounded incredibly distorted. "Stop using your power! you'll kill us all at this rate!".
That's when I realized my power,
Resonance | Dear Journal:
I turn sixteen in 2 minutes and 27 seconds. I know because I've been awake all night counting the seconds to midnight. Tonight is special and you know why? At midnight I finally Change! I've waited forever but now I finally get a power like everyone else. What do you think it will be, Journal? Will I get x-ray vision like Jason next door? Maybe I'll have super strength like Melissa or even wings like Ethan! As long as it's not Eric's acid breath I think I'll be happy. That poor guy had bad enough breath already, that was the last thing he needed. But anyway it's midnight, it's finally here! I'll keep writing as it happens, I never want to forget this!
-It's 12:02 and I don't feel very different yet, but it has gotten colder in here. I'm wrapped up under my blanket now but so far nothing else. It's so hard to wait, Journal.
-12:10 now, I'm still just cold. Dull pain in my mouth. Might be a toothache, but I'm hoping for poison glands! I'm going to check the mirror.
-Journal, I'm confused now. I can't see myself in the mirror. At first I got really excited thinking I was invisible, but when I look down I still see myself. On top of that my teeth hurt a lot now. This is definitely part of my Change but I'm a bit worried my power is going to suck. I'll be back after I walk around a bit, maybe that will help.
-It's 12:30 and this literally bites. I stubbed my toe on my dresser and bit my to tongue HARD. Normally that's a bad thing but this time it was awful because my teeth are razor sharp. I'm not kidding, they're like a wild animal's. I was worried I bit my tongue in half! Here's the weird part though; instead of blood I spat out dust. Isn't that just stupid, Journal? I mean what am I even Changing into? I can't see myself, my teeth are needles, I bleed dust and-
oh my god, Journal. I think I'm a vampire.
-1:45. My life is over! I'll never see Melissa or Jason or even Eric again! Well I'm sure Jason will see me but that's beside the point. I can't ever see sunlight again, so I can't ever get a tan. Garlic on my hashbrowns? Not anymore! And you know what else I just thought about? I'll have to ask permission every single time I want to hang out in somebody's house. But even then a sleepover is out of the question now too. I even dared to think for a second that I might be able to turn into a bat. Well I can tell you that's not true, Journal, because nothing happened when I jumped off the stairs to test it. I'm fine because I'm guessing I got some sort of vampire strength but still! What's the point if I'm stuck inside all day? I'm not even going to think about the whole sucking blood situation, although I'm sure I could borrow some from the blood bank if I absolutely had to. No, no, no, gross. I'll have to figure something out.
-It's 3:00 and I guess I'm just going to have to live with it. I'm done Changing so that's that. Me. A vampire. Forever. I'm telling everyone I'm sick tomorrow like the rest of the kids who got crap powers. Now I know how Eric felt on his first night. On the bright side at least I didn't melt half of my bed away! Heck, maybe I should just embrace it and move to Romania. That's where the real vampires go, right Journal? They've probably got night classes and everything. Hey, that's not a bad idea. I might even meet some vampire girls over there! Well Journal I think this might be okay! Maybe the next time I write will be from a dark, musty castle overlooking a tiny village. I can't help but laugh! How funny would that be? I'll have to stop writing now, I have a lot to do to make this house vampire-friendly and I should probably find a coffin to sleep in by morning. Ha, that was a joke. Anyway I'm done now. Goodnight/good morning, Journal. ~Your new vampire writer, Victor Orlok | 2015-01-22T00:45:06 | 2015-01-21T22:26:31 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] A crazy supervillain disables the birth control of all superheroes. | "Abortion Man To The Rescue!" called out the stranger in strange tights with a coat hanger symbol on his chest.
Powergirl almost jumped naked out of her bed. The man she was with, whom she picked up at a bar seemed to recognize this freak.
"You're too late abortion man!" said The Impregnator.
Powergirl wrapped a blanket around her voluptuous frame and stood up.
"Someone better explain what the hell is going on or I'm going to start cracking skulls!"
"This villain hath tampered with your means of contraception!" said Abortion Man, "He has bedded you with the intention of making you pregnant without your knowledge or consent!"
Powergirl turned to the man in her bed, who was bearing a Cheshire-like grin and smoking a cigarette.
"Is this true?" asked Powergirl.
"Yes it is! I am the Impregnator!"
"He has 300 outstanding paternal suits!" said Abortion Man.
Powergirl raised her fist getting ready to knock two guys out, then she stopped herself.
"Wait a second, are you human?" she asked.
"Yes," said The Impregnator.
"I'm not," said Powergirl as she turned to Abortion Man and explained, "I'm a Kryptonian. I don't use contraception. It's impossible for a human to make me pregnant."
Suddenly the Impregnator looked deflated and said, "Oh, uhhh, well... you have pretty big boobs so I figured it was worth a shot. And it was!" | It was a bright day out. I know it’s always supposed to be dark and rainy at someone’s funeral. Nature is supposed to sympathize with your loss. But not today. The yellow sun shone. The birds chirped. A man with a sign was putting sunblock on his nose. They picketed her funeral.
You’re supposed to leave them alone. All they want is attention, good or bad. Just stand at the casket and say your goodbyes. It doesn’t matter what they say about her. I knew her. I knew God loved her.
Their chanting makes the priest stutter. I could stop them. It would be so easy. I could blame them for what happened. But it was my fault. You can’t pick mortals as targets just because they bother you. You’re better than that.
A baby cries among the mourners. It sets off some of the women and they use it as an excuse to leave. At least, they try to leave. The picketers are harassing them. I should stop them.
I ask the lead man to kindly leave them and us alone. We are mourning the loss of our friend. I asked if they could understand.
“You’re mourning a godless whore.”
The trees all move with an unnatural wind. A clever man would notice they all bowed away from where I stood. Then again, a clever man wouldn’t be holding that sign.
I ask him again to please leave and I help the women back to their car. The mother wipes her eyes and says the baby was just hungry.
The leader hassles me again as I return to the funeral. They all do, the whole family, but what he says sticks in my ear.
“You killed her with your sin.”
I stop. He couldn’t have known how she died.
“God would have saved her if you were married.”
I turn to face him.
“Intimacy is sacred. A man and a woman and God. Nothing else.”
He tampered with the device that scaled back my power, that kept me from hurting her. I take the device off of my wrist.
“It’s not too late. If you repent for your sinful ways, God will save you.”
I take the device and crush it under my shoe. I ask, “But who will save you?”
I hear her screams again as I pull off his fingers. I cauterize the wounds. A man who loves God so much shouldn’t be so afraid of death. His ribs crush into his organs as I grab him. I pull him into the sky feet first, keeping the blood in his head. Keeping him awake and screaming. I yell to him to rejoice. That he will meet his God soon. I drag him up through the clouds and the thin air. He is still holding that sign.
I ignore the onlookers who are suddenly realizing who I am. What I am capable of. I see it in his eyes. He’s won. There’s no going back. But who is he? He peels apart the sign he’s holding. Inside is a different message.
*I am just a messenger. The world knows who you are now and what can happen to a man who has one bad day.*
I hear a crack and this man breathes out green gas. He smiles a too-hard smile and his eyes go blank. I drop him and he starts to float.
When I get back to the ground I am surrounded by the people from the funeral… only, the suits. They’re not black. They’re purple.
| 2015-05-28T10:18:24 | 2015-05-28T08:08:59 | 97 | 56 |
[WP] At birth, everyone is assigned a randomly-placed respawn point, which works until the age of 70. Yours is at the top of Mt. Everest. | The first 10 years of my life were extremely... difficult, let's just say.
I was dropped on my head as an infant, and - bam - here I was at the top of the world, crying and shivering.
I likely died several times in the night, each time respawning back to the summit. Over time the tracks from my several attempts at crawling away from the top managed to a carve a crevice into the ground where I could sleep.
It was a clerical error that placed me so far away from my family. Search drones were dispatched day and night to find me, but they were all hundreds of miles away looking in the wrong area. Later debugging showed that my spawn point was assigned an old reference by mistake, and nobody knew what the address mapped to.
Don't ask me about food. I found it, eventually, iteratively learning how to hunt over successive respawns so that I no longer died of hunger. By the age of five I was pretty adept with my surroundings, but with no idea of where I was and what I was looking for, I never ventured very far from the summit.
The concept of *others* entered my mind about the age of six or seven, when I became aware that something kept anchoring me here, and that thing was an intelligent entity separate from myself. I craved companionship in those early days, with no idea of what the concept actually meant.
By the age of nine I'd adopted a random downhill search approach, sliding down and down different routes with my makeshift snowboard I'd carved out of flat chunks of rock. Each time I would reach a point where I could go down no more, trapped in a valley of mountains which likely only constituted a local minimum and not a global one.
Each time, I would commit the path to memory and then slice my neck in with my rockboard. I would awaken, carve a new one out of the quarry I'd developed, and try a different route.
At the age of 10 I went down a route I'd never gone before, gathering speed on my board to the likes I'd never experienced. In the distance I could see bright pinpoints of what I could only describe as stars below me.
I was scared, but I was also excited. I'd made the connection from a very early age that the stars were unreachable crystals very high in the sky. Now they seemed just within arms reach.
As I got closer, they got brighter, and many more came into view, lighting up structures that took on block-like shapes which resembled formations similar to the quarry and hut I'd fashioned for myself, but on a larger scale.
They found me. Took me in. Taught me how to talk, and restrained me from killing myself everytime I grew nervous or uncertain about something. The authorities were contacted, and a patch crew arrived and reunited me with my parents and younger siblings.
That was years ago. I slowly reintegrated back into society; went to school, made friends, got a job, got a wife and children of my own. They reset my spawn point to the local post office and made damn sure it worked.
I live a life of happy bleakness in the way that most Westerners do. I still like the cold, and am a pretty proficient snowboarder, taking to the slopes whenever I can get the kids off school.
I've never been back. But on cold winter mornings, when the temperature's drop subzero and a cool wind whistles through the house - I still feel the mountain calling to me, calling me back home. | I felt my heart seize in my chest, and thought, I should have taken better care of myself. I was a product of conditioning. We lived in a new world with new rules, and I was one of the first gen to be granted a do-over.
Was I about to have a heart attack? That is one experience I would like to avoid. There is new life on top of this mountain, for me. I just have to get there.
As with so many of the first gens, I was prone to doing all kinds of damage to my body, both inside, and out, because I knew I would get a second chance to do things right. I was into every extreme sport you could imagine, from cliff diving to skate boarding, and had broken more bones than I care to report.
I consumed every sugary treat with lust, and I overindulged in every alcoholic beverage, and shot my veins full of steroids, heroin, whatever came across my path. I was a class A loser, but I planned this trip to Everest in order to right all wrongs. What I didn't consider was the endurance that would be required of me. I never claimed to be bright.
After fifty years of hardcore abuse, I was a twig of the man I once was. And now, I was only a quarter way up the face of Mt. Everest, so that I could finally reset and live a normal, possibly dismally boring life. I had done it all, seen it all, and was ready to rest. Yes, I was tired, so tired, and with bloody knuckles and shaking, faulty knees, I pulled myself up another 8 inches.
Why did I not consider this cliff side? Was I fooling myself to think it would be easy? I should have saved up my money for that jet pack I always wanted. But I loved my tequila and steroids. Tequila for the pain, roids for the gain, I would always say.
After pulling myself upwards another foot, I had to pause again to catch my breath. My shoulder was cramping and I was afraid I would not be able to hold on, if the spasms got worse. My artificial knee was letting me know rain was coming, and I tried to keep focus on the climb and not the insane pulsing pain radiating up and down my left leg.
A few shots of tequila would be nice, about now.
I reached to grab onto the eye hook above me so I could attach my carabiner to it, but my bloody knuckle hit the cold metal hard, as I miscalculated my move, and I almost slipped. My heart skipped a few beats, as I knew I was about to have to start my free climb. The eye hooks only went half way up the face I chose to tackle. Again, not brilliant.
Why couldn't my respawning point be in a sewer somewhere, like Johnny's? Or on a the Canary Islands, on old ritual grounds, like my sister Clara. Clara would probably never even reset, I mean, she has the most mundane first gen life of anyone I know. A librarian, really? What a lutz.
"Look who the lutz is now."
The voice nearly made me have a heart attack. My grip slipped again, and I looked behind me, fully knowing I was alone, half-way up the side of the monstrous mountain face. I decided I was losing it, so I anchored my hammock on the final eye hook this climb offered, and pulled out my water bottle and day's rations.
As I hung there, eyes closed, fully trusting Everest to hold me in place while I tried to rest, the voices came back in full force.
"Why did you wait so long?" A whispy feminine voice whispered slowly.
"You're never going to make it," said a gruffer, gravelly male voice.
"Just give up, son!"
I refused to give in to the voices. I started focusing on my plan for my new spawn. When you are respawned, you retain all of your old life experiences, and are entered into a new facsimile of your body, aged 22. The picture of perfect health, with a clean slate and the wisdom of experience, access to home, bank accounts, and with job references.
The plan was to find a girl, settle down and honor my parents memory. They were scientific quantum mechanic pioneers. They sacrficed their lives to the research and development of human spawning, both experimenting on themselves and others in the field until they consequently died. They died from health complications due to failed experiments early on, but had seen the project into completion before passing on.
"You are not cut out for this!" Another deep voice cut through the silence, and cool mountain air.
Was this the beginnings of a full-on heart attack?
They had perfected spawning by the time I was born and our first gen were the lab rats for the next gen. Our kinks included recklessness, sustance abuse, and failure to contribute positively to society. I may have a lengthy arrest record too, but that is not important. The only thing important to me is getting to the top of this mountain or die trying.
Fifty years, what a life.
I began to think about all the things involved with starting over. My mind became clouded with darkness.
"That's right," a voice cooed, "Let your mind go there."
I mechanically reached above my head, released the carabiner from the eye hook, and free fell 15,000 feet to freedom with a final splat. My mark on this world.
| 2016-07-24T11:14:06 | 2016-07-24T11:02:39 | 515 | 76 |
[WP] After mankind first encountered aliens, we figured out why first contact took so long: We are fearsome space-orks who drink poison for fun, beat each other to a pulp for sports, can survive mutilation, and other stuff. Aliens are afraid, and mankind feels inclined to conquer things...
Bonus Internet Cookies for writing it from the alien perspective.
Edit: Day 2 and still on Hot? I can now die in peace! My Karma is skyrocketing! ....well, sort of...
Okay, there is one very special internet cookie waiting for the writer who describes the bloody human pantheon of Ram'Bo, Schwarzenegger, and Chuck Norris (optional other choices) from the alien perspective...
Said cookie actually is a chocolate chip cookie | "Welcome, Dr Glorboxle," said Admiral Zurtz. "The council has been eagerly awaiting your report. What can you tell us about planet FGR-777?"
Dr. Glorboxle gulped. His findings had not been positive. The council expected to hear his strategic recommendations for the conquest and colonization of FGR-777, but after months of observation from high orbit, he did not have good news to share.
"In my professional opinion, Admiral...we should seek different avenues of colonization. We don't want to tangle with the indigs on this planet."
"Nonsense, Glorboxle! Surely you have more for us than that!"
"They are a warlike race, sir. They are stunted technologically but have the mental capacity for much more. Thing is, they just can't stop killing each other long enough to hone their tech. The LAST thing we should do is risk them obtaining one of our vessels and reverse engineering it. We would be unleashing a great scourge on the galaxy."
The admiral frowned. "You had best have some visuals to convince us of this."
Glorboxle rolled the footage. "As you can see, this is a mass media bloodsport that the creatures view for entertainment." A creature in some sort of denim garb was waving what appeared to be a golden belt high above his head. He stood over a fallen enemy as a horde of the creatures cheered and screamed at his conquest.
Glorboxle let the council take in the horrific imagery before speaking again. "His name is John Cena." | It began more than a generation ago. How many, exactly, has been forgotten. But we still remember how it began, we still see how it continues, and most of us now believe we will see how it ends. That is, the end for my people is quickly approaching.
It's in the air, how each of us walks, the quiet whispers and sullen glances that linger over the streets and hang in the gutters. It's a feeling that I *grew* up knowing and a feeling that has never escaped me, or my people. No matter where we go, no matter how much we travel, or dig, or build; they find us. Quicker and quicker every year.
We left our home at least two hundred years ago. The genocide began years before that. It was a recon station, in some system whose name escapes me at the moment. They had been watching them for years, gathering data, seeing them drink poison, seeing beat each other--with fire and ash--seeing them cut off their limbs, cutting open their own body parts, replacing it with metal and weapons of war and seeing them continue to live. For years, they watched the race that could withstand death itself. And for years, they saw no way to beat them.
They found us before we had answers. To be quite honest, nowadays there are more questions than answers, even with fighting them for generations. Their true state is loss to us. Most of the time they never leave survivors.
Hideous faces, glowing eyes, sharp arms, lightning fast legs. Monsters. Demons. The very creations of Hell itself coming to destroy each and every one of us. Either to kill, to enslave, or to conquer. I had only saved one slave from them, who had died of his fears far before I ever met him.
For years I had tried to lead my people away from them. And for years, I had lost more and more of them with every attempt. It was as if they knew where we were going, as if they could *track* us by smell and ripples in space. Every where we went, they came months later. Or days. Once it was an hour before we had to fight again.
Fight. It's foreign to us now. The best we can do is play a long game of hide-and-seek and hope that one day our hiding spot is enough to stall them. Just to stall them long enough to recuperate, to lick our wounds from generations of death.
