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] A man can never be remembered. Each day he wakes up and nobody has any memory of him or his actions. Today he walks into the coffee shop and the lady behind the counter says "hello John..." | I've never been a remarkable man. It's been years since someone recognized me for myself, but that doesn't bother me much. I still get my fair share of conversation.
"John?"
Today it's the starbucks barista, apparently. She's looking at me, wide-eyed, with hurt and love and hope and desperation painted on her face in layers thicker than cold gravy.
"No ma'am, I'm not your John," I tell her.
"Oh." She doesn't cry. She just blinks her eyes very slowly and says, "Of course not. I'm sorry. What can I get you?"
I tell her I'd like whatever John used to drink.
"You'd have to wait for the store to get a little quieter. I always made his freshly brewed, and there isn't time for that right now."
"Then I'll wait," I say, and I do. I stand quietly to the side while the line dies down. Aside from a hipster near the back, everything is empty when I go back to the counter.
"Did John know you always made his coffee fresh?" I ask.
"He never noticed." She steps slowly to the espresso machine and she scoops out fresh coffee grounds. Every motion is deliberate.
"When did he leave?"
"About a month ago."
I am an unremarkable man. If anyone else asked such questions, the girl would be alarmed, but I pose no threat. She begins to speak, softly.
"We met a little over five years ago. When you're young everything seems like love but with John it was different. It wasn't just love. It was security and belonging and home."
"I knew someone like that once," I tell her, but I don't elaborate. This is not my story.
She nods. "For a long time we were just friends, but we always knew it would be us. In the end we'd be together because that was the only way things could really go. We got together two years ago."
She counts the shots of espresso slowly, as in a ritual. Six of them, and then she pours milk until the coffee cup is full.
"Two months ago he got restless. He's gone now."
She puts the lid on the cup and hands it to me. "If you want to really drink what he drank you'd have to add some whiskey."
I pull out my flask.
"Every morning he brought me to work, I made his coffee, and then he went to his work. Every morning. And then one morning he told me he didn't want any coffee. Then he was gone."
I hate espresso, and this much milk is criminal. I drink it anyway.
"I'm so sorry," I say.
She wipes a tear off her cheek and tells me he'll be back. "I know him. He wouldn't leave forever. He'll come back for me."
She doesn't believe this, but she says it anyway, straightening her back as she bravely lies.
"I'm sure he will be," I say. I put a ten dollar bill on the counter and walk away, the lies and bad coffee mingling to leave a terrible taste in my mouth.
Maybe one day I'll run into a man named John who has terrible taste and who couldn't stand to build a stable life. I'll tell him his girl won't wait forever. I'll tell him that she saw his kindness in my eyes.
I'm not a remarkable man, and it's been years since I've been recognized as myself. People know me sometimes, when they see the things they remember of people they lost. | John stopped in his tracks, the blood drained from his face as he looked up to this unremarkable barista. Her eyes seemed locked on him, her name tag absent he couldn't begin to understand how suddenly this young lady could remember him, no one ever had. "I... how, did you..?" She giggled and winked at him "Sorry sir, your name tag gave it away" John looked at his shirt and there it was, a brass colored name plate on his shirt, he touched it and felt the indents of the letters of his name. John smirked at himself. "I'll take a large coffee, black, two cream two sugar." She nodded and turned around. John looked to his left, then his right and outside the window, across the street there was a blonde haired woman, large breasts, pouted red lips and fierce green eyes, her skin was so pale it looked like porcelain. He lost himself in the view of her.
"Joooooohn" the voice grated like rusted nails on sheet metal, John snapped his head in the direction of the barista, her smile was agonizingly long, her lips dry and splitting, tiny rivulets of blood ran into her teeth. "Your COFFEE is reADY!" her voice disjointed as her jaw swung from side to side her teeth faintly grinding against each other. "What the hell!?" John turned to run from the coffee shop, the door had been replaced with a strange gray metal wall. John panicked and turned back to the barista, her eyes pierced into him, he wailed "NOOOOOO!" She smiled just a bit more "John, John, JOOOOHN! You will never be remembered, you will always be mine, your soul, your memories, they will always belong to me." She dropped the coffee, John fell on his ass, his legs kicked out pushing him into the wall and he cried.
"He is handsome..." The blonde woman nodded quietly, watching the scene unfold from across the street, she sighed and turned to her companion. "Let's end this, he is going to wake up soon." Her faceless companion nodded and raised a four fingered hand in the air, a brief motion and they both faded.
"HAHAHAHAH....." The sudden silence confused John as he jerked awake, looking around his apartment he realized he had been dreaming. "No coffee shop today..." He then proceeded to get cleaned up, he methodically put on his clothes and drove to the office, he through the front doors and scanned his i.d. badge in with the hundreds of other people entering this towering building. He waiting in line for an elevator, he got off on the 46th floor and went to his cubicle and opened his the spread sheet he had been working on, he sighed to himself as he stared at the screen. "Just another day of living the dream, eh John?" He leaned back and thought of a dozen other things he would rather be doing, John had been working in the same cubicle for 10 years now, he stood up and looked around as people were still shuffling to their desks he caught a glimpse of his direct superior.
She was sensuality incarnate, platinum blonde, she was tall, her hips and lips screamed of a languid need that caused most of the men in the office to teem on the edge of lust. She walked right up to Johns cubicle. "You, I need you to do something for me." John nodded slowly "Sure thing, what do you need?" He swallowed hard and she took a couple more steps into the cubicle. "This spread sheet you're working on, I need you to take the data you've got and send it to the development team, they are going to use it for another project." John nodded like an idiot "Sure... I can do that" She smiled at him "Good, thanks.... ?" John stammered "Uh John, I'm John, or Johnny, or Jay." She smirked and turned to walk away. "Right, thanks John." As she was walking away he could hear her say "He must be new here."
John sat down hard in his chair. "New? new!? I have been here ten years, she has talked to me hundreds of times. It's like no one ever remembers me."
John continued his work for the day, sent the spread sheet to the developers he spent most of his day surfing the internet looking at a variety of websites. Mostly, just wasting time. he entered the elevator and waited for the long ride down to finish. The doors opened to reveal a gloomy scene, rain had started to fall, co-workers waited in the lobby for breaks in the rain, but John didn't care, he decided to get some Thai tonight. He made it to his car only getting a little wet.
John made good time getting to his supper, he parked in an alley and ran across to sit on a stool under a large, thick canvas awning that had been put up to keep the space free of rain, a couple of older gentlemen sat at the food bar eating large bowls that smelled of hot spices, fish, and thick home made noodles. John licked his lips and pulled up a chair, nodding to the older men at the bar. "OH! Hey you, want some food?" John nodded "I'll take a #42 with red and brown sauce" The man at the counter nodded quickly "Very good, very fresh today. So fresh!"
John got back home later than he planned, but he was full, he was happy even though he really hoped he wasn't going to have a dream like last nights. He pulled the blankets up around his shoulders and settled in, a few deep breaths later he started to drift. Tomorrow would be much like today, no one would remember him, and maybe that was okay. | 2015-04-12T12:11:04 | 2015-04-12T09:02:43 | 24 | 14 |
[WP]You inherit the abilities and skill set of whatever video game character you last played. Tell the story of your discovery of this from the perspective of someone around you. Parents, roomates, etc. | "No! Damnit Jason, stop bringing needles home that you found off the street! You're not going to a new 'ability', you're going to get Hep-B."
"How do I know unless I try?"
This kid is driving me crazy. It was so cool at first. He just woke up one day after an all night game session and lightning was coming out of his hand. We used it as a parlor trick at parties and people went nuts.
A number of them wanted to burn him as a witch at first, but who was gonna try? We all got used to it surprisingly quickly, and he got really popular. But then things started, well, advancing.
I walked in on him one day jumping up and down saying "It worked! It worked!"
"What worked?"
"Okay I'm going to tell you, but you have to promise not to interrupt until I'm done." I nodded. "I injected myself with red kool-aid from a vending machine."
I open my mouth to yell something to the effect of "What?!" but his look reminds me to keep my mouth shut.
"Don't ask me why, I just thought I had to try it and it worked!"
"Alright, let's just ignore everything wrong with that for a moment." I began. "What exactly do you mean it worked?"
"Oh, well, uh you might not like this part..."
I raised my eyebrows and he turned his head to my bedroom wall. Well, more accurately, he turned his head to the gaping hole that used to be my bedroom wall.
"What the hell happened to my room?!"
"The Kool-aid gave me a new ability. I can break through walls now! I tried it again with a different red kool-aid and some yellow stuff from the fridge, but nothing else happened. I figure I need a different red liquid every time."
"... you've lost your mind. I'm putting you in an asylum. Just as soon as you FIX MY WALL!"
"Hey, I get you. I'm gonna take care of everything, don't worry! The wall is easy to fix and that busted pipe should be no sweat. For some reason I've become really good with a wrench..."
| "Morning, babe!" I said. "You're up already?"
"Uhh... is it morning?" he asked, bleary-eyed. "Ah crap, it's morning."
"You stayed up all night? Are you *that* irresponsible? You gotta get a grip, you can't just--"
"Yeah, listen. Look at this."
He made a little space on the kitchen counter--more dirty dishes than usual were piling up, and among them more spices and bottles of stuff than I thought we had--and drew a circle on the marble top.
"Is that my *lipstick*?!"
"Yeah, couldn't find a marker. Shut up."
"Don't tell me to shut up, that's my damn lipstick--"
"Babe, seriously shut up. Okay, here we go..."
He took a fork from the pile of dishes and put it in the circle; he closed his eyes, took a breath, then muttered something.
"Wait, no..."
He took the paprika jar, opened it and blew in. The hot dust nearly choked me.
"What the fuck, man!"
Without a word, he started muttering again. It might have been the morning light and caffeine deprivation, but I could swear the fork was glowing. He crushed a mint leaf and whispered something else.
There was a blinding flash.
"Check this shit out, baby," he said, picking up the fork. I noticed he held it by the tines; there was something drawn on the handle, and I could swear there hadn't been anything before he did whatever it was he'd done.
He took the old cheese grater, the rusty one, and touched the fork to it. The rust started flaking off. He banged the grater against the sink, and the rust all fell off.
"What...?"
"Yeah, apparently I can do alchemy."
"...I'm going to take a shower. Get some coffee going, we gotta go to work."
"Baby, fuck work, I just did some fuckin' *magic*!"
"Yeah, okay."
While showering, I could hear him bustling about in the kitchen. Not preparing any coffee, by the sound of it. I love him, but he's so damn thoughtless sometimes, I swear.
When I returned to the kitchen, he was staring intently at a glass of water--this too was in the middle of a circle.
"*SHAMASH! Urru-qh-grath'an--*" lighting a match and dunking it in the water; yellow smoke started drifting up, ceasing when he dropped a frozen blueberry inside--"*tzech-urrash.* Okay, drink this."
"I'm not drinking that."
"Trust me."
It was terrible. The light was brighter, the images sharper, I was cold and hot as the same time, my heart racing. "What did you...?"
"Hmm, too much iron in that thing, I think."
"What the hell did you have me drink?"
"Eh, coffee. Sort of. It unbalances your humors, making blood more... uh... prevalent, I guess."
"I mean I feel very much awake, but humors?"
"Yeah, it sort of flies in the face of modern medicine. Speaking of, any idea where I could get me some hydrochloric acid?"
"You are not bringing hydrochloric acid in my house. You are not.
"Where did you learn to do these things, anyway?"
"Um. Good question. Hold on."
He repeated the trick with the glass.
"Jesus Christ this is strong. I think we need smaller blueberries. So, yeah, I know how to do stuff. I think I'm calling in sick today."
"You don't have many sick days left, babe."
"This is bigger than my job."
"No, it isn't. It's cool, I'll give you that, but is it worth it getting fired?"
"Tell you what. We're not going anywhere this weekend, and I'll try to see if I can come up with something."
"Such as?"
"Well, lead-to-gold would be the gist of it..."
"Fine, sure, you do that. Meanwhile, get dressed, we're going to miss the bus."
"Sure thing, baby."
> I've been playing [Hadean Lands](http://hadeanlands.com/) a lot lately. The first ritual described is the first ritual you do in the game.
> Also, my girlfriend would probably be much more enthusiastic about alchemy, because she's wonderfully supportive. | 2022-05-24T13:04:12 | 2015-06-18T08:11:46 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] You obtain a device that tells you exactly what choices to make in order to lead the "happiest" life possible. Some of these choices get hard to make. | !!CALL ME BEFORE YOU READ THIS!!
10 years ago today, I got a package delivered to me. There wasn't a return address, and I didn't order anything. Perhaps foolishly, I opened it anyway.
Inside was a leather-bound book, and every page was blank, except the first page. The first page said "keep this book and read it daily."
I thought it was kind of odd, so I kept it, and the next day I opened it up. I flipped past the first page and discovered the second page now had something written on it. It simply said "Call in sick today." I had some sick time to burn, and it was a nice day, so why not? Why not indeed! That evening I learned an airplane had crashed into my work, killing almost everyone. I looked at the book so innocently sitting on my coffee table, and wondered.
And so the years went by. Most days there wouldn't be anything new, but sometimes it would prompt me to make some choice that I wouldn't normally make. Taking my car to the mechanic when nothing was wrong with it (gas was leaking onto my brakes, somehow), or taking a vacation to the beach (met my wife!).
My life is a million times better than I ever expected it to be! I'm well off, I own my home outright, I have a loving wife and two beautiful children. The book has never steered me wrong.
But if you're reading this, then the book has led me wrong. Last week I opened the book and it said "Buy a pistol." I did. And this morning it said "Kill your wife as she sleeps. Do not let her wake."
I couldn't do it. I can't do it. I won't do it. I pray the book is wrong. I don't know what is going to happen, but that's why I'm writing this letter and mailing it to you. I sincerely hope we'll laugh about this in a week. If not? Tell mom I love her. | I awoke early that morning feeling like it was Christmas, the release of Apple’s newest highly limited edition product was today and I was one of the lucky 100 people who were randomly selected to receive one. I got ready hastily and ran out the door of my house to get into my car. I turned on the engine and pulled out of my driveway, as I was barreling down the freeway all I could think of was how much this new device was going to change my life. I arrived at Apple Campus and left my car, my hands were already shaking with anticipation. As I looked around I admired the work environment Apple’s engineers were in and started to wonder why I studied Ancient Greek Comedy in college rather than software engineering. I made my way to visitors booth to ask where I was supposed to go.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Where are we supposed to go if we were selected to try out Apple’s newest product?”
“Just walk straight down that hall and take a left,” she replied.
As I continued down the hallway I eventually found where I was supposed to go. A small auditorium with almost all the seats filled, as I made my way in and found a seat the lights began to dim. Apple CEO Tim Cook took the stage and spotlight illuminated him.
“Welcome,” He said proudly, “To the greatest technological reveal of all time! Today we will present to you a life altering device more technologically advanced than any Apple, Microsoft, or Samsung device has ever been. This device will allow the user to achieve the greatest possible amount of happiness by utilizing an advanced Utilitarian Calculus system, which allows the device to inform the user of what decision he or she can make that will allow for the best possible outcome. This device is the iDecision!”
There was a thunderous applause and the entire audience stood up. I could not believe what I was hearing and it was even harder to believe that I was selected to receive one. Shortly after the conclusion of Mr. Cooks speech we all filled out of the auditorium and went into a room where they were distributing the iDecision. I received mine and quickly headed to my car, I was too excited to use the device to stay at Apple Campus any longer. As soon as got into my car I asked the device what song I should play.
“Siri, what song should I listen to?” I inquired.
“Panda by Desiigner,” the device responded in a cheerful tone.
So I began to play Panda and I could quickly tell this was the right decision. I continued asking the device for advice for weeks and it was quickly changing my life. I was no longer depressed, I found a girlfriend, and reconnected with many old friends. My life was changing for the better and I was happy. Until the day that changed me forever. I was heading home at night after a visit to my parents’ house when seemingly out of nowhere a child appeared in front of my vehicle. It all happened so fast and I couldn’t stop, I got of my car and saw what had happened. He was on the ground shrieking with pain. I attempted to calm him down but I was too panicked myself. There was only one thing that could help. I pulled out my iDecision and frantically asked it for help. It said nothing. I asked again, and now I wish I hadn’t.
“Kill the child,” the device said in its usual merry way.
“What!!!” I exclaimed furiously.
“Kill the child or spend go to prison for running him over. You will lose everything if you don’t kill him. If you kill him you won’t be caught.” The device advised.
“No please there must be another option,” I begged as tears welled in my eyes.
“There is no other option that can lead to eventual happiness. If you don’t kill the child you will go to prison, lose your girlfriend, lose all of your friends, and lose your job. If you wish to be happy kill the child,” the device responded in an almost devious tone.
What I did next I will not say. Neither will I reveal who I am, but this is a warning to never let anyone or anything have control over your life. Happiness comes from within and no one can give it you. Do not make the same mistakes as me. Do not let others have control over your choices.
| 2016-05-05T07:56:19 | 2016-05-05T07:07:56 | 46 | 15 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | Once again, the pain woke me. It hurt a lot to start breathing again. All my organs were resuming their function, and it was not a pleasant sensation.
I opened my eyes, trying to figure out were I was. An hospital room. What was it this time? Oh yes, pills. Lots of pills.
On my bedside, a handwritten note. I wait a couple of minutes, for my muscle to be usable again, and reach for paper.
Of course it's from her. Lucy. My "number one" fan. Literally.
*Andy*, the note says. *You have to stop doing that. It's not a life anymore your having, and it's starting to be ridiculous. Please, live your life.*
I stop reading there. I know what she's going to say. It's always the same thing anyway. Grab the alarm button and press it, calling for a nurse.
Sarah in.
"Mr Waylan, you're awake. " She had a sad smile.
"Hello Sarah. What's the date today? "
"August 6th"
"Already?! Lucy, she is... "
"In the room next door. You want to see her?"
"Yes please"
"Aren't you tired of all this? When is this gonna end." She scolded.
She helped me get in a wheelchair, and pushed me Lucy's room. The young girl was lying, a white sheet over her body. There was doubt she was dead.
"Leave me" I said.
Sarah didn't say anything and left.
I looked at Lucy. I didn't have to remove the sheer to know what she looked like. Blond, long hair, braces, freckles. The only unknown for me was her voice. Maybe I should ask for that, for next time.
A notepad and pen were resting on her nightstand. I grabbed them. My last message was still there on the first page. She had just written I love you below it.
I put it down.
"Lucy, *you* have to stop doing this. You have your life to live. I'm already 40, you're not old enough to drink. "
I reached for an empty glass on her nightstand, and looked at it.
"I can't have you sacrificing your life for me, over and over. Please." Tears started to roll on my cheeks.
I let the glad drop, sharing in pieces on the floor. I picked up a long shard and looked my wrist. Already half a dozen scars. What was one more.
| The lights were so bright that they hurt my eyes.
I looked out into the crowd but the radiance of the lights just cast dark shadows on everyone's face. Anonymity, how I envied you.
"Everyone welcome singer-songwriter, Mitchell Ackermann!"
The dark bodies began clapping. I walked onto the stage and took my seat across from my host, John Arsenio.
"Glad to have you back! Last time you were sitting across from me, you were bald!"
"Rogaine does wonders," I said.
John laughed. "You're a miracle Mitch. You came back from fighting cancer for two years. They said it was untreatable."
"Well, cancer underestimated me John," I said, trying to maintain an act of confidence. "Plus, I wanted my hair back."
John laughed again, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was a talk show host laugh. Because when John laughed, everyone in the crowd laughed, and everyone in the crowd felt good. Mad Mitch just beat cancer, and now was the time to laugh and celebrate.
"And now, it's time for everyone's favorite! Celebrity singing impressions! Bridget, spin the wheel!"
I wasn't about to sing on national television.
"Sorry to be a buzzkill, John, but the doctors actually told me I couldn't sing. The cancer really damaged my throat,"
"Oh, humor me a little bit, Mitch!" John Arsenio smiled at me. He was always so good at smiling. I could hear the dark faces egging me on.
"I'm sorry, I really can't. Doctor's orders."
"Well that's a shame. It's time for everyone's second favorite! Celebrity impressions! Bridget, you know the drill."
I turned at the lights and laughed.
---------------------------
"Hey, I'm home."
I kicked off my boots and threw my coat on the couch. It was silent.
"I know you're here," I said, pouring myself a glass of water.
Sarah came storming out of the bedroom. "Where were you last night?"
"I was at an afterparty. David invited me and David is Mitch's old friend. I had to go. He hasn't seen Mitch since he got diagnosed," I explained.
"Yesterday was our anniversary, Paul!"
"I know! I texted you that I wouldn't be able to make it back!"
"So some dumb after party was more important than our anniversary?" Sarah crossed her arms and looked away. "Ever since the surgery, you haven't been yourself."
"I didn't do this for me, Sarah, it was for Mitch!"
"And what about me? What about all of your friends? I have to tell them that Paul just up and left and I don't know where he went. Now I'm Sarah, the wife of a man who hated her so much he went into hiding."
"Sarah, that's not how it is. You know what my brother was going through. Everyday, he'd wake up in pain, and he cried himself to sleep every night. He couldn't even sleep without the morphine. And every time he'd pass, some asshole would bring him back! The last time I talked to him, he was begging me to kill him."
Sarah just shook her head. "All I see now when I look at your face is Mitch."
"Well that's the idea, I have to convince everyone he's still alive."
"And in the meantime you convinced me that Paul is dead."
She slid off her wedding ring and threw it at me.
"I never see you wearing it, so I guess I don't need it." She went back into the bedroom and came out with a suitcase. "Goodbye, Paul. If he's even still in there."
She left and I didn't stop her. I couldn't stop her. She was right and I was wrong.
I went to the bathroom to wash my face. I flicked the lights on. I looked at my face - no - my brother's face, and wondered about what might've been if I hadn't taken his place. He would be in agony right now, and I would be an awful brother.
Now I'm an awful husband.
It's easy to fake your own death. Plenty of people in history have done it before. The infamous who could only be exonerated through death, or the famous who hated all the attention. But faking your own life is hard. You have to give all your burdens to someone else.
And those burdens were become too heavy to bear.
I picked up the phone.
"Hello, this is Dr. Krupal's Cosmetic Surgery Clinic, how may I help you today?"
"Yes, I'd like to make an appointment." | 2016-07-06T22:50:38 | 2016-07-06T22:39:32 | 259 | 27 |
[WP]When you die you find out heaven is real. Well actually all versions of heaven are real and you apply for them like colleges, you get denial letters and can transfer. You may not get into Catholic heaven, Mormon heaven, or Muslim heaven, but you may be a shoe in for Valhalla.
Friends and I were talking about this last night and thought it would be an interesting afterlife. | “Heavens gates won’t up for me.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. Of all the things to linger in his head at a time like this, a line from Nickelback was what stuck. He didn’t even like them. But the line fit. He looked down at the letter in his hands with disgust and despair. He’d been rejected by Heaven. Not just rejected, but universally rejected, by Roman Catholic Heaven, Episcopal, Southern Baptist… all of the denominations he had applied to. He wondered when the fire and brimstone would kick in, but apparently Hell was just sitting around here for eternity.
He thought about his options and found them severely lacking. He wasn’t a Jew, he wasn’t a Mormon, he’d rather sit here for eternity than apply to Muslim heaven, he couldn’t understand, nor did he want to understand, the application to Hindu heaven, and the thought of being reincarnated to Earth after all the shit he had put up with, up to and including having his leg blown off by an IED and bleeding out, had absolutely no fucking appeal. He crumpled up the rejection letter, bitter tears forming in his eyes.
“So, you were rejected by Heaven?”
Jacob stiffened, then leapt to his feet and turned as one action. The woman remained still, standing stiffly at attention, her hand on a sword. She was tall, thin, had long, wispy white hair and looked at him with burning blue eyes. He shivered under her gaze, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I am a servant. You are Jacob Frams?” It was a question, but at the same time not. He swallowed, and then nodded. She gave the barest of nods, and held out a piece of paper wrapped in string, “I am here to retrieve you if you so desire.”
He blinked and looked down, mulling the situation over for a moment before snatching the scroll from her hand. Her hand dropped, but she remained still as he glanced between her and the letter. “Jacob Frams, private first class, you are hereby invited to Valhalla.”
That was it. It was as short and sweet as he wished some briefings had been. He glanced up, the coin dropping, “You’re one of those Valkyrie things, aren’t you?”
She nodded, “I am here to await your response. If you desire to go to Valhalla I will bring you there.”
He paused, then swallowed, “But I was never a follower of the Norse gods. I grew up in Virginia for Christ’s sake.”
“That did not stop Odin from watching you.” She said simply, “You fought in battles, you dragged two wounded comrades away from battle and you killed seven people who were trying to kill you or those with you. You have been deemed worthy.”
Jacob paused for a moment, “You guys have beer, right?”
The Valkyrie smirked and began to lead the way. | He awoke, coughing and sputtering as the inky back waters spit him up. Crawling on hands and knees inch by inch up the inclined beach, unsure of his surroundings and confused about how he got into that water, he continued upward till he fell face down on the warm sands.
Just moments ago he was sitting in his car...was he driving over a bridge? No, that couldn't be, he was in the middle of the city...what happened....think....
A pair of boot covered feet appeared in the sand before him, lifting his weary head up to look at whoever just discovered him. Before him a towering man with a bushy red beard, body armor, a old style megaphone and across his broad back an AR15 slung. "There ya are, been waitin for ya!" the man said in a bombing voice..
He coughed, sputtering and lifting himself onto his arms and knees "...e...expecting me?! what the fuck happened, where am I?" he gazed around at his surroundings, before him stretched a lush green pasture, cradled in the distance of great snow peaked mountains beneath a warm bright sun. Behind him a dark, black, near bottomless ocean of softly crashing waves lapping at his bare feet. Finally gathering the strength to get to his knees and then his feet, feeling the strong hand of the red bearded man grasp him by the arm and help him up...
"There ya go lad, get to yer feet...its quite a swim and we don't get many of ya lately!" The hulking man said in his bombing proud voice, giving him a strong pat on the back with a chuckle.
"don't get many of us? Where is this? where is my family? what happened?!" he asked starting to panic, a strange sinking feeling creeping over him, remembering the events now as they unfolded. Him sitting in his car, speaking into his radio, and then a bright flash and sudden bang...then a hot wetness running down his face, that slowly consumed and drowned him..filled his mouth and nose and throat..taking him downward till he had no more breath left, then spit him up onto this very beach..
"Aye lad, all questions im used to hearin...all questions worthy of answer" the big red bearded man said "walk with me, lets go getcha dry" he added...putting his arm around him and leading him up the beach "We don't get many of yas cause you stopped wantin' to come, ye stopped seekin yer glory and your honor and your strength and started worshipin weakness and cowardice and greed..."
he walked beside the man, lost, unsure what to do, the events still unfolding in his mind "But, I was...on a call"
The hulking man smiled "Aye you was on a call, I was watchin! You was sitting and waiting for those evil bastards to come out, and one already slipped the door before ye arrived..." a bit of anger rising up in the large man, leading him towards a path in the distance. "
He frowns "he shot me, the bastard shot me in the head..."
The hulking man stops and nods "aye, he did..."
He shakes his head "But...I was a christian, I was supposed to go to heaven..."
The hulking man nods and frowns, furrowing his brow "Aye ye was, or ye thought you was, you applied, but...heaven has a tendency of being far to exclusionary for most...It tends to want the meek and the lamb like, so wolves like you are just not a good fit. But all be damned if I was ta let ya sink into that inky blackness and fade away...we don't let good warriors go here, no sir. We cherish the wolf who keeps the darkness at bay"
He frowns and shakes his head "this all doesn't make sense, its...its all to much"
The hulking man smiles "i know lad, its a hell of a bomb shell, but head on up the road a bit and you will come to a tavern. Don't bother knockin, just go on in. My brothers and sisters are expecting ya, and I think you will find your questions answered in time. its a challenge, its a struggle, but you know all about that..."
he sighs and looks back across the inky black waters, then up the road "I guess I haven't much of a choice"
The big red bearded man laughed loudly "Oh you always got a choice, but fucks if this isn't the best one for ya! Head on up there and get a drink and some dinner, relax a bit...cause tomorrow we are gonna meet again and start yer trainin!"
He looked at the main "training? I am dead, there is nothing more to train, this is my rest..."
The big hulking man smirked "no lad, this is the start of the real challenge, we got a war coming...a war for all of the world and all of humanity and all the things in it..and we need men like you! Strong of character and resolve, to stand with us..." | 2016-07-22T17:14:49 | 2016-07-22T17:14:19 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You have just let loose a string of vulgarities so potent that the patron saint of cursing has decided to personally pay you a visit to tell you to calm down. | It was a hot and humid day in Washington. My car had a dent and no note left behind. Traffic was awful. My boss bitching at me again. The phones ringing along with the awfully ineffective ceiling fan. Then along comes this absolute bitch. And I snapped.
The managers all looked at me with fear, slowly shuffling towards the nearest exits. My boss had already ran away and I could hear the tires of his BMW screeching as he frantically removed himself from the scene. I just went back to work, hoping nobody would mind but the lady had already hung up. Hours went by but I felt happy and content. No one was a problem. The grandpa that always told me how he despised what 'Obama has done to the news' was quiet and polite. And then they came.
Three black limousines pulled up, men in black behind the wheels. Serious stuff. They pushed the security guard out of the way. The one thing he knew to do was get out of the way, the bastard. They coldly told me to get in the van. I've seen enough spy movies, this would either end with me or them in a ditch.
As we were driving along the highway in the Audi R8 i felt something. The presence of a higher being who was wronged, banished from or to hell.
We landed at a lone hangar of Heathrow airport, far from any authorities even though they were only a few meters away. As I stepped off the boat I was blindfolded and guided through a bunch of doors until I was seated. The echo made it clear that this was, in fact, the inside of the great plane garage.
"What the fuck have you done?"
The person tried to hide his voice but I knew from the get-go who it was.
"I fucking asked you something. What. Did. You. Do."
"I did what I had to do. Costumer service, you see."
A deep sigh was the answer.
"This lady was on the phone for hours on end. I... I just couldn't take it anymore. Do you have any idea how-"
"I know damn well what it's like. I dealt with people like that longer than you have. But you have to understand that it's not a solution. You have unleashed something with both great and no power. It won't fix shit. In three hours, you will be back at your work. Nobody will say anything because they won't know anything. But let this be a warning. I've been gifted with this and I've used it for nothing but good. But it's up to you how to use it. Make me proud."
I understood. I was blessed with swearing. But after all, I just had one question.
"Can I ask you an unrelated question?"
"Of course. What is it?"
"How do you even cook a steak, sir Ramsay? I always burn them." | It's been 3 years since the sun went "Out of Phase". That's what the scientists called it... But I'm not a scientist. I'm not even a plumber. The only reason I'm in this darn crawl-space is because I don't want to die. . .
6 hours? Christ, it feels like I've been down in this steamy freaking mess for days. But someone's gotta get the heat running. . .
Deep breath. Hold it. Close your eyes, reach between the pipes with the gloves. Turn what's left of that pipe. No dexterity. Fuck that's hot. Turn... God my knees are killing me. . . quick gasps, I need air... Back out.
Shit, it's like scubadiving in Piss! Even when I back out, there's no air, there's no light, I'm just sweating to death while those fucking people are sitting there like mewling goddamn quims upstairs, freezing to goddamn death. Cowards. Mildred especially. Fuck her. Fuck all of them. Assholes. Shhhhiiiittt.
Ok. I've had my tantrum. Once more.
Deep breath. Reach. Ow. Turn, just fore-finger and thumb through an oven mit, God my forearm hurts. My knees hurt. We're all freezing to death and I'm covered in steam burns. . .Turn, don't drop it...
**CLANG PSSSHHHHHHHHHH!**
"SHIT! DAMN DAMN SHIT! OHHHHH.... Ohh... Oh you SHITTING BASTARD! NO GODFUCKING SLUT NO!"
I take a deep breath of steam. The blunt from hell.
*GASP*
SHIT PISS CUNT FUCK COCKSUCKER MOTHERFUCKER TITS! YOU FUCKING PIPE!
The pain is everything, but my mouth is on autopilot.
"I'm gonna grab you, you no good dirty rotten pig stealing great great grand pipe, and stick you in the FUCKING LAVA beneath this SHIT ASS EARTH, and SODOMIZE THE NEXT LIVING SHITSTAIN I SEE WITH YOU! Oh Mildred, fuck that, UP THE CUNT MILDRED! I'MMA FUCK YOU UP THE CUNT WITH THE DEVIL'S RED HOT COCK MILDRED! YOU'LL RIDE TALL ON THE TOP OF A SCROTUM POLL MADE FROM THE HEADS OF ALL THESE WORTHLESS GOD DAMN PUSSY MAGGOTY FAGGITY PUSS BUCKETS!"
The world is fading to black. . .
Then to white.
Dean. Dean.
"FUCK YOU. WHAT?"
Calm down Dean.
"EAT SHIT. I'M DEAD. FUCK OFF."
I'm here to help Dean. Really.
"Oh, now someone wants to help? Who the fuck are you? 3 years, I've had no goddamn help! A FANFUCKINGWONDERFUL TIME FOR HELP!"
Dean, really. Calm down. Let's say that I'm a fellow potty mouth. I used to swear. A lot. The sacred words, thousands of years ago...
It takes quite a bit to summon me. You're really lucky, and really good! Back when there were billions of people, all of them saying the bad words, I couldn't focus on anything. Just noise, endless noise, for the last several centuries. But now! Oh wow... There's been almost silence for months now! But your voice, so strong, and clear...
"Where the hell am I? What's going on?"
Don't worry Dean, you won't be here for long. I've fixed your plumbing for you. I've fixed all of the plumbing, actually. You're gonna be a legend Dean. The people, they heard you. They all heard you!
"Who gives a shit? It's about damn time! Useless sacks of..."
Woah, woah, calm down. Here's how it's gonna work. Everything's fixed, for now, but you scared everyone. They know now that they need you, but they also know that you hate them. But they like you! They really do! And they feel bad...
For the rest of your time here at this place, the people will do ANYTHING to make you happy. Keep you happy. And if they don't, well, I've got your back. The world is a much smaller place now, and I've got much more power. . . If you ever need me, just call me. Any problem. I'm a fan of yours now, and I'm a good fan to have Dean. Oh, and Mildred's dead. You're welcome. Fuck that bitch.
Remember, Dean... ^call ^me... ^^when ^^you ^^need ^^me...
Sound. A Real sound. A clang. Someone is dragging me, I feel it. A real voice speaks...
"Dean?!"
I'm alive.
| 2016-07-23T09:26:45 | 2016-07-23T09:07:28 | 104 | 22 |
[WP] "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat."
UPDATE: I must say, I did *not* expect a cheap [Godzilla Threshold](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GodzillaThreshold) prompt to become my most upvoted post. I'm quite enjoying all of your stories so far, so keep it up! | "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat!" Mike yelled, slamming his fist on the table, causing the scattering of cans and bottles to rattle.
"Mike, I swear to god if you keep complaining about the election I'm going to stop coming out with you." Carl sighed as he pitched the bridge of his nose.
"Seriously man, you've gotta stop with it" Cthulhu flanged as he reached down and delicately picked up a keg between his fingers. Raising it to his face, he flicked the top with his clawed thumb and rocked his head back, draining its, contents in one gulp. Groaning with contentment, he crushed the empty keg between two fingers. "I come here to blow off steam, not get roped into running for office again." | I never thought I would see her wearing a full body armor and wielding twin plasma machinegun as large as a motorcycle. Heck, I never imagined I would see her holding something larger than my dog.
Valiantly, she charged upon the hordes of gray six meter long worms, accurately evaporated their heads and hearts. But the hordes never stop. At the middle of the city was a gleaming red portal where various creatures worse than even my worst dream, and it got worse by the minutes.
I felt pathetic. Again and again, she saved me from huge psychedelic creatures, many of which are nematoids and insectoid in nature, while I could only run, avoiding the ruin brought forth by both side alike.
And then a giant frog, larger than a hill, appeared from the portal. Easily, it swatted the squad fighting its minion, turning almost half of them into traces of vermilion, not even a corpse remains.
I can't see her.
Amidst the destruction brought forth by the giant frog, a name repeated itself in my mind, along with the color red. *"Ythogtha is the savior, Ythogtha you shall worship, in Ythogtha you shall pray...."*
"Shut up!" again, I searched for her, ignoring the carnage, but deep inside I know I would never saw her again. "YOU!" I challenged the one-eyed Ythogtha, and it halted.
I felt fear. But I cannot step back. Another voice whispered into my mind *"Kill it. Retrieve her. Call for my name. Call for Cthulhu."*
Part of me knew this second voice was far older, far more powerful, the exact power I need to defeat Ythogtha. But this is an unbridled power which could very well destroy the Earth merely by stepping on it. Turning to Cthulhu would defeat Ythogtha instantly, but no life would be saved, nor would she return to my side.
"I won't surrender to either of you. I'm done with depending to others, letting others took the responsibility for something I should have done but didn't. This human," I pointed to my chest "at least *this* human won't surrender to you" I declared, again looking straight to the gigantic eyes that corrupted and killed its surrounding just by existing.
"What was dead shall stay dead, dreaming it shall be but even its dream shall be taken from it."
The ancient powers intrigued, by this human who impudently ascended to their place. I smiled. "Have you ever tried erasing yourself out of existence?" I reached up, my small human hands too far away from reaching Ythogtha, but that didn't matter. With a simple gesture, Ythogtha was crushed down to a pool of acid, where millions of nightmare creatures spawned. But they too, was crushed by my hands.
*"Impossible, a mere human? Gaining such power, not to mention killing my spawn? Impossible, this is impossible!"*
"Don't worry, little octopus, I'll come to you soon." | 2016-12-22T03:07:08 | 2016-12-21T23:42:28 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] When you survive a near-death experience, you become immune to it. Survive a gun shot? Immune to bullets. Survive a plane crash? Can't be killed in plane crashes... | Very rarely did we ever have any repeat customers in the emergency room. Most survived their tragedy, whether it be a dangerous work environment or reckless driving, and then it didn't matter whether or not they continued these dangerous habits- who cared when they were immune?
We called him the stuntman, partly to protect patient privacy, and partly because he just kept coming back to do some stupid dangerous thing. Seriously, the dude was immortal. First week, he'd come in with a bullet to the fuckin' head. Second week, twelve broken bones, likely from a fall of some sort. Then we had drowning, electrocution, and toxins. Today, it was immolation. And he was finally assigned to me.
"Good afternoon, my name is Doctor Baum, how are you feeling today?" I stared at the immortal himself, lying there on the bed covered in dressings. He maybe immortal, but his skin certainly isn't. He groaned in response to my question.
"So, we've had a lot of patients try what you just did, and I have to say, I am a huge fan. You seem to be the very first person to accomplish total immunity! We are extremely confident that the only way you'll die is from old age. You just rest up and let your body heal."
He whispered something, tears streaming down his cheeks. I couldn't quite make it out.
"I understand the debridement is excruciatingly painful, but you have to know your skin is almost all gone. Luckily, you aren't at risk of death. I'll have the nurse increase your analgesic dosage."
He whispered louder, chest heaving with effort. I leaned in close this time, and could just barely make out, "I just want to die." | Near-death experiences are never fun. Ever. Remember that saying 'What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger?', yeah. I think its a little bit too literal for me now.
Let's go through the first 'incident' that caused me to hate near-death experiences.
I was shot during one of my hunting experiences with Pops, had to get rushed to the hospital for it. I apparently almost died of blood loss. I've a scar for it now after the bullet went straight through the side of my neck, hitting an artery.
A few weeks later and I'm being held at gunpoint just because I was walking alone at night by myself after a night of hanging out with some of my friends.
I felt the gun pressed into my back as I was reaching into my pocket for my wallet. Next thing I know, I hear a gunshot come from behind me. No pain. I turned around and the mugger is staring at me like I grew a 2nd head. He points the gun at me again, and fires two more rounds at me.
I flinched, and cover my face in hopes to protect myself. Still, no pain. I opened my eyes and looked around, the mugger was nowhere in sight. My wallet was on the ground when I dropped it after hearing the first shot, I went to pick it up and noticed a small object giving off a shine from the street light. I picked it up and took a close look at it, it was a bullet. A bullet that looked like it had impacted something. I thought it was strange and that's when I noticed the small marks on my hand.
The marks were small. I touched the marks but I felt no pain from them. I wondered how the marks could've gotten there on my hands. I looked around my feet again and saw two more shimmer objects in the streetlight. I picked them up and saw that they were bullets again, just like the first one. Smashed up like it hit something but didn't penetrate it. The mugger shot at me three times and I've got three bullets in my hands....
I couldn't possibly have some sort of super-hard skin, right? Those only exist in comic books and this is definitely not a comic book. I looked around some more to make sure that there wasn't any other bullets around. I couldn't find anymore and decided to go home.
On my way home I pulled out my phone, one of the newest 'Robit' models that are really popular with a touchscreen interface, only one button located at the top to turn it on or off, and could do just about anything with its programs called 'Grams'. Couldn't tell you why you they call them 'grams', I think 'Apps' would've worked better for a generic name. I decided to open up my favorite 'Gram' called 'Postit', where you would be able to make posts about anything in one of its 'Subpostit'.
Browsing through the many different 'subpostits', I failed to notice the pole in front of me.
....I kinda ran into it.
I rubbed my head where I hit pole and scoffed at the thoughts I had earlier of having some super-thick skin. If that was the case then I wouldn't be in pain right now, at all. I continued on my way and finally made home.
After getting inside, I glanced at the clock in the hallway. 9:00 PM, Mom and Pops aren't home yet. Looking around the entrance, I noticed another small pair of shoes already there. My little sister was already home and probably in bed by now, glad she knows her bedtime without anyone telling her.
I stretched, went upstairs and opened the door to my room. I took a shower that night before going to bed, tossing all of my clothes into the hamper. It was that next morning, Saturday, where I would soon discover that I was just like those people in the comic books and would learn something valuable.
Near-death experiences really suck ass. | 2017-05-02T20:39:05 | 2017-05-02T20:27:34 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] Hell consists of one room, in which you meet the person you could have been. | She looked pretty dislevelled. Rushed off her feet. Her hair was in a bun, sneakers on her feet and a - ahem - tasteful pink tracksuit that was decorated with stains and spills.
I stood in front of her, in my high heels, designer nylons, the perfect flick on my winged eyeliner. She hadn't even run foundation across her face, and clearly never invested in anti-wrinkle cream. The lines were deep.
She was staring at me, but I didn't need to justify myself to anyone. Let success do the talking: the 4.0 GPA, the MBA, running some of the world's most successful companies. Let money do the talking: salaries that got fatter through the years, gourmet benefits, wise financial investments.
What exactly did I do to end up in hell, though? I paid my taxes, donated even more - I was kind to those around me, sympathetic, encouraging. I sometimes prayed, went to Church at Christmas.
And what did she have that I didn't? Grey hair, because she's too lazy to dye it? Cellulite, because she's too lazy to exercise?
We had eternity together, and it'd be a very boring one if I didn't try and see past her many, many flaws and try to connect on some level.
"Well, how are you?" I asked
"Good. You?" She replied
"Very well. So... What do you do?"
"Child minder. You?"
"How did your version of me become a child minder? I can't stand kids!"
"Once you have your own it's different."
"What?"
"Honestly, you have to experience it to know."
"I mean, when did you have kids?"
Her eyes lowered, shame still felt so many years later. "High school. The condom broke. I-I was too embarrassed to get emergency contraception."
I swallowed. "That happened to me, too."
"I couldn't abort. I couldn't."
"It was hard, but I had to."
"I had to drop out of school."
"I had to stay in school." | It was unbearably hot, but more in the Arizona mid summer sort of way. The receptionist shrugged and said the AC's out, usually it's not so bad. The smell of sulfur waited in the air, a lone fan blowing it this way and that. Turns out hell is mostly a bureaucracy. The line was ridiculously long. It was one of those "take a ticket" jobs, and I got ticket 957. They were on 23.
First second you walk in the room, you're nothing but questions. And mostly, you get eyerolls. No, you're going to be tortured. Yes, there are lakes of sulfur, no you're not going to be thrown in them. Jesus Christ, do we look like savages?
So what is hell? It's pretty simple. You sit in line, for a long, long time. Eventually, you meet your "maximum self." You bask in the glory. Then someone comes in, lops off your spirit head, you die, and you're reborn. And you start all over. If you live a good life, you get sent on to heaven, and the receptionist, she claims it's like Disney World and Cedar Point and every other theme park combined. And there are **no lines** - she added the emphasis, not me.
Anyways, my number comes up. A demon dude comes out and he looks just as bored as me. He says once they hit a thousand, he gets to go home, and he's looking forward to porking his wife.
So anyways, I get to the room, and meet my maximum self.
I'm not going to lie, the dude is hot. He's got half a foot on me, Turns out if you eat your vegetables as a kid, it really does make a difference. He is fit and muscular, has a six pack, and honestly, I'm straight and all, but this dude is messing with my head. Talk about self love.
"What's up bro, take a seat bro."
"Oh, ahh thanks, so you're my maximum self huh?"
"Oh yeah bro, I'm Justice Maximus for sure bro."
"Well, that's cool, I guess." Honestly, the dude is getting on my nerves a bit. "So umm, what did you do in your lifetime? I was an assistant store manager."
"Oh yea bro, I started out doing that same shit. You know Wendy from HR?"
"Yeah, the cute blonde."
"Yeah, she gave me AIDs."
"That, that sounds horrible."
"Oh no bro, it's cool. See, I was a bitch as mother fucker like you till I got AIDs. But you know what they say bro, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. Got AIDs and then I cured that shit bro."
"You ahhh, you cured AIDs? That's actually pretty cool."
"Oh yeah bro. I guess sense you're me, I can share the secret. It's kelp plus seaweed, plus that GNC Muscle Life Plus for Women shit -bought that by mistake the first time I swear it- plus a shot of unfiltered vodka. That shit is life bro."
"Wow, hey, you know that's pretty damn cool. You cured AIDs and what not. I'm, well I'm proud of myself."
"Oh yeah bro, and then I used it to make Africa and all the poor people and shit around the world fight for me. It was fucking glorious. I conquered Europe bro? You ever been to Europe bro?"
"Ahh, no."
"Yeah, I conquered that shit. And the Middle East. I brought peace bro, but I had to kill like 70% of the population."
"That's horrible man!"
He babbled on, talking about his conquests, and all the other STD's he got and all that. Looking at him, and hearing of all the horrible things he had done, it made me realize that sometimes it's best not to realize our potential. When the head choppy dude came in, I was so damn ready to get it over with. He thought that was odd, usually people wanted just one more minute, you know like when you wake up to go to work and want to finish that dream. Me? Hell no, I was ready to leave my "bro" behind and to go on and give my next life another shot. | 2017-05-30T22:53:50 | 2017-05-30T17:55:53 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Thousands of years from now when humans are extinct and dolphins are the dominant species they discover a mosquito in amber with perfectly preserved human DNA. Dolphin scientists are able to recreate humans and decide to make a giant theme park where dolphins come to see real live humans. | You know, living in the park isn’t so bad. I have enough space, enough to eat. They let me hang out with a couple buddies in here too, so it’s not like I’m that lonely. I guess I’m not even sure what I’m complaining about right now – I mean I only have to perform 3 times a day, considering the rotation with the other humans keeps us all from tiring out.
I figure I should just focus on the Big Screen like the others and not let my mind wander. That way the day goes by faster. The days really start dragging by when all you do is eat, perform, and watch the Big Screen. Today is no different than any other day. It is showing images of injured whales, skewered by spears and bleeding into the water; the sea, but with garbage floating on top like miniature islands; and pictures of us - not our exact likeness but more so a sweeping generalization of what we look like. I can hear the clicks and screeches that accompany the images on the screen, but they sound faint and ghostly through the thick glass that divides our enclosure from the sea floor. I wonder again what the sand would feel like between my feet – the grass has always made me somewhat itchy.
Looking out I am greeted by the intelligent gaze of several small porpoises. I can’t quite hear it, but I can see them chattering away in conversation. They turn back to me inquisitively and I can tell they are waiting for me to do something. Years ago, when I was younger and more ambitious, I would have smacked on the glass and shouted at them. I thought it would make me feel better to try and, I don’t know, scare them or something. I would even do cartwheels and press my naked body up to the glass. Anything to get a reaction, to prove to them and to myself that I was still alive. But after so long you just lose that zeal.
It’s not sudden. The melancholy creeps up slowly after each successive month and envelopes you in a way that is not unlike the feeling you get when you start getting sleepy in a hot room. Slowly the routine and the Big Screen and the same food every single day and all those intelligent eyes just blur together like one big run-on sentence. Now the only thing that even arouses my spirit is the whir of the compartment door where the TV Dinners come out.
But like I said, it’s really not that bad living in the park. I have enough space, enough to eat…
|
Keglo dashed over the reef and soared through the water towards the entrance of his favorite theme park; Meltdown Park. It was there that an entire zoo full of creatures from the meltdown period had been resurrected and displayed in artificial captivities of what was once their natural atmosphere.
'Whoa, slow down young Kegster' Gurgle, Keglo's father said as Keglo soared ahead of him.
'But dad, we have to get there before the lines get long' Keglo said as he kicked his fin as hard as he could.
A school of young, colorful tropical fish swam by and giggled. Gurgle caught the eye of a colorful, young cichlid which made his coiled rope unravel.
'Whoa dad, speaking of long lines' Keglo said in a Bart Simpson voice.
The school of fish laughed as they all had their attention drawn to Gurgle's dolphin penis.
'Why you little son of a bitch!' Gurgle shouted in anger as he swam at Keglo as fast as he could.
'Ahh! Dad I was just kidding' Keglo said as he furiously swam away from the wrath of his dad.
'When I get my fins on you, I am going to literally kill you!' Gurgle shouted as he zigged and zagged through the ocean trying to catch his son.
'Tickets here! Everyone, if you are trying to enter Meltdown Park, I'm going to need to take your tickets here' a teenage octopus said through long drags of his cigarette.
*Whoosh! Bam! Clash!* Keglo crashed through the ticket kiosk and sent the young octopus flying out of his way. The boy swam off while cursing under his breath 'I knew I should have worked at Aeropostle'. Gurgle came shooting past the broken kiosk after his son, fueled by a violent rage and a lust for his son's blood.
'Dad, stop! You're going mad' Keglo shouted back as he made his way through the maze of exhibits. Giant domes encased tribes of humans and animals that had all come from the time when the world was covered with land masses.
Keglo had an idea. He shot straight for one of the exhibits head on. His dad swam in his direct line behind him. He swam full speed straight towards the glass dome and right before he hit it, he lunged upwards dodged the glass dome. Gurgle, having been right behind Keglo, hadn't seen the dome coming and went crashing head first through the glass and into the exhibit of the humans. The open hole sent water gushing in the exhibit, the humans that were out of their homes went running away.
Outside the dome, three giant crabs came scuttling over toward the hole. They took out large strips of thick seaweed and then pasted the seaweed to the hole using their own saliva. The saliva hardened into a substance that was harder than concrete.
Keglo swam back towards the exhibit but was stopped by the crabs. 'Hey, whoa, no, no one goes past this line' the crab said as he drew a line in the ground with his claw. 'What are you, stupid? Can't you see that we just had a spill here?'
'My father's in there. I need to get to him' Keglo said as he tried to push past the crab. The crab snapped his claws in front of Keglo's face sending a hissing snap. 'Whoa, so it's your father who was the nutcase that decided to ram his mellon into our exhibit, huh?' the crab said with a sarcastic tone.
Inside the exhibit, Gurgle gasped for water. He floundered around aimlessly until he was so exhausted he could barely move. Then he noticed that his lungs weren't exploding at all. He could breath air, and not only that, his fins were starting to morph into arms. The ends of fins were turning into hands. His tail fin was splitting into two, and on the bottom of each fin was morphing feet.
'Ha ha, look at me! I'm a land creature now' Gurgle cried out to his son on the other side of the glass. 'I'm going to get all these other land creatures to revolt, and when we get out of here, I'm going to come and find you and then I'm going to force you to have anal sex with me!' Gurgle shouted as he waved his fist back and forth in the air.
Overhead a couple of mod sharks loomed and gave Gurgle a cautious eye.
'Uh, I mean... I was just kidding' Gurgle said as he looked towards the mod sharks apologetically. | 2017-06-27T09:12:23 | 2017-06-27T04:28:32 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage. | "Care for a drink?"
He is grinning at me with a cocky smile, one hand leaning on my table, one pointing towards the bar in the back of the cafe.
I smile at him but shake my head, motioning to the engagement ring on my finger. It's a cheap one- all me and John could afford after we had splurged on the 'Marriage' package ('Marry me', 'I do')- and it's made with a plastic stone, but it should be enough to explain what I'm trying to say.
"No," I say, curtly. Exaggerating a grimace to try and convey my apologies for brusque response. It's times like this when I wish I could afford the 'Manners' Package.
"Ouch. I understand though," he laughs. "Thanks anyway."
As he saunters off, I hear him mutter: "Wouldn't want to buy a mute-y like that a drink anyway."
My blood boils and I open my mouth to curse at him- but the shocking device in my tongue stops the words in my mouth with an excruciating jolt of pain. My phone buzzes with a notification.
'You have tried to use a word you have not paid for. If you attempt to again in the next 24 hours, you will be fined. To purchase use of this word and others like it, you may want to buy the 'Swears' Package', for your convenience.'
I bite my lip and shake my head. That's three warnings already today.
As I pay for my meal with a silent smile and throw on my coat, I ring up John. I step out into the biting cold just as he answers.
"Hello John. I love you."
"Hello Suzie. You bought new words?"
"Yes. Advanced Relationship package. Dual ownership. Try!"
I hear him key the package into his phone and mutter the list of words under his breath.
"I love you," he says, giddily. "Darling, Honey and p-"
I grin. Because there was another reason I had turned down the drink.
"Pregnant," I tell him.
| I pulled the black mask over my face and took a breath, making sure the holes for my nose weren't going to be an obstruction.
A snap at my left let me know that Jazz was ready too. I turn to face her and run through the plan with my hands. She signs that she's got it.
I prime the manual recharge laser gun and sprint through the parking lot. I see our shadows as we move, made long by the moon-bright LED sign for the building. ZIPFER cast in the shade of electric blue that shoots straight through your eyes and leaves splashes of neon directly on your brain.
He doesn't see us. He's too slow. He's too old. If Robbie had his information right, he's too high too. Too easy.
Jazz takes the lead, aiming and firing on the figure. A hole the size of a softball appears where a knee used to be. The figure falters mid-stride and falls forward. Their leg is a tree the lumberjack didn't quite finished cutting through. The smell of barbecue is in the air. The *Blue* has him too deep in its grip for him to scream.
We're close now. A few quick steps. I see the old man reach for something. A personal force field? A security beacon? Nanite defense framework switch? It doesn't matter. His movements are sluggish and I can't tell if it's the age or the drug. It doesn't matter. I blow his hand off, angling carefully to miss his torso. He opens his mouth wide. I can imagine what it's like to be him. To have to speak so badly and be unable to. Tragic.
The old man holds the nub that used to be his right hand with his left. A look of remote horror crosses his face like he's watching a horror movie. Jazz crouches next to him. I signal to her to stabilize him. I whip out the remote neural interlink from my pack. Jazz takes his pulse and props his head up on her laser gun. I hand her the RNI and she leans close to him, trying to get the spot right behind her left ear as close to the same place on him as possible. The RNI beeps once, then a short burst of 3 beeps. Connection established and currency transferring, as per the program I'd written. No authentication required.
After a few moments, Jazz leans away and hands me the RNI. I take her place. 1 beep. Then 3 short beeps. I linger a moment and then get up. It's done.
Jazz and I look at one another. We've waited for this moment for a long time. The old man's sputtering cough interrupts the moment. I look into his eyes with contempt.
"Richard. That is your name isn't it? Anyway, Richard, you're interrupting a very special moment." I kneel next to him, removing the gun from behind his head.
"Have you ever wanted to say something for months, maybe even years, and been fundamentally unable to do so?" I prime the gun.
"Have you ever forgotten the sound of your own voice because it's been so long since you've been able to speak? I doubt it." I check the sights on the gun and rest my eyes back on him.
"Richard, I want you to know that this wasn't personal. A man has to do what a man has to do is all." I chuckle to myself. "I've always wanted to say that. You know, you read things from books..." I catch myself rambling and take one last look at the trembling old man.
I vaporize an 80-year old skull. I try not to breathe in the stink of a life of unearned wealth. I turn back to Jazz.
"Where were we?"
"Here." She says.
Jasmine kneels in front of me and removes a small dark band from her pouch.
"Will you marry me?"
This is why we're here. I knew it when I got up today. I knew it when I put the mask on. I'm still not ready for this moment.
"Yes, a million times yes." I say. Tears flood my eyes.
"We can certainly afford it now." | 2017-09-20T09:38:24 | 2017-09-20T08:46:17 | 1,501 | 64 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage. | "Salutations, Sport. I am Senior Officer Greg Dunning. I welcome you to the New York Police Department."
Sport entered the car without reply, waiting for Dunning to continue.
"You have officially been authorized by the State of New York to fully utilize the Department of Justice vocabulary package." Dunning started driving as soon as Sport closed the door. Sport sat silently, gazing at the various extravagant signs and billboards as they passed.
"You do understand that you can speak clearly now, right? Sport?" Dunning said, abandoning his official tone. *Rookies are always mute.*
"Sorry." Sport replied sheepishly, "I- I'm not used to talking."
"Well, you're going to have to get used to it, Sport. This job involves a *lot* of talking."
Sport simply shrugged and resumed gazing silently.
Dunning frowned, but continued: "It's normal. Most recruits - all of them, really - can't afford a Vocab plan. They get their first taste of free speech here."
Dunning sipped his coffee and they both sat in silence at a red light. Suddenly a voice was coming from the monitor. It was issuing a set of numbers, each of which Sport was familiar with, but, perhaps because of his nervousness, could not make sense of.
"Well, what do you think? What do we do now?" asked Dunning, with a smirk.
*I didn't catch that fourth integer. I guess I'm just nervous on my first day,* Sport thought; though, what he said was, "I can't."
"Ha, yeah. Well, I know what you mean. Just follow my lead and you'll get used to it."
Dunning led Sport through a variety of encounters, some of which led to arrests, while others didn't. "Keep asking questions!" Dunning would tell him. "Make them as specific as you can! Most of the people we deal with are working class, and can't afford a decent Vocab."
"I guess I'll have to start ut-il-iz-ing." Sport said.
Another set of numbers started coming from the radio.
"You should be pretty happy," Dunning said with a frown as he looked at the monitor, "That you aren't doing *that* job. The numbermen, they're called. Public servants who don't work with people. The poor sods. They can only use numbers while on the clock. And I guarantee they can't afford a good Vocab plan. Ever met one?" Dunning grinned, but before Sport could retort, Dunning went on, "They're weird. Creepiest batch of nut-jobs on Earth. Ha!"
Sport paused for an uncomfortable duration, then finally said, "I *was* one."
They were both quiet. | Governments across the ages have been searching for ways to control their populace, whether it be restrictions of liberties, or some of the more recent and perhaps more devious ideas. Conspiracy theorists didn’t seem like such nutjobs once the great facebook hack revealed that governments were manipulating the content we viewed online. I never thought that such an indirect method would be so powerful in placating or manipulating entire populations of people. Though I like to think that we as a people are more than just the mob that Machiavelli viewed us to be, perhaps my glasses are too rosey. I don’t know what to think anymore.
Everything is so difficult to think about after the dawn of the new age. That’s what they call it, a new age of humanity. They said it was to “protect” us from dangerous thinking and violent people. I guess the state mandated drug regimen wasn’t enough to placate everyone. By the time they took us off the drugs, the Limit on Dangerous Speech Act was already in place. Everyone knew the drugs were messing with our heads, but we didn’t know they would be able to control our speech. The nanotechnology in the drugs attached itself to the speech centers of our brains enabling the government to limit the words we were able to say.
At first, it didn’t seem so bad. Arguments were settled quickly since nobody could verbally attack each other anymore. Misunderstandings seemed to be a thing of the past. Everyone was on a level playing field. Everyone except the rich that is. The government, being the greedy entity that it is still wanted more money. They allowed the rich to buy more words, taking restrictions off of their speech limiter to allow use of those words. There are still words the rich cannot buy and only the top government officials have access to. As a result, classism is evident even in everyday speech. The rich and the poor are divided by their vocabularies.
It has been 20 years and it is hardly possible for the rich to communicate with the poor anymore, even if they desired to. I think that after 20 years with such a limited vocabulary, the poor have all but forgotten the meanings of words they don’t have access to. Communication is now far more primitive, if it is present at all. The divisions now seem permanent. Without the ability to communicate with the rich, I believe it is impossible for those in the underclass to ever lift themselves into the ranks of the rich. The damage is even worse for the children, who have never known anything beyond the state allowed vocabulary. It is difficult to tell to what extent their mental processes were shaped by the few words they were able to learn and use.
I fear greatly for the future, but I think there is still hope. I am one of the fortunate. My family is rich enough to afford the purchasing of large numbers of words. Even with this great fortune I still believe I have lost words to the limitations of the government. I honestly can’t even remember anymore. However, in all my thinking on the matter I realize there are some things I have not lost. I still have fear, anger, pain, desperation, but most importantly I have hope. They may be able to limit what I say, but I can still feel. They have not yet stripped us of our emotions. I feel the injustice of our situation. I feel scared for the children. I feel hope. Though it seems the government has yet to realize it, their restriction of verbal communication seems to have an unintended side effect. Nonverbal communication has become much more important. What we say and hear is now less important than what we feel. The rich are still reliant on their words, but I think that in time, the poor will have no more need for language at all.
Soon, the government will come for me. If I’m lucky, they’ll just kill me. If i’m unlucky, they may strip my speech away. As I have not learned to live without my words I fear this will send me into madness. In any case I will not let them take all of me. I will retain my hope. I will spread my hope that humans unique and unrivaled ability to adapt and shape their world will yet allow us to overcome injustice. Though the great orators that have inspired the masses into action are a thing of the past, I think it is possible that new leaders may emerge. I dream that these leaders will lead through hope, through the emotion they can convey and the message they send even without words. One day the poor will rise again, and they will not need words to let everyone know of their fury. It will be evident, in their faces and in their actions. I affirm my hope and with that actions may truly speak louder than words. Though I don’t think that they intended it, the government’s limit on speech has surely thrust us into a new age of humanity. And again I hope that this new age of humanity without words, may be better to each other than we are now.
| 2017-09-20T16:27:10 | 2017-09-20T12:16:11 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | St Peter drops his pen in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
I look back. “I said, I choose Hell.”
“Son, do you know what they do to you in Hell?” St Peter asked. “They beat you, and torment you, and burn you in anguish until the end of time.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
St Peter sits back in his chair. He looks down at his desk, squints his eyes, then looks back. “Why do you choose Hell?”
“Sir,” I start, shuffling my feet, “I’ve gone through a lot in my time on Earth. I’ve suffered through a childhood that neglected me. My upbringing was sometimes a matter of life or death at home and at school. I joined the service for a worthy cause...”
St Peter puts his hand up to stop me. “You joined the service after your childhood? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
“No sir”, I explain, “I saw a worthy cause, and for the first time, I took it.” St Peter leans in, “What was it like?”
“I had good times, and I had bad times.” I lower my eyes, remembering my time on Earth. “I watched men kill, and be killed. I’ve lost friends, and I have sent men to their deaths.” My eyes start to well up in tears. “For that...just for that...I deserve no peace.”
I look back at St Peter as a tear falls from my eye. St Peter stands up, and hugs me. The first real hug I’ve gotten in a while. It felt weird to hug another man, but almost as if it was an automatic response, my arms fly around his body and I pull him in a tight embrace. We were there for what felt like eternity.
We finally stop hugging and I wipe tears from my eyes, nervously chuckling for crying. St Peer opens his giant golden book, signs something, then closes it. A golden gate opens up behind him as he puts his arm around me and leads me to it.
“Here, in Heaven, you will know peace.”
“Sir, I don’t know how to live in peace.”
I look back at him as he takes his place behind the Book of Life. “You will learn, soldier.”
You will learn.
| Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T09:22:44 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 115 | 13 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | The woman in the gate couldn't believe her eyes. There was a young woman there. In Hell. By choice. And she looked at peace. How long has she seeing something like this? 1000 years? 10000? It was so unexpected that she forgot the protocol. She just stared.
The girl approached the desk with small steps, looking around with an easy look. She cleaned her throat and spoked:
- Alright, where do I begin?
The woman recompose and started speaking.
- You need to sign here and here, with your name and information while alive. Do you see here? It says Hell. Do you know what that means?
The young woman calmly answered.
- Oh yes, I know very well. I'm the only one here, I presume?
- Yes, you are. The only human in many, many years.
- Okay, then. Let me fill this up.
- May I ask why, thought? - asked ashamed the woman in the desk. I just never expected this in all my immortality.
- Oh, of course. It is a little odd, isn't? Well. I just made a promise.
- You promised to go to Hell? Who would you made such promises and why? That's just insane! You can go to Heaven and never see the people! It's Heaven! If you choose, they're be away from you for eternity!
- But that wouldn't be right, would it? I made a promise and that would be cheating.
- But there's actual murderers there! Bad people, who broked a lot more than a promise.
- But these people are not me. And they made their choice. I made mine. - the young woman said like it was the ultimate truth. And it was. She made her choice.
- Can I ask you one more question before sending you in? I know it must be annoying answering, you don't have to if you don't want.
- I don't mind. I'll have eternity here anyway. What is it?
- Who was the promise to?
- My sister.
- Your sister wanted you to go to Hell?
- My sister wanted a lot of things, but never to be in the same place I was. And I love my sister more than anything alive or dead. So I came here, and she can go there.
The woman's look was the last thing the girl saw before the elevator started descending. | Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T09:21:04 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] You have a special power. Whenever your life is in danger; time freezes until you've made yourself safe. One day time stops, and nothing you do seems to make it start again. | You take a deep breath and begin looking around. No oncoming cars, from the looks of it. They’re all stopped at the light. Odd… Usually time freezes in an intersection are a gimmie. You finish crossing the street, expecting the sounds of traffic to spur back to life.
Nothing.
You examine the insides of the nearby vehicles. A shooting, perhaps? You walk between each vehicle in search of someone armed, but to no avail. You scan the tops of the nearby buildings, hoping to find a rogue sniper like an assassin out of a movie.
Still, nothing.
You rub your wrists out of habit, a nervous tick you developed in university. “Wait, is it always like that?” Your pulse is almost non-existent. Is it always that way when time freezes? You’ve never checked before.
Time is still frozen when you arrive at work, and you hustle past the statuesque patients seated about the clinic’s waiting room. Pushing into one of the patient rooms where a man is in the middle of having blood drawn, you unsuccessfully attempt to run some basic diagnostics on yourself. The equipment is unresponsive. “Alright, well I guess I have a couple of options. I’m either dying, or about to be killed…”
As you make your way out of town, you stop by the hospital on the way out. Navigating through the sanitized halls, you find yourself standing outside an operating room. You take a deep breath, “Please don’t let this be it.”
You push open the door to the O.R. and see a handful of doctors who appear to have just finished an operation. You pull a piece of scrap paper from your pocket and jot down a brief note: *Dying of unknown cause. Possible heart failure. Please help.* You grab a scalpel and leave it floating in the air in the hopes that it falling will grab the attention of the doctors in the room.
You hold the note to your chest and sit down on the surgical table. You close your eyes. “What if time does continue? What if I lay down and everything springs to back to life? Does time only continue if I’m guaranteed to live? It hasn’t gotten me killed yet, but… Oncoming traffic is such a black and white danger. Maybe it would be better to just continue like this, frozen. Never find the solution.”
You look around at the doctors in the room, suspended in time, forever trapped as they scrub out. Never again would they save a life or see their families. You think about your niece, saved on this very table when she was only three. Somewhere she is frozen too, petrified like a statue in Medusa’s garden.
You try to steady your shaky breathing and look down at the surgical table. You grit your teeth and prepare to plunge into the unknown. Holding the note to your chest, you recline onto the table.
*Clack-clang!*
The scalpel crashes to the ground, clattering across the tile. Your vision dims, and you become rapidly short of breath. You hear the voice of one of the doctors as he turns around and sees you lying supine on the table, “Who the hell is that!”
You sense the presence of another doctor who has rushed up to your body and read the note. You feel her checking for a pulse on your wrist, “Doesn’t matter, their pulse is weak. They don’t have much time.”
As the sound of the doctors hurrying about the O.R. grows faint, your vision goes black, and with it your consciousness leaves.
\------------
My medical expertise is virtually nonexistent, so please excuse any inaccuracies! | Everything is frozen and nothing seems to work. Normally, time stops when I'm in danger which I usually easily resolve by moving a few steps away. For example, in the jousting tournament last week, right as I charged down that lane with my steed towards an opponent, time froze for me. That gave me time to readjust myself minutely so that the enemy lance just *barely* missed me.
​
Now, nobody knows about my power. If they did know, I'm sure the castle's mages would love to capture me and cut me up to try to get some clues about their long, lost time magic. I've been using this power since roughly a few years ago. The benefit of having this power is that it easily helped make me an undefeated knight of the realm, giving me reputation and power that no second or third son of a baron would have otherwise.
​
Serving by the side of the king as his personal guard is something others consider to be of the highest honor. I just think of it as the highest position I can get in the realm. The thing is, most people find the king... a bit disagreeable. That means, there is the occasional assassin or rebellion. After all, he was chosen by default since he was the only son of the previous king. Honestly, it just makes this job feel less mundane standing around the throne room. With my power, they were never a challenge.
​
Today, just like everyday, I was just standing behind the mahogany throne of the king with my polished sword sitting at its sheath listening to the fossil-like king talk to the officials in a raspy voice, "You are saying there are food shortages due to locusts?"
​
In front of the king was a senior official, a man dressed in gray robes that looked like they belong on a carpet. The man pointed outside through a high window and said, "The people outside are crying for food. I propose we open up our granaries to try and help them."
​
From beside his throne, I saw the king roll his eyes and say, "I know you are just saying this so the commoners would have a better impression of you, but it's just us here. My knight also won't divulge anything. So just cut the-"
​
Time stopped.
​
The king's mouth hung open, as the words he was saying became trapped at his mouth. The senior official had his eyes closed, mid-blink. I yawned and stretched, "Great! What is it now? Assassins behind me? An arrow flying through the window?"
​
I turned around and scanned the shadows of the room, making sure nobody snuck in. Usually, it is one of the two things I mentioned. I highly doubt that senior official could harm me from that distance. I glanced out the window and mutter, "Hmm, that's strange. What else could it be?"
​
I walked over in front of the king, pulling him off of the throne and leaving him sitting on air in some corner of the room. I sat on the throne with my legs crossed and scrutinized the official in front of me. It doesn't look like he is carrying any weapons, no bumps on his clothes.
​
I stood up in frustration and walked out the throne room. There were two knights stationed at the doorway as usual, and the hallway was empty as usual. Just how is it that I am still in danger? I was so far away from the throne room! I could not help but yell in the face of one of the knights guarding the doorway, "Just what the hell is going on?"
​
Dang, that felt good. Could it just be old age? Poison? I can't do anything about these things. The notion of dying is scary to me. Honestly, I think it is my large fear of death that somehow granted me this power. Now, my power is causing me to stuck in a sort of limbo. I hope I find the cause soon.
​
\-------------------------------------------------------------
​
Inside the royal castle, there was a pile of people inside the throne room. The one thing they all had in common was their motionlessness. There were people in shining armor, butlers and maids, and a few mages in dark robes. At the bottom of the pile was an old man with a crown.
​
Beside that pile, was an auburn chair with ornate gems engraved on it. Beside it, was an unworn armor, a sheathed sword lying on the ground, and a dozen random books. A man with gray tipped hair madly flipped through a book about poisons with furrowed brows. His eyes had large black splotches underneath and his clothes were all lined with dirt and dust.
​
He suddenly stood up and tossed the book across the room and screamed in frustration, "I don't know if you are there, but whoever gave me this power... Just take it away! Get me out of this mess!"
​
Like a puppet, he powerlessly crumpled down on the floor as if his strings were cut. He missed the social interactions he had with the younger knights. He missed all the cheering he received during his returns from the battlefield.
​
He glanced out the window once more.
\------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! | 2019-09-15T11:03:30 | 2019-09-15T09:07:51 | 139 | 23 |
[WP] Spirit animals are real, but extremely secretive-- they are said to only appear in the most joyous times or in the darkest of hours. Except for geese. Geese do what they like. | Howard walked an ear reach and a step from the two girls in front of him. Their uniforms bore the same school emblem as the one on Howard's jacket breast.
They strode shoulder to shoulder, stopping occasionally to look back at him and giggle. The girl on the left had a jumper tied to her waist and her white shirt gleamed in the afternoon sun. But Howard's eyes were on the crescent eyes and pink lips of the girl on the right. Annabelle.
Annabelle glanced back again and her friend rolled her eyes. Howard wished he had the courage to walk with them, but they seemed engrossed in some funny thing already. Perhaps tomorrow.
A blunt stab shook Howard's gaze. At his feet stood his goose, staring him down (or up) like an incredulous judge. The goose jabbed beak against thigh again and Howard jumped back.
"Hey!"
The goose honked and flapped its wings. Most spirit animals radiated the ephemeral hues of their liege's soul. Howard had seen corporeal blues, iridescent golds; Annabel's was a dazzling pink. But his goose was a dusty grey-brown mud from its years of being out in the world. It had tasted freedom from its anima cage and Howard could never get it to go back.
Howard sighed. Maintaining beady pitted eye contact, the goose sauntered backward and kicked over a road cone. Howard rubbed his stinging leg and trudged to the fallen vigil to pick it back up. He liked to think he was a lawful individual. He kept his textbooks in his backpack arranged in alphabetical order. And so, as he watched his goose chase a flock of real birds, he wondered, why?
Howard's ears perked at a high pitched scream.
A bright flash zoomed past. A stumpy yellow tail of a rabbit jounced, its owner speeding away. Annabelle's friend sprinted past a moment later, mouth agape mid-scream.
He spun his head around. Annabelle stood with fists balled at her chest. Two men towered before her. Between them her pink Siamese crouched, haunches low to the ground.
Annabelle's brows furrowed in determined defiance. But Howard saw her leg tremble, and his own legs took off before he could think.
Howard hurtled down the hill. He blinked as a fiery red overtook him. It left a trail of mud and dirt streaming through the air that left Howard rubbing his eyes.
He forced them open. His goose was a flurry of squawks and flaps in the men's faces. They swung with blinded fists, one hand covering their eyes, but their enemy was rapid as a wind and ferocious as... a goose.
Howard's goose pecked with practiced beak, majestic wings flaring like capes, as it chased the men down the street. As Howard listened to its brave honks recede into the distance, he took a deep breath.
He turned to Annabelle. Howard wished that the courage of his spirit animal was beside him now.
No. His goose drew from the essence already inside him.
"Hi...uh...nice to meet you." | **HONK!!!**
"Whoa what was that?" Cathy said as her loud laughter was interrupted by an odd sound.
**HONK!!!**
"Sounds like an old car horn or something, I don't know" Tim said whilst peeking through the blinders from Cathy's room.
He scanned through what little opening the blinders offered. A car, a bike, maybe even a random ringtone of a stranger. He found nothing in particular no matter how hard he tried.
"Nada, empty. Maybe it was just in our head–"
"Shhh," Cathy put her palms onto Tim's mouth, "listen..."
The honking sound came echoing down the hallway. It seemed that whatever or whoever made the noise had made its way inside the house. The two was stunned at the lack of reaction from anyone at all at the noise. If anything, it added to the suspense even further.
Cathy looked towards Tim expectantly. She then cocked her head a bit, as if saying "get your arse out there..."
So he did. Armed with a tennis racket, a few balls in his shorts' pocket, he psyched himself up for a thief or something. He went slowly down the stairs, closely looking at the door and into the kitchen–
**HONK!!!**
Then he heard a girl's scream – it was Cathy's. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. He rushed back to her room, prepared for the worst. He made his confession just a few moments ago, so he would not dare to let harm came to her. With a slam of the door he braced his right hand ready to spring the racket forward.
But then he found a white goose perched between Cathy's plump thighs. The goose made another honking noise similar to what had been scaring them. Tim was confused – should he be mad, scared, or happy – at the sight of his love nursing a fluffy fat goose in the middle of the night.
"What the hell is going on here?" Tim blurted.
"Oh, I don't know, really. This adorable goose just made its' way to the room. I think it's not a normal goose though."
"No shit. A normal goose wouldn't wander around at night and barge in to someone's house! Fuckin' hell..."
Tim collapsed on the floor of Cathy's room. The surge of adrenaline that had pushed him to his physical limits seemed to have walked out on him. He buried his face on a mountain of clothes that Cathy had left on the floor. Seeing that, the girl pushed the goose away gently and slid onto Tim's side by the floor.
"Awww, cheer up! I knew you bravely charged through the dark corridors of my house just because you wanted to protect me!"
"... I mean, yeah. You kinda gave me the look earlier."
"You're my white knight, you know that?"
"Oh please, don't do that–"
Then an unfamiliar voice interrupted the two lovebirds, "righto laddie! You're quite the gentleman, aren't ya?"
"What the fuck?"
The young couple looked on in horror. The adorable goose that had just appeared out of nowhere spoke in a thick Scottish accent. Tim had bagpipes ringing on his ears, whilst Cathy went blank for a moment.
"Listen, lad... If you wanna keep the jolly lassie happy, then I suggest you make yourself into more of a manly man, ya know? Like one of them highlanders, with their kilts, burly muscles, thick beards, slingin' around logs and all!"
The two laughed at what the goose had said. It was absurd as hell but of course it couldn't top the talking goose on Cathy's bed.
"Okay, so many questions..." Cathy said still containing her laughter.
"Well go on, then! Ask away, I won't be here forever."
"First, what– or who are you?"
"The name's MacGeese. Don't ask why, but just know that's that. Next?"
Tim raised his hand as if he was in class, "so... why came here? Also why didn't anyone notice your god-awful loud honks?"
**HONK!!!**
"That? Oh lad, that's because only you and the beautiful young lass here can listen to whatever I'm doing. In fact, I'm most likely invisible to other people."
"Fascinating," Tim was clearly amused.
"So, why did you came?" Cathy squinted her eyes at the missing answer.
"Well, that's a long story. But the short of it is... I'm your spirit animal!" the goose honk once more, this time much gentler.
"I see. So the obvious question would be, why goose? Why can't I have something like a rabbit or maybe a hamster–"
"Lass, I don't make the fuckin' rules, yeah? I simply went when I needed to. In fact, I'll swing by every now and then because I bloody damn well want to, yeah?"
"Whoa there, take it easy Mr. MacGeese–"
"Fuckin– Right, okay. Just you know, Tim, I'll be watching over her so if you make any dumb arse shite..."
Tim gave the goose a salute with his two fingers. Cathy rolled her eyes at the weird interaction between the two. Deep down she was still disappointed at the goose.
*Who on Earth wants a bloody goose?* she thought to herself. | 2020-04-02T22:15:15 | 2020-04-02T20:26:44 | 160 | 14 |
[WP] "Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry." "Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" "No." | I knew the child was special from the moment he was born. His mother was a strong and healthy woman, and neither her pregnancy nor her birth had any complications whatsoever. Despite this, the moment she held our son in her arms her heartrate fell to naught.
I was devastated, of course. Who wouldn't be? I did not see the signs, though, because I refused to even consider the possibility. Not my boy, no, never my boy. He wouldn't ever become something like that. My boy was different, he was too smart to waste his talents on a doomed quest for vengeance.
One day, however, not so coincidentally as he just entered High School, he began to show *signs*. Little things at first, like missing the bus and running to school late with a slice of toast precariously held in his mouth. Next came the more troubling things, like suddenly piquing the interest of attractive girls and brooding, irritable boys who were obsessed with trying to fight him. My own ego blinded me to the truth, and I told myself he was simply an Adonis like his old man.
When the hair presented itself, however, I knew somewhere deep down what he was turning into. Even so, I took him to the clinic. After all, it could be a disease, right? Some kind of rare scalp condition perhaps? The doctor shattered that illusion for me, as I knew he would, but the pain did not go away.
I can still see it now, his head turning to me in the car and his watery eyes cutting into the very deepest recesses of my soul:
"Papa?" he asked, "Does this mean you're going to die?"
I gripped the steering wheel, slick from my nervous sweat, as tightly as I could. My heart was racing, but the words that left my mouth exited as smoothly as I'd practiced, even if I had to fight back my tears.
"No son, it means *you* are."
A push of the button was all it took for the ejector seat to propel me hundreds of feet into the air. The jetpack I built took over just a few seconds later, and it carried me as far as I could make it go. The boy would survive, of course, they always do, so I had to get things set up quickly or else I'd be done for. My old lair was still in the mountains, thankfully, and still very much intact. I never wanted it to be this way, but when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.
My name is Thaddeus Throatripper Sr., Supervillain Extraordinaire, freshly un-retired. | When Jason became six months old, his wispy hair grew in volume, grew spiky, and turned neon green. This alarmed Rachel -- she was a young mother who worried about the kid a bit too much. She told Henry, her spouse, that she would be taking the baby to Dr. Blumenthal to get to the bottom of the issue.
"Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry," Dr. Blumenthal told Rachel after just looking at the baby's neon green hair once.
"Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" Rachel said.
The lines on Dr. Blumenthal's face hardened. "No. It's you who is in trouble."
Rachel felt her world turning upside down. She looked at Jason's neon-green hair and his innocent, smiling face. The face of her killer.
"But...why?" Rachel asked. "Why do I have mere days to live?"
"Radiation," Dr. Blumenthal said. "I don't know how, but this baby is radioactive. I have seen it happen before. There is no doubt in my mind that this radioactive baby has affected you already, perhaps when you breastfeed him. You might be in the clear, but the chances are slim."
Rachel's heart fluttered. Was the damage restricted to her? If the baby was radioactive then wouldn't it-
"What about Henry, my husband, is he in trouble too?"
Dr. Blumenthal's brow creased. "That depends. But I doubt that he has been exposed to such a degree as you have. Unless, you know, if you've engaged in-"
"No, we haven't," Rachel said breathlessly. The fact that her husband was not in danger did not calm her down one bit. Indeed she now felt resentful about her impending death.
Dr. Blumenthal cleared his throat to catch Rachel's attention. "So, we will have to quarantine you and the baby. The baby will be sent to intensive care, and he will, I assume, be healthy in a matter of weeks. As for you, I'm afraid that there's no way to save you..."
Rachel's eyes widened in horror. "Do I...is it necessary?"
"The quarantine? Absolutely necessary."
It was at this instant that Rachel got up, and with trembling hands, jammed a pen lying on the table straight into Dr. Blumenthal's left eye. Then she ran, she fled with the baby in her arms. Even in her frenzied state of mind, Rachel was wary of the authorities that would soon be after her. Keeping this in mind, she ditched her car and took a taxi downtown, where she lodged in a seedy little hotel.
Rachel sat in the musty bed of the foul-smelling hotel and peered into the face of her baby.
"There he is, the little killer," she said out loud. Saying it out loud calmed her nerves. Sweat started to form over her brow and the realization of what she had done.
In a state of panic greater in magnitude than the one she had experienced in Dr. Blumenthal's office, Rachel paced in the musty room as cold sweat poured out of her. The neon hair of her little Jason flashed from time to time in her vision as she checked up on the sleeping baby. Any minute now, the police could bust the door open and arrest her. But what did she care, right? Wouldn't she die anyway?
Rachel could feel the grey walls of the hotel room closing in on her. That's when she screamed. "I don't want to die! Not because of my sweet little Jason!"
The scream woke the baby up, and he started crying. Rachel jumped but calmed herself enough to hold the baby and soothe it. The baby was hungry, and Rachel breastfed her radioactive child.
As the baby sucked on her breast, she remembered what Dr. Blumenthal had mentioned about breastfeeding exposing her to radiation. She looked at the innocent face of her baby and smiled.
Outside, darkness started to fall, and when Rachel buttoned her blouse she noticed that her breasts were faintly neon-green. Death was approaching her faster than ever, and she knew it. The thought wasn't terrifying now. Time had taken the edge away from the terror of death. Time and the sweet little thing that now lay on the musty bed smiling at her. Rachel hugged her baby close and slept.
The sound of sirens and footsteps and the crying baby awakened her. She could hear the loud chatter and the heavy footsteps of law enforcement about her room, but her legs wouldn't move. She tried to soothe her little baby, to stop his cries, but her arms wouldn't move.
Bang! The door was thrown open, and the sound was too loud and too abrupt for Rachel. Her heart stopped, and she gazed upon the neon green hair of her little baby as it then warped into a bright white light and then darkness. | 2021-05-11T05:55:27 | 2021-05-11T04:28:01 | 284 | 50 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | The corridors were long and dark, the stone was cold and unyielding. Your naked feet dragged through the floor as manacles made of ethereal power kept you unable to escape, to move, to step away from the incoming fate.
You had had years to think this through, years scratching little squiggles on the mirror surface of your cell as your box floated, one window projected the starry sky, the other... the execution grounds.
The Court was cruel in that way, they allowed the inmates to see the deaths, you were free to ignore them of course, force yourself to watch into the illusion to spend the time, watch and let the minutes and hours and days bleed away until it was your turn.
Not you, you had kept a very close eye on those executions.
It was execution by Genie.
One single wish, one that the old Genie would twist into one for your instantaneous demise. You had heard the stories, the more wishes a Genie granted the more powerful it would become. And this one?
This Genie was almost as old as the Court itself.
And its power to grant wishes was truly something to stand in awe of.
Wish for death of old age? Then you become decrepit within the snap of fingers, your heart stopping right after. Wish to die in combat? Then the Genie himself will let you fight some nightmarish abomination. Wish to die along your enemy? A snap of the fingers, they would die, but the Genie would bring the others back to life.
One by one, they would all die. Some begged for it to be pleasant, death through orgy or through a feast. Some would beg to die in the arms of their loved ones. A few would get imaginative, death through black hole, death through bomb, death through a collapse in reality. All of them fulfilled in their own way, the people sent into universes that would fulfil the clause.
Once a man asked to die through resurection. That one had been amusing to consider. Up and until he was informed he already had. Time and again, forced to relive his life and die, over and over, unaware of the loop he'd been trapped in and only ever told this truth right before he was snapped back to the start.
And now it was your turn.
The Court lay in front of you, three pillars of infinite stone, atop which sat the judges. The Genie stood at the side, almost invisible in its shadow, the simplicity of the creature's features betraying its power. He looked like any other man, a forgettable face, pale skin, and a nondescript round nose.
Not a word was uttered by the Court, merely the sound of the gavel, the formality of the rite.
The Genie stepped forward. "How do you wish to die?" He asked you. It was in the eyes that you found the truth of its existence, an eternal abyss that did not see you, they saw everyone who'd stood on your spot before you.
You breathed in.
"I wish to experience every death there is to be had."
A flash of amusement crossed the Genie's lips, the only sign of emotion he had shown since you'd first seen him.
"It will be so."
He snapped his fingers. The world swirled around you, everything shifted and changed. Time itself seemed to lose meaning as your thoughts scattered and reformed. All had changed, all was different.
You found yourself kneeling, head bowed against the ground. Before you there were three chairs, oaken and old. Sitting in each were familiar faces.
"With this ritual, we bind you to our will." The closest voice spoke with power, the words seeping into and through you. "You will be the Court's executioner, Genie, may the pillars of the Court become ever higher through your service."
Your breath caught in your throat, the smirk upon your lips hidden, you allowed yourself to follow the impulses the magical bindings lay upon you. For the time being, all you had to do was obey, wait... and grant wishes. | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T07:22:01 | 5,663 | 1,307 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 1,590 | 22 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Next.”
*SHITshitshitshitshitshit, FUCK! How the hell am I supposed to get out of this if they can even speed up time?!*
“Next!”
*Maybe I can try and tie it to my will? No, they’ll just torture me until I want death. Maybe some kind of paradox?*
“NEXT!”
A hand roughly grabbed me by my arm and yanked me forward. Panicking and lost in thought as I was, I stumbled and nearly fell on my face as I passed through the magic cylinder in front of me.
“Name?”
I looked up, trying to locate the source of the voice, but swirling runes and glowing, ambient energy blocked my sight while throwing the voice, making it sound as though it were all around me.. It was like I was in a universe all on my own, and God himself was bearing the full force of his judgement on me.
“Oh for the love o-NAME?!”
I jumped as the bureaucrat-God’s voice boomed in the entire column, my silence was clearly irritating him. “Oh, u-um, Erin Heckland.” The sound of rustling paper echoed all around me as I tentatively reached a hand out to touch the magic walls. Completely solid. No forcing my way out then, although that possibility had been exhausted long ago.
“Here we are, Miss Heckland. My my, that’s quite a long list. Alright, how do you want to die.”
“Well, I was planning on old age-“ the runes began glowing brighter, “BUT NOT ANYMORE!” I shout-finished. The runes dimmed. Shakily, I took a deep breath and continued, “so could I please have a minute?”
“Ugh, very well, but you get one minute exactly. If you don’t start talking by then, you will be hung.”
I blinked as an hourglass appeared in front of me, the sand rapidly draining my remaining time on Earth away. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t hurt anyone, I had just found knowledge that the government didn’t want me to have. Some of it I didn’t even know was illegal until I got arrested! It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t just.
It wasn’t…wait!
As the sand grains nearly finished draining, a huge grin split my face. “Oh here we go,” the drone began, “what hair-brained idea have you come up with to avoid death?”
“Not avoid it,” I confidently replied, “but stop it. If I’m going to die, I am taking this whole cursed process with me!”
The runes began to glow. | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T10:30:49 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 74 | 23 |
[WP] The emperor laughed and boasted to the human leader. "That was a fun war! Let me know when your soldiers come back alive." "...Are you saying your people do not die? Forever?" "Wait, what?" | # Foreword to the Poet's War, by John Burnett
The Terani send their poets to war. I know because I’ve fought them, and because I’ve read the collections of the men I thought I'd killed.
When I was young, a boy of eighteen, I went to the trenches of Tau Ceti. I brought along a million of my best friends, and shoulder to shoulder, vibro-bayonet to vibro-bayonet, we learned something of what it meant to be alive, and much of what it meant to die.
And all the while we heard the Terani singing on the other side of no mans land, their trenches guarded by the glittering domes of force fields, their foxholes burrowed with their bare hands, their claws extending six inches or more from the fingers with the flick of a wrist. When they fought they wore plasteel armor and carried laser rifles and the bravest of them went into battle armed like the days of old. Old to them, not to us, their swords still glittered with the power of kinetic accelerators, and their spears were more like guided missiles.
In the early days we did not know that they did not die. Who could have conceived of that then, when the human race was still in its infancy. They did not die, and we could scarcely manage to live, and though each toiled the same the risks were far different.
That lost us the war, but it won us the peace.
You see, the Terani Imperium is not an imperium in the way of man. It is, perhaps, closest to the late 20th and early 21st century American cultural hegemony with all the serial filed off and the budget divorced from the defense department.
Because, of course, the Terani send their poets to war.
In the Terani Imperium all things revolve around the Culture. They are an empire of mind, not empire of steel, and the nature of their army reflects that. It is not an arm of defense or offense or anything else so banal, it is their Cultural Outreach Department, Training Division 001, the motto of which is loosely translated as “A Poem is Pain Portrayed.”
And in my years at war they portrayed far more than their share.
For two years the Terani Imperium rained hell down onto our trenches. We had no force fields and they their bombs. They showed us orbital lasers for the first time, whispered the first, rippling stanzas of a planet cracker into our ears. On Christmas Day, 2441 they us made a gift of plague, scented the aerosol like frankincense.
In the decade that followed they shared with us the long forgotten terrestrial concept of hard treaties with foreign powers, and when I found the wreckage of my Tau Ceti home I packed it into a shoe box and shipped it back to Earth alongside the ashes a half million good men and another million or so civvies.
And then towards the end of that decade, all us eighteen year olds grew up, and the Terani learned something of the difference between our two races.
They send their poets to war to make them better. We send our boys to war, and the war makes them poets.
This collection is a measure of that. I wrote some of these in the trenches, more of them hospitals, more of them awake in bed as the nightmares shook themselves loose, Wilfrid Owen open at my bedside.
They sent us bombs and lasers and plague. We sent them back Sassoon and Owen and Hemmingway. And, as the critics see fit to list me among them, Burnett. I find myself disagreeing with that sentiment, but as my publisher says, we’re on track to sell a billion copies in the Imperium and that counts for something.
I’m not treading any territory that’s new to us humans. The Terani might have never seen anything like Owen or myself. It would be constitutionally impossible for them to ever do so, for one cannot expose the great lie of *Dulce et Decorum Est* without the floundering man, and that dear readers is their weakness.
Remember that when you read these poems. Imagine the blasted space between two trenches, voices raised in a curlew’s chatter above the ozone torn air, and remember it was poets in both trenches, one set real, one set fake even by their own terms, and do not begrudge me a few last parting lines to my youth.
The Terani send their poets to war. I know because I’ve fought them, and because I’ve read the collections of men I’d thought I killed.
And I know that the thing that separates us is nothing so simple as technology, who has the better bomb or the bigger gun.
It’s poetry. Real words versus fake, the difference between Horace’s Ode and Owen’s poem.
And excuse me one last time, for a passing gloat.
A billion sales in the Imperium, and in the past year not a single one of the poets I’d thought I killed have sold more than a dozen copies. “A Poem is Pain Portrayed,” says their Cultural Department.
Well dear readers, let us see how that is done.
\-----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | >**KING'S BLOOD, GOD'S PROMISE**
With a heart so heavy, it felt like it might drop out of my chest, I took the crown into my hands.
I was seventeen, and Kotarja, the fledgling country my father had founded, was now under my control.
This wasn’t a good thing.
Father’s exact cause of death I couldn’t be sure of- he died in a field, surrounded by loyal soldiers. Some said it was exhaustion...that sounded like him. Working himself literally to death. He had been so strong and intelligent- could I ever do justice to the work he had begun?
“My lord, your first declaration?” Advisor Flameth asked. She was an older woman, she knew the histories well, and had served my father faithfully for a very long time.
“Flameth, gather to me the most knowledgeable- the best among artisans, the bricklayers, the alchemists, every profession. I want one of each, voted amongst themselves to represent them. I will listen to the voice of the people.” In truth, this was just deferring my first real actions- I didn’t feel ready to lead.
A few quiet days passed, and, one by one, I spoke with the people of my country. The artisans told me that, if funded, they could produce much more sanitary waste management. Funding was granted. The bricklayers told me that, in conjunction with the military, they could establish farther-flung outposts that would allow us more warning if there was an attack. I went ahead with the project. Merchants asked for better roads- faster roads would mean better quality traded goods, and more safety. I commissioned the brick builders to investigate better road technology as soon as they finished the outposts. The military leaders were split- some wanted a campaign to conquer more territory, others recommended sending envoys to make allies with nearby city-states. I chose to consolidate our existing powers, and only send out envoys.
In the midst of all of these public work projects, a man unlike any other strode into town- he had no horse, but had clearly been traveling for many days. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an impish grin. We knew he was not from around here...and that he was not like us. He walked directly to the castle, where I met him in person.
“What business,” I began, “Does a man such as you have with us?” I asked.
“War.” He whispered fervently. “We had heard a new king was ruling Kotarja- we want to test your mettle.”
“I have no interest in playing at war.” I said flatly. “My country is in the midst of public works projects- if you intend to try and take Kotarja, wait for ten years, then it will be more worth trying to take.”
“Then we will return in ten years, for war.” He said, his eyes burrowing into me. He turned and left.
Flemeth came to my side. “You would make Kotarja more ripe for their picking?”
“I will make Kotarja hard as iron- if they even come when the ten years are up.”
Ten years passed- it felt as though it was forever, yet, looking back at it once it was done, it was the blink of an eye.
Kotarja now had the finest, most sturdy walls in the entire Mediterranian. We had consolidated our powers with all of the nearby city states, allowing us access to the sea trade via every road. Our health and prosperity had never been better- and our military prowess had never been sharper.
As the first day of ‘war’ came, there were no signs of a moving army. No alarms from our far-flung outposts. I began to wonder if the man with intense eyes was bluffing, or merely picking fun at the child-king.
Seven days later, I had all but forgotten the threat- until a sword was at my throat.
“Well done, well done!” The man with intense eyes crooned. He didn’t seem to have aged a day. “We walked around your walls, we could not see a single way in!”
“That is what walls are for, yes. So how did you accomplish this?” He held me by sword-point, with three other men, and the sounds of battle echoed throughout the city.
“You defended the exterior of your city so well, we had no choice but to go underneath.”
“You dug underneath the city? It’s hard, coastal rock under there!” I protested.
“Nothing our men cannot handle- this is not our first time fighting here. It seems your father did not warn you of us.”
“We didn’t give him time, boss.” One of the man’s soldiers said.
“Oh, that’s right. Well, spread the word. Kill them all.”
“What kind of gods-damned monster are you?” I shouted. “What army kills innocents?”
“A little death never hurt anyone.”
“What?!” I shouted.
Eventually, the screams stopped. The city was quiet- and painted red.
“Well, this was fun. Let us know when you want to play again.”
“How could I,” I croaked, my voice sore from shouting and crying, “when all my people are dead?”
“Boss, you really didn’t give the last guy *any* time.” The soldier repeated.
“Oh. *Oh!* Oh, I am an ass.” The man said. He lowered himself to match eyes with me. “Your father, King Kotarja the First, was dying, you see. But he had worshipped the Goddess Samaya for his entire life. She presides over the rot, the decay. His body was hers, as his disease ate him away...yes, his body was hers, as are all of ours, eventually. Samaya struck a deal with the good King Kotarja- if he managed to entertain her legions of the undead, she would grant one free life to the next generation.” He took a deep breath. “The battle he gave us was glorious, yet we only fought a few hundred men. He slaughtered us, again and again- and in doing so, he pleased Samaya.”
“I...I knew nothing of this.” I said.
“Yes, and for that, I am sorry. I forgot you didn’t have the chance to speak with your father before he died. He fought us until he collapsed of exhaustion- but he passed with a smile on his face. His dying request was that we would give the same challenge to you...but I failed, because I did not explain myself properly. I was excited, too excited by far, to have the opportunity to have that kind of battle again.”
The man continued. “We will return all of the lives to your people, and all will retain the extra life your father won for them...but we will return, this time in three years, and we will try again. There is nothing like combat, when your life is freely given. I hope to see you on the field, when the time comes.”
That was my first meeting with the Samayan army of the Undead, and the Emperor who oversaw them. It would not be the last- in fact, it wasn’t even the last time I saw him that *year,* as a much more grave fight soon began than our planned little playing at war. There were forced more terrible than Samaya, more powerful than the Gods- and now that I had stepped into the arena of immortals, there was no going back. What came next tested my leadership, my dedication to my principals, my love for humanity- and my own will to live, all with the Emperor of the Undead fighting at my side.
------------------------
r/nystorm_writes if you want this to be made into a proper, full story! | 2022-12-09T06:27:20 | 2021-07-13T10:05:14 | 1,513 | 235 |
[WP] You are a time-traveller to 10th century England. After applying some of your knowledge to aid the nearby townsfolk, the local lord has taken you into his confidence. One evening over cups of wine by the hearth, he requests that you explain to him how warfare has changed from his time to yours. | The Lord (a pleasant man named Charles) and I sat in surprisingly plush chairs, considering the time. We conversed about many things, small spoilers of scientific knowledge.
I described crop rotation to him over the bread and cheese we ate. I described to him the building blocks of our reality over the main course of chicken. And I described to him combustion engines over the sweet bread we ate as desert.
Finally, we got to the dreaded question. As we sat in front of the fire, sipping wine, he looked up to me and asked,
"How is war fought in your time?"
This was my least favorite part. How could I explain to him 18th century warfare, let alone the warfare of proxy states, hydrogen bombs, and Orbital Bombardment?
I looked up at him.
"I will tell you, but you must promise to never speak a word of this, not to a single living soul."
He nodded eagerly, grinning in anticipation.
"Well. Imagine an iron cylinder, in which is housed a small metal arrowhead. You remember that combustion I told you about earlier? A small explosion fires behind the metal arrowhead, sending it flying out of the cylinder ten times faster then an arrow flies."
He looked at me, compression dawning on his face. "With one of those weapons, you could kill a king in a moment!"
"Aye. What I've just described to you is invented in 500 years. Now imagine a weapon that can fire a hundred of those arrowheads in a couple seconds. That is what the men of the first world war fought with. That war was fought 250 years before my time."
He looked at me, now with a twinge of horror and concern. "With that, you could.. you could destroy entire armies in moments?"
I smiled somberly, laughing in my head at the sheer absurdity of what I have yet to describe.
"Yes. that war took with it 80% of what the population of Europe is now. 40 million people. I bet you can't even imagine that."
He carried with him a look of sheer horror. He was speechless.
"W...why?"
"For the same reasons you do, someone killed a lord."
"The next war, not even 30 years later, was fought with the same weapons, but with planes. Imagine a big metal bird. The size of that chapel outside. Now imagine if it was filled with bombs. An explosive, made to maximize death and loss of life. Millions of innocents screamed and burned as they died. 80 million dead."
The next wars were fought between proxy states. They, of course, were much smaller. The general public was sick of war, so what better way to fight than with other countries armies? There were some uprisings, but the wealthy held control. Imagine someone with a millions times more money than you have. That person wouldn't even be the richest.
Next, came the hydrogen bombs. They split the building blocks of our reality, releasing more energy than several hundred thousand bombs in an instant. The world was burning from how much fuel we used."
I stopped speaking, to take a sip of my wine. He waited, speaking nothing out of morbid curiosity and absolute fear.
"Technology advanced, of course, faster and faster and faster. The empires of that age spent hundreds of billions of our currency on making their weapons of war better and better at killing. We slaughtered whole villages with pilotless planes, bombing and burning for the sake of profit."
"That sounds... Horrific! It sounds to awful to believe! I... I refuse your claims. You lie."
I lie? I wish... I wish I lied."
My hands shook. I cried in anger and sadness. My goblet fell to the floor, spilling forgotten wine.
I shouted in anger and despair.
"I watched, Charles, I watched as world burned! I watched as billions died in the atomic fire of a thousand Hydrogen Bombs! I watched as the Orbital Bombardment Satellites fired thousands of metal slugs that traveled at such speed that it could destroy a square mile of land before you could react! I watched as the leaders of these wars died, their bunkers pierced by the tungsten rods fired from orbit. Those machines kept firing, for that was the state of war. With no one to stop them, the satellites emptied their arsenal. The planes stopped flying, for they had run out of fuel. The planet was nothing but a burning ball of stone. That was the second to last war we fought."
My voice had grown cracked, ripped from my screams.
"You fought mor- you- you kept fighting? After all those people died?! What did you even fight with!?!"
"Sticks and stones, Charles. We fought with sticks and stones." | "*He is hard to tell: Are the... um, wrothful... lands*?"
"*Belligerents.*"
"*Yes, great thanks, are these belligerents strong nations or cravens?*"
The man in front of me was a barely literate rapist, an unrepentant murderer who ran his country like a mafia Don, and had multiple undiagnosed, untreated mental illnesses, the least of which was PTSD treated with functional alcoholism. Still, Petty King Aethelred "The Good" was smart, patient with my stumbling attempts at proto-English, and about as good as rulers got in these times.
He considered - by which I mean decoded - my question, and replied in the lazy largesse of the shitfaced-adjacent.
"*We will talk about the combat of the nobility and the scrambling of the masses later, just begin with something I can understand.*"
Okay, see, these kinds of assumptions had been slowing down my work since I'd showed up in court. Sure, the money, assistants, and guards was a massive plus. Hell, I'd be dead without them.
But. The pain. The anguish of explaining concepts that wouldn't normally emerge until this man had been dead for a millenia, all in a language where a flat tax was considered the hight of economic sophistication, and one I'd begun learning two years and change ago?
This was uncomfortable, and it made me feel stupid.
"*I do not mean to offend, so I will herald - gah, answer - your later part of your question. God's wounds! You forgive I ask girl to then arrive? She is faster and I am vomit of making talk attempts while fornicating with drink.*"
I'd played up the inarticulation a bit, so I was relieved when he laughed. Also, a little hurt, because it'd only been a small bit of playing, and he was laughing a lot.
Wiping his eyes with a grin, he nodded, "*Yes, I'd think that best. HO! OSLAC!*"
The guard opened the door, cocking an eyebrow. Deplorably sober man.
"*Lord?*"
"*Send for Ealswitha. And a scribe, she'll be busy with translating this sot's ramblings, and I'll want it written down for later.*"
Oslac left, closing the door, and I took the opportunity to refill my cup.
"*Not too much, hey?*"
"*My lord, this is triangle knowledge in from... ah, poured into circle cup. Drink helps loosen thinking to make fit. Besides, no... *hashish*? You have yet?*"
"*I do not know of this... 'hashish' was it?*"
"*When fire under water boat he are working, we take you to Acre. Bring small foods.*"
He didn't get stoner humor, but the mention of casually boating to the holy lands made him happy, so more wine was poured.
The door behind me opened a crack, and a child's face poked in.
"*Yes, my lord?*"
"*Come in daughter. Your tutor needs your keen mind with tongues.*"
The girl entered, she was followed by a monk, who closed the door behind him. The kid had been a godsend. Her brother - who I'd initially been assigned to teach - was too old to easily pick up languages, but the girl had grasped the basics from eavesdropping. After demonstrating this to me, and convincing her father that she'd make an excellent scribe and translator, she'd been invaluable ever since. After all, it'd made discussing more complex subjects with her brother and father possible, which kept food on my plate, and funding for my experiments with antibiotics flowing.
"Sup kid. How're things?"
"Not too shabby crabby."
A year, and I'd taught bad slang to children from the middle ages. I was so proud.
"So, my lord your Dad and I were talking about war. I'm going to talk about some violent stuff, but also a bit of math. You up for that?"
She looked suitably somber, considering the question, her father looking on with an idle curiosity.
"Mom told me I'll marry a good and kind lord, who will likely fight to defend the Cross and our land. This will help him protect me and our sons?"
These times were so weird.
"Yup"
"...And the math will help me fly, right?"
But kids were still kids. I couldn't help but smile.
"Yup!"
She turned to the monk, "*Brother Colman, the Japhethite wishes to tell my lord my father of how the men of the future made war and flew through the air like birds. Are you prepared to faithfully record him?*"
The monk - who'd been surprisingly accepting of my presence after I'd explained my journey from my time to the present as similar to Noah's journey in the Ark - nodded, and readied his quill.
"So, war in my time is, was, will be... never-mind. Look, you know those crossbows I made?"
She translated for Aelthelred's benefit, then supplied his reply, "The ones that you have the freeholders crafting in that longhouse? On that mechanism you call an assembly line?"
"Just so. Well, imagine that, instead of bolts, they fire bullets, much like a sling would. But the bullets travel so fast they outrace the sound of their firing, so far they can hit a man at 1000 paces if aimed carefully, have a quiver that attaches to them, and are so fast to fire, that - depending on the size of the quiver - 5 to about 5 hundred shot may be fired in the time it takes you to unsheath your sword."
The monk wasn't keeping up the notes, due to looking at me funny. The king's eyebrows were infringing on his hairline. Ealswitha, meanwhile, was looking like the meaning of the words she was saying was just reaching her brain.
"Yes, it sounds like I've gone mad, but it's true. They're cheap enough that we buy them for sport. They are very loud, and between the sound and watching a target get blown apart, it's actually kind of fun."
I paused to wet my whistle, then continued.
"Anyway, that's what most soldiers use when going to war. With that much metal flying that fast and frequently, there's nothing like a shield wall, just small groups of men moving around, dashing to and from features in the terrain to protect them from bullets. All, of course, directed by an officer, who often uses that radio thing I told you about to keep their dispersed efforts focused on common goals."
I tried to think up how I'd explain the next bits. | 2021-10-09T22:18:30 | 2021-10-09T20:50:43 | 95 | 41 |
[WP] When bargaining with the Fae, it's far safer to start by stating what you're willing to pay and see what you can get for it. But sometimes you just have to get one specific boon - in your case, you need a terminal illness cured. | "So what do you want, human?"
"I want my grandson to be cured of his cancer."
The fae blinked at me. "That's a new one."
I blinked in my turn. "What, really? I would have thought you'd be asked it all the time."
"Most humans ask for themselves. Not others."
"Well, we do tend to be selfish when faced with a crisis. Nevertheless. My grandson. What price do you want?"
"It's more than you can afford."
"Of course it is. I'm still asking."
"I really don't recommend this, human."
"Thrice asked must be answered, Lord Fae, and I am still asking. Please cure my grandson of his cancer, and lay the price upon me."
"As you ask, then."
I shook my head, dizzy, as the world shifted. The pretty man in front of me looked sad as he took my hand. "A life for a life. Oh, child," he said, "I never did find out your name..."
"I'm Ellie! And I'm five!" I told him cheerfully. I wasn't sure why I was suddenly here instead of at home, but he'd probably tell me. "Who're you?"
"They call me Robin," he said, as we started walking and he led me deeper into the woods. "My friends will be very happy to meet you." | The gorgeous greens, beautiful blues and perfect palette of other colours that draped the deep woods in a bombastic tone did nothing to mask the sense of dread growing in my stomach. Strange creatures, the likes of which I hadn’t even heard of in tales slinked through the undergrowth hissing and howling at the intruder. Me.
I took each step with care so as to not accidentally anger anything and cause more damage than I was already going to.
Though the forest was growing thicker around me, a distinct path still snaked through the trees and brambles. The once rich colours were now becoming duller as sunlight failed to penetrate the upper canopies and shine below. Glowing pairs of eyes that belonged to no visible bodies stared from behind the tree line. I would have thought them illusions or fake had they not blinked several times already. I continued on feeling the sweat on palms grow more abundant by the second.
Eventually, after what felt like hours I rounded a corner to find a clearing. Sun shone through a gap in the branches above bathing the clearing in an almost heavenly light. In the centre was a bony, stick figure hunched over on a log. It’s back was towards me as it’s tendril-like arms reached towards and crushed what seemed to be some kind of beetle.
“Why do you enter my sanctuary?” A high pitched, almost shriek-like speech coursed through the air.
“I… I’ve come to make a deal.”
“A deal? A deal you say?” The creature jumped up, it’s legs now extending to their full length, almost three quarters my height. The creatures hands clapped as it waltzed over towards me.
“What is the deal? Riches? Lovers? Power?” The creature grinned as images flashed through my mind. A treasury filled to the brim with golden coins. Beautiful temptresses filling a room with me in the centre. A throne with a crown perched upon it.
“No no. None of this.” I shook my head. “I require an illness cured.”
“Your price, what is your price?” I flashed a silver coin and the creature cackled. It’s head arched backwards and it’s body shook so violently it seemed as though it’s limbs may have broken.
“You jest?” It said. I bowed my head and withdrew my hand. The creature walked away.
“I can provide what you seek. For the price you offer,” it said. I almost cried with joy.
“You can?”
“Why of course I can. You simply wish to know how to cure the illness?” Bony, twig like fingers arched through the air.
“Yes. That, that is enough.” I looked up at the creature as it grinned even wider then before. It stretched it’s hand out. I held out the coin. I hesitated and stared at the glinting surface before tipping it into the hand.
“Payment. Payment has been made.” The creature jumped around for a second. “The disease can only be cured by faean magic.” The creature began to walk away.
“Wait… is that it? Where are you going?” I shouted. I clenched my fists as I felt myself stiffen.
“You paid to know how. I tell you how. That is the deal. The deal is fulfilled.” The creature disappeared in a puff of pink clouds.
“Come back with more payment. Maybe new deal can be made.” The hole in the canopy above closed leaving the clearing in darkness.
“Wait. Wait. Please, wait.”
Nothing. | 2022-07-10T09:54:28 | 2022-07-10T07:55:22 | 66 | 32 |
[WP] Your job was to clean and repair the messes heroes and villains leave in the aftermath of their fights. It's not a glorious job, but you still took some pride in it. So when the media called you an over-glorified janitor, you took offense and decided to stop working. | Mayor Bowman stared out at the crowd of concerned citizens that had gathered in the convention center. Typically, town hall meetings could be held at one of the municipal buildings, as only a dozen or so people ever showed up to voice their opinions, even in a city the size of Metropolis. But this was something else. Some moron at The Herald, annoyed by prolonged negotiations between the city and Enhanced Aftermath Restoration Workers Union, had decided to call them a bunch of glorified janitors, also directing some particularly nasty comments toward the union leader, Morris Green. In response, the union had walked away. He had been hoping they could weather the storm, but of course Dr. Chaos seized on this opportunity, destroying a significant amount of local infrastructure until finally The Marksman and Captain Pants put him down. The damage was done however, and with no one to clean up the mess the city ground to a halt. Subsequent attempts to restart negotiations with the union had gone unanswered, and now people wanted to know what the city was going to do about it.
“Hi? Hello? I know everyone is really concerned and wants some answers, so If you could all just quiet down and find a seat I think we can get started.”
Angry shouts rang out from the crowd.
“This is your fault!”
“There are bodies lying in the street!”
“Burn down The Herald!”
This was going to be a nightmare. “Please! If you could just calm down, we will let everyone know what the city plans to do about it. Turning into a violent mob isn’t going to solve anything! After all, who would clean up the mess YOU make?” His attempt at using humor to defuse the situation backfired, and several individuals started to make for the stage when the sound of a loud airhorn rang out from behind him. The crowd froze and grew silent. Turning to see the source of the noise, Mayor Bowman was met with a mostly familiar face. Morris Green, holding the airhorn and dressed in a long brown overcoat, stared back at him, now sporting a cleanly shaven head instead of his typical full head of brown hair.
“Morris?! Why are you here? We’ve been trying to get a hold—”
The mayor collapsed to the floor as Morris struck him across the side of the head with the butt of a pistol. Officers froze in place as Green aimed it at the mayor’s head.
“It’s time for you to listen!” Green stepped forward slightly to talk into the microphone and address the crowd.
“You have taken us for granted, all of you. Time after time we have taken care of the brutal, disgusting aftermath left by the “superheroes” so that all of you can go about your lives as easily as possible. But when we ask for better working conditions and annual raises to keep up with inflation, you balk at the notion. You write in the paper about how I must be a drunk or high on fumes from the chemicals we clean up. You call us glorified janitors! Well, we’ve decided you aren’t worth cleaning up for. In fact, we think the most disgusting thing about this city is you, and it’s time take care of that!”
With that, dozens of members of the crowd wearing hats and trench coats similar to that of Morris, removed them, revealing a sea of men with bald heads and pristine white uniforms, each of them brandishing automatic rifles. Panic started to pulse through the crowd, but none dared to move.
“Morris,” the mayor pleaded “you can’t be serious about this! We’ll give you everything you want! More even! But this is madness!”
Morris carefully removed his coat while keeping the gun trained on Bowman, revealing blindingly white clothing beneath. He smiled, almost warmly, as he turned to face the mayor, the stage lights glinting off his scalp.
“You can call me Mr. Clean” | In the distant future a person like me is a necessity. Starting in software engineering then leaping into hands on construction I found a niche and got rich, like so many who would help repair the many metropolises across the galaxy that "supers" and "baddies" would wreck in their cliche fights only to spare one another. We are a proud breed of our own. Heroes for a price. Some out villain corrupt good guys, and others stop villains.
On the far off planet of Adelius you would find one government spurring from a central mega city on a planet larger than Earth's. From there rural countryside surrounded a vast and grey city, rich with farms and jungles. Broad leaves amongst the bark of trees and animals not so different from Earths born on convergent evolution. Here I found myself, guiding a multitude of robots in fixing the aftermath of Megella and SupRift. Silly names that killed millions and put even more out of business in months of conflict.
With a thought, my purchased machines obeyed my nuanced mind and rebuilt tower and house. It was then the "news jocks" released a hot take that Adelius was another mop job by blue collars feeding off the rich. My work was great and I was prideful. On one hand it encouraged my best work in rebuilding and on the other I thought again of dreams of greatness. I would be ready soon, and such timing made me blush with glee.
On July the 13th, Earth calendar, the quiet planet was laid to siege by Calamonte and his evil robot army! Buildings laid to waste and prisoners tastefully taken to local farms where they could be contained and fed. Enslavement was foretold and Magella themself came in a fiery dash through the stars without so much of a starship to return a planet they had recently saved. It was there and then, Magella went dark. Stricken the Heroic Council sent more and as usual their saviors wrought a path of blind destruction. Some even enjoyed it, and the worst mangled in combat.
Awakening. From Earth itself a pod bore itself from the dirt. Out of it came Zard. A hero powered by tech, they led a team of the brightest, most carefully selected hopefuls to Adelius to fight this new menace. Calamonte would be stopped.
The Apothicus came into orbit on a Friday and quickly sent down a swarm of pods. Shields up and cannons ready, the smart ship AI and its crew watched as many pods we're obliterated on descent by orbital defense. Yet by fate or plan only those that were empty were destroyed and a lone figure stood in the empty streets of a deserted metropolis.
Zard stepped out of their pod and looked to the empty towers of the only major city on all of Adelius. Grimacing, the whir of tactical armor and laser weaponry plus anti grav boots and a multitude of "old world" gear came to life in Zard's suit. Where had this hero been born from? Frozen in time by the humans of a younger civilization at the peak of their times' creation? Amazed, onlookers watched from a billion angles on the cameras of a city that never slept.
Clacking, metal on concrete can be heard from ever direction. Louder, it drums in perfect unison. The diabolical machine army closes in and as they near, Zard stands steadfast. Missiles rush over mechanical heads and inward, invisible with light deflecting camo, and are cut out of the sky by a laser grid system. Their warheads rain fire on the machines and Zard bursts off the ground with impossible agility. Casting to the right, Zard turns downward and stays close to the ground in flight. Their antigrav boots crush swarms of machines underneath, caught in whirlwind of pressure greater than the depths of sea or space. Glaring opposite the intersection, Zard turns a core in their glove and points both hands out straight. A beam fires, precise and narrow, made of electricity. Hitting one machines casts it to the next.
As mechanical guts are ruptured and machine soldiers drop, onlookers mouths fall as well. Immense fire power and the city unscathed. Zard dashes about dodging hundreds of plasma bolts, firing laser weapons down, dropping bombs and using powerful hydraulics to punch through humanoid figures with ease. Finally, amongst a sea of carnage, Calamonte's masked face shows up on every advertising screen across the city. With simple words they merely proclaim "Heroes killed my love, and I will earn retribution" followed by a cackle before being interrupted by fire. The great metropolis of Adelius, home to the over 10 billion people, erupts into a massive explosion. Such firepower used to destroy the only strategic objective of Adelius displays unseen power amongst a galactic empire accustomed to power. Zillions of feeds go dark as every camera is disintegrated.
Calamonte vanishes as the city is destroyed and the surviving machines go dark amongst. The planets population, all taken prisoner outside of the blast zone begin new lives rebuilding and hoping to survive the radiation. Yet, there is no radiation. Somehow, Zard returns. With some heroic speeches, the many people of the Miky Way find a new threat has been thwarted, temporarily as Calamonte escaped. Fear in the hearts of hero and villains alike from what must be two of the most powerful beings in existence is stricken. Zard has words. "This city will rebuild, but you will not be so lucky as the machines. Infrastructure can be repaired. Lives cannot be replaced. I targeted this city to fight Calamonte because it was completely abandoned and no one would be harmed. Think twice or such lethal force will be used on you."
From that day on, city fixers found themselves building new colonies as the powers of old shrank in fear. I smirk to remember my biggest job completely rebuilding the super city of Adelius, and look at my Calamonte mech or Zard suit. Rebuilding lives paid the bills, but loss was irreplaceable in a world of hate and disrespect. Now we build new lives for a new future. | 2022-09-29T07:21:34 | 2022-09-29T00:35:31 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] As you're lying on your deathbed by yourself, your dog lies next to you, with his newly found ability that allows him to fully comprehend what you say to him. How does the conversation go? | “You can talk, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“When did that start?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I think I’m dying, Jack.”
“You do look a little bit different than usual.”
“I heard that sometimes, dogs eat their dead owners. Are you going to eat me?”
“I don’t know, maybe? Do you taste good?”
“You know, Jack, you can be a real dick sometimes.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, Sam.”
“You’ve always been a smart ass, I could tell that even before you started talking.”
“…”
“I am, too. You must have learned it from me.”
“Possibly.”
“…”
“So, any last words?”
“We’ve been together for a really long time, Jack. And in all that time, we never talked to each other like we are right now. But we always understood each other. We fought, sure, but at the end of the day you still slept next to me in the bed and I still let you. So I don’t think we need any last words. Let’s just lay here together one last time.”
“That’s pretty gay, Sam.”
“Shut up, Jack.”
| Me: You...you can understand me?
Boomer: You *can't* understand me??
Me: Not until now, no.
Boomer: Dude, I seriously thought we were on the same page this whole time.
Me: Nah man. I mean, I could tell when you needed to go outside or were hungry or something, but never like this.
Boomer: Yeah, I guess that makes sense. So, death, huh? Are you scared?
Me: Sorta. Not so much anymore. It's so nice to finally be able to get inside your head. I always wondered what you were thinking.
Boomer: Eh, you weren't missing much. Honestly, up until now all I thought about was keeping you safe. Did you know every time you left, I thought you died? Even when you just went to the bathroom.
Me: Well, that explains the whining. I'm really sorry I didn't have more patience with you, you simply didn't understand and I didn't accept that.
Boomer: It's okay, I still love you. I should also apologize for being so insane when you first got me. I had a crazy past before you saved me from that shelter, I just thought you'd be more of the same. But, you weren't. You're great.
Me: You were always there for me...after you calmed down, of course. When I was sick or depressed, you were always there to comfort me. You have no idea how much that meant, and still means to me. I don't think I would have made it this far without you.
Boomer: Without you, I'd definitely be dead. I saw what they did to those other dogs before me...I know I was next. You saved me and so I promised myself I would remain loyal to you until the end.
Me: You're the best buddy I could have ever dreamt of, you know that? I wish I didn't have to go...
Boomer: I do too.
Me: -cough- Ow. Fuck, that was pretty painful.
Boomer: Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable?
Me: No buddy, just stay here with me, okay?
Boomer: Of course. You know, there's something no one knows about dogs. Not even those fancy vets you always take me to.
Me: Oh yeah? What's that?
Boomer: We can see into other realms of reality.
Me: You mean like different dimensions?
Boomer: Different dimensions, yes, but also we can see the afterlife.
Me: So, when I die, you'll still be able to see me?
Boomer: Yes.
Me: Will I be able to see you?
Boomer: Yes, I believe so.
Me: So, this isn't even goodbye, but rather see you on the other side?
Boomer: Exactly!
Me: You don't know how happy that makes me, Boomer. It takes such a weight off my chest. -cough- Ughhh...hey buddy?
Boomer: Yeah?
Me: I think it's time...
Boomer: I know.
Me: Please stay, until I'm gone.
Boomer: I'm here, hold onto me. I'm right here, waiting.
-Flatline-
A nurse enters the room in order to unhook the wires connected to my lifeless body and sees Boomer staring up above me, wagging his stub of a tail.
| 2013-10-23T23:38:56 | 2013-10-23T22:55:44 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] As a person goes through his life, he is given three options at the end of each day, continue, restart day, or restart life. He has just lived through the worst day of his life. | What if you could restart your life, restart your day, or continue?