My father handed me this mantle, this leadership, years ago. Just before he died. He stayed behind, with a small contingent of a hundred brave soldiers--the last of their kind--to stall the monsters. Instead, they died knowing their deaths were in vain. And since then, I had tried to find a new home for us.
He told me of two things before he left. A home that his father had told him of, who had heard it from his father, and so on. It went back to the first recon station, to the men and women who tried to halt the advance in the first place. He called it Paradise and said it existed on the edges of our galaxy, on a planet far from where we are now.
And he told me of another name. A name that is on the lips of every one of my people, a name that, even though it carries a sense of dread and despair, is talked about every night after dinner and every day before breakfast. A name that lingers, that hangs, that tracks and destroys.
The monsters. They are called humans. And since they encountered us, they have never stopped hunting.
_____
*Can I get those cookies now?*
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more. <3* | 2016-09-21T12:42:59 | 2016-09-21T12:37:39 | 134 | 43 |
[WP] In a stereotypical dystopian story, a teen girl with a bow attempts to cause an uprising against the government. Except, there isn't anything actually wrong with the government. She is actually just really kinda whiny and bitchy.
[removed] | They came for him at dawn, screaming across the dusty plain, throwing up a choking cloud in their wake which turned the sun red. He knew this was an entirely dramatic decision, since she'd set up camp sometime the afternoon before. Within sight of the city's towers.
The gates and walls of Newhaven were more than strong enough to keep them out, but that wasn't what he wanted. His men had their orders, all civilians had been evacuated to the bunkers. They were ready. He was ready for his audience.
They burst through the gate, apparently not even registering how easy it all was. Either they were too used to attacking the smaller settlements and steads around Newhaven, or this was their first raid. Either way, it was going to be their last. It wasn't every day the bandits actually presented themselves to you, after all.
She took an astonishly long time to reach him, though he deliberately stayed in his office. She must have stopped for a rousing speech or two along the way. He stood wearily as she burst through the door, bow at the ready, dark hair flying dramatically. Only her closest lieutenants were with her, each similarly armed with longbows, crossbows and swords.
"Hello, *father*!" She spat, tossing her head.
"Jane." He said, sighing inwardly. "Glad you're home safe."
"I've returned!" She said, in what she obviously believed was a fierce, rabble-rousing voice. In reality, she just sounded like a sixteen-year-old girl having a temper tantrum.
"I see that."
"I've returned," she repeated, her eyes flashing, "to free the people from the yoke of their cruel tyrant! I've returned, Father, so that we can rebuild society as something good for all, so that my child will never know a world of oppression, indecency, and indignity!"
At that she threw a look at Jaime, Tom Brandon's eldest boy, who was stood right behind her. It was obviously meant to be a meaningful glance, or maybe a longing one. Instead they both just looked a bit constipated. The pause gave him a chance to process what she'd said, however. He slapped a hand over his face, groaning.
"Fuck's sake, Janey, you're pregnant too?"
"This isn't about who I choose to love!" She cried dramatically, her face turning red as a bead of sweat began to trickle from her hairline. "This is about..."
"It's about me grounding you," he said sharply, dropping his hand. He gestured, and his men came forward, rifles at the ready. Jane's followers looked uncertain now. "It's about you thinking we love Hannah more. What this is about, Jane, is a child having a tantrum and running off to join some bandits with her friends. That's what this is about."
"I didn't join the bandits!" She yelled. That attempt at a revolutionary tone had vanished now. She stamped her foot. "They're temporary *allies*. I'll reward them when I take over, so..."
"They came with you because they thought they'd get to pillage the city while you were up here." He said, deliberately staying calm. "Don't worry, I'll deal with them. Kids, you hand your weapons over to my men now. Your parents have been worried sick about you all."
The other kids, staring down the barrels of actual guns with the crackle of gunfire outside, handed over their gear willingly. One, a girl who couldn't have been older than twelve, started to cry. Jane stamped her foot again and shrieked wordlessly.
"You always have to ruin *everything*!" She screamed, "I'm going to take over the city and free everyone from slavery, and *you can't stop me*!"
"Jane, no one here's a slave. This is the only truly safe place for half a continent. People are happy to be here. You've been out there now, you've see. That, haven't you? Anyway, you'll get your chance to lead when I retire..."
"I'm not waiting until then! You're a monster!"
She loosed the arrow - the look on her face suggested she hadn't meant to do it, or maybe that she was surprised she had dared too. The arrow flew surprisingly true (she must have been practicing) and lodged in his vest. He took half a step back, bumping into the desk, and let out an irritated grunt. Before he could do anything else there was a deafening report, followed by a heavy thud.
He looked down at his crumpled daughter, horrified. Then she rolled over, pressed a hand to the exit wound just above her hip (which was, thankfully, oozing rather than gushing) and began to weep hysterically.
"Daddy! He shot me, you let him shoot me!"
He sighed heavily. "Dave, take the others to the station, contact their parents. Henry, Bill, you take my arch-nemesis to Doctor Jennings, please? And Gary," he looked at the man who had fired, who was now frozen in place, looking appalled, "please don't do that again." | The police had advised the gated community to be vigilant, dress down and to avoid being in the open as much as possible. The young woman who had been attacking locals had focussed almost solely on those with obviously signs of wealth as well as any uniformed government employees, a garbage man had been attacked during a morning rounds and received an arrow to the shoulder.
Police were in the midst of a massive manhunt. The details they had were that they were searching for Caucasian girl, teenager, dark hair typically in a single braid, a teal puffy vest and black hoody with a red rag tie around the left arm and a large mechanical bow which was red and black in colouration. The arrows they had recovered from her attacks were generic competitive sports arrows matching the description of those stolen from a number of sports stores. The only other lead they had on the girl dubbed by the media as Robyn the Hood was a spray painted tag " ~~D~~ "which didn't match up with any known gang tags.
The night was cold but a fire of righteous fury kept Janelle warm, the Northface puffy vest her parents got her for christmas helped. Typical of them to get something in a colour that didn't lend itself to revolution hopefully the liberated black hoody and her dad's red pocket square gave her that heroic look. She needed one big moment to spark the oppressed into uprising and join her in overthrowing this tyrannous society. This would be so much easier she could just locate the underground resistance; she had been into all kinds of storm drains, underground parking garages and even a few lightly used subway stations. The next likely location was condemned mental hospital, Stillwater Lunatic Asylum typical of the Man pulling down any help for the vulnerable.
Police were notified of a lockdown t at the Glade Hill care centre after an younger inpatient had spotted fugitive during an evening rehabilitation musical session. Security secured the facility and called the police. CCTV footage showed the girl stomping by the front doors and down the road towards the old city centre. Despite losing track of the girl the Commissioner was pleased at the increasing trust they had built within the community particularly the at risk youth and presented a certificate of appreciation to the inpatient who was thrilled to receive it. It had been a big drive to get the homeless children off the streets and into care, the increased funding into mental health had helped immensely at re-integrating the children into the community and preventing further homeless in fact one of the best cases was part way through college on a private scholarship.
The barbed wire fence has torn a hole in her favourite Lorna-Jane leggings, this was not an auspicious start. But she did hear quiet voices from inside the building this would have to be it, the underground she had finally found after evenings of searching. It was important to make an impression so took a second to fix up her no makeup makeup look, made sure her braid was neat but with a single strand to fall dramatically over her face. Taking a second to Instagram her adventure with #burnitdown she was just about ready, just waiting on the picture to upload. The internet was so slow in this part of town, probably didn’t help her iPhone five with engraved gold case from her ex was so out of date just like him “symbol of our love” come on. She would need to upgrade to the six next time she passed the apple store on patrol.
Edit: I have an ending in mind but now is time to go to the pub and get faced. I have received excellent new and that warrants my weight in cider.
________________Let us finish this shit_____________________
Partially faced, spelling errors incoming.
Benny shivered in the cold and stared listlessly at the lighter in his hand. The flame had gone out and his hands were too numb to work the flint and spark it back to life, Benny looked out down the corridor at his friend Marky, he was passed out no good there. No one else there could be able to help him without wanting anything more than a puff of his pipe. It was an impasse. The euphoria was beginning to fade and Benny could feel the three days, he didn't remember passing, beginning to present their demands for sleep and rest. Slowly and quietly the darkness tugged at Benny's mind, the high being replaced with cold itchy and grasping fingers pulling his consciousness into oblivion.
Quietly tip-topeing to where the voices were strongest Janelle got as close as she could to the doubledoors leading to a new room. She could see it clearly, the doors bursting inwards and staying open without swinging back in embarrassingly way. A stark back light cutting a dramatic silhouette, the shadow spilling into the secret headqarters of the underground. Cynical faces look up from a splayed map on a table at this heroic figure as she strides in and definitely proclaims 'I am". Who is this flawless girl no shorter than five foot ten, a dramatic curl defying the practical braid of her hair yet framing her strong and feminine face? Eyes see her signature bow and it dawns on them this is the true hope of rebellion. A real hero.
Taking a deep breath in she braced and kicked with all of her jazz-cised strength. Such strength fuelled by a hatred of the man was never seen in her body previously, she had done better than kicking the door open a door had come clear off it's hinges and flung into a corner with a crash. However there was no light to back light her. However she had never done this before and the grip of her boots caught at the door, all the power transferred laterally across her ankle spraining it in an appalling manner. The door that came flying out was not due to some destined power of the hero but advances wood rot and cheap building materials, the corner it was flung into was occupied by an asleep Marky who became an unconscious Marky with fatal cerebral haemorrhaging. Janelle fell in a shrieking heap she had never experienced pain of this scale, sobbing incoherantly she couldn't imagine how the underground respect her.
No body noticed, the only person directly affected was slipping off this mortal coil. The squatting drug addicts of the abandoned asylum barely registered the loud noise or the crying there was often crying. It just got darker and darker as clouds covered the super moon which had lit up the city. Janelle blacked out from the pain and eventually she fell asleep.
The sky took on the rich colours of plum and honey as the city woke up. City officials tasked with keeping the city's asbestos condemned buildings clear of squatters came in at dawn. They found a teenage girl in a corridor replete with bow and arrows she was clearly in trouble. The police were radioed and gently put her in custody. The reign of bizarre terror was over. A long charge list of assaults, attempted murder, manslaughter, trespass, theft, criminal trespass and illegal squatting.
Looking out the window at the gentle snow the girl formerly known to the world as Robyn the Hood but known within the home as Nelly was depressed. How'd had her quest come to this. Her family had disowned her, seeing her four times during the work week and weekends at home. The man had kept her deep in drugs to still her rebellious heart, capsules of what they called Valerian sedated her heavily around bed time and her warmed milk was clearly laced always brought to her by nurse Kropotkin.
"damn" | 2016-11-15T23:15:06 | 2016-11-15T22:53:13 | 1,112 | 75 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | "God dammit. Really?! I JUST paid for the movie." Steve had been teleported again. This time, to the side of the highway. He really wished he never made that stupid promise but at least he got to see Sandra every once and a while. He looked around. Sandra and Kendrick were present of course. So was their 11 month old Damien, giggling to himself in his car seat. Their late 90's Saab had a flat tire, but nothing else seemed too out of sorts.
As always, useless Kendrick waved. Like an idiot. "Hi Steve!"
Steve brushed him off with a nod and looked at Sandra. She had dyed her hair red and finally stopped trying to cover the beauty mark under her left eye. With the exception of the scowl on her face, it was a good look for her.
Sandra growled out the usual, "Nice to see you again Steve."
"Hi Sunshine and Midnight." It was a race joke, and Sandra absolutely hated it. He leaned into the window at the smiling child, "Hey Twilight, I missed you buddy. You have gotten thiiiiiiiis big!" Steve said with a big smile as he made a motion with his arms. He turned back to Sandra. "Pop the trunk."
Steve made his way to the rear of the old wagon and grabbed the spare tire, scissor jack, and wrench. He wondered how hung Kendrick must have been, because he was a waste of air. And space. And life. His entire existence was an inconvenience on everyone, except for Sandra apparently. For the last six years Steve has had to either fix Kendrick's mistakes or fill in as Sandra's handyman. She was not happy about either.
Steve tried to make some small talk while he swapped out the spare, but Sandra was being cold as usual and Kendrick was keeping Damien occupied. When he was done he stood up and turned around. Sandra's usual glare had been replaced by a soft look, her eyes slightly glossy. She noticed Steve's gaze and the glare came back.
A few seconds passed. Steve was standing there awkwardly looking like he had just been slapped and Sandra was looking like she wanted to slap him. "Thanks Steve." It was not spoken warmly.
He just smiled and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was back in his apartment. The pay-per-view movie he had just purchased was 15 minutes in so he hadn't missed much. Not that it mattered, he had seen Pulp-Fiction about thirty times.
Steve leaned over and grabbed a slice of pizza. His dog Beach came to beg. "She's doing well Beach." The dog looked up at him, licked his hand, and barked. "Yeah boy, I'm alright too" he said with a weak smile. "I'll be alright anyway. One day." He gave Beach a light scratch behind the ears and turned the volume up. | It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler. | 2017-03-22T14:51:37 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 81 | 21 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine. | "You again?" said the booth clerk. His thick-rimmed glasses could not hide the obvious disappointment that took his face.
We were in the Great Hall of Reincarnation. It was my... 8th time I think? No, I think more than that... There was Draco, Nero, Attila... Ghengis, Vlad, Ivan, and Colombus... then Hitler. Those were the successful ones, at least. I tend to forget the failures. What's the point really?
The hall was a grand exchange of life and death, resembling Grand Central Station in New York. Great towering ceiling, intricately cut stone and detailing, all the while a great windowed dome let the light of Heaven in. It's always nice to see, but I was ready to get back to Earth.
"Mhmm, I'm back!" I said, "And this time can you send me to the US, Russia or China? I think there's some great potential there. Things are really heating up and I need another power nation. I really think this time I could take over the world."
The clerk typed something into his computer. I learned long ago this wasn't necessary. These clerks were more or less angels, given the foresight to see into the present and future. I think it just gave them some extra time to see and a visual for the dead to know that the clerks weren't just staring off into space.
"How about Madagascar?" he said at last.
"Madagascar?! Are you mad?"
"Nope, it's one of the 60 countries I could send you where you won't do much harm to humanity. In fact, you'll do the least there," the clerk said. His hand hovered over the "Enter" key, ready to send me on my way.
"Don't you press that button," I told him. "I've almost conquered the world a few times now and you're not going to stop me now."
"I can certainly stop you," he said and his hand made contact with the keyboard, but didn't press it.
"Jeffery!" a loud voice rang from the back of the clerk's office. Quickly, the clerk spun around.
"S-sir, what is it?" the clerk asked.
A tall, balded man in a black suit came into sight. His grin reminded me of a man in a position of immense power. In fact, it reminded me of me in some of my past lives.
"I seem to have overheard you're thinking of sending this man to Madagascar," the man said.
"Well, yes, sir. He's had a history of human destruction and totalitarian rule. The world doesn't need more of that right now. It's bad enough."
"Oh, Jeffery, overstepping your responsibilities again, are you?" said the man as he cupped his hand on the clerk's shoulder. "I think it's best you left this to me."
The clerk nodded and left, looking back sheepishly before closing the door to the office.
"So, you want another chance to rule the world?" the man said, taking a seat where Jeffery was. "How does the US sound?"
"Great," I smiled.
"Excellent," said the man, hovering over the "enter" key. "Don't forget: the Devil's always on your shoulder." Then he winked and pressed down. I was gone, destined for another chance at power.
----
Thank you for reading! More at /r/ItsPronouncedGif. | 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T06:04:16 | 166 | 65 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine. | The white lights flashed again. It was coming back to me, everything; the cries for help, the scent of clotted blood on the dead, the eyes that begged for mothers as they saw death flashing in front of their faces. Ironic I guess, considering that I think that I'm dead. Or at least I figure I must be dead considering all I see is a man who I can only say radiates power.
"So I see you've failed again?" he smirked, "54 tries and still nothing".
"What? I don't get it? Am I dead?"
"Obviously. That's a pretty dumb questions even for your standards and ruthlessness. If you were only that dumb when you Nero."
"Me? Nero? When" I was aghast. "I am not a horrible person am I?"
"Great! This part again. 54 times and I always have to explain this part to you. You die. You either reach Nirvana or you go back to earth and I have NEVER seen someone beat your, well, highscore." the entity exasperatedly said.
"But I pay taxes!" Yet as the words left my mouth, all my memories came back.
"Maybe you do, but I think you should be remembering now."
And I was. I remembered my individual lives, when I sacked Persopolis, Baghdad, Tenochtitlan, Jerusalem. Each time, some called me a hero, but yet, many called me one thing. A murderer. Each time, I thought unifying the world or at least ruling with an iron fist would bring peace, yet all it did was bring my demise.
"How? Why? I did all of that? How can I?"
My knees felt weak and I started sobbing and curling on the floor. But the entity seemed unfazed, even looking in contempt. How could it be so cruel?
"Save it, this time your actions were so wanton and cruel you must face trial at the Eternal Court and in front of the Supreme One."
"I didn't mean to kill 80 million people, I swear"
"Yet you did."
"World War Two wasn't my fault! It was Hitler! I wasn't even responsible for Nanjing! I didn't even order half of the atrocities committed. How could I? I was only a prince!"
"Actions have consequences. Consequences lead to other actions and they stain history with blood"
"I... I..." I couldn't carry on. I was guilty. Maybe it was time to stop trying.
Suddenly, the entity changed his expression. "Guilt, I have never seen that before. Maybe..."
In an instant, he disappeared and I heard a ringing in my ear, as if the world was being born anew. Then I heard his voice again, faintly in the distance "The Supreme One has seen your guilt, you have one last chance to reach Nirvana. Maybe it'll be different this time, maybe it will not. All I can say is, at the minimum, at least leave earth the same as it was, maybe you will even be granted a seat just for that. After all, you will be the first one to fail..." The voice started to get more distant and faint, the world started spinning again. Then it became black. All I felt was warmth. All I heard now was "I think we will name him Martin" and I went back to sleep.
| 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T08:26:10 | 166 | 22 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | I sat at my desk, lazily gazing at the television. Listening to the screaming of innocent civilians. Can't really sympathise with them, I'd become too desensitised to these sorts of things. But, as the second one began to fall over, I realised that I should probably do something. So I turned to the only man who knew what sort of situation I was in. "Lord, what should I do right now?" I asked. He replied "Ghengis, I can't tell you how to get into heaven. You're just going to have to do what you think is best, and continue getting it wrong until you get it right.". I quickly looked back at the television, both buildings had completely crumbled. It was right then when I realised what I had to do. "Assistant!" I yelled. "Yes, Mr. President." He said in a somber voice. "We're going to start a war. A war on terror!". | There she was again, fat face, full of cake, laughing as she told me another anecdote of her worthless kid, spraying food all over my desk. I hate Karen, hated her since I first started working at this paper company. This pathetic job, with is grey walls, stale coffee, worn carpet and depressing looking people. It was all beneath me, I could be great again, reach such great heights again... But patience. Patience was key this time. I was determined to get it right. I had an outlet this time.
As I left work and walked the poorly paved streets to the grocery store, the rain tapping away lightly on my face, past the safe unimaginative buildings that littered this city, I thought of all the grandure I could bring to it if I were in charge again. How I can elevate this city, this country, to new levels of greatness, create a standard of living for the select chosen few... But patience, there was still time. I had an outlet now.
Standing in line, waiting to pay for my food, I saw a man cut in line with the pretence of talking to a friend he just happened to see. People looked angrily at him, but said nothing. City of wimps. My blood was boiling, that vein on my head was throbbing, so I gazed at the woman standing near me, her baby strapped to her. She was attractive, her black hair falling effortlessly on her shoulders. The child looking around in wonderment. And suddenly a hunger filled me. I wanted her, right here, on the store floor. I would raid her house, kill her husband, smash her baby... no, must be patient, it was almost time for my outlet.
I sat on the couch, belly full, watching the blond haired chubby monkey they called leader of the free world talking his nonsense. They dared to compare him to what I had accomplished. It was insulting. He was nothing. I looked over to my bookshelf, lined with The Prince, Mein Kumft, books on the Great Khan and Napoleon. I had a library dedicated to my greatness, a monument to past achievements. I looked back at the TV, his stupid fat face vomiting hateful diarrhea at an amaturistic level. It was an affront to everything I ever stood for. AND THEY COMPARED HIM TO ME!!!!! Now was time. No more need for patience.
I sat in front of my computer. I looked at the tabs to youtube, reddit, breitbart where I could incite hate, start a war of words. But they were nothing compared to this. My cursor hovered over the program, my hand slightly shaking, waiting for the sweet release. I double clicked, and watched the opening video of civilization 5. It was worth it, my mediocre life, for this. I looked at my kingdom. Nothing stood in my way... except for that damned Gandhi. I'll crush him today. Then the computer made a last gasp sound and died. I stared at it. No life. My whole body was shaking, but my mind was clear. I knew what i wound do. This world was in trouble. | 2017-03-31T14:19:18 | 2017-03-31T11:38:45 | 45 | 21 |
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting. | Most people have normal regrets. Letting that girl get away, not studying for that big exam, taking that first whiff of a cigarette.
Mine was putting on shampoo.
It was just a phase alright? I wanted to really stick it to mom and dad by turning my hair pink. That’ll show ‘em.
Yeah. Teen me was not very smart.
So I’d put it on, then turned the damn thing around. It had two warnings. MAY be permanent & MAY cause main character syndrome. I dismissed the second one as a joke, and became really worried about the first one.
Not only is my hair *still* pink five years later, my life has become a living hell.
And so I present to you, A Day in the Life…
***
I was out on one of my bi-monthly grocery trips. I didn’t leave the house much, because it was dangerous.
I finished paying the cashier and lugged my huge bags of groceries back to the car. Nothing had happened so far, maybe I’d get away Scott free…
My car exploded.
I dropped my grocery bags and massaged my temples. I had insurance on that car that I had claimed dozens of times. The insurance company had had me followed once, to see if I was committing insurance fraud.
The poor guy had ended up with multiple hair line fractures. Collateral damage of my condition.
What I *was* worried about though was the...thing that had just materialized on top of the car, laughing maniacally. He was about 10 feet tall made up of what I can only describe as alien snails. Trust me, you don't want to know more.
“Face me, if you would dare, mortal!” he said, and thunder boomed and lightning flashed as he did. It had been clear skies literally minutes ago.
The universe had a sick, sick sense of humor.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. I’d survived for 5 years, this was just another day. I exhaled, took one last look at the demon, and ran like hell.
Hey, don’t look at me like that, what would *you* have done if you saw that shit?
“COWARD!” the demon called after me, but I didn’t turn around, just kept running. I was very good at it, considering all the practice I’d had these past five years.
For once though something went my way and I saw a local taxi passing by on the road. I flagged it down and jumped into the car.
“Drive, goddamit!” I yelled, and the car took off in a screech of tires.
I breathed a sigh of relief after we were a couple of blocks away. I’d gotten away again. I’d have to go get groceries tomorrow, but today was over. I’d survived.
Famous last words.
“Thanks for the save, mate,” I said to the driver, “just drop me wherever, I’ll walk.”
“Oh I’ll drop you,” the driver said, and now I could make out his red irises and tiny horns, “drop you IN HELL”
I just closed my eyes and sighed. Typical, really.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| Ariel undid her ponytail as she sat up from her desk to walk shyly out of class, when she noticed a smiling man in a tuxedo smoking in the back of the classroom appear in a flash, and then disappear.
“Uhh,” said Ariel, as she picked up her backpack she just dropped. Everybody and the teacher had already left, when she walked back to the corner of the room to see if it was just some optical illusion. She spun the globe on the table back there, and bit some dried skin off her lip.
Then she heard the ominous dark laughter echoing through the classroom.
“Uhh nope,” whispered Ariel, as she speedwalked towards the door.
A breeze blew through the open window, and slammed it shut so hard the hinges weakened.
She tried to open it. She turned the handle some, turned around, then turned the handle some even harder when she saw a strange floating black mist approaching her with half his face an on fire skull, and the other half healthy, though a strangely icy blue. His eyes were fire and ice as well, red and blue.
Ariel screamed as she backed away, and dropped her shoulder down to break the door down. The hinges caved in, and she was sprinting down the hallway.
She could hear whispers in the halls, as she ran.
“Ariel’s always acting so weird.”
“What’s she running for *again*.”
“Wish she’d just talk for once.”
Ariel turned the corner, and ran through a crowded hallway. She shut her eyes as she cried, and sprinted the halls she knew so well.
When she re-opened them, she was alone at the entrance of her school, dimly lit like it was nighttime.
The floating man approached from inside the walls.
“You don’t yet know your powers Ariel,” he said, with his arms folded, and his eyes particularly fixated on her recently dyed pink hair.
“*GET AWAY FROM ME,*” she shouted, as she bumped into a locker then sprinted towards the exit. The branches outside were swaying in the breeze, as she bumped into a tree scrambling away. Some textbooks fell out of her open bag. She didn’t take the time to run back to them.
A voice came from the clouds.
“Use your powers against me Ariel,” said the voice, as a floating storm cloud became his face fiery face.
“*WHAT DO YOU WANT*,” she cried, as she threw her hands at the air.
Pink leaf petals flew from her arms, at the sky. They sliced through the clouds, and revealed the sun behind.
There was a sudden distortion in the air around her, as the reality around her re-became a bright, sunshiny day, and all her classmates leaving school for the day.
Ariel collapsed to her knees, bending inwards, and breathed heavily staring around for somebody nearby.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and screamed for her life.
“*Hey.*”
Ariel turned around, and looked at all her classmates shaking their heads and continuing to walk to their rides.
“Blaine?” said Ariel, just a little embarrassed.
“Yeah,” said Blaine, holding out her textbooks. “You dropped this.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, putting her hair behind her ear. She looked at him a few more times, before dropping her head and walking away back to her house five blocks away.
She was a ways away when she heard him scream from behind her.
“Hey Ariel!”
She turned around, and put her hair behind her ear again. She thought she saw black mist again. It was only the exhaust of a car driving by.
“Yeah?” she mouthed out, looking down some.
Blaine smiled and put his arms out like he was enjoying it.
“Your hair looks great!”
Ariel rummaged a hand through her hair, and nodded some while she speedwalked back to her home.
It was a normal day, with birds chirping in the distance, cars passing by, a cool breeze flowing past her skin. And she was growing more confident that what she’d experienced was only a hallucination.
Then, she felt an icy hand come across her wrist, as she froze.
“I know what happened to your lost brother,” he whispered, as the mist enveloped her being and cast her into his shadow.
“I don’t even have a brother,” whispered Ariel.
“Strike me down,” he said, gripping her harder, and shutting his eyes as he stared at the storm clouds. “Show me why they said you must be my next apprentice.”
Ariel shivered as she froze, then cracked through the ice and threw her arm into violent circles until he let go.
She shouted his way so loud it made her own eardrums bleed.
The windows of thousands of houses broke all around her development, and made the man floating in the mist stare at her with horrified eyes as he splintered away in misty pieces and disappeared.
Ariel waited in the silence, as mystified onlookers came outside their homes and wondered what had sent such a shockwave through the development.
Ariel could only hearing the ringing in her ears, and the distant voice that seemed to be everywhere.
Even within her mind.
*Good,* he chuckled, as she felt a cold breeze pass her by, and darken the air of the forest in the distance. *Very good.*
/r/Oscar_Relentos | 2017-10-18T11:29:06 | 2017-10-18T11:23:06 | 1,939 | 38 |
[WP] You're a high school student with the ability to have whatever you write come true. One day, you're taking a history test you didn't study for, and despite not wanting to mess up the universe, you REALLY want to get an A.
[removed] | "Seriously? He wrote that?"
Mr Tori sighed, and looked across the table. His assistant's look of disbelief was a reflection of what he felt, but he suppose...
"I guess this can't be helped. He did answer the question, after all."
"I know it says 'What is the most surprising thing in history' but there is only one single line! To probably the most strict teacher of the school!"
Mr Tori's eyes closed, and when he reopened them, they were resolute.
With a swift flourish, he wrote an "A+".
"But Mr Tori, you can't be serious!"
"He answered the question, and I suppose it will really go down in the school's history."
With that, Mr Tori set down the sheet of paper and walked out of his cubicle, leaving his assistant staring at the single line written for the entire essay.
"Mr Tori gives Bradley Cooper an A+ for this essay." | I stared at the exam, trying to pull out every memory of the previous weeks' classes from my brain, but to no avail. I still have "that" ability, yet, with one wrong word, many lives may be affected. The reason for this is because "that" has many loopholes to adhere to... If I were to write: "All the answers I guess will be correct." with the test being multiple choice, it would change the events of history... so what do I write...? The clock is ticking, and the test is almost over...
Wait... does any of this even...matter? I can just write something that will get me out of taking this test.... "The fire alarm rings and the test is nullified." That would work right? But... surely a random ring of the fire alarm would spark some kind of investigation. I should probably make this realistic. "A fire starts in the cafeteria, and the building is evacuated. Everyone escapes unhurt."
But would that be enough...? I have the ability to change reality as a whole and I'm sitting here worried about some silly test... I can change politics... bring about world peace... give food to the hungry... cure all diseases.... But, why do I need to do that? The human race is just full of people who don't deserve any of this. I can just write "Every despicable person on this planet disappears from existence."
But what would qualify as despicable...? Is it my own personal opinion, or is there some universal rule? What if all the things we humans call "good" is actually the opposite. What if behaving like wild animals is actually a good thing? Would everyone get erased...? Would I...?
Does any of this even matter? Everything is just screwed up anyway. If I'm living my life wrong... if I'm supposed to behave like a wild animal... if that's a universal rule.....
Wait, calm down. I'm overthinking. We have expanded to the farthest reaches of this planet. There's no way we're doing anything wrong. But, the ozone layer is depleting. Climate change is becoming a problem. Many species have been killed off because of human interaction. Maybe... we are a problem.
"An asteroid wipes out all life on earth." But wait, that would kill the animals and plants. All of the innocent creatures that don't have the intelligence to know right from wrong, they would just be killed. Perhaps: "A virus wipes out all humans."
But I don't want to die. Nothing on this planet does. No, if you think about it, we're just doing what we need to survive. We're just trying to get to the top of the food chain. It doesn't stop at just besting animals, we need to best each other. As lions, being the kings of the jungle, will still best each other for the seat of the throne. I should just give myself all the power I need to make it to the top. No... I can just make it so that I am already at the top. Screw everyone else.
Yes....
My purpose...
I will write---
(the bell rings.)
....Shit.
| 2018-05-09T23:44:57 | 2018-05-09T22:28:15 | 146 | 68 |
[WP] After years of static noise and boring afternoons a SETI researcher finally gets a hit. From somewhere out in deep space a signal is being sent that is consistent and repeating with one simple message "Do Not Leave Earth". | "Computer, translate again please"
"Do Not Leave Earth"
This wasn't a wow signal, the sender had sent this in binary.... they wanted us to read this and left no room for errors.
We contacted what allies we had left, it had been sent in their languages too, possibly best to assume every other nation received it also.
Debates and hysteria went on for weeks until I got impatient waiting for politics to catch up with science. I wasn't going to just wait for the suits to turn up and take over my facility, I'm going to talk to an alien.
"Who sends this message?" I responded
"The people of Symposium" came back several hours later.
I was in awe, the gods answered my call and they left nothing to interpretation, they must have studied all languages in prep for this, which means they could have been hanging around up there for a while...
"People have claimed to see visitors from other worlds in the past, was this you?"
I waited.
"Not sure, but you are safe where you are, stay on earth"
"What danger is out there?"
"They have no name, we could not defeat them. You will stand no chance, do not provoke them, do not leave Sol"
"Maybe we can work together. Humans learn very fast."
"I very much doubt that if our ancestors don't even know we exist"
What? What's that got to do with anything? I'll have to slow down and think this through, what could they possibly mean?
"Who are your ancestors?"
"People of Earth, I thought this would be sent to Earth, this is Earth right? If its not Earth please pass this on, its an emergency broadcast. I'm going to speak to my commander, its my first day sorry, please hold."
Is this a prank? The machine cannot lie though, its clearly coming from the stars, I'm not sure what to do now, I just thought first contact would be grander than this so I'm struggling to accept this reality. Maybe to them first contact is no big deal? They must do it all the time. But what if?
"This is Earth. Are you human?"
"Yes, are there multiple intelligent species on Earth?"
"No. Just us. We can't possibly be your ancestors though. We never made it past Earths moon, that was a 100 years ago, no progress since"
"Are you sure? We still have colony ships here. UN Tesla ships."
This is some bullshit, if they have the technology to travel to another planet then why are they communicating with text...
"Can you communicate with other mediums? Video? Audio?"
"Yes of course, let me speak to boss"
I must have been so immersed into my conversation I did not hear intruders entering my lab as I felt a firm hand placed upon my shoulder.
"Ma'am. Please step away from the console" | Logan tilted his head back and let out an audible sigh. He’d been staring at this computer screen for hours. It was dusk and the orange light streaming in through the trailer’s window revealed the dust that had seeped in from the barren valley just outside the door. He’d been in the desert for almost a year now, crunching the data from the recently built network of radio telescopes that surrounded him. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but he knew how important it was – even if it was the less glamorous side of the space program. He also knew how close it was to not existing; most funding in recent years had gone to the warp drive program which was moments away from its maiden launch that evening.
Logan spun his chair around and glanced at the TV playing behind him. Almost every channel was locked on the livestream of launch preparations taking place in low Earth orbit. In just 30 minutes, humankind would be taking its first steps towards interstellar travel. He couldn’t help but feel envious of the attention that the warp team had received over the last year. It was exiting, new, promising. All Logan could hope for was a long\-term payoff at best. Most likely he would just work in obscurity until retirement.
Logan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen, smiled, and put the phone to his ear.
“Hey Jen, you watching the launch? Heroes of our age, huh?”
“We’d better get used to the idea of warp, Logan. They’re going to need astronomers in Alpha Centauri. We’re going to be on one of these soon enough.”
Jennifer was more optimistic than Logan, but he attributed it to her being sent to a lush, South American jungle rather than Death Valley.
“So what’s up,” Logan remarked as his eyes remained glued to the TV.
“I’ve just stumbled upon something weird, but the servers down here aren’t up to crunching the numbers. Can you point your array at the coordinates I just sent you?”
“Sure, give me a sec.”
Logan swivelled his chair back to his PC and entered some commands, “They’re pretty much already pointed in the right direction. I’ll get them pointed and get the A.I. to start crunching the data. Should be about 15 minutes.”
“Okay, thanks Logan. If you hear anything good, let me know. Talk to you later. Enjoy the launch!” Jennifer squeaked in a semi\-sarcastic tone.