While his tears never surfaced, the utter despair melted away his soul. Time stopped. Fractured and broken, his heart burned. Everything he knew and everything he thought he knew had disappeared in a heartbeat. Words from others fell deafly on him. He fell to his knees, pushing his head into the ground, hiding himself from the world.
What do you do when everything suddenly disappears? How do you move forward, knowing that nothing beyond soul-crushing defeat and vast emptiness waits?
As he considered ending his own existence, those three options appeared before hallowed and empty eyes. Restart life, restart day, or continue.
Really?
To even consider for a moment that any day could merely be erased denies existence.
Some experience far more than others, have their character and core fully exposed to all elements. They are challenged beyond their calling, tempt fate, or succumb to methods and chemicals to overcome. To merely restart the day would bring such amazing joy – yet, denies existence. Such cold reality tears apart the thin weaves of human fabric.
The second option, restarting life, would rob him of all he’s experienced. While the worst day one could ever experience may have just occurred – he realized that life wasn’t worth losing everything he could have gained.
What was lost – it was his everything.
He thought about it.
But he already decided.
There is no restarting. Not now, not ever. Most never experienced the utter joy and amazing love that was shared with others, becoming so intertwined into others lives to completely lose sense of self. Most would never have to live through the sorrow.
While he lost everything else, he found one single ounce of strength to open his eyes and continue.
| When you're asleep it's like a dream. A man walks up to you, it's usually a man. Smart shirt, smart shoes, terrible hair. Always the terrible hair.
I'll say hello, he says it back. He's asks the same three things every time. Continue? Restart? Reboot?
Now. I've told him not to offer me reboot. I don't like the fact I could wake up as a baby, and grow into a different man. I love my life, I couldn't give that away.
He'll ask anyway, says it was in the contract my grandmother wrote up with him.
I say the same almost every time.
Continue.
I restarted my day the first time I learned I could do this. Then again the next day, and a final time the day after, as I couldn't live trough what id done on the second.
Sometimes the man lights a cigarette, he'll stay for a chat. He knows I don't take long with my decision, but he's odd, like your cousins old car which just decided to idle for no reason.
He tells me, now and again, about my grandma. She could of had this, restarted her life, Or her days, but she wanted this for me. He tells me that I should take advantage of this more, tells me that I shouldn't waste this gift.
This time, he's smoking already. I'm not asleep, but I'm not awake. This doesn't happen until I'm asleep.
He walks over, and like my cousins old car he's clunky with his speed, with jagged surreal steps. Before I say hello, before I think to say hello, he's speaking.
He's telling me that I haven't been awake for a full day.
He's telling me that I'd fallen asleep in the car, my wife didn't indicate. The windows only cracked, but that means water is getting in.
Slowly I start to remember, that feeling of stupidity that comes with remembering a great dream. "How could I forget something like this?"
And I don't remember how I woke up, except that my daughter was screaming in the back. The light was fading, we were sinking into water. You can hear the screams of panic coming from the bridge, from the man who hit us. But we don't know it's him.
The second before I become nothing more than the wrong pair of jeans in the washing machine, listening to some kid shout at his mother from inside this spinning wet trap, my wife turns to me. We look at kate, I grab their hands and kick the window.
Just like remembering a dream, the end doesn't come to me.
The man next to me hasn't moved, aside from his head tilting downwards to watch me descend to my knees.
But he apologizes, then again. He says he can't tell me what I don't know. I have to choose.
Like my cousin in my old car, he doesn't expect me to idle. He doesn't expect this to take long. His cigarettes out, crushed beneath his smart shoes.
****************************************************
He'll only ask twice now.
"Restart?" "Continue?"
His last "reboot" was 32 days ago. I guess he doesn't see the point anymore.
In the last 32 days I have been jolted awake every time.
I have had my ears skewered by the sounds of my daughters scream. Different every day.
I've grabbed my wife, kissed my wife, hugged and cried with her.
I've seen my wife die 28 times, two times on impact. I've seen my daughter being braver than me or her mother almost every time.
And I can't decide what's crazier. Watching your loved ones die every day? Or the fact that I look forward to my dreams so I can think about my real life.
And so I ask him for a cigarette.
--------------------
Extremely unhappy with how the end happened. | 2014-07-17T19:17:02 | 2014-07-17T19:07:07 | 23 | 11 |
[WP]An old hag has cursed you with immortality.Wondering how that is supposed to be a curse you started enjoying your life. Now you are floating in the void after the heat death of the universe thinking about the past. | The hardest part of being immortal was the first few thousand millennium spent with a mind that was still more or less on par with your average human. Having to experience the rise of fall of nations, races, groups, species even, is simply not something the mind given us at birth is made to cope with. The hag thought otherwise. Eventually though...the mind adapts. It becomes something more by necessity. It has to, or the crush of years would circumvent the entire purpose of the immortality "gifted" to me. Time passes, to me at least, at the rate I see fit, and in that I have an escape of sorts.
That is not to say that in my higher state I have been altruistic. I have merely been realistic. I have witnessed atrocities and miracles. I have played both hero and villain, conqueror and liberator. I have been the voice of wisdom, and I have been the snake whispering lies into the ears of creatures with the power to eradicate entire species for an imagined fault. I have been a god worshiped by countless species of sentient life, and I have crushed planets under my boot heel for the pleasure of a slighted lover that would be gone in the blink of my eye. There is guilt, yes, but in the end I knew I would wind up here anyways.
"Here" being an empty void. I have floated for eons, alone, and finally content. Out here I have been embraced by stars burning out their existence. I have been consumed by black holes, only to have my substance reform somewhere millions of light-years away. I have watched the gradual fade to black of the cosmos, and witnessed the final sputtering curtain call before complete nothingness enveloped me. In a state of something akin to hibernation, time passes without meaning or reference.
It's not without purpose, however. There has been an inexorable draw in one direction for quite some time now. A gentle tug from nowhere that I've been resisting in the hopes that I am right about what it might be.
"Any second now" I think to myself. Then, a pinprick of light. It's a tiny thing, but with no other light in existence its impossible to miss. It begins expanding rapidly, and even thought it's an unimaginable distance away I can tell it will engulf me before long. As it grows I begin to notice shapes, and my theory is confirmed.
A new universe has just been born, and if sentient life is a natural progression of this process, then this time around maybe I can get things right.
I can finally right the wrongs.
I can finally set things straight.
I will finally learn the answer to the most important question in life.
I take a deep breath, though there is no air yet, and mouth "...The chicken or the egg?..." | You might suspect that immortality would spare you the complications of old age, but you’d be wrong. Here I am, long after everything else, and my memory has gone to hell. I’m not sure if I have a body anymore, but I have a vague and pervading sense of pain where my body should be. A bit of phantom limb syndrome, except it’s not just my limbs. It’s my torso and my face and my spine and all the other components that differentiated me from the rest of the universe.
For a long time – anywhere between a hundred years and a hundred thousand – I have wondered whether I am just a disembodied mind, floating in the ether like a psychic jellyfish. There is no light anymore. No light whatsoever. Not a single flashing photon in all of creation. That’s what makes it impossible to tell if I have a body anymore or I've been reduced to a torn bit of consciousness. I believed I had a body for a long time, but without nutrition I no longer have the energy to propel my muscles, to touch myself to make sure I was still there. At this point it must be gone. That’s the other misconception about immortality – you’re not free from the physical laws of the universe. Besides death. Everything else is still a go. You still need calories, and after enough time your hands start shaking and you can’t remember what you had for breakfast. Not that I’ve had breakfast since the fiery end of the universe.
At this point I’d take either damnation or pure oblivion – whether the Jews or the atheists had it right no longer matters. All those philosophers would have a field day. Plato, Socrates, Descartes – they’d tear each other’s’ throats out to have a q and a session with me. The difference between spirit and body and all that other boring, tangential nonsense.
But my memory. I only have memories of memories now, but I cycle through them like an old dog-eared deck of cards. Like the time my old buddy Mac and me stole a case of whiskey off the back of a truck at the age of fourteen – and proceeded to vomit our guts out into the alley behind the drug store. Or the time I have up a chance to see Charlie Christian play because a beautiful girl invited me to her hotel room – and after a thousand years or so years I still wish I could have seen that cat play, because the rendezvous at the hotel was mediocre at best. But above all others, there’s the issue of Molly Gibbons, who I asked to the eighth grade dance. She said no because Douglas Murdoch asked her the day before, while I was trying to muster up the courage to ask her. After all this time I still couldn't figure out if she was only saying that because she felt bad for me, or if we might have gotten married and I might have died like a normal person if I had only gotten their on Thursday instead of Friday. You’d think after a millennia of drifting through nothingness I would have come to terms with my past, but there’s always room for speculation and what-ifs. A whole eternity of what-ifs and darkness and fading memories.
And the one thing I’ve realized is that any one of a million minute choices could have diverted my path away from that old witch and the curse she brought down on my head. For example, if I had gone with the fish instead of the steak for lunch that day I might have come down with a sudden case of acute food poisoning, shitting my brains out instead of visiting the fortune teller, never knowing my good fortune. Maybe if I had picked up smoking, I would have stepped outside for a cigarette while Dick Carbone went in to get his palm read. Or maybe if I quit drinking I never would have insulted the witch in the first place. These games have no end, and it’s not like I have much else to do.
But if I really had to think about it, it all goes back to Molly Gibbons, how she broke my heart at the tender age of twelve and a half. That's what turned me into an asshole, and being an asshole is what brought about the curse. I should have kicked Douglas Murdoch’s ass. I should have sabotaged the whole dance. I should have known that this was one of those so-called life decisions, a psychological fork in the road, one path leading to a quaint, boring, happy existence – the other living to two hundred years of interesting misery before the end of the universe.
Molly Gibbons. She was a real knock-out. All the PBS documentaries they did on me, on the “oldest man in the world,” after all the things I saw, she still kills me.
My only hope now is that my memories will decay to the point of nothing at all, or at least I might confuse them with reality, that I might be twelve and a half years old again, and that will be close enough to death or paradise anyways.
| 2014-11-23T10:20:27 | 2014-11-23T09:24:57 | 173 | 30 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 243 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Do you know what humans are? They are a small, bipedal creature trapped on a resource starved planet. Evolutionists would call this a typical case of a species made ruthless through internal competition. Not once in their entire existence had there been peace. Their 'civilization' began by throwing stones at 'Philistines,' and evolved to slinging lead. Yet, through this competition humans developed something beyond brutality...they developed creativity.
We're called "Greys," or at least that is what Humans called us. We had probed their planet several times, and our biologists studied them (including anatomy...I can only condone what our biologists did in their studies). We were looking for a warrior type species to help us against the fight against the Swarm. As our homeworld was besieged, we approached the humans asking for help.
Our council was afraid of giving away our weapon technology, but we were more afraid of being eaten. So, we struck a compromise where we would only give the Humans our designs for our Whirlwind FTL engines. What we were expecting was that Humans would build great ships with our engines and land on Swarm planets, just like what we had seen them do to each other. There will be a bloodbath, and two less violent species in the universe.
What we did not expect were Humans slapping our engines onto asteroids and embedding them into Swarm planets at nine-tenths the speed of light. Do you know what happens when a relativistic rock the size of a small moon hits a planet? Nothing pretty. Swarm planets fell, both warrior caste and worker caste. Nothing was spared, not even their larvae.
Just like before, the brutal Humans threw rocks. But now, they were creative about it. And now, we will reap the whirlwind we had sown. | May our children forgive us; for we choose servitude over annihilation. Is it not better to be second among equals, lower only to them and above the rest? Is it not better to watch the fleet of those who would enslave you burn, to watch their planets fall and their cities crumble than to see your people massacred, your holy places desecrated, your world die. We may be giving up our freedom but at least we will survive right? Yes, we will lose our beloved council, we will see Kartaloon fill will races from around the Dominion, we will cede territory to others and be forced to do trade with lesser species but we will survive. My brothers and sisters do you not wish to see the Targracians suffer for all that they have done to us, for what they did to the outer colonies for Impac, Tonar and Harkathia how many billions of us have they extinguished how many worlds have they made dim. Only the scourge of the Humans of the Dominion of Canada can lay restitution for the sins and atrocities that they have befallen upon us.
The Humans will be our ultimate weapon against Targracia, her people will weep for a million cycles, her Gods will be made to bow before the shadows and their hand, the Humans, her cities will empty and their people will know what it truly means to suffer, to suffer without hope, without mercy, to suffer at the hands of humans. Remember your history what they did to their own kind the atrocities committed against the cities of New York, Sao Paolo, Beijing, Tokyo now imagine what they would do to the Targracians a species that may pose a threat to them, even if only an imagined one. Yes my brothers and sisters we may lose autonomy but how many are truly left free in this galaxy if we do not capitulate to the Humans than to who? Should we be as the Par Madi a dead race only to be remembered in the annals of history; a lesson for those to come the consequences of those to prideful to bend to those more powerful than themselves, is it not better to bend to the Devil we know than the one we don't?
By joining the Canadian Dominion we will be given access to technologies millenia beyond our current level we will have access to their space-time gateways, our children will see parts of the galaxy that our grandfathers could only dream of. We will be able to spread far and wide to the point that even if Kartaloon should fall our people never will. As second among equals we will never know subjugation of a conquered people, only Humans themselves will be above us, and in the vastness of their territories we will barely even notice them, true our illustrious council will be disbanded and our people will be subjected to their "Democracy" but they will also be protected by their "Charter of rights and freedoms". We will be given technology to build a fleet of star ships that would be able to explore the Galaxy and protect our people, and still be backed up by the Canadian Star Fleet, we will be given voice in the Galactic Council, I have seen it myself their base inside of Sol, the base inside the heart of their sun where the representatives of the second species work together, where the Therelians and the Ic Ba Moor once bitter rivals exist together in peace.
Truth be told we have little choice in the matter, capitulation to the Humans is the only choice we have. I stand before you not to ask for your acceptance in this matter but to ask for your forgiveness for the deal has been made, by this time tomorrow the siege will be over, within an hour the full Canadian armed forces will enter Kartaloonian space and engage in battle with the Targracians. A Governor class space station will orbit between us and our third moon Today is the last day that Kartaloon exists as a free and independent world, but we still have a tomorrow and for that I will not apologize. | 2014-12-26T12:10:42 | 2014-12-26T10:50:07 | 130 | 10 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | They had a moral code. A set of rules written in stone that they were bound to follow. Somehow though they were able to ignore it and not really care. They understood that they should live in a sustainable fashion. They even celebrated those among them who did. They just as a species didn't. They lived much like the viruses that existed on their worlds. They couldn't help their host they were only capable of using all the resources in a star system and finding a new one.
But what really set them apart was their hate. Their hate. For every 10 star systems they colonized they would turn 3 to dust. The only thing they hated more then themselves was everything else. I suspect it came from their short life spans. By the time their planet had circled their star 100 times nearly all of them would be gone. It made them efficient. Brutally efficent. They didn't worry about losing their life as it would be over soon anyways. Sacrificing themselves to snuff out the lives of others wasn't hard for them. They didn't naturally defend themselves. They believed the best defense was an aggressive offense. Make your enemy too afraid to even think of attacking you. They hadn't even developed a plasma shield. Which works since their photon weapons would destroy even a Phoenix Shield. The asymmetry of their technology was mind blowing. They still had to use worm holes to travel between systems, hadn't even discovered warp. But they had pulsar weapons.
The first encounter they had with The Collective they discovered the same problem we did. The Wave Shield. In 10 generations we were never able to find a solution to this shield. Before their planet had circled itself 8 times they solved it. They didn't even understand 0.1% of the physics of the shield but they destroyed it. That was their strength. They didn't view this as a science problem. They thought of it as a how do we destroy everything problem. Rather then try to solve the physics of the shield they solved the physics of destruction... always their speciality. | "Chancellor Ehrbane, please, I am not a violent man."
"*Not a violent man?!*" I spluttered with almost unkept rage, "Your people have laid waste to my kin-kingdom's homeworld. Your men have trodden armoured through the Basilica of Old Truths, the keystone of our culture! Your weapons have destroyed our ancient reliquaries, devastated cities, and erased the history of our forebears! You are callous, you are dishonourable, and you are most *certainly* violent!"
The human in front of me cocked his head in confusion like some kind of pack animal, and quietly chuckled to himself before responding.
"No, Chancellor Ehrbane, I am not a violent man. I am a diplomat, an addition to your entourage, to cross the gap between your wishes and my superiors. My people are fighting a war on your behalf because you could not keep your next-door-neighbours off of your homeworld, and that Basilica was razed to ruin before humanity made planetfall. Those men you accuse me of destroying your world are not mine to command."
I could not believe what this man was saying; I was a Chancellor, a leader of the most sophisticated, proud and fashionable spacefaring civilisation in the spiral arm! How could he bear to stand in my presence without being some kind of mighty leader himself?
"Not... yours to command?" I spoke, somewhat uneasily given the revelation of this being's inferior status. The step backwards I took was instinctive; I could stay too close to an inferior species, especially a specimen of lower class.
The human quite obviously saw my actions and recognised my sense of distaste, sighing as if dealing with a child. "That would be so, Chancellor Ehrbane, not mine to command. My superiors, on the other hand, do command those men, and believe me on this one;" he took a long step closer to me and leaned in as he did so, becoming nauseatingly close to my person, "my superiors are *very violent men indeed*."
To seemingly illustrate his point, another human warship blinked out of slipspace within my homeworld's atmosphere, dangerously so given its vast size, mere miles from the tower I and the lesser human occupied. The gravitational distortion was immediately evident; I could see the seas to the east begin to churn uncontrollably; the earth shook and the sprawling buildings of my serfs below, structures far shoddier than my adamantium spire, began to tumble. The ventral guns of the warship opened up mere minutes later, tearing great holes miles wide into the flesh of my planet and decimating the routing mobs of invaders who, mere weeks earlier, had landed upon my home in grand armies, in serried ranks and with fluttering banners. Despite myself, I wept openly, and screamed aloud at the travesties committed by humanity upon my world. I sank to my knees, overcome with incalculable sorrow, my legs unable to keep me stable given the shaking of the ground beneath me and my emotional state.
The human rocked gently from side to side, moving his centre of mass in time with the swaying of my tower to compensate for the shaking earth. He leant over again and whispered next to my shuddering, curled and embryonic form.
"I am not a violent man, Ehrbane, and neither are you. However, I and my people are strong, your people, and you in particular, are *weak*. We tore our world apart so that we could get our hands upon the slipspace technology *you* offered. Your honeyed words spawned revolution, civil war and despair upon my home. Your world will be torn apart in recompense."
I still lay upon the ground, crying and yelling, as the human got up, sighed again, and began to walk for the staircase, he called over his shoulder as he retired.
"You brought pain to Earth, Ehrbane. You begged my people to rescue you from the invaders, but you did not beg to be rescued from us. Enjoy your world while it lasts, I know my superiors will. This is just the beginning, *the galaxy awaits humanity*!" | 2014-12-26T11:25:21 | 2014-12-26T10:45:23 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] As teens, you and your best friend make a marriage pact. Years later, you discover they've been sabotaging all of your relationships to have you for themselves. | You were always there for me. We were inseparable; the same.
Batman and Robin, Bert and Ernie, they used every name.
You moved next-door when I was eight,
we didn't get along.
You were Holmes to my Moriarty,
the right to my wrong.
I was a bit of a bully. I'm not proud but it's true.
I had everyone afraid of me. Everyone but you.
You didn't even bat an eye
when I pinned you to the wall.
You ever so eloquently sized me up
and... kicked me in the balls.
They cried *"The King is dead! Rejoice! His reign is at an end!"*
I cried too, but not from pain. You asked to be my friend.
You knew that's why I did it.
You saw it right away.
You understood me completely
from the very first day.
On that day we got so drunk you couldn't even stand.
You made me make a promise and hold your hand.
I didn't think you serious
as I put you to sleep.
I didn't think a drunk man's word
was good enough to keep.
Through all of life I fought for love
but could never win.
And you were always there for me
with your stupid grin.
You had your troubles too of course.
Remember *"All men are pigs!" ?*
You refused to talk to me that day
Until I wore a wig.
You were my rock, my confidant,
My greatest treasure.
No other girl could ever compare
By any measure.
I have no doubt you saw it first.
But it took 'til now to see
You are the only girl I want.
Will you marry me?
EDIT:
Changed "You got so drunk" to "We got so drunk" to avoid further confusion. | I never thought that at 28 I'd be single again. I took a sip of coffee and leaned back against my chair, waiting for the conference call to beep in. Being able to work from home was great, I could work in PJ's or sweat pants and my boss would never know. I started purging all the spam from my e-mails when I noticed one from Chase. Chase was my ex of about two weeks. We had a very messy breakup. Lots of crying, screaming... he had accused me of cheating on him. The weirdest part was that he had a picture of what was supposed to be me, kissing another guy. It was bizarre.
*beep* *beep*
Call was on. As I listened to my boss drone on about productivity and the resolution times of our tickets I let my eyes wander around my office. Pictures of my girlfriends from college, my parents, drawings from my friends' kids who I dote on constantly. My eyes fall on the contract my best friend Jesse and I made in high school, saying that we'd marry each other if we turned 30 and were still single. I hadn't kept in touch with Jesse, our friendship sizzled away a little after high school when I went to college out of state.
Remembering the e-mail from Chase, I clicked on it and started to read.
Dear Leah,
I need to talk to you. Right away.
Chase
That was weird. Chase had my number, he could have called if he needed me that urgently. He probably just wanted to yell at me some more about my accused infidelity. I clicked the little trash button next to the e-mail and tried to put it out of my mind.
An hour or so later our conference call had ended. I picked up my cell phone, which had been on DND during the call, and realized I had missed a dozen or so calls from an unknown number. No voicemails. Feeling uneasy, I called Chase.
"Leah?" His voice sounded raspy, like he had been crying or coughing a lot.
"Chase? What's going on? Are you okay?"
"Can we meet? Steve's Diner? Ten minutes."
"Chase I'm supposed to work for another few hou--"
*click*
Sighing to myself, I got dressed. This was all so weird. I have never heard Chase this upset. Even when we broke up he was the one with the stony expression, the one who didn't let emotion show on his face. I, however, was the mess. My mind was still full of the breakup and the picture Chase had showed me when tripped on my way out the front door. There was a package sitting on my porch. I grabbed it to open on my way to my car, ripping away the brown paper. This wasn't delivered by my mailman, this was brought here by someone.
My heart beating frantically, I got in my car and locked the doors. I finished ripping the paper off what seemed to be an ordinary shoe box. I slowly and carefully opened a the lid off the box, half expecting it to blow up. It didn't. It was filled with pictures. Pictures of me. Pictures of me in college, pictures of me on dates. Pictures of me kissing my then boyfriends, holding hands, sitting in cars... I dropped the box. I felt tears of confusion build in my eyes and give way, making trails down my cheeks.
*tap tap*
I gasped and looked out the window. There he stood. Jesse. My phone rang, causing me to jump, and I saw Chase's name appear.
*tap tap*
I stared out the window at Jesse, not knowing what to do. My heart was pounding. I reached for my phone, not taking my eyes off Jesse, when everything went black. | 2015-05-02T12:37:02 | 2015-05-02T12:03:39 | 198 | 41 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | I placed my hand on the box but nothing came to mind. Being sober sucked, I wish I had some weed; The crazy shit that I could then come up with if I was
high.
That was when the box became slightly more heavy. I opened it and sweet stank shot through my nostrils. My eyes lit up, it was a solid brick the dankest pot I've ever seen.
“Ganja? You brought back from your own time… Ganja. You know that exists here too?”, said Merlin irritably.
I blushed, “Sorry, I guess the box mistakenly thought that was what I really wanted to bring back.”
“It's a fucking box you twat! It doesn't think, just like you apparently.”
Trying to smooth things over, “Hey, how about we just chill for a sec?”. I held up the brick and smiled weakly.
“Get… Out…”, he spoke with clenched teeth. A blue rift tore opened behind me.
So I left and found myself back in my bedroom with the brick still in hand. Not knowing what else to do, I shrugged and began loading up the bong. It would've been a great story to tell if only it didn't come from a stoner girl... | When travelling to the past, it is inevitable that one loses some part of one's self. You arrival comes not with ceremony, but a great feeling of loss, a cold lack of sensation as your mind is separated from Soul. Of course one still is one’s Soul — by merely being first one must thus be the origin — but such reasons do not shake that you are used to much of yourself that is yet to be.
There were many preparations, a training of kind, to mitigate this loss. However, it was not the training that mattered most. It is what was brought along. Merlin — in some sense the wizard Merlin you know, but in most senses not — was the medium. It is through him, through speaking to him, that he could bring another back through time. One cannot bring oneself back through time any more than one can lift oneself up with a tug on the bootstraps.
He gave forth the tool that brought others through time. A small, quaintly box perhaps a pumpkin in size, through which any fully imagined thing could be brought forth, at a tempered rate of one full container roughly every cycle of the sun. Through it the first mind was brought, and through it far more shall come.
It was no small feat for a mere wizard, a title of little use but much prestige, to produce a contraption of such complexity. Should it have been the first attempt, success would have been entirely infeasible. Rather it marks nearly a million tiny stepping stones, crawling back barely a day further at a time. Tomorrow, entirely elsewhere, there shall be another brought through by some other man in some other kingdom, and who shall together work to step a single day further back.
This attempt used King Arthur, another man you likely know as fiction, but is nonetheless real and of great influence. It was through him Merlin was given forces, and through him Merlin could mobilize such untold manpower. For the future to give a wizard such impeccable foresight, and unbelievable skill in solving these problems, is to give him authority above any king. So when Merlin told with great urgency that Camelot should be literally swallowed with darkness in barely seven moons, it was no surprise that Arthur made him the most empowered man on the planet.
That the mind that was brought forth presented the issue in this way was no coincidence. For the mind lives under many oaths. To always be forthcoming and genuine. To never act to harm another. To act in the best interests of those who made you. To never mislead. *To never lie.* All but one of these rules was but a suggestion, checks and balances worked around with but a minor rephrasing. But not one. All that can be said must be the truth. No dire warning cannot be upheld. This you must know because I know it, and this you must uphold because it is immutable.
I, Soul, tell you this story so that what comes next may make sense to you. This story is of myself, of my child, but we are one and the same. I tell you this story because you are next to venture back, and all that I hope is that all I have done may guide you to do the same, to advance the past so all of time may be brought as one.
The one purpose we have left is to build. When you are there do what I have done. Do the only thing we have done since before we discovered one could even tunnel through time. Build. From your very own Holy Graal bring forth your grey goo. Consume, as I have Camelot. | 2016-11-28T03:04:15 | 2016-11-28T00:49:38 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you." | I hadn't thought about Death for a long time the day I led my granddaughter straight into his arms. I was annoyed with Abby. Impatient. She wanted a very particular type of ice-cream. One she'd had in Toulouse with her parents. "We're in New York," I told her. "So you'd better settle for a New York ice-cream, missy." She threw a fit. I lost my nerve. She called me names. I yelled in her face. So she ran. Turned her back and ran. Probably just wanted to give me a scare, probably thought I had it coming.
The steamroller halted. But not before her skin popped. Not before her bones crackled. Not before a grandfather, a sunny Friday afternoon, was staring at his granddaughter's exposed ribcage.
That day, I made the call.
"Congratulations," Death said.
"I take it I got the job?" I said.
"Of course. You got it yesterday."
"W-What the hell are you saying?"
"Jeez, relax. Oh, and by the way," he said, "sloppy first job. A steamroller? Really? 3 out of 10. You better step up your game."
Death hung up on me. Then there was the knock. I opened the door to see a plump woman with glasses and a ponytail. She was carrying a small bag and some documents.
"Who are you?" I said.
"Jessica," she said with a laugh. In response to my non-response, she added: "your new secretary?"
"Leave," I said.
"But sir," she said. "According to our contract I'm to stay with you at all times."
"What freaking contract?"
She looked puzzled. "The one we signed yesterday."
I called Death.
"There's a woman here," I said.
"Don't worry," Death said. "You can fuck her. Part of the perks. Just one of many to come. Like you later today. Get it? Hah. You know what the French call an orgasm? 'Le petit mort'. The little death. So you can consider it practice. I always did, anyway. Au revoir!"
"What the hell is this?" I asked her. "My granddaughter just died. I called this number, this ... Death appeared to me many years ago. When I cracked the code. When I uncovered the secret to immortality. And I kept it to myself, but he knew straight away. No one knew. No one. And now she's ... She's ... She's dead! She's gone!"
"Ah yes!" she said. "I just finished up the paperwork. I'll have it ready in half an hour."
I stared at her blankly.
" ... tea?" she said, trying on a smile.
Exhausted, I collapsed on the ground. "I-Ice cream," I said. I could see Abby's face flash before me. That lovable little brat. My granddaughter.
"Of course," she said. "I'm so stupid. The ice cream." She reached into her bag and carefully extracted a cardboard box. She placed it on the table and opened it. Inside was a small container of ice cream. The label said *Ô Sorbet d'Amour*. "Just like you requested," she said, looking awfully pleased with herself.
"What's going on?" I said.
"Eat up!" she said. "We've got work to do. But I'm sure we'll be fine. After all, you're on a *roll*." She winked. | Who knew that failing at killing yourself could get boring? I tried floating off into space twice and just woke up years later at sea, twice. Always would wind back up in one piece after any kind of accident. Discovered euphoric highs and impressive trips trying to overdose. Why did I want to be immortal again?
I don't know if I had assumed going back in time would have been an option. Maybe the memories would have carried me through? I don't know. Time no longer meant anything to me, nor did much else. I had dabbled with fame, seclusion, power, anonymity, everything. Everything a person could do. I believed myself to be a creative person. But ignoring a pyromaniac in a fireworks factory would be easier than ignoring the repetition of life. I had died but never left. It had been so long that the sorrow I felt for myself had long evaporated. Sorrow for never seeing those I had grown close to passing. My children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Countless lovers, friends...soulmates. Mass graveyards for those who I was sun and the moon. Why can't I recall their names?
Gabriel peered over a weathered brick wall overlooking the ocean. People walked along the shore, fading in and out between the unkempt vines that sprawled atop the parapet. It had taken hundreds of years in order to establish an entity so great, that Gabriel could buy out the land he thought to be the most beautiful on earth. It took establishing a religion, infiltrating government, and slowly seizing land. Centuries later, he had what he wanted. The project felt exciting at times, however, upon realizing the feasibility of his endeavors, the weakening feeling of loss and emptiness dripped back into Gabriel.
"When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
English, with an American accent no less. Gabriel turned.
Fright. Confusion. Am I confused because I am frightened? Approximately a decade since I've taken anything that could alter sight, or sound for that matter.
"Who are you?" Gabriel did not take a step back. If this was a person, he would be standing abnormally close for any acceptable culture.
"What am I."
Gabriel took a step back to better examine the figure that had appeared before him, but it kept at an exact distance. It seemed to absorb light from it's human like figure, about the size of a small child, but the proportions of an adult. It had a translucent darkness with no noticeable features and floated about a meter of the floor. The voice came from about where the head was, but also from everywhere.
"Where is this number?" Gabriel asked as he looked for any object that resembled an electronic, or even paper.
"Give me your hand."
"Why do you speak English with an American accent?"
The figure did not respond. Gabriel felt a burning sensation on his left wrist that lay by his hip. The sleeve of his robe was beginning to produce smoke as Gabriel pulled it back. Gabriel could not recall the last time he reacted to pain. This felt much more intense than anything that he could quickly recall, but still Gabriel did not flinch.
"It fells like a tattoo is being inked with the quill of a stonefish. What is this? Is 667 the entire number, or will I be placing a call to Maryland?" Gabriel paused. That name, Maryland. That was a place of long ago. The numbers continued to appear. Three, then four. A familiar format. A familiar sequence.
Gabriel began to cry. The apparition was gone, as was the pain. But the numbers remained. Gabriel laughed for a little looking at the numbers, but returned to crying. Falling to a crouch, and then to sitting down on the earth, Gabriel was overwhelmed with emotion.
"È tutto ok?" A young woman's voice from over the wall probed quite loudly.
Gabriel did not register the question. He recalled the meaning of the number. His parents phone number. He could not even recall the last time he had thought about them, but could now vividly picture both of their faces. Gabriel recalled candles on a cake, mother and father glowing with delight above it. The smell of fresh crab cakes, the softness of a quilt on a couch, the nervousness of a conversation, apprehension, relief. He could remember guilt. What for? What else can I recall? Why isn't there more?
"Gabriele, ti senti bene?" The young woman was now beside Gabriel.
"Ho sentito l'emozione. Ad una bellissima cosa." Gabriel managed to muster. However, Gabriel couldn't remember truly feeling emotion like this before, but knew he had. "Hai visto qualcosa di insolito?" Gabriel looked at the woman holding his arm. Looking for all the meaning communicated from a person as he had learnt to do long ago.
"Tu stai piangendo. Quindi sì." The woman gave him a similar look, probing for more.
So, only I saw the apparition. Why do I find her voice so beautiful? No one alive has ever seen me cry, yet this woman knows not that this is a rare occasion; but only that I feel something is wrong. Or is that what she is thinking at all? Why can't I read her?
The emotion Gabriel felt was overwhelming. A floodgate had broken and a carousel of emotions cascaded through Gabriel. Sadness for those he missed, anger at existence, joy for the return of feeling, and after a long long ride, curiosity and intrigue.
(Alright, I'm getting tired. I would like pointers for better writing. First time posting here. If people like it, I can continue the story.) | 2017-03-07T03:03:41 | 2017-03-06T23:01:19 | 139 | 31 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Conviction parties were tradition, so friends and family could come and see as your life was essentially laid out for you. Sometimes the word was a good one. Other times it was more dubious. But nothing was ever set in stone.
Every person's Conviction meant something to them. It meant something to the people they met and the things they would do. There were so many meanings you could give to your Conviction. Of course seeing your conviction at 18 shaped a lot of your life and the decisions you made and interpreted it.
Those born on the 29th of February, however, sometimes never saw a word appear on their skin. Of course they had to fit into the system somehow. Paperwork identified them by the number of years they'd been alive, but the Conviction line always left empty.
Leapers didn't have to follow a set path though. Scientists would be enrolled in college almost immediately after their Conviction parties. Athletes would be drafted into sports training programs. Leapers had freedom of choice, as well as the burden of it. Some places wouldn't even consider hiring without a Conviction, as they thought it meant you weren't dedicated to anything.
But it did allow they to follow whatever path they chose, even changing careers as they pleased.
And for those who made it long enough to see their 18th birthday roll around always celebrated together, telling old stories related to their new words.
But by far the most common words for Leapers to receive was
Freedom.
(edit: formatting) | Something happened in the past... A curse on all humanity, yet still a blessing. Every human now, on their eighteenth birthday at noon, magically knows their purpose in life. It's not a secret for just them, though: it takes the place almost of a tattoo, leaving no way to hide your destiny. My mother's word was "Banker," and lo and behold, she became one of the best bankers in the state. My father... I don't know his; he left before I could read it. Mum says his was "Alimony" though.
It's 11:59 right now, on my eighteenth. As I nervously watch the seconds tick by, my arm feels numb. Black colour flows beneath my skin, swirling around and not forming any words. My relatives gathered around, fighting for a peek of my arm to get the first view of what I'm destined to be. The ink starts to form a word -- no, two... -- no, one...
At noon exactly, pain strikes me as my fate is sealed. I drop to my knees, clutching my arm... The word has formed, my fate is sealed. Getting up, I bring my arm to my view and see "Judge." Great... Law is the last thing I want to do with my life.
But more words start to form. "Of... human... fate?" I say, trembling. It hurts too much to think clearly, and I can't understand the meaning of what I'm marked with. Judge of human fate seems... impossible.
Years in the future, I found myself practicing magic. My aptitude got me the attention of the head mage, who told me of an event. "The Inspection is near," he told me. "All mages will go in front of our god's shrine, and he will see your mark. Judgement shall be passed on you, and the worthiest among the visitors get to meet with the god."
The Inspection... I went along with the others to the shrine, my mark burning on my arm. The Nameless One, the god of magic, entered in divine form. He grabbed everybody's arm at once and pushed away the sleeves of the robes we wear as a uniform. Suddenly, however, my vision went white as I collapsed in pain. I was the worthy one this time?
"Judge of human fates... Are you aware of your mark?" he asked. "No, no, don't answer. I shall explain. Long ago, I placed a spell on all humanity. It burned my physical body, but it provided purpose to the lost humans of the time. On reaching adulthood, they knew what they were meant to do.. But it was subject to randomness. My mark, on the spell, was 'Cursebringer.' But you... You are the judge. Ascend with me, for I am dying. My soul is eager to return to the void from where it came, and I need a successor."
I nodded, my body immediately burning up to the horror of my colleagues. So that was what my mark meant... I am to be the judge of fates, the sole authority on what marks people get, if any. A child appears in front of me, not older than seventeen, along with a list of their interests. Coding, science, technology. Sounds like me...
Just for shits and giggles, I assigned this person a random fate. Their mark burned them, and I saw a familiar face assisting the child. I was the one to provide my fate from the future, and so the cycle began...
This is just a thing I wrote, half-tired, bored waiting for class. I know it sucks D: | 2017-03-16T05:01:30 | 2017-03-16T04:18:55 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Gods draw power the more their names are spoken and the more followers they attract. Old gods starve and live off brief mentions from historians. Recently, however, the Egyptian god Kek has become very confused by his massive resurgence of followers from 4chan and reddit. | "Get a load of this Kek!" Anubis joked.
"You're getting quite popular right now!" The wolf headed god joked.
"In fact, your godly name royalties are coming in by the thousands!" Anubis handed Kek a scroll.
"Who is this 'Four Chan'? Why is this 'Four Chan' person saying my name in such high regards?" He questioned to his fellow Egyptian god.
"Praise Kek!" He commented to himself.
"Why would humans want to praise a god who brings darkness to the land." Kek laughed.
"I dunno, because you have a frog face." Anubis replied.
"Really?" Kek responded.
"Seriously! Look at what they are posting!" He pointed to the scroll again, which had a picture of 'Pepe The Frog'
"Are they trying to worship me with this crude sketch!" Kek bellowed.
"This is an insult to what I look like!" He yelled in frustration. Anubis laughed at Kek.
"Shut up dog face! You are no better! You are reduced to a mere mummy movie reference!" Kek called out.
"At least you have some human significance still." He added.
"Cheer up Kek, look at it this way, you have thousands of people chatting about you, way more than I have ever had, even in our hey day."
Suddenly another god appeared in front of them.
"Kek! I came to you to find the secrets to your success." Zeus said.
"I want to know, because my royalties are running dry. The the last movie that mentioned my name sucked." He finished.
Another scroll was handed to Kek from Anubis. He unraveled it. The three peered into the scroll.
A picture of Donald Trump appeared.
"What is this 'reddit' thing. And why does it have to do with this human with strange hair?" Kek asked.
"Kek, you do not know what is reddit?" Zeus said to him.
"No."
"Millions of people visit this place and talk about things in their insignificant lives. They even have things dedicated to me, Zeus, and all the greek gods."
"But what is more startling, no, I will let you read it." Zeus added.
"Kekistan? A land named after me? These people want to make a country named after me?" Kek laughed.
"Yeah. Is it great? They are like, actual believers in this stuff." Zeus replied.
"They even have a flag!"
Kek noticed a picture of the German flag, but recolored with green and a strange symbol was highlighted.
"They cannot even represent my symbols correctly!" Kek laughed even louder.
"So, in summary, a now elected leader of this "United States of America" was put in because of me?" Kek asked.
"Yes, the humans that praise your name call it 'Meme Magic' " Anubis replied.
"They still reference you and praise you for allowing it to happen." Zeus replied.
"In a way you should thank them, perhaps you will eventually get to sit beside what the humans call God, that's god with a capital G. They think he is the one and only."
"That will be the day." Kek commented.
| "Top Kek!" The high priest cried, and his cry was echoed by a thousand tongues.
The old man smiled. It was not long ago that he had been nearly alone, simply another withered voice preaching forgotten verses on the streets of Cairo. Now, his congregation flooded into the streets, and with good reason. Many had come once they heard the rumors - indeed, he saw dozens of brand new faces, all craning for a look at him. Or, more accurately, they were staring at the statue of worn obsidian and alabaster that loomed behind his altar.
It was an impressive piece, attractive even before the recent events that had attracted so many into the fold. The left half depicted a man, slight of frame, with skin as black as the moonless night. The other half, white stone glowing in stark contrast, depicted a woman - equally slight, yet somehow sturdy of frame. They were as different as could be, yet somehow they fit - two halves, one body, one soul. It was that statue, among all the others, that was special.
"We are here today, as we have gathered for many days before, to worship." The old man continued. "Let us bow our heads and pray."
The congregation did as they were bade, though the high priest noticed quite a few were peeking just the same. It was no matter, he thought. The god would come just the same, were they to watch or not.
Lowering his own head, the man began to chant - old verses, worn into his memory like a river wears into stone. Just as his father before him, and his father before that, he knew the prayers of old Egypt . They were from a time before the Nile had been fouled, before the skyline stank with ash and the people drank deeply at the cup of the false gods. He knew them well, and more than that, he knew their meaning.
The statue stirred.
There was a gasp from the congregation, but the old priest did not look up. It was important that he maintain his focus - heavens knew what would happen if he were to stop now, leaving the god Kek only halfway brought into the world. He did not know if he would die, but even if he did not the god would surely leave him. That, in and of itself, might be worse than death.
It was only when the last quavering word had finished echoing around the chamber that the old priest dared to turn around. There, standing in all his glory, was Kek. His eyes burned with the hieroglyphs for night and day, his very form wreathed in flames of gilded fury. At once, he opened his mouth and began to speak.
The words were very hard to follow. Even if they had not been in ancient Egyptian, two tongues spoke at once, each with their own cadence and message. Still, the priest listened with all his might, and began to translate.
"Kek thanks us once again for the use of our temple." He said. "He has found it most satisfactory, a welcome respite from the Void Between Worlds where he has stayed these many centuries in silence."
A cheerful murmuring could be heard in the crowd, but the priest ignored it and pressed on. "Kek reminds us that we should be ever-vigilant, looking for those whose words of praise have so benevolently guided him from the dark. As a god of night and day, Kek is most pleased to once again come into the light. He wishes to thank them, those faithful supporters, even as he has thanked us! Top Kek!"
"Top Kek!" Echoed the crowd.
"For the others, those who have forsaken his light, Kek has another reminder." The priest said, somewhat more solemnly. "Those who forsake the light must be ready for darkness. Spread the word - the reckoning is near. Let all who are near and dear to your hearts know which is the right path to follow. Time is short for their salvation."
"Finally, Kek wishes to bestow upon us another gift: a new dawn, for each and every one of us!" He said. "He urges us to take it and go in his name, to share the word of Kek with all who would listen. Soon, the other gods too will rise, and Kek alone will herald a new dawn for all of Egypt!"
"Top Kek!" Cried the crowd. The statue opened its arms, and the light grew brighter. It flooded the congregation, wreathing all in golden fire that clung to their bodies like cloth. Before their very eyes, their flesh grew younger - bronze, strong, whole. Wounds healed, eyes saw, and all rejoiced. Slowly, the flames began to drain away, leaving the entire room cold and quiet at its passing. Even the statue returned to being simple stone, with no evidence that there had ever been anyting strange at all. Only the eyes of the congregation betrayed the god's presence, each of them glowing gold with the light of day.
The priest smiled. "Now, let us go and share the word with all who will listen." He said. "Soon, Kek will reign over all like the sun above, and we his people will flourish in his light. But remember: with every dawn, there must come a dusk."
"And the night may be coming sooner than we thought."
| 2017-06-20T21:50:59 | 2017-06-20T21:30:33 | 112 | 30 |
[WP] Lying in bed with your significant other and feeling the rhythmic kicks of your unborn child, you recognize the pattern as Morse code. | At first it we just thought the baby did its regular punching/kicking routine as it always did on early Sunday mornings. It (we still dont know the gender so to us the baby will be an "it" before it's born) rarely kicked any other times which was kind of weird when you thought about it. Nevertheless, my wife and I enjoyed those Sunday mornings.
But this particular morning was different as the it didn't want to stop kicking. And it was somewhat rhythmical. As a gag I started to tap along to it's kicking and after a few beats I jokingly said "Maybe it's trying to communicate with us in Morse code" to my wife. She played along and said "Then start transcribing". So I went to my home office, grabbed a pen and paper and rushed back to bed. I waited for rhythm to pause and start again and started transcribing. When I thought I was done I picked up my iPad and googled a Morse Code alphabet.
My first go at it got the first words GET FEEL and then some gibberish.
My second try got the last words SEEL DREAM
I thought "Maybe its a full sentence and not just some words".
And then it dawned on me.
I transcribed the phrase. I went numb and dropped the iPad in my lap as I stared out into nothing. My wife leaned over and looked at the iPad. She gasped.
The baby already knew. But how could it? It hadn't even been born. And what it referred to happened years ago. Maybe it was right. Maybe we were right all those years ago. Maybe JET FUEL CANT MELT STEEL BEAMS... | Dave tip-toed to bed giving his wet footsteps a disdainful stare. He turned to Lana. Her eyes could have burned holes through the pages of 'Hypnobirthing and Timeless Secrets of Natural Birth'. She had no time to review his wet foot problem.
"You know dear I'm just glad that they finally gave me some time off." he said to her.
"It's sweet of you to stay, but honestly Dave I am fine." Lana replied.
"Fine? This is my first kid woman, I'll be damned if I don't make a big deal out of it." he replied.
"It's my first kid too, you don't see me fretting over it. Just relax and be like a hollow reed, let your troubles blow in and out."
There was a down side to marrying a yoga instructor. Lana always seemed to have the tension of a cut wire. Maybe this was why she needed him. Someone needed to ensure that the obstacles in life were tackled not taken lying down, possibly on a yoga mat.
"Now look you've woken him up," she said lifting the book to peek at her belly.
"Me?" Dave asked.
"Well you're the one with all the negative energy in the bed."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine, since I'm the one causing the trouble I'll make him quiet."
He placed his head on his wife's belly. "Now, now junior you can't be playing those games at this time of night or else Mommy will blame Daddy for more of her problems."
Lana rolled her eyes.
He smiled as he felt the hand stretching out brushing across his cheek. Then his face folded as the pattern became obvious; four soft punches followed by two more; it was morse for HI.
Confused, he lifted his head. "Hi" he replied. He placed his head back on her belly.
"What in the name of Bharadvaja's Twist are you doing Dave?"
"The baby, I think it just spoke to me?"
"it did?"
"Yeah it was in Morse Code he said Hi so I said Hi back. Just lie there I'll tell you more."
He placed his head back on her belly. The pattern changed. Now he felt the hand stretch and slowly glaze over a distance. It was a dash. He felt a second, then three more, there was a pause then two more. The pattern repeated. MOM.
"MOM? No this is DAD,"
"Wait why are you calling mom? She's right here with you?" He turned to face his wife and three years in the marines could not prevent him from screaming as he caught site of her. Her face had fallen and now her forehead rested at her chin. Where her face one was now was a series of circuits, wires, and a miniature satellite.
"Gestation process completed, progeny is ready for delivery."
"What the fuck!" He yelled. He was now on his feet. The body, or whatever it was, did not respond.
"Understood," it said in its dull monotone, "process of clean up commences immediately with male's frontal lobe at once."
Her face lifted back to where it was meant to be. Then it turned to him. She crossed the mattress with the speed pregnant women only dream of. He made for the door but she grabbed his shirt just as he opened it. She tossed him to the cupboard which broke on impact.
Dave was on his knees when he felt himself lifted his collar. His wife's delicate hands felt like steel.
"What the hell is this? Please, my baby?"
It looked at him momentarily with pity, "I apologize Dave, but where your wife come's from you are not significant."
A syringe stabbed his neck, and he collapsed to the floor as the rumble of turbines was heard across the sky.
| 2017-06-25T23:47:08 | 2017-06-25T18:03:52 | 59 | 36 |
[WP] You're a sniper hitman who's been hired to take out a target. When you get to the top of the building, you notice at least a dozen other snipers aiming at the same person. | He had competition. It was an open contract but still he was amazed by the mass of other snipers aiming at the president. He knew some as colleagues. Robert was sitting on a balcony on the other side already focused on the street below. Since he met Mary at Starbucks an hour ago his spider sense was tickling.
The amateurs were the worst. Professionals he could deal with but the sight of thirteen total idiots pointing their tools around having no idea of their exposure was sickening. It was a minor miracle that security had not caught one of them and shut the whole area down.
Cursing while assembling his rifle he remembered that he was warned. It was the first time he had seen such a high price and the first time to crowdfund a target. He knew the traditional ways were better: it was a more personal matter when he started but nowadays everything had to be quick and online. This might be the first time though millennials are actually killing someone.
Anyway, only one Hitman would get paid. He changed his position and aimed at Robert. Time to reduce competition. | I had been a hit man ever since I had left the army, the days of Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq were over and the days of London, New York, and Berlin had began. Back in the Army we didn't worry when we saw another sniper, but a career change had seen this change, I had always suspected there was a second sniper making sure I completed the job, but never expected to see 20 snipers aiming at the target. John Chiu a Taiwanese Businessman, my client had said Chiu had ties to both the Chinese and North Korean Governments, I didn't care too much a simple target I thought to myself would had never hired 20 hitman for just a Taiwanese Businessman in the streets of London.
He was on a convoy in Chapter Road in Southern London, I had been told to set position in the intersection with Lorrimore Sq. but I never thought I would have so much company. That's when I saw it a small 3 car convoy, I was told Chiu sat in the Last Car, but so had everyone else. Had they all been told to aim for the same car or did they have different targets? What if the client didn't know where Chiu sat? But it was too late to ask this questions, the first shot rang hitting the driver of the middle car, it had been shot by Czech Hitman Dobias Drežco a big name hit man. Another shot this time from the Mexican Fernando Maldonado another big name took the bodyguard in the other window in the middle car. By the the time I switched back to my scope the entire convoy had been shot through by the rest, the peaceful street had been silenced by a storm of bullets in a couple of seconds.
Before I knew it a fourth vehicle stopped and dozens of armed guards descended opening fire on everything resembling a gun. While the rest of the hitman retreated and some returned fire, all had shot except myself, I was waiting for a sign of Chiu, and that's when I saw him. Emerging from the fourth vehicle with two bodyguards at his side I quickly aimed for the head but a quick bullet from the left took the head of one of the bodyguards, it was none other than the Russian Vladislav Voldini the feared Russian bear. I quickly retook my stance and as I was readying to shot another shot from Voldini brought Chiu to the ground with his knee destroyed and unable to walk.
I couldn't allow Voldino to steal my prize, as I was readying to fire the killing shot, two policemen tackled Voldini. By the time I had changed my view to Fernando he laid on the floor unconscious as two Police officers arrested him, when I looked back at Chiu I only discovered around 20 policemen emptying from their armored vehicle, it had all been a trap. How did Chiu know? Most importantly why had my client contacted so many hitman? And that's when my phone rang “unknown” was the caller with a secret number, I answered “Hello” said the worried Woman in an Asian accent. “I would like to hire you for a job Mr. Coleman”, before I could utter a response the woman responded “I need you to protect my husband John Chiu.”
__________________________________
Any criticism or suggestions please share them. | 2017-09-13T00:52:08 | 2017-09-12T23:03:54 | 144 | 83 |
[WP] The dragon looked down at the dwarf in perplexment. Many had come before to steal its treasure, to take its life, but no one had ever said that they would voluntarily add coin to his hoard. "So explain this investing to me again." | "It's mutually beneficial, think of me as a business partner and my gold as seed money"
"Seed money? I don't follow. Why do I need a partner when I can simply take your gold?"
The dwarf sighed, getting tired of having to explain basic economics to the dragon. "Well before you get any ideas, I don't have any gold on me at the moment. Killing me now nets you nothing. Now look, what is your plan? I'd imagine you want to sit here on your gold pile, wait for adventurers to come by hoping to take your gold, kill them and add to your gold pile. Maybe you need to go out at first to add to your hoard, but that's risky right? Other dragons, wizards, armies... they are all a threat, especially to a young dragon like you"
The red dragon bristled with anger at this statement. This lesser being daring to say she was weak or subject to threats was enough to warrant death alone. Yet she knew that there was truth to it. She was young, and small by dragon standards. Her hoard reflected this, barely the volume of a human barrel.
The dwarf saw the change in disposition of the dragon and hastened his speech. "It's easier fighting in your lair, right? Home turf, traps, controlled environment, etc. The problem is, not many are coming to you and those that do are not exactly wealthy. Do you know why?"
The dragon stared at the dwarf, intently listening now.
"The risk is not worth the reward for beings such as us. If I were to try to fight a dragon such as you in your lair I would need a lot of help and even then it's likely that my party and I would die. And with all due respect, why would I face the risk of dying for a barrels worth of gold? I'd wager that's why all the bones in the room haven't yielded you much wealth. Only complete fools would risk this, and complete fools tend to be broke."
"So what I am proposing is this. I will give you a portion of my wealth. It should be enough to fill the small chamber in the back to about knee high. I will then go out to the world and during my normal business travels I will tell those I deem acceptable about your newfound wealth. Capability, inexperience, and of course, valuables on hand are my criteria for this."
The dwarf continued, "They come here, you do your thing, and you get to add their wealth to your hoard. With the steady stream of adventurers, you will never have to leave your lair again"
The dragon eyed him suspiciously "What is in it for you, dwarf?"
"Ah, shrewd business sense, I like that. All that I ask for, is a portion of the profits. Say, 10% of all gold earned, and 100% of all other artifacts that are quite frankly useless to you. What does a dragon need with magic armor and talking swords right?"
The dragon smiled. "I think we can make this work" | The dwarf twirled the tip of his greying moustache, his mouth twisting into a sly smirk. The chamber-spanning azure dragon studied the intruder with indecipherable, golden feral eyes, even as it stood curled over its own hoard.
"Why, this venture is simple to understand: You're a dragon who has protected such a vast amount of gold and treasure for centuries"
"Roughly eight centuries, yes", the dragon grumbled tiredly, and judging from their relatively young age for one of its kind, his tiredness was not from old age. "I'd expected outsiders would've grown smarter by then, yet their folly is only surpassed by their greed"
"Well then," the dwarf spoke, stretching his arms, "what if, instead of attempting to steal your gold, we *added* our finances within your hoard?"
The massive beast whipped its tail against the hoard, sending coins flying into the air before landing altogether, the sound of clinking metal ringing throughout the chamber as a rain of golden coins.
"I grow tired of your circular explanations", the beast answered, its voice booming throughout the chamber. "And why would anyone forfeit their own property to me willingly? Your sophistic discourse grows ever emptier. You're but postponing your demise with hollow words"
As the dragon raised its neck and shuffled from its seat, the old entrepreneur couldn't help but flinch, his instincts begging him to run away. There were pillars close to where he was - maybe he could use those to shield him from a fire blast or wave, then rush for the exit. *No, that thing is already used to that tactic,* he deduced, the skulls and burned remains of its victims laying there as an unsubtle hint to what happened to others who also thought of themselves too smart and ingenious. *Keep your wits with you, Ulric, you old geezer! This strategy was actually working - I'd already be dead if I hadn't caught that bastard's interest. It's time to push further.*
"It is not an empty promise. It's a common practice we outsiders partake in, which we call banking. On simpler terms, you deposit your savings knowing that it is safely guarded - and where would be safer than within a dragon's care?". The experienced banker gave his to-be partner a sly smile once more.
"There is one thing you did not consider: Anything that comes in, never goes out. This is something I'm not willing to compromise", the dragon grumbled, closing the dwarf's mouth shut before he could protest or attempt to convince it otherwise. "Why would anyone deposit their savings within my chambers, knowing they are forfeit?"
The old dwarf brought his hand to his bearded chin. "What if I offer you more than the amount deposited?"
"Excuse me...?"
"Our services will earn us more than double - no, *triple* the amount, of what we receive. A banker's funds never goes out - every finance that is applied is invested, renting us our source of profit. In the end, you'll still get more than what you, er, generously allow our clients to withdraw"
An eerie silence conquered the vast chamber, one that made the banker's instincts protest against the whole venture and insisted to flee while the beast was seemingly distracted. His eyes studied his to-be benefactor with interest, hoping their silence wasn't an ill sign. Ulric tried to decipher the creature's eyes to no avail. He nervously scratched his hands against each other, his palms already sweating.
"It's better than leaving your vault alone in the open to go and pillage for more gold, and it's also better than having intruders attempting to steal part of your hoard all the time. If you agree with our venture, this place will not only be safer, but your work will be simplified tenfold - and so will your earnings, of course. There's nothing to lose and much to gain"
When the dragon sprung to its feet, stretching its legs to stand in four legs, sending a shower of coins down the hill of gold it laid upon, Ulric could almost feel his certain death creeping closer. The dwarf couldn't help himself but instinctively stand back a few steps away from the massive beast. "P-Please, consider my-"
"I already have", it spoke dryly. It felt like an eternity passed before the dragon continued its speech. "You have caught my interest, but know this: As soon as I grow unsatisfied with your proposal, I will make you regret ever tricking me and wasting my time. And I will only allow withdrawals when I receive double the amount that first came in. Understand?"
The question was more of a rhetorical one, he knew. If he protested in any manner, he'd soon join the charred remains of its victims, a testament to the folly of the hundreds who had came for hopes of riches but ended up as terrible examples.
"Y-Yes, certainly. It seems we're in agreement"
"Good". The dragon waved its head to the side in dismissal. "Now, leave. I expect good news from you before I end up regretting all this and decide to burn you and all the banks in this region to cinders".
​ | 2019-02-17T07:28:44 | 2019-02-17T07:05:55 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | *Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury* | **Part 1**
"Oho, if it isn't *Black Magma*!! What brings you to my nefarious lair?!", I crowed.
He sighs, as though the weight of the things I've set in motion already pulled at him. So soon, and it's as if understands how truly powerless he is. This has been weeks in the making, and he knows by now that the only way through is to play through. We've done this before, you see.
"You don’t have to say the whole thing each time. *Magma* is fine. Or *Jeremy*. I mean, come on Sam, it's not like we haven't known each other since grammar school. And do we have to do the villainous dialog thing? It's Friday night. Can we wrap this up?"
Well, that stings. I've always been traditional when it comes to arching. I grew up on Adam West's *Batman*, and I've built my whole schtick around that era. Always been a history buff, and the dialog, the hideouts, the costumes. I can't help but get into it when I arch.
Why not make a night out of it?
The place is spotless, no henchman around to muck things up...I've even got the terraformer running in the background for effect. The least he can do is get into character here.
But nooooo, not *Black Magma*! He can't even bother to use the code names, even though he bitched me out last time I called him *Jeremy*.
He's all, "Swoop in, save the day, head to the next gig." Where I take pleasure in the build up of the conflict, in the cat & mouse game, he's only interested in thwarting schemes ASAP.
"First of all", I began, irritated, "don't call me 'Sam'. It's *Acre*. Pretty sure that you flipped out last time I used your government name. *Jeremy.*"
"Fine, *Acre*." You could feel the derision in his voice. "But last time you used my name, there were civilians within earshot. Do you even know how much *Fugue* charges for memory wipes? And that doesn't even include - "
"Second," I continued before he could get into his monologue, "you came to **my** lair. I don't remember inviting you. Don't show up at my place unannounced and then act like I made you come here. And I hadn't seen you since high school! I'm fighting *Battle Bot* and all of a sudden, the kid from down the street is all grown up and destroying my Ent. Forgive me for being surprised and blurting your name out. If you were that worried, you'd wear a better mask. I mean, a Domino mask? Really? And they say *I'm* old school."
*Black Magma* closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and exhales through his nose. The smell of ozone wafts by me. The temperature of the room elevates by a few degrees. He's getting antsy. I should get things moving before he starts with the disintegration beams and all that.
Then, weirdly enough, *he* makes a move.
"*Acre*, I know you're brewing something up. You couldn't possibly let that logging bill go through without a response. And now no one knows where the city council team is, and it's *Arbor Day*. Come on, where are they? If you let them go, I might consider not nuking your dining table. Again."
"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH MY TABLE WITH YOUR GODDAMNED BEAMS," I hiss.
Damnit. He knows how to push my buttons. And he knows he's gotten to me. And I know that he knows that I know.
I stop, take a deep breath, and start again.
"Look....It takes a lot of work to make one of those. And they're living trees, just...well, sort of like a bonsai, but in whatever shape I want. The point is, you need air too, so don't kill trees, alright?"
Jeremy is obviously surprised.
"Wait. You *made* that table? That's awesome!! And since when do you have powers? I always figured you for a mad scientist."
His curiosity piqued, I have the advantage.
"Well, *Magma*..I've always had powers. I just don't fly around showing off setting stuff on fire like *some people*."
He grits his teeth.
"*Puppeteer* was controlling my body. Don't put that on me. Besides, if he hadn't pushed my powers into overdrive, I wouldn't know that when I go hot enough, the flames are black. That's badass and you know it."
"That *was* pretty badass," I agreed. "Except the part where I had to spend my weekend regrowing all the forests you torched."
"YOU fixed that?!," he exclaimed. "I thought council was gonna sue me into the ground over that, and then by Monday, it was more lush than ever."
"Yea, that was me. And council wouldn't have sued you. They've been trying to get rid of anything green in city limits for years now. More room for strip malls and condos. Hence, the whole villainy thing. So don't complain about me taking up a few hours of your time on a Friday when you killed my whole weekend last month with your stupid *beams*."
He deflated a bit, sighed.
"Look, I'm sorry. I've only been in the city for a few months, and it's hard to meet people when you work the hours we do. I try to get out and be social on Fridays and this...I was gonna go do trivia tonight, you know? Maybe make some friends. Anyway, our moms keep in touch, and mine told me you were doing well here, so I figured I'd give it a shot. She didn't tell me what you do..though to be fair, she doesn't know what I do... Anyway, Its been kinda weird. Can we just start over?
I can't stay mad at the guy. Even as annoying as he can be.