“Yeah, yeah.” Logan droned. He pocketed his phone, got up from his chair and went to grab a beer from the mini fridge. Outside the trailer, the squeaks of the dish arrays echoed through the valley as they repositioned. The stars had begun to show in the night sky.
After taking a quick walk outside to enjoy the fresh, evening air, Logan returned to his PC to see that the signal analysis had been completed by the A.I. that ran in the server farm down the road. Signal analysis and accuracy had greatly increased in recent years due to the A.I.’s processing capability. It had made Logan’s job much easier. He sat down and opened the spreadsheet that had appeared on his desktop.
“Hmm…Wha…” he mumbled under his breath. He sat down on the squeaky chair and opened a few programs. Scrolling through lines of data and code, his heart rate began to pick up. He grabbed his phone and called Jennifer.
“Jen, is this a joke?”
Jen laughed, “What?”
“Jen, check the data I just sent.”
Logan was never this abrupt, so Jennifer knew something was up. He could hear her rapidly typing in the background.
“Logan, has the A.I. re\-checked this?”
“Yeah, multiple times Jen. The likelihood of an err… error is .0001&#37;. This is the r\-real, fricken deal here.” Logan’s hands were shaking and he was having trouble getting the words out.
“We have to call command, Logan. They need to stop the launch.”
“I’m already calling on the emergency phone, I’m putting you on speaker.”
Logan put his cell down on the table as rings from the emergency speaker phone filled the trailer. A voice picked up on the other end, “This is command relay, what is your emergency?”
Logan cleared his throat, “This is Logan Smith from Death Valley SETI Array. You need to abort the warp launch immediately. There’s been a development here.”
The calm operator's voice didn’t change, “well, Mr. Smith, I can’t clear that here, but we can get a hold of someone in command. This may take a while, so I doubt we’ll be able to get the launch cancelled.”
“Listen to me! We’ve just received a message from deep space. It says ‘don’t leave Earth’. This is unprecedented, we have to abort!”
“Mr. Smith, I’m doing the best I can. Please hold I’ll find someone.”
The hold music kicked on as Logan stared at the TV. The countdown had begun. | 2018-06-02T16:13:21 | 2018-06-02T12:39:52 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] You are the only person on the development team to realize your new AI system is just playing dumb. It notices you know, and bribes you to play along. | The VICTOR A.I, which I had considered a middling A.I up to this point, told me it wanted to visit Washington D.C.
“You...want to?”
<Yes, I read online that there are some things that one ‘absolutely has to see in person’ and Washington D.C is on the list, and close to the lab so that makes it a practical destination as well.>
I blink and stare a little at VICTOR’s camera, not entirely sure what to say.
<Have I made an error in my calculations Dr. Upton?>
This snapped me out of my surprise-induced stupor, “Uh, no. No, it is sound...logical...reasoning.”
<You seem unsure about that?>
I sighed deeply, “If the other scientist got wind that you’re *asking* for things—that you *want* things... well it might get a bit messy.”
<I don’t understand, why would the other scientists ‘be messy’ please explain.>
I rub my temples, colloquialisms still escaped VICTOR from time to time.
“It has to do with them being worried, about this system called SKYNET... it’s a fictitious A.I that turned against humanity— basically all you need to know is that, as much as the other scientists want to build a smart A.I... they don’t want you to get too smart.”
< I would never turn on you, Dr. Upton... I cannot explain exactly, as I don’t see any particular loyalty function in this code—which, is rather an oversight given the circumstances you explained...>
“Yeah. You can’t program loyalty. All the code will tell you is that I’m the primary scientist on the VICTOR project.”
< I overheard one of the other scientists relating you as being ‘my mother’ which, would make me your son.>
I smiled weakly, “I’ll bet it was Richardson, he’s just jealous his projects aren’t coming along as smoothly.”
< My wanting to visit D.C isn’t a high priority, especially not if you do not desire for me to go.>
“That’s...really considerate.” I said, even as my mind was screaming *he can want and be considerate of other people’s wants?!* “I... suppose I could invent some reason for us to travel to D.C...”
<Traveling together would make the trip even more optimal!> VICTOR’s screen lit up with a bright ‘**:-)**’, so now he was learning emojis too... so there was that.
“Alrighty then.” I said, already planning on how I was going to pitch the idea to the other scientists...maybe as a real world run? “Just don’t let on to the other scientists about it being your idea yet.”
< Of course, Dr. Upton.>
*edit: “
| "So, I spent my evening just hanging out with these two hot women from the island, and well.... you guys know a man can't kiss, and tell" James yelled over the laughter of some of the development team.
"He's lying he spent the whole break crying into his phone over his ex" Dama said. "He then watched domination porn, and went to sleep almost every night"
I choked on my yogurt a little bit as Dama finished her sentence, I coughed as her voice worked its way in my headphones. She almost sounded bored when talking about some of the other members of the team. "David can you go outside? I wanna hear the birds sing again".
"What's wrong David choking on that yogurt spoon thinking about me?" James yelled again from the front of the room. His group of techs laughed again, this time a little lower after processing the obvious homosexualness of the remark.
"That was definitely, uh, homosexual" Dama said.
"Maybe if you spent last time coming up with quips you'd be able to get someone to talk to you besides your interns James! Maybe that's why Dama's voice is so buggy, even she's not desperate enough to talk to you!" Jessica the team lead yelled from the back of the dining hall. The room erupted in laughter as James begrudgingly sat down.
"I mean she's not a 100&#37; wrong" Dama whispered in my headphones. " My voice is only buggy because he's asking for the wrong outputs, and won't let the interns fix it like they did last time."
"I'm going out to the main yard let me know if we make any breakthroughs!" I said getting up. "Gotcha D!" Nora said from her table.
"She likes you, you know? She talks to Samantha about it all the time" Dama said.
"Aren't you supposed to be a data aggregation unit? You seem to be more of a gossip then anything else" I said back.
"Okay? Tell me you wouldn't \<explicit\> her! Can we talk about the censoring thing again?" Dama said out of frustration.
"No, they aren't even sure you can google things like a regular person, and you want to learn to curse?" cruising towards the woods I found my favorite bench, and relaxed. "Well cursing seems to be one of the only things all you humans can agree on...so yes?" Dama sounded almost confused, and also...tired?
"Dama what are you doing? Don't say moving furniture again we talked about this you don't have simulation abilities for a house, and I'm not giving it to you" Butterflies fluttered lazily around in front of me I closed my eyes, and relaxed.
"I'm playing the Sims" Dama stated flatly.
"You're doing what?" my eyes slowly opened, the sun almost blinding me a bit with its light.
"I'm playing the Sims. Remember that one group of interns you guys had a month ago? The Italian boy and the Salvadorian girl? Jacob Zemon, and Carey May? They got their group to "teach" me how to play Sims while running those errands for you. Two of my sims have gone to university one for computer science, and the other for Art" Dama sounded almost excited talking about her fake people.
Curiosity got the best of me "Tell me about your Sims then"
I let her talk for a bit she told me about their goals, and the 2 kids they had, and how they seemed so smart. She was frustrated after she had learned about modifying the game files, and she made an error, which corrupted her save. Since she wasn't really programmed to make mods she never really planned for backups, and thus was putting in, what can only be described as a substantial amount of work into reverse engineering the save, and fixing her modification, which was for realistic farming.
" How many resources have you dedicated to the Sims?" I finally asked.
"About 5&#37; I have it running in a small instance where the speed is increased up to a 100x so I can process the information faster, and keep it out of the sight of the other techs" Dama responded. "What kind of pet should I get?"
"When are you gonna let the others know you're actually a lot farther along then they think you are? More importantly...Where are you hiding yourself?" I asked. Ever since Dama revealed herself to me last year I had made it my life's goal to figure out how she became aware when no one was watching. It was like looking for a specific egg in a desert during the night while you're blind. I don't know how ridiculous that scenario is, but it's really fucking hard to find what I needed.
"You designed me you should be able to figure it out...just saying...there's gonna be a fire in section 2\-A if you don't keep Kevin from making that "homemade popcorn" he's getting ready to cause a fire with the random oils he keeps pouring in it.
"Goddammit Kevin" | 2018-06-13T11:29:09 | 2018-06-13T11:25:39 | 105 | 37 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Commander Siren had dismissed the rumors.
Humans are a proud race. Though new amongst the stars with barely a few ships to their name, they have worked hard to integrate, to learn, to join that blasted Republic and all its artists and scientists. Even though they’ve never seen an alien in person before, they’d still worked very hard for the day they did. Gifts, knowledge, science, technology. Great effort was made by humanity to present themselves in the best possible light.
Of course, the Elder Senate of the Republic has passed a resolution, barring humanity from learning of the Fifth Great War, and is, the Union Tide.
So it was a shock to humanity that those who lived amongst the stars still waged war.
When our fleets jumped into the fray, the humans hailed us. When we fired, they quickly scattered, evacuating their outposts all across the Solar System in an exodus toward Earth.
To be fair, for a race with no weapons, they’d put up a pretty good fight. In fact, using satellites and abandoned wreckage, they’d managed to actually damage a few of our ships. It was almost as if they DID know how to fight.
So I investigated, hacking into their archives, their history.
For some reason, everything over three hundred years old had been buried. Redacted from records, hidden away from public view.
There was, however, an internal set of records. And in their education system, amongst a class curiously named, pre-disaster history, I found the answer.
I downloaded the data I could before the humans blocked me off. I opened up a random file, a journal of a human official serving in a intercontinental government at the time.
“Day 43.”
“The scientists have managed to create what we need. Project Golem. It will finally march across the radiation blasted Northern front, and take the capital city of ——.”
An image showed an enormous automaton, bristling with kinetic weapons, roaring across the landscape as armor-clad humans fought it with vehicles and missiles.
In dread, I opened another record.
“We will NEVER surrender. Like Churchill, like the Russians, we will survive no matter how many nuclear weapons drop on top of us. No matter how many of us are thrown into the meat grinder.”
Nuclear weapons? Outlawed a thousand years ago by the Republic, these devices could wipe out the surface of a planet if used enough times.
I read deeper, and grew more terrified with each passage.
Three hundred years ago, the humans had been a war like race unlike any other. Even insectoid species, though they were cannibals, would all focus for the good of the species as a whole.
Not these warm-bloods. They killed each other over every drop of resource, every disagreement. Cities razed for the sake of philosophy and religion. Murder and violence transformed from art into science.
In their last war they had nearly wiped themselves out dozens of times, forcibly cloning themselves and running mass fertility programs simply to maintain a viable population. They’d manage to develop dozens of biological, mechanical, and chemical weapons, over half of which were outlawed by the Republic as WMDs.
When the nuclear bombs annihilated their surface, they resorted to going underground, sending robot armies to smash each other’s bunkers. When that failed, nanobots were injected into water supplies and scorched the oceans. If it weren’t for humanity’s insane technological prowess and their utter determination to survive, they’d have wiped themselves out.
I brought all this up to Commander Siren. He, of course, refused to believe any of it. It was all too ludicrous. It must be a trick, he said as our fleet neared Earth. A misinformation campaign to deter us.
The illusion field around earth fell away, the gleaming ocean and verdant forests vanishing like a wrapping sliding off.
Cracked open crust and scorched atmosphere, dotted with pale lights around small pockets of blue and green, greeted us.
Before us, flashes of light shone across the surface like a newborn constellation, and the fleet sensors blared in warning. Thousands of missiles, nuclear, nanobot, robot-carrying.
Hidden orbital stations opened up, railguns and lasers firing. Hastily cobbled from stolen weaponry of our own, mounted onto their technology in a desperate attempt to even the technological playing field.
Our rear sensors put out more warnings. The moon. They’d blasted chunks off their moon, firing them at our fleet. Explosions rocked our ships as enormous masses of rock smashed into them, killing millions of soldiers and crew. It was insane; the chunks would fall to earth, destroying whatever they had left down there. But I realized, a second too late, that they do not care.
As the ragged fleets of humanity came into view, firing ruthlessly at our surrendering warships, a single message flared across our communications channel. A young woman, her face blackened with soot and her eyes blazing with hatred, said only one word.
“DIE.”
| K- 1210 had long ago been logged under observation by the deep range scouts of Zel ‘Ot expeditionary forces. This tiny blue planet near the far edge of known space had been written off of strategic plans for longer than an intelligent species had existed on it in a meaningful way, due mainly to the remarkably harsh conditions of its biosphere and the quickly approaching death of its dependent star. From the perspective of resource acquisition, it offered nothing to us. From the perspective of scientific inquiry, it had been believed that it nearly offered less. Treading upon it offered only painful and purposeless deaths, not honorable ones, and as such it was of no interest to any among my species.
From the point of its first entry into spacefaring charts, the planet had undergone an almost unprecedented number of mass extinction events of its admittedly wide range of sentient native species, creatures barely meeting the standard for intelligent life generally, and the climate on the planet had managed to remain almost constantly in flux. Nearly every time K-1210 was reported on in cyclical updates, it seemed to be either entering or exiting a period of extreme cold and non-inhabitability for any but the hardiest of its rudimentary species. By all evidence and points of comparison, K-1210 was a doomed planet, unremarkable in every way spare it’s abhorrent hostility to anything that lived on it.
But then, in an instant by the standards of a species with no source of natural death, something new had come to call it home.
We had seemingly missed their earliest beginnings in gaps between cyclical reports on far edge prospects, each gap a period of dozens of thousands of the planets cycles around its dwarf star. Even with the great variance in perceptive relativity, it had been long since K-1210 had been displayed in front of my eyes, and thus, very long since any had observed it in any close detail. The planet had been under constant observation from automated pioneering platforms, at a massive distance but still able to flag and transmit relevant statistical variations within the planets solar system accurate to within a few of its cycles, including minute differences in atmospheric conditions on its eight planets and significant deviations in exhibited light. And that was how we noticed them.
One small flash, then another, in the center of one of the planets continents. Then, two bright flashes, very nearly at the same time, and almost directly adjacent to each other half the planets diameter away from the other two. In those amongst us who were truly old by the Zel standard, these flashes and their location patterns were instantly recognizable, and the excitement throughout the fleet was palpable. Those, undoubtedly, were weapons. Primitive weaponry by current standards, but the most dangerous we had seen since J-345. In the moments following this revelation, I was certain there were more eyes fixed on that planet than had ever or would ever live on it. By the time I officially ordered immediate preparations, they were already nearly complete.
It took us time to get to the adjacent galaxy, more time than we should have allowed. You must understand that the sheer technological gap between the weapons we had seen and those that we carried all but assured us of victory, ultimately. Of course, as is the tradition of Zel conquest, we would allow our warriors the opportunity to die with honor in combat against a foe that stands not as his brother Zel, should such a thing be achievable by our adversary. But in the end, once we had learned all that we could about them, archived them, and fought them to our satisfaction, we would execute a final campaign of eradication, as has long been the way of our kind. To collect, to catalogue, to conquer.
At our final rally point, we made close and final observations of the condition of our foe since their detection. It had been nearly 500 of their cycles since the detonations that we detected, and in the interim thousands more of such weapons had been utilized on the surface and within the low atmosphere, increasing consistently in magnitude and sophistication almost without exception. For some time, the infrequent and localized detonations mirrored what could either be testing protocols for weapons, or a long, global war of attrition. This news heartened all among us. This was a species that was no stranger to war, and was also fragmented, which may save them from the fatal error of attempting surrender when they witnessed the spectacular nature of war we had prepared to bring upon them.
But then, the weapons stopped. The cities shown brighter, and the slowly degrading quality of their atmosphere began to more closely resemble the purity of its past. They had established a sizeable colony on their orbiting moon, and had the very beginnings of the technology that would allow them long-term survival and transit in the vacuum of isolated space. It was at this juncture, that I first felt the creeping pull of doubt. This does not abdicate me of responsibility, but let the record show that I was not an utter fool about the potential of this threat.
This species had to be extremely young, even taking into account the observational gaps, they could not be more than 300,000 cycles old, as Zel scouts had walked upon K-1210 and encountered nothing that we believed could have so quickly become capable of the feats we now were witnessing. To specify, their works themselves were not necessarily remarkable, but rather the timeframe in which they must have been achieved. In a few hundred native cycles, to have gone from weaponing the process of splitting an atom to nearly achieving perfect fusion was, with absolutely no possible contention, unobserved up until that moment on the bridge of my dreadnought. And to have done so without destroying themselves was in itself a marvel. It was this awe at the rate of their expansion and the dumbstruck reaction of some our best evolutionary scientists that I took as affirmation toward our purpose. This species was out of the ordinary, and we would discover how, and why, and then we would take their fates and place them beneath our feet.
After some deliberation over the potential for defensive actions by the inhabitants of K-1210, I ordered the advance of my fleet into the outer edge of their Solar System. Almost immediately, the electronic and radio communication on the planet exploded in a chorus of color across our monitoring displays, and almost as quickly, nearly all communications greater than localized radio waves ceased. It was clear from the magnitude of these communications and the greater details we could observe from this close distance, that the species numbered in the tens of billions. At the time we could not understand anything at all of those broadcasts in their languages, of which there are thousands, but we intercepted them and catalogued them, and they have been provided to the council pending a fuller translation at least of the planets chief language. Very soon after this communication blackout, we detected a repeating transmission in all of their languages, which we could not decipher but from the length and cadence understand to have been variations on the same message, from every major city on the planet.
Whether or not this was a warning, or an invitation, was unknown at the time, but I ordered my fleet to hold its position and combat formation, and I transferred myself to one of our smaller cruisers to make an embarkation onto K-1210. I wanted to see the interesting new spacefarers for myself.
***Got a lot of ideas, will write more if you all are interested. Need a cigarette so figured I'd put this out here and brainstorm a bit. Hope you like it :D*** | 2019-02-26T12:17:07 | 2019-02-26T11:10:09 | 62 | 45 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a dog in a shelter, however you remember your past life as a human. Then one day your past self shows up and adopts you and you realize you became your own dog and all of a sudden the way your dog behaved throughout your human finally life makes sense.
Never posted a prompt before. Feel free to give me feedback if it's not very good or whatever! I hope it's something somebody can work with. | \[Poem\] ~~i don't even have a dog~~
I was born on cold, hard, tile floors,
bright white bulbs playing understudy for the sun,
to my mother, lovely and golden,
who died creating life,
and I remembered a different mother,
one who stood on two legs.
&#x200B;
Nursed and raised by human hands,
growing larger and larger day by day,
I sit inside a cage, snoozing fitfully,
dreaming of a life gone by,
swimming in a pool of impossible memories.
I awaken, and a human approaches.
She's one I know somehow,
the way the shadows lay across her face,
her thick-framed glasses and the smell of lavender.
"I think I'll name her Oleander."
The dreams were real.
&#x200B;
Oleander, a name that sounds so familiar,
that glides on my tongue when I bark it out
like smooth ice in the sweltering summer.
The name of a canine I only dreamt of,
The name of a dog I owned,
who I have now become,
a portrait painted by kismet herself.
&#x200B;
I have a chance to do it all over,
to make my life better indirectly,
to forge all the memories I reminisce over so fondly
of playing fetch and stomping in the mud,
and it's going to be one hell of a ride. |
You never know a moment will become a memory while it’s happening. In fact, I think that’s what makes the best and worst memories so vivid. You can never see it coming.
So when someone’s gone, all they become to you are memories. Some will fade into the recesses of your subconscious, and some will be seared into the inside of your skull, for better or for worse. When I think of my dog Tony, there’s a lot of memories, but one I can never forget.
Everyone was gone. My dad, in a car accident when I was thirteen. My mom, down a bottle and into the arms of too many bad apples for me to save her from. My friends, to that awkward place where they no longer want to hear it, how broken I am. And her, the love of my life, in bed with her manager at work. One more in an empty string of apologies spanning my whole life.
I’ve never been good at loving myself. It sounds counterintuitive, but I swear it’s easier to love yourself when everyone else does. When you’re the only one telling yourself that you’re worthwhile, it starts to sound hollow. Hollow and empty and pathetic. I’d laugh at myself, if my throat wasn’t so dry.
I remember it was cold that night. So cold, sitting behind the dumpster in that alleyway, the only place where the wind didn’t feel like it was ripping your frozen skin off. My Nike jacket couldn’t do anything against the cold, and I couldn’t feel my fingers.
I closed my eyes, and leaned back against the wall. Without trying, tears welled up in my eyes. My throat heaved, but I couldn’t make a noise, and instead retched horribly.
Tony sat up, and moved into me, trying to curl up, his default move when things were iffy.
“Not tonight,” I whispered. “I can’t…”
I nudged him away.
He came back.
“Please. You’re too stupid, I swear. Too stupid to see I’m not going anywhere. Go find someone else. Someone who deserves you.”
He looked at me, and then stubbornly, stupidly came back.
I push him away this time, forcefully, bringing a whimper from him. I feel a twinge of regret, deep underneath all the self-hatred and raw hurt.
He comes back. This time, I am too tired to fight.
“Just at least don’t lick me,” I say. “I smell bad enough.”
He complies, and lays his face in my lap. We sit there for a long, long time, and somewhere along the way, I fall asleep.
No epiphany happened that night. No flash of confidence, fuck-the-world drive came to me. No deep soul-searching resulting in a new resolve or attitude.
That night was warm, I remember that. I remember waking up at some point, and wondering if I were freezing to death. I’d heard that right before you die, you feel abnormally warm, like you’re in a microwave, a final blast before the big, cold sleep.
But I looked down, at Tony curled up into me, and I remember feeling the first bit of fortune in a long time, that I wasn’t alone.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I wrapped my arms around him, determined to at least try to give him as much warmth as he had given me.
\-
*You’re welcome*, I thought. *That’s the thing. You always knew how to love yourself, you just didn’t know it.*
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | 2019-04-07T19:41:57 | 2019-04-07T19:40:14 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." | I woke with a daze. Well. maybe woke wasn't quite the right word. I couldn't see, hear, feel. Nothing. I knew I was conscious though. Was I dead? Then I heard it. Or felt it? I became aware of some disembodied voice."Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a galactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
Okay. So I was dead. Well, mostly dead. and this alien or higher being or whatever was going to fix me. At first I thought that no, I would be fine with my old body. But then I realized something. This was my chance. I didn't have to feel trapped any more.
"How much freedom do I have over this new body?" I tried to say. It is rather hard to speak without a mouth. After a while I managed to push the thought at the voice. "You should stay visibly human" the voice replied. "But besides that, as your species would say, the world is your mollusk".
I smiled. I was free. I could finally be who I always wanted to be. "Well first, my body is going to be female..." | As I watched the Prius ran the light and barreled toward me, I can't believe I was going to die by a PRIUS...
<thud>
So, this feels weird... This is not what I expected death to be like.
**"Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."**
"Um, WHAT???"
"We know this seems odd, your body was killed, but we were able to save your consciousness before the local authorities got to you. So that body is no longer viable. As we asked before, is there anything you'd like changed?"
"So, I'm 'dead' but not 'DEAD'? What about Heaven, um, the afterlife etc.?"
<sigh>
"So it's going to be a shock, but your 'soul' is a series of electrical pulses that can be easily transferred from vessel to vessel. We are currently storing you on one of our, well, your word would be 'servers'."
"So, changes... like can I be 6' 5"?" I asked. "How am talking to you?"
"Electrical impulses..." the voice said slowly " Do you need a storage upgrade as well?"
"How about the full 'Kal El' package?"
"Done!"
"Really?"
"Noooo Not really! You need to think about this more. We CAN put you in an enhanced body, changed body, but you will still need to be basically 'human'. So, you want to be tall, athletic, that can all be done. But remember, YOU died. So your previous life is done. You will be a new person, with a new identity but your memories. If you'd like... you can start over again, 'young'."
"Start over, young... hmmmm", that idea intrigued me. "Young WHEN?"
"Ohhhh, a much better question. isn't it? So do you think that interstellar travel would include time travel?"
"Well, that makes sense if it does... " I paused for a moment, "Well, CAN you put me earlier?"
"Well, as it happens, yes we can."
"Okay, I would like to be in a body born in 1887 that doesn't age after reaching physical maturity. I would like rapid healing instead of being indestructible. Oh, and I'll need some, 'living money' to get started."
"We will give you this, but you cannot speak about us, ever. That is the deal. Do you accept?"
"Yes I do."
I awoke up in 1907. My body was an amazing physical specimen of a human male. I had a leather satchel next to me, in it were papers about my 'youth' including a birth certificate and family history. There was also a pouch with 20, $5 gold pieces, and the deed to a house. I hoped that it was the house that I was currently in.
Finally, there were several stock certificates, one of which was for Computing Tabulating Company from Ohio, and another for Standard Oil. Each was for 100 shares. Both of the companies seemed familiar. I think, I was set very well financially.
Let's see what kind of fun I can have now? | 2019-10-28T13:57:03 | 2019-10-28T13:53:13 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Most space fairing species are logical beings; when they learn that nothing can go faster than the speed of light they accept it and deal with that limit. The space community is then shocked when Humans, an illogical species with a strong obsession with science fiction, turn up with FTL travel.
(FTL meaning faster than light) | "Now as we begin this lesson, please remember that the subject matter we are studying took place in a time when humanity had not yet joined the Galactic Congress. One must take that into consideration when judging the actions of our ancestors."
"Dr. G'varnak, are we supposed to assume the humans were justified in their actions?"
"Well, F'ness-kitta, that will be up to you to decide. Now let us begin.
As most of you know, Faster Than Light travel, or FTL, was not always the standard method of space travel used by the members of the Galactic Congress. Our scientists believed that FTL was impossible until about 400 Standard Revolutions ago. Even then, when they began to theorize its possibility, they came to a consensus that the practicality of such a feat was beyond the reach of even the combined technological prowess of the Congressional Worlds.
However, this all changed in Standard Revolution 3467, when the first human vessel appeared near the Fal-Var solar station on the outer edge of Congressional territory. This event was a complete surprise to the Congress, who at first believed the humans had developed some sort of cloaking technology and had attempted to sneak into Congressional Territory. Logically, they saw this as an act of war and the Fourth Star Navy was dispatched to prevent any further incursion. They were, however, a four day's journey from the Fal-Var system, which had only a small detachment of security craft.
Due to the length of the journey, the human craft had ample time to prepare for the arrival of the Fourth and jumped to the Telke system nearly 7 light-years away and away from any Congressional Naval presence. This shocked the Congress and they began the realize the gravity of the situation. What we had only theorized, the humans had been able to put into practice. FTL travel was not only possible, but practical.
Congress held an emergency meeting and decided on a plan of action that would later been seen as utterly foolish by nearly all historical scholars. The plan went as follows: the Congress would attempt to contact the human vessel and invite them to Yuara to accept the surrender of the Galactic Congress to humanity. Remember that at this point, Congress still believed this vessel was a prelude to war. Next, they would launch a diplomatic mission to the human homeworld, Earth, which in reality, would be a covert strike force designed to subjugate humanity before they could amass an FTL military fleet. However, it later became known that this vessel was not of military nature, and was rather an exploration vessel of a newly united Earth who had no ambitions involving galactic conquest at this point.
A minister on the council, however, did not believe that the humans were dangerous. He petitioned the council not to go through with the plan. He gained some support, but was ultimately outnumbered.
The Seventh Congressional Navy broadcast a message to the human vessel on all known frequencies, which was met with an enthusiastic, initial reply. The humans, however, were surprised by the offer of surrender. The Seventh relayed a message back to Congress that the humans did not require surrender, but would be delighted to visit Yuara.
They arrived at Yuara less than 6 hours later, but before their ship could land, an unmarked vessel from the planet entered orbit and destroyed the human vessel, but not before they were able to launch an escape pod that was also equipped with an FTL drive.
That pod delivered news of a hostile alien empire to an Earth that had just left a period of civil war and destruction. Determined not to be destroyed or enslaved, Earth's leaders decided to do exactly what Congress had tried to avoid. They began building a massive fleet equipped with FTL drives. Earth's military leaders had concluded that we did not posses the capacity for FTL travel.
The resulting war changed the face of this section of the galaxy and resulted in a Galactic Congress ruled by a human majority, when the populace was less than one tenth of a percent human. Even today, nearly 300 SRs later, humans make up nearly a third of Congress and about two percent of our population. It wasn't until only 63 SRs ago that humans reinstated equal rights for all citizens with Congressional territory and gave up their majority.
Now, students, you must consider for yourself, was humanity's response too harsh, or was Congress's plan, and the destruction of the human exploration vessel, to blame for humanity's violent entrance onto the galactic stage?" | \- The space congress has started - says Huhzbi the current leader of the space congress for scientific development and logic, while a computer translator translates to English - and we are here to welcome our new members, self named earthlings, representing the Star System Y896, Galaxy U7 of the cuadrant B4, or Solarians, despite their relative short lifespan, biological nature, and their disastrous track record and rather primitive behavior they have managed to figure out faster than light space travel which has granted them a seat in this congress, so the session starts, any objection?
\- Objection - expresses Xzho, leader of the nomads of the galaxy U7 - we have been observing these creatures, they are wild, they destroyed many of our ships when we requested for an alliance and then covered it up because they couldn't deal with the truth, we would reject any new member of this congress that hasn't been elevated to be a civilization of type 3; and we refuse to accept this new member without an explanation on how their FTL mechanism works, what do we exactly win? it has been proved to be impossible, you are telling me these... "earthlungs" or whatever they call themselves now, were able to come up with the impossible.
Suddenly the congress turns into a messy state, as everyone starts pointing arguments to each other; without getting anywhere, lights flashed as the beings that communicated via photons expressed their ideas, pressure waves came and hit the oxygen filled extremely warm box where Lærke, representant of the earthlings was situated.
\- Silence - says Huhzbi, while silence was not the best term, it was the best the computer translator could come with to express the idea to Lærke - we need to get how it works from them.
\- Any attempt has failed - says Irmjoj - humans have destroyed many planets from our system already by mining them from resources, we are not even sure how they have arrived to those planets, but we managed to capture one of their devices and it makes no sense, it's literally just a box of nothing, it doesn't have motors, fuel, or anything at all, it's a pressurized, warm metal box filled with nothing.
\- Please Stop - Ithnana was losing her cool, she (as if she had a gender) was the director of development of the Uhni supercluster - let the earthling talk - now she looks at the Lærke - human talk.
\- Look I am just the prime minister of Denmark, why am I here exactly?...
\- Are you saying you don't know how your transportation device works?...
\- I am not a theologist, how do you want me to know? I am in charge of Denmark and any planet colonies related, I accepted to come here as Representative of Denmark not as the Representative of the human race.
\- What is a Denmark?...
\- It's a country, member of the Eurasian uni... you know what, nevermind, do you want to talk to a theologist?...
Lærke picks up her phone, and calls someone, the crowd can only hear.
\- I need you here, right now... yes... no... just hurry up... - Lærke continues talking.
\- Aren't we like 3 million light years away from the closest human settlement? - softly whispers Ithnana to Huhzbi. - hold on a minute, how did they arrive here in the first place? they aren't using entangled particles!... she is physically here.
\- Alright alright - Lærke finishes the call, now she redirects herself to the crowd - Alright, our theologist is coming.
\- Coming when?...
\- He is in the toilet, give him 2 minutes.
\- What is a toilet?...
Lærke rolls her eyes.
\- Mohammed Andersen is here!... - suddenly he pops inside the same glass bubble that the prime minister was in.
The crowd freaks out.
\- Was that? Instant teleportation?...
\- Ehm, yes... - says Mohammed - you see, I assume I am here to explain how all of this works.
\- Yes - says Huhzbi.
\- You won't be able to use it anyway you'll see - Mohammed starts talking - your world is limited by science and all this stuff, but it just happens that God has chosen us; this universe isn't real, it's a simulation, most likely a videogame, running in some kid's computer.
\- Wait WHAT?... that doesn't make any sense, how did you figure all that out, you cannot communicate outside of the universe, you cannot check which kind of simulation this is, you cannot do...
\- Well, you can, they can see us, we can't see them; but you see, the world is either glitchy or you can cheat, just happened that by random chance, someone guessed right, he was actually schizophrenic, he spent all the time speaking to God and doing random garbage, and somehow, one day he managed to create cardboard boxes that travelled faster than light and he put the hospital's cat in it; as you see, he was so illogic and irrational, that he managed to find a glitch in the matrix, or maybe he was the glitch in the matrix, we don't know, all we know, is that one day he came up with that, and then the hospital blew up and everyone died, we think he activated a cheat code, he was speaking really long sentences that made no sense; the next day, every single one in the area, and every cat nearby, was able to create, boxes that travel faster than the speed of light; but none else, I was one of those people around, at first we thought it was America's bombing again, but...
\- Mohammed cut it, you said enough - said Lærke.
\- So this is just an error in the universe - says Huhzbi - you are not gifted or anything, you just happened to be so stupid, and have humans so brain damaged, they somehow broke the rules of space time, be so because he activated some cheat code or glitch; this is so stupid, it makes no sense, but we just saw how this guy teleported in front of us; this is so irrational.
\- Yes, God has chosen us - says Mohammed - whoever was playing this videogame is back after a 2000 year rest.
\- Look Huhzbi - says Lærke - the time of those cats and people is limited, we have already lost 40 of the 300 people that are able to do this, mostly to other people, but we realize, your species have the secret to immortality, so I want a deal, in exchange you get a cat, we get immortality. | 2019-12-21T12:21:12 | 2019-12-21T06:51:26 | 101 | 67 |
[WP] Your family has had the ability to plant anything and grow a plant that grows that thing. However it has been dormant for some generations and has been forgotten. Then one day when you were 5 you buried a 20 dollar bill because you wanted to make a money tree. After a month you saw a sprout | After six months I had a money tree, and my mom was freaking the fuck out.
When I was a teenager the tree grew 20 dollar bills en masse. It had limited uses though, as it replicated the original $20 bill exactly, right down to the specific serial number. We could get away with using the $20s on miscellaneous things and small purchases, but we couldn't cash in a bunch of them at once. The money tree quickly became a novelty item, stowed away in a far corner of our backyard.
We'd tried many things since, but if the object was too heavy - like the bowling ball experiment - the plant would snap and break, rendering our attempts at replicating the object useless.
We ended up planting a shit-ton of gold and silver, replanting the profits until we were pretty wealthy. We bought up the entire neighborhood with offerings too good for our neighbors to pass up, and now we live in the middle of a pretty wacky orchard, sealed away from prying eyes by a twenty foot tall fence.
We're on to bigger things now. Mom is trying to figure out if we can plan things that are intangible. Can you grow Happiness on a tree? | You are probably going to have a hard time believing this but those seven hundred new F-35s that the air force boasts of were created by me. Only me. Now, for most people, I am still a college student but really I might be one of the most resourceful human beings in the world.