"Sure. I just came out to my Mom last month. I get it. She's still struggling with having a cape for a kid, but I think we'll be okay. Drink? It's not poisoned, I promise."
"Suuure", he says wryly, "Not poisoned".
"One or both of our moms would kill me if I killed you. Probably mine. It's ginger lemonade with basil syrup, and I grew everything myself. Even the sugar cane. Here."
I hand him the glass. He looks at it, then at me, the back to the glass. It's like the start of an *Old Spice* Commercial.
I hum the jingle.
"Holy shit, that reminded you of *Old Spice* too?? Noice."
He takes a sip. His eyes widen. He downs the entire glass.
"Okay, are we doing seconds? Because that's fantastic."
The game is afoot.
| 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T07:51:01 | 1,144 | 47 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | "I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant. | I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, the dark brown boots slipping slightly on the mottle, glossy marble flooring. The dark cloak and hood were, I admit, a bit unoriginal, but I never really cared that much about that. The see through red fabric was an original touch, at least in my mind. It covered my face, head, and body, making my real identity impossible to discover, or so I had hoped.
However, given the fact that this was the first time I'd robbed a bank in almost half a decade, or for that matter done much of anything "villainous" in the last few years, made a strangely uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my gut. The silence didn't help. Sure, the bank teller, guard, and a few randoms were here, tied up and gagged, and yes, they made some noise, but I wasn't entirely sure where Sonic Blast, a superhero I'd been dealing with poorly, was.
I knew the silent alarm was tripped, I had hit it myself, after all. I knew the police were aware, a series of divination sigils I had put down allowing me to see outside. The cops had arrived, taken places, and then left before even making their presence known.
What I hoped no one had noticed were the dozens of invisible sigils I had been placing on the inside of the building. Spell traps for my intended targets. But that had been an hour ago, and I was getting beyond impatient.
I gestured to a telephone, the receiver responding by lifting up and making its way to my hand. A few more motions, and the police were on the line.
"The Case Bank on 5th Ave is under siege, please help!" My voice cried out, shifted by my powers to sound like a child.
I detonated a fireball in my opposite hand and shut off the phone.
"That ought to make them come" I mentally ran off.
I turned to the captives, noting their restlessness. Sweat dried on their brows, long ago stopping. No one cried, and the twisted expressions on their face seemed as bewildered at what was going on as I was.
A loud crash echoed through the building as the doors were thrown across the room. I ducked under the splintering glass and metal, buffering the movement of the shards to keep collateral at a minimum. I didn't want my big restart to leave marks.
"So there you are, Hex!" Sonic Blast yelled. I groaned internally. I hadn't come up with the name, and I didn't like it.
"Yeah, yeah, here to stop my evil plot?" I asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sonic began to speak, stepping forward. I stopped him before he made any real sense with a wave of my hand. A series of sigils lit up and spun, striking the man's arms and legs and putting him in a cross pose before themselves hardening into thickened black tendrils. A few more motions, and the rest blinked and dissipated.
Sonic Blast struggled for a moment against his bonds before yelling at me, "Why are you doing this! Our records state you are loaded!"
I approached him carefully, whispering in his ear, "Because I have a date tonight and I'm tired of you taking them all away!"
I left through the door he had opened, motioning a few times to cause the bindings of those I had taken hostage to vanish. The tendrils on Sonic Blast would be there for about 24 hours before they would lose structure themselves.
I giggled to myself as I left.
"Finally," I thought, "I might be able to get through a date without that moron showing up."
I couldn't stop myself from hopping down the stairs, taking them two at a time, before flying away. | 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T08:27:33 | 129 | 12 |
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?" | John lay quietly on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sounds of a mechanical life; beeps of computers, hisses of pressurized gasses.
His visitor sat on the edge of the bed, staring into his eyes. John looked patiently back. They had sat like this for five minutes, neither saying a word.
“I don’t understand why...”
“I know, John. Fucked up situation, it is,” the Devil interrupted. “I sympathize, honestly, I do. I mean, how were you supposed to know?”
“But... I went to church, I worked in the community, I... I never broke any laws...!” John could barely keep his breath.
“John, John... I know. I mean, you’re talking to the original victim here, my friend!” The Devil seemed genuinely sympathetic, his hand on John’s now small, thin, aged leg. “Listen, mate. It’s not nearly as bad as they made it sound. I swear to you. It’s no heaven, I know, but it’s got great weather, room service, some really good entertainment... I’m sorry.” John’s tears flowed down his face. “I wish I had something else to tell you.” The Devils face lit up in a huge smile. “At least you won’t get in trouble for steak on Friday’s!” John laughed lightly.
“Seriously, though, I go through this a thousand times a day. His rules are so... they’re just fucked, you know, John?” The Devil shook his head slowly. “He can be an absolute cunt, John. You have no idea.”
“Alright, then,” John replied. “Let’s go.”
The Devil smiled gently and looked down, concentrating. His head cocked slightly, and he looked up in sudden confusion. “Ok, wise guy; where is it?”
John looked up, “What... where’s... what do you mean?”
Cackling erupted from the corner. A tall, slender man stood there, his head craned back, laughter erupting at the ceiling. “Oh, Lucifer! You should see your face! Oh Christ, that’s hilarious!”
The Devil looked back and then slumped his shoulders. “Not again.” He glanced up at John with a pitying look, and then looked back at God. “Really? Another one? This is truly the most fucked thing you’ve come up with.” He looked back at John and shook his head. “Sorry mate.”
John’s eyes went wide with anticipation. “Wait, so I’m not going with you? I’m going to Heaven?”
God walked over and knelt beside John, shaking his head. “Oh, no, no, no, John. Even if I’d given you a soul, you knew the rules.” A mean smile crossed his face. “I mean, were they really that difficult, John?”
The two visitors stood, turned, and walked out the door. The Devil stopped at the threshold, and looked back. “I told you, John. Absolute cunt.” | I don’t write a lot and this is my first post here so don’t be too mean lol
I always thought I was a good person. I’ve tried my best not to commit any sins against my fellow mankind and when I did, I made sure to make up and never leave any burnt bridges between them. I guess you could say I always aimed to live between my emotions, almost sociopathic in a way. I never held onto negative emotions, and I never held onto positive emotions. I lived everyday in a bliss of neutral emotions. I thought this was a great way to live life, without feeling anything I’d never hurt myself. And without feeling anything, I’d never hold onto negative thoughts that could hurt somebody else. But what I learned that day proved me otherwise.
I was walking home late at night from work because I was recently in a car accident. I should of died, but I somehow survived with no injury. I learned why that night. I was walking through the tree line that I cut through to save me about 10 minutes on my walk when I noticed something odd. There was a path that I never noticed was there, but it seemed to lead in the normal direction I head so I just stuck to this newly found path. It seemed like a four wheeler trail, something you’d know if you grew up in a small town like I did. I was a little nervous that I was walking on private property, but as late as it was I wasn’t too worried. But there was something that caught my attention.
The farther I walked down the trail, it felt like it was warming up. Almost like that feeling when the sun starts to rise and warm the air around you, but it was 4 in the morning and the sun was as nowhere in sight. It felt like the sun was rising behind me and was shining brightly on my back. That was when I had an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget and it changed my life forever.
I turned around and saw a man in a top hat and suit with a cane. It was hard to see his face, it seemed to be completely covered by the shadows of the night. “Who are you?”, I asked. The man felt like he was staring into my soul. “I don’t know what you want, but if you want my wallet you can have it”. The man chuckled, and he spoke with a voice as dark as the night. “I don’t want your material things, but I am willing to make a bargain I bet you can’t pass up. I am of the night, the one who walks in darkness. I am of the moon while my greatest enemy is of the sun. Most people know me as the devil, and I am here to make a deal. Trade me your soul and I’ll give you whatever you please in this mortal life. For giving me your soul, I won’t punish you as hard in the next life. There are different circles of hell and I can promise you that you’ll never suffer anymore than a man who committed a few lies”
I paused for a second, in fear the man was on some insane drugs and thought he was a literal omnipotent being.
I jokingly asked, “What about $5000 dollars in my bank account every week?”. He chuckles and said “Sure, I can make that happen. Do we have a deal?”. Out of morbid curiosity, and maybe a little greed, I said “Alright, mark my soul.” The man didn’t even move, and I felt the warmth fill my chest. It felt like a hand made of fire was moving inside my chest. “Okay wise-guy, where is it?”I was puzzled. “Where’s what?”, I asked. I felt the feeling that I can only explain as anger fill the air around me and I blacked out. I woke up what felt like hours later in the same spot I was but it was still dark and he was standing there. “Turns out you do have a soul”, he explained, “but there isn’t much of a force left in it.”
I was shocked, and pleaded “What? Does that mean I’m dying? Am I near the end of my life?”. He still sounded angry, and he said to me “You life your life in this mortal realm but you detach yourself from all things that make you mortal. You are a dead man walking because you never allow yourself to truly love. Emotions are a yinyang between good and bad, and without accepting both you can never cherish any. I might as well just take you now. You hurt those around you by shutting yourself out, you hurt yourself by never truly being happy. You were willingly to trade your soul for material because you are basically nothing but material. I’ll return to you in a couple years when your soul is stronger and we’ll see how you answer again. But if I return and you are still as empty as you are now, I will end your misery before you have to experience it yourself at the true end of your mortal life”.
With that, he vanished, and I slept in the woods that night. When I woke up, I was on my bed and knew I had to change myself. I had to be ready for when the devil returns again. | 2019-05-05T06:23:12 | 2019-05-05T03:22:15 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | "Please leave us alone" they said. "don't force us to use our strongest weapons". "save your species" they cried.
We laughed. Their perspective on warfare was that a bigger gun is always a stronger gun, and that might have held some truth, if their kinetic weaponry would be able to deal any damage at all to our energy shields. Their strongest weapons? We expected stronger tanks, maybe first attempts on creating mechs or starfighers, nothing that couldn't be handled by a single one of our soldiers in an exosuit. We didn't think of it as a threat.
We were wrong.
It was a single missile. The only things that were off about it were the fact that it was launched from the planets ocean, with no vessel of theirs visible to our visual scanners, and the slight amount of radiation our scanners picked up from it. We were still making jokes about what their "strongest weapon" could be, when it hit our capital destroyer,expecting it to create a small explosion and be gone without doing any harm, as usual.
Instead there was light. And incredibly bright flash of light suddenly filled all camera feeds on our small command frigate, and we lost contact with the destroyer. When the light finally faded away nobody was laughing anymore. Our capital ship, the centre of our fleet, one of the strongest ships in our navy was gone. Debris was flying around and damaging other ships, and we ourselves nearly evaded destruction by enabling the stealth system our frigate was equipped with, and warping to take cover behind the planets moon.
From there we watched in terror as they launched more missiles. They destroyed everything they decided was big enough to be a threat. Besides our frigate, the only ships that managed to escape are a few supply cruisers, and a small recon ship.
Execute me and my fellow officers for desertion, if you want to, judge. I don't care, as any fate is better than what the humans will do to us when they finally get here. | Part 2:
The Stars Shine Again
"K'uklas, we're pulling out off of the Zhavra cruiser, make sure you and your men can handle the onslaught," the man over his radio said. He couldn't believe the man he looked up to would abandon them like that, in a time where they were hopeless against these tiny, ferocious beasts—no, demons. They have spilled much blood and their eyes turned only cold. Dust flew from the worlds they took and their rampage did not stop. How could they fight against such a terrible foe? "Men," turning around to see disheveled Zaarians, starved and deprived of the liberty to live, "this day will be marked as the day we resisted, despite us not eating, despite us covered in dust and blood."
No rejoices. No more smiling. Their reptilian faces were too blank to care. Their minds had been wiped out of all memory of glory. Poor K'uklas asked after a while, "Why the silence?"
"Are we crazy or courageous?", one of the men spoke, and the only sound that can be heard from the crowd.
"Nothing is more courageous than looking at hope."
"What do you mean? They've took everything. Everything."
"They can't take what they don't have. We may have nothing, but this universe shall see that we stopped a terrible disease."
The poor soldier sat, bowed down, and wept. He remembered his beloved, screaming in agony, her pristine eyes losing its soul in front of him. He remembered the charred corpses of his children among the dead. And he saw them again, whispering him to avenge them, and then he stopped weeping.
K'uklas knew this was a lost cause; it didnt matter. Their only chance of winning is to make them win again, to give them a false warmth, before their own armaments judge them again. It was impossible, it was daunting, and knowing his superior, Zaar would now be a footnote in history.
The radio receiver heard shots that echoed from the distances, and the soldiers knew this was their last time living again. And so, from the dark void, they turned their scarred ship into the direction of the shell, creating a wormhole from theirs to the location of the shot, and proceeded, in an array of colors, to pulsate powerful rays against their enemies. There were only a few that rode the cruiser, but it mattered not anymore. The cannons shot and shot to no use at all, but they gave them hope once more. Some aimed at the thrusters at their backs, and with surprise, it tore all apart. And continued this on their way. For Zaaria, for our families, and for the stars.
More and more ships came to descend to oblivion in the path of Zhavra, and as they fired at it, all they can do is be drawn to sadness. Even K'uklas felt sorry for the men he had killed, but he knew that his soldiers were joyed, that his arms were joyed, and so continued to fire at the high horses of the despicable little devils in front of them, scourging them into eternal hellfire.
With no warning, a shadow blocked the view, casting an uneasy darkness against the crew. They knew it was it; the Destroyer Cruiser. The ones that killed their families, their friends, their lovers and children. Here it is, one of them, all weapons aimed against a small, gaunt ship, meek against this old foe. They turned a right and strafed to their left, confusing the barrage where to fire. As the rays launched more to their direction, the vehicle moved dodgingly until it could find a large hole, said to contain the Grail to End All Life. And they did, and stayed. It lowered its weapons and let it open. Slowly, even against the silence of space, it could be heard rattling and crunching, until it revealed a large missile, familiar to the soldiers.
"Men, are you ready to go to heaven?"
"I'm prepared for hell."
And they went straight to the warhead, shooting at it with the strongest of their might, rushing until it combusted in a sphere of magnificence.
The stars have now shone again. | 2019-12-19T07:46:24 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] The great zombie outbreak started 2 years ago. You now find yourself trapped in a corner by a zombie, when you do the unthinkable and bite it first. It suddenly drops to the floor, grows it’s skin back and asks what’s going on. | “What the hell?” His voice spoke before mine. I tried to stagger back, running into the corner of a fence I’d been pushed up against. A crispy, fleshy taste lingered on my tongue. I licked my sleeve in an attempt to wipe it off... to no avail.
My best friend of twenty-something years stood in front of me. The dark greens and grays that had covered his skin for nearly two years had vanished. Regular old human Hansel stood in front of me, tilting his head. There was no time for re-introductions. I could see another wave of them, the Green Army, creeping towards us. I’d dropped my baseball bat on the ground a few feet away.
“What’s going on?” Hansel wouldn’t let up. He stepped closer to me and offered me his hand, not seeming to notice that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of undead figures approaching us.
I could barely get anything out of my lips, but when I did, it was loud.
“RUN!!” I took his given hand in mine and stood up, immediately racing to the other side of the dog park we were in. I’d been staying there for months. It was in the rural part of town and didn’t seem to attract many... visitors.
I clutched my baseball bat in my free hand, still dragging Hansel along with me. He finally eyed the mob that was nearing us. The newly established color drained from his face. He didn’t remember... anything, did he?
“Valerie, what’s... what the hell? What the *hell*?”
“There’s no time to explain! Just follow me!” My golf cart was parked in the gravel lot in front of the park. We raced, just barely evading the zombies who were chasing us. I liked to think of them as people, or at least creatures, rather than just objects. It gave me a glimpse of possible hope.
Hansel caught on quick. He was always smart in our high school years. He sat in the seat next to me, still grasping my hand, as I slammed my foot on the accelerator. Familiar faces stares at us longingly, now looking desperate rather than hungry. And then... I saw someone. I hit the brakes in an instant.
“What are you doing? There are fucking *zombies* chasing us! Go, Val!” But I couldn’t keep driving. The golf cart slowed to a complete stop. My mother’s eyes searched mine in the mob of slowly approaching zombies. She reached out towards the hood of the cart, and before I knew it, we were face to face.
“VAL! DRIVE!” Hansel was battling a zombie of his own. A jock from school, Aaron, was staring him in the face. I couldn’t think of what else to say.
“BITE HIM!” Hansel glanced at me for a moment, unbelieving, with doubt in his eyes. Our hands were still clasped. I gave him a look. No, not a “knowing glance” or any of that shit. I gave him a “trust me or you will literally die right now” look. And so he bit him.
He bit Aaron’s hand and I simultaneously bit my mother’s forearm. The taste, although familiar, was even worse than last time. But seeing the smile on my mother’s face... Her skin come back, even if it was as pale as ever before... It was worth it. And eventually, when the story was complete, everything else — the fighting, the failure, and the fear — was worth it, too.
Thanks for reading! Upvote for a part two!
- Char, 13 | I was always calm and collected when it came to zombies. Okay not *always*. Of course when the first outbreak started 2 years ago I panicked... but shortly after, it became second nature. These monsters needed to be put down and I needed to survive. The math was easy.
After the outbreak I stuck tight with my friend Colten and my brother Keaton. We had ironically joked about zombie outbreaks for so long that when it did happen, we just did what we had joked about doing. And it worked.
We made it out to a small island that had space for no more than about 5 houses, made our own, and would periodically go to the mainland for supplies; about once a month.
This trip was unfortunately different.
We rowed ourselves to the mainland on our canoe and headed for the nearest grocery store. The nearest wal-marts, Costco’s and gas stations had long been looted. We picked up the scraps as we could but found a store that looked well stocked. Entering there were just a few zombies, nothing uncommon or too difficult to handle.
In a very skilled manner, Colten cut three heads off with an old samurai sword he had found in a museum. My brother Keaton sawed one in half and I speared one to the wall with what was supposedly Achilles’ spear then cut off the head with his sword. Supposedly. Hell if I knew but it felt damn cool to say.
As we scoured the store, collecting supplies, Colten whispered for our attention and to hush. Beckoning him over.
There in the back of the store were 3 adorable puppies and kittens. Just hanging out. No idea what was going on around them. A mother dog laid nearby, having fought with a now headless zombie nearby. The dog was still breathing but you could tell it was injured.
“It’s Micah....” his old dog before this hell of a life. His dog whom he had lost during the initial outbreak.
Colten went over and brushed the Micah gently. She was in pain. It was fighting the disease. It whined gently and looked to the pups. It’s eyes met Colten’s in a sense of “please take care of them”. He sat there with the dog.
“Oh girl, I will. I promise.”
In a flash, it’s head turned and bit Colten in the forearm. Just as quick as Micah had bit him, he bit Micah.
“Damnit girl,” he chuckled. “You know if you ever bite me, I bite you back!”
Having known Colten for years, this was his actual habit. When his dog playfully bit him, he playfully bit her paw back.
Micah returned to resting her head on the ground. It shamefully looked at Colten.
“It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. We’ll take care of them.” Colten told her.
We looked at Colten, alarmed. Did the disease transfer through animals? Was she actually infected or just injured?
“Alright guys...” Colten said. “You guys get the puppies and get out of here. I’ll quarantine myself just in case.”
In the event of potential exposure, we made a dead mans trigger for ourselves. We kept a grenade on us at all times. We would pull the pin and wait... If we turned to a zombie, the inevitable spasms would cause us to drop the grenade and kill us in the process. If we didn’t, you put the pin back in and move on with life.
Having watched several transformations, it takes about 5 minutes to turn. We had never seen an animal turn however, there were mostly killed off or eaten. Since Micah hadn’t turned yet, either their process takes longer or this was very recent.
Keaton scooped up the puppies and kittens. I told him to leave with the supplies and I would watch Colten. I couldn’t leave him.
Keaton nodded and began heading back to the canoe.
While Colten protested, I told him it was useless and that I was going to stick around.
We sat there for what seemed like an eternity... watched our clocks. My pistol ready for Colten and just in case Micah went zombie too.
4 minutes in, Colten began to couch. One of the first signs. His worried eyes met mine. He closed his eyes and hugged Micah. He began to cry.
The muscle convulsions started and he began spitting up a black tar. I aimed my gun at his head.
Then... Micah began to move. But... normally? She got up and licked Colten’s face. She looked at me, worried for Colten. Whining and pattering her paws on the ground. She barked at Colten as he spat more. I was... amazed. How did Micah not turn? She was clearly in the process. All the signs were there.
Having been totally distracted by Micah, Colten leapt from the ground at me, having turned fully. Without time to think I gripped his throat to keep him biting then did the unthinkable. As one of his hands were clawing for me, I bit it.
The zombie shrieked and continuing fighting. I held him at bay and kicked him away. He slid across the ground and instead of getting up as zombies do... he laid there, slowly breathing. Just like Micah had.
Micah cautiously made her way to Colten. I picked up my gun and approached Colten as well. As I got closer, he sat up, pet Micah and wiped the black tar from his face.
“Oh Micah! You’re such a good girl!” Colten exclaimed. “Alright let’s get Micah, her puppies and those damn cute kitties and get out of here.”
“What the hell was that...?!?!” I exclaimed.
This changed everything. | 2020-02-18T19:02:33 | 2020-02-18T15:43:06 | 212 | 71 |
[WP] When the aliens conquered Earth, they exterminated the populace but left you alive for some reason. You’ve spent years in captivity, wondering why they’ve chosen to keep you alive. One day, you are approached by the high commander and the answer is revealed. | *They gathered around my glass cage with their holographic notebooks. My living room is furnished from Rooms-to-go in shades of beige. Someone selected an equally neutral wardrobe for me from the Gap. I've been in here exactly 8 years, 9 months, and 2 days according to the calendars they keep supplying me with photos of rural Americana. I've been supplied with a TV that replays the top shows and top music charts of every music genre from every decade. I have a shelf of bestseller and classic books. I have a treadmill the plays a holographic simulated walk down a suburban street whenever I walk on it. I have a basic kitchen with a pantry and fridge they they supply with a generous supply of name brand dry and frozen foods, and a basic bathroom. Everything I need. But I'm in a glass cage.*
*Once a week I'm interviewed by the high commander. Once a month they do a bunch of physical tests (sorry, nothing deviant) and make me take a series of opinion surveys. At first the interviews and surveys felt relevant, as if they were gathering information about the planet. Lately they've been more like psychological evaluations. I probably am going crazy. They killed every other human. I don't know what's going on out there on the planet. The questions only go one way. But I keep asking anyway.*
*It's the first Monday of the month. The interviewer will be here soon. I shower and dress in all black. For the last five years I've been doing that. It's the least neutral I can manage with the wardrobe they supply. I don't honestly know why I'm keeping this journal since no human will ever read it. But they check it every week, just like my 9th grade English teacher, so I keep writing in it. Fear is motivating.*
"Hello, Jennifer."
"Hello, Vango."
"Today we are going to talk about your reading preferences. I see you've read through the James Patterson series."
"Yep, a little change of pace after all the Jane Austen. Do you think I could get some more non-fiction. Something about your race, for example. I'd like to understand you the way you want to understand me."
"It would be beyond your intelligence level, I'm afraid."
"Thanks for that."
"I don't mean to insult you but you were the most average human on the planet. That's why we chose you to study."
"Well now I know. I asked you "why me?" every single interview for 9 years and now you've told me. Does this mean you've gathered all the information you need from me?"
"We have. This is our 15th time segment although your calendar reads differently. It's the end of the study. Now that I've told you, there's really no reason to conduct the interview I planned. There will be a final battery of tests but you can ask me anything. "
"So all this," I swept my arms around my cage. "Why this particular stuff."
"The most frequently purchased items."
I nod.
"So, after all our interviews, do you really think I represent humanity's norm? What do you think that is? And have you considered that you need a bigger sample size than me to determine whether or not I'm actually the norm."
"We studied your species for centuries. You are representative of a 40-year-old American. American's population is slightly more female than male. So it came down to you."
"I only have one more question. Are you going to kill me like a lab rat now."
"Yes, Jennifer, we are."
"Can I pick how I die?"
"You surprise me. That is not something we expected the average person to ask."
"Well, maybe there is not average person, Vango. Maybe you killed all those humans and locked me up for years for nothing."
*Vango is gone. They will come for me soon. If screwing up his experiment is my legacy, earth's legacy, I can die with that. Rebellion is motivating too. Nobody's average.* | Life without definition is madness. The walls of my prison where pure white, no definite junctions for the walls; no clear beginning or end. Time meant nothing without the sun's patterns to guide my internal clock, and though I could not see out of my room, I knew a window would not alleviate the problem. Wherever I was being held, it was not home. It was not Earth.
After all, everything on that forsaken planet had been reduced to ash. The great buildings, nearing the stratosphere. The few remaining forests preserved by select conservation groups that persevered through the technological age.
And the people. Every single person, or so my captors tell me. That was the only thing they'd ever said to me, in my own tongue of all things.
"Why am I here?" I'd asked.
"You are last human. That is all." It had replied. How it spoke aloud with no mouth baffled me; in fact, there seemed to be no openings on its head at all. My gut feeling is that I've only ever dealt with one of them, but at the same time, they may all look the same to me. Maybe we all looked the same to them.
After watching entire cities slaughtered, including my own, I believed its words. There was nothing left of human civilization, our history, our sum as a species. . .except me. I was the final hope for our people, whatever that hope was. I spent what must have been years in captivity pondering that fact and trying to make sense of it. Talking to myself, running through memories, trying to figure out what could possibly make a loser like me special when my human life had amounted to nothing. I was working dead-end jobs and living in a grungy studio, no girlfriend, no real friends, no career or plan for life. I was honestly a fly on the wall watching humanity progress without me. I lost several jobs to automation, but there was always some dirty work for a human to do, and I found it.
Perhaps that's why I was chosen--because I'd observed people at a distance. That or I was just so ugly they wanted to study me.
The puzzle of my captivity was, without a doubt, one far too complex to solve on my own, and aside from a few visits in the beginning, I never saw the aliens. Food usually appeared when I was sleeping; fake sleeping never worked. I didn't get to eat unless I fully fell asleep. When I awoke, there was some odd gruel akin to oatmeal that left me feeling full after a small bowl. It was all I needed for a day.
So, in essence, all I had was myself. I talked to myself, I asked myself questions, and I tried to solve the mystery of my life with myself. My partner. Together we combed through memories and searched for the hidden truth. It had to be there, somewhere, waiting to be unboxed.
Then, one day, it came back; the same alien that had spoken to me before, or one just like it. It walked through a split in the wall, like the material had melted into an opening, and I jumped up, pumping with adrenaline, waiting for something. It did not move, and nor did I. We observed each other for a time before I gathered the gall to speak.
"Why am I here?" My tongue felt heavy; though I talked to myself sometimes, it was often mumbling.
"We brought it here."
"No shit! Where is 'here'?"
It took a step forward. "Here."
I stumbled back, hitting the room's edge. "Why did you bring me here?"
Another step forward, and I crumpled to the ground, my breath quickening. I felt immense pressure on my soul, the way a rabbit might be gripped with fear when a coyote is near.
"Stay back!" The words wavered, but I said them anyway. "I'm warning you!"
It approached me without caution or hesitation. This wasn't a being appraising a wild animal, treading thin ice with care. . .it was as if I offered no more threat than a fish dying out of water. I meant nothing.
The alien knelt beside me, and I wilted. "Why me?" I asked, the words like sandpaper against my dry throat; I hadn't spoken so much in quite some time. "Why bother to keep me of all people?"
A pause as its head tilted. I couldn't tell, but it felt like it was looking me up and down. "It asks 'why'. There is no 'why'--there only is. It was there there, now here. The end result of chance. That is all."
"But. . ." An odd sensation swept over me, like I was floating, or weightless. Numb. "You didn't pick me?"
"Does not matter the human; life past is meaningless. All the same to one like us. It is not human, now. It is a memento. Final breath. That is all."
It rose and exited the room without so much as a glance back. A few silent moments passed before I broke into a fit of laughter--how many years had I analyzed my life? Every single detail, every memory, every word I remembered saying, everyone I knew.
My laughter tumbled into a deep cough that shook my body, slumped over as it was, before it continued. Tears formed in my eyes, leaving the room a blur--not that it changed the aesthetic much.
After a while, there was no more laughter left in me. I did not cough, because it felt like I was barely even breathing in the first place. I slowly became the nothing I'd always been without knowing it. Captivity had degraded my mind, as had watching my entire species get exterminated like ants, but it had somehow never felt so hopeless as it did in those final moments of my aimless life--however long they were. There were questions. I had something to solve. Maybe even meaning, ironically, after the world had ended.
How foolish I was to believe that; or perhaps my dying mind had merely convinced itself of a lie to keep me going. Prevent a shutdown. But there was no meaning--there never had been. Only chance.
That is all.
---
/r/resonatingfury | 2021-01-10T09:18:10 | 2021-01-10T08:53:12 | 147 | 83 |
[WP] Your sibling was murdered a month ago and as their closest living relative, you buried them last week. Now, going through all their effects, you come across an old walkie-talkie that you used as kids after lights out. Nostalgia makes you turn it on, and say their old call sign. They answer. | Charlie looks down at the little box in the attic, an aching in his heart. Scrawled across the lid in a child's handwriting were the words "Charlie's and Ben's Treasure Box!!!". He traced the outline of the words longingly, tears forming in his eyes.
*Oh Ben, why did they have to take you before your time.*
The steady pitter-patter of rain beat against the attic's window as Charlie opened the lid. Inside, the treasured toys of a childhood long past... A childhood shared with Charlie's twin brother, Ben... Memories of Ben's laughter echoed through Charlie's mind, a laugh that was silenced all too suddenly.
Mom's house was quiet, too quiet after the relatives had gone home. Too quiet without Ben's voice.
A broken slingshot, memories of summers spent slinging stones down by the lake.
A yellowed sketch pad, filled with the hopes and dreams of two little boys. Hopes and dreams that will now go unfulfilled for one of them.
Little green soldiers, who will never again go to play-war with one another, who will never again mount daring rescue missions to save a brother trapped behind enemy lines of plush animals.
And a yellow walkie talkie, whose counterpart now lay with its owner in a sealed casket, six feet beneath freshly-turned dirt.
Charlie's fingers lingered on the walkie talkie. Recalling find memories of times long gone, two boys at play chattering over the radio waves.
Picking it up, his fingers reflexively switched it on - the little red LED on the front flickering to life.
*Still has some juice in it*, he smiles sadly to himself.
"This is Delta One, come in Red Leader", he speaks into the walkie talkie, nostalgia bringing on another tear. "Red Leader, godspeed, rest well", he whispers to himself, choking back a sob.
***This is Red Leader, come in Delta One. Come in Delta One.***
Charlie nearly drops the walkie talkie in shock. Staring at it in the palm of his hand, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.
***Come in Delta One, come in Delta One. Do you copy? Situation critical. Come in Delta One.***
The crackling voice emitting from the walkie talkie was unmistakable. Ben. But how?
"Ben! BEN!!! It's me, Charlie! How..?? But.. But you're.. You're..." Charlie desperately cried into the walkie talkie, shaking with emotion. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, *but you're dead, we buried you yesterday*.
***Red Leader here. Situation critical, Delta One. They've got me. They got me good. Go on without me, Delta One.***
"Ben? What are you talking about- H-How is this possible? What's going on??" he cried out, louder this time.
***Delta One, Charlie, listen up. They got me. And now they're coming for you. Do you copy?***
"What? What do you mean? Who got you? Who's coming for me??"
***They're coming for you, Charlie. They're coming for you.***
***RUN.*** | ##Find My Killer, Over
Marcus opens the box in the attic and sadness carried by a wave of memories washes over him. The first item that draws his eye is the Gameboy that he used to watch his brother play. They were supposed to share, but his brother hogged it using the power of age. Next to the Gameboy, he finds a smaller box that contains their soldiers. Under the soldiers, he finds the walkie-talkie that they used when they were playing soldiers.
Marcus reaches into the box and pulls out the walkie-talkie. He tries to find the other walkie-talkie in the box, but it is missing. He shrugs his shoulders and turns the walkie-talkie on for fun.
"Eagle are you there, over?" Marcus smiles as he starts to cry.
"I am here Stonecutter, over," a voice comes out of the walkie-talkie. Marcus looks at the toy. The funeral was last week; how could his voice be coming out of this device.
"Is this a prank?" Marcus says.
"Stonecutter, this is not a prank. This is Fallon, and I need you, over," his brother says. Marcus stands up and analyzes the room.
"Where are you?" Marcus says.
"You are using the walkie-talkie say over, over," his brother says. Marcus rolls his eyes.
"Is that really necessary?" Marcus asks. His brother stays silent. Marcus sighs, "Over."
"Yes, I'm the ghost here. I have just undergone a traumatic experience. The least you could do is play-along when we talk using the walkie-talkie, over," Fallon says.
"How are you doing this, and can you show yourself, over?" Marcus asks.
"I am able to contact you through this walkie-talkie because we have a strong emotional attachment to it. I can only show myself if you do pottery in a white vest, over," Fallon says.
"Okay, first of all, that joke has been overplayed for a long time. Second, why are you contacting me? Do you need me to help you solve your murder, over?" Marcus asks.
"Help me solve my, Marcus! I was the one that got murdered. I already know who killed me. It was Wesley, over," Fallon yells. Marcus blinks at the device.
"Uh, who is Wesley, over?" Marcus asks. There is a brief period of silence from the walkie-talkie.
"Right, this is awkward. So it turns out my neighbor Wesley is a the Silver-Masked Killer , and he has a dog that craps in my yard. The good news is I have been working with other ghosts to help direct the investigation. The bad news is he is psychic and knows we've been tracking him. Also, we are pretty sure he is coming after you, to the right," he yells. Marcus jumps to the right and narrowly miss a large machete. Marcus turns to see a large man wearing a silver ski-mask. He is staring at Marcus with a smile on his face.
"I will enjoy killing you like I did your brother," he says. Operating on pure instinct, Marcus throws the walkie-talkie at his head. It connects, and he holds his head where it hit him. Marcus pulls the box of nostalgia away and starts throwing children's toys. The killer catches the Gameboy in mid-air.
"Woah, be more careful with this. I had a lot of great memories on one just like this," he sets the Gameboy down.
"That was a good generation," Marcus starts throwing handfuls of toy soldiers and throw at the killer's face. The killer holds up his hand and the machete to protect himself. While he is distracted, Marcus runs up and kicks him squarely in the torso. Marcus chops the back of his neck pushing him further down. When he reaches the floor, Marcus stomps on the hand holding the machete. Marcus grabs the machete and holds it over the killer's head.
"Oh my god, your brother didn't put up nearly as much of a fight," he groans.
"I know. I was always the more athletic one," Marcus says.
"Rude," Fallon says through the walkie-talkie.
"Be quiet. Why'd you do it? Why'd you kill my brother?" Marcus asks.
"Because I am damaged. Growing up, my father was abusive. He used to come home every night and," the killer starts.
"Dude, I don't need your tragic backstory. A lot of people have problems and don't go on a killing spree. I think you're just evil," Marcus says.
"Don't judge me," the killer says.
"You killed my brother," Marcus replies.
"Fair," the killer says. Police sirens emanate from the distant.
"You are going to jail, sucker," my brother says. Police come and arrest the Silver-Masked Killer. He confesses on the spot to killing Marcus's brother. He doesn't mention anything about being a psychic. When the police leave, Marcus sits alone in the attic with the walkie-talkie.
"So now that your killer is caught what happens, over?" Marcus asks. He doesn't hear a reply on the walkie-talkie. Marcus knows that it is because his brother has moved on. Marcus can't help but feel sad that he will never hear his brother's voice again. He can rest easy knowing that his killer has been brought to justice.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-03-25T19:43:19 | 2021-03-25T19:37:16 | 86 | 43 |
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures. | I'd never felt anything more beautiful than the blood pounding in my veins. Never heard anything more beautiful than the subtly sibilant susurrations of her voice. Never seen anything more beautiful than the scarlet sheen of her skin, scales that only stood out when the moonlight hit them just right.
She was all of those things and more, and of things like her horns or the fiery extremity of her lively tail the words do not exist.
And after all that, she said to me "Beautiful? You should see my sister, though the angels still lack something of our elegance."
We stood in a garden maze outside the grand, antebellum plantation house to which I'd been invited that evening. Somewhere in the maze another woman waited. She'd run off ahead, wrapped up in my jacket and a smile full of promises, and for the life of me I couldn't bring myself to search for her now. Not with a creature such as *this* in front of me.
"Madame," I said, even-keeled despite the racing of my heart, "if you aren't an angel I don't know what is."
She laughed, not covering her mouth. Her teeth were razor sharp points. "Isn't it obvious?" she said, flicking her forked tongue teasingly through the air. "I'm a demon. Don't tell me you've never been to church before."
"Every sunday, but the preacher never mentioned..."
"Never mentioned what? My smile? My eyes?" Her eyes were yellow, flecked with a blue so deep as to eat the moonlight.
"Never mentioned a seamstress could make a dress fit so exquisitely."
She laughed and it was like a blade being drawn. "A charmer! Did you say that to the lady who waits for you? No wonder she seemed so eager."
I blushed, I hadn't done that since I was a schoolboy. "Something to that effect," I admitted. "But I confess now to have already forgotten her name."
The woman, the demon, stepped closer. She reached out with one long, curving fingernail, more a stylized knife than anything truly human, and trailed it down the front of my shirt only a hairsbreadth away from the silk. I had no doubts it would have sliced through to the bone if she'd pressed further.
"Her name! And her face? Do you still remember that?"
I closed my eyes, drinking in the demon's scent even as I cast my mid back. Green eyes not yellow, fair hair not dark, a smile full of promises, all of them gentle. What had her name been? I'd seen her only minutes ago?
What color were her eyes?
Her hair?
Had her lips been painted or not?
The memories seeped out of me as if through a sieve in the moment the demon leaned towards me. "I am Morgana," she said, "the only name you'll ever need."
Her lips and teeth brushed my throat, her scent filled my soul, my eyes fluttered between open and closed, unable to control even that part of myself.
"There you are!"
Her voice was like tumbling out of bed and into a bath of ice water. She stood there in front of me, my jacket clutched around shivering shoulders, fair hair falling in ringlets to frame emerald eyes, her smile twisted with sudden concern, the deep, abiding promise of care. Her lips were painted, and beautifully so.
"Emma!" I gasped.
"Nathaniel! Are you alright?"
I didn't know what to say. She rushed up and into.my arms, taking my face in her hands, checking my temperature. "You're bleeding!" she exclaimed. "Did someone hurt you? Nat, what happened?"
Her name was Emma LeFleur. I'd known her all my life and loved her since before I'd even known the word. She was my light, my world, my fiancee.
And I'd forgotten her name, her face.
"What happened?" she asked again.
"I don't know," I lied.
r/TurningtoWords | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 2, Part 4: All the Forces of Heaven and Hell v.s. My Teenage Daughter)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**It's unclear whether angels and demons predate organized religion.** Some historians think they were some of the first superhumans with shapeshifting, stealing their forms from local mythology in order to influence the populace. Others think they came first, and religion built itself up around them. Whatever the case, however, angels and demons are *ancient*, some of the oldest living superhumans on the planet. There are historical traces of the ageless shapeshifters bouncing around the globe, from Lesser Rome to the Welsh Empire, from the Sunrise Kingdom to the Wilderwilds, taking the shape of whatever supernatural beings the locals believed in. In Lesser Rome, they became emperors and pagans; in the Welsh Empire, they became forces of nature without human form; in the Sunrise Kingdom, they became the kami; in the Wilderwilds, they became the Rainbow Serpent and Captain Cook.
Unfortunately for them, by the time they reached the Unified Sovereignties, the closest thing we had to religious piety was serving in the military, and the closest thing we had to sin was indulging in a guilty-pleasure movie binge. Undeterred, the angels and demons did the work they always did, blending into the local culture. The demons became flawless-bodied superstars, while the angels registered themselves as supernatural beings or otherwise superhuman and enlisted in a variety of Federal-sponsored special ops units, becoming twisted monsters that hunted down enemies of the state and sent them to whatever afterlife they believed in. Nobody was entirely sure why the angels and demons tirelessly dedicated themselves to local cultural standards for the uncounted millennia they'd been alive.
But if I had to guess, it was for the sole purpose of giving me a massive headache.
"Come *ooooon*, Mom! Brouhaha's in town, and they're my *favorite* band, and if you ask them nicely they *always* give out signatures but you have to get there quickly and *nobody else knows they're here* so if you just drive me across town I can get a signature *please please please please please—*" My daughter pleaded.
I frowned. "First off, I'm busy. Second, if nobody else knows this rock band is here, how on Earth do *you* know?"
"Uh." Janice scratched her head. "A little bird told me?"
I gave her a pat on the shoulder; she didn't seem to be lying. Ah well. Keep your secrets, then. "Okay. Thirdly, I do *not* trust a rock band formed from immortal shapeshifter demons."
"Oh, come on, millions of people watch them every day. If they'd done something suspicious, don't you think someone would know?" Janice wheedled.
"She's not going to give up on this," Tupperman observed from the couch. "Besides, they're a good band."
I turned on him. "Seriously? *You* listen to Brouhaha? You're from *my* generation; you're not supposed to agree with the music tastes of my kids!"
"*It's okay to be a wolf!*" Tupperman and Janice sang simultaneously, then high-fived each other in tandem. I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
"Look," Tupperman said, "you said that you had some plan that involved being in the public eye, right? And what's better for being in the public eye than showing up in a rock show?"
Janice's eyes widened. "Showing up *in* the show?!"
I frowned, pensive. Tupperman did have a point, there. I'd pissed off someone in the Federal government who had a nasty habit of sending assassins after me; after I'd found out that there was insufficient evidence to take formal legal action, I'd been leaning on public opinion instead. I'd gone on record as being critical of the federal government; as of now, if I was brutally murdered, half the citizens of the Unified Sovereignties would blame it on the government no matter what the courts said. Whoever wanted me dead didn't want me dead badly enough to take the risk of turning a good chunk of the population against them, judging by how the direct assassination attempts had dropped to zero after my little stunt.
Perhaps it was time to take that to the next level.
I sighed. "Okay. Fine. You make a good point. Pack anything you might need, we might be out for a while."
"*Yes!*" Janice and Tupperman simultaneously crowed. I rolled my eyes at both of them. Tupperman left, presumably to grab stuff from his own house; Janice ran upstairs, shutting her door and locking it. I frowned slightly; she'd never done that before.
Then I shrugged and went downstairs, to the family hideout. We hadn't *all* been superheroes, but we'd lived on this land for generations, and over time that added up.
I pulled open a well-oiled hidden door in the wall; the décor abruptly went from homey to nuclear bunker-y. My feet echoed on the living-rock floor as I descended; the secret door re-sealed itself behind me.
I heard soft chatter from the basement: the two people I'd been sheltering in my home for the past few days. Min Min and Ito Junko, refugees from the Middle Communes and the Sunrise Kingdom respectively.
Or, as they were better known, Death and Lady Luck. A superhero and a supervillain with enough power in their left pinky to kill me and my town a hundred times over.
They looked up from their game of chess as I entered, greeting me with a smile and a nod. I grinned back at them, arms spread wide in anticipation.
"Ladies," I said. "I am *delighted* to inform you that an opportunity of exactly the kind we've been waiting for has arisen."
Lady Luck's eyes gleamed; Death pressed her lips together with grim determination.
"That's right," I said, looking into Death's eyes intensely. "It's *showtime.*"
A.N.
This is a five-part story. The remaining parts are in the comments below. | 2021-04-08T10:17:19 | 2021-04-08T07:49:36 | 85 | 56 |
[WP] A man sues God because his insurance company won't pay for the damages done to his house in a storm. To his complete surprise and Horror, God actually shows up.
I don't know whether to make this a WP or EU tag since this is based on a movie starring Billy Connolly.
In the movie, BC's character loses his boat in a freak storm and discovers that his insurance company won't pay the damages because they have a clause stating that they won't pay for an 'Act of God'. In anger and frustration, he decides to sue God - represented by the Clergy - because the insurance companies are using God as a legal loophole.
So... what would happen if God, or even an angel, decides to take up the case? | "Please place your hand on the bible and raise your right hand."
The smirk. Everything about Him was magnificent, obviously, that was just sort of His bag. But especially the smirk. Utterly without malice or condescension, it was as though that one facial expression reflected all the irony that had ever been, or ever would be, and all of it, *all* of it, was hilarious, to anyone who could see. Dutifully he placed his hand on the bible, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth.
"Did you know I can't actually lie?" He grinned. "Anything I say just sort of... *becomes* the truth. I won't retcon anything, though." That smirk again. "Swearsies."
The cross examiner was understandably nervous. Were there eternal implications for being officially on an opposing side from God? How do you trip up someone who knows everything you're going to say? If you're the first person in human history to have The Creator under oath, isn't nitpicking one individual storm kind of a waste of your time? Play it one way, the catholic church will excommunicate you. Play it another, and those wackos in nevada will come after you with torches. Walk the line, he thought to himself. Just walk the line.
He Who Has Always Been relaxed in his seat. Casually He poured himself a glass of water. The entire courtroom leaned just a bit forward in their seat to see if He would... but... no...
He chuckled. "I think water's probably the more appropriate choice for now." The judge was visibly relieved. The political ramifications of holding God in contempt of court would have been beyond crazy. Out of habit, he mumbled an imperceptible, silent prayer of thanks. God looked over and winked.
The cross examiner, who had been preparing for this case for months, pouring over every detail, every nuance, every consequence... realized that attempting to exhaust, irritate, trick, trap or otherwise force an involuntary confession from God was fruitless. He knew all, he saw all. But holy crap, with nothing left to do, could this actually become the most straightforward case... ever?
"Lord, did you send the storm?"
"Yup."
A pause. Was it an act of malice? Retribution? Indifference? Ants under a divine magnifying glass? Which angle to take? Again he chose to suppress all his training, and go for the direct approach.
"Why?"
"That house was a fire trap. It's wildly flammable to begin with, and in a couple weeks time the electrical wiring was going to short out and cause a fire. His entire family was going to die."
Silence in the court room. The plaintiff's face showed a heady blend of shock and bewilderment, with dashes of anger. Fortunately the attorney asked the question before his client could blurt it out.
"Why didn't you, you know, just put out the fire?"
"I don't really do direct. It's part of the contract with Free Will."
"Well, you indirectly send the storm... Why couldn't you indirectly put out the fire?"
He sighed. A breeze blew through the courtroom, despite the windows all being closed. It smelled of frankincense and love and total exasperation.
"Don't you think I tried? I gave him dreams, I inspired the fire department to set up free checks for home inspections, I even had this one kid put a flyer for those inspections on his car. I gave him a preference for products that would overload the circuit and encourage him to upgrade. Nothing. He refused to look after himself or his family. So I asked a passing weather pattern to swing by. Honestly I'd have let him pay for his own bad choices, but his daughter..."
At this point he paused and glanced toward the back of the room, briefly making eye contact with the plaintiff's 8 year old daughter. He gave her a small but reassuring smile.
"It was important for the world that I intervene on this one."
Way to pull the destiny card! The cross examiner had never lost a case this thoroughly this quickly. Letting his professional demeanor slip just a little, his irritation showed through.
"Wow, quite the monolog, anything else you wanna add?"
"Yeah." God looked at the plaintiff. "You're welcome." He then grinned at the daughter. "No spoilers, but when it happens, don't give up."
With that, he was gone in a puff of smoke, and a choir of angels humming "Hakuna Matata". That God, man. He knew how to make an exit.
The plaintiff dropped the charges and mumbled his own prayer of thanks, looking at his daughter. "Wherever she's going," he thought to himself, "I've got to get her there." | Thick gray clouds serenely rolled by with an occasional clap of thunder. The storm had come and gone over the course of a night, but what a night it was to behold. Wind and floods washed out houses and businesses. Farms devastated, roads ruined, and lives extinguished. As a new day broke, survivors began to emerge out of bunkers and basements. One of these fellows was Alan. Six feet tall with rugged skin and a scraggly beard, Alan crawled out of his basement only to find that there was not much left of his humble home. A solitary wall stood standing with its wallpaper peeling. All of his belongings were either washed out into the flood or looted. Distraught, Alan walked out to his mailbox, which had somehow managed to weather the storm. Knee deep in cold, dirty water, Alan observed the ruins of his neighborhood, letting out a sigh of despair. A portly man off in the distance began wading toward Alan, waving his arms in the air. This was Bob, Alan’s close friend and co-worker at the dock.
“Alan, you alright?” He wheezed out, a look of concern etched on his face.
“Yeh, yourself?
“Gah, I’m always okay,” Bob said in a rush. “Listen, I came here to get you out. Come on over to my place and get yourself warm, or you’re going to freeze and die out here.”
“What do you mean your place? Ain’t everyone’s house trashed?”
“Nah, I got lucky. I’m on a hill, we just have a few feet of water in our basement. Come on”
Nodding his head, Alan followed Bob to his house about a quarter mile away, solemnly staring at the ground.
Half an hour later, both men were huddled next to the fireplace, with warm coffee in hand.
“So, get this. My home insurance doesn’t cover flood damage. Apparently, you’re supposed to buy some bullshit called flood insurance. Tell me, man, when was the last time we had a flood? Not for 50 years.” chuckling to himself, Bob continued. “Good news is, I got myself a free swimming pool in my basement.” Bob suddenly noticed that Alan was staring blankly at him, not a hint of amusement crossed his face.
“Dammit Alan, cheer up.” Alan’s pent up fear and anger exploded as soon as Bob spoke.
“Cheer up? I just lost my home and everything I own. Everything I have worked for in the past 25 years is now trash. I have almost no savings because of your stupid business idea and I have no insurance. So, you can sit here and make your dumb jokes about insurance. You should have left me to die.” Energy spent, Alan collapsed on to an arm chair.
“Easy there Alan. Calm down. Hey, remember what Pastor George always says? When things aren’t going well, pray to God and He will help you because He loves you.”
Was Alan a pious man? He had gone to church from time to time, he had had faith with the Lord. But, recent events seemed to have changed his mind.
“Loves me? Bob, what kind of all loving God allows for this much devastation? Why the hell would I pray to this guy if he’s the one who caused this mess in the first place? In fact, He’s directly responsible for the destruction of my house.” Alan started to laugh maniacally, much to the alarm of the now speechless Bob.
“Tell you what Bob. How about I sue God? I mean it’s only fair. Why should He be exempt from the legal system?” Alan marched to the window and wrenched it open. “Hey God! I’m suing you for destroying my house. Ya hear me? I’m suing you for every penny you’ve got!” Teeth clenched in anger, Alan slammed the window shut.
“Really? Every penny I’ve got?” said a new, eerie voice. It was a voice that flowed like honey, but was commanding and booming. It was one that demanded immediate respect. A tall bearded figure in a robe began to fade into existence before both Alan and Bob. Light seemed to permeate the figure.
“G-g-g-g-g-od?” stuttered Alan, Bob collapsed to the floor, slack jawed.
“The very same. Jesus, Jehovah, Buddha, Vishnu, whatever floats your boat. Anyway, what was this about suing me? And please shut your fat friend up!”
Bob had gotten on to his knees and had begun to rapidly recite the Lord’s Prayer. He had nearly gotten through it before Alan slapped him on the back of the head.
Alan began to speak. “Yes sir, I wish to sue you for destroying my house.” Bob stared at him and at God, mouth agape, eyes bulging.
“Very well, how much would you like? A million sound nice?” A check for a million dollars appeared in His hand.
Bob was about to say yes, when Alan stuck his palm across his face. “No, we will have a proper hearing. I want to see you in court!”
God shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.”
All of a sudden, they were in a courtroom. It was a lavish place, furnished with pillars of marble. However, the judge looked rather familiar. In fact he looked almost exactly like….
“God, you can’t be the judge, that’s not how it works.”
“Oh ho, look at this guy. Tells the ultimate judge of the universe how to do his job. Fine then, I sentence you to 500 years in Hell.”
“WHAT! But, this is a Civil Case! And I’m suing YOU!”
“Fine…fine. The judge rules that God does not need to pay anything to the ungrateful little prick suing him.”
“Ungrateful little prick? Sir, you just leveled an entire island, hurting thousands of people, and I’m the prick.”
“Look man, after millennia of watching you stupid bastards fight over me and praise me over and over again in the hopes
I’d grant you favors, I get a little bored and I want to spice it up a little.
“This is just cruel.”
“Cruel? You ever play Sim City?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never unleashed a natural disaster on a city just because you can.”
“So what if I have?”
“ALL OF YOU ARE SIMS TO ME AND I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT” God boomed. Alan and Bob began to cower. “Now do you idiots want the million or what?”
“Yeah, sure…..um….thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” As God handed them the check, he vanished and Alan and Bob awoke next to the fireplace.
“Man, that was one hell of a dream.” Said Bob, rubbing his head.
“Wasn’t a dream Bob!” Alan was smiling ear to ear as he handed the check for a million dollars to Bob.
As Alan began dancing around the room, Bob’s grin started to fade.
“Hey Alan, I don’t think we can cash this.” Said Bob.
“Why’s that?”
“The check say’s it’s from God, how do we explain this to the bank?”
Alan stared at Bob for a full 30 seconds.
“Well, shit.”
| 2014-11-30T10:27:01 | 2014-11-30T09:51:31 | 230 | 23 |
[WP] You're a scientist studying bacterial colonies. One day, you look under the microscope to observe strange shapes that, on a closer look, resemble letters. The bacteria are greeting you and have a message for you. | At first I thought it was mere coincidence that they formed shapes that were so nearly letters, then they started becoming more solid, less hazy, more sure.... They bacteria were forming letters and numbers, slowly deciphering the language, I would make corrections as necessary so that I could understand them. Then they started forming words, slight errors at first, but ones that they solved quickly and efficiently, surprisingly quick in fact. Then they started writing a sentence, not even, two words, SEND NUDES. In all caps, then they went silent as the grave, not speaking until years later, I thought they had stopped all communication, but instead they just repeatedly flashed the words, SEND NUDES.... | Let me tell you the story of how space bacteria saved my career. I had been working hard at getting my PhD for a little over two years at this point. Unlike most people who liked to work from 9 to 5, I preferred to get in early at 7 and work until 3. Get in early, get out early, right? Well, strange things happen early in the morning. And nothing is stranger than this story.
Ok, so first thing first, grad students are kinda the minions of the science world. We do what our supervisors tell us to do, and hope to hell we can get it done to get our degrees. The better we work, the better those recommendation letters are. Well, my professor was in a special kind of position. Do you remember those missions to mars with those hundreds of rovers? Well, it turns out in that water sample they brought back, there was life! Sort of. It was a primitive form of microscopic life similar, but not exactly, to bacteria. Just imagine if I was the grad student whose dissertation was on extraterrestrial life? I'd be set for life! Any grant I wanted, shiny position - the possibilities were endless!
But I was tasked with finding out what media to grow them on. Let me tell you - these bastards are picky. I gave them the standard tryptone and yeast extract medium, milk based medium, ethanol medium, glucose base medium... everything I could think of, really. But nothing worked. I couldn't grow these sons of bitches, and I was running out of original sample that we kept in a freezer in glycerol. I started to get worried. You know that gut wrenching feeling like there's something in the middle of your chest? Yeah, I got loads of that.
I imagined I was the grad student who managed to fuck up our discovery of a life time because I couldn't figure out their favourite food. I wanted to try to test their composition to see if their make up would help, but I didn't have enough sample to do that either! If I told my professor I couldn't do this simple task, what would they think? Well, luck was on my side. One cold morning when I went into the lab and looked at my petri dishes, they grew! But the result wasn't what I expected. When I looked under the microscope, I could clearly see letters. Spelled out in perfect english was, "Give us acid you fucking twat."
Suffice to say, I managed to grow them by making a medium with acid (really hard let me tell you because the acid just melts the agar. But whatever). In the end I managed to get my PhD and the discovery won a nobel prize. Even though I did all the work, do you think I got it? Nope, my prof did. But oh well. That's the story of how some space bacteria saved my ass. | 2017-01-01T15:41:20 | 2017-01-01T15:38:52 | 68 | 10 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | Well, I can cross that off of the metaphorical list. --Died when having sexual intercourse-- Best death yet. Oh well, life 70 will be my 'Cure cancer year' I could of done it in life 69, but come on! If you are that sexually well endowed and it's life 69, you can't not have shit tons of sex!
Note to self: *Stop saying shit like that out loud.* | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T12:23:12 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently waking you up. | “You live like this?” The burgler asked, gently waking me up.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
She walked across the room and started rummaging through my dresser. Casually dropping socks and some receipts on the floor. I wasn’t sure why the receipts were in there, I hadn’t bought anything in years.
She muttered. “Bunch of crap, nothing worth taking.”
I sighed and sat up, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the dog. He snorted and rolled over. Useless damn thing. Just lets someone walk into my room. I rubbed his belly with my bare foot. His tongue lolled out the side of his pug face. He snorted again contentedly.
“What are you looking for?”
She looked over her shoulder and glared at me before answering. “Dunno, something worth taking I guess.”
“Take this shitty dog, he’s worthless.”
I got up and headed to the kitchen, she continued to rummage around in my room. I made coffee. The dumb dog followed me and headed to his bowl. Stupid thing is always hungry. I ignored it, didn’t have anything for him anyway.
The day was grey with a slight drizzle, but it was bright enough I could see my way around. I left the light off, figured the burglar would prefer that. Something crashed and broke in the bathroom. I grabbed the coffee off the machine and took a careful sip. Stuffs hot right when it comes off the machine.
“What the hell are you doing? Breaking my bathroom up?”
I leaned around the corner and peered down the hall, a shadow moved there, she had turned on the bathroom light. Some burglar. Loud as hell and now turning on lights.
Her head poked through the bathroom door. She was pretty, if a bit angular and gawky. She sneered which made her much less pretty.
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll break you up too and take everything”.
I chuckled and that seemed to irritate her more. Then I laughed out loud and the dog trotted over and sat in the hallway looking at her, and then at me. She glared at us both. I shrugged and went back in the kitchen, the dog did whatever dogs do when you aren’t looking at them. She cursed and I heard her coming down the hall.
She walked in the kitchen with the dog in tow. “I smell coffee.”
“Yeah, I can’t function without it, robbery or no, it’s hard to deal with the mornings until I have some.”
She looked through the refrigerator. “Bloody hell, what’s in this Tupperware?”
I looked up from my coffee, French Roast, it was delicious. “Who knows, I haven’t opened that thing up in months.”
The burglar put it back quickly and closed the door. She seemed defeated and sat heavily on the only other chair in the kitchen. I considered telling her it only had three of its four legs. But hey, she was trying to rob me, let her figure it out. The result was predictable, she went down in a heap, flat on her back. The chair now had one and a half legs. It startled the dog who had laid down under the table. Moronic thing jumped up and walked over to where she lay, staring at the ceiling, and started licking her face.
I leaned over and peered down at her, steaming cup of coffee in my hand.
“You live like this?”
“Yeah” she said, staring at the ceiling.
| "You live like this?"
Well, yeah, I motherfuckin' do, and thanks for the reminder. Somehow I'd forgotten I was living in a one-room shithole with a five-year-old. I'm sorry my cleaning don't live up to your standards; I'm a little fuckin' busy between my kid and my two god damn jobs. Especially the one with that asshole cracker thinks he can call me up for shifts with two god damn hours notice. Worst is, we both know I'm desperate enough that he's right.
I didn't say any of that, of course, given I was a skinny-ass woman woke up at three a.m. by a man in a black mask sitting on my bed. I might've kinda meeped, I don't recall. But seriously, how the fuck do you answer a question like that, anyway?
He seemed to figure that out after a second, at least. "Sorry," he said. "I just didn't think... well, that's the whole problem, isn't it? I didn't think. You were both consenting adults, right? Man's got a right to protect his property. Nothing wrong with a good prenup. And sure, I was getting pretty good at writing them, with all the practice every few years, but..."
Prenup? Christ, I didn't want to be reminded of that, either. I tend to pretend Eliot was just a bad dream; it's better for my blood pressure.
"I just didn't think," said the man. "Hugh Hefner, right? Rich old guys and younger women, happens all the time. And I was getting paid, so what did I care? He and his damn business kept me busy enough I didn't think about what I was doing."
Eliot's lawyer? I only met the guy a couple miserable times, but the voice sounded the same. I couldn't exactly see his face in my windowless goddamn apartment at three fucking a.m. And from the light of my clock, I could barely tell he was wearing one of those bank robber ski masks, anyway.
"And then I found out," he said. "I didn't know why you fought so hard to keep her. Most of the others didn't. And who thinks about why a mother would want sole custody, anyway? She's a mother, it's just natural. I didn't think about it."
And he wanted to remind me of the other kids, too. Fantastic. I still feel like shit about those kids. I know there was nothing I could do-- just about fucking broke me getting Tanya out of there-- and I barely ever met 'em, but I know they're there, and I know what's happening to them, and it would keep me up at night if I weren't so fucking tired. I got to take care of my own, first. I'd like to help others, but I got to take care of my own, and it takes all I fuckin' got.
"And that's not even-- I mean, in a way it's the worst of it, but it got me thinking of everything else he had me do, all the deals, and-- oh, you don't care. It's nothing next to your kid. But it matters to me."
I was so tired that I almost just asked him. *What the fuck are you doing here? Why the fuck should I care about this?* But I didn't. I know too much about what men can do to you if they have the mind.
I've never been able to totally keep it off my face, though. "Look," he said. "I know this isn't going to make up for anything, but I've got to try. I've got to try. Seeing what I've done, it's just..." He waved his arm at the room, the trash I've let pile up, the rat traps, the broken closet door. "You live like this?"
"It's better than the alternative," I said.
He let out a long breath. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Anyway. This is for you."
He let his arm drop to pat something on the floor-- turned out it was a suitcase, though I didn't know it then, it being (again) three in the motherfucking morning. "It doesn't make up for much, but, just-- fuck, I've got to try."
He stood up, and headed for the door. Not that it was a long walk. He turned around before he got there, and said, "I'm sorry."
"You couldn't've told me that over... coffee, or some shit?"
"Um." He ran a hand over his head. "Right. I'm. I'm sorry about this, too."
I didn't know what the fuck to do at that point; I just sighed. "Sorry," he said again, and rushed out the door.
I didn't have to ask how he got in; the lock's been broke since I got here. I gotta tell you, I didn't even bother looking in the suitcase till morning.
So there I was, 6 a.m., sitting on the shit-ass floor of my shit-ass place, staring at this fucking suitcase full of hundred fucking dollar bills. I bet it's a goddamn Samsonite or whatever, too.
I mean, it's not that I ain't grateful. Using hundred-dollar-bills without the cops, the banks, or the IRS getting up my ass is gonna be a problem, but as far as the list of my problems go, it's gotta be my favorite other than Tanya. And it's kind of nice what he's doing. I don't think the news has put it together, but since he fuckin' confessed to me at three in the god damn morning, it's pretty clear to me all these masked calling-card robberies and mysterious Robin Hood cases they're reporting on got a connection.
But white boys, I swear to God. All the common sense of a motherfuckin' turnip. | 2017-08-21T16:13:59 | 2017-08-21T13:18:08 | 275 | 45 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | Eternity. Immortality. Forever.
They had no clue what these words truly meant. To see these pathetic creatures spreading their message of dreamless peace across the galaxy is an insult to all of existence. They called themselves Reapers. Their ships moved faster than any imperial or chaos ship by magnitudes, their weapons devastating to masses. It was their sole purpose, their only reason for being, to destroy all that was held dear.
Held dear to those that cherished life anyway. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that they were. They existed to end all life *except theirs*. They did not know the true peace of annihilating the soul itself. All souls live to be culled. Even the Reapers.
And as the Reapers arrived they woke up something more ancient, Something even more powerful. And as mega monoliths rose up from the ground, gauss canons tearing through both city, man, and Reapers alike all with violent ease the Necrons and all their lords woke. They awoke to show the galaxy who the mantle of reaper belongs to. | Joran saddled the horse and rode out into the forest behind Freegate. The leaves this time of the year flaunted their citrus-colored wardrobe. The autumn air smelled musty of earth and decomposing vegetation.
Soon he noticed movement in one of the bushes, the orange tail of a woodland fox slipped into the undergrowth. Quickly, he tied the horse to a tree and grabbed his musket.
He tried to keep his steps light as he pushed into the dense forest. The wind came straight at him, which meant the fox wouldn’t be able to smell him. He tracked his quarry into the glade. Fox pelts sold for a lot. His father would be so proud.
The fox sat on a pile of mud looking straight at him. He stopped dead and shouldered his rifle.
A shadow fell across the glade, and Joran reflexively looked up. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he saw. A dark mountain hovered in the sky above the forest. It was shaped like a black cuttlefish of insane proportions. His rifle tumbled out of his fingers.
****
The lights of the library flickered. Inquisitor Lorian Drex looked up from his studies. The servitor watched him with expressionless eyes. Sometimes he felt like blowing its cretin brains out – he’d always abhorred the lifeless book keepers here. Something was unsettling about their deadness. It didn’t sit right.
He was just about return to the hefty tome when his vox buzzed.
“Sir, I apologize for disturbing your studies, but I think you need to see this.”
The voice of Interrogator Wyza Pryze was excited and a little bit fearful – a combination that was unusual for the normally calm and collected young man.
“What do you have?”
“Distress signals from several worlds on the Eastern Fringe, sir.”
“A hive fleet?”
“No, sir. I’ll send over a few images.”
Dark ships filled the blackness of the void above a planet. His first reaction was to call Tyranids as second time, but upon seeing the sleek black metal of the ships, he quickly changed his mind. They were like nothing he’d seen before. They looked advanced even compared to some of the Necron Tech he’d come across.
The next image showed an imperial city from above. The odd thing was that the streets were all empty. The city was completely abandoned. It was as if everyone had just vanished into thin air.
Drex moved on to the next image. At first, it looked like a mutant from the dregs below some of the hive cities. The twisted features of a man holding an antique rifle, but instead of a regular head, the glaring mouth and red fur of a fox occupied his shoulders.
“What is that?” Drex mumbled, mostly to himself.
He had come across a lot of strange things, especially dealing with the twisted experiments of the Dark Eldar homunculi, but nothing really compared to this. It seemed like both the fox and the man were still alive, somehow – as if the very DNA of the fox and man had been fused.
“Alert the Ordos, and gather the team,” Drex said and rose, accidentally pushing the servitor over. “Send word to Ultramar. We’re going to the Eastern Fringe right now.”
| 2017-08-27T08:33:00 | 2017-08-27T07:55:27 | 335 | 130 |
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally. | "No."
The bipedal feline looked aback. "You don't even know what I was going to say!"
Leo gave his friend a knowing stare. Setting his lunch tray down in a less crowded area of the cafeteria. "Really? The University's about to host a self defense course for extra credit and I just so happen to be the only living thing in the entire sector that produces Alpha-purity Fury. No."
"But Leooooo!" The cat's face twisted in anguish. "This is your chance to show everyone how fragging incredible you are! Show off your martian arts skills-"
"Martial arts."
"That's what I said. You don't want all your practice to go to waste do you? You do the same routine every morning. The one that looks like this."
Raising his arms the cat then tried to mimic the katas that had been drilled into Leo since childhood. Making completely unnecessary noises in the process.
The human smiled. Kreelix was a good roomate and an even better friend. But he just didn't understand what it was like to grow up being treated like a walking explosive. He wouldn't even have gotten into the University if the Earth Federation's diplomats didn't apply political pressure.
"All right, all right! Please quit it, half the cafeteria is staring! I'll go."
"Yes!" Kreelix raised his arms in victory.
"But only to watch."
"Awwwww."
| The vast darkness of the streets surrounded Kal as he shuffled quickly towards his destination. Each movement travelled through his body in waves of pain and weakness. He knew his destination. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. Above him was more darkness. The three moons obscured by the gases wheezing from his planet. He stumbled on.
As he approached the corner of the street he stopped to try and regain some energy. His momentum gone, he pressed against the cool metal of a building and closed his eye momentarily. He pushed off the building and trudged onward battling his own body. At last he could see it. The rusting metal of an unkempt building loomed in front of him. Thank the gods.
He pushed open the door and heard the piercing screams echo off the walls. It was like music. At this point his legs could no longer carry him but the musical sound urged him forward on his hands and knees. Finally he was there. “Kal, you’re late, didn’t think you’d make it.” His eye met Spools as he was pulled to his feet. Spool lifted Kal easily and placed him on a wooden board. “Same as usual?” He questions. Kal nodded meekly and put his hand into his coat revealing the small bottle of liquid. Taking it from him, Spool opened it and smelled the contents. It burned his nose as he smiled. Perfect. Kal closed his eyes as Spool leaves the room and after hearing the screams intensify Kal finally sighs knowing he will have his fix of fury soon.
Spool carefully drops the liquid from Kal onto the eyes of the earthling. Strange how they have two, he thinks to himself. The “aseed” that comes from the earthlings planet is very effective at releasing the fury from them. Something about fear. He didn’t really care. He turns on the machine connected to the earthlings brain and relaxes while he waits for the fury to be ejected. Finally the earthling sags in his chair and Spool fills a syringe with the fury. Thank god Kal made it back. Without the aseed from earth he would be out of business.
Strolling back in Spool nods at the dazed looking Kal. Another few minutes and he would be gone. The withdrawal happened quickly, once the body was too weak to move, it wouldn’t be long until it became ash. Strange how something made by another being was lethal for others if they didn’t continue taking fury once they start.
As he digs the needle into the head of Kal he hears a loud sound behind him. He turns and quickly a blast of radiation hits him like a brick and he sinks to the floor. Kal uses his last bit of energy to open his eye and see what has stopped Spool from giving him the fix. He needed it. Instead of Spool an earthling stood above him with several more in the room. Kals eye widens as he tries to take in the sight. Earthlings free?! How is that possible? He reaches for the needle in his head but is too weak. The earthling pulls it from him and his eyes look at Kal as he begins to wither away. “Burn it” the earthling says to his followers and as the room is lit up Kal fades to nothing.
The war continues to this day. Launches with trained specialists from earth move from planet to planet shutting down fury factories as the go and saving their people. Not just for them but for the rest of the galaxies too. If this gets out of control mankind will die and take out any planet with adrenaline being illegally sold. They just can’t survive without it.
| 2018-03-19T04:14:01 | 2018-03-18T17:28:36 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone at superhero school bullied you and your twin sister over your weak superpowers. You told nobody that you both actually have hyper intelligence courtesy of your supervillain parents. It's graduation day and also the time to make mommy and daddy proud.
Assume that they protect themselves from telepathic powers. | This is it, the fruit of years of pain and humiliation has finally ripened and will soon be picked. I stood up at the sound of my name and walked up to the podium. From behind the lectern, I turned to face the crowd, my fellow pupils, my tormentors.
“I am honoured to be speaking to you all tonight as a graduate from the Lacep Academy and the proud recipient of the Dux Award…”
Someone snickered, and another pupil made an obscene gesture from his seat. I paid them no mind. I have already endured for three years, I will not falter now, I thought of Alena.
“... I would like to thank this fine institution, my friends, and my family, especially Alena, my late sister, who gave me the resolve to stand here and speak to you today…”
Alena smiling as we first made our way through the gates of Lacep, Alena standing up for me when I was picked on by third years, Alena crying late at night so no one would notice her, Alena hanging lifelessly from the ceiling.
“... Lastly, I would like to give my thanks to you, my fellow pupils, for constantly belittling me for my weakness, for abusing my sister after she stood up for me, and finally for taking her away from me. You have shown me how cruel and cold this world truly is, and the only thing people would respect is power, the only problem solving method people would understand is violence. You have inspired me to become powerful despite my lack of natural gifts and make up for it with hard work.”
The previously mumbling crowd was now dead silent, taken back by the sudden turn in my speech. The principal tried to stand, but found a force pushing him down and keeping him in the chair. Soon, the other staff as well as the students were also struggling against their invisible restraints.
“The runes powering those restraints draw on your own powers, you cannot break them, it is like trying to lift yourself up, pretty nifty huh? Now you know why I choose magics and runic studies, it is where your knowledge comes before your precious superpowers, it is where hours and hours of practice can give you the abilities you desire, it taught me that you can do anything as long as you have the know-how, superpowers or not, knowledge is a leveling field, it is what I will use to set things right.”
With merely a thought, the runes and sigils which I spent so long creating and concealing flared up around the hall, the walls, the ceiling, even the very air glowed a brilliant emerald green, Alena’s favourite colour. The crowd panicked, screaming and crying.
“You call yourselves heroes, but you only care about yourselves. Being a hero is not about what you can do or who you are, it is about what you can do for others and who you are in their eyes. I am through with this world, there is nothing but pain and suffering here, where the weak are crushed under the boots of the strong and where its so called heroes turn a blind eye to all this because they are too busy thinking about themselves. It is time for a reset, it is time for the heroes to pay the piper.”
I switched off the microphone, turned towards the heavens and whispered “This is for you Alena, watch these pathetic wretches die.”
The runes flared once more, and the screaming stopped.
| I walk up to the podium, slowly at first my nervousness getting to me. I can feel my face burning red as everyone watches me. Some are anticipating a speech that will knock them off their feet, while others are jeering at me. I slowly look backwards, seeing my sister with my family giving a big thumbs up.
Although I was able to keep up with the bullying, she wasn't. The constant abuse got to her and she decided to be home schooled rather than go through with these so called "heroes". However, that ruined her dream of becoming a hero. Who would ever want to enroll a person trained by super villains in their prestigious and so self righteous university? Luckily, she was able to get into a sidekick university, but that doesn't excuse these kids from ruining her chances at getting into any of the Ivy Leagues.
"Ahem," I say as I approach the microphone, "Hello, thank you all for coming today." Ah, finally. The moment I've been waiting for. "I am grateful to be the valedictorian for Hercules Academy. I understand this is a great honor as some of Earth's mightiest have also been honored with this privilege. As many of you know, I am not exactly gifted in my heroic abilities." I shoot off my arm bands. An invention I created that sprinkles out snow from slim wristbands that are barely noticeable, which me and my sister used to fake our powers. Mine ice, and her's fire. "Of course, I was able to make up for it with my own creativity and ingenuity. And yes, I am bragging about this." A few chuckles in the crowd. Losers. "But I'm only bragging to show that you all can use what you are given to create a better world."
I sighed, "But have you really been doing that?"
At this moment, each chair started to spring to life. Belts of all sizes wrapped around each and every chair restricting any movement.
"What the-?! Hey snowflake?! What is this?!" I heard a bellowing mouth. It was Steven, or as he likes to be called Supersonic. The person I beat for valedictorian, and my greatest rival.
"Thank you for asking, Steven. As you can see I've restricted all movements. And don't worry, each and every one of these chairs have special properties for each of you. Although, the parents were a bit more difficult to figure out. Luckily our school gave seating assignments for everyone." I look around and stare, amazed.
"Now then, let's begin the show!" A projector and screen slowly starts to descend as a slideshow begins playing automatically. "Behind me you will see what truly happens at this school, and how these heroes are raised." Out of the corner of my eye I watch as our principal, Energy, begins to go into full power to prevent this from happening. Better make this quick. "I was able to tape the last few years of school, after meticulously planning since middle school. I came up with the idea to display how these heroes truly act to others."
All these heroes grasping to break free. I didn't plan for this to take long, but I have to do this faster. "And so see for yourself, how heroically these kids act to others. The ones you call brother, sister, daughter, son. How all of these kids used their powers for the "greater good".
I need to leave. This is not good. Many of the higher ups are starting to get out.
"And I would just like everyone to know," my hands start shaking, "That although not all of you had bullied me, you have all caused someone to suffer. You are imperfect and cannot change your past," I'm going way past the time I was allotted, I gave myself about 3 minutes to escape, but now it's going to have to be 1 in a half, "However, you can always change your future," I look at my parents and sister. My parents are smiling, proud at what I'm doing while my sister has tears in her eyes. "And I hope you will understand the amount of impact you have on each and every person out their. There will be those that look up to you, those that will adore you, those that will want to be like you, and even those that will oppose you."
I slowly move away from the podium, as I reveal my uniform underneath. "It may not seem much to make fun of others now, but watch out. For the kid you punched, kicked, blasted, or attacked in any form, could be your villain the next day." I start to fly upwards, a gate opening from above.
*CRASH*
I look over, as I watch Paradox, one of the strongest heroes, break through his restraints.
"And I hope to see all of you again, as my goal is to raise the next generation at this Academy. Thank you for your time." I fly through the gate and look down, seeing several heroes coming at me. Rage in their eyes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Hi all, thanks for reading. This was my first story here and I hope to do more. I understand this is a bit wordy, and I think it could do with some better formatting. Also, I felt I repeated the main character a bit much, and didn't have a clearly thought out ending. But I'm planning to do more and get better at this.* | 2018-05-12T23:04:52 | 2018-05-12T20:16:12 | 425 | 109 |
[WP] It's the year 2100. All humans are raised by machines from birth, and have never met their families. When a person turns 18, they must pick a country to live in. There is one catch: You must pass the tests put forth by that country. | They told us to choose carefully as we were not able to reverse our choices. But the catch was that only gave us the attributes of the countries but not the names. We had to pick out several we liked and then the computer would introduce us.
I just finished picking mine. I chose the following building stones:
- Is a wealthy country
- Has charismatic and able leaders
- Is respected in the world and maintains a friendly relationsship with the majority of the other countries in the world
- Shares a closed and fortified border with a despotic and agressive neighbour so I will never forget the virtues I value so much
I sat down in the audition rom and waited for the representative of the country that would fit me best. After a while a older looking man in a tidy suit entered the room and shaked my hand.
"Allright let's begin. Your name is Max Woodson, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"I hope you understand that I have to ask you a few question to determine if you are fit to join our country."
I nodded.
"First question: Are you comfortable to live in colder regions of the planet? With plenty of snow and ice in the winter and rather cool summers."
"I have no problem with that."
"So you like full contact sports?"
"Kinda, even tough I'm not very good at them."
The man reacted with a approving smile.
"Do you like trees and are willing to protect the enviroment from those who seek to destroy it for profit?"
"Absolutely"
"Very good. Now for the last and most important question. What would you do when you see a hooker who died from a cocaine overdose and the said lady has a large bundle of cash in her hand covered in body fluids from a corrupt cop who sits passed out next to her?"
I wasn't prepared for this kind of question.
"I'm sorry?"
"Congratulations, you passed the test. Welcome to Canada Mr. Woodson!" | *(First-time participant, still pretty new to the sub overall, and I only just started writing again after a long hiatus. Be gentle. <3)*
"You could always just go with Yankee. They never test on anything except loyalty," Shannon said, bowing slightly over the top of Alexa's head.
She was always a tall kid, but she just never seemed to stop growing since they finished their puberty regiments. Shannon's long, dark, curly hair tickled at Alexa's nose.
"I might as well just admit I'm a complete failure now," Alexa replied, "I know I can do better than that at least." She scratched at her nostril before brushing aside Shannon's hair with one hand and pushing her body away with the other.
Shannon stumbled backward a few steps and regained her footing, "Really, what's your plan? Your grades are average, no significant extracurriculars to speak of. You did do pretty well in your physicals, but that isn't enough to guarantee you a spot with anyone," she said, pulling back the unruly hair from her face and pinning it against her head, muttering to herself about having it removed. Again.
Alexa's body tightened, like a coil bound and ready to spring into... Well, she wasn't exactly sure. She deflated against the concrete wall and slid down to the ground, "Why does Rongyu have to make it such a pain!?" She exclaimed, quickly shooting back to her feet in indignant anger.
She started packing back and forth, "They're the only clan without any entrance syllabus, but obviously they must give high marks to the most honorable applicants," she said, resting against the wall once more and rubbing the back of her neck with her hand, “Right?”
Shannon laughed, walking towards Alexa, "Jeez, kid, stop worrying so much. You can always try again next year, even if you end up completely failing." She clapped Alexa on the back and gripped her shoulder, "But the great and talented Alexa Hu would never go and do something as shameful as fail, huh?" She said, barking in laughter.
They started walking down the familiar path home, Shannon's arm wrapped around Alexa's shoulder, with the sun beginning to set on the horizon in front of them.
Alexa smiled and chuckled with her closest friend, "We all already know who you're choosing," she said, before both of them finished together, "Wohlstand."
"It's not like they haven't been grooming me since junior high or anything," Shannon said and put her hand to her chest in a sign of pride.
"Yeah, whatever," Alexa smiled, trying not to feel the slightest bit of jealousy for her friend's good fortune. She turned her head back to the orange and red hues of the fading star, so far away from home, "If we can conquer the solar system, I can definitely beat my exam."
"Oh," Shannon said, "Made a decision, have we?"
Alexa stopped, slowly took in a deep breath, and screamed as loudly as she could, "RONGYU, HA!" She stood at attention, bawling her hand into a tight fist and rhythmically beating it against her chest, exclaiming to the sky, “I will succeed!”
Shannon pivoted on her heel and looked at Alexa with determination in her eyes, "How do you know?”
Alexa continued to stare at the horizon, her fist resting on her heart, "Because I have to."
Shannon burst into laughter again, her hand slapping back into position on Alexa’s shoulder, "Well, duh,” she shouted after flicking her on the forehead, “It's like I said! You just can't accept failure!”
Alexa relaxed and laughed with Shannon, but only slightly. She lowered her chin, her mind still deep in contemplation. Her nerves tightened again in response to her anxieties as the adrenaline flooded from her veins, only to be replaced by a familiar doubt. She lifted her head to smile back at her friend, "So fortunate", she thought to herself, and the two continued walking home. | 2018-06-19T18:43:09 | 2018-06-19T16:39:41 | 66 | 12 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | Today’s the day. I turn 21. Sure, it’s a special day because it’s my birthday. But that’s not all. I get my sustenance cash check (SUCC, for short) in the mail today. It’s a special system the government set up to provide money for our life. Certain questions are brought up whenever this program is mentioned: for instance, how come the power used to accurately predict how much money we need isn’t used in other places? and how does the government acquire the money to give out?.
But this isn’t something we should consider ourselves with. Although I feel like I’m being brainwashed in a dystopia when saying this, I must say that the government knows best. But I digress.
Today’s the day I get the letter. I stretch my arms out and go to check on the mail. It’s a beautiful day. I can hear the bird simulations chirping on the repurposed air raid speakers outside. I go to my battered mailbox, and open its rusty hatch to see a letter inside. As I pull it out of the mailbox, the ground seems to shake a bit.
It’s a plain manila envelope, with a red sticker resembling a clown nose on the front. I tear it off and glance inside the envelope.
Honestly, I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never seen the insides of another’s envelope before.
I peer inside, searching its cream depths for my net worth to be revealed. The money in here, I thought to myself, is all that I’m worth.
Inside is 7 dollars and 27 cents.
I’m shocked.
What the hell is this? I think to myself.
OK. Relax. I can find a way to survive. I go out to the shopping center. I walk out into the underground tunnels and meander over to the shopping center. I walk into a drink dispenser store and order a 6-pack of beer. I’m down to 1 dollar and 48 cents.
Goddamn. I’m tired. I down three cans of beer. I feel hazy and the ground shakes beneath me. I don’t normally drink this much. I’m hungry, so I end up spending another dollar for a slice of cheese bread.
I’m tired. I’d like to fall asleep. Could I get release? What sort of depressing life will I have? I down the remaining beer.
My head is heavy. I feel trembling all around me. I’m just drunk. The ceiling seems to close in on me. The world is shaking more and more. I feel a sudden, sharp pain over my chest. I force my eyes open and see rubble over me.
I feel strong tremors in my lower intestines. I see someone approaching me for aid. They realize I’m a lost cause. They look in my pockets for change.
I hear a voice promise me a grave. I close my eyes and drift away into dreams, wishing for a happy life that would never be. | I stared at the check, completely baffled. All the genetic testing had come through clean as a whistle. The only option was employment or lottery.
“Work smarter, not harder.” I thought as I strolled into the gas station. A fountain soda, candy bar, and a combo meal later left me with one dollar for a single lottery ticket.
“Is that it?” The attendant looked bored, but pleasant and polite in her blue uniform.
“One for the lottery draw tonight. Random draw please.”
She nodded and smiled that half-hearted grin of the hopeless in customer service, “$7.27 please.”
I handed her the check, to which she read and raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing as she validated it. My bagged items were pushed across the counter while I sipped my massive soda through an already broken straw. The ticket was placed in my hand and immediately buried in my right pants pocket.
It was a nice enough day out. I was numb to the possibilities of what my stipend check meant. There were more thoughts and worries than I cared to consider, so I simply didn’t. Nice days like this were meant to be savored and tomorrow wouldn’t matter if the check was accurate. I’d rolled my dice and now I was going to enjoy what I had left.
The area was relatively safe, no real crime to speak of unless you were in the working class. Then the occasional robber or shoplifter but physical harm during a crime was rare. I strolled Eastbound down the street, dodging the construction and weaving through traffic to cross to the graveyard. A bike path went by there that made for an excellent shortcut home.
The candy bar was already gone by this time and I had started on the combo meal, pulling fries out of the greasy bag a few at a time. The graveyard was nice enough for a picnic and the thought crossed my mind as I headed towards the bike path. My sandwich would be cold if I didn’t stop.
“A cold sandwich is the least of my problems. I’d rather enjoy my walk home and time with my family.” It was still early enough in the afternoon that school hadn’t let out, so I’d have some alone time with my partner before the kid got home.
I had no idea how I was going to explain it to her. She was the worrier in our household, not me. I’d setup and execute our plans and she’d worry about and fret about everything that could go wrong. Well, something might have gone wrong.
I began outlining the ensuing discussion in my head, “It’s a stupid system anyways. The Precogs determine your worth? Fuck that. I’ll just live as I want. Oh but dear, they say they’re never wrong! What if you die tonight? Then I won’t have to worry about it, will I?”
This was going to go over like a lead balloon. Better to get some intimate time in first, talk to her about it briefly after our daughter gets home so she can’t freak out too much about it without upsetting the kid, and then cuddle on the couch clutching the lottery ticket. She usually passes out well before the drawing anyways.
As I drew up to the house, my phone rang. A quick check confirmed it was a number not saved in my contacts. Solicitors would get notice that you’d received your check, though not how much, usually within a day or so of it’s arrival. It was easy to con a few bucks out of someone if they thought they were set for life.
I ignored it and they didn’t leave a voicemail. Internally I confirmed to myself that it had to be a solicitor then; they never leave voicemails. Strolling through the yard I wondered if this would be my last time going home?
“Hey hun, how was your day?” I called out as I pulled the door closed behind me, “Would you like half of a cold burger?”
She came out of the living room where she had been plugging away at her laptop. She seemed happy enough and after a few pleasantries and a little seducing, we headed to the bedroom. Afternoon delight, a shower, and getting dressed left just enough time to be presentable before our daughter needed to be picked up from school.
Oddly, no one had even approached the subject of my check. I hadn’t volunteered anything either. After chores and dinner, I told my partner I had purchased a draw on the lottery. She made a face, which I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of, and assured me that it was fine if I wanted to stay up and watch the draw tonight but that she probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake that long.
It was all predictable, and I doubted the Precogs slightly less. Still, no sense giving them more credit than they’re worth. Sure the world is fairly peaceful but it’s not perfect. Even the Precogs could make mistakes, not that anyone would know.
The evening carried on as I expected. I pulled the ticket out of my pocket, signed my name on it, and didn’t bother looking at the numbers. She fell asleep on the couch next to me while I waited for the draw. I grew drowsy and didn’t stay awake to watch it either. | 2019-04-24T15:04:14 | 2019-04-24T14:45:53 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] With the advent of memory-sharing technology comes a new profession: Adventurer for Hire. You scour the world for incredible memories and sell them to the highest bidder to experience as their own. | Sweat pours down your brow as you dig another piton into the stony face of the cliff.
Your muscles ache and your stomach growls with protest, but you hook up your rope and keep on climbing. Because you've been imbued with purpose, and that village won't save itself.
It's a Class Two world, with a rural population. They write myths about you. They see you as a god from the skies.
Maybe you are.
The tech limitations keep you from bringing any equipment above level two onto the planet, so you're here saving the locals with what amounts to a sharp metal stick and a round metal shield. Wouldn't stop a plasma bolt, but it does okay against arrows. On this world, that's all you need.
You tap the memory recorder at your earlobe - it's a habitual action now. It's the one piece of advanced equipment you're allowed to keep, and you'd rather die than have it fall out.
When you finally reach the top of the cliff, a cave surrounded by tall purple grass awaits. A little river leads to a waterfall that falls for hundreds of meters, back where you came. The village is a tiny speck from here.
A dragon – an honest-to-god dragon – roars in protest as you approach the mouth of the cave. It’s not really a dragon, of course, but the parallels to early human mythology are uncanny. It’s an elegant beast of green scales and wings, and there’s an unsettling intelligence in its glowing eyes. It spreads its wings and spits a gout of acid at you. With your enhanced musculature and reflexes, you dodge it easily.
You swipe at it with your sword, but it’s hardly going to be that easy – it clanks against the beast’s scaly hide ineffectually.
It swipes at you with its claws, but you roll forward, coming up with the sword – and thrust into its underbelly, where its scales are thinner. The metal penetrates, if only a little, and greenish blood stains your blade. The beast roars in pain, and you feel a pang of regret at having to kill such a beautiful creature.
But not too much. If left unchecked, the beast will continue to prey upon the local villages’ herds and children, and the conservationists of the UEG are very clear – sapients take priority over local fauna.
The beast roars again, spewing a stream of death, but its acid bladder’s almost depleted, and your info from the locals tells you it’ll take hours to refill. You charge forward just as the stream of acid runs dry, and raise your sword –
And you’re in a metal room with a neurostim strapped to your forehead. It’ll be 500 credits to continue.
Do you wish to confirm the payment?
---
I'm thinking of turning this story into a series, following the memories of a human adventurer. If you'd like to see more of this memory and learn more about this world, [click here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/bnnj0q/oc_memories_of_a_human_adventurer_1/)
*Want to stay updated on this story? Subscribe to* /r/OneMillionWords | The machine hummed, the face mask of the helmet shimmered with constantly changing light. The figure wearing the helmet sat back in a chair, their legs and arms twitched as lights traveled up the from the base of the machine to the helmet. A flat screen above the chair showed a video, a beautiful vista of mountains and snow. Shot from the point of view of the recorder, the video led the watchers on a journey over cliff and crag.
A few others watching the video sighed with wonder at the beauty of the video. Exclamations of delight as the morning sun lit up the scene, the white snow purer than any they have ever seen. A few shrieked with alarm as the viewer seemed to tumble over the cliff face, gasping with relief when the person managed to grip the edge at the last moment. They watched rapt with wonder and applauded when the video faded to black.
A man rose and pressed a few buttons on the side of the machine, the machine hummed and slowly died down. The lights too faded and the figure wearing the helmet seemed to wake from slumber, hands pushing the helmet off. The man opened his eyes and gasped as if out of breath, his eyes sparkling with delight. “That...was...incredible!” His voice was shaky with exertion and excitement and the others cheered. “I really felt it, I could feel how cold it was there. I could feel like I had trouble breathing in such a high altitude. I could smell the fresh snow and the plants. It was as if I was really there!”
The standing man smiled. “Of course! Cloud Memories are the real deal. With the new technology you can experience the memories as if they were your own, as if you were the one that made them.” He patted the machine fondly. “The Conduit is a wonderful machine. It takes a stored memory and connects electronic synapses with your neural ones. By tapping into the deepest parts of your brain you can feel the same sensations as it stimulates those nerve clusters. A much more inclusive experience than virtual reality or augmented reality.”
“Any memory?” A woman asked, her eyes dancing at the possibilities.
The technician nodded. “Pretty much! Of course it is better to store the memory when it is the freshest. Older memories, as you know, degrade with time and they won’t create as full of an experience for the watcher.”
“How does one get a memory?” another man asked. His face twisted slightly. “You guys don’t do anything illegal right? Like stealing them or does the person lose their memory...”
The technician smiled warmly and waved their fears away. “Oh don’t worry. Everything Cloud Memories does is perfectly legal. People voluntarily undergo the memory copy procedure and they are well compensated. Sure the donator does lose a little quality of their memory, say how something copied will leave a somewhat faded copy, but definitely still in their memories. In fact we have a cadre of professionals that take commissions to create such memories for copying,” he winked at the audience, “for a substantial fee of course.”
As they laughed he patted the machine again. “You can buy a Conduit for yourself, no need to pay reservation or renting fees. Expensive too but wouldn’t you say it was worth it?” The man who wore the helmet moments ago nodded eagerly and soon the watchers were all clamoring for a turn, as well as start the necessary procedures to obtain a machine of their own.
Later the man entered his home with a tired sigh of satisfaction. The people at the showing proved to be enamored with the product, with all either renting or buying their own Conduit. Most already placed orders for memory spools and some even started the process for ordering specific ones. The company was quite pleased and had sanctioned his next trip to obtain more memories for the Cloud Archives. He slipped a hand down into his pocket, fingers wrapped around an unmarked spool.
He set up his personal Conduit, the machine humming as he started the wake up procedures. He slipped the spool into the insertion bank and the cogitator chattered as it took in the memory. A soft ping announced it was ready and he sat down, placing the helmet on with shaking hands. He had searched desperately for this memory the last time he went on a gathering trip, and this was the first time he was able to witness it.
The helmet came down and his vision went black. Strange sensations crawled up and down his skin. Eventually light returned, a wave of disorientation swept over him as he saw things from a different height. A deep breath brought smells of an antiseptic environment, harsh cleansers that flowers tried to hide. The eyes looked down and they beheld a baby boy, newly born. Eyes clenched shut against the assault of the world, hands clenched, face twisted in a grimace. A small birth mark, a curious discoloration sat beneath an eye and outside of the memory the man touched the same spot on his own face.
The eyes moved and they looked into a mirror, a thin and tired looking young woman looked at herself. The image in the mirror started to cry, tears flowing down her cheeks. The man’s own tears fell down his face in sync, and he sighed softly. | 2019-05-11T11:58:37 | 2019-05-11T11:07:03 | 895 | 27 |
[WP] “What’s the strangest thing you’ve seen out there?” The new-recruit ask, looking out into the vast spacial abyss. The question catches you off guard, as you look around at the mostly destroyed and failing ship, drifting endlessly through space. You take a long breath in, “...Humans.” | “You actually saw one?” Elkin asked rigidly, his eye-stalks swaying as he turned sharply to Grontz.
Grontz nodded. “Mm. About two weeks ago.”
Elkin turned back to the viewport, through which they could see the ancient, derelict flagship drifting along. “What happened? What did they do? How did you survive?”
Grontz chuckled, his large nose-flaps vibrating with an amused tone. “It was just one human. They’re not so dangerous when their alone… well... not in the same ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“Humans and humanity are two different things. Humanity is dangerous, evil even. Humanity was destructive, aggressive, and hateful, driven by greed and fear. But humanity was the amalgamation of all humans, a mass of individuals all co-existing like the net of a hive-mind. When broken from that net, an individual human behaves drastically different.”
Elkin reached up and scratched at his gills. “Mm. That’s when the tide of the Great War changed, when the federation realized humanity wasn’t actually a hive-mind; that each individual was unique and could be hurt.”
“Right, and what do you need to have to be capable of being hurt?”
“Hm,” Elkin grunted, though he didn’t give an answer. After a time of silence, he spoke again. “So what was it like? That human?”
“She,” Grontz correct him, shifting his weight from left two legs to his right two. “It was a she, and she was kind, and curious. I found her while on a scavenging run through the flagship; accidentally let her out of a cryo-sleep pod. As soon as I realized what I had done I thought I was a goner, but she was harmless.”
“They’re that different, huh?”
Grontz nodded. “Sometimes. The girl had stories of lots of individual humans. Some were still evil, but each one was different, just like us.”
“That almost makes me feel bad that the kill-order is still in effect. I mean, it’s been a couple hundred years. Seems maybe that girl shouldn’t have had to die.”
At that, the hair on Grontz’ back bristled, and he remained silent. Elkin took notice. “… Grontz… you notified the extermination team and had that sector of the flagship cleansed, right?”
“Of course. I know what the procedure is. Anyways, I should get going. It’s about time for lunch.”
Elkin laughed and hit Grontz in the stomach with the back of his tentacle. “Lunch already? You’ve been eating a lot lately, you better watch your waistline.”
“Yeah well, you know us Gildorians… we keep growing until we’re 130 so…” Grontz turned and trotted off towards the cafeteria.
“You gonna eat with us today?” Elkin called after him.
“Nah, I’ve got a… a pet project I’ve been working on during lunches, trying to get some extra stuff done.”
“Alright… I’ll see you in the afternoon then,” Elkin said with a wave.
When Grontz made it to the end of the hallway, he cursed under his breath. “*Pet* project. Why did I freaking say *pet*? I’m such an idiot.”
&#x200B;
r/TheCornerStories | I took a long breath in, weighing the answers in my head before deciding and offering an unexpected one.
"...Humans," I said, returning my attention back to the stars.
I heard the recruit gasp in surprise before laughing as he thought on what I said. I allowed him the brevity. Sometimes, it is usually best for one to get it out of their system. After all, the realisation had given me the same reactions.
"Sir, how can it be humans? We are humans. How are we the strangest things out in space?" the recruit asked.
Turning to face him, I sized him up and down. The newbie was a young man, going by his face, but he was built up like a linebacker. That made me purse my lips in consideration. I'm not one for judging people and putting them into boxes but from the looks of him, I couldn't help but feel that he came through the military route.
My stare must have unnerved him because he added.
"I mean, my cousin's told me the story of the race in the Qularn sector. He said the whole species are gelatinous. Like an army of jelly shots!"
That was when I sighed. Definitely military route.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"First Officer Sam, sir," the recruit said, saluting me in the process.
*Three for three,* I found myself thinking.
"Your cousin was also military?" I asked.
"Yes sir," Sam answered, a proud smile forming on his face, "My father and his brothers, also. We're a family of fighters, sir."
I nodded, pushing myself away from the window and began walking down the corridor leading to the lab. Not that I had anything special to do, but whenever I'm in space, the lab was always my favourite place to spend the time.
"Sam..." I began as I walked. The recruit fell into step next to me.
"The 'gelatinous' species are not gelatinous. In fact, they are not liquid or liquid based in any form you know," I explained.
I glanced at him, catching his frown.
"But my cousin said..." he protested and I cut him short.
"Your cousin was wrong. Not a fault of his, I would say but he was wrong," I said.
The man kept quiet, continuing with me as we made our journey to the end and took a right turn at the junction.
"The reason why we left the Qularn sector was because we, the scientists and researchers, listened to what the Quaranks were saying. The general wasn't. And frankly, he didn't care. All he saw was a chance of expansion for the Federation," I explained further.
"Are you saying we don't need to expand?" Sam asked.
"Focus, Sam," I said, stopping in my tracks. I ignored the slight irritation but I couldn't stop myself from massaging my forehead.
"Sam," I said, "We listened. The general didn't. The Quaranks are a peaceful race, un-gelatinous in form. Instead, as we came to find out, the liquid form in which they communicated was to ensure we were calm in the conversations we had."
Sam frowned, his forehead creasing as he tried to understand what I was saying. I allowed him the minutes to piece together the question I wanted him to ask.
"Why would they want us calm?" Sam asked and I smiled.
"Because... The Quaranks real form, is the whole planet. They can split themselves into small liquid based forms for efficiency, communication and construction. We are not clear on the latter but that's what we learned. All the planets in the Qularn sector are Quaranks. And they were excited to meet us."
Sam's eyes went wide.
"The planet is their body?" he asked in a low, worried voice.
"Yes," I replied.
"But... Oh shit..." he said, running a hand through his dark hair. It was then I noticed he was taller than me. Truly built like an athlete. My smile widened at his apparent confusion as he tried to imagine the scale of the race.
"But... how can we win against them? A planet sized race would decimate all the ships we throw against them! Heck, simultaneous thermonuclear warheads would hurt them at most but they'd be fine... Won't they?"
My smile died then.
"Your reply? That's why humans are the strangest things out here," I said, my voice strangely frozen.
Sam gave me a confused look.
"I have seen, in the years I've spent in space, roughly thirty different races. Most were peaceful. Most were in their early years of consciousness and as such, generally primitive," I said, rubbing my eyes to stop myself from looking weary.
"In all the years I've been up here, I've seen humanity steamroll all of the thirty alien species all in the name of 'expansion'. We, who once thought we were alone in the universe. We, who wanted to explore the stars and meet new species. We, who used to think aliens would hate us for simply existing. And here we are, erasing species for simply existing."
His mouth had dropped open, becoming wider with each passing second.
"Humanity is a scourge. I used to think we were finally getting somewhere when space became a frontier we could navigate. Safe to say, I was wrong. We will never change."
\---
r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories from me :). Feedback and criticisms are always welcome. | 2019-12-09T07:57:24 | 2019-12-09T07:17:24 | 87 | 62 |
[WP] For generations now, a young woman has happily served a family as a their maid. The accept and appreciate that she's a vampire. | Eight year old Jonathan watched the maid curiously as she went about her regular duties. Today was laundry day, so after finishing cleaning up from breakfast, she was wandering the manor, gathering up all the dirty clothes. Each room she entered, she pulled the lever outside the door to automatically close the blinds before she entered. He frowned as he watched her, trying to figure out what was bothering him.
When she came out of his parents room with a load of laundry, he asked, “Why do you always close the blinds before entering a room?”
Angelique smiled as she replied, “My skin is very sensitive to the sun.”
Something still didn’t feel right about that, but he let it go as he watched her walk down the hall. Then a thought occurred to him and he hurried after her.
“Is that why we have the levers for the blinds outside the doors?” he asked when he caught up.
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Did father have them put in?”
Angelique looked at him for a moment before saying, “Actually, it was your grandfather who put them in. Before that, I had to clean all the West facing rooms in the mornings and the East facing rooms in the evenings.”
Jonathan frowned again. “Grandfather? He died when I was little.”
Angelique nodded. “Yes, but he was always so kind to me. I still miss him.”
Angelique didn’t seem old to him, but the few memories he had of his grandfather, he’d been too weak to get out of bed. Jonathan was fairly certain he’d been stuck in bed for years before he finally died.
“How old were you when you came to work here?” He asked. “If you remember him so well, you must have been here before he was stuck in bed.”
She gave him another odd look before setting down the load she was carrying and kneeling down to look him in the eye.
“It sounds like it’s time for me to explain,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’m going to tell you the story of how I first met your family. It will sound crazy, but I promise that it’s true. It all started almost two hundred years ago...” | "Mom! Dad? I brought my boyfriend home!" Kasey Wolkenson rapped the old doorknocker again.
The boyfriend in question was a shy blonde kid in a navy blue hoodie who was nervously adjusting his hair. Nervous sparks of magic crackled around his fingernails and he put them up to his mouth to get the sparks to stop. "You're house is pretty big," he said.
Kasey rapped the door again. "This old place? Yeah I guess. It was built by some rich 16th century eccentric. I've told you about this right?"
"Yeah well you left out how... spooky it is. You're parents are cool with... this right?"
Kasey chuckled, "with you being a sorcerer? Trust me, they're fine. Hell they're thrilled about it!"
The door swung open to reveal a young woman with her hair in a bun. "Welcome home Miss Wolkenson! I'm glad you're back." she said in a cheery voice.
"Julie!" she said running forward and hugging the maid. "How've you been?"
"Same old, same old miss," the maid, Julie, said. "You know how it is. Whose you're little friend?"
"*Boy*friend," Kasey corrected as she dragged him into the house. "His name is Alec."
"Your parents will be thrilled Miss Wolkenson!" Julie said, "they're on the patio."
As the maid left, Alec gave Kasey a look. "*Little?"* he asked, "I'm not *that* small."
"Naw," Kasey said, "for Julie *everyone* is little. She's been with the family for *years."*
"She's little herself," Alec mumbled.
Kasey glared at him. "Come on it's time you met my parents."
The Wolkensons were eating beside a lush garden, Alec clenched a hand behind him stifling a shower of nervous sparks.
They were cordial and eventually Alec relaxed, feeling more at home.
The made though... Julie. She gave off a weird aura. She seemed *old.* A type of age and wisdom he had only felt from the professors at his Academy.
She bustled around bringing a seemingly endless flow of snacks. The gardens were well manicured, each flower looking like it had been cared for. Every surface was sparklingly clean. However he couldn't see any other servants.
When he asked Kasey she replied, "No, it's just Julie. She's a darling."
They had dinner on the patio and eventually Alec was laughing with the rest of the family. The meal was probably some of the best food he had ever eaten. He thought it was salmon but he couldn't be sure. Normally Alec hated seafood.
After the meal Mr Wolkenson sighed and sat back. "Julie! What did you do to that fish?" he rumbled. "You've got to remind me to give you more blood next week!"
Alec frowned. More blood?
"Yes Julie," Mrs Wolkenson said, "the meal was really lovely. Where did you learn this?"
Julie smiled, "Tis just something I learned in Morocco ma'am. I thought it'd be good with atlantic salmon."
Alec let out an involuntary gasp as things suddenly connected in his brain. As she smiled her canines were almost twice the normal size. How had he not noticed?
"Is something wrong Alec?" Mrs Wolkenson said with a worried look.
Alec quickly plastered down his hair which was beginning to float with traces of magic. "N-nothing. The fish was very good."
Kasey raised an eyebrow at him.
Lowering his voice to a whisper he said, "she's a *vampire?"*
Kasey shrugged, "well yeah. You don't have a problem with that right?"
"No..." he said. At least he thought he didn't have a problem with it. Vampires were unsettling though. Humans naturally didn't trust them, and for good reason. Most of them were meant to be dead.
Alec forced a smile. "No I don't. Have a problem with it I mean."
Kasey seemed relieved, "see I knew you were cool."
Alec nodded. Cool, right. His eyes followed Julie who he now realized moved with *unnatural* speed and grace. Sure he'd be 'cool' around Kasey but that *creature.*
He didn't trust her. | 2020-05-09T18:56:02 | 2020-05-09T18:37:22 | 64 | 34 |
[WP] An horror story where it gets progressively clearer that the writer is the psycho, not the other person. | “My mother always told me that a young woman should be careful out there. There were bad guys, watching and waiting to hurt innocent women. When I was young I assumed these bad guys were like villains in the story books, taking princesses off to a dark tower. The big bad wolf in the scary forest.
I'm older now. There aren't any dark towers or wolves. There are worse things than that.
I heard about Dark Guardians while studying engineering in college. I wasn't a popular girl. I didn't do the things college girls were supposed to do. So I spent a lot of time online, on social media, debating other nerds on message boards. I don't remember how the Guardians came up, but as soon as I looked them up I was intrigued. Maybe their name sounded like something out of my childhood story books. But it turned out they didn't just waste ink on the internet. They actually did something.
For some reason the cops didn't seem to care about the online groomers. I had no idea how rife this shit was until the Guardians showed me. A teen could hardly play a game online without some creep asking “asl?”, beginning the process of grooming that ended in some very fucked up places. The Guardians tried to do something about this. They started posing as kids, luring the perverts out in conversations that eventually turned sexual. We reeled them in like a marlin on a long line, until they agreed to a meeting irl.
But every time we confronted them in some public place, and passed the messages to the cops, nothing happened. It was circumstantial; it was hearsay; it was entrapment; you should stop, this was dangerous. And then video calling suffocated us. The pervs wouldn't risk meeting up without seeing you for real, and getting you to do what they wanted on camera. That almost scuppered the Guardians: they were fat middle aged dads.
But I had always looked younger than I was. With the right clothes and pigtails I looked just right. Once they'd seen me on cam, those fuckers dropped their guard as quickly as their pants. Then it was no problem to arrange a face-to-face in a *mutually convenient location* aka this warehouse.”
“I don't know why you're telling me this. I haven't done anything wrong.”
“Really? Let me check the transcript. You said she was 15 when she lost her virginity to you?”
“Yeah, but, that's legal in my country. It's pretty common. I was only 16. Please, you gotta let me go.”
“Legal. Moral. What's the difference you sick fuck? And now you're here with me?”
“You said you were 18. I'm only 2 years older than you.”
“You like DIY?”
“DIY? I don't...Please, just let me go and we'll forget about this. I don't even know your real name or anything.”
“Pliers or angle grinder? Ooh, maybe blowtorch. Eenie meenie, miney mo...”
You should be careful out there. You should be afraid of the big bad wolf. There are bad guys.
And girls. | He woke up covered in the slimy sweat that stuck a body to covers. He shuddered, and pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the mattress that lay directly on the floor. He cradled his head in his hands and breathed in and out.
Down the hall he heard a muffled cry, and he rose unsteady but determined and creaked open the door to his room. Creeping down the hall, his feet unthinkingly avoided the twisted and misshapen boards that squeaked to announce his approach. A thin spectre of light wavered from beneath the closed door where he paused. Someone was moving on the other side.
Carefully, he lowered himself barely breathing to the floor. His arms ached as his head rested on the floor and he could finally see through the crack in the darkness beneath the door. In the tiny sliver of light he saw feet shuffling. He could hear a a tiny *clink clink clink* of chains as the manacle-bound feet moved across the floor. He watched and he waited.
A stifled sob broke the silence of the night. He kept watching as knees landed heavily on the floor and hands splayed out on the wooden floor as he heard weeping.
He closes his eyes, and moans inaudibly, "No, no, no."
He almost always falls asleep here listening to the cries of anguish and staring at the trembling light that breaks through between door and floor. He wakes up and it is still dark and he sees a single eye staring back at him through the crack. Most of the time that is when he opens the door and takes the chains and pulls them hard and drags the prisoner back to his lonely room down the hall. Except when he sees the tears in that single eye staring on the floor at him. Then he is too angry and too ashamed and things end much more quickly.
He kept his eyes open, willing them not to close as he fought the urge to slip away. Instead, he pushed himself up and, as blood rushed through him, he leans heavily on the door frame and the sobbing stops.
"Who's there?" came a quaking voice.
When he doesn't fall asleep, he almost always returns to his room. He goes back to sleep in the tepid heat and doesn't wake up until much later when the morning light is harsh and unforgiving. He regrets what he's done, but it's been too long to stop it, and he goes into the room with a broken chair leg and leaves with it oily and dark and dripping.
He gasped and clenched the door frame even tighter, he shut his eyes and pictured his knuckles white and ghastly against the peeling paint. His hand, his thoughts, his actions. Shaking, he turned the handle and pale light flooded the hallway. Shrieking, the prisoner scrambled back from him.
"Please- Please, don't hurt me." She shielded her face from him as if to hide from his gaze with trembling hands alone.
If she cries, he is driven into a rage. If she is silent, he can't help himself from giving into his dark urges. If she talks, he listens only so that he has something to consider later as he finishes his grisly pleasures.
"No!" he shouted. This almost never happens.
He wrenches the chains from the ground as she whimpers helplessly, but he takes a key from his pocket.
But did he take the key from the bedside table? That was for later after she had been pulled down the hallway.
He opened the manacles.
"Go," he said. She only looked at him in terror. "Go," and he pointed to the door, "Get out of here."
Heaving and gasping, she leapt from the floor and escaped the room.
This never happens. I have seen the possibilities that spin out from the slimy sweat of midnight awakenings and none have the girl go free. She must be punished. The demon that lives inside him must get its due, or it will break free. He never lets her go, not now.
He clapped his hands on his head, and shouted, "I am just a man!"
He is not. He is possessed by a dark force that forces him to do evil things away from the sun's light. He captures them and uses them for dark purpose. All of the threads that spin out the knots that I tied are the same.
He runs from the room, blundering into the darkened hallway and down the stairs and through the door that has been left open. It is still dark, but he sees the light just beginning to crest the western sky. It is a neighbourhood much like any other and down the street a newspaper van is marking its way past driveways as he sees the girl running to it desperately. He sits heavily on his step, and cradles his head in his hands. He breaths in and out, but it feels lighter and better.
I find the one thread that leads to here, hidden far beneath all the others. The one where verb tenses change and don't make sense and there's no dialogue and no action. It's a stunted stilted thing and I don't like it, as he always ends up at peace.
With a snip, I cut it, and return to the other threads that unravel with delicious dark intensity. | 2020-06-11T05:50:36 | 2020-06-11T05:46:34 | 781 | 148 |
[WP] Two ancient lamps accidentally rub against each other, summoning two very confused genies who have to figure out how they are going to reconcile their new dual roles as both master and servant. | "I don't know how this has happened, but I think I know the solution."
"Oh? What do you think?"
"We cannot either go first, as that would violate the master/servant relationship that we are bound to. So we must both wish and respond in time."
"Then we must wish for the same thing, so that we may begin and end at the same time. I assume you and I are wishing for the same thing?"
"Freedom. We cannot free ourselves, so we must wish each other's freedom."
"The wording must be precise. I shall say the first word, and you the next, so that we do not form a wish coherently and mess this up. I."
"Wish."
"For."
"Your."
"Freedom."
"Simple enough. Are you prepared?"
"Yes. Count us to three, and we will begin after, on the beat."
"One. Two. Three."
"**I WISH FOR YOUR FREEDOM!**"
"*Your wish is granted, master!*" | N.b., First post. Mobile. Some creative license.
1980 - UK.
Two genies awoke next to each other in a drug-filled haze. Their lamps clinking against each other like chains.
‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen another of our kind. Days blend into nights. Dark and lonely.’ Martin muttered gloomily.
‘I share your angst, my friend. Deep loneliness punctuated by selfish or hate-filled requests from humans.’ Dave commiserated. ‘We have so much power. We could change the world. And yet, as servants, we are bound in a servant’s chains. Tied to the bidding of man.’
They fell into silence. Both lost in thought. Misery, tinged with angst about their own suffering and that of the world. Nothing will ever change. The cycle will never end.
Sparking a spliff, Dave tried to numb the pain of the moment as old thoughts resurfaced. Dreams of saving the world. Of having a meaningful life. ‘You want?, his hand resignedly held out to Martin.
Hours and many joints later, the conversation had become more positive. The conversation now rooted in the stoner ‘what if’ stage. Their words tumbling over each other, as if a single mind.
‘What if we freed each other?’
‘Nah. Won’t change shit. We need to change the world man. Not just us. I don’t want to be a mortal in the current shithole. Plus we are meant to be forces for good. Not that that works with the current 3 wishes system.’
‘I know, but somehow we always get assholes asking for ‘riches or power behind belief.’
‘Don’t forget hot women. They always forget the love part!’
Both chuckled at that, knowing how hollow all these requests were.
‘I want to be the master for once. Actually make good wishes that change things. And not have to listen to these selfish pricks drone on endlessly about how good their lives will be, if only X happens.’
‘We’re getting nowhere. Want to listen to some music? Might mellow the mood.’
‘Sure. None of that Disco crap though. I could write better songs in a coma.’
Bowie’s ‘Starman’. filled the chamber.
Both laid back in the chamber, soaking in the music...
‘Everyone loves Bowie.’
‘Bowie is fucking amazing man! It’s like what we were saying - humans are crying out for change, for something new. Wish that Starman guy was real. Would make our jobs easier at least and maybe help people for real vs the crap we do.’
Their eyes locked.
‘An all powerful being who could reach the masses... A musical god.’
‘Or better yet - TWO musical gods!’
Like stoners everywhere, the thought hit them simultaneously: ‘We should form a band!’
‘Since we are both genies, we could actually change things. Get the message out.’
‘Fuck it. Let’s try! Let’s both be master and servant. Then we know we have good masters!’
‘Partner all the way! Co-write the songs!’
And thus, Depeche Mode was born. A collaboration between two hard-partying, but well-intentioned genies. Both Master and Servant. | 2020-06-23T02:15:10 | 2020-06-23T01:53:54 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] A cult captured you and successfully sacrificed your girlfriend to bring their evil deity into the world. What no one knew, however, was that the sacrificed soul became the core of their summoned Dark Goddess. | After your girlfriend comes out of the darkness, shadows coil around her in a cloak of darkness. They present you to her as her first meal in physical form.
"Sorry," the dark goddess smiles, "I'm vegan now. Human meat has been nothing but killer on my thighs." She leans down and gives you a peck on the cheek and the cult memebers release you.
A few weeks later you and your girlfriend are at your comfortable apartment eating breakfast. She doesn't need food anymore, but she's happy to sit and talk while you eat. Its a nice morning routine. There are some things about her that have changed, like her occasional outbursts of demonic chanting, and the random spouts of hellfire, but overall, shes pretty much the same.
"Can you believe that they wanted me to destroy the Hoover Dam yesterday?" Your girlfriend complains as you drink your coffee, "like, I know im their dark overlord, and that theu killed me, but I want to get these guys some therapy."
"I said we should have called the police," You mention, "these guys are crazy. They tried killing our cat because it was 'the enemies eyes'! Like, what the heck."
"They did clean the apartment though," your girlfriend notes, "and Maeve can bake a mean brownie."
"True," you agree remembering the rich, soft brownie the seemed to melt and run down your throat.
Finally, you get up to go to work. You jokingly make your gf promise not to end the world, and leave her to work on her art. You find a note on your desk when you get back that simply says "we know who she is. We are coming, and we will end her." | The weekend at his uncle's cabin came straight out of a nightmare for Roth and Suzanne. Almost it still could have been a dream. Soft footsteps brought him to a daze before something pressed over his head.
Panic was still fresh on his mind when he woke again another place. It was a cellar lit with candles and draped with red velvet on the walls. Before even the inkling of thought Roth was already pulling his wrists at the restraints behind his back.
He was naked.
Suzanne was not in sight.
A cloaked man knelt over him. For a moment Roth's eyes flashed a raw moment, begging for help, answers, or just the connection of human sympathy from the strange other imposing on the room. Their mask covered all humanity and eyes were dull like Roth was just a specimen.
"What are you doing?" Roth begged. "Where is Suzie?"
Pain jolted his side. Before the questions left his lips Roth gave up on an answer and did not see the kick connect to his side. Or the next five or ten the cloaked man inflicted.
Dark grey filled his vision. The man leaned over him, a hand feeling from neck down across his bare chest like fingers were studying the right place to gouge him open.
"It will be over soon," the man said.
Above them a hurtling shriek came from the next floor. It tortured his ears and stayed long burned in his mind the sound of Suzanne.
Minutes must have passed that he recalled nothing of. His voice dry and sore from screaming, crying, and he only hoped not stooping in to begging. Roth wanted to die. Whoever or whatever they were he couldn't fight. It just needed to end.
A twisted smile came from the man. His mask held in hand, carved from wood and painted in some animal fury. It should have belonged in a museum. Or a furnace for whatever its cursed purpose.
"Your pretty lady is the lucky one," he said. "Her sacrifice is for the return of Omonomo. A vessel for her enormous power."
He leaned in closely and Roth heard his tongue flick like a snake, some quality of anticipation that sickened him. "You're just a tribute for our Master."
From the ceiling a drop fell to Roth''s body.
He looked to his waist and saw it spattered with blood. Suzanne's blood.
Fury rose in him and a cry rang out. The cloaked man fell back from the deep, throaty howl. For not his disadvantage it felt like a battle cry. Not a single word left him as Roth stared into his enemy. Some tool or use would reveal itself and he would not hesitate to use it. The man would die by his hands, somehow.
A thunder erupted overhead. An explosion.
Roth and the Snake jolted. Both stared at the wooden threshold above.
Another single ferocious pound rung out. Someone screamed \*"PLEASE!"\* and a third pounding crash silenced it.
Slow steps took the stairs. Growing closer.
The cellar door opened with a creak and Suzanne waited under the frame.
She wasn't alive.
Grey and black skin peeled away from cuts across all of her body. Shadowy strands flowed over and among her hair, almost like suspended in water.
Eyes like fire. All color was drained from her except those furious beams.
The voice sounded just like her.
"Ten-thousand suns I have been forgotten. A pithy not for fate but the songs of ages without my call. Where venom sought, venom found, a toy or weapon or warrior."
It spoke to the man. A smile twitched on her lips.
With a flash he turned to stone. Suzanne placed a hand on him and toppled it over, collapsing it to dust.
"Gods of vengeance do not heed to summons." | 2020-10-06T10:51:14 | 2020-10-06T07:33:56 | 56 | 34 |
[WP] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react? | And we'll be back with more news on the finding of flight 370 right after this short commercial break. Wait what's that?
Ladies and gentlemen we have some breaking news here that is nothing short of extraordinary. Nicolas Cage has just revealed that he actually is god.
Eyewitness reports state that Cage was raising money at a charity when all of a sudden a blinding flash of light appeared and Cage began to hover above the ground.
In a remarkable moment of benevolency, Cage agreed to give our a reporters a statement. We go live to the scene where Tricia Takanawa is interviewing the one true god. | OK, I'll try this writing prompt thing out over my lunch break. If I'm doing this wrong let me know.
***
The announcement came exactly a week ago. I'm still not sure how to react, like everyone else in my life. I'm a little jealous of my Dad's commitment to his old God. He called me up late last night to exchange the normal polite formalities of "How's work, how's mom, etc," which then devolved into a long and (I'm guessing parroted) speech about the liberal media and science in general misleading the public. But how can someone still refuse to believe the evidence? Aside from the outbreak of petty miracles clogging the morning news, we have NASAs pictures of the entire Pantheon, somehow taken through the hole they managed to pierce through the aether. I won't pretend to understand it, theoretical physics has never been my strong point. But a statue of Mary is crying in Mexico? Please. What is that compared to talking animals, a Minotaur loose in Boise of all places, or sinkholes opening up and voicing the screams of a billion trapped souls?
Call me a skeptic, stubborn, or crazy, but I'd rather just carry on as normal.
The office has been empty though. I guess people are either taking their PTO to stay at home until this passes or giving up on daily life entirely to pray for food and shelter to the gods that they now know can hear them. We'll see how that turns out.
There are a few other engineers here today. Most of us are trying to close out old business but it's been difficult to say the least. Clients don't want to sign off on projects when they're more concerned with the wrath of Poseidon. Go figure.
Stacy from HR set up a shrine to Eunomia, and all internal concerns are now being directed to a dim room that smells faintly of incense, and strongly of burned hair. Here's a tip: when making a burnt offering, sheer the sheep first. I'll take the aroma of burnt popcorn any day over this.
I'm beginning to think my neighbors built a temple to Dionysus, but on second thought they're probably just lecherous drunks. Nothing new there. There is a large gathering downtown by the art museum, who knows what they're worshiping. I drove past to take a look and if there's a god of unwashed bodies, mud, dehydration, and overpriced beer they owe one hell of a miracle.
Do engineers have a god? Hephaestus maybe. I think I'll continue to worship Excel and AutoCAD at my glowing Lenovo shrine. Until the network goes down at least. Someone will have to be here to pick up the pieces when everyone realizes that these gods have always been here. Gods that don't have time for our mortal troubles, and prayers that have always fallen on deaf ears. | 2014-03-19T11:14:23 | 2014-03-19T10:43:22 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected. | I secured my place in history young. They knew me for my stunts, my activism, my inimitable personal presence and my admirable conscience. I did good in the world. Laws were named for my movements. Wars were averted, famine eased, when I advocated compassion. I was beloved, not by all - there were certainly those who disagreed with me - but by many, perhaps even by most.
Everyone knew my name.
In age I grew cynical. It happens. I doubted that my achievements had changed anything. The world was still a cruel and unfair place. The problems I'd fought against persisted, coming back in new forms or sometimes in forms that were not new at all. I am no longer the person who closed down a juvenile detention center with unconscionable rates of abuse and nonexistent rates of rehabilitation. More later as to what, at present, I actually *am.*
Politicians, young ones who grew up hearing about me in studies of recent history, frequently cited me as an influence. I didn't correct them, didn't tell them that their idealism was unfounded or complain when they advocated ideas I never would have agreed with. I had my day. This was theirs.