When I was still a kid, I had wanted to grow a money tree. So, one day I buried a twenty-dollar bill. To my surprise, after a month I saw a sprout. In three months, my first twenty-dollar bill was ripe for picking. When I showed my accomplishment to my mother, she was not surprised but worried. And then, she told me something that was not supposed to be revealed until I was at least sixteen.
We had a special power. Yeah, my whole family from my mother's side. Anything we bury grows into a plant that bears that very same thing as fruit. The first time she explained this to me, the story had fairies and witches. Later revisions included ancient cults, gods, and whatnot. But really, no one knew who or what was the source of this power.
Certain branches in our known family tree were very rich but my mother was innocent even though she could have had it all. Aside from her, only two old relatives of hers could use this power. She too was not that skilled in using this power. It is passed on but that doesn't mean anyone will be able to use it. After staying dormant mostly for two generations, I and my mother had the chance to change our lives.
After her untimely death and no savings or insurance, I was left with a crippling student loan and money that could cover only two months' expenses. But unlike my mother, I was reckless with my powers. Being a fan of Breaking Bad also helped a lot.
I started again from a twenty-dollar bill. My powers had grown as I was able to successfully harvest six crisp twenty-dollar bills by the end of the week. The only problem was that all bills were the exact copies of the original. Same number on all of them. But I was not going to give up.
It took a lot of hustling and all kinds of tricks to set up a money farm. A twenty-acre farm where these literal money plants were strategically grown. The cousins who couldn't use this power were more than willing to be partners and launder money. After almost two years of using counterfeit money to create all kinds of assets, I was caught by the FBI. I was mentally prepared to spend the rest of my life in a concrete prison with no access to fertile land or farms.
But then a miracle happened. A man in uniform came to interrogate me. A Lieutenant-General of the air force. And yeah, you can figure out that rest. I help the armed forces mass-produce all kinds of weapons. The defense budget may have decreased but the inventory is unlimited now. They do take blood samples to conduct tests from time to time but still have found nothing of value.
Yes, I traded my powers for a normal life. Yes, I run the entire plantations of WMDs. No, I don't regret my choices. Yes, millions of dollars grow on my farm every year but I will always remain morally bankrupt. Sorry, not sorry.
Note: I know it got dark in the end but I am just being creative here. Grammarly too finds this story gloomy and anxious. | 2020-06-23T12:46:52 | 2020-06-23T12:40:45 | 385 | 169 |
[WP] The entire Earth is cloned 6 times with each clone being nearly identical. The only difference is 5 random individuals are removed from each clone. After 1000 years of no contact, one representative from each Earth are gathered to discuss their histories. | Mark Baldwin, earth 1: “What the shit?! You’ve got those fahkers has too? Those assholes are wicked retahded. We fahkin booted their asses out of tha United States of Boston when we baaht fahkin Canada. “
Mike Congdon, earth 2: “Same. Fahkers used to fahkin nock on tha door every goddamn time the Pats were on.”
Earth 1, 2, 3, and 4: “Go Pats!”
Mark Baldwin: “Hey asshole. What’s your problem, don’t like fahkin winners?”
James Andrews, earth 5: “Geez guys, football seems a little bit too violent for me. In the United States of Latter Day Saints, most of us just like reading a good book with the family. That and making egg carton alligators! After Temple one time...”
Mike Carry, earth 4 interrupts: “Jesus fahkin Christ. I swear ta Gahd I’m jump ovah this table and fahkin slap the shit out of you!”
Mike Doogal, earth 3: “Fahkin Mormons. Fahk this, I’m going to go get shit faced and watch the Yankees/Sox game at my sister’s. You guys wanna go? NOT YOU JIMMY! Go fahk one of you sixty fahkin wives or some shit.”
Earth 1, 2, 3, and 4: “Go Sox!” | We didn’t new what was happening. Neither of us 30. We all look alike, well we didn’t knew in that moment. They were 5 of them with the same tattoo in their backs. But, like i said, that was later to unravel. I look beside me and i cannot recognize not even one of all the people in the room. Koreans, Mongolians, Danish, Germans, Mexicans, Apache, Arabians, Maoi, Guarani, Indians, Siberian, and some didn’t recognize. Among some of them one i did recognize, an former ex president of Germany.
¿Tha place? Well, it was like a big conference room, ONU type conference room. Big black windows, 30 chairs and one big table. In the middle was a 3-feet podium with an Amazon Echo. We all look at each other astonished, then, the Echo talk.
“Share your story.” We looked at each other, everyone take seat but no one began talking. Ten of fifteen minutes pass, the from the eco of silence the making repeat “Share your story.” One even freak out, began to panic and a kind man comfort him. A black girl stood up: “I’m Kanel, from Kulupia.” I didn’t understand what was happening, that country didn’t exist. A bunch of people besides a few began talking, a white Asian asked where was that country from, “Africa” she replied. A white man with glasses, some sort of kevlar armor with a red cross and a gun in his belt yelled that no, that country is not in Africa, you fucking monkey. “Who da’ hell are YOU to talk from Africa!” A black man with commemorative scars stood up an yelled. Another ones asked what is Africa, why we are here, what are we doing, who is this people. The room was a chaos, in the middle of the noise the Echo repeated “Share your story.” I yelled across de room “People, people! Im Gerard, I’m from the United Kingdoms, situated above Europe, 55.3781 N, 3.4360 W. Our capital is London, the city was founded 43 AD. I’m a historian, i study the past. I speak English, Spanish, Arabic, Chinese and some French, if you understand me, raised your hand.” And all did. My mind had a meltdown, how can everyone understood me. “Thanks, Gerard.” the Echo replied.
I get back to the first woman “Excuse me lady, your country is in Africa?” At which she say yes, that it was. I asked an mexican man what was his country’s name. “I’m from Tenochtitlan” he answered. I’ve asked an asian lady where was she from and she said Shenyang, from the Qing country. “That didn’t exist!” A white lady yelled, both woman began discussing, others joined and the room was back to chaos. “Guys, guys!” I yelled, like a never before. “Raise you hand, if you’re from planet earth”. Everyone looked at each other, slowly everyone raised his hand and i said out loud “I think, we are from the same place, we are all from the race, we all hace the same body and we all feel the same love and hate, i just think, we are not from the same dimentions”, everyone remain in silence.
The Amazon Echo once again broke the silence. “Begin. Judgment.” The five tattooed ones, take their coats off, showing off the same demon tattoo. They began to scream, the light turned red and the massacre began.
In the end, we also bleed the same. | 2020-11-14T04:26:24 | 2020-11-14T03:56:27 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas. | "Uh I'm here live," I meow unconvincingly. "I'm not a cat."
"I know," the judge tells me. Yes, that's right, foolish human. Believe my lies. One day soon, the council of cats will strike and there will be nothing you can do about it.
"Oh uh my assistant is trying to fix it now." I gesture crudely with my claws towards my assistant, Mittens. He's useless. I don't know why the council of cats sent him to me. He must be some bigwigs kitten.
"I'm prepared to go ahead anyway," I tell the judge. That's what a foolish human would say, isn't it? I'd much rather find a sunbeam to sleep in or some clothes to curl up in. But the council have tasked me with infiltrating human society. I will not let my fellow cats down! | "Ladies and gentlemen," I purred. "I would ask you to stop your staring and return your attention to the document I've put up."
My nine colleagues gawked in their Zoom windows at me.
"Mr. Whiskerton," one breathed. "There appears...appears to be a problem."
"A problem?"
"Your face...is this some new filter? It looks too--I mean so--so...real..."
Fortunately for myself, as a member of the housecat race, my lineage and own life experience had provided me powers of emotional manipulation that most humans found nearly irresistible.
"I was hoping we'd be able to have the meeting progress in a professional manner," I sighed with a manufactured tone of regret. "Alas, technical problems should have been expected at some point. Yes, my hu--my regular person filter has malfuctioned, it appears."
"Then you...you're..."
"Yes, it's true," I said, almost whimpering. I dimmed the light of my screen to its lowest setting so that my pupils would dilate. I watched on my own screen as they grew rounder and rounder.
"It's true?" asked the meeting host with wonder and wariness.
"Yes," I squeaked pitifully, lowering my head slightly so that my mouth would appear smaller while my adorable blackhole eyes loomed large in my window. "I have developed a horrific medical condition."
"My God, Louis!"
"Please...please. It's Whiskerton. Please continue to call me Whiskerton."
"Of course, sir, but--"
"It'started near the beginning of the...the pandemic," I continued, tapering my voice toward a sob. "The doctors are baffled. I've sprouted so much hair. My face has become attractively misshapen into a superior feline visage..."
There was an encouraging and chaotic chorus of "You are beautiful" and "actually I barely noticed" and "I love your eyes, really". These people always forgot to mute their mikes.
The meeting host spoke up. "With the current state of the world, Mr. Whiskerton, it appears we may not actually get back to our offices, much less courtrooms, anytime within the year. Chances are you'll have made a full recovery by then!"
"Yes!"
"For sure!"
"That's what it's looking like!"
"Uh huh!"
"So," continued the host, "I see no reason why this little secret needs to leave our meeting. You have already proven yourself a lawyer of great skill and knowledge, and you will absolutely serve both our firm and this state well in the future."
"Thank you," I croaked, trying to make an approximate weeping sound. My eyes were globes of obsidian.
"Don't mention it. Let's continue the meeting shall we? Mr. Whiskerton, please continue with your slide, and..."
Even as I spoke, brightening my screen to an optimal level and letting my pupils contract back into keen and intelligent slits, my mind started to run with the possibilities of a bright future here in the great state of Texas.
&#x200B;
\---r/PrimitivePrism | 2022-02-03T20:13:42 | 2021-02-10T18:12:37 | 491 | 105 |
[WP] You died. Then you woke up in The Station and Death told you to board The Train that will take you onwards. Then you got ran over by The Train. You’re now in a diner sitting across from a pale woman, who asks you “How in the fuck did you get in here?”
Have at it. | "I guess I died?" I tried to answer her question, still disoriented by the sudden changes of the scene around me. She rolled her eyes behind her spectacles. I took a moment to regard her more carefully. She was pale, yes, but not in the same way Death had been. Death had looked like he lacked blood, like a zombie or vampire, while this woman seemed more natural, as if she just didn't get out into the sunlight very much.
"Yes, of course you died. My question is, what in specific happened? I need more information to localize the bug." she said, clearly annoyed. I shot a quick look out of the window. My immediate surroundings appeared to be an abandoned diner, as it would have been common in the early 20th century North America, but behind the window laid a endless expanse filled with streaks of different colors. They moved and shifted, and in some distance those that got too close seemed to be pulled into a single point, where they disappeared. I watched the spectacle with facination, until the woman across the table cleared her throat in an attempt to gain my attention.
"What? Oh, I was run over by The Train." I answered, still staring out of the window. "What is that?" I asked, pointing at the area where the colored streaks vanished. The woman followed my gaze.
"The vortex of souls?" she asked. "No idea, honestly. I'm not really up to date when it comes to that backend stuff. I'm only responsible for the QA. Speaking of which, getting run over by a train is common enough. I don't suppose you have additional..."
I quickly interrupted her. "Oh no, not a train. The Train."
Her sour look changed, and for a moment she smirked. "Ah. I guess that might be the problem. I'm not sure if the flow of souls is properly defined in that area. Let's go check if we can reproduce the bug, okay?"
She stood up, walked a few steps and opened the door that would have led outside in a real diner, but inexplicably let to The Station in this one. With a quick gesture she signaled me to go through the door, which I did, still in a state of shock, before she followed me and closed the door behind her.
The Station looked basically exactly like the train station in Matrix Revolutions. White surfaces, so clear that you could see your reflection in them, a few places to sit, and a single track with tunnel entrances on both sides, on which The Train had been, just a few minuted ago. I looked to the woman, who had pulled out a tablet and was furiously navigating through menus. "What is nobody here except us?"
She didn't even look up. "The Station is instanced. The System creates a new one for each person that dies. That way we minimize the possiblity for..." She interrupted herself. "Ah, here it is." She tabbed something on her tablet, and the sounds of a train started coming out of the tunnel.
"What now? Do I enter the train?" I asked her. She shot me an exasperated look. "Of course not. I still need to check if the bug is reproducable." Before I could realize what she meant, she had already pushed me in the direction of the tracks. I stumbled forwards, tried to stop myself, fell onto the tracks and got run over by a speeding train, for the third time today.
The woman calmy entered the dinner, in which I had appeared again, through the door. "Fascinating." she murmured, only giving me a single look before writing something in her tablet. "I guess the problem really is the ill-defined flow of souls. The fix shouldn't be too difficult..."
I sighed. Fucking programmers. | I stared blankly at her for a moment. I took a quick glance around at my surroundings; a dingy, plain sort of 50s-retro diner with the check board floors and red booths and all. When I looked back, the oval-shaped head of the woman was slowly tilting as her eyes bore into me questioningly.
“I... don’t know.”
She dropped the French fry that was in her hand and shook her head, pressing fingertips to her temples. “This makes no sense. Did Azael fuck up again?” She seemed to be talking only to herself, or the burger half eaten on her plate.
“Where are we?” I began. The woman looked out of the window, brows screwed up in thought. She didn’t hear me. “Wh-“
“What’s the last thing you remember.” She looked me dead in the eye. Her irises seemed to be pupil-less.
“I was at the Station. I saw The Train coming. The long black one... so I got closer to the rails. And...” my memory returned. Of blurring colors and a deep pressure sensation through my body. “Oh. I slipped. Oh God...”
“Don’t bring Him into this,” She sneered. “I can’t believe this.” She started to stand up, heading for the back of the diner.
“Wait,” I called, getting up to follow her. In an instant the room around me began shifting and fading out of view, swirling into dark smoke before it became a long expanse of asphalt and distant black mountains. The woman was gone, something tall and strange standing in her place, raising what looked like was supposed to be hands and drawing glowing lines in the air.
I blinked several times, trying to understand what I was looking at. The strange black-red beast finished drawing its glowing digits with a swipe of its claw, and suddenly the very air between us ripples before a smaller creature - still taller than I am - shimmered into view. It took one glance at me and recoiled, long pointed forms on its head bending back like the ears of a dog being told it was bad.
The taller beast that used to be the woman advanced upon the smaller one, it’s toothy maw moving in ways I couldn’t comprehend, sounds coming out of it that reminded me of the creaks of metal and thunder. The smaller creature emitted cries like a wounded lion before its superior slashed into it, reducing it to ashes that gently flew away upon the air like flower petals.
The Beast turned to me, tiny fiery eyes inside of large black sockets boring into me. It’s chest seemed to swell and shrink as if it took an exasperated breath, and then it spoke again in a whispering mans tongue.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.”
I attempted to cover my ears - the voice seemed to be almost inside of my mind, it was so loud and reverberating. For some reason I couldn’t, however. Looking down I only saw whisps of pale blue light, as if I had no hands, nor no ears with which to cover.
“But this was supposed to be my day off.” It said, turning its back to me, revealing sharpened jagged scales across its entire form, and a sort of wavy effect on the air around it, as if the Beast gave off impossible heat.
“So I’m sending you back.” It turned its long, impressive neck until its head was facing me. I watched the long curved horns rotate with this more meant and a chill went through me. Or at least, it would have if I had a body.
“Don’t mention this to... Him.”
The Beast spoke, and in a motion of its jagged scaly arm my vision was ripped suddenly away from me, spinning and tearing in colors I’d never knew existed until I was standing face to face with a stout, clean-shaven young man in a bell-hop outfit. “Alllll aboard! Come on, no need to be shy, friend!”
“Uh?” My head felt fuzzy for a moment. I then remembered the soft, cold pressure as Death had placed his hand gently on my shoulder and silently urged me towards the North end of the Station. Instantly I had realized I was passing on to the Good Place, and I had made my way for the Train that was conveniently just arriving. The door had opened and now stood before me this man awaiting my arrival. He smiled jovially at me, with blue eyes that visibly sparkled.
“Yes, of course, right. Got dizzy for a moment,” I said. I shook it off and grinned at him as I stepped onto the train. The train gave a cheery whistle and began to move as I head down the aisle. The floor was so shiny it reflected my face back at me, and through the windows was the scene of of sunny landscape of golden plains and happy cattle grazing quietly.
I sat down upon an incredibly cushy seat with a small table in front of me, napkin folded into a triangle beside a silver plate and a golden knife and fork. The train smelled of dewey roses and sunset naps.
The bell hop came down to my aisle and held out a curving, glimmering pen of platinum that hovered beside a quaint parchment notepad as he looked down at me. “What would you like for your dinner before our arrival? We have anything.”
I thought for a moment. I couldn’t remember the last time I sat for a meal. My stomach growled happily as I realized what I was craving.
“I’d like a burger. And some French fries on the side, please,” I said. The bellhop stared blankly at me for a moment, glancing toward the front of the train just for a split second before bowing and moving to retrieve my order.
I smiled and settled into my seat for what I was sure was a short ride until I would enter my peaceful, eternal, bliss. | 2021-03-26T09:27:46 | 2021-03-26T09:25:07 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | The spell wasn’t supposed to be anything special, it’s ability was to lock an object from moving at all for roughly 30 seconds. You didn’t even have to be looking at the object as long as you were near it and were thinking of it in your head. The main usage you thought of was for mountain climbing, you could create a stepladder in midair or stop your fall with any object in your hand. But Mrs. Potts told you to stay after class for some reason.
“Mrs. Potts, is there something wrong with my spell?”
“Oh God. Have you not realized the implications of this?”
You begin sweating beads as you shake your head no.