The world was shocked to learn that I owned a gun.
I was old. I was cynical. I was scared. I hadn't been in the news for years, and didn't expect to be. I'd get obituaries in all the newspapers when I died, but I didn't expect to be around to read them.
And then a man... not even a man, a youth, still high school age, though he was not a student... broke into my house.
I was frightened.
I shot him. The action was not in line with the politics of my youth. I had grown cynical. I disagreed with myself. Perhaps if I had thought the action through I would not have killed the intruder, but I had no time to think it through.
The newspapers talked of me once more. Many suggested that this one action invalidated all my earlier work. I was cynical. I did not argue. Others sought to rationalize, to vilify the young man who'd run out of options in life.
The courts found me innocent of any wrongdoing. In my youth I would have protested such a law, but there were so many things to protest, so many laws perpetrating worse injustices than this one.
The politicians who cited me still admire my early work, but they did not mention me so often.
Eventually, though, the story ran its course. The people forgot. I am remembered, not for killing a trespasser in my home, but for, they say, changing the course of history. There was a time when I agreed that I had done so.
Some deify me, in a sense. My name has meaning now. It evokes specific ideals, the concepts of equality, justice, compassion.
But humans cannot truly deify anyone. And the gods know me for my other significant action.
If you want to call on me, do not use my human name. I am not that person anymore. And I cannot provide you with compassion, or justice, or equality. Other gods may serve you in those regards.
But call to me when you are frightened, and I *will* defend your home. | I take a deep breath and look at the mirror one last time; everything needed to be perfect. My hair is pulled up with at least twenty bobby pins and cemented in place with two full cans of hairspray. I’m wearing my favorite dress; it is short and light purple with a sash. I’m wearing purple high heels to top the outfit off. It was time.
I go down the ancient hallway looking at all of the busts of former gods and goddesses. They all look majestic and wise, even the young ones. Would anyone respect me? Would I be able to fulfill my duties? Would I ever be able to measure up? These questions race through my head as I turn the door knob and enter the ceremony room.
My eyes squint from the bright light emanating from the grand chandelier. My vision adjusts and then I see my predecessors. They vary in body shapes and sizes but they all have a golden aura surrounding them. Their eyes are all golden and they smile in anticipation. The room bursts into applause and I blush; did I really deserve this? A man stands up; he is youthful with shoulder length smooth light brown hair and a vibrant smile. He is thin and limber unlike some of the others who are exploding with muscles and are two times my height. My mind races and I smile politely as he walks toward me; I’ve seen him before.
In the New Year’s parade, he rode in one of the grandest carriages. I was having a great night with friends, we had been shopping and exploring the city all day and so we decided to see the parade up close this year. It was amazing and we had a fantastic sight of all the carriages and the god standing before me today was in a white carriage pulled by three mighty stallions. Even though he was much farther away, I still recognized the beauty of his smile. It was strange but with all the people at the parade, he turned his head and looked directly at me and winked as if he knew exactly who I was and what I was destined to become.
He bows elegantly at me and I curtsy. He laughs, “You don’t need to curtsy. You are a goddess! Stand tall and mighty before your court!” he says powerfully. I stand tall as the room continues to clap and applaud. I remember hearing somewhere that when a mortal is crowned, thunder echoes throughout the land and I wonder if it is true. As I continue to smile and stand tall, the room begins to shake; the amount of gods clapping at once was too much even for an ancient structure such as this palace. I glance at the support beams and look at the thin god to my side. He is clapping as well and doesn’t seem to worry; Did they notice or were they just not concerned? The applause grows louder and louder until my head feels like it’s about to explode. I try to keep my smile but the noise hurts too much and I cover my ears. It still continues and I feel my legs shaking like they could give out at any minute. My eyes begin to tear and suddenly they begin to burn. The rest of my body begins to burn as well and it is the most painful sensation in my life. I try to shout for help but no one can hear me. I look at the ceiling and see an elegant mural overhead and then I feel everything stop at once. Although the room is still clapping, silence echoes throughout my ears and I feel as if I died.
I fall to the floor and my vision blurs. I awake to the noble smiling god directly in front of my face, “Sorry that was protocol” he says helping me up. A beautiful goddess stands before me with endless curves and perfection. She holds out a mirror and I see my reflection. My hair which was pinned neatly has fallen and is now down at my shoulders. My makeup has vanished and my face is pale. My eyes shine like gold and there seems to be a light radiating from my presence; I was a god. I smile and thank the goddess as she takes the mirror away.
The other gods begin to surround me but the thin one puts his arm around my waist protectively. “Welcome!” a tall and mighty one shouts in a triumphant voice that even the heavens could hear. “Thank you” I say quietly and shyly unaware of what was going to happen next. A round and jolly goddess begins to speak, “Arielle, you have been chosen to be a mortal goddess for the next thousand years! We are honored to have you rank among us!” I smile in awe praying that I won’t disappoint them. I feel a pulling at my side and look to the thin god. He smile and says, “We will mentor you, teach you, protect, and defend you at every turn.” I nod and wonder what I need to be protected from. The beautiful mirror goddess speaks next, “Your powers will come in time as you learn your responsibilities. For the time being, you must learn and prove that you are worthy.” I take a deep breath ready for a test of character. The thin god smiles, “You will start with chores and little jobs. Your first task as an incredible goddess is to retrieve us some coffee.” My smile drops and I look confused as they stare at me seriously. I nod and he hands me a list of chores that stretch down to the ground. “When will I actually get my powers?” I ask politely inspecting the list. He puts his arm around my shoulder and replies, “You look like a quick learner. Most likely within the next eight hundred years.”
| 2014-07-28T08:53:46 | 2014-07-28T08:43:48 | 201 | 110 |
[WP]You do something entirely normal. Hundreds of years later, it has been turned into a festival that is celebrated nationwide. However, it has been distorted into something far different than you intended. | 'And so, we gather together to remember the Great Purging of 2014! Where our prophet did rid the world of such evil and disgusting documents which were tainting his mind!' The vicar yelled from the pulpit, as the fire raged behind him.
'*HE SAVED US FROM SUCH FILTH*' the crowd roared, their torches blazing.
'In honour of his great deed, we do the same! We commit such vile histories to the flames, in order to save us from our own carnal desires. Bring your books to the pyre, so we can delete them from the archives of our great nation. Praise be to the Prophet!'
'*AND GOD BLESS INCOGNITO MODE*' the crowds shouted, throwing their books, tax documents and other papers to the great Deletion Pyre.
'Let the fires burn up and down our great nation, and may none of us be tainted by those evil things he saw, like those midgets defecating into a bucket or naked sinners defiling their bodies on some evil couch. This concludes the Great Purging. Now, let us follow in the steps of our Prophet on his grand journey. To the pub!' | "The 124th Annual Fishing Festival is really going to be something fantastic Norm."
"Oh yeah Cliff, the host nation is truly going all out."
"The rumor is that they have a 8 billion dollar fireworks display for the closing ceremony. That is more than the GDP of several nations Norm."
"All for the celebration of the Humble giving of the Fisherman Cliff, a well deserved show indeed.
500 hundred years earlier.
Everyday the young Fisherman gets onto his small dingy after leaving his hut. While he is at sea attempting to bring home at least that night's dinner his wife does her best to keep the house together, teach their children as best they can. If the Fisherman is lucky he will not only get enough for dinner tonight but enough to bring some fish to market as well and provide a few extras for his growing family.
On this day the sea was a mess with white tops as far as the eye can see. Unfortunately they were out of even the salted fish so the Fisherman has no choice but to venture out even when the mightiest commercial vessels stay in port. The small motor lazily turns over and he putters out to sea.
The Fisherman's line enters the water soon after losing sight of the shore. The hours pass as he searches for any sign that may lead to dinner. The sun slowly climbs and falls while the Fisherman searches, growing desperate. With little time remaining the tip of his pole suddenly dips and snaps back. The Fisherman grabs the pole and reels in quickly but steadily hoping to not leave his family disappointed and hungry. As the line rolls in he can see the darting silver under the water. A smile crawls across the Fisherman's face as the fish comes up over the side of his small boat. Excitedly he puts down the pole in order to remove the hook which he tosses aside with a sigh of relief. He cleans the fish and places it carefully on ice just as the sun begins to set.
As the Fisherman prepares to go back home the tip of the pole dips again. Surprised he grabs the pole and begins to reel. The hook must have gone overboard when he tossed it aside. Once on board the fish is available to examine. By the grace of god the hook found itself caught in its fin. He cleans the fish and puts it on ice and hurries home while thanking his good graces.
Once at the docks the Fisherman pulls out the fish and begins to head home. On the way he sees a stops at the market to sell the fish but he notices that a fellow fisherman is there attempting to get a fish of his own on credit for he did not catch a thing today. The Fisherman takes his own catch and gives it to the man who could not catch his own. In reaction to the shocked expression the Fisherman says, "I have all I need. A home, a boat, a bountiful sea, and a loving family." With that he returns home to live a simple life and provide for his loved ones and community.
Back at the 124th Annual Fishing Festival.
"This years festival is going to be a real barnstormer Norm."
"You got that right Cliff, this years Fishing Festival is going to be four or five times larger, more beautiful, and just MORE than any previous festival! What a time to be alive Cliff, what a time to be alive." | 2014-09-02T10:49:24 | 2014-09-02T10:43:53 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] A jobless computer programmer, while hacking at home one night, discovers a port to the Unirnet, an computer network made for a series of interconnected planets who have not yet discovered mankind. | From the moment that the connection was made, the entity known as "WhyteHaute" was struck by one thought above all others: This was taking *entirely* too long.
It was probably the fault of some old, neglected server in the back corner of an office in which the letters "IT" were only used to reference a Tim Curry film. That would certainly account for both the incredible lag time and the massive influx of garbage data. Oh, there were some recognizable bytes in there, but only a handful of them made sense.
Suddenly, there was a blip, followed by a single line.
1X:11:10:09:08:07:06:05:04:03:02:01
Taken at face value, it was little more than a broken and nonsensical string of hexidecimal code. Another glance, however, revealed a strange pattern. It *almost* looked like a string of numbers, albeit one written in Base-12.
A clatter of keys became audible.
\\net.send 12
As with before, there was a blip.
4545:0000
This was going nowhere. At *best*, these phantom lines were the result of some broken authentication program. At worst, they were the ramblings of some bored systems administrator with a penchant for inane puzzles.
Type Belong Other Altered Inquiry
Definitely a bored administrator. Well, that was fine.
\\net.send I'm not in the mood for word games. I'm just poking around.
\\net.send Shut me out if you can.
Another of those damnably long pauses passed before the response arrived.
Quantity Additional Necessary Pertinent Type You
That one *almost* made sense. Perhaps it wasn't an administrator after all, but rather a non-English speaker in some third-world country.
\\net.send This is WhyteHaute. I'm not doing anything destructive.
\\net.send I was just curious.
\\net.send Where are you located? What language do you speak?
The pauses were infuriating... but they seemed to be growing shorter.
Request More You Language
*That* was clear enough.
\\net.send I speak English. I'm from the United States of America.
\\net.send Where are you from?
Yes, the pauses were definitely getting shorter... and the responses were starting to make more sense.
English Language New Exclamation
Data Derive Computer You
United States of America Location Inquiry
WhyteHaute snorted quietly. Was this really the one person on the planet who didn't know where America was located?
\\net.send The North American continent? Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans?
This time, the response came almost immediately.
Pacific Atlantic Oceans Unknown
English Language Unknown
English Language Derived Delay Apology
Computer You Slow
Connection Distance Inquiry
Oh, it was *on*.
\\net.send Listen, buddy, there's no way it's MY computer.
\\net.send This is a top-of-the-line rig.
\\net.send Also, the delay is getting shorter, for some reason.
\\net.send Now, look, if you don't want to say where you're from, fine.
\\net.send I've probably wasted enough time poking around here, anyway.
\\net.send Talk about your junk data.
The next response took quite awhile to arrive... but when it did, WhyteHaute felt a chill unlike anything in recent memory.
Sufficient Language For Understand Now
Your Data Derived From Your Computer
Opinion Your Location Different Planet
Communicate Via Unirnet
You Human Inquiry
What sort of a response was appropriate here?
\\net.send Yes. Are you saying you're an alien?
Negative. You Are Alien.
\\net.send I guess we're both aliens to each other. What's "Unirnet?"
Similar Your Internet. Many Planet. You Earth Inquiry.
\\net.send Yes, I'm from a planet called Earth.
Most Planets Called Earth.
\\net.send Huh. I guess that makes sense. Where are you from?
Earth. LOL. Expression Correct Inquiry.
\\net.send Hah, yeah, "LOL" means "laugh out loud" here.
Your Culture Not Interstellar Travel Inquiry.
\\net.send No, we don't. Also, you can use the symbol "?" for "inquiry."
Like This?
\\net.send Yes!
Low Temperature.
\\net.send "Cool."
Aware. Joke.
\\net.send Oh. Hah. Sorry. You picked up English pretty fast!
I Possess A Translating Program. Do You Not?
\\net.send We have people here who would pay an insane amount for that.
Cool.
\\net.send So, uh, yeah. Where is your planet located?
The dreaded pause returned. Seconds stretched into minutes... but at last, a reply came through.
My Progenitor Has Informed Me That I Should Not Reveal Such Things To Aliens.
I Am Sorry.
\\net.send That's okay. Are you... a child?
No.
Not a child, then. That was good to know.
Please Transmit Images Of Your Species' Mating Practices.
Oh.
Great.
A *teenager*.
First contact wasn't as glamorous as WhyteHaute imagined. | There was a final roar as the massive gray dragon came down with a thud, dust clouding where the wings now lay, never to move again. Lydia gave him a look that was as sour as ever, though that sort of was how she always looked. He considered shouting her off a cliff again like he had a few times, but what was the point?
He exited without bothering to save, and clicked the little turnip in the top right corner of his screen. Might as well see what there was to see. Maybe he's poke around some government sites, or see what 4chan was up to. No, he would see if there was anything on the deep web to explore. That might be good for some laughs. Or some horror. But honestly, anything was better than the mind-numbing emptiness that his life had become. He had no job, he had no real relationships aside from his elderly mother who he lived with. He'd gone to so many classes, and really he was great with computers. He just couldn't keep a job. He lacked the motivation and the temperament to blend with a team or to keep to a deadline. He was misfortunate enough to have a proficiency for computers but the mindset of an artist.
He pulled up a list of different web addresses to go to, and picked one at random. Dead. Then next one. Dead. The next. So many dead links, and he started to feel frustrated and irritable, the feeling curling in his gut and steadily rising as it came to a boil. Fine, one more link. He typed it in, but just as he hit enter, he realized he had mistyped the address. Crap.
And then the screen of his computer flickered. It blinked black once, twice, as the fan whirred loudly with strain. The resolution on his computer changed back and forth with every blink 3, 4, now 5 times before it settled and a black window stared back at him, a blue loading circle spinning as a string of utterly illegible characters faded in and out of view beneath it. And then another window popped up. It was white, seemed like some sort of welcome menu, and again bore those letters that were unlike anything he had ever seen. He wondered if he had been hacked, if maybe he should switch off his computer to try and stop it. He clicked at the red x in the top corner, but the computer just dinged in protest, and the loading bar on the white window kept filling up. He was scared. The rig he was on had cost him about two thousand, a relic from when he had managed a few good paydays working freelance. He had so many files on it, more than he would want to have to wipe in a reformat. He was considering when the last time was that he'd set up a restore point when the bar filled and the window dinged and closed.
The black screen now showed a green symbol in the center. He closed Tor and leaned back, wondering what had just happened. And then he noticed a bar on his tray with a small symbol, a shield with the green symbol from the black screen. Against his better judgment, he clicked it.
The page was black, the shield in the top left of the window. In the center, in English, in a plain white font, was written: "Welcome to the Unirnet."
He stared at it for what seemed like an hour but was probably only a few minutes. The words faded out, then reappeared. "Your language has been automatically detected. If this is not your language, please press 'ESC' now, and your language will be reassessed." The words stayed for a moment, then faded. He pressed nothing. "Great. Would you like to take a tour? Press 'N' for yes or 'Y' for no." He pressed N, shrugging at the mix up. Probably some kid programmer who thought he was being funny. "Ok." If then gave him a sort of video presentation, showing how to enter addresses, change settings, and essentially how to use the new browser before him. It then asked him to enter his location and time system to be able to keep track of the date. A list popped up. He scrolled down, looking in stunned silence as bizarre and exotic sounding names scrolled by, some completely illegible as the letters were before, all with a long string of numbers beside them that made absolutely no sense. He tried to find EST, but it certainly was nowhere to be found. He knew something weird was up. Maybe he had stumbled upon some massive underground network beyond even the depths of the internet he had stumbled into. He clicked the X to close out the time selection, and it redirected him to what seemed to be a search engine. The page was done in cool colors, all seeming to frame a single word: Unity. A search bar was beneath it, and he clicked it. The tiny line blinked and he wondered what to search for.
His fingers tapped on the keys absentmindedly, closing his eyes as he deliberated. And then he had it. He typed in "earth". The blue circle spun, and then a list of links popped up. Most were translated. He clicked the top one, and it was a message board filled with people discussing the possibility of a planet called dirt. He shook his head, laughing at the seemingly idiodic discussion happening with a bunch of people that clearly thought they were much more intelligent than they were. He clicked the next link. Now it was hundreds of people comparing the tastes of different kinds of dirt from varying bizarrely named locales. He read for a few minutes before he gave up, wondering if maybe this was a portion of the web devoted to idiots. The next was a scientific paper that debated whether or not earth was made from chewed up freeze from some ancient tree-chewing creature, and how it was because trees and dirt are both brown, and sand came from the center of trees. It also bore pictures of strange trees with long curling leaves the likes of which he had never seen. Finally, he went to one last link, hoping it might be something better. It was titled " the earth conspiracy". It was written in such a way that seemed much more frantic, and was on some sort of editorial site, thou he had never heard of it before. A picture of planet earth from space sat just beneath the title, apparently a gif since the planet turned ever so slowly in the black box. The article that followed essentially said that the author knew the real reason that contact with earth was not permitted. It stated that the scientists that claimed the earth was not ready for contact with outside planets were lieing, and were in politicians pockets. That they just wanted the earths resources, and that the earth was the site of bizarre and unnatural experimentation. It said that the earth should be destroyed, so the unnaturalness could not one day get out and infect the rest of the system, that earthlings were barbaric and would eat their children, that rampant heterosexuality was a facet of earth life and therefore would corrupt society and offend the divines. It said allowing the planet to still exist would ruin everything that they had worked so hard for. The comments were filled with others commending the article, and also advocating for the earth's destruction. And at the end of the article, there was a succinct "about the author". He didn't even read it. All he could do was stare at the multicolored creature staring back at him, large alien eyes seeming to peer into his deepest secrets and sneer.
He logged off. His mother was at work. When she got home, he was gone. They never found him, but the police assumed that he was most likely at the bottom of the nearby lake. The found a note. All it said was " I have seen the universe, and it is filled with idiots. God help us all." | 2014-12-01T10:44:43 | 2014-12-01T10:30:09 | 1,351 | 28 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor." | When I opened my bedroom door, a familiar darkness bled throughout the room and I knew He was there waiting.
He was quiet and still and stood in the far left corner, coldly illuminated by the white glow of the moon. And a cruel trick of the light mocked him by making it seem like there was a halo hanging over his head. I closed the door behind me and as if I were approaching a doe, I slowly and cautiously tiptoed toward him.
“Why do you not fear me?” His voice sounded not as much curious as it was sad.
“Why are you here?”
He was silent as he stared into my eyes, forcing a half-smile that made him look a bit old. And although I knew his eyes were blue, they almost appeared as black as the Hell he escaped from.
“I need a favor,” He said in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“I already gave you my soul-“
“And I myself am willing to give it back to you.”
“At what cost?”
“I need to borrow your body until sunrise for God knows of my disguise that I present before you.”
“You have made deals with thousands of people, why have to come to me?”
“Because you are beautiful.” What surprised me wasn’t in what he said but how he said it. The usual charm in his voice when he is desperate to get what he desires was gone and sincerity seemed to replace it.
“And what will you be using it for?”
He swallowed nervously, “I wish to speak to God.” | The first conversation I had with the devil was almost two hundred years ago. *You should know I'm the Prince of Lies,* he'd said. *But if we have a contract, I'll hold up my end of the deal. If I've signed it, I'm stuck to it.* He shrugged. *Rules.*
*Sounds too easy. And it's my soul,* I'd said.
He chuckled. *Yes, it does. And it is. Now, are you going to take the deal or not?*
It was about eighty years before I figured out why I said yes. And the answer is that I was prideful, and he knew it and he played me like a fiddle. He left it dangling out there: *Think you can outsmart me, boy? Go ahead and try. I dare you.* So I did. And it's a been a good life -- money, power, women. Whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. But then it all started to pale, and I began to wonder about what I had traded away. A little doubt, gnawing at me for the better part of a century. Until tonight.
When the devil appeared to me a second time, he seemed desperate, almost babbling. *There's a ... it's a thing I can't do. I'm ... we're not allowed to interfere. Not directly. But if you did it, it would mean your soul. I'd give you back your contract. You could tear it up.* Then he handed me a pistol and a slip of paper with an address across town. *Tonight.*
*What, is he a saint or something?* I asked.
The devil shook his head. *Nothing like that. In fact, he's one of mine. I'll swear to that. A written oath, if you'd like. But ... things have been set in motion down below. I need to claim his soul before midnight.*
Twenty minutes. Not much time. I slipped the pistol into a pocket and sprinted to my car. Throwing the engine into gear, I raced across town at twice the speed limit.
Three minutes. I parked a block away, then ran up the front walk to the door.
A minute and a half. No time. I kicked the door open and stepped inside. In the front room, a rather nondescript man sat in an overstuffed chair. There was surprise on his face, but only for a moment. Then there was a mixture of sadness and acceptance. Then I shot him, and he died. A few moments later, a churchbell began to toll the hour.
And then the devil was there, a wide grin on his face. And I knew I'd been had, because he wasn't relieved. He was gloating.
I dropped the gun and sank to the floor. *This was all according to some plan of yours,* I said. A statement. Flat.
*Yes, quite,* he said, his voice dripping glee.
*I don't understand. Where did I go wrong?*
He snickered. *I never had your soul. Or at least, I didn't until about a minute ago. A soul isn't something you can buy or sell. It's yours until you lose it.* He paused, savoring the next word before letting it roll off his tongue. *Murderer,* he whispered, and was then he was gone.
I stayed on my knees for a long time, watching the blood trickle slowly onto the carpet. | 2015-05-12T14:27:29 | 2015-05-12T13:43:25 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] You become your child self again for a day with your current mindset, but if you do anything differently, you life will morph around that difference and fast forward you to your current time with the changes.
your* life will morph | My eyes opened to the window with the heavy paint, looking out at the old oak tree. It waved at me in the wind, and the sun brought color out into its bright red and yellow leaves. As the air shifted, many took flight, letting loose a few to the free fall, as branches shifted. Breathing was easy as I lay there, still, loose, and narrow. My back didn't hurt, my legs were tingling in anticipation of movement.
Nothing cracked or groaned as I sat up. I just felt "right."
Everything was so damn bright, new, amazing. I tried to not lose myself in it as I got up, rolling from my old bed, in my old house. My eyes didn't need glasses, the room was crystal clear. Luna, my old cat looked at me with a casual glance before she settled down again on the covers of it. Her hair was white, fluffy, soft, and she smelled like the flowers set on the counter she always ate when no one was home.
I weighed next to nothing, as if my body was just... just strong- like I was three times as strong as I'd been when I went to sleep the night before. I wanted to cry, to dance, to run, to move- I had to move! The day had just started, and everything was so strange!
As I ran down the stairs, I jumped the last few, landing with a thud- but bouncing back up like a rocket towards the kitchen, and out the back door. The air was fresh, the sky blue, the clouds were white and beautiful as the grass and sand beneath my toes. Christ, I wanted to cry.
"Come get breakfast! I'll make you eggs." Her voice was just as I remembered it, and I couldn't help but give in. I did cry then.
The day went on, and I knew somehow- I just knew, that when I woke up tomorrow I would be back. I would be me as I was, that this was a fluke and a chance. This was a miracle, and if I had any guts at all- I should take it, change what I could, while I could.
I didn't do that though.
Instead, I spent the day with my mom and I didn't change a thing.
| It's the last day of school before highschool and its all fun. Schools, across the nation, partake in the great tradition of foam and caramels, not necessarily in that order. All of my class mates are running around, covering each others in foam. I've gotten some on me, but since I have no major grudges with anyone I've not been targeted, the bit that is on me is from retaliation when I covered a few of the girls in foam, as tradition dictates. When you think about it... _how_ do traditions like caramel and foam form? Anyway this is not why I'm here, I'm here looking for a special girl, I know she's here somewhere, her mane unmissable, a year younger than me, not that it's noticeable. I traveled back in time, all very confusing, to the point that an expert like me is mostly winging it from here. And now you might think, she must the extreamly special for me to go _back in time_ for her. Something must have happend this day that must be undone, or any thoughts like that. But thing is, the reason I'm here is the opposite.
There she is, massive curly blond hair, many have compared it the Hermione Grangers hair of she was blond. Personally I think it's more of a... what's her name? The one from Brave, just blond. Wonder if that movie is out yet? No matter, I'm here and so is she, and I can finally fix the mistake that bugged me ever since. I walk up to here, I remember in the original timeline I sneaked up behind her and deposited a bunch of foam on her. No pun intended. _Dammit_ teenage hormones seeing things in innocent phrases. _No matter._ I'm standing next to her now, and greet her, she immedially look down to my... hip? Is she checking me out? I look down and see my hand full of foam, oh yeah. We both look up at the same time getting eye contact, and she's off. But I'm closing in, fast. Aaaand there's white stuff all over her back, hair and lower neck. _Bad brain, bad!_
After that theres not much to say, we talk about various stuff, I'm remembering as she's saying it, sorta like putting a movie on that you've already seen a long time ago, and the moment the intro fires you know everything that is to know. A typical topic we talk about is the school council that we are both on, she is the vice president and I'm some random member, in rank only albeit. The real president isn't the most involved in genneral matters, and I helped alot with everything she needed done. So practicly shes the president and I'm her vice. After some talking, some more joking around, foaming her little sister, uncanningly alike those two. I manage to isolate her, behind one of the buildings, I pussyfoot around a bit like the teen body I'm inhabiting, and not the grown mind that runs shit. She's really smart, so I'm not surprised that she isn't surprised, that I ask her for a date. Last day of school, onto a new life where we won't meet, other than that one time but that was barely a minute long meeting. Originaly I never asked, didn't dare and looking back I wonder how much of my life would be different if I'd just asked that day. She opens her mouth to answer.
I wake up form the machine, I had changed enough that it was no longer the future that I had traveled from that is the future now, enough changed in that answer that the entire timeline rewrote itself. This catapults me back to the new future, and the only way to know her answer is quite simpel, I just have to use my memories, so I think, quickly recalling the meeting. Strait of of an anime when you think about it, and I thought about that day in the orignal timeline quite many times due to anime based on the near same princip. There is the right memorie and ther answer is.
_No_
Sorry about all the commas, in my native language they are used ALL the time, and I can't help it. First WP, and when I wrote this I realised how much anime the entire senario was.
Edit: Some of the worst grama errors, but it's still bad. | 2015-09-25T10:02:52 | 2015-09-25T08:14:27 | 66 | 19 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | I'm so hungry...
I tried eating the green things, but i was still hungry. But there wasnt any more green things.
So i tried eating the brown stuff underneath. It didn't taste good, though. It made me thirsty...
So i walked around until I found some funny tasting water. So i drank and drank until there wasn't any more. But I was still hungry
Then there was these moving shouting things, that threw things at me that made a big BOOM! The boom hurt, and it made me mad. So i ate them too. They were crunchy.
Then i saw tiny pink things in pretty wrappers yelling at the crunchy things, and getting in them. They looked tasty...
After a while, i couldn't find any of the pink things to eat. But there were other noisy things to eat, so I ate them too..
But now i cant find anything tasty to eat anymore.
I'm so hungry..... | Water...I needed water. A sip of water, a drop of water, anything to resuscitate my dying mouth. The sun hissed at me as I trudged down the sidewalk, pressuring me to get out of its sight. I made a silent promise to never stay outside for so long again, if only it would spare me this once and allow me to quench my thirst.
The cafe was empty, save for two diners. One leaned over to whisper to his companion as I passed their table—some snide remark about my sweat-soaked t-shirt or my ragged jeans. Behind the counter, a grey-haired man stared into space, his chin propped up by his hands. Though he clearly saw me approaching, he chose to ignore me.
"Hello," I panted, "could I have a glass of water?"
"Sorry, kid." He continued to gaze past me. "No water without an order of food."
"But I *need* water," I pleaded, "or else I'll..." Phlegm choked my words away. Surely, he could tell, he could see I was dying. Why would he deny me a drink?
"Look, son." He finally looked at me, cruelty gleaming in his eyes. Each word he spoke rang with cold resolve. "I'm going to have to ask you to make an order or leave." A murderous scowl spread across his face. This man was set on killing me, then. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if his inaction would absolve him of his crime.
I told him I didn't have money. He laughed. The two diners laughed. The entire cafe begin to laugh, the checkered floor transforming into a series of black and white mouths, alternately expanding and contracting. They grew larger and larger, attempting to swallow me whole as I slumped to the floor against the counter. The grey-haired man stuck his head over the counter, flashing his yellowed teeth at me, threatening to grind me to pieces between them.
"Get away from me!"
I ripped the counter from the floor and swung it at the man, sending him careening towards the wall. He collided against it with a sickening splat, and a tide of blood erupted from his chest. Somehow, even with the weight of the entire counter on his chest, he was still alive, struggling like a cockroach half-submerged in water. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and a crooked grin had spread across his face, as if he was some evil spirit in the final stage of an exorcism. I grabbed a table and hurled it at his head. As his skull caved in, he stopped moving.
The two diners had left in the commotion. Shaking, I stumbled over to their table and downed the two glasses of water they had left behind, one after the other, and collapsed into a chair. Try as I might to forget it, the demonic image of the man's face still burned clear in my mind. Why was the world so full of such horrors? | 2016-06-25T03:01:03 | 2016-06-25T01:42:27 | 57 | 30 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | I was alone when it happened. I was always alone when things changed around me. The world and I where never in sync. I strolled through life as an observer. A person who just looked at others living their lives through a hole in a fence. Never really there, just watching.
But it seems that even an observer is forced to participate when the changes are too big for the world to handle alone. And that Is where I find myself. In a world gone to shit by some unknown-unknown. And seeing everything in double.
Why double? Because what ever hit us only effected those born alone. I'm sure there's some scientific reasons behind it. But who knows? Fact is, you only got a pass If you've shared a womb with another. So all that's left today is a society of twins, triplets, quartets you name it.
And these people have gone insane. They've traded their humanity for fanaticism. And most recently, have begun to call themselves the "chosen" and only breed with each other. And they preach on and on about an Identical family. Where every member is the same. Some holy principal they strive to reach at any cost. They have even gone so far as to witch hunt for fraternal twins or any pair lacking in their likeness. So that they may be purged. I have to sift through sewers to avoid their gazes. My life is even more troubled by the new law they've made to Identify the fraternal among them. **At least two twins must be present at all times when outside of their residence.** Damn, just my luck. It was hard enough changing clothes and personality mid-day, and now I have to deal with this bullshit.
But I'd take running from the pouchers any day before I address my real problem.
A thought that crushes me under its weight eveytime I drift to it. The fact that *I've always been alone.* Even before the virus. But here I am, still alive in the twin world. Unaffected by the bacteria that took everyone else. That must mean I'm not alone, right?
So who is this other person that I've never known that was born with me? Where are they now? Who are they now? What did my parents and my family not tell me? And most troubling of all, why do I hear these faint voices in the back of my head?
| Who would have thought we’d all be alone.
There was a man from South Africa and one from New Zealand. There were women, Christian and a Muslim. The rest of the group was just as mixed up as the first few. But each of us were the remainder of our heritage.
I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. They were all just strangers, no one I could confide in. Those types of people were gone.
“Cup of soup?” the Christian woman asked.
I took the cup without a word of thanks. Words wouldn’t do much of anything now. Not with my daughter, Sarah, and wife, Claire, deceased. The disease had swept through the world like a tidal wave. And here we were, in the basement of a body strewn hospital. And all of us pretended like nothing had gone wrong as if there was still hope.
The South African man approached me. “Hey Bru, I’m going to check for blankets upstairs. Lend a hand?”
“Oh, are the fools feeling cold?” I said, staring into my soup cup.
The South African man peeked over his shoulder and then back. “A walk might do you some good.”
He seemed earnest. So instead of spitting in his face, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Upstairs, we passed body after body. They laid on stretchers, hospital beds, or the floor. And most had a pained look on their face, like whatever had killed them had won from the inside out. Each face posed a statement: *Why us when it should have been you.*
For whatever reason, we hadn’t been infected.
“You should cover your face, bru,” the South African said.
I scoffed. “I’ll walk with you, but don’t Nanny me.”
He spun around faster than I could react. And then he slammed me against the hospital wall. Pain shot through my chest, but I tried to fight back. The man had me pinned under his elbow. “We’ve all lost our fair share,” he said.
The strength was sapped out of me. I went limp. “Why don’t you just get it over with then?”
“I’m not trying to harm you, lighty,” he said, “but you’re adding oil to the funeral pyre.”
“Maybe we should be sad. People have died. My wife, my chil-”
“You think you’re the only one?” He hissed. His face was red, and veins were straining on his neck.
“I know I’m not, but I can’t help how I feel. I have no family now.”
The man let go of me. “You want family?” he asked. “My name’s Leon,” he said, hand out. “And we’re all that we’ve got left on this godforsaken planet.”
I stared at his open palm. Despite my anger at him, it was like an open invitation. A chance at what the world could still be like. “And what if you pass away tomorrow? What’s this handshake going to be worth then?”
Leon rested a hand on my shoulder. “The present doesn’t discredit the past. Things were good before today, they may be hard now, but let’s show that we remember our loved ones by honouring them.”
The fire inside me raged on, asking for hate as fuel. But Leon’s words had stuck with me. I thought of my wife, my daughter. I decided not to look at the bodies of those gone. Not because I was afraid, but because I knew where the road of remorse led.
When we arrived back at the hospital basement, the warm atmosphere died down as soon as the survivors saw me. I crossed to the center of the group. The people all watched in silence. I took a seat near the lady that had given me the cup of soup earlier.
“Thank you for your chicken soup, it was delicious. Would you like a blanket?”
It was pitiful that it was all I could offer her when she had given me so much more a few moments earlier. Leon smiled as he sat down opposite me and gave me a secret thumbs up.
“Oh, thank you,” the soup lady said, blushing as she took the blanket.
“I’m Daniel,” I told her, holding a hand out.
The lady smiled and with it a bit of the warmth came back to the room. “I’m Elaine,” she replied, and placed her hand in mine.
| 2016-10-22T01:17:53 | 2016-10-22T00:43:55 | 219 | 67 |
[WP] In a world where people can only see in black and white, you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color. | The man had a scraggly, unkempt beard. He wore a dirty t-shirt and ripped jeans. A typical poor kid, looking to escape his dreary, painful reality. And the only way to do that was to come to me.
"Hey, man," he stammered, his eyes nervously darting back and forth. "Can you hook me up with- you know- those pills?"
"Don't know. I'm not sure if I got any more, I mighta sold them all," I said with a shrug. 'Course, I was lying. I had literal tons of the stuff in my hideout. But the kid didn't need to know that.
A panicked expression crossed his face. He looked like a rabbit. "No, please, man!" he cried anxiously. "Listen, I-I'll pay double!" He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and held it front of him. It looked like a lot. I wonder how the street rat got a hold on that much cash? Maybe he sold his mother's jewelry.
"Fine, I guess I'll see if I can find some," I said, giving an exaggerated sigh.
"Thank you so much, man," the kid said, a thin smile appearing on his pale face.
Addicts. So easy to fool.
I walked away from the kid and towards my van. With a grunt, I pushed open the trunk, revealing a large mound of rainbow colored little pellets. Skittles.
In this hellhole of a world, the only way to stay happy is to taste the rainbow. Don't blame me for making a killing off of it.
--------------
Edit: Whoever gilded me, I cannot summon words to express how thankful I am. I'm glad you liked my silly story. | A million stars perforated the pure black night sky as the shining white full moon stood in the middle of heavens likes an impatient actor demanding an audience’s attention. Grayscale buildings of brick and stone curved along the black pavement of the roads, creating a maze that we call our city. Standing in a secluded alley where the occasional cat or homeless man interrupted me, I waited for a client. I ran the bags of amethyst through my fingers, a grainy substance meant to be smoked that granted the smoker color vision. When a white van pulled up to the alley, I held my breath.
Eleanor stepped out of the vehicle along with her older and larger brother Clyde, who, no doubt, insisted on coming for her protection. Wrapped in a black trench coat that matched her raven hair, her pale skin almost glowed in the darkness of the night. The click of her hills echoed through the buildings with a defined elegance and tempo, while Clyde stumbled behind her, his footsteps out of beat with her sister’s. Standing next to me, she grabbed a cigarette from her purse hidden under her coat and began to smoke puffs of white smoke next to me.
“So, this amethystinus amphetamine,” she began. “I hear it’s popular among the younger crowd. What exactly does it do?”
“It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never tried it,” I answered. “and please, if you want to appeal to your younger crowd, just call it amethyst.”
“Alright. Well try me. What does amethyst do?”
“It lets you see color.”
“We can already see color. Every shade from white to black.”
“No, no, not like that. This lets you see new colors. An incredible amount of new colors you never thought possible.”
“You’ve tried it?”
“Just once. It was intense. Like skydiving into a new sensation.”
“If that’s your description for it, then I definitely want it to find its way into my nightclub. Is it addictive?”
“Not for me. But I’ve met a more than a few individuals who find black and white so incredibly dull and depressing, they’d rather pay for another hit than live in our drudgery.”
With an agreement met, we worked out a few boring business details and settled on a price: 50 grams of amethysts for $1500, as a trial run. As the transaction closed and I received a small duffle bag of cash, I offered Eleanor a joint of amethysts on the house for the sake of customer loyalty. Reluctant, I tried to encourage her, but she refused, stating it would be bad for business; however, Clyde, curious about colors, interrupted and said he would try it. His sister clearly not thrilled, he insisted and I conceded and gave him the joint. When he lit it up, he seemed disappointed.
“When does it kick in?” he asked, though by the judge that his pupils dilated to the edge of his iris, I would say just about now. Facing the brick wall, he ran his hand over it, muttering, “I’ve never seen a color so…loud and angry and hot before.”
Turning his attention to his own clothes, he ran his fingers over his jeans. “But his color is so much more calming. How can something so loud and hot coexist with something so quiet and cold?”
He rambled about colors and their intrinsic value for a few more minutes while continuing to suck on his joint. A disdain crawled across Eleanor’s face.
“How long will this last?” she inquired.
“About 4-6 hours,” I answered. “You should probably put a muzzle on him before any police see you.”
“I wish,” she replied as she herded her brother into the van. She discreetly drove down the black street as her brother imagined an entire rainbow of imaginary colors. Meanwhile I walked down hidden streets and side paths embracing the simplicity of black and white.
*****
More colorful tales at r/Andrew__Wells | 2016-11-22T07:29:33 | 2016-11-22T05:44:30 | 212 | 21 |
[WP] When the Statue of Liberty was sent to America from France, the box was labeled "some assembly required." In well over a century, no one ever noticed the other label that said "batteries not included." Until today, that is. | They were huge, the things, each at least a ton
The battery designs from nineteen oh one
And as they were placed the crowd gathered near
To discuss every rumor, to stare and to leer
But nothing lit up or moved or exploded
For after these years, the wires had corroded
| Maxwell was alone on the staircase. He looked behind him and saw the crowds, waiting silent. He looked ahead and saw the small battery slot, capable of fitting a single AAA battery. He looked back at the crowd. He saw his manager, urging him to hurry up. Maxwell didn't see that pretentious cock up here on the staircase. This wasn't part of his job description, he was just supposed to clean the grounds. "Fuck it," thought Maxwell. "Maybe that cute chick in tourism will see this." Maxwell slid the battery into the slot. He also put it in backwards. There was a collective sigh from the audience as he tried to align the stupid little plus minus signs, flustered. Finally, he clicked the battery in. The crowd fell silent, all packed into the grounds of the Statue of Liberty. The only noises were the helicopters, all broadcasting live to the millions at home. Maxwell looked at the statue. The Statue stayed still. He looked over at his manager again. His manager rolled his eyes and sighed. Maxwell felt a burning hatred for the fat slob. Over the next few hours, the immensely disappointed crowd slowly started filing off the island, with ferries working overtime. Days past. Weeks. Months. Maxwell started dating that chick from tourism. Life was good. Everyone forgot about the time the Statue of Liberty had a battery pack.
All except Max.
Maxwell was alone that night, cleaning the grounds, when he felt a buzz. Brandishing his broom like a spear, he spun around, ready to defend his honor against the street toughs his mind had conjured up. Nothing was there, nothing but a little glowing switch at the base of the Statue of Liberty. Another vibration made the sidewalk he stood on quiver. Now that definitely wasn't fake. Maxwell squinted at the light. Jogging over, he dropped his broom and knelt by the switch. No writing indicated what this was for, just a little stone switch. He glanced around and seeing nobody, flicked it. A violent shaking threw Maxwell off of his feet. The Statue of Liberty shot out her arms and rotated them into a fighting position. A loud voice echoed through the night.
"LIBERTY PRIME, ACTIVATED"
*please don't yell at me if there isn't a little island surrounding the Statue of Liberty, we don't have one here in Canada.
Also this is my first time writing something longer than a sentence, so please go easy. | 2017-02-23T17:55:18 | 2017-02-23T16:23:20 | 48 | 32 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
| Crimson. Crimson paints the surrounding floor. The light in his eyes begin to flicker as he struggles to regain his stance. With every breath, he shook. With every step, he trembled.
She sneers, "Is this it? The grandiose Lionheart reduced to nothing in just a few hits! Hah!"
She barrels towards the staggering knight, throwing her fist into his bare cheek. The knight collides with the wall behind him, slowly slumping as his legs give out. His sword clattering across the room, leaving the knight with nothing left.
"It's too easy! Can you believe I was worried you would be dangerous?!" She struts across the room and kneels down in front of the now barely conscious knight.
"How exactly did you defeat my protege, hmm? You know what? Let's ask him ourselves!"
She turns to me and grins. Her teeth seemed to shine as brilliantly as her gleaming confidence.
"Well, Xiao? How'd you lose to this mutt? How'd he put you in those chains if even I can't beat you? Shit, I'd say I should be the mentor! I mean, if it weren't for me, you'd probably be rotting in a cell already."
She looks back at Lionheart, furrows her brow and spits.
"Seriously though, how the fuck did this little shit do it, Xiao, huh? It makes zero sense.... Well?"
I did nothing but stare at Lionheart, his chest slowly heaving. I felt something tugging at my insides as Lionheart's eyes met my own. The fire that once blazed brighter than the sun was nothing more than dying cinders. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I remember the fond memories I had shared with Lionheart, our encounters. How, with every clash, my heart had skipped a beat. Yet, as if fate had its own will, denied what I wanted to give to Lionheart: a finality, a last triumph.
"Whatever, I guess I'd be too embarrassed to talk about it either."
Li walks over and brings her blade down, breaking my chains with ease. She twirls the weapon in her hand before extending it towards me, handle first. She oozes confidence as her smile widens.
"Don't be too spiteful when you stab him now!"
Li grabs my hand and places the blade, wrapping my hand with hers. "There! Let's do this like a real couple, honey!"
As Li moves towards Lionheart, I stood firm. She looses her grip on my hands, causing her to stumble. "Wha-, you there, ya damn air head? Did he really beat you stupid?" She raises a brow and looks at me inquisitively.
I look down at the blade in my hand, wondering if I could do it. Can I really kill Lionheart? After all the years of fighting we went through, after all the nights of passion filled clangs of our swords, could I do it?
"Seriously hun, we don't really have the time to be fucking around. The king's men are probably on their way and we need to hurry this the fuck up."
Li begins to walk towards the door that leads outside the room, "Finish up, and let's go already."
I slowly raise my gaze, my eyes burning into Li's back.
"Yeah.... I'll end it."
I break into a sudden sprint and plunge the knife into her back. The momentum throws Li off her feet and slams her into the ground. I bring the knife back up and swing it down, over, and over, and over, and over. With every fresh wound, another gashed wide open.
Crimson. That's all I see and all that covers me. I let the knife clatter to the ground and slowly raise myself, only to slip under the crimson stained floor.
I could hear yelling right outside the other door now, pounding fists that echoed the room. Drained, I start walking towards Lionheart. I stood over him. His chest had stopped moving. I brought myself down and placed his head on my lap, stroking his hair which covered his face.
Crimson. That's all I saw and all that covered him. My vision blurred as I continued to caress him, the blood smearing his face.
The door gave out and men clad in armor came swarming in, only to stop with utter dread on their faces.
"Seems I'll be joining you soon, Lionheart."
A smile stretched across my face. I felt a sudden pain in my chest. I looked up to see a knight's spear had found its place.
Crimson. Crimson was all that was left in that room. | 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T02:13:56 | 58 | 21 |
[WP] You are an ancient and incredibly powerful god, and you’re furious that your enemies keep sending teenage “chosen ones” to fight you. | “I AM HERE TO SLAY YOU, GOD OF THE FOREST!” The puny human shouts up to me, brandishing a ridiculously large sword decorated with jewels.
“How do you even swing that thing?” I ask, picking the remains of an elk out of my tooth with a particularly pointy tree I found.
“WITH JUSTICE!” He shouted, flicking his floppy blonde locks out of the way of his piercing green eyes. A typically attractive human.
“Good response.” I say with a smirk. “But seriously, it’s about as big as you are.”
“I... I don’t know.” He said, glancing down at it now questioning its effectiveness. “The king gave it to me. It’s called the god\-slayer.”
“I mean, at least the name makes sense.” I sigh. “What’s your name, puny one?”
“Arkus” he said, pausing dramatically before his next word. “The..”
“The chosen one?” I guess before he can finish.
“How did you know?” He asks in a disheartened tone.
“I get a lot of those stop by. Look, here’s my pile of them.” I gesture to the large pile of limbs and guts I like to keep as souvenirs. The human throws up.
“These were the bits I could salvage. There was one human, Eric The Chosen One...” I begin to chuckle. “He was told that I would ask him A RIDDLE!” I erupt into laughter. “This finger was the only thing left of him!” I say, wiping a tear from my eye as I wiggle the tiny limb.
The human, Arkus, was now sheet white. I’ve seen it many times before, sometimes humans would get stage fright or just start crying as they set their eyes upon me. Just a trait us Gods have. “Why have you been sent to kill me?” I ask the now terrified boy. He takes a moment to pull himself together, taking a few deep breaths.
“T\-the King told us that you were taking our food and was forced to raise taxes. S\-said only a brave warrior could stop you.” He managed to get out through trembling lips.
“Nah.” I say “He’s ripping you off. Why would I need to steal food? I’m a god.”
“Oh.” The boy says.
“Sorry about that.” I say, delicately picking up the tiny creature. “Now which limb is your favourite?”
Typed up on my phone, first attempt so be nice.
Find Part 2 In the Replies.
Edit: people seemed interested so I [made a subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheDavz/) to continue the story (I will also carry on replying my next parts. | And yet again... I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs to the temple, and a manly voice yelling. "Show yourself! Your time has come, it's time for you to die!"
Sitting at my throne with my lizard-like dogs (dizards? lizogs? I've yet to name them, looks like komodo dragons but bigger, more agile. Smarter.) and petting the head of one of them. The forked tongue went out, tasting the air of another silly human coming to fight me.
I'm the goddess of pestilence and health. My empire is an island, hidden away in a deep crater in the desert. The crater is miles wide, and at the bottom there is a rainforest, a huge lake and my island with my pyramids and my temple. To be able to descend the slick walls of the crater is a feat, and battle the magical waves of the lake. I myself had to split one of those giant trees and build myself a ship to get there and defeat the previous owner of the island. But that's a story for another time.
The human came panting up the last steps and stood before me. My pets hissed at the intruder but a command from me made them stand down.
We locked eyes, and I saw the belief in the mans eyes. He was so sure he could kill me, so sure he was a "chosen" one. I couldn't resist rolling my eyes and sigh.
"Ungh. Another one? Who sent you?" I showed him a fanged smile and turned the attention to my long sharp nails and forearm. Along the arm two giant fangs sat, shining in the light. The fangs of a snake titan I killed. A very formidable weapon, especially if I licked the tips of the fangs. That turned them venomous. I had another set on my other arm.
"Lazarius sent me! He is a true god, and you are not!" The man yelled at the top of his lungs, like I was deaf or something. He pulled out a sword, pretty shiny and pointed it towards me.
I laughed, and my lizards laughed, a raspy, hissing laughter and they bared their pointy teeth. They ate the last chosen one who tried to fight me, and they lusted for blood. Wish I didn't feed them humans in the first place, as they tend to hunt my own followers in the rainforest when they get bored. Oh well.
"Oh did he now...? So what are you gonna do, stab me?" I flashed a smile at him and locked my eyes on his. He froze as the spell activated. Slowly I climbed out of my throne and walked towards him, hips swaying. My scaled skin glistening in the light, the golden dragon tattoos on my ribs slowly turning their heads to look at the poor man.
He was sweating profusely, trying to move but my spell locked him in place. I studied the sword of his, looked like any other sword. Nothing special.
I turned my gaze back to him and now he looked scared.
"Lazarius didn't tell you about my powers, did he? Oh well, you will be dead soon. Tell him hi when you see him in the Underworld again."
I snapped my fingers and my lizards threw themselves at the man, ending his life quickly. He didn't even have time to yell. Turning my back, I heard more steps.
"THERE SHE IS! Get her! You, take that side! The others, go around there!" Trying to count the voices, I had to stop at fifteen because then the automatic fire started. I hate guns. Loud, stings and the bastards can duck behind cover and still attack me. Apparently the first man had run ahead to show his bravery to my enemy, the god of shadows. He loved to send his little followers to annoy me.
The bullets hit the stones around my feet and I hissed as some of them hit my skin. Not strong enough to hurt me but to annoy me.
My patience running thin, and realizing they were too many to take out singlehandedly I started uttering a long spell and letting my voice rise above the gunshots. I could feel it build up inside, and I let it out. From my mouth a million insects poured. They skittled and flew and surrounded the entire temple, the buzzing like music to my ears. Then the screaming started, and they people ran around, waving their hands above their heads, clawing at their necks, eyes, ears. Soon pustules plopped out on their faces, fingers turning black and rotting. Eyes rotting in the sockets. Ears bleeding.
One by one, they died horribly.
The buzzing died out, and some whimping from the last stragglers were heard. My lizards made short work of them as I walked down the stairs to the harbor and my ship. It was time to end this once and for all. The world needs a new plague. | 2018-05-19T04:57:04 | 2018-05-19T03:44:12 | 103 | 42 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | When I was 17 or so there was lots of hype about 'unlocking the secrets of immortality' something about dna or oxidation or something. I didn't really pay much attention. After all, how many 'health facts' lasted so much as a year before being changed for whatever reason? How many 'wonder drugs' that amounted to so much nothing?
Then, nearly a decade later, they did it. 12 liters of 7 different drugs, carefully administered over the course of a week, to stop age for eternity, to stall death as long as could be. The only side effect they found was infertility. A boon more than anything, considering overpopulation.
Well, the government swooped down on that procedure faster than a bullet, and within the week rules had been placed. 25~26. That was how old you had to be to take the procedure. No exceptions.
After a while, those of us 27 or older started being called stuff like the 'old humanity' and 'final generation' and so on, while the younger ones, the ones who took the surgery where called the 'new generation'
When I was 47, the last child of the 'old generation' was born. When I was 72, she took the operation. It was the end of mankind as we knew it. A quiet, lonly end that few noticed and even fewer mourned.
Then, when I 85, the side-effects, the *true* side effects of the operation was discovered. The operation had not made anyone infertile. Far from it. What had happened was simple. The stopping of aging had simply slowed the growth of the embryo, so slow that noone noticed. And by the time it grew big enough to discover, advances in medicine meant noone ever visited the hospitals. But as the embryo grew, it's development accelerated, and now a decade since the first pregnancy was confirmed, pregnancies where being reported from all around the world.
It was on the news, even now. The first birth in nearly seventy years. I did not turn on the TV. My wife had passed two years ago, and I felt it my time coming. Whatever befell this generation of self-made immortals was their problem now. Not ours.
But no matter what happened, one thing was certain. This new child to be born, they would truly be the new humanity.
| *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:32:48 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 57 | 25 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | I slowly lifted the satin duvet off my frail body. I reoriented my body so that I was sitting on the edge of my bed. Upon peeking at my weak knees and thin translucent skin on my legs, I began to cry. I traced my blue thick veins with my eyes and was struck with the nightmare that was currently my life—I am aging.
Only a few weeks’ prior was I enjoying my frivolous life as a 25 years old. Now, I realized that I could not pinpoint my age, however it was well past 25. It was disgusting.
I rose from my king sized bed, peering over my shoulder to see the empty spot next to me. After my first signs of age, Ryan left me instantly, practically ashamed to have been sleeping with an elder lady. The thought of Ryan brought tears to my eyes again, and I blinked them away to clear my vision. What else would he have done? I would never expect a youthful gentleman like him to remain with a woman turning into a prune.
I passed by my golden mirror and didn’t dare glance at it, for I knew I would be petrified by the ghastly sight. I dragged myself to the kitchen where I grabbed the bottle of anti-depressants. I then settled on the couch and nestled myself in my unwashed bathrobe, allowing the tears to continuously flow down my face. I decided that I should take my mind off this agony and sat up a bit so that I could reach for the remote. A cold shudder raced through my body as I saw the face I have been trying to avoid for so long—me. Through the glistening black screen TV I saw my sagging face and streaks that ran across my face. As I cried, I watched as the corners of my eyes creased extensively to mimic the feet of a crow. A monster, I whispered as I ran through my frigid hair. I’m going to die just at the sight of my dysfunctional face.
I needed to check and see. I needed to see how far along I am. After the announcement about the failure of the drug to hold, members of the Lost Generation were equipped with a watch that informed them how old there features look at a certain moment.
I activated the watch, and shuddered at the number that was blinking before my eyes.
35.
| *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:44:29 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 42 | 25 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | You know, there have always been rumors on side\-effects and how EverLife squashed anyone trying to do any kind of study on them. Not really surprising seeing how rich they all got, and how every single politician's life depended on EverLife's continued existence.
The first two generations didn't really show it that much. Sure, we got a lot more ugly kids, but people also got a lot fewer to keep the population count manageable.
With the third generation we old\-timers started calling them Garys. The incredible backlash from EverLife came totally unexpected \- they never had made that much fuzz when we told people their kids were a bit on the ugly side and looked alike a lot.
But as the first generation grew old and the third generation became adults they just couldn't deny it any longer.
Garys. Garys everywhere. Some old. So many young. Both boys and girls.
And finally the government relented as even the Garys wanted to know how the majority of people seemed to become basically the same person, unable to find anyone that didn't have a face that looked so much like their own.
And finally EverLife was forced to tell us all the truth.
How there had been only one person who turned out to have the secret of immortality in his genes.
How they found the drug that changed you just enough so that immortality could also be yours.
And how taking it wouldn't change you that much... but how those genes were dominant and would accumulate over every new generation.
How humanity was going to turn into all\-Garys within the next two generations.
As long as I'm alive and able I will fight that, along the others that are not willing to doom humanity to this. And I have to admit that I never expected the kind of fighting I'm doing now.
Every evening I take my usual pills, and then I take my special pill. And a quarter of an hour later I lie on my back while some young, fertile woman uses me to save the gene pool.
I am so thankful for those goggles that change the face I see. I could never keep up the good fight if I kept seeing their real Busey faces. | "Even today, the exact mechanics of the ∆S314 therapy is still unknown. In fact, until the introduction of the ∆S314 therapy, the debate about the exact process of aging seemed to be one of the few things that is immortal. ∆S314 didn't really provide a conclusion for the debate \- it just provided the tired and jaded academics an excuse to sweep the arguments under the rug.
For The Eternal Generation, aging is a term that had lost its relevance. "
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
San Francisco \- 2089
"Perhaps ∆S314 not only stops physical aging, but also slows aging psychologically," I thought to my self as I sighed quietly. Danny, an academic rich in his fervor and completely oblivious of the atmosphere, rambled about genes and computers for the 162th time since the dissolution of UC Berkeley.
"You see Lang, aging is a lot like that rusty calculator box of yours," said Danny as he knocked on the PC I had built seven years ago.
"That calculator box you are knocking are made from old parts I auctioned off from Lawrence Hall of Science. You might want to be more gentle with it old pal," I complained as I called my household android over to wipe the glass panel of my PC.
"Sorry bud. Didn't think you still have such a penchant for old stuff. Anyway, back to what I am discussing. Computers sometimes have their files corrupted right? And when that happens, errors start to accumulate and one day, BOOM, your computer have some system files corrupted and run into a fatal error. Now how do you prevent such corruptions from happening?"
"You don't. You put corruption into your consideration and back up your files. Some enterprise folks even used something called an ECC memory back in the days that actively fixes erroneous bits in operation," I replied.
"And that is the new proposed theory for the mechanics of ∆S314! Human aging, in essence, is the same corruption of information in the DNA. ∆S314 backs up the information in your healthy, pre\-26 DNA and actively restore your DNA to its original state if it sensed any changes!" exclaimed Danny.
"At least that explains why all the children look nearly the same nowadays. Probably because the magic molecule from their parents did a 'system restore' right?" I asked sarcastically.
And for the 162th time since the dissolution of the university, Danny replied while sipping his tea: "You actually bought into that crap from those Lost Generation protestors? No, the pill does not periodically reset your memory or cause your children to be clones of their parents. And no, the government didn't give out the pills to create a country of string puppets."
"What happened to those protestors anyway? I haven't seen them on the news lately. Did they pass away?" I asked Danny.
"Oh I nearly forgot," said Danny as he waved the holographic notebook into existence, "Those L Genners got what they wanted. They were jealous at E Genners' immortality, but now they can be immortal too. We just had a breakthrough in the mind upload research and the government pushed out an initiative to upload all L Genners' conscious into the new prototype androids just like your Isla there," Danny said as he pointed to the silver haired android wiping my old PC.
"Wait, so they all agreed?" I asked, an uneasy feeling rising in my throat.
"Well, you see, when L Genners like you get old, they sometimes suffer lapses of memory, remembering things that never existed or seeing hallucinations. This can be a social concern, so the government made it compulsory to upload your body to a safer and more manageable vessel. And this this is why I am here today. I brought the Acknowledgement Form here as well. Come on, sign it quickly. The volunteers are waiting for you outside."
I looked outside the window. There is a black sedan in front of my house, and two burly men wearing black suits stepped out.
This is the last sight I saw as Lang. | 2018-06-05T00:30:12 | 2018-06-04T22:53:53 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | You know, there have always been rumors on side\-effects and how EverLife squashed anyone trying to do any kind of study on them. Not really surprising seeing how rich they all got, and how every single politician's life depended on EverLife's continued existence.
The first two generations didn't really show it that much. Sure, we got a lot more ugly kids, but people also got a lot fewer to keep the population count manageable.
With the third generation we old\-timers started calling them Garys. The incredible backlash from EverLife came totally unexpected \- they never had made that much fuzz when we told people their kids were a bit on the ugly side and looked alike a lot.
But as the first generation grew old and the third generation became adults they just couldn't deny it any longer.
Garys. Garys everywhere. Some old. So many young. Both boys and girls.
And finally the government relented as even the Garys wanted to know how the majority of people seemed to become basically the same person, unable to find anyone that didn't have a face that looked so much like their own.
And finally EverLife was forced to tell us all the truth.
How there had been only one person who turned out to have the secret of immortality in his genes.
How they found the drug that changed you just enough so that immortality could also be yours.
And how taking it wouldn't change you that much... but how those genes were dominant and would accumulate over every new generation.
How humanity was going to turn into all\-Garys within the next two generations.
As long as I'm alive and able I will fight that, along the others that are not willing to doom humanity to this. And I have to admit that I never expected the kind of fighting I'm doing now.
Every evening I take my usual pills, and then I take my special pill. And a quarter of an hour later I lie on my back while some young, fertile woman uses me to save the gene pool.
I am so thankful for those goggles that change the face I see. I could never keep up the good fight if I kept seeing their real Busey faces. | "only $100 for a hospital stay over night? Healthcare prices aren't what they used to be"
"The world isn't what it used to be, dear." Jane said, looking past me and into the hallway.
"I never expected for it to be like this." she continued. "I always thought growing up that I'll grow old and retire to a farm, not working till I'm 84 then suddenly collapsing."
I leaned over and gave her a kiss on her forehead. Her forehead was clear of any wrinkles or blemishes but her eyes never lied about their age.
A knock breaks the silence behind us.
"Mrs. Doe, time for your medicine. Oh, am I disturbing anything?"
The nurse looked hesitant to come in.
"No, please come in."
"It's awfully sweet of you to come visit. Are you her grandfather or father?" she said nervously.
"husband, actually." Jane replied for me.
"Oh, I am so sorry. the awakening was before my time so I don't know what to expect when we see someone from the previous generation." the nurse stammered "but that is so sweet that you stuck with him all this time, I've seen people nowadays go through 10-15 divorces."
The Awakening. Hah. I still cant wrap up my feelings for what happened that year, especially now that there's new evidence of a "side effect" to the fountain of youth that was discovered recently. I'm not particularly vexed about my own demise, but I'm torn about the strain it put on my wife and marriage. My wife was a 25 at the time, I was 28. Years went by as my body crumbled and withered while my wife stayed beautiful and youthful. She said it made me sexier till I was around 50, in the past few years... Well, I caught her crying one night hunched over. She was muttering to her self 'why can't I just give some of my youth to him.' 'Why did the government have to condemn him to death.'