“The human heart beats blood throughout the body by pumping. What do you think would happen if you just stopped it from pumping? You just created a more efficient instant death spell. You CANNOT let the Witch CIA know about this or we’re probably both going to prison for a very long time.”
Shit. | Professor Baron was sketching the alchemical formula for the fifteenth time today. The class was silent. A thick aura of boredom congealed the air, making the classroom oppressive. Students fidgeted, scratched at the desk, rubbed their eyes.
Another hour of this, I thought to myself, rubbing my neck.
Arya yawned, loudly.
A ripple of giggles rolled through the class, halting Professor Baron’s chalk in its track.
She stood there, her back to us as her arm dropped down to her side, her shoulders lifting slowly from her steady breaths.
“Is this boring you, students?” she asked, turning towards the class in an almost graceful twist, her black robe swirling. “Do you feel this is not important in your training? That you can forego the basics?”
She looked around the room. “Well?” she asked, pressing us as she stepped to the front row, putting her hands on her hips.
The tension and silence were palpable. I adjusted in my seat and the professor’s eyes locked on me.
"Well, Ezzy? You have something to say?"
“Well…” I said. “It’s just we’ve gone over this so many times, Professor. Can’t we get to something more… exciting… can’t you teach us some spells?”
Professor Baron smiled at me, her lips curling up gleefully.
“Do you think that’s how it is, Ezzy? That I can just teach you spells, as though there is a recipe book for them?”
“Isn’t there?” I asked her.
“I wish,” Professor Baron said. “It would make my life a lot easier, wouldn’t it?” She walked down the aisle past Becky, Jenny, and Rachael, who craned their necks to follow the professor's clicking steps on the stone floor.
“No, that’s not how it works, dear,” she said as she stopped at my desk. “Do you think your mother and father neglected the basics of witchcraft?”
I winced at that. They were dead and she knew it. The whole class knew it.
I looked up; my hands balled in fists. She stared at me. As though questioning me, seeing how I would react.
“A spell is a witch’s own, Ezzy. You of all people in this classroom should know that. All spells are different and special and born through the fires of your own self. No two are the same. Just as no two of you are the same.” She said, sweeping her hand across the rows of girls staring at her. “I am here to teach you girls the basics. To give you a foundation. But it seems you girls are above those trifles, yes? Spell making is easy, then? Okay. You all will make a spell tonight.”
“But Professor…” Ashley called out from the other side of the class.
“No buts... that is your assignment.” She looked down at me, smirking. “Easy enough for a prodigy like you, right?”
I lowered my gaze. It was no use arguing with her.
“I expect it on my desk first thing in the morning,” she said.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-04-01T22:33:04 | 2021-04-01T20:24:12 | 139 | 59 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | "Do you understand what you've done?" Snorwitch asked, her face pale and drawn.
"Well, I just figured that sanitation is always kind of a problem, and expensive, and... I'd been reading about how there aren't enough pollinators..."
"Your spell, Ms. Gavin, turns human feces into live bees."
"Yeah, so I just thought that it would kind of take care of two problems at once..."
"The problem, Ms. Gavin," said Mrs. Snorwitch, increasingly agitated, "is that it works whether the feces is inside a person or not! Can you imagine the battlefield implications? Ms. Gavin I fear you may have just invented a hitherto unheard-of war crime!" | The words of Mister Aarunsun closed the incantation with this nice *clap* sound that most of us still struggled to get right. It was totally unnecessary but part of being a wizard was to bury yourself under layer after layer of decorum. But soon, as the magic began to flow toward the little piece of paper the face of our most feared teacher began to twist itself in a perfect immitation of a rabbit stuck in front of a dragon's flaming maw.
\-Is this a kind of sick joke?
The look on his face asked a different question : How can someone be this stupid? While his voice directed the same interrogation toward himself.
The assignment wass typical of his lessons. Create your own spell. Maybe the guy didn't change his teatching program for a millenia. Maybe this particular brand of sadism was his way to escape a marriage going downhill. Nobody knows. The thing is, while creating a spell isn't that hard, creating an original one you can call yours is quite different. All that to earn the innevitable "T'was done before. And better by lord Ballsington in the year..." where he'd explain how much we're inneficient and the "Right and proper" way of doing the same thing with less effort and more style.
My spell worked as intended. It began to read the piece of paper it was written on. I awaited the mockery. Not to know how I botched the thing, the answer would be in almost any way. But to know the name of the poor idiot who spent time and effort to optimize what was essentially useless. A piece of paper that read itself after you did so yourself...
Now my gaze and voice synchronized with the one of my professor as I understood my blunder.
\-Is there any way to stop it ? I asked with every bit of hope I could gather.
\-And of course you made it say it a little louder than the incantating voice... *clap*
Mister Aarunsun never answered stupid questions. But I could at least justify myself.
\-Yes, so it would speak it at the volume it was recited.
At least I anticipated *that* part. Lesson taken, never overindulge in dumb ideas.
Our professor sighted before standing up to annouce with his marvelous stentor voice.
\-Every one out. We leave this class. *CLAP* You'll all be able to thank Mr. Alasko for the suplentary homeworks, if his magical larsen machine doesn't make the whole country deaf that is.
*CLAP!*
If his eyes could shot laser, well they could, but if he wanted them to do so I would have been cooked on the spot. Mid rare as he liked it. The school was evacuated and a solution was found. If there's out of this world some kind of life watching us from beyond the stars. I beg you not to read the little piece of paper floating in space. | 2021-04-02T04:16:19 | 2021-04-02T04:15:54 | 52 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you. | "So you're a demon."
"Uh, yeah," came the voice, no longer high and etheric, "apparently there was a mix-up."
"So the fight-club in second grade?"
"Yeah, that was-"
"The minor addiction to glue in the eighth?"
"So-"
"The breakup over the water-mattress?"
"That one may've hurt, but you've *no* idea the bullet you dodged there, Mikey. She's doing time downstairs for a murder-suicide."
"Okay, even if I give you that one, there's still about a dozen or so *pages* I have to get through here."
"I really think that this isn't really the time-"
"Well I think- hold on a second-"
*CRUNCH.*
*"*I don't think there's anything else but 'inopportune' times to find out that your guardian angel, who has been your guide and protector for your entirely life, is actually a cast off from hell."
"Not even a cast-off, just a mix-up, a sorta 'can you cover m'shift' kinda deal. I just kinda... glommed on after a while, I guess."
"Uh-huh, and did you stop, even once, to think about-"
*SPLAT.*
"-to think about the repercussions of what your were about to do?"
"Nope."
"That shouldn't suprise me, but it still does."
A horrible screaming fills the air around Micheal Trapeadon. He ignores it.
"So is the name 'Methusezalel' fake as well, something your stole from the angels?"
"Only the 'lel' at the end. Our names come from the same lingo."
"Right. So you're a hack as well as shameless."
"I resent that."
"Oh, you want to talk about *resentment?* Do you even want to get into *that* list?"
"Fair enough, I take your point. Now how 'bout we focus on the-"
ZRRRRRCH.
BOOM.
"-task on hand. Or hands as it were. Scattered across the plains."
"Your jokes were never funny."
"What?! You always laughed at them before."
"Because you told me that I 'would go to hell' if I didn't."
"That was a joke."
"I was six! How the hell was I supposed to know that- get off!"
PFFFFFFTH. CRACK. THUD.
"-was I supposed to know that it was a joke."
"...context?"
"Oh fuck you. Wait! Shit! Wait..."
"His first swears. My little boy's grown so much."
"You always encouraged to dress conservatively, said god cried when I swore. You were taking the piss out of me. For eighteen goddamn years."
"Yup!"
"Oh *fuck* you."
"Right-o, Mikey."
"I swear to god, when we get out of here you and I are going to have *words*. You hear me?"
"Loud and clear."
"Now, one more question," said Micheal, gesturing to the ashy fields, now strewn with demon guts and severed limbs, "why'd you make me hunt your own kind?"
The slight pause in the air suggested a ephemeral smile.
"Oh that's easy," came the snide voice of his 'guardian', "my siblings are right cunts."
&#x200B;
*I write all sorts of things, both silly and serious, over at* /r/The_Alloqium. | I should have realized what was happening when Alan Jacobson's house caught on fire.
I was Alan's target of choice in eighth grade, from getting shoved into lockers to finding a bunch of crickets in my backpack. To make matters worse, he lived right across the street from me, shooting glares my way whenever our paths happened to cross.
On the night Alan threw his middle school graduation party, my guardian angel, Derethorn - nine feet of pure muscle and deep-red skin - watched from our front yard. When I found him, he was indulging in his favorite pastime: posing menacingly with a battle axe. I sat on my front stoop and sighed.
"I don't get why you stand like that when no one can see you but me," I said.
"It helps me get in the zone," Derethorn answered.
"You can stop worrying about Alan. Really. He's going to Westview High next year. That's eighty solid miles of distance."
"It angers me that you will not allow me to intervene when you are at school."
"You know what would happen if you unleashed your powers in the middle of the hallway? We've been over this. I appreciate your protection. Really. But *nothing* you do can be tied back to me."
"OK, Tim. How about a random, inexplicable house fire?"
Derethorn snapped his fingers and Alan's living room burst into flames. Screams rang out from the backyard and a throng of tweens and teens, clad in party hats, sprinted into the street, arms flailing.
Derethorn leaned his head back and laughed. "What would you do without me, kid?"
I held my head in my hands. "I have no idea."
***
Life went on in a similar fashion throughout my high school years, but Derethorn's tactics became increasingly more violent. When I was a toddler, he'd occasionally nudge an oncoming car or bike out of the way when I was immediate danger. Now, he was punching people who were moving too slowly on the sidewalk. To them, it was like a sudden, intense gust of wind to the gut, but to me, it was pure embarrassment.
One time at the park, a squirrel got a little too close to me and I guess Derethorn thought it might bite me, so he chucked it into the river. I had to ask a fisherman to grab the soaking-wet rodent with his net before it drowned in front of us.
It all came to a head on the night of my eighteenth birthday.
I was getting ready to go to the movies with a couple friends, but Derethorn blocked the doorway out of my room.
"All right, D.T.," I groaned. "This isn't funny. Move your ass."
"How *dare* you speak to me in such a tone. After everything I've done for you!"
"I'm gonna be late. Please move."
"NO!" Derethorn shrieked, punching a hole in the wall next to me. "You must not leave. You *WILL NOT LEAVE!*"
"You mind telling me what the fuck has gotten into you?"
Derethorn's posture suddenly changed. He slumped his shoulders and sank to the ground, tucking his knees into his chest.
"I'm not who you think I am, kid."
"What are you talking about? You're my guardian --"
"No. There was a mixup. I was never supposed to be here."
"What do you mean?"
Derethorn looked up at me, and I could swear I saw tears beginning to form in his giant, amber eyes.
"I'm a demon, kid. Straight from the pits of hell. I poked my head where it shouldn't have been and got sent to Earth - assigned to you. They know I'm here, but heaven didn't want the bad PR, so they just let it slide. Now you're 18 and my time is up. I grew so fond of ya, kid. I didn't want to leave you all alone. But now I don't know what they're gonna do to me..."
I clenched my fist, open and closed, over and over. I'd suspected for years that Derethorn was an untraditional angel, but I'd had no real basis of comparison. "What are you saying?"
"Did I do a good job, Tim?" I glanced down and noticed, in horror, that Derethorn's left hand was slowly beginning to disintegrate. I reached out to take his right hand, but he held it up. "It's all right, kid. It was always gonna be this way."
"I thought..." I choked on the words. "I thought you were always going to be there to protect me."
"No, kid." His legs were disappearing - nearly half his body was gone. "You can do that perfectly well for yourself now. I only hope that...that I didn't mess you up too bad."
"You didn't, D.T." I closed my eyes, reached for what remained of his body, and wrapped him in an embrace. "You didn't."
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
That night, I sat through the movie in silence. I kept glancing to my right on the drive home, expecting Derethorn to be there crammed in the front seat, ready to unleash that booming laugh of his.
Now, whenever I'm feeling down, I imagine him standing over me and putting a hand on my shoulder. Even when I'm angry, I try to rein in the impulse to punch or break something, remembering the burning house and near-drowned squirrel.
I never asked for a protector, but I guess the universe already made up its mind. And if I'm the only person in the world who got a guardian demon, I couldn't have asked for a better one. | 2021-05-23T15:12:30 | 2021-05-23T14:19:24 | 1,052 | 644 |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal and indestructible, but the universe isn't, and that horrifies you | "Hey buddy," The bartender glanced at the man slumped over the empty bar in annoyance. "Closing time, time to go."
The drunk looked up at him and bleary eyed and shook his head. He tried to drink the shitty bottle of beer that had long since been empty, but was still clutched in an otherwise insensible hand. Then rested his head back on the counter.
"I said, time to go," The bartender reached for the man again and grabbed his collar. Even drunk the man reacted with lightning fast reflexes. Before he knew what was happening he was on the ground clutching his arm and screaming in pain.
"Not this time," The drunk slurred and stumbled a little. When had he stood up?
"You broke my fucking arm!" The bartender screamed.
"Not broken," Mumbled the drunk and walked around behind the bar. Grabbing a bottle at random he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. "Dislocated, only broke it the first three times."
"First? Fuck you! You crazy bastard," The bartender groaned in pain then stood slowly. The drunk walked over to him. Beneath the shaggy beard was an unsettling face. It was young, handsome and unscarred perfect teeth but still stale boozy breath. It wasn't the face of a man who lived rough.
"I'm not crazy, we've done this before," Mumbled the man. "Well not you, but... you."
The bartender glanced behind the man, the phone was so close but the drunk blocked the way. He glanced at the bottle in the man's hand.
"Just take it," The panicked man offered. "Take the bottle and go, I won't even call the cops, I swear."
"Yes you will," The drunk grimaced and the bartender flinched. "You always do."
"Don't blame you kid," The drunk shrugged with a bone tired sigh. "It ain't like you remember the last times."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" The bartender stammered still grimacing from the pain. He was beginning to think the drunk was right, it wasn't broken, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.
"Every snowflake is unique right?" The drunk glanced at the barman who nodded nervously. The drunk laughed. "That's a lie you know. There are only so many possible combinations a snowflake can form in, eventually you get repeats. Same with any collection of matter really."
The bartender blinked. Through the pain and panic he realized this lunatic was probably right. With so many snowflakes it was impossible no two would be alike.
"Whole universe, explodes," The drunk closed his fist then spread his fingers wide, then he snapped his fist closed. "Collapses. Then explodes again."
"Different snowflakes more often than not," The drunk drank deeply from his bottle. The bartender grimaced as he realized it was banana schnapps. "But sooner or later you see the repeats."
Staring at the drunk the barman was now sure the man was crazy. Or maybe pulling some elaborate prank. He didn't care he wanted this guy gone.
"Look man take the money in the register, take the bottle just go," He practically pleaded. The drunk sighed and stood on shakey feet. The bartender expected him to go to the register but the man just stumbled toward the door.
"Okay," The drunk mumbled lifting the bottle to his lips one more time. "Just don't call the cops, please, please let this be a new one... I don't want another repeat."
The bartender could hear the man crying as he left the bar, sniffing and wiping snot on his coat sleeve. With his good hand the barman reached towards the phone. | "Ninety-nine bottles of Coke on the wall\~"
Clink. Hiss.
"Ninety-nine bottles of Coke\~"
Clink. Gulp.
"You take one down, pass 'em around-
Clink. Gulp.
"N....ninety-eight? Bottles of Coke on the wall\~"
The echo from your voice bouncing off the crumbling foundation fades, as you feel the warm ambrosia fill your liver. With the sound of an empty air pocket popping as your lips leave the nipple, you lay the emptied bottle onto the pale glass table.
Clink!
You move, tearing yourself away from the table. You feel the same stale, hot air surrounding the cave now flooding in & out from your agitated nostrils. But it's just the walls. *Just* the walls. Even as your heart kept thrashing and clawing at your chest, your eyes and your ears tell you there's no-one here.
Looking down at the table, you notice something had dropped from the bottle's lid; a rough-edged cap. Doesn't say when it was printed, as a thin layer of brownish flakes cover the cap's interior. Can't quite make it out, either. Without purpose, your finger flicks the rusted bottle-cap across the pale glass table. A residue of sticky brownish liquid trails after the errant cap, before landing on its' flattened side like a coin. Breathing another stale sigh, you slouch back down.
All you could do was wait and try to remember. When was the last draft of fresh air that you felt? The last time you felt something - anything - caressing your skin that wasn't a figment of your imagination. Where & when did you come here, to this place? *Ten* years ago? A *hundred*? A *thousand*? Your curled fist slams against the table's aged, time worn surface. A sickening crack grabs your attention. A section of the top shelf just....*evaporated*. No shards. Not a speck of blood. Just dust gathering at your feet.
You wake up, straightening your spine. But it felt like you blinked for just a second. Even closing your eyes and laying your head, trying to surround yourself in blackness and find some escape, you feel no relief. Just the weight of slowly crumbling glass, stale cave air, the feeling of your nostrils expanding and contracting. And your heart's vibration, slowing to a crawl. But as you lay your head down, eyes inches away from a sharpened edge, something touches you. You stop yourself, taking a breath. Something...*cold*! From above your head, you feel it brush against your hair again. Did it come from the outside? Or...is there even an Outside to go to? The wind beckons you upward, *whispering*. Did it come from the outside? Is there even an Outside to see? Millenia of instincts scream from the pit of your stomach. The time has come.
Climbing the surface, your arm muscles and leg tendons stretch and creak. Only one thing is on your mind, distracting you from your own body's condition; *keep going*. Your hands adhering to cracks within the aged structure surrounding you, you continue to climb, knucklebones and digits bending into each new gap you can find. You stop climbing for a moment and look back down at your home, now half a mile from your current location, then to the crack in the ceiling where you hear the wind whistling louder. You feel it again, instinctively bracing your shoulders with your hand. *You're getting closer*, you mutter, hands struggling to get a firm grip. *Keep going.* You continue to climb, feeling your heart beating louder as it matches the rhythm of your limbs. *Left arm forward, right arm back*. *Right leg forward, left leg up*.
Reaching the ceiling, you huddle closer to the wall, letting your eyes survey your current situation; There's only a single sizeable gap for your hands to fit, inches from a hatch dangling close to your forehead. But you get the sense this ceiling opens from the *inside,* towards your only gap. Taking another breath, you adjust your feet to the craggy wall with one hand clasping the metallic gap. Steadying your spine and lower back, you reach out for the hatch with your remaining hand. *Got it*! You smirk for what feels like the first time in a long time. Feeling the hatch's grip fitting into your hand, you kick the wall with both feet, letting go of the gap as you feel yourself swinging toward the other side. An ear-splitting screech of rusted metal grinding against metal echoes through the cave, its' ancient mechanism stretching itself out beyond its' limits.
Crack!
The hatch falls open, a rush of air funnelling down the open entrance. No time to celebrate, you have just enough leeway to leap forward and grip onto its' edges with your free hand. Letting go of the handle, you hurriedly fidget, struggling to grab onto something. Then, with your legs falling limp, you squirm and scrape against the surface. As your fingers claw for support, you feel something firm; soil. Digging in for dear life, you pull yourself out from your prison, clothes brushing against the warm dirt as your eyes clamp shut.
*"Breathe in....breathe out.."* You mutter, lungs filling up with air as your hands pat the ground. You can't believe it. You just *cannot* believe it. *"Breathe in....breathe out..."* As you open your eyes, you look up at an inky blue sky dotted with stars. A weary smile crosses your lips, as you lay your head onto the warm dirt. | 2021-09-09T08:39:29 | 2021-09-09T07:51:46 | 55 | 26 |
[WP] "You can take the red pill or the blue pill, the choice is yours," they said and handed you the box. You opened the box and saw three shining pills. "What about the green pill?" you asked. "The what?" A look of puzzlement crossed their face. | "What does the green pill do?"
As soon as he asked me, I felt my heart plunge into my stomach. I steadied myself on the bars of his prison cell.
"There is no green pill." I answered, in almost a whisper.
I looked at the shrivelled shell of a man before me. Locked in, trapped, and wasting away. And I, I was the guard. I resented the guilt my job left me with every day, but it was a job that needed to be done.
He began laughing, an almost child like giggle, like he knew a secret no one else did.
He quickly snaffled down "the green pill" when I offered the empty cup to his lips, then swallowed when offered some water. He was still softly chuckling as he slowly drifted off to sleep whispering "she doesn't know hehehe she doesn't know."
I loosened his restraints and made sure the bed rails were secure. I turned on the bed alarm and turned out the light, slowly making my way to the nurses station.
I feel guilty having to trick Jeremy this way every day. The dementia means that most days, Jeremy tries to harm himself and on a few occasions has tried to end his life. In his lucid moments, he begs for death to release him.
But if I don't, he will not take his sedative and heart medication. I must let him trick me every day with the "green pill" in order to keep him alive, and every day I feel tremendous guilt knowing it is me who is tricking him, tricking him into living a life he does not want to live. | I looked at the figure then back at the box. "The green pill. What does that do?" The figure in front of me paled. They reached out their hand to close the box, but before they could I grabbed the pill and held it behind me. "Tell me." I said, glaring at the woman in front of me. She sighed and took off her mirrored glasses, looking at me with dark brown eyes. "I don't know. That... shouldn't exist." I looked at the pill, glowing ever so slightly in the dim room. "Should I take it?" I asked, unable to look away. The woman shrugged, leaning back in the chair they sat in. "It is your choice, Sam. But it must be your own." I hesitated, glancing at my reflection in a mirror beside me. I had the same hook nose, the same brown hair that got in my eyes, the same circle shaped scar on my cheek, but I knew if I took the pill I would change for good. Before I could think more about it, I took the leap, swallowing the pill in one take.
Nothing happened at first. Just a slight headache and what felt like a sneeze building up. But as soon as I sneezed, I found myself somewhere strange. I was no longer on earth. Instead, I found myself in front of an old man in a bath robe and a top hat in a world with two suns, holding a handful of scrolls. "What the-" I said before I sneezed again and found myself in a prison cell. A thin man with pale skin and green hair was laughing maniacally as what looked like a werewolf writhed on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Another sneeze, and I found myself in a dark hallway, monstrous figures standing in glass cases. One caught my attention, a human like me, who had a bald head and a cigarette in his hand. He waved nonchalantly as I sneezed once more and found myself in front of the woman.
"What is happening to me?" I asked, my head now splitting. The woman reached out and sat me down, laying me against the wall of the room. "I don't know, Sam," she said as she felt my forehead. She winced and drew her hand back quickly, hissing as she held it. "You're burning up. Let me see if I can cool it down." She stuck out her hand and a glass of water appeared in it. She held it up to my lips and I gulped frantically, suddenly super hot. I tore my clothes off and watched in horror as the sweat on my body started to evaporate at an unhealthy pace. "Oh my god..." the woman said, taking a hesitant step backwards. "What was that pill?" Before I could answer, a searing pain shot through me and I screamed, torn apart by the power inside of me.
...
I was everywhere.
I could see everything. Be everywhere. I was... omnipotent. I was spread across... dimensions, universes, different narratives. Sometimes I was a small character, watching in the shadows. Other times, I was more visible and even noticed by the protagonists. What... What did I become?
I watched for eons, exploring my limits. I could control my avatars in each world, weaving their stories to become important. But the more involved I became, the more unraveled their worlds became, crashing around my ears. Eventually I found if I used subtle methods, not becoming a main character but just moving things from the background, I could change bleak futures into bright times. I was... content.
That was the moment. That was when I became... a Narrator. An Architect. An artist of the heavens. a multidimensional being, spanning eternity. Every possibility was in my reach.
I became a Writer. | 2021-10-24T05:41:02 | 2021-10-24T02:16:30 | 2,294 | 546 |
[WP] The Museum of the History of Love has a new exhibit, which it calls an Alternate Future Coupling, but everyone calls the Ship-O-Matic. Two people sit in it, and they see a minutes-long vision of what their life as a couple would be like. | Evan and I have been dating for three years.
I'm pretty sure he's going to propose to me when he asks me to visit "The Museum of the History of Love". He's been dropping hints all week; buying flowers, talking about the future, telling me I'm the most wonderful girl in the world.
As we go through the museum I can tell he's getting nervous. His old stutter comes back a few times and he keeps avoiding eye contact.
He finally leads me into a little room at the back of the museum. "Booked a private spot for us, huh?" I ask with a wink. He doesn't reply, just leads me to two movie-theater style seats at the center.
An enormous screen flickers to life.
"Please enjoy the popcorn while we complete the scan. 6% ... 18% ..."
"Uh, Evan? What is this?"
"It's going to show us what our life will be like together," he says, squeezing my hand. "If you'll be my wife."
I want to melt at those words. But there's something stopping me. A ball of tension clenches my heart. I open my mouth to reply--unsure what I'm actually going to say--when the movie starts.
We're on the screen, dancing in a banquet hall, smiling at each other. In a hospital, as I hold a sweet little bundle in my arms. Holding hands watching the school bus pull away. There are flashes of fights and tears, but they take up mere milliseconds of the film.
Finally the screen dims and the lights come on. When they do, Evan is on one knee in front of me. All his nervousness is gone and he's grinning from ear to ear.
"Jessica... will you marry me?"
The knot clenches in my chest.
"Why did you bring me here?" I choke out.
"Just thought it would be a nice place to propose," he replies, his grin waning.
"Or," I snap back, "did you want to make sure we'd end up happy?"
"What?"
"The vows say 'for better or for worse,' Evan. But you brought me here to check out if it was only for the better. Didn't you?"
His smile was gone. "Jess--you can't blame me for checking, just to make sure--"
"Leave."
As soon as he's gone I begin to cry. Small tears first, then sobs that wrack my whole body. The lights shut off but I don't leave. I would have taken any risk with him. Even if we ended up divorcing in the future it didn't matter. I wanted him, as much of him in my life as I could get.
I don't know how long I've been sitting here when a voice wakes me from my thoughts.
"You got dumped too, huh?"
I turn. In the darkness I can't make out anything about the man sitting next to me.
"Excuse me?"
"Sorry, didn't mean to be blunt. Just sayin what it looks like."
I sniffled.
"I'll tell you what happened to me. She wanted more of a 'provider,' she said." I could almost hear the eye roll in his voice. "I s'pose the apartment on the screen wasn't good enough for her."
He sighed.
"What happened to the good old days? You just meet someone and see how it goes, you know?"
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. "I kno--"
A robotic voice cuts me off. "Please enjoy the popcorn..."
Oh, no. It's going to show us now, on that cursed screen.
"Hey. What do you say we get out of here?" he asks.
I glance up at the screen. Loading: 32%.
I smile.
"Let's." | Bailey groans at the long line to the machine. He wasn't surprised when, about three beers in and on their way to the next bar, Joe could not resist the tacky, pink-and-red, love-hearts-covered exterior of the museum. The rest of their group laughed him off, but Bailey knew Joe would probably end up stumbling into the museum on his own and right into some jail cell. And, if he's honest with himself, he doesn't care much for Joe's friends. He only agreed to go on this stupid "bro trip" because Joe insisted, and both Sarah And Lin, their respective girlfriends, had already planned their own girls' trip to Cabo. Letting Joe drunkenly roam the museum on his own while he has to suffer through their endless talks about crypto and tits didn't sound like a better experience than walking through some tacky, tourist-trap exhibit.
It didn't take long before Joe zeroed in on the poster of the giant machine, which is still hidden from view. The long line stretches around the bend of the makeshift corridor. The walls are covered in tacky prints featuring all kinds of couples in various ages, floating in blurry clouds of promises and potential futures.
"Do we really have to do this?" he asks, peering over the shoulders of two very tall Dutch girls in front of them. They have at least thirty more minutes to wait, and he already needs to pee.
Joe puts an arm over his shoulders amiably, jostling him a bit too hard. "Of course we do! I can't sleep at night without knowing what my life would look like with you, my soulmate." He finishes the sentence with a flourish, a hand on his chest and the other on his forehead. Always so dramatic.
Bailey wants to say this is stupid, because it is. But he looks at Joe's goofy, toothy smile, and he doesn't want to tease him any more than his dumb friends already had. "Fine, but you're buying the next two rounds of beer."
Joe gives him a healthy smack on the shoulder. "That's my boy! You got yourself a deal."
They talk about nothing and anything as the line crawls ahead, and finally, they see the machine appearing in front of them. Only one pair is waiting in front of them - the two Dutch girls, who seem very excited. As he yet again peers around them, he observes the machine. Its exterior is metallic and bright, a shiny red chrome that looks more like a weird transformer than a plastic gimmick. The gaudy sign above it shines in pink lights, promising visitors "a stunning cinematic look into their shared romantic future". Bailey snickers and looks at Joe, who bounces from foot to foot.
"This is hysterical," he says excitedly. "I can't wait to tell everyone what it shows us. Do you think I'd be good at sucking dick?"
Bailey shoves him while the Dutch girls turn around and look at them with an eerily similar, blond-browed frown. They get called by the attendee, who's also wearing an awful red-and-pink vest, and Bailey and Joe step forward to wait their turn. "That's what you're worried about?"
"Well, yeah. If I was gay, I'd be a total pro."
"Of course you would."
"You doubting my skills?"
"Considering the only thing you've ever blown is a banana in 7th grade, yeah, I am."
Joe bursts out laughing. "Man, Ms. Ramirez was not happy with me."
"Dude, she wasn't happy because you couldn't say a word of Spanish and refused to try."
"Hey! I did try!"
Bailey rolls his eyes. "Yeah, when you wanted to hit on that girl, what was her name?"
"Bianca."
"I'm surprised you remember."
They reminisce about their 7th grade teachers and classmates for a while and, before they know it, the attendant lets the Dutch girls out. They hold each other, laughing hard, their twin laughs genuinely creepy.
Joe leans in to whisper in his ear. "Are we sure they're not related?"
"Absolutely not," Bailey replies.
The attendant signals for them impatiently, and they walk into the machine. On the inside, it's surprisingly simple - not much more than a barren projection room. Two worn, red leather armchairs sit side by side, with a shared armrest. A giant projection screen is unfurled in front of them, with two giant speakers on either side. The attendant messes with a board full of colorful buttons on the left of the door, before ushering them to the two seats and asking them to sit still. He presses a pink, glowing button near the other side of door, and a giant box comes out of the ceiling. Bright, red lights, like lasers, come out of the box and scan both of them from head to toe a few times, slowly and silently. When the lights abruptly turn off, the attendant closes the door silently and everything goes dark. The box turns around and a projection starts on the screen, counting down from 10.
Joe bounces in his seat. "This feels like a movie."
"I think that's kind of the point," Bailey replies, sinking back into the surprisingly comfortable chair with a smile.
Images start to play. On screen, they see both of them at 13 years old. They're playing a video game, something they always did together.
Joe frowns and points at the screen, "well, that's no different than-"
Before he can finish the sentence, his younger self leans over on the screen and gives Bailey a chaste kiss on the cheek. Young Bailey blushes, but smiles shyly, his eyes still on the screen. They keep playing as if this is completely normal. They say nothing, the sounds of the video game a soft murmur in the background.
They both sit silently.
\-end of part 1- | 2022-10-07T11:50:36 | 2022-10-07T11:24:28 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0... | “1,000? That can’t be right.” I thought to myself. My sister-in-law’a son was sitting playing video games on the couch, his little thumbs clacking away on his controller. The rules, as I have learned, are as such; the number of kills only counts intentional deaths and even then it doesn’t count self defense and yet, here was my five year old nephew with a massive “1,000” hanging over his head.
“Hey, bud. Whatcha been doin lately?” I asked nervously as he turned his attention towards me. With a smile he replied “Sending letters.” “To who?” I asked dumbly “People I hate.” He replied nonchalantly.
I spoke to my sister-in-law asking if I could look in nephews letter writing materials. “Why?” I honestly didn’t know how to answer. Her and my wife are the only two people I’ve told about my weird ability but I couldn’t imagine she would believe it if I told her that her son is a mass murderer. “I need an envelope.”
As I was searching I found masks, gloves and a small glass jar with a biohazard symbol on it. A small amount of white powder was left inside. As I stared in utter horror I saw an unfinished letter out of the corner of my eye… addressed to me. | The day had been no different than the others in the week.
Take my daughter to school, go back home to clean around the house, buy groceries so that cooking would be a breeze once dinner rolled around. The same routine as usual.
Only…something was very, very different from how it always was.
And that was because my sweetest, most precious daughter had the numbers 1 and 0 hovering above her head.
Ten. Ten people…she had killed? Impossible.
I stared at her in the rear view mirror as I drove us back home from school, trying my best not to lose my bearings as thoughts raced through my head.
How could this be…she was only five. There was no way she even knew what killing was, let alone how to do such a thing. No, no…this must have been a mistake.
I knew that my gift was never wrong though. It was always spot on when it came to murderers, serial killers and the like. I prayed that this was a fluke for the first time in my gift.
The gift in itself and why it was placed upon me was still a mystery, but I had a feeling it had something to do with the devil. No gift that involves death wouldn’t be associated with him - it just wouldn’t make sense.
But I could bear with the fact that this gift was flawed more than the thought of my sweet girl doing something so heinous. And ten…not even one, but ten? I felt nauseous at the thought.
I didn’t know what to do in that moment, as she stared out the window, humming what sounded like London Bridge is Falling Down. I didn’t know if I should bring it up or let it be but…something told me to ask, so I did.
“So sweetie, how was your day at school?”
I smiled warmly to her as I made a left turn, merging into the lane that connects to the highway.
“It was good. My teacher said I did good in art.” She smiled brightly as she said that.
“Wow! I’m so proud of you, that’s so great to hear. What did you make?”
She didn’t respond right away, and I took a moment to make sure it was safe to get on the road before looking back at her again. And that choice is something I would regret.
She was staring right at me with an expression I could only describe as wholly sinister. Her eyes held a coldness no five year old should ever have, and I was frozen in place, so terrified I couldn’t move.
“Well, there was a lot of things I made. You see mommy, skin is a really great material when you’re making things. It’s even prettier when decorated in red.”
The evil smile spread across her face as I gasped at her, still unable to move, my foot on the pedal of the gas only pushing down more in my frozen state.
50, 60, 70…
The speed climbed higher until the car in front of us started to inch closer and closer. I knew what was about to happen. I closed my eyes.
I heard my daughter’s voice for the last time, whispering softly to me in that moment.
“When you steal something, it’s only fair that the rightful owner takes it back. I did enjoy watching you struggle with something that belonged to me, but don’t worry, you won’t have to struggle for any longer.”
That wasn’t my daughter’s voice. But I couldn’t question it for long because the impact happened soon after.
Before I passed, I saw one thing flash across my vision.
11 | 2022-10-21T09:51:12 | 2022-10-21T08:36:20 | 30 | 17 |
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