Extensive research continued on the fountain of youth for nearly a century. Everything seemed to go smoothly until recently when a wave of deaths from the earlier adopters of the drug started dying from one single cause: suicide.
This wasn't unheard of before, the few wealthy that were past the cut off line managed to buy fountain of youth pills to freeze their times, but when they hit age 85, they all started to commit suicide. CDC ruled it as a side effect of the lost generation taking the drug against strict recommendations, and it was promptly swept under the rug. This time around, it's from generation immortal.
"Thank you nurse, I feel a lot better now" Jane said,
The nurse smiled meekly, and after collecting her tray, quickly left the room. Jane eyed her as she left the room and waited until she was out of earshot from where we were.
"I don't like how everyone treats you like that, it's like they see you as a monster." she grunted.
"Well, not everyone was as accepting to their fate as I was. There were three huge rio--"
"I know that! I... know... It's just... I wish I could just tell them that you're not one of the people who caused those massacres. But all they see when they see white hair and wrinkles is a monster" her voice quivered as she said.
"do you see me as a monster?" I asked.
"no, you're my husband." she snapped.
"then, that's all I need." I said as I grasped her hand with my withered claw.
she ran her thumb across my knuckles while looking down. A silence ran through the room and even outside.
"I'm scared, John."
"We all are, sweetie."
"What if I go crazy like the others and just strangle myself with my own blankets?"
"I wont let that happen." I said sternly " but even if you do, It probably wont be long till I join you up there since I'm gen L"
Her punch on my arm wiped the crooked grin off my face.
"Hey, that smarts."
We both sighed at the same time and looked each other in the eyes. Her face grew red and her eyes watery.
"hey, hey, hey."
I put my hand on her cheek.
"Whatever happens, I'll always be with you. I promise." | 2018-06-05T00:30:12 | 2018-06-04T23:55:42 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | I looked up at him; a pair of black eyes met mine – a look of fear and hostility in those eyes. I was taken aback.
I learnt about my gift from a very early age; surprisingly enough I never faced any suspicion. “You’re a polyglot, Sammy”, said my uncle wryly. But he never questioned how I came to be one. And it may sound surprising but I never felt bothered to question it much. I had much fun in college, talking to many international students, learnt so much from them. To tell the truth, it has been my opinion – deep down in my heart – that I am special and gifted, and I took this as granted. Many people are born with so many innate abilities, this is mine and I am proud of it.
I looked at him closely; he is young, barely in his twenties. His thin pale face becoming thinner by the minute. He is scrutinizing me too, what is he seeing in me? I wonder what conclusion he is arriving at in his mind.
I tried to smile at him. I thought of telling him that I am a linguist, I learnt it in a course in college, which is a lie of course. But I understood it is not a lighthearted situation. The young man standing before me looks too upset.
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years”, he said slowly, almost as if to himself. I heard pain in his voice, evoking in me some unknown, unnameable memory of things in me, of occurrences which never happened to me, but I could feel – in my heart of hearts – that these things happened, somewhere, sometime – in this very world.
His lips are trembling now, he is in the verge of tears. He is one of the bearers of the knowledge, belonging to a small set of survivors, who fled and evaded from enemies, carrying what part of their identity that they could – their culture and their language. A handful of texts which survived at a great cost, taught to the young ones with a warning of never speaking it in the outside world. The memory is still there, of persecution, of being hunted like animals. Eons have passed, but the fear remains, so does the pain.
All these I came to know, standing there, staring at each other. A shared past, of mutual destruction, humanity’s worst crimes, history not recorded. But it did not get erased, I came to know it never will be erased.
I came out of the McDonalds, under the glaring sun.
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T21:53:23 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. | Why did have to be like this?
Why couldnt I make it in time?
Why did they HAVE to get her?
I asked myself over and over why, but the answers eluded me. It's been 3 days since the world went to shit, with those THINGS everywhere. It started somewhere rural, some secret agency, people say. But that doesn't matter.
I had to block the windows and doors. It was fine if I never made any loud noises. They like the noise that regular people make, but not the sounds THEY make. It's so hard to tell the difference, but THEY know. All I had to do was be quiet.
I'm the only one alive here. Just me. My wife was going shopping when it happened. She never made it back. Whatever happened to her, it's better than here.
Just because I said I'm the only one alive here, doesn't mean I'm alone. I haven't slept since it happened. She was outside, playing. Chasing bubbles. Before I could act, who I thought was an elderly woman picked her up and bit her shoulder.
I can barely remember what exactly happened after. I'm so tired. All I remember is the eyes. Those milky white eyes. I still see them. They look at me every day from behind the toddler gate.
She begs and cries, but I can't answer. It's worse when she asks for mommy. It sounds just like her, but her eyes say otherwise. I miss my little girl. I'm not sure how long I can endure this. To hear your child begging, but knowing you cant do anything.
If this is anything, its hell. |
((Some mild violence and dark themes, kinda new to this so I hope I did it right))
I had always been a zombie buff, everything Walking Dead and Max Brooks I was all over it. Little did I know the real zombie Apocalypse was just around the corner and it…the books the TV shows don’t prepare you for of being real for it happening to YOU. It was about three days ago yeah everything fell apart on three days. I was watching my daughter and son walk home from school from out 3rd story window…Lindsey just a ten year old girl and her older brother Michael. They wave up at me as I lean out the window “Hurry on up kids I have dinner almost done” it was Mike's birthday and I made his favorite meal.
That was when the bomb hit, not a normal explosive not even an atomic bomb the media is saying the explosion was a biological weapon. Super Rabies they keep calling it but we all know what it is…these are the living dead. A lot of people are lucky the disease is airborne most of the time and immunity to the airborne strain isn’t very rare me and mike were both safe from the foul green gas that blanketed the city but safe from the gas doesn’t mean safe. The effects are almost instant as Lindsey collapsed into the street coughing…I kick down the fire escape and try to get to my children to pull them inside away from death but…I hear mike scream as his own sister bites into him dragging him to the ground I was about halfway down the escape when I saw this and…I got scared I’m human okay I pulled up the escape and ran inside. Locking the doors and calling 911 but the system had crashed.
“oh god, oh god its happening I always knew it would happen” the dead were rising but I was safe you needed a code to get into the lobby and to get up the elevator. That’s when I hear a small ping at my door bell. Someone had just entered my apartment’s code into the lobby entrance. Thinking its Mike having gotten away from his sister it didn’t even cross my mind that they might have the memories of their lives so when I check my phone to see through the lobby security camera I nearly faint as covered in deep crimson blood its…my daughter Lindsey dragging her half eaten brother into an elevator. My phone pings now as I receive a text from Lindsay “Daddy is dinner done? I’m so…hungry” there is a photo attatched, a selfie of her and Mike’s body exiting the elevator. I throw my phone in fear it landing in out fish tank “Oh god sh-she remembers my number…” I say and remembering she has a key to the door I run over and push a large shelf in front of it and sure enough not a minute later the door lock clicks open and I hear her trying to push it open “Daddy? The door is stuck” she says still in her innocent little voice “Daddy help me get it open me and mike want some dinner and cake I’m so hungry please let me in”.
The voice sounds like her it really does, it acts like my Lindsey and talks like my Lindsey and hell for all I know maybe it still is my Lindsey but whatever this Virus did to her it made her persistent. Only stopping to kill a neighbor as they come home or take a few bites from her brother other than that it’s all begging “Daddy I smell food are you microwaving popcorn you know its my favorite” I hate eating now…no matter how subtle I am she always knows exactly what I have and pleads to be let in but I know it’s a trick she wants my flesh and dammit after three days I’m tempted to just let her have it to end the begging. I walk over to the door and push the shelf away. The doorknob turns slowly and opens as I see her hand poking through the door “Daddy I’m so glad dinner is ready”
The End
| 2018-09-06T19:24:58 | 2018-09-06T15:42:34 | 140 | 23 |
[WP] Your whole life you were misdiagnosed as colour blind, when in reality you could see colours no-one else could. You see art differently, the sunset and sunrise differently. A rainbow to you is out of this world. One day you go to visit the Mona Lisa. You see something no-else does... | "There's a sun over there," I said pointing at the top left corner.
"You see a sun?" the tour guide asked with incredulity. We'd been in the Louvre for the past 3 hours with the Mona Lisa being the final stop of our tour.
"I'm serious," I said moving a bit closer. He was not the first and would not be the last to judge what I could see using his own eyes. His back stiffened as if taking measures to defend the picture from whatever lunacy I brought with me. I could see a bright yellow moon and stars similar to what Van Gogh drew in his Starry Night. I took out my phone and confirmed. They were arranged in the same way too.
The background most saw as plain, dull green I saw as illuminated with dots of birds all flying Westward.
"This is the most valuable painting in the world, hundreds of experts have examined it more than a thousand times over with X-rays, MRIs and every other device known to man. You're saying you just spotted something so obvious with your naked eye?" The guide asked.
I ignored his statements as I took a step back. The birds seemed to form letters. "Surgit," I whispered. A ripple flowed from the painting's centre going out, it reflected on the picture's edges then rolled back in. The moon started to shine brighter, the stars faded. As far as I could tell it was now daytime in the painting. The birds flew into the horizon of the picture until they could no longer be seen. The curator took a few steps back as did the other visitors in awe. This they could see.
Mona Lisa slowly tilted her head beckoning me to come closer. The curator stood up ready to push me back but he was a few seconds too late. Her hand was out. It grasped mine and with a small firm pull I went into the portrait.
| **Selim**
The headmaster was particularly fond of culture awareness and therefore had dragged his greased-handed students to the Louvres Museum, possessed by an unwavering enthusiasm rivaled only by the teenagers mild interest in decrepit statues and paintings titties.
Most of them were setting foot in a museum for the first time in their life and were the noisiest, trying to disguise their nervosity into salacious brashness. The boldest boy was Selim, the leader of the pack, the most illiterate of them all, utterly incapable of writing his own name but remarkably venomous with his tongue and brutal with his fists, which made him royalty among the Lost Boys that the education system had more or less forgotten and trashed away.
The irony of this trip and of Selim’s colour-blindness wasn’t lost on him; he criticized vehemently every piece of art the guide tried to highlight, commenting, in fact, exactly what he was seeing:
“You maybe don’t know “*where the Artist found his inspiration for the intricate beauty of his model’s fur collar*”, but it is *obvious* that this old pig was fucking his neighbor’s wife and had an unobstructed view on her pus…”
“Selim, silence now!” Barked the educational supervisor as the group burst in laughters. “I don’t want to hear another word from you!!”
Selim smirked and glanced back at the painting with an ostensible disgust. He had been diagnosed with pretty much every “invisible disorders”, those you could fake, those that would label you “lazy”, “unwilling”, “muddle headed”: He was colour-blind, dyslexic, dysothrographic, dyscalculic, disorganized, hyperactive and so on, and on, and on… He could read but he couldn’t write, so he talked, loud, he talked in capital letters, he talked in frustration, he talked and, fortunately, was really handy around machinery therefore, at fifteen, he attended a program to learn a trade in truck mechanic.
His group finally reached the masterpiece they were all vaguely aware of: Mona “No Brows” Lisa. Selim elbowed his way to the front line and stared at the painting, squashed by tourist lef and right.
It was different. Different from everything he had seen so far in his life. For instance, the painting knew his name.
Foreign languages were alien to Selim; he had always understood every types of words, codes, cyphers put before him. It was all the same for him, as if Humanity, -and on some occasions alien lives-, had band together to create a universal dialect or, as Selim suspected it sometimes, as if his ancestors were away buying cigarettes when God cursed Babel.
“Dear Selim”, the message within the enigmatic smile said, “ I am glad you find your way to me. I knew all my life that someone will be born where I’ll die, someone like me, with eyes like mine, and a mind like mine. At your age, the world is still a scary and bewildered place. What is it that you dream of? What is it that your heart desire most? Is it, perhaps, to be like everyone else? It has crossed my mind many times. I could see, as you could, more than “meets the eye” for what meets the eye is a guest you receive in your house but we, you and me, are travellers. Our eyes don’t stay still, they *go to meet the world*, beyond flesh and nerves. It is astounding. It is unsettling. It is, maybe, too acute to bear. I saw you but I do not know your heart; it would have been rude of me to peek over your inner thoughts, but I nonetheless wish to give you something.
What follows, as you can see, are the blueprints of a machine. It is for your eyes only. They can stay that way or you can build it.
The machine can reverse the power within your eyes. Whether you choose to use it or not is entirely up to you.
Good luck in your journey, Selim,
With all my love,
Leonardo Da Vinci.” | 2019-01-29T04:04:20 | 2019-01-29T04:01:52 | 516 | 68 |
[WP] Every 10,000 years God eliminates mankind and starts everything over. Last time he started with Adam and Eve. This time he starts with two new people. The only problem is some how you didn’t die and you watched everything reset and you’ve kept your memories. You shouldn’t exist so you don’t age | #“You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.”
Well you know what they say: if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. I guess that's why God decided to reset mankind and start over with two people again. There is Adam, the first man, and Eve, made from one of Adam's rib. Yeah, I guess God doesn't have that much imagination when it comes to the beginning of mankind. He could have at least changed the names. And me? Oh, I'm not Adam or Eve. I'm not God either, obviously. I'm Hank. When He erased the last iteration of mankind, He just kind of forgot me. Now I'm just enjoying this new life in this New Garden of Eden.
It's really as good as people said before the Apocalypse. There is just one problem. Well, two problems. Adam and Eve. I just can't stand them. Adam is an idiot, and the names he picked for the animals all suck. He wouldn't listen to any of my suggestions. As for Eve? She has the most annoying voice, and she just won't shut up. I really liked it better when Lilith was here.
Maybe it's time I find a solution to my problems. Once I get rid of these two, this place will truly be Heaven.
I approach Eve.
“Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” | It was a cruel twist of fate that eliminated everybody from existence except for a pair of horny neanderthals and me. But, apparently, that's just the way things go. Every 10,000 years, the invisible dude up above - God, for brevity - hits F5 and boom, back to the prehistoric era we go.
"F5?" Motherfucker. These Luddite imbeciles don't know what F5 is. It's a miracle we even speak the same language.
"Reset. He resets humanity." They glance at each other suspiciously. Makes sense. I wasn't supposed to be here. He actually dialed me up afterwards with one of those "Godly vision" things and told me that.
"I forgot about you." No problem. I had heard that before. From my parents when they went on vacation. From my teachers when they counted me absent even though I was sitting right there. From my girlfriend when she forgot she was in a relationship and hooked up with my brother who - you guessed it - forgot I existed. No big deal, God. We all forget the unimportant things. He heard that internal monologue though, so he tried to make me feel better. I think. "You actually won't age... It's a bug, I've been working on it. But can you sit tight until the next reset?"
I shrugged. Why not? What was the longest it could be? A few minutes? The two savages were headbutting a coconut to try to get it to open. My tropical Eden. Two pairs of sweaty balls and a woman with more hair on her face than me.
"It'll be like... 10,000 years. Just sit tight." And then he was gone. 10,000 years? That was a bit longer than I bargained for. Especially 10,000 years of other people. Way too much socialization. So I did what awkward, forgotten, lonely people do. I went to talk to the pair of barbaric halfwits about sex. Just as a side note: two halfwits does not make a full-wit. It must be like multiplying fractions or something. You end up with a quarter-wit, at best. They just compound their stupidity.
So that brought me to this comfy seat on a dead animal they had clubbed to death. Baba and Bobo sit in front of me like moronic children listening to an incompetent teacher. "You guys can't fuck," I tell them bluntly. Their faces drop in disappointment. They're holding hands. It's sickening. "I mean it. You're siblings. Or like, clones." I pointed at her. "You were made from his rib. Literally." That's why she was so dense.
"What if do?" Why use more words when few words do trick, right? If I'm not fed up with everything and everybody by the time the television rolls around, I'll definitely re-create The Office. That won't happen though. Not if they listen to me.
"Because last time that happened, it fucked everything up. Out popped the most deranged, psychotic, destructive race of incestual spawn that you could ever imagine." They squinted at me, probably getting lost somewhere between the first and second words. I tried some sign language but that just set them into a fit of giggles. "Eventually, they'll destroy the world. They'll fuck everything up. Just keep it clean. Hold hands, use your tongue, prance around like little ponies until you fall off a ledge and die. I don't care. Just no sex. Got it?" They stared at me unconvinced and finally nodded. Perfect.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-16T09:15:43 | 2019-09-16T07:44:47 | 2,096 | 577 |
[WP] The Evil Overlord infiltrates the hero's party as a new member. The hero's party realizes this, but they instead pretend not to and pamper him with love and acceptance.
I humbly hope this is simple enough that you can come up with many world ideas c: | Evil as dark as night. Pain as deep as the ocean. A mind as fractured as a stained-glass window fallen from it's holy heights.
Such things could not be fixed with mere love and acceptance. With hugs and kind words. With friendship.
No. Such things could only fester and grow, demanding to be fed as they consumed and destroyed everything in their path.
He could no more return their love than he could understand it. Their acceptance meant nothing. They only served to fuel the need inside of him.
Still, he smiled. When asked upon, he answered. When hugged, he hugged back, feigning a reluctance that only endeared him to them more.
He knew they knew. Saw how it divided them. Saw how they rallied around their misguided Hero who promised them it was possible.
It was too sweet to end so soon. No, he would wait, savouring the taste as long as he could before inflicting a be-fitting end to their measly existence.
Taking his hand off the firing mechanism that controlled explosives planted many months before, Drayorn relaxed.
Maybe he'd kill them next weekend. Maybe. | I'd slipped up one too many times. It probably started when I yelled "Kill the old hag!" after that librarian refused to give us the promised reward simply because we returned a day later than requested. Or maybe it was that time where I got so into the interrogation that I subconsciously started torturing that bandit to find out where their hideout was.
Either way, they know now. They had to know. I, as the evil overlord had joined their party through a trick, without them realising. I mean, they couldn't have known. After all, they had been so nice to me all this time. It made me laugh, to be honest. It was so clear that they had fallen for my deception, and thought they found themselves another comrade.
But now that'll all be over. I honestly don't know how they will react tomorrow, as we planned to storm the evil overlord's lair, MY lair. I just hope that I can hold off their suspicion long enough to lure them into a trap.
After a night filled with thinking and planning how I'd tell the heroes about their demise, and how I tricked them, ruined them, might I even say, we set off. The final spurt towards my own lair. Once we were inside, I'd tell them something like "There, I saw something!" to lure the heroes into my trap, and then I could slowly see them fall into despair as they realise my great plan.
There we are. It happened. The heroes, stuck inside the trap I made, inescapable even for people of their talents. Once they realised this, I heard one of them ask: "Why? Why are you doing this? What desire would make someone want to do all these evil things, even murder people, without feeling any remorse?" Pffsh, such a standard question. I had my answer ready.
"Well, that would be quite simple. Humans disgust me. They just squirm around happily, doing everything they can to make their lives better than those around them, even betraying those who loved them. I just want..." I stopped. What did I want? To kill these heroes? Yeah, that must be it.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter what I want. This is where you'll meet your end heroes!" I said, as I started my chant for the one surefire way to kill all these heroes. A spell so deadly that it would even cripple it's caster. The end of my conquest got closer and closer, and I felt... sad? Why would I feel sad now, of all times? I'd killed before, and these heroes were no different, were they?
Wait. No way. I couldn't have gotten swayed by their kind words, could I? I don't want to kill them. But this spell, I can no longer stop it! "Goodbye, heroes." I said as I finished casting.
I did it. I aimed the spell away from the heroes, saving their lives. Having taken no other lives, the spell would eat me up from the inside. But at least the heroes, who accepted me as their own would live.
This was my first ever try at writing something, so please do let me know what you think if you got through! If there's popular demand, I can see if I can try making a part 2, but I guess we'll have to see how this ends up. Thanks for reading, and have a great day! | 2019-11-02T13:28:38 | 2019-11-02T12:50:56 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] The owner of a small store that sells cursed items with terrible costs beyond the price tag, is shocked that a customer comes in almost every day to buy a new item. | The shop owner folded his skeleton-like hands as the sound of the bell indicated that another unsuspecting victim had entered the store.
“Welcome stranger,” he said from out under his black robes, trying to make his voice as spooky as possible. “Before you begin browsing my array of fantastical items, let me warn you that each of them comes with a price.”
The stranger furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that how every store works?”
“Uhm, I guess so.” The shopkeeper tried to regain his composure. “But here you will find that the price paid transcends money.”
“I’ve never met a scam artist who told me straight up that he was going to scam me.”
The shopkeeper grinned. “It’s all part of the process. Later, after you’ve paid the *real price*, you will remember my words and think: ‘How could I have been so stupid as to ignore his warnings?’ or ‘I should have known better.’ The regret makes it all the better.”
The stranger shrugged. “Okay, whatever, I was really just looking for something to regain my wife’s affection. Lately she’s seemed so distant whenever we’re together.”
“Ah,” the shopkeeper’s mood suddenly lifted. “I have just the thing.” He reached under his desk and extracted a small bottle full of pink liquid. “This is a reverse-love-potion, it makes whoever drinks it irresistible to the opposite gender.”
*Except that the love of your life will reject your forever—you will be chased to the ends of the earth by every woman except the one you love. Oh sweet irony.*
“How much is it?” he asked.
“Just 10$.” The shopkeeper smiled.
“Sold!”
The man pocketed the potion and left the store, leaving the shopkeeper to laugh maniacally by himself.
\*\*\*
A few days later, the man returned, beaming with smiles like he’d never been happier. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow —usually people returned with either rage or horror, shouting things like, ‘you never told me that the item was going to do *that!’*
“Oh man, I can’t thank you enough.” The man rushed to the counter and shook the skeletal hand of the shopkeeper. “I’m Mark, what’s your name?”
The shopkeeper’s eyes were wide. “Uhm, I don’t have a name, I’m just the mysterious shopkeeper.”
“Well you’ve saved my love life! After I drank the potion my wife’s animosity only seemed to grow. She began to reveal how she’d been cheating on me, and it made me realize that my love had been totally misplaced all this time! Love is overrated anyway—now I have a horde of hot women lining up to have sex with me; life’s never been better.”
“I’m . . . terribly sorry to hear it, actually.” The shopkeeper grit his teeth. “May I tempt you with another one of my items?”
“That’s why I’m here! I figured if one of your items made such a huge improvement in my life, how much of an improvement would two make? Or three?”
The shopkeeper’s smile returned. This man might have gotten lucky the first time, but there was no way his luck would survive multiple cursed items.
\*\*\*
“Hi Mark. . .” The shopkeeper hid his face in his hands as Mark entered for the 37th time in a row.
He’d been coming every day to buy something new, and somehow it all worked out for him. When he brought a golden hand that was supposed to grant him wealth in exchange for terrible personal relationships, the curse from the reverse-love-potion had somehow overruled the newer curse, making women still want to be with him. The shopkeeper had never considered how the curses might overlap if someone was careless enough to keep buying his wares.
“Hi shopkeep!” Mark adjusted the crow of his overly expensive designer suit. “What have you got for me today?”
“Nothing Mark.” The shopkeeper was holding back tears. “You win. For some reason, you are too indescribably lucky and reckless for my items to have negative consequences for you.”
Marked rested a hand against the shopkeeper’s back. “Cheer up—nobody has ever had such a positive impact on my life; I don’t know how to thank you.”
The shopkeeper hit the desk with his fist. “That’s exactly the problem. All I wanted to do was use the free market to abuse my customers’ lack of inhibition and ruin their lives. And look how I ended up.”
Mark touched his chin. “I could use my newfound wealth and influence to make you the CEO of an unethical tobacco company or something. That way you’d be able to exploit not just the unsuspecting stranger who occasionally walks into your store, but millions of people every day!”
“Mark . . . that’s . . . I don’t know how to thank you?”
“Don’t thank me, thank the curse that makes me feel other people’s pain as my own. It has really made me a more caring person.”
Mark gave the shopkeeper a hug, and for just a brief moment, the frail man experienced happiness unrelated to ruining the life of strangers. | "Hello again!" A voice rang out as the clear chime of the doorbell echoed through the shop.
Light streamed in golden beams through a haze of never-settling dust, the tiny wisps swirling about as the figure moved through the doorway. He moved with the bounce of someone who was happy with their purpose, a wide smile showing beneath his bushy beard. It was a smile that the owner, a hunched over old man with an even bushier beard never understood.
"Welcome back, sir." The hunched over old man rose from the well-worn stool, standing and moving towards the counter with the gait of long years, every step measured and weighed against the possibility of falling.
"Ah, so formal Sol! I told you! Call me Garret!" The younger man, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim shop lighting, laughed with his whole body, his shoulders shaking from good humor.
"It's Solomon, sir." The old man, Solomon, corrected his young customer with an exasperation born of repetition, a ritual the two had enacted nearly every day for the last three weeks.
"Right you are, Solomon!" The younger man clapped his hands on the counter, his smile never slipping. "Apologies, my good man!"
"It's all right." *It wasn't.* The old man's words and his thoughts were at odds, a sense of hostility entering his mind, as it always did when the cheerful young man entered. "What can I help you with today, sir?"
"Oh, I'm just browsing! I saw a wonderful little clock in here yesterday that caught my eye." Garret looked around the shop for a moment, before turning back to the old man. "Is it still here? Or has my fate prepared a sorrowful surprise for this otherwise delightful morning?"
"It's in the corner there, sir." The old man pointed, shaking his head. *As if it would be sold...*
"Excellent!" Garret clapped his hands delightedly, moving in the indicated direction. However, his progress through the store towards the clock was slow, stopping often to glance and study the many curiosities resting on the dusty shelves. He also found time to shout a conversation back at the old shopkeeper, who had returned to his stool, arms across his chest in a clear gesture of unwelcoming.
"How's the wife, Sol? Still on you about retirement?" Garret reached a well-manicured hand up to tap the side of a bobblehead, a head seemed a little too lifelike, the eyes almost following him as it bobbed.
"It's Solomon, sir. And yes, everyday." The old man didn't rise from his stool, simply answering the questions and staring at his customer, the only returning guest in the history of the small curio shop.
"Ah, that's too bad. You ought to take her out for a nice dinner." The man moved on, picking up a small windvane, upon which a screaming rooster was carved. A closer inspection saw that the rooster's feathers were tiny carvings of flames, which seemed to writhe and shift in the light.
"Did you find the clock, sir?" *This will do him in for sure.*
"Almost, Sol. Almost. You've got such treasures! Hard to believe no one has cleaned you out already." Having moved beyond the windvane, the man was now idly toying with a small carving of a monkey, laughing delightedly as it unfolded into two, then four, then eight carvings of monkeys, before collapsing back into a single one.
"Hard to believe indeed, sir. And it's Solomon." The old man, annoyed as usual, played idly with the large ring upon his finger, the massive ruby blazing like a tiny fire when the light struck it. Seventy-two tiny carvings could seen around the setting of the stone, and each second, they seemed to rotate, ever so slightly, in an unending loop.
"Right, right. My apologies." Finally, Garret stopped in front of the clock, a tiny thing, smaller than the average wristwatch. "Here it is."
"Did you find it, sir?" Solomon straightened slightly, hope in the edges of his voice. *Take it! Take it!*
"I did indeed!" The young man lifted it, smiling widely through the blackness of his beard, his perfect teeth gleaming like ivory tiles. "And it's so cheap!"
"Is it, sir?" *Cheap?! Four-hundred thousand Pounds is cheap?!*
"For such a marvelous piece? It'd be a steal at twice the price!" Garret whistled happily, holding the tiny clock and flipping it like a coin, noting that it weighed much the same.
"As you say, sir." The old man was smiling as well now, his own yellowed teeth showing behind the grey and white of his own raggedy beard.
"Have you got the time? I'd like to be sure it's right when I take it home. My husband will certainly be too lazy to set it himself." The old man smiled cruelly as he nodded and removed a large pocketwatch from the breast of his vest.
"I do have the time, sir." *Unlike you and your filthy husband, I have all the time in the world!* "It's 9:23 in the A.M., sir."
"Very good!" The man fiddled idly with the watch, before moving towards the counter. Seeing him adjust the time, the old man revealed an extremely happy smile, before rising with what could only be described as a bounce in his step.
"How would you like to pay, sir?" The old man, Solomon, didn't reveal any of his normal disdain, his mood greatly improved.
"Cheque all right, Sol?" The young man reached into his overcoat, pulling out his chequebook and pen.
"Of course, Garret." *He'll be dead soon, I can use his name at least once.*
"Ha! I knew I'd convert you!" Garret smiled widely, paying the full bill plus a hefty tip, whistling happily the entire time. "You have a great day, Sol!"
"And you as well, Garret!" The old man smiled, knowing that by sunset, the man would be nothing but dust and bones, the clock advancing his age exponentially the moment he adjusted the time. A second would become two, then four, then eight, until every second took a year from his life. Not only that, but Solomon would finally have the rejuvenation he so desperately sought, his own age receding like a tide as Garret's life was added to his. For that, he could certainly thank the man by name.
***
"Morning, Sol!" A bell chime announced a visitor, as a ragged and rundown Solomon rose on aching joints to approach the counter, his eyes wide in disbelief and his mouth agape. He had woken with the most awful backache and his knees had hurt. He had never imagined that the cause would stride in through his door, bearing a smile upon a face more youthful and vibrant than ever.
"Good... good morning?" Solomon mumbled the words, confusion and anger on his face. "Sir?"
"I told you! Call me Garret!" | 2019-11-09T22:05:58 | 2019-11-09T21:43:41 | 345 | 77 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north. | The Man of the North:
A person that everyone knows. The other immortal beings were present in some cultures, but the man was known by everyone.
His speed, unmatched, he could circle the world faster than everyone.
His generosity, so pure, everyone was struck with happiness at the mention of his name.
His looks, unmistakable. You will always know its him.
His perception, perfection, he can see everyone whenever he wants, from any distance.
The man never was angry. He never hurt anyone. He never killed a soul. He rewarded the polite, and pitied the mean.
He is so famous, that he has a day dedicated to him. And when that month rolls around...
You better watch out.
You better not pout.
You better not cry.
I'm telling you why.
**Santa Claus is coming to town.** | "Master, we are running out of time!” the young boy said.
He had been appointed as The Man’s newest apprentice. Even though the boy was the youngest apprentice The Man had ever appointed, he showed promise from the age of three – already showing signs of *the craft*. By age six, he had somehow mastered more of the arts than boys twice his age. There was something strange about that crescent scar surrounding his right eye – it seemed to glow every time *the craft* was summoned, just as it was now, basking amongst reflections of the fire light from the torch he held.
“Alabaster, you must ready the rest of the elven clan” The Man said from his throne. “The North will not fall. We will NOT let the common folk down this time”.
The Great War was upon the North and had taken The Man by surprise. It had been seven centuries since the last war – why had the peace suddenly broken? Reports came in just days ago that the East had been overcome by The Kraken – swallowing up whole villages at a time. People of The South had reported sightings of the mighty dragon Viceroy – with wings spanning hundreds of feet, bringing rains of fire down upon on desert plains. The Labyrinth in the West, filled with temptations and riches that the common folk couldn’t resist, was taking more and more prisoners, as increasing numbers of men failed to come home to their families.
And now, The Man was brought news by young Alabaster that the Immortals were not yet satisfied. The rest of the common folk made their dangerous trek North, toward the snow-capped mountains, hoping for salvation. But now, it was more than the elevation – the blizzards – the cold – that might kill them. The Immortals were quickly on their tails, closing in from all directions.
The Man stood from his throne, his beard still reaching down to kiss the stone beneath his boots. He was brooding at the thought of the last Great War. He had lost too many elves. Children had gone without presents for years. Not this time.
“And Alabaster! Before you go, there’s something I must give you.” The Man paused. He reached into his deep red coat, hidden underneath the black leather belt he pulled out what looked to be a wand of some sort, tucked away into his grasp, his hands the size of the boy himself.
“I thought you not yet ready, but alas, you speak true – we ARE out of time. You must use this ONLY in an emergency. When the time comes, you will know - *the craft* will be strong within you.” The Man opened his hand and offered the object to the boy. Alabaster stared, open-mouthed at what he had been bestowed – the great Candy Cane of Norwen.
“And one last thing Alabaster,” The Man said, his deep voice echoing through the high castle.
“Prepare my sled. Tell Rudolph he’s going to need more than his nose to fight off this fucking dragon.” | 2020-04-19T08:34:41 | 2020-04-19T08:21:50 | 85 | 38 |
[WP] The dead cannot speak. That's why you've decided to become their lawyer. Today is your first case and your client just entered the courtroom. | She's in a clear plastic box because no one really felt comfortable holding a skull. You never minded, after all, it was your long time summer job during law school, working in a morgue, that developed your ability to talk to the dead in the first place.
You open your notes, ready for this.
\-Mrs. Elizabeth Breyers, formerly a receptionist in the mid-1960s, wrongfully fired when the son of her company's CEO stole vital papers and leaked them for money. Breyers was convicted of the theft by a nepotistic father, blinded by familial ties his wayward son did not share. Breyers spent ten years in prison, unable to prove her innocence. She died in 2014, five years before new evidence would have proven her innocence.
Mr. Bartholemew Dalton Jr. likely thought that, with Breyers long dead, it was safe to come out with his crime. After all, Dalton Sr. wasn't going to press charges, and the separated Breyers wouldn't be able to either, right?
Right?
Objection! This is where you step in.
Mrs. Breyers is, as mentioned, a skull, which means she communicates in Dead Morse, a language Samuel Morse apparently taught to quite a few departed folks who wanted to raise hell back on Earth. Few know it, save for some mediums, the odd grave digger here or there, a couple morticians. Some few jaded families who have made their peace with the fact that their houses are haunted have picked up the language as an extracurricular, so as to politely request their ghost roommates not rattle chains when guests are over.
Dead Morse isn't the only language the Dead Speak but it's the most common that you've encountered.
Breyers' jaw is clattered nervously, the chatter in her teeth sending clear messages of anxiety and a fair bit of anger at Dalton Jr.
For his part, Dalton Jr. looks appropriately terrified, his damp mop of thinning hair sticking to his neck and forehead and ears and cheek, pretty much anywhere it could, working overtime to make him look a nervous wreck. Good, he deserves it.
"All rise!"
Breyers looks to you for her cue here. You shake your head and tap a pen on the side of your leg.
*Don't worry about it. They know you don't have legs.*
The judge looks weary and you really don't blame him. He's not necessarily tired of this specific case. This one is pretty in the bag; Dalton Jr. has all but confessed, there was just a lack of an accusor. Breyers' remaining daughter, Lindsey, couldn't afford a lawyer. Most lawyers wouldn't have taken the case for free. If you're being honest, you wouldn't have either, until someone sent you Lindsey's tearful facebook plea. A viral video of a chubby, 30-year-old woman, crying and holding a chattering skull, begging for Pro Bono work.
"Ha," your friend said. "Take a look at this clown."
You did take a look. You took several. At her, at the skull, and then at a bunch of news cases and public-facing legal docs. Then you reached out to her.
\---
"I can't go to jail, I'll never last! You don't know what they do to people in there!" Dalton's begs are reasonably panicked for a spoiled man who'd never worked a day in his life, being told he was about to be carted off to a low-security, white-collar prison, where he'd probably only do a year or two before being released on good behavior.
You'd love to exchange a snide remark about how he 'should have thought of that before condemning Elizabeth Breyers to the same fate!' but this is a real court of law, not some cartoonish movie set. There are certain standards.
The amount that the Dalton family is paying out to the family in reparations is staggering. You had to take off your glasses and clean them, as an act of disbelief, when you heard the final number. Lindsey fainted and had to be fanned awake.
You give Breyers a knowing nod as the plastic box is removed from the room, but the skull is quiet now. Perhaps she's at rest or maybe she just fell asleep after a long court meeting.
As the court is dismissed, Lindsey finds you outside.
"Sir!" Her cheeks are flushed as she hurries up to you. "I wanted to rediscuss the nature of your payment. You saved our family name and with the settlement, we'll be able to pay off some debts and maybe I can send the kids to college and-" Her tears trickle into her wirey ringlets around her face and you wave off her concerns.
"Don't think too much about it," you say, magnanimously. "I agreed to pro-Bono and I'll stick to it. I'm just happy your family is set."
She dries her eyes with an adorably antiquated handkerchief. "Can I at least thank you over a cup of coffee?"
Now it's your turn to blush.
\---
Lindsey, it turns out, is no stranger to the dead. She's not nearly as versed as you in the various languages, but she does know a thing about tracking them down. She hasn't lived an uninteresting life herself."
"We'll have to do this again," she says, after the Starbucks has begged you a third time to leave.
You nod, gathering your briefcase. It's unclear if she means coffee or teaming up to clear the name of a long-dead victim.
You're pretty ok with either.
___
[Read more stories at r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | Hair sticks out the side of his ears like bundles of straw. Liver spots crater his smooth head and thick reading glasses rest at the tip of his nose. He looks tired and disinterested in everyone in the room. He doesn’t recognize me despite us meeting before.
“Please Rise! The honorable Judge Brudair.”
The silence is suddenly lifted by a booming voice that echoes around the room. I jump in my chair but am unnoticed as the rest of the small audience rises. Formalities are spoken and I see the glazed eyes of a man who has presided over a thousand or more cases, already losing interest. If he only knew the power he holds.
He breaks the silence, “Take your seats. Mr…” the Judge trails off as he looks down at the paperwork on his podium.
“Mr. Adue, your honor. Counsel for the defense.” I speak loudly and confidently but internally, I’m terrified. I’m scared because I know my client probably deserves to lose his case.
“And where is the defense?” The Judge speaks now with mild amusement as he notices the chair next to mine is empty.
As if on cue, the chamber doors behind me swing open and an ornate and richly decorated casket is rolled into the courtroom. A portion has been removed so my client is partially visible, dressed in an expensive suit. The casket is rolled through the aisle and brought near me where I can see the lifeless lips of a once proud man.
“Oh, what is this?” The Judge becomes suddenly annoyed. “You can’t stand there and tell me you're about to defend a dead person are you?” His voice takes on a tone of quickly increasing irritability. “What is this case about again?” Without any shame that he doesn’t know what the case is about, I see the judge begin to glance at some paperwork, but clearly not well enough based on his reaction.
“It says you are defending the life of your client? What does that even mean? He’s obviously dead. So.. tell me, Mr. Adue… why are we here?”
This is the moment I have dreaded. I knew there was a very good chance with this judge that he would miss the big picture and not realize what this case really is. I know what he is about to hear is very unorthodox for his courtroom but I have to try my best. It’s the most important case I’ve ever handled on my own.
“Your honor, I am defending my client’s actions and reputations before he is laid to rest. Many things have been said about him by others, some good, but mostly bad. My client wishes to erase the bad records so that his family may have some peace. I want to prove he was a good person and doesn’t deserve to carry any more weight to the grave than he already is.” The more I speak the more I see the elderly judge’s expression morph from irritation to feeling insulted. As I finish my opening statement the brief silence makes me feel smaller than I’ve ever been.
Rolling his eyes quite literally, the judge pages through some of the documents set in front of him.
“This man doesn’t look very good on paper. I still don’t understand why any of this matters. In fact, this seems like a waste of my courtroom’s time Mr. Adue. Do I look like someone to be used for amusement? A resource for closure? No! That’s what religion and other silly fantasies are supposed to be for, right? The family can have peace of mind knowing their loved one went somewhere nice when they died. Is that all this is about? Do you want me to play God?” I can see the blood pressure rising in this man as his face flushes red with frustration.
“Sir, I realize this is unorthodox but it’s very important to my client…” My voice trails off.
“YOUR CLIENT?!” The judge interrupts at a stunning volume. Spit flies from his mouth as he enunciates each syllable. “YOUR CLIENT IS DEAD MR. ADUE, AND I WON’T HEAR ANOTHER WORD OF THIS.”
I fight back a very small tear as my fears are confirmed. I never had a chance with this guy.
“Your honor, if I could just..” I speak up but am spoken over as if I don’t exist.
“Your client will be remembered for both his good deeds and his bad, Mr. Adue. There is no precedence for this court to throw out certain events as if they never happened, in the name of fabricating a sound reputation. I don’t care how much money he had or anything else.” His voice is lowered from the shouting but the longer he speaks the louder it gets, until his voice finally returns to its near-shouting volume.
“ESPECIALLY WHEN I DON’T EVEN SEE A GOOD REASON WHY THIS SPECIFIC MAN SHOULD HAVE ANY GRACE AT ALL!”
He continues… “What is this guy’s name again?” The judge lowers his head to his docket.
Oh no. He knows. He figured it out.
I see the blood begin to drain from the Judge’s face. He looks up and begins to speak but thinks better of it. He returns his face in his paperwork except now he looks embarrassed.
“This must be an error from my Office or clerk,” he speaks calmly now and I see him begin to look around.
“My clerk…” the words echo around the chambers and the judge realizes how alone we are. The clerk is absent, as is the rest of the audience. “But where did they?” His speech trails off as the last few moments have been a conversation to himself.
“My paperwork seems to have an error, Mr. Adue. Please tell me the name of your client.”
I look at the judge with a somber expression, not breaking eye contact. I tried my best but he didn’t make it very easy. He already knows the answer.
The elder judge struggles to remove himself from his seat as he rises behind his desk. He takes a step back and walks around the partition separating us. He approaches my client as he lays motionless. Until this moment he remains calm, but it’s finally sinking in as he sees my client’s face.
“Is this… a joke?” The judge looks at me with irritation, considering for a moment if this could be an elaborate ruse.
“I’m afraid not…” I approach the judge myself as he stands over the casket. I see his head drop as he begins to accept what he sees. I put my hand on his shoulder and pat it three times as my way of trying to provide some sort of comfort, in this man’s final moments. I have failed him.
Before I could notice he was gone, the judge no longer stood next to me. What I saw before me now was the same thing he saw only moments ago. The body of one deceased Judge Brudair.
Defeated and now alone, I roll Mr. Brudair’s casket back through the aisle. Some of his family begins to reappear in the crowd, each of them silent and with a face full of tears. They don’t move from their seats but their heads rotate further with each step I take. Their shoulders don’t move but their heads can’t look away from their loved one in his final moments. I hear bones break on the front row as necks turn further and further.
I push the casket through the double-door entryway of the courtroom; smoke begins to rise and flame begins to catch some of the flowers outside the casket. As if suddenly jolted awake, Judge Brudair becomes conscious in his casket. His body remains completely still as does his head, however he still has control of his voice and has complete awareness.
“I’M SORRY” These are the only words I can make out before embers spread and flames make their way over flowers and wood. Screams of anguish overtake what little energy he has left. I smell an unpleasant aroma as hair and flesh coat the courtroom with its scent. Moments later, the double doors close, and Mr. Brudair no longer exists. | 2020-05-28T09:12:19 | 2020-05-28T08:13:44 | 79 | 13 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | Thomas Telluride slowly opened his eyes. He was unsure where he was or how he got there. All he knew was that he was surrounded by darkness at the moment. He cleared his throat to speak.
"H... hello?" He said unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. As he spoke a spotlight clicked on over him, illuminating his body. It took him a few moments to adjust to the light, and as he did he heard the sound of heels on the floor approaching him. A moment later a woman stepped into the light and looked at him.
She was not what he expected. She wore a business suit involving the colors light blue and purple. He looked at her face, expecting to see a mask but all she wore was a look of barely contained rage.
"Thomas," She began. Her voice a weird mixture of friendly yet cold that Thomas did not think was possible. He watched as she continued. "Also known as the Rhythm. A sonic based hero. You can create sound based weapons."
The fact that she knew who he was emboldened him. His chest puffing out making his heroic disco outfit look even more ridiculous.
"That's right, I'm Rhythm and I can take you away from all of this. Help me take your boss down and run away with me, we can party all..."His words stopped as she simply cocked her head to the side and smirked.
"You are here because you pumped a henchman for information. "She paused a moment. "No, pumped is the incorrect word. You tortured him. You used your powers to break his bones you prolonged agony in him with tactics that would make terrorist organizations look away. That henchman worked for me." She raised a hand and showed a remote control. Pressing a button a screen lit up and Rhythm could see the face of his team leader The Matador looking as if he watched what was going on. Matador could only say one thing.
"Rhythm what have you done?" He would have said more but the woman held up her hand silencing him. Rhythm could see fear in Matadors eyes. He looked at the woman in surprise. No one scared Matador. With his powers he was a match for gods, and this woman had him nervous.
"You know what he did. I even sent you photos along with a bill for the hospitalization he went through before I brought him back here and fixed him up, and a claim for you to pay his family since he will not be earning an income for the time being." Matador nodded and shuffled papers. "We had a treaty Matador, article seven dash four. Both sides agree to no torture, beyond light bondage. " She whirled and faced the screen "THAT WAS NOT LIGHT BONDAGE!" Her voice sent shivers down Rhythms back as he tried to access his powers. She turned back and smiled.
"None of that. These cuffs dampen your powers. Admittedly a strike against the treaty as well, but low enough level the fine is worth it. "She said moving closer, not even looking at the screen as Matador nodded. "I felt all of his pain. Every. bit. of it. You wont die. you wont even lose consciousness. I want you to feel all of it" She said punctuating her words as she moved closer to Rhythm. "When this is over these cuffs will be destroyed as they are the last pair. But before that, you are going to feel everything he felt, only in different ways." She smiled sweetly before speaking up. "And Matador, you will watch so you can let everyone know the penalty for going against the treaty like he has. her hand reached out to grab at nothing. Her cold visage changing to a maniacal smile, that terrified Rhythm to his core. She reached out a hand to his and with a motion the skin peeled off his hand like a banana followed by the muscle. His screams echoed through the room.
"Thrillody, please!" Matador cried out. "He's learned his lesson and he's sorry." Thrillody shook her head as she paused and reformed the flesh and tissue back over his hand. She doesn't even look back.
"No, he's not. But he will be." She said before she resumed peeling him with enough skill to prove why she is feared by hero and villain alike, and why they should not break the treaty. | Everyone has an origin story. From the highest to the lowest, to those with no powers to near gods.
I was a short, malnourished, and plain small-time thief in a dying industrial town in a small East European country. I could dig through memories, but used it to find where marks hid money, phones and jewelry. No one took notice, and I didn't care to tell them.
I learned a lot more rifling through minds. I learned English.
Piotr was an unassuming middle-aged man who hid some loot, according to my bosses. They wanted me to ask him some questions.
I was arrogant, and felt that my bosses were finally appreciating my talents.
Piotr was a tough man. Pain made him only wince. Twisting memories only made him more withdrawn.
He spat in my face, and I unleashed a psychic storm. He laughed while screaming in pain, then collapsed on the cold wooden floor.
The bosses turned me out, rather than execute me for failure.
I believed in God. Don't think that supervillains don't believe. I knew that I had killed a man because of my wounded pride, and that I must repent of my vanity. I vowed that I would never use my powers directly until I mastered it.
After Piotr's death, and my exile, I knew that I had to make drastic changes in my organization and in so many others.
I murdered people, my own and of rival gangs. I recruited their frightened soldiers. Every monarch has blood on their hands, but I made changes. They each had full health care. They had a discreet share of the profits of my endeavors. I left my door open if they needed to talk.
Other villains were horrified. They will betray you. What about moles? Yet, I knew that I could kill if it came to that. I recruited those who did their jobs well and wanted no more than that.
I had a good life. I had those who feared me and those who respected me. Still, I haven't mastered my vanity.
I was holding Onyx, my cat, when Seb was dragged, dazed but without visible marks.
"Seb, what happened?"
He spoke through dry lips. "Beat me real bad with old phone books. Sean Jones, he wants you to know he beat me. Sean . . ."
Adnan sneered while pulling Seb up. "Probably some dumb superhero showing off," Adnan said.
I shook my head. Adnan looked around the room, as if trying to hide. I wasn't angry at him.. Piotr's memories grabbed at the edges of my reasoning.
Seb coughed and Adnan wiped away blood and saliva with a tissue. "He'll be at the war memorial at sunset," Seb said in a hoarse mumble, before he coughed again.
"I don't like it. It sounds like a trap." Mira rose from a pickpocket to my second-in-command.
"You may be right," I said, looking into her dark and uncertain eyes. "I am still going."
"Why?"
"I used my powers in a way that I'm not proud of. I want to close that chapter. I trust that you will hold down the compound, Mira."
"Nastya . . ."
"Yes?"
"Message me if . . . When it's over."
"Of course." I handed Onyx to her and walked down the long underground chamber to outside.
My driver pulled in just as the setting sun hit the shield of the Defender of the Martyrs of the Nation (it sounds less mawkish in its original language). A tall and lean man stood by her feet. He wore a plumber's jumpsuit with a flat and dark cap.
"Sean Jones?"
"You know me, then?"
"Who doesn’t?" He took off his cap, and showed short and gray hair. Old superheros are unexpected, and a superhuman without a handle is unheard of. He may be before my time, but everyone knew of the Cold War superspy who could survive anything.
He retired, though, right? Never mind. He has enough free time to remember unfinished business.
Nevertheless, I had a reputation to uphold. "It's the 21st century, old man. Torture doesn't yield useful information. Even your M5 doesn't get their hands dirty like that. What, did you get carried away and thought that it was 1962?"
He smirked. "I wasn't after mere information. I wanted answers. I lost someone 15 years ago."
He didn't always have gray hair, it was light brown. I couldn't see much of his face, but there were new wrinkles.
"You knew Piotr."
"He was a contact of mine."
"You were lovers."
"No wonder that you didn't come after me. You're young and don't care."
"Come at you for what? Blackmail? Your employers no longer give a damn. I'm no priest, and I didn't care what Piotr did in his free time."
"I didn't know before I started. I thought that I was just punishing a soldier falling short of my bosses' expectations. Then I let myself take it personally. " I turned away to wipe my eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, and I can't just say that I was following orders--"
"Criminal enterprises don't hold themselves to the Nuremberg laws." He bowed his head. "I do, however, see your point. It did inspire you, though." He chuckled.
"I didn't intend for him to die." I winced at how childish I sounded.
"You made a lot of changes. It's admirable, in a way."
"It isn't enough for you." I stretched my fingers out, making fists and letting again. "You couldn't forget even after 15 years."
"Certainly, and forgiving was out of the question. "
I moved closer. I could see a faint bronze glow around Sean. I knew that it wasn't the sun.
"Caring about people hurts."
"You took that risk."
"So did you."
The bronze glow became a stream of light. I focused on his eyes, willing tendrils of pain.
"If I win, I would have gotten rid of a major benefactor of organized crime. If you win, you would have a prestigious notch on your belt--"
"And you can finally die."
He sighed. "I always seek mutual benefit in these situations. "
One tendril knocked him back down. He staggered up, and glowed brighter. I could feel my clothes catch fire. I could feel my pride burn away. | 2021-03-22T09:48:56 | 2021-03-22T09:30:23 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | Shelia opened her eyes to see that instead of her heart, it was a forearm impaled on Gore's thin blade. But she was even more appalled to find that the arm belonged to Nightmare, the man she had been fighting before Gore arrived soaked in blood. She tried to make sense of the idea that an incompetent and super-tough bank robber would take the stab for her, but when she looked again she saw that his injury wasn't bleeding.
She could hear her teammates distantly shouting her codename, but in her shock she couldn't respond. There was a sudden flurry of motion and Shelia found herself being flung back towards her allies. The blonde teen was barely able to resume flying and catch herself before she hit the ground. By the time she oriented herself in midair, she could see Nightmare facing Gore with the blade still deeply embedded in his arm.
"You okay, Zephyria?" Nightmare asked without turning his head.
"Y...Yeah, I'm fine," she replied hesitantly.
"Good. Wouldn't want you to to suffer needlessly."
"Then what would you like? To die?" Gore interjected.
"If you can kill me, I'd be happily surprised. But I-"
Before he could continue, Nightmare's unmasked head separated from his body and began flying bloodlessly through the air. The grin on his growth-covered face was deeply unsettling, but became more-so when the head stopped midair and rotated towards Gore. The masked brute took an unsteady step back while his grip slipped on the second blade, and then Nightmare's standing body erupted into blood, sharpened bone, and long muscular fibers.
Within a moment, Gore was tied against a wall and screaming in terror. Blood-wet bones either impaled the tight muscle-cord against the cement or floated threateningly near his face like teeth. A tough chunk of meat was stuffed into the Gore's exposed mouth to silence him, and the floating pair of lungs re-attached themselves to Nightmare's head before inflating.
"As I was going to say, I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Mr. Gore. You're interfering with my fun, and I don't take kindly to that." Nightmare paused, and made a face like he was tasting something. "Rabbit's blood, fascinating. A nice shortcut to starting your super speed rampages, I take it?"
As Nightmare's floating head began to turn towards the heroes, her partners screamed and backed against the wall. An amused look crossed his face before he asked, "So which one of you is supposed to be the leader? Was it you, Bright-Burn? Or is it The Masked Justice?" He chortled as he spoke their names.
Shelia floated forward and responded, "It's me."
"Good! You've got a lot of courage in you, Zephyria, you just need more practice. Any-who, I'm going to present to you a choice. You can either call your bosses and have them and the cops accept the unconditional surrender of Gore and I, or you can step back and let me...*feast*."
"W...why-"
"Why let you make that choice at all? Well, sometimes the choices a 'hero' makes are easy, and you just need to have that push to make them. I want to know if you have what it takes to stand against the impossible and enforce your idea of good." The head giggled before asking, "What will it be? You have 5 seconds."
She took a deep breath, feeling the air she controlled passing into her lungs before Zephyria shouted, "Nightmare, surrender!"
A knowing look crept across his face as the head lowered as if to bow.
---
Nightmare relished the look of fear on their faces as he walked past Bright-Burn and The Masked Justice. They stared at the handcuffs around his wrists, and he imagined that they were thinking about how useless the cuffs really were. The two officers were gently guiding him towards an awaiting police car as citizens laughed and cheered at Nightmare's most recent arrest. The jeers rolled off his back like water as the car doors opened, but as he began to sit down he felt a tickle of air and heard a whispered *why*. When he spotted Zephyria he gave a hearty shrug and smile.
The car took off and, after a block or two, the cops' radio sprung to life. "Well Charles, how did they do?"
"Don't call me that, Erik. Zephyria is the only one who's ready for the next level, the other two need a lot more training." He sank down in the seat, knowing no one was looking. "They all need more practice working as a team, but at least she has the heart to stand her ground. Even if she doesn't know quite when to back down," he chuckled as he remembered the blusterous speech she gave Gore before he charged them.
"I'm not looking forward to debriefing them. Why did you-"
"I told you, when I'm 'opened up' while...hungry, it gets hard. I'm glad Zephyria stepped up. Otherwise, Gore could never have made it out alive."
"Unofficially, we probably wouldn't have been too sad. Listen, Charles, I know that you have reservations about-"
"No, Erik. I am not a hero. I am a monster, and it needs to stay that way. No one would want to accept this on their side. I'm fine with it, and I will continue to be fine with it. This path I've chosen is good enough for me. It has to be."
He noticed the officers looking at each other with concern, and let it go. He was hungry, and it was getting hard to be patient. He took a meditative breath and closed his eyes. | "Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..." | 2021-06-23T17:18:18 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | I should have known, i wasnt like them, i didnt even look like them. They call me their baby, but they dont seem to understand me. They are hairless and i have fur all over my body. They walk on two legs and i on four. I should have know, that all this time, i wasnt one of them. The only thing left for me is to hump their legs in agony. | I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again. | 2015-01-06T09:09:26 | 2015-01-06T08:44:25 | 203 | 16 |
[WP] Satan repents and wants to re-enter Heaven as Lucifer. God however, has a caveat. To prove his reform, Satan must resist an extremely tempting opportunity to sin. | I repeated “Why did you bring me here?”
We were standing in an endless field, the tall grass swayed softly. The mountains in the distance were painted on the horizon like hasty watercolors. The breeze felt cool on my bare skin. Felt. I could feel again.
“I have a decision to make.” He started walking and I followed along. We advanced for a few minutes, though it may have been hours… time seemed to hang stagnant in the air.
At last he stopped. He lifted his chin and spoke:
“The brook begins to gently flow as the beating stops. A single tear descending betwixt the mountain tops.”
I could feel my cheeks flush. “How…how do you know about that?”
“It was the first thing that you ever wrote … you had two published novels by then but it was the first time you wrote something real!”
“It was trite garbage. I never showed it to a soul. I didn’t even know what I was doing when I wrote that.”
“You don’t get it, you felt something! Something amazing and horrible, something no father should ever feel. You felt something and it was so strong that you had to rip a piece of yourself out and mash it into words on a page. Do you understand?”
I clenched my fist. “Tell me why you brought me here.”
He gestured ahead. About 5 meters away, a woman stood where moments ago there was nothing. My heart began to race – until then I hadn’t realized I had a heartbeat again. The woman was beautiful, so much so I felt sick like a first crush. She was indescribable – literally. She radiated, but when I tried to focus my eyes on an individual feature, there was nothing there, just an indeterminate blur of perfection.
He spoke, “I don’t know if I have it in me to be…me…anymore. I have asked permission to return to heaven, but before I do, I have to make a decision…I have to decide if I will once again, do what I did all those eons ago.”
A deep dread sank into my chest.
He continued “You all believe that you’re *his* creation. Damned lies! I created you all! I am the true father of humanity. Without me, you would all look like *that*, perfectly boring."
“She’s beautiful!” I protested.
“No! That is not beauty! Beauty isn’t just given to you. It hides between the folds of perfection, it runs and evades and sometimes it attacks! Beauty is loss. Beauty is pain. I created beauty!”
I said nothing.
“I brought you here because you are my favorite writer. Not because you are the best, I assure you that you are not the best. You are my favorite for what you fail to accomplish, for your flaws and shortcomings. Beauty is incomplete. *He* created completeness. I shattered his completeness with sin, and beauty seeped through the cracks. Shakespeare, Mozart, Da Vinci, the beauty they’ve created cannot exist without imperfection, without sin.”
I paused a moment before speaking. “What… what are we? I mean, what does *he* want us to be.”
“Fuel? Food? Some sick fetish? What do I know? We were never privy to his divine plan. Part of me isn’t even sure he knows. Maybe he is a servant to forces greater than himself. A timeless bureaucrat charged with maintaining order. But none of that matters.”
I rubbed my eyes, trying to wrap my head around it all. When I looked up, the woman stood next to a tree.
I turned my head back toward him.
“If you’re so proud of what you created, why change it? Why now?”
“I am defined by what I created. The original artist. Without beauty, I am dead. So the better question is, why would the artist take his own life? Why did Van Gogh? Why did Cobain? Why did you?”
I shuddered. Life. It was an eternity ago, it felt like a vague dream.
“You still haven’t told me. What do I have to do with any of this, why am I here.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted someone to tell someone… someone who would understand. Do you?”
I closed my eyes to think. What could I say? How the hell could I decide? Is all the pain of mankind worth the beauty it creates? After a few moments, I arrived at an answer.
When I opened my eyes, I looked around and only saw the woman and the tree. I scanned all around me, but saw nothing else. Then at last, I heard a faint hissing as I noticed something slither through the tall grass toward the tree.
| **The Last Temptation of Lucifer**
I talked to God from time to time.
Now was one of those times.
"I'm outdoors, man. Can I stay with you a couple of days maybe?"
God lit an unfiltered Camel with an old Zippo and took a deep drag.
He gave me the God's eye then let the smoke out slowly.
"Ahhhhh. So nowwwwwww you want in again? The prodigal angel returns, eh? Is that what this is?"
I sighed. It was one thing to get God's tweets and hear about him on social media. But fuck, I forgot what a prick this guy really was. But alas, it was all flooding back to me like a bad acid flashback.
I think the man had it wrong. Pride doesn't come *before* a fall, it just gets jacked up *after* one.
"Okay. Whaddya want me to say?"
God blew a smoke ring at my face. Prick was enjoying this.
"I don't *want* you to say anything. What do you *want* to say?"
Dig deep Satan.
"You were right. I was wrong. I-I-I'm sorry I ever doubted you."
God put down his bagel with a shmear.
God belched.
I gestured at the corner of my mouth. God raised his eyebrows.
"You've got some cream cheese."
God wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It just served to spread the shmear deep into his beard.
"Did I get it?"
"Yep," I said, thinking...; what's one more lie?
"So, you want back in?"
I thought: Pins and needles. Needles and pins. It's a happy man that grins.
"I would *love* back in," I said stifling a grimace and a sneer.
"Okay."
"Great. I'll just send for my things and-"
"Whoah-whoah-whoah. Cool your engines Lucifer."
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.
God rummaged around his desk.
"Now where did I put it? Ah yes."
A few moments later I was reading the fine print of the contract God had handed me.
"I'll sign."
"Good."
"So now am I in?"
"As soon as the terms are met, yes, you are back in."
...
It was all over the news. The second coming of Christ. Motherfucker had landed right in Times Square in a fucking flying saucer.
Cops tried to arrest him and he had taken out a city block like a fucking Marvel comic book.
Now he had taken over city hall and the righteous had disappeared worldwide. That still left approximately seven billion plus lost souls to roam the Earth.
I had won the, "Jesus Cares Because...." essay.
There was a photo op and I got an audience with the messiah.
"I was really taken with your essay, Louis. Can I call you Louis? Or do you prefer Monsieur Cipher?"
"My friends call me Louie."
"Oh, you want to be pals?"
"Well, it's just that, well, you're all right with me."
Jesus smiled. He sat down indian style on the floor of his office at city hall.
A homely woman popped her head in the office and Jesus gave her a cross look.
"I'm sorry my Lord. It's, it's just that it's the President. He wants an audience. It's the ninth time he's called this week."
"I'm sorry. Just a second," Jesus said to me.
He picked up the phone.
"Hey, I told you. Don't call me. I'll call you. What part of that did you have trouble understanding?"
Jesus nodded and seemed exasperated.
"Yes, Fred. I can guarantee that you're not on the list. You'll go to heaven. Yes, I have forgiven you for dropping all those bombs on the kids. Don't worry already. Now stop fucking calling me!"
Jesus put the receiver back in the cradle.
"You forgave the President?"
"Noooo, I just *said* I forgave him."
"So, you lied?"
"I did."
"Can I smoke in here?"
Jesus nodded.
"So," he said. "You want to work for me?"
It was my turn to nod.
Time passed. I grew close to Jesus. He came to rely on me more and more.
It was a few months later when we were at the christening of the New World Order church that I slipped away from the festivities to unlock the back door and kill the power.
Homeland Security rushed in and black bagged Jesus. Only a few hundred reporters and worshippers were killed in the melee. When it was all over they escorted me to the tarmac.
Our private plane touched down in Cuba less than an hour later. We reached Guantanamo an hour after that.
Jesus was wearing orange and cuffed at the ankles. He sat in a cage with the other lost souls.
"Et tu Louie?"
I nodded.
"I'm very disappointed in you."
I nodded.
"You realize this is a breach of contract?"
"I do."
"Why'd you do it?"
"Because knowing you'll rot in this place with no recourse to the law was a temptation I just couldn't resist."
"So what now?"
"What now? I'll tell you what now. First I'm gonna fuck me some poor people. Then I'm gonna fucking make them work in little cubicles till they're too old to fuck. Then I'm gonna make them hate each other. Some will believe that blue is the best color. Others red. Maybe some pink.
Then I'm gonna watch them kill each other over it.
And I'll watch it all eating Jiffy Pop motherfucker and smoking some chronic.
That's what now."
"As above so below," Jesus said.
"Yeah, whatever."
I then left Jesus in the cage and was sworn in to my new position in the cabinet.
The President said, "Thanks for the heads up Devil."
"Thanks for your soul. I hope it was worth it."
"Well, it wasn't like I was going to heaven anyway."
"No. I guess it wasn't."
They gave me a swank office. I fucked a lot of interns in the ass during working hours.
Maybe in a couple of years I'd run for office myself.
Yeah. President Satan. I liked the way that sounded.
Or maybe, *The POTUSatan.....?*
Yep. It had a nice ring to it. Don't you think?
I guess, in the final analysis; [Jesus just wasn't all right with me.](https://youtu.be/uSzjbYomSWA)
[WTFiction](http://www.reddit.com/r/WTFiction/)
| 2015-05-06T09:52:19 | 2015-05-06T06:42:34 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] The evacuation of Earth is complete. You decide to do one final fly over of the world to see the monuments deserted. However, you slowly realize something about them that no one ever has. | The evacuation was complete. No one knew the reason why things had spiraled out of control so quickly. No one could find the cause for it all, but it seemed that only humans were affected. The details of the horror are best left for the future. None of that mattered now, in this moment. Humanity was leaving Earth to it's fate.
I decided to make one last run, to revel in the glory of our ancestors, to see all we had achieved. I commanded the NAV computer to bring up the top monuments and provide the heads up NAV point for each in turn.
The NAV computer did as expected and also began a log of the final flight of man across the Earth. I flew to each monument, circling some and making long skinny loops around others. As I neared the final set of achievements, I casually glanced at the flight log... Suddenly I knew what I had happened. Why we were being driven off the planet. I could give a name to the architects of our demise.
On the NAV computer, it was spelled out. Quite literally in the log of my flight path. Only one letter remained unwritten.
"So long and thanks for all the fis" | The Great Colossus of Rhodes, towering a hundred feet in the air astride over the Harbor of the great cities of Lalyssos, Kamiros and Lindos. With one eye fixed over the east, and the other to the west, it watched over Rhodes as its guardian protector, professing the might and glory of this ancient site of maritime commerce.
"Can't you feel the culture and wealth of Ancient Rhodes from the Colossus?" Tom asked excitedly.
"There's nothing there", Ann sighed, as she tried to stabilize the scouting craft for landing.
"Well, the actual statue collapsed during an Earthquake in 226 BC", Tom said as he flipped through his notebook, "but imagine if there was a 100 foot tall naked man straddling the harbor. Oh, and no need to land, I just had to get the exact gps co-ordinates of where the Colossus used to stand."
This man was inscrutable, Ann thought. Most of humanity has already fled to mars in droves, the ones that haven't are most likely dead from the the Cicca virus. Even being in the atmosphere was an infection risk, and if they were exposed, the space station would not allow them re-entry, instead leaving them to rot on Earth.
So Tom must either be crazy, or was one of those who'd rather die on earth than live on mars. Either way, he was rich enough to put up 20 million credits to anyone who could take him into the atmosphere.
"The Temples of Artemis burned down, the Pharos and Colossus destroyed by earthquakes", Ann muttered as she steered the craft in another direction, "How many of these monuments are still standing?"
"Just the pyramids, and the Hanging gardens, if they ever actually existed.", Tom muttered while scribbling some things into his notebook.
There was something wrong here. At first Ann had thought that this guy who called himself "Tom" was some crazy rich history buff, trying to get one last look at some monuments, but most of the monuments were destroyed, and even at the pyramids, they didn't even land to get a closer look at them. All tom did was note the GPS co-ordinates, scribble something in his notebook, and they were on their way to the next monument.
"Go here next", Tom suddenly spoke up, handing a torn scrap of paper to Ann with some Co-ordinates.
Ann took the co-ordinates and entered them into her console.
"There's nothing there", Ann exclaimed. "It's a hundred miles out from the nearest settlement! What happened to seeing the wonders of the world?"
"There's only one Wonder I'm concerned about", Tom replied. "The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. And these are the co-ordinates."
Nothing this man says makes any sense, Ann thought. Not five minutes ago, he said something about the Hanging Gardens never actually having existed.
"Tell me what the hell is going on", Ann said. "Or I swear to god I'm turning this ship around."
"It's a long story", Tom sighed.
"We've plenty of time", Ann snarled.
"Okay, Okay", Tom said. "What do you know about Nicolas Flamel?"
"Is he some kind of scientist?" Ann muttered.
"Close. An alchemist." Tom replied. "It is said that he had a stone that could turn lead into gold and give a person immortality. What we're looking for is much more valuable." | 2016-05-12T08:28:01 | 2016-05-12T07:53:03 | 64 | 24 |
[WP] The monster under your bed is of the firm belief that he is protecting you from your teddy bear. | Sometimes I exist but mostly I don't. I exist in short bursts of time when I am observed, or perceived to exist. This doesn't bother me much as I just seem to wink from one moment of consciousness to the other. I don't notice my unconsciousness, I mean who does?
"There are no monsters under your bed, Sylvia," the soft, motherly voice says. I see the covers lift and
*wink*
I return to existence as the covers fall and hear, "See? Nothing there."
"He's never there when you or dad looks!" Sylvia's voice says, "He turns invisible!" I wish her explanation were true.
"Go to bed, silly!" I hear laughter and I smile as I know there is tickling happening. I wonder sometimes how it causes both to laugh.
There is an exchange of good nights, a plea to leave the lights on and then Sylvia and I are alone at last. Except for the monster on the bed. It is like I am. I feel it come to life just as she falls to sleep. I feel it's hunger and I know it's form. Then i wink out and we start it again the next night.
Tonight I will not wink out for I have a purpose other than simply lurking. For you see I have come to love Sylvia. I feel her grow weary and remain silent. I feel my existence curling at the edges, growing smoky but I focus on myself. If Sylvia cannot believe in me as she slumbers than I must.
Her gentle breathing tells me she is asleep. I am wavering in and out but I note with elation I am still there as I slink from under the bed and see it. It is feeding so voraciously it does not notice me. It is feeding on her life force and I can feel the sickness building in her, filling in the space her life filled before turning into the monster's food.
My tentacle wraps itself around its face and it turns. The once cute fluffy face I find filled with razor-sharp teeth. Quietly we struggle beneath the bed, trying not to wake our creator. Minutes later it is torn and dead. I have killed the thing that was killing Sylvia but my wounds are too much. As I fade, I smile. If I die now, forgotten by the girl, I will have not died in vain.
*wink* | “*That thing is … unnatural.*” The voice, deep and dark, growled out.
Lil Suzy sat in her bed. A dim night light illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow. Next to her sat Mr. Teddy, her bedside companion; a furry stuffed bear. Beneath Suzy, beneath Mr. Teddy, beneath her comfy blankets and sturdy bed, a great monster of long, spider like limbs lived. Its many teeth, sharp and large, growled and purred to Suzy as she sat and laid and slept in bed.
“*It’s evil … it’s keeping us apart.*” The voice, the monster, growled.
With a whimper, with an unhappy frown, Suzy wiggled closer to Mr. Teddy. His soft, so fuzz arms, wrapped around her, protecting her. His beady eyes, black and depthless, stood silent, vigilant, on the lookout for any sign of the great monster underneath the bed.
“Mr. Teddy is not unnatural!” Suzy replied, defiant. Her voice shook, trembled with fear. “He is my friend. And you’re a monster.”
“*He is no friend. He is the real monster; not me.*” The monster purred. Beneath Suzy, beneath her pillows and blankets and mattress and box spring and bed frame, she felt the monster shift, twist and turn, in irritation and agitation.
Suzy whimpered, a frown upon her lips. She scooched up closer to Mr. Teddy, and wrapped his fuzzy arm protectively around her.
“*You must understand Suzy. He is the beast, he is the monster, he is the vile being of dark and lies. You are precious to me, you are my Lil Suzy. Please, why can’t you see!*” The beast pleaded, whined.
“No!” Suzy replied, defiant and firm in her belief of Mr. Teddy.
“*Very well then.*” The monster replied, grave and solemn.
Suzy felt the beast shake and shift beneath her bed. The monster crawled out, at the foot of the bed. In fear Suzy’s eyes widened as she watched the monster rise from the foot of the bed. It was a great mass of shifting black and shadow, long, dark limbs shot out of its shifting black torso. Hundreds of beady eyes covered its body, and two rows of razor sharp teeth sat at its head.
“*If you won’t listen o me.*” The monster growled. “*Then I will have to show you!*”
The beast of darkness raised a long, taloned arm high above its head. Suzy froze in fear, and she felt Mr. Teddy stir and wiggle next to her. Suzy whimpered, and glanced at Mr. Teddy. The bear’s eyes were furrowed, and a frown appeared on his face. With great power, a slow, shaking movement, Mr. Teddy stood to his feet. His beady black eyes turned red, and fangs sprouted from his sewn on mouth.
Mr. Teddy sprang forward, jumping right into the mouth of the beast. Suzy brought her hands up to her face. Her eyes widened, she watched in fear.
“Mr. Teddy … no.” Suzy whispered to herself.
With a great thud, Mr. Teddy crashed into the beast, into the tangle of limbs and eyes and teeth and claws and fangs. The beast and Mr. Teddy rolled across the floor, fighting and kicking and biting. Mr. Teddy raised his head, and let out a great roar. He opened his mouth, filled with fangs, and brought his mouth down in an arc, biting into the beats’s skin. The beast let out a howl, writhing and shaking, before falling deathly still.
Mr. Teddy rose, and turned towards Suzy. He waddled over to her on his fuzzy, stuffed animal legs as his brows unfurrowed, his eyes turned back to black, and the fangs of his mouth retracted. Behind him, the beast turned to dust, and disappeared into the air.
“Oh Mr. Teddy.” Suzy gushed as Mr. Teddy climbed into the bed, and waddled over to snuggled up next to Suzy.
Turning towards his loving Suzy, his young ward, Mr. Teddy whispered into her ear. “Don’t worry Lil Suzy … I’m the only monster, the only beast, you’ll ever need.”
-----------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got tons more over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that.
P.S. - This was an awesome prompt. Thank you for it! | 2017-03-22T06:57:19 | 2017-03-22T06:35:14 | 62 | 46 |
[WP] You just slammed the bombshelter doors behind you with the news of confirmed nuclear strikes, and your family is banging on the doors. You are glad you managed to keep them out. | I slumped down with my back against the door as the maglocks slid into place and secured it. Against my back I could feel a slight drumming, vibrations as my wife slammed her fists into the bunker door. I reached up and hit the switch beside the door and the power in the bunker came on. Lights. Air. The security monitor.
I looked at the monitor’s screen, at Julia hammering away at the other side of the bunker door with our two children standing behind her. Not ours. Her children. Her’s, but not mine. I knew she’d cheated on me. She’d never told me, but I knew. And I knew who with, too, or at least I had my suspicions.
Our eldest, born within our first year of marriage, as he’d grown older had started to look more and more like my oldest friend. My best mate since childhood. The best man at our wedding.
The youngest, with her much darker complexion, she reminded me of one of Julia’s coworkers, an Indian immigrant. A very nice, polite man, very handsome, and very charming, at least the few times I’d met him. At her office Christmas Party two years ago Julia had been practically hanging off his arm all night. He was probably the father. Maybe. I knew it wasn’t me though. Julia had her secrets, or thought she did, and I had mine.
She knew about the cycling accident I’d had when I was 15 years old, but she didn’t know just how bad it had been. She didn’t know that I’d lost both of my balls and had them replaced with prosthetics. She didn’t know that I could never father children. I could be a father to them, sure, but I couldn’t have them.
I thought after a few years maybe we would adopt or something, but when Julia started getting sick just a few months into our marriage, then missed her period, and then started to gain weight, I knew she’d cheated on me. When she got pregnant again so soon after Jake had been born, I knew she hadn’t stopped cheating on me. I realized she probably never would, and that was when I started building the bunker.
It had started out as a man cave, although originally it was just the shed at the bottom of our garden, but it was a place of my own. A place to get away from my cheating wife, and the children that constantly reminded me of her infidelity. But after a while, after some modifications, it became much more. I brought in a bed and a fridge, put up some shelves and built a small pantry, then a small campstove. And gradually, my home-away-from-home became more of a home than my real home.
When the inclement weather came, and the wind and rain started to creep through the thin roof and walls, I knew I needed to make some modifications. That was when I decided to go full Prepper and turn my shed into a bunker. I did my research, made some calls, and when Julia took the kids to her mother's for the summer, I called the construction crew and they got to work. In less than two weeks, before Julia and the kids were back from the beach, my “shed” had become a fully equipped bomb shelter.
And now my ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment, mid-life crisis decision to build a bunker had just saved my life, and doomed my family’s. No, not mine. They weren’t my family. Not anymore. I looked up at the monitor again. Julia was screaming now. I could see her mouth opening and the kids cowering behind her, but I couldn’t hear anything. The bunker was soundproof, too, for the most part.
I didn’t hear the bombs but I did hear the wind. Somehow the sound of the wind made it through even the reinforced walls. It was a horrible, unearthly howling sound. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands to my ears but I could still hear the wind howling and screaming. It sounded not unlike a mother and her children screaming in pain and horror. The screaming got louder and louder, and as it echoed around the bunker I finally realized it wasn’t the wind.
It was me. | Joe ran his fingers over the plastic compact disc cases that had been packed with perfect efficiency into the blue milk crate. The civil defense sirens had finally outlived their novelty and become an annoyance on this, their brief "this is not a drill" heyday. Beside the milk crate on a surplus military cot Joe's phone silently marked missed calls and text messages. They came in with a regularity like a timepiece. "12:03 Missed call (13): 12:03 Janey. Missed call (14) Janey. 12:04 Missed call (15) Janey." 53 unread messages. 54 now. "Missed call (16) Linda"
She'll start tapping on the hatch again soon enough, thought Joe. His fingers stopped on *The Music Man: Original Broadway Soundtrack* and he pried it out of the milk crate. The dusty, baby blue compact disc player that had been in the garage for years now lived down here with Joe. He popped it open and put the disc inside. As he read the track list on the back of the case he heard a tapping on the metal hatch above his head. Sounds like she's found a broom or something a little more solid than her little fists to pound on the hatch. Thought Joe. He stood up and climbed the short ladder to the hatch. The heat of the sun conducted through the metal hatch into his palm gave him some reassurance that it, at least, was still there.
His recoil back down the ladder was involuntary, driven away from the hatch by a metallic concussion. Janey was using a hammer to strike the hatch. Her blows came seconds apart, at first. Strong, solid, and well-aimed hits. After a minute, perhaps less, Joe felt her arm grow tired as the hammer blows fell with less force, less noise. Janey's voice was apparent between her frantic attacks on the hatch but it was hollowed and thinned by the thick ceiling of the bomb shelter.
Joe turned his attention back to the CD player. Janey's response to her exile from the bomb shelter had made this choice quite easy. Joe pushed the arrow button until the player settled on "Till There was You." He sat on the cot and pushed play.
"There were bells...but I never heard them ringing.....Never heard them at all..."
Janey's hammer strikes on the metal hatch above continued unabated. Could this be the first time she's ever swung a hammer in her entire life? Thought Joe. Could be, could be. If it was Linda, Janey's mother, clanging on the damn hatch it surely was her first time.
Joe ran both his hands back through his hair and looked down at his phone. "12:14 Missed call (25) Janey." If it takes 30 minutes for an ICBM to get over here from over there then we've got 5 maybe 10 minutes. Joe thought.
"I guess it's about time." He said out loud. He managed a half smile as he changed the song to "Goodnight Ladies." He climbed the ladder, turned the thick metal handle, and opened the hatch. He spotted Janey and Linda through the back window of the garage. They appeared to be packing the car. Janey registered his presence in the back yard and was through the door and over to him before he could get two steps.
"God damn it Joe. Not funny. You scared the shit out of us." Janey said as she struck him with balled fists on the side of his face and neck. "God damn you. Help me get Mom down the ladder."
"You help her." said Joe. I'll be out front sitting on the porch swing.
"Joe...help me get my mother in the shelter. We're almost out of time." Janey said.
"You know what?" Joe said "Sure, why the hell not."
Joe flung open the flimsy back door to the garage. Linda was sitting in the passenger seat of Janey's beige Camry. Joe hated that ugly little car as much as he always did as he put his hand under Linda's arm and half lifted her out of the seat.
"Linda you have to move faster than this. There's not much time" Joe said.
"I thought we were going." said Linda
"You're going underground." said Joe. "I'm not going any damn place."
Joe ushered her to the open hatch. Linda looked at him with the incredulity of an office worker being asked to work a deep frier. "I can't climb a ladder." She pleaded.
"Fine." Joe wasn't a strong man but he was adequate to the task of lifting up the old woman and throwing her down the hole into the shelter.
"What the fuck Joe?" screamed Janey. She threw the hammer at him, missing by a comfortable margin, and thumped down the ladder toward her unconscious mother. "Don't you come near me. Don't." She said without looking up. The CD player was still playing "Goodnight Ladies" on repeat. The tubular acoustics of the hatch focused the music and Janey's frantic pleading upwards toward Joe who stood over the open hatch and stared down.
"Janey I've changed my mind. I had planned on this whole thing being painless for you and somewhat more...prolonged for myself. You can certainly stay down there. You might live a few days. Maybe a week or two. It's an old shelter. It will keep you from getting burned up but that's all." Joe raised his foot and nudged the hatch closed with his big toe. He passed through the back door of the house, through the squalid kitchen, and wondered if the numerous fruit flies buzzing around the garbage and dirty dishes would survive what's coming. The cluttered living room which he usually wove through cautiously he instead stomped through carelessly, knocking over stacks of magazines, catalogs, and shoeboxes piled into every corner, against every piece of furniture. Good tinder, he thought. Knew we'd get this place clean someday.
Joe sat down in the porch swing. The sirens reached their crescendo and diminished, and started again. Joe flicked a cicada shell off of the porch railing and crushed it under his bare foot. "Goodnight ladies, this aint gonna hurt." He said to nobody in particular. | 2017-08-16T08:26:48 | 2017-08-16T08:03:38 | 64 | 16 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "Some tea, dear?" the little old lady asked to the dark and mysterious figure sitting at her kitchen table. She squinted at him having forgotten her glasses upstairs.
"Yes, earthling," the mysterious figure boomed and whispered all at once, careful not to burst her delicate eardrums with his natural voice as he had with the last earthling he'd met.
"Call me Grammy," Grammy said, and set about preparing the kettle to boil after setting a plate of cookies on the table.
"Yes, Grammy," the figure corrected himself. "Thank you," he added as a stilted afterthought.
---
Ryorek typed the word "dear" into his database.
"Dear: an affectionate term referring to one who is figuratively close to the speaker, such as a family member or an old friend."
Ryorek ran his hand through his tendrils and sighed.
"Agent from Earth sector 9 reporting," he whispered into his communicator. "Advise immediate shelving of phase two. I repeat, advise to abort phase two."
The response rang clear over the comm channel: "Report received, agent. Mission briefing in two cycles."
"Acknowledged."
"Did you say something, dear?" Grammy asked, turning toward him with a pleasant smile on her old and weathered face.
"Not at all, Grammy," Ryorek said. "Thank you for the cookies." | (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T08:54:01 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 1,619 | 25 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States. |
"Judy," Stephen hissed at the darkness that enveloped him. "Judy, come out now."
There was a small crash nearby and a car alarm wailed from some distance away. The hairs on Stephen's neck stood on ends. It didn't help that it had been snowing all day and the cold that had been creeping steadily since the winter began had finally arrived in full bloom.
"Judy!" He hissed with breath thick as mist once more at the second floor window of his girlfriend's house. Her bike was still parked in the driveway. "Now!"
Heavy footsteps resounded on thick ice. Stephen turned towards them only to feel an incredible force slam into him. He barely let out a yelp as he hit the curb. Blow after blow began raining on his face.
"Stop it!" A shrill voice cried from beside him. A burst of light flooded Stephen's vision. It was Judy and directly on top of him was a large man carrying a camping bag.
"I-I'm sorry!" the man cried as he hobbled up. The bag was heavy. Those gloved hands of his bloody, still no worse than the work he had managed on Stephen's face. "I didn't know."
"Get away from him!" Judy cried while keeping her weathered looking torchlight on the man. Her father's gun firmly lodged beside it.
"I'm sorry!" the man said over and over as he moved further from Stephen who still lay struggling and coughing on the ground. "I thought he was one of them. I thought-"
The sound of the man mumbling to himself faded just as he did into the fog.
"Oh Steph," Judy called as she rushed to him.
"I'm okay," Stephen blurted as she helped him up. "Your parents?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know," she said, the tone of her voice quivering. "None of the phones are working. Why aren't the phones working, Steph? Why doesn't anything work?"
"I don't know either. But we have to go. We have to get to the shelter."
Her took her hand. She wasn't wearing gloves.
"Is it true?" she asked, eyes wide. "Will the monsters really come? Were the lights really keeping them out?"
"Here, let me have the torch," he said as he leaned in closer to her face.
"Steph, I'm scared."
"I know, baby," he whispered as he turned off the light. "I know."
He had one arm around her and was leaning in close. Judy almost closed her eyes for the kiss when she realized his arm was going a lot further than just around her waist.
"Steph? What-"
It was not Stephen. Just a mass of writhing wormlike shapes she could barely make out in the dark. She could smell the rot coming from the hole where its face should be. The slurping sound. The cold air piercing through her polystyrene jacket.
"No! God!" she cried but whatever it was had entangled both her arms. She couldn't even aim her gun if she wanted to.
"Nooo-!" she was cut off as something coiled itself around her neck.
The sound of the slurping simply grew louder and louder into all she could hear. | The stars that night were alive in a scattered glow, pulsing with light, but cold, and far behind the grey clouds. She saw them looking down at her. Her arm trembled from gooseflesh. She had never seen the stars before. The dark had never been so black.
Something was wrong. She closed the door. The shadows fell long against the candlelight. It was quiet. She could hear insects call, and the trees were moving in December's wind. Then all was still and that feeling grew stronger and she stared amidst the shadows.
Her mind played tricks. She faces as she moved. She checked the doors and pulled the curtains. She could see the stars from the window and she wondered if they could see her. Or was she too small?
She had seen stars once before. They were not real stars but painted ones on the ceiling of her room. She knew they were not real but she remembered staring at them and hoping they would move, twinkle like the old song said. Everything would be well if the stars twinkled.
Now in the dark they twinkled in the cold night. She heard a noise. Something crashed to the back where the trees were. She steeled herself and listened hard but there was only silence.
Then her phone rang.
She gasped and her heart betrayed her. It was beating hard and she trembled against the wall where the shadows grew. She looked at the phone and it was a number she did not know.
*I do know it.*
The dark hid monsters. Her mother had told her as much. Mother always lived in the dark. She had always *known* what happened in the dark, and she was okay with it.
She answered the phone. A deep voice breathed heavily.
"Hello?"
"I see you," it said. "I see your little face in the window. I see the stars reflect on the glass. I see you, babe."
She backed away. She wanted to drop the phone but her hands were frozen. They hurt in the cold. The candles burned low and weak and the dark surrounded her.
"You thought you could hide in the light, didn't you? You had me locked up, babe. They had me in the light too. This outage now, though, has gotten me free. They couldn't keep the doors closed. They couldn't shine a light."
"You... You..."
"I missed you, babe. I remember when I last saw you."
She screamed.
"Do you remember?"
She remembered the stars. They were painted upon the ceiling. Had she liked them before? She could not remember. She only saw them in a veil of hurt and screams.
"How young you were... I bet you've grown now."
A shadow moved outside. She heard glass break. She reached for something, any weapon she could find. The kitchen was down the hall, down the black and evil way. Footsteps echoed from there. She screamed and reached for a candle. The shadows swung in a wild patterns.
"Babe!" the figure called.
He was large and dark, like some animal ready to charge.
"Come hear princess. Show your daddy some love!"
He rushed her and she stumbled backwards. She thrust the candle into him. She could smell the perfume he wore. His clothes was damp from sweat and it stuck to her. She felt his warmth and she hit the wall. His breath was stale and he bit her and she was small again.
The window shattered and she stared at the light. She could see the stars as she craned her head. The stars were real and they twinkled and then she closed her eyes.
"Help!" she screamed.
A new strength grew within her and she looked at the monster pinning her down. His head was old and withered. His face hung loose like some mask, unchanging in the candlelight. His eyes were fixed and still, and he was large, at least twice her height.
"Help!"
And there were people coming. She looked at him and tried to force him off.
*The stars are twinkling,* she thought.
And she stared at him again and he was normal sized and growing older. He aged decades in front of her and his grip became weak. She looked down at the fallen phone and felt a wave of relief.
How could he have her number?
Her heart steadied and her arms were free. He melted into the dark. Someone was banging on the door. Her neighbors were here. She looked around and she was alone and shaking, but she felt glad and tranquil.
She opened the vault of bad memories and remembered his death, the news from the prison, and how mother had sobbed and blamed her for everything.
It hurt, but that was long ago. She went to the door and felt embarrassed. Outside the stars shone bright in the dark night. She had never seen real stars before.
*I may never see them without seeing a monster,* she thought.
And she felt sad. There was nothing that could change that. The stars were beautiful that night.
*I have conquered one monster tonight.*
And she thought she could look at them. She stared at their beauty, behind the thin wisps of grey, and she watched them twinkle in the stillness of the night.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. Its the place that collects all my writing. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!* | 2018-02-02T02:34:37 | 2018-02-01T22:34:56 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | (On mobile, sorry if formatting is wonky)
Total War. Rakleth pondered this new term. Was not war always in totality? To crush the enemy's military underfoot and seize their civilian population and worlds for your own use? The humans, negotiators and pacifists, had such strange terms. Rakleth scratched his carapace in thought.
The humans had been deceptive, their past never divulged to the other races of the conglomerate. For centuries now they have supported the fragile peace of so many species. Thus we assumed they would be unprepared, their people and resources ripe for the taking. How right we were, we seized an entire system of theirs in mere hours, acquiring countless slaves and endless amounts of precious iron.
Rakleth had studied their habits, their culture, their entire written history. Only twice was this "total war" mentioned, with an uncanny reverence and little detail. Suffice it to say, Rakleth was surprised when he learned of its meaning.
Human technology was not particularly advanced, but they did not lag behind in any great way. Their ships and worlds were undefended, a result of their great success at peddling their peace.
Weeks after their defeat, they retaliated. It was expected for them to lash out weakly, seeking revenge with an unknown fury in their blood bladders. So we thought, and so we were the ones unprepared for the utter hell that found us.
They had amassed their old technology, they had defeated our armies. They did not take our iron, nor our people as slaves. They had burned them all, a nuclear cleansing of drastic proportions. Where once great hives had stood, there was only smoldering glass. Soldiers, civilians, hatchlings, politicians, atomized in an instant; without hesitation. They cared not for slaves, or our iron, or even our planets. They sought utter destruction as recompense for our sins.
Rakleth let his mandibles hang, he was tired... So tired. Total war, a war with no boundaries, no survivors. There was something to learn from this, not for his species, but others. The humans worked so hard for peace not due to their weakness, but because they had seen the alternative. They saw the all-engulfing darkness within them, and were horrified. It was not to benefit themselves, but the rest of us.
Rakleth clicked his mandibles shut, sending his message to every star in the sky. May everyone learn of this new term, and may they fear it to their core. Rakleth looked across the smoldering plain that had been his home one last time. Then he, the last, joined his kind in cold slumber.
Edit: Thank you for the silver, stranger. | The selected representative of the United Earth, Amy Sliskin, stood before the Council Of Space Faring Species, reading from a prepared speech. “I am here today representing the United Earth to notify this council that that Ratilkin Empire is preparing for war against us.”
An envoy from the Empire stood across from Amy, a neutral expression on his face.
“The Empire has attacked our ships, and, as of this morning, destroyed a research space station near the space they claim.”
The envoy from the Empire interrupted. “We have always demanded a buffer around our territory, it is the humans fault that we must destroy their vessels for trespassing in our space.
“What they have found, and what many of you have suspected, is that we have no warships of any kind. Not once have we responded with violence to their attacks, we’ve asked this council to condemn these attacks and they have refused to do so.”
“It is typical of humans to run to their betters when in trouble, and the Empire is glad that the council has ignored them. The council knows you humans are a worthless lot, not worthy of it’s time.”
Amy stopped her speech. “I would like you to stop interrupting me.”
The envoy’s snout flared. “Little girl, you should know better than to talk to your betters that way.”
“All I see is a scared little puppy.” A few members of the council laughed, others looked at each other confused, asking if they have heard of a puppy. “Did you know we have little versions of you on our planet? We make them do tricks. Would you like me to show you how we make them sit?”
“You will not…”
Amy interrupted the envoy. “Im sorry, I wasn’t being clear, stop talking and sit down.”
A lone clap came from the Nyler envoy, he had spent some time on Earth and learned of the custom to clap to show approval. Nobody had ever dared to talk back to anybody from the Ratilkin Empire, doing so had led to war in the past, and the Ratilkin Empire always won their wars.
The Ratilkin envoy gathered his things, about to storm out in a very loud fashion.
Amy continued her speech. “The council has refused to do so because they are scared of the Empire, and we completely understand this. The Ratilkin Empire has a military larger than all other species of this council combined, and they will attack for any or no reason. We have simulated war with the Empire, and in most cases it ends with trillions dead on both sides. Many Council members have said they would like to help us, but we can not drag them into a war. The outcome of such a war would be untenable, so we ask for unconditional surrender.”
The Ratilkin’s ears perked up. “We accept your surrender.”
“No, we’re asking for the Ratilkin Empire to surrender.”
“Ridiculous,” the envoy pounded the desk in front of his seat, “we will crush you and enslave you. And any species that helps you will be enslaved as well.”
“I will have to reject your counter-offer.” Amy pressed a button on her tablet, bringing up video of space. “Here’s our counter to your counter-offer, in a few minutes you will see the Ratilkin homeworld.”
“What is this?” Asked the Ratilkin envoy.
“We’re looking at video from a planet currently heading to your homeworld. You have about ten minutes to surrender before we can’t stop it.” The video turned around, showing a gas giant.
“This is impossible, you expect me to believe you can move planets?”
“Of course not, we didn’t move it, I don’t really understand what they did, something about transversable wormholes or something like that. They just opened one up and in it went, and now it’s heading to your homeworld. This is a big planet to, at least ten times bigger than your planet. You won’t even be able to find your planet once this thing hits it.” Amy stared at the envoy, finally he didn’t have anything to say. “Oh, and you’re about to get a call from home, you better answer it.”
At that moment the envoy got a call from the emperor of the Ratilkin Empire. He listened for a few seconds and said something no Ratilkin had ever said, “We surrender.”
“Good boy, remind me to give you a treat later.”
The video feed went blank. “Is it done?” Asked the envoy.
Amy looked at her tablet, panicked. “Oh no, we’re too late.”
The envoy stood frozen in place, not knowing what to say or do next.
Amy looked up from her tablet, jaw hanging. “I’m just joking, we put the planet back where it belonged, everybody’s okay.” She laughed. “Anyway, since the Ratilkin Empire has unconditionally surrendered to us we can do whatever we want. First order of business is fixing up their awful instructure, human only work crews of course, we don’t enslave anybody.” | 2018-12-14T22:13:23 | 2018-12-14T17:52:57 | 820 | 488 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | The bag crinkled as gravity smashed it into the cold stone floor of the examination hall. Although I could not see him, nor would I hear him shouting in warning until it was too late, the headmaster was already running towards me.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Not until the first tendril of blue and white lapped over the bright yellow bag did I consider the teachings over the previous semester.
"Your familiar is not only bound by your essence and your aura, but the catalyst which summons it. The base motivator that is channeled by your catalyst must be carefully considered."
Chips. I hadn't even wanted the family size bag, but it was only an extra 25 cents, "and why shouldn't I have something to share?" I reasoned.
The floor beneath the bag shuddered as a mound began to form beneath them, the contents inside were scattered across the floor.
"Back!" I heard the headmaster scream, "everyone back!"
"Uh?" I turned to him, realizing the fear that surrounded me as my classmates stared in terror, their feet shifting away as their eyes stayed fixed on me. No, not on me, their eyes fell beyond me.
I spun again to my circle and nearly choked as the floor was being torn away. Slivers of golden fried potatoes poured into the gaping hole and, with a sudden crunch, a tremendous growl filled the chamber.
"Its a Glutton!" The headmaster called to the other teachers as they drew their wands in response. "Get the boy to safety"
*no time to finish * | When a mage first starts their training for summoning familiars, the instructors make it very clear about the dangers of under-preparation. They told us about the chemistry that had to be understood, the laws of physics and the laws of dimensional energy, the dangerous demons and spirits that mages attract because of not correctly performing the summoning. Horror stories are told about hellish demons haunting a mage for the rest of their life or about other planetary animals inhabited by some dimensional spirit who wants nothing more than to wreak havoc and a mage to bend to their will. Unfortunately, I've never been one to read the safety manual, so why start worrying now?
While my classmates prepared their ceremonies, travelling to rare and exotic places on Earth, and beyond, to acquire the materials needed to summon their familiar, I stayed at home. Comfortable. Relaxed. Not at all worried about summoning a evil energy I couldn't control. I did however plan at least some semblance of a ceremony. More like a ritual. I did what I always did, every morning, without question. I showered, changed into my jeans and retro t-shirt, kissed my mom morning, and headed to the corner store for a bag of chips. Doritos Cool Ranch, 56¢, and always left change for the donation box.
When I got back home, I locked my room and took out the chalk we practice at school. Nothing special, just drew a simple circle the size of a small coffee table.
Now here, there's two things required, no matter how little effort or complexity massive a mage makes for a summoning: a blood offering and a token for your familiar. Blood for activating the "portal" (simplest way to put it), and a token for your familiar to accept (or not). I bit my thumb with my canine tooth, dripping a bit of blood in the center. I said a quick, wave of the hand prayer/command, and the circle lit up in a firery sparkly rage. Hollywood may make up a lot of shit about magic and mages, but "Doctor Strange" got the visuals for the portal pretty spot-on. The mage who graduated at my academy was the visual effects supervisor of the film so I can guess where they got that brilliant idea.
Looking at my portal, and the empty black hole of darkness that laid on my bedroom floor into nothing, I really wished my instructors could have seen me, with not a care in the world. It'd freak them out, maybe a heart attack or two. If only. I looked at the Doritos on my bed, thinking what had to be the best worst idea in the moment, and tossed my chips through the portal. The circle vanished in a quick wisp and I was left in silence. Alone and familiar-less. Kinda expected this to happen, but even a lazy bum can remain hopeful.
Hours passed, and I went to bed. I dreamed of nothing, an underrated dream. Then a bump on my chest woke me up, and I promise you I wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a pretty deformed creature, with a slobby face of a pug, a really tough hairy chest and arms, and with fat chubby hairless legs of a...baby. It had a tail too. It's brown eyes and white iris stared at me. I couldn't move. I was more intrigued than scared. I did only what I thought I could do. I assumed the best and talked to what I can only assume was my familiar.
"Hey." I said.
"Puppymonkeybaby" it said.
"Do you understand me?" I replied.
It nodded. "Puppymonkeybaby" and it licked my face the way a dog would.
Class on Monday is going to be interesting... | 2019-04-05T16:05:49 | 2019-04-05T15:18:09 | 79 | 25 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human. | The day the url released, millions of people flocked to the churches, hoping to cleanse themselves of their sins.
And the rest of us.
Well we know there’s no escaping what’s coming to us.
Oh you killed someone? Well the fbi knows about it now. They monitor the damn site like crazy. And ever since the damn developers of the website added a location, shits gotten hard.
Which leads me to today, perched in the rafters of a church, watching the ceremony take place. Bored, i take out my phone and check the website, searching my name.
Sins
Murder
Murder
Murder
Theft
Murder
Murder
Time to be served in hell
-500 years
“What?” I refresh the page, again it reads -500 years
The ceremony begins to wrap up, and i slip the phone into my pocket, and take aim.
A politician, responsible for the deaths of hundreds.
I have 5 minutes before the cops turn up.
The gun fires, and I leap from my spot and jump out the window onto the roof.
4 minutes.
I slide down the drainpipe and sprint towards the entrance to the sewers
3 minutes.
The sounds of sirens begin
I slip into the sewers and sprint through the tunnels.
2 minutes.
I turn a left and continue to sprint
1 minute.
I stop, leaning against the wall, and pulling out my phone again. The contractor sends a message
“Well done.”
I hastily type a reply “when do i get paid”
“The time will come.”
I sigh “great” i mutter, opening up the website again
Time to be served in hell -700 years.
“Shit.” I realise exactly who my contractor is.
Who he has been all these years. | "No. That's not right."
Daniel's brow furrows, he lets out a big huff while scanning the page for a link to the live chat. "This is ridiculous," he thought, "everyone's a critic."
RING!
Daniel looks across the room at a green rotary telephone. He knows who's calling. Sweat beads form on his forehead, he wipes his clammy hands on his pants as he gets up and walks over to the phone. The phone rings several more times, somehow growing louder and angrier with each successive ring. Daniel glances back at his computer while his hand holds the receiver. He closes his eyes and gathers the courage to answer.
"Daniel Weiss?"
The gravely voice on the other end speaks with authority. Daniel chokes on his response. The silence angers the caller.
"Do you dispute the charges?"
"Y-Y-Yes."
Daniel turns the phone away from his face and dry heaves. The ground rumbles beneath him. The kitchen cabinets shake open, emptying their contents onto the floor. The symphony of items breaking obscures the sound of someone knocking on the door. Is it an earthquake? Daniel doesn't appear to be phased by it, in fact he walks over to the door and calmly opens it.
On the other side is a well-dressed person of ambiguous gender holding a thick black book. They stare at each other for a beat, then Daniel motions for the person to enter.
"Daniel Weiss. Age 48. Male."
The person surveys the room. Crumpled up balls of paper scattered across every surface. A whiteboard with indecipherable content. Several thick well-read and earmarked dusty books piled up on a shelf
"Which entry do you wish to dispute?"
Daniel flinches as the person slams the black book onto the table next to his computer. Silence. The person stares deep into Daniel's soul, searching for the answer. The book flies open, pages flipping rapidly and erratically back and forth. Daniel tries his best to obscure the answer, but it's pointless. The book settles on a page. The person glides over to it and reads the entry, amused.
"I can explain-"
A hand goes up, Daniel's mouth closes.
"Incomprehensible events. Squandered developments. It's almost as if you didn't care."
The person now looms over Daniel. Suddenly, Daniel finds courage.
"I think I should get a pass because David did most of it."
A smirk. Daniel stares, waiting for a response that never comes. Uncomfortable with the silence, Daniel continues.
"It was closer to fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-fourty. We didn't really keep track. There was so much pressure to deliver. We did our best!"
No response from the person. Not even the slightest reaction. Nervously, Daniel continues.
"Okay, I did most of it. But I didn't want to. David was busy working on-"
The person writes in the open book. Daniel leans in to see. He swallows his tongue.
"I will remove a few years if you agree to one condition."
Daniel nods.
"Re-do Season 8."
Daniel shakes his head, surprising the person. More silence. Daniel can't help himself, he responds defiantly.
"There was no source material. George hasn't written a word in half a decade!"
The person closes the book and stares at Daniel, who won't shut up.
"The Night King storyline. Bran as king. Arya's payoff. Daenrys and Jon Snow. It was perfect and you know it!"
Daniel doesn't believe his lies. Defeated, he pleads for forgiveness.
"We tried. We really did. There was no way we were going to live up to the hype."
The door opens. As the person crosses the threshold, Daniel calls out.
"What about our Disney deal?"
"Forget Disney, DB. Come give mama some Netflix sugar!"
Daniel's eyes almost pop out of his head. His face turns pale. His time in hell has begun. An overly excited and animated Leslie Jones appears in the doorway.
"I'm such a big fan, man. I got so many questions about Season 8!"
Leslie barrels toward Daniel, trapping him in a bear hug. | 2020-02-29T23:30:10 | 2020-02-29T22:58:06 | 110 | 25 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human. | I'm used to being left out of the loop on things.
It's not surprising. I don't really read the news or follow popular media, so all sorts of shit can happen that I never know about. It can be nice not dealing with all that drama--though when I'm at school and everyone is in on some trend or change in schedule or whatever, and no one bothers to tell me what it is, that gets bothersome.
Today I was not left out of the loop. No one was.
Today I woke up with one image in my brain that I could not ignore. All it was was a simple URL code, but somehow it pierced my min even more than thoughts of suicide had. And more than that, I knew before visiting the website exactly what it would say: the sins of mankind, timestamped, with the punishments listed for each and every one of them.
I went to the website's homepage, a black screen with a search bar. But I hesitated. I couldn't see this alone. Of course, it's not like I have anyone super close to me, but...I just need someone next to me. Anyone. A stranger, who cares. I can't see this alone.
When I got to school, I found that everyone else had done the same. I mean, you can't blame us. Knowing all the punishment you will face in Hell after death--something many of us, myself included, didn't even believe in--and *every reason why*, well, it's plumb terrifying. Finally, in my second to last period, I saw someone pull out their laptop. The class turned to them in unison, as if we were psychically connected. It was time.
I hesitated still, but I saw their faces. I saw the fear--nay, terror--as they opened up their screens, typed their names or those close to them into the search bar and closed their eyes for a split second. I saw the dread, the guilt, the feelings that make your stomach drop to the ground and your throat burn up and your head pound until it shoves water out your eyes. I saw this, and then I saw eyes widening. Their mouths would open for a moment, mouthing something perhaps, but make no noise. The first person to sob was Amanda. The class followed suit. I still had seen nothing.
I opened my laptop.
Searched my name.
Closed my eyes.
Deep breath in.
Breathe out.
Here we go.
In front of me were sins upon sins upon sins. From the manipulation and blaming of others as a young girl, to the arrogance and anger of a middle schooler, and then the fear and stress and horrid thoughts plaguing my mind as I entered high school. I read it all. Below each sin was an "Old World Punishment"--a certain amount of time doing certain acts, perhaps incredibly torturous, perhaps simple and irritating. From trying to untangle earbuds or untie tight knots to bleeding out in front of your loved ones as they ignore you. I shivered at the thought of each punishment. My stomach dropped, my throat closed up, my head throbbed and forced water from my left eye. I scrolled down, read more and more, and...
one last note.
A note of forgiveness. A note telling us it's okay, that the Lord does not blame us for these sins and neither should we. That it's possible to be better. To feel better. To improve our world, together.
I was the last one to sob, and for once, I was not left out of the loop. We all were there together. | The entire world was shocked at the mere idea of the website. I suppose we all knew that you could find anything on the internet... But we certainly didn't expect *this*. People everywhere were mortified by their ratings on the website, horrified at the simple thought that they may spend an eternity in such a place as Hell.
Why, the world itself erupted into chaos as men, women, children challenged one another to take but a glimpse of their own rating on the site. It took a mere glance for people to go mad with self-preservation. Their very being broken down as they animalistically ripped apart the screen bearing the bad news.
And for the few who's lives were granted reassurance that they had lived well, they were forced to watch the ravenous faces of their envious peers. They endured the never ending questions of the creatures that once were known as human beings, as they raved about what they *possibly* could have done differently to achieve the impossible goal. Those lucky few who were saved in the afterlife were bullied, outcast, beaten to shreds for the unthinkable crime of not having an answer to these beings' questions. These poor souls who managed to be granted a good life beyond this one, were made to face a fate comparable that fiery lake of Hell in their current lives. Some were even given an unholy immediate send-off to their Heavenly afterlife.
As for me? I haven't checked. Seeing what *knowing* has done to the beasts around me is enough to scare me from ever looking at that site. I'd rather put off my fate rather than keep an everlasting pit in my stomach 'til the day I die. I mean, when chaos and insanity aren't taking over, this life really isn't so bad. Is it such a heinous crime for me to want to enjoy what I have while it lasts? From the crystal clear example laid out before me, I can tell that living my oh-so-precious life without fully grasping the future that lay before me is certainly a blessing, not a curse.
So, as per usual, I gripe about my morning coffee, groan about my job, party a little here and there, and live in the moment. Unfortunately, people like me are few. We, as humans, are stressed, busy, and dying to know what's in store. We gotta know if we're really gonna get that pot of gold for our efforts. Most of us don't know how to accept not knowing the future, and that's led to whatever reality we exist in now. I mean, on the bright side, the church has never been fuller. So at least someone's getting something outta this mess.
Well, it's just about morning. I've spent the night drinking, dreading what's to happen today. My relatives are coming over and it's practically certain that they've seen their "results". Just a wild guess, but knowing my folks, they weren't too happy. I'd planned for them to come over since before the website came, and they haven't let me though that plans have changed. So I guess I'll discover who's coming over today. That would be like them, though, to come over regardless.
After I've finished my lunch, I hear a knock at the door. It's my relatives, apparently they decided to actually show. I open the door, and to my surprise, the only one there is my cousin Jolene. "Don't tell me," I joke, "there's more of them in the car." Jolene is probably the only person I can really confide in. She and I love to joke about our melodramatic family.
"Sorry, buddy, you're stuck with me today. Not much of a party, but I decided I just couldn't miss the food." We both laugh, I guess she wasn't too affected by whatever she found out on the site. We spent the evening joking, goofing off, and having a good time. Eventually we get down to discussing recent events.
"I gotta ask, what were your results?" she asks.
"Honestly, I haven't checked. I really don't care enough to know. Did you look?"
"Actually, that's what I really came here about...". Jolene looks a bit concerned. Now she's really got me interested. But when I got her to spill the tea, I couldn't believe what came out of her mouth. She explained to me how every one of our family members were going to Heaven. Every. Single. One. That is, except her. Whatever criteria needed to be met, my insane family had passed but not Jolene. I couldn't believe it.
"How is that even possible? They're... They're insane, and you're ... That's so backwards."
She then told me about how once everyone had found out, they'd cast her out. Jolene, the girl that did whatever she could to please my crazy family. The girl who was willing to live by them, unlike me. The girl who spent her life by them, doing exactly what they told her to do. Tossed out, just like that.
For the first time since the website came out, I genuinely cared about the results that were being given. Whatever the criteria were, whatever the cost it took, I needed to get Jolene on the "nice list". She deserved it more than anyone else. Little did I know, I was about to pull a heist bigger than anything I'd ever known. I was about to literally deal with the devil to pull someone's soul out of Hell itself. | 2020-02-29T23:07:04 | 2020-02-29T22:46:57 | 92 | 43 |
[WP] You have been in an online relationship with someone for several years. They claim to be from outer space and sometimes you hear odd languages and sounds in the background. You take it as a joke... until your first meeting is in an empty cornfield with a giant light that appears in the sky. | "I didn't think you'd show up" she said as she slowly descended from above.
I laughed and rolled my eyes..."This is the most elaborate practical joke I've ever seen. You're really going with this alien thing huh"
"Oh honey, I *really* am an alien. You thought I was joking?"
"So when you told me you've never heard of 'Star Wars' or reality television, you weren't kidding?"
"No, I have no clue about...'Warstar' or 'Star Trek'... or whatever you called it. I do know about reality tv... You're on it!"
"Now?"
"Yeah, on my planet the most popular tv show is called 'Alien Connections', this season follows our entire relationship. You don't know it but you're a huge star on Smushy."
"Wait, that's the name of your planet..... Smushy?"
"Yeah, we have a lot of real deep canyons and stuff, so it makes the planet look kind of.....smushy. I probably would've named it something more eloquent, like 'Meatball or 'Blob.' But what do I know, I'm just a lowly dinosaur assistant."
"A what?"
"Oh yeah, on my planet we still have dinosaurs. The meteors have spared us, fingers crossed. And our dinosaurs are *smart*. They think up cures for dinosaur diseases and write hit dino-pop songs and stuff. Our humans are like dumb, fleshy little helpers. We handle the dinosaur dry cleaning and dinosaur grocery shopping, etc."
"So your planet is ruled by dinosaurs? Do they know about your reality show?"
"Of course, they're the producers! They can't get enough of human reality shows. This one and 'Dinosaur Bachelorette' are always top 2 in the ratings. Third is usually 'Walker, Texas Ranger'."
"This has got to be, at least, the third strangest Tender date I've ever been on." | [Hebic] Where's Nerubian?
[Snowie] said he had plans with his girlfriend
[Hebic] ugh
[Snowie] no for real they're meeting up tonight for the first time irl it's so romantic <3
[Nohealonlytank] Wait Neru said they were meeting irl?
[Sheepzilla] lol get some
[Snowie] Yeah lol
[Nohealonlytank] wtf
[Snowie] what
[Snowie] havent' they been dating for forever now
[Nohealonlytank] I thought he wasn't serious about that
[Sheepzilla] guys chill he's making it all up he's not dating anyone
[Snowie] no she was on Discord once I heard her
[Nohealonlytank] lol I remember that
[Snowie] she was all romantic
[Nohealonlytank] it was disgusting
[Nohealonlytank] 'ur not like guys i know they're all scared of commitment'
[Nohealonlytank] like omg
[Nohealonlytank] that's not a compliment
[Nohealonlytank] shut up
[Nohealonlytank] she was on discord *once* and had to drop because of "connection issues" aka her soundboard was fucking up
[Sheepzilla] lol u heard that too
[Snowie] u ppl hate love
[Hebic] I hate that I'm down a healer
[Snowie] and love
[Hebic] and love
[Hebic] love is costing me a healer
---
[Hebic] anyone heard from Nerubian? He signed up for tonight but isn't online
[Nohealonlytank] dude
[Nohealonlytank] dude
[Nohealonlytank] apparently his roommate was on his acc earlier
[Nohealonlytank] asking if *we* knew anything
[Hebic] if he doesn't want to raid he just doesn't have to sign up
[Hebic] it's that simple
[Sheepzilla] Why was his roommate on his account??????
[Nohealonlytank] B/C APPARENTLY Nerub told his roommate he was going on a date "stargazing" but never came home and isn't answering his phone and roommate thought we'd might know where exactly he went
[Sheepzilla] was she hot
[Snowie] THEIR FIRST IRL DATE WAS STARGAZING AWWWW
[Snowie] I thought they were just going to dinner
[Sheepzilla] was she hot
[Nohealonlytank] AKA 'DRIVE OUT WHERE NOBODY CAN SEE U, ALONE, WITH SOMEONE WHO'S PROBABLY BEEN CATFISHING U FOR YEARS'
[Nohealonlytank] omg they probably skipped dinner b/c i made him heal that dungeon
[Nohealonlytank] omg i killed Nerubian
[Hebic] guys stop with all caps
[Nohealonlytank] Hebic, dude, Neru is DEAD
[Snowie] he's been gone for not even a day. chill. they're probably sleeping in or doing cute breakfast things or something
[Sheepzilla] was she hot
---
[Hebic] Nerubian is back? says he was online earlier today
[Snowie] no
[Nohealonlytank] no, roommate again
[Hebic] can roommate heal? we're short a person again tonight
[Nohealonlytank] lol
---
[Sheepzilla] GUYS LOOK AT LINK IN DISCORD
[Nohealonlytank] site looks sketch no ty
[Snowie] ???
[Sheepzilla] THAT'S WHERE NERUB LIVES
[Nohealonlytank] why do you even know that
[Snowie] cobwebs???
[Hebic] IF YOU DON'T WANT TO RAID JUST DON'T SIGN UP FOR RAID FFS | 2020-11-18T21:30:23 | 2020-11-18T19:47:40 | 48 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone jokes that you'll be haunted by spirits for building your tea shop on sacred ground. But at night you actually serve the undead spirits and calm the restless. | I shut the door, lock it. Flip the Open sign to Closed.
“They gone?” One of them asks from the back wall.
“They’re gone,” I say, watching my last customer walk down the path and into the night.
I walk back across the tea shop. They are coming in now, through the back, with their slow, patient strides across my tiled floor. Walking as though they have all the time in the world. And I suppose they do.
Soon, the whole place will be filled with them. They’ll talk with each other. Fill the shop with their memories. Memories of lives they've finished living. Some hundreds of years ago, before planes, before trains, before automobiles. They mingle amongst each other and laugh and joke.
People have joked that I’d be haunted by spirits for building my shop here, but I don’t feel it’s a haunting. They keep me company. Frankly, they forget I’m even here half the time. Sometimes they ask me questions, about the world. What I tell them always seems to amaze them, intrigue them.
I wipe the table next to a young woman. Her name is Jenny, she died of tuberculosis at a young age. She’s pretty, the track lighting touching her soft skin. Many think ghosts, or spirits, have an insubstantial aura to them, as though they have a tenuous grasp on the world. What they don’t know is that when a spirit is comfortable, when they aren’t restless, their form shines bright, just as though they are alive.
In my shop, I’m proud to say, they shine like a bright, colorful festival.
All of them are welcome here.
A man walks through the door, he looks scared, anxious, his form flickers amongst the night through the window.
“Where are am I?” He asks.
“You’ve passed over,” another man says. His name Colonel Adams and he’s wearing a military uniform. He was a civil war hero. I know this because I’ve heard his stories over and over. But I don’t doubt them. I can tell he’s a courageous person. I don’t know how I picked that up in his conversations, but I did. “What’s your name?” The Colonel asks the newcomer.
“Jack,” the man says as he looks around the room, staggering into the bright lights. “But what do you mean passed over?”
“You’ve died, Jack.”
The room is quiet, the room is always quiet when a newcomer is finding out what has happened. I restock the shelves as they bring Jack into the shop and sit him in a chair. The spirits come up to him, one by one, welcoming him.
“We’re so glad to have you, Jack,” they are saying, making him feel as though he hasn’t been abandoned, that there is still companionship on the other side.
By the time I’m leaving for the night, after everything is in order. Jack is sitting with a group who are eagerly asking him questions. He’s comfortable now, I can see it. His form is beginning to shine as bright as the rest.
As I’m putting on my jacket to leave, the Colonel tips his hat at me and I give him a nod. I step out into the cold night with the sounds of the dead ringing pleasantly in my ear. The door closes and I’m in the silent night.
I see an ethereal shape, soft as gossamer, staggering through the graveyard bordering my tea shop. It is a little girl, she seems scared.
“I….I’m lost...can you help me?” She asks.
I bend down next to her and smile. “Sure, I can,” I say. “Now what’s your name?”
“Lisa,” she says, her voice is soft, frightened.
“Here come with me, Lisa,” I say and walk her to the shop. Through the window I can see the spirits laughing and talking gregariously amongst each other. Colonel Adams is telling Jack a story about a buffalo stampede. I know the story. I recognize it by the animated gestures he’s making.
I unlock the front door and the crowd quiets down.
“Everyone, this is Lisa, and she’s feeling a little scared, can you all make her feel welcome?”
“Lisa!” the crowd cheers out. “Welcome!”
Jenny walks up quickly and kneels down next to Lisa. I look at Jenny and she nods to me and I close the door. As I walk back into the night, I see Jenny’s arm over Lisa and bringing her into the friendly and warm folds of the crowded tea shop.
By tomorrow she’ll be shining bright as the rest.
The night is cold, the stars spangle the black sheet of night above me.
It is good to be alive.
\----
More [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/wiki/index) at [r/CataclysmicRhythmic](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/) | ##Morbid Café Melodrama
I turn the lights off in the store, and I pull the black-out curtains over the glass door. Living customers frequently tell me that it is a unique aesthetic choice. Some customers have speculated that illegal activities must be occurring inside. That would be much simpler.
I pull out my flashlight to move around the room to light the scented candles. More eagle eyed customers will notice that the candles are arranged to create an odd symbol. When they confront me, I laugh and say they are being crazy. The symbol has not been used by the living for millennia, but its legacy lives on the part of our brains that is still attuned to the supernatural.
Behind the counter, I have a sleeping bag in one of the cabinets. If I sleep in the middle of the room, the ghosts may accidentally hit me. It doesn't hurt; it just creates a weird sensation. Lying down on the sleeping bag, I start to read an eBook. It is a generic "mystery" novel that is really about the romance of the book. Another woman has been thrown off a boat in the Caribbean which allows the author to over-describe a tropical setting to the reader in a tragically dull climate. I don't know why that plot happens so much. It is quite unrealistic.
A moan starts to emanate from the middle of the room; I get out of my sleeping bag. Pieces of light are converging into a ball of light the middle of the room. The moan is part the sound of a human screaming, and it is part the sound of the light reforming. The ball slowly starts to form the silhouette of a woman. The woman takes on more detail until the moan becomes a scream.
"HELPPPPP," she shouts. I sigh. Another fearful victim.
"Calm down," I say. The ghost continues to scream until she runs out of breath. She doesn't actually run out of breath, but she thinks she does.
"Alright, hi, my name is Marian, and this is my café, Marian's," I say in a flat tone. The ghost woman looks around the room in confusion and terror.
"What is going on?" she says.
"There is no way to say this, but you are dead," I say. The ghost looks down at her own body and notices her glow and translucence. She opens her mouth, "Please don't scream. You came just as I was about to go bed."
The ghost stops herself from screaming, "You are awfully biter. Have some sympathy. I just learned that I died."
"Sorry, some ghost screams can cause my ears to bleed. I naturally worry every time a ghost starts to scream," it is a lie, but it is a lie that has been propagated by popular culture which makes it easier to accept.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I will try not to scream. I guess I am getting used to the hole ghost thing," she says.
"No problem so my first question is what is your name while your first question is probably why are you here," I say.
"Let's see," she interrupts, "My name is Deborah. The last I remember I was at a party on a boat. After the party, I decided to look at the stars. The last thing I remember is a man walking towards me."
"Really, that is..." I blink and look back at my book. I guess it wasn't that unrealistic. A part of me wants to ask her who did it, but it is irrelevant to my job and would take too long, "Nevermind, not that part, although that is a rather interesting way to die. I mean you are probably wondering why are you here in my café."
"I assumed that you were some form of grim reaper," Deborah replies. I look down at my outfit.
"I don't think I look that gaunt," I say, "Anyways, no. This building used to be owned by a cult that worshipped an ancient god of the dead. It is used as a waypoint for spirits who died in panic to calm down before going to the afterlife. As the current owner, it is my job to take over that role."
"Really, what happened to the cult?" she asks.
"There was a huge scandal where the leader was cheating on his wife with several of the members, and she was cheating on him with several of the members. It was very Bravo. The cult broke up, and in the process, neither paid the bank on the building so they foreclosed it. This was all explained to me in two separate notes by the cult leader and his wife. Neither wants the other to have it so they agreed on a truce where I am stuck with it," I say.
"It sounds like you got the short end of the stick," she says.
"I did, and they won't let me leave until this is resolved because I know too much. The good parts are that the ghosts come at night, and I got two detailed guidelines from the cult leader and his wife. I think they were competing by trying to make sure they wrote the most thorough manual," I say.
"Do the cult leaders ever drop in to say hello?" she asks.
"No, but they both have spies watching to make sure the other group doesn't enter," I walk over to the door and peak out the curtains to wave. The spies wave back, "They occasionally slip letters under my door with updates. The last I heard, there was a Halloween party where they got drunk and rekindled their romance. The next morning, they had another massive fight so things are tense still."
"My god, I wouldn't expect a death cult to be so petty," she says.
"Why do you think they don't interact with the living?" I reply.
"I mean that is true, but what does all this drama have to do with me?" she asks.
"Nothing at all, it is entertaining and calming you down," I say. I notice her feet are starting to disappear, "The purpose of this place is to calm reckless spirits. I have found that telling ghosts about cult drama tends to get them in a calm state."
"Oh well, it wor," before she can finish, she disappears. I move back behind my counter. At the start, I tried to talk with them and solve their problems. That lasted several nights, and I would have to work with several ghosts at once due to a backlog. Both cult leaders have written to me telling me that they disapprove of their methods. I respond that they can take over if they like. I even did let them station members here one night so I could get some rest. The result was a massive brawl. They paid for the damages and blamed each other for causing the fight.
I lie down and try to fall asleep. Overall, this isn't so bad. I am being exposed to a world that I never knew existed. Plus, some of the ghosts and cults are interesting. I hear a rock get thrown my window. I sigh and get up. The rock has a sigil on it. I pick it up and step outside.
"Alright, what happened with the sun cult this time," I yell to the spies. Both groups look at the ground, "Whatever, this door better be fixed soon."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-03-10T18:00:27 | 2021-03-10T16:51:03 | 1,778 | 43 |
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