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[WP] A kaiju is shrunken down to the size of a kangaroo by the anti-kaiju defense force during its latest battle in Tokyo. As a result, the kaiju wanders through the city at night, and discovers an entire world of beauty it had never seen while it was 120 meters tall. | Humans didndn't pay Godzilla any attention. Cosplayers walking around at night in the busiest street of Tokyo was no uncommon sight. Although, they did lift an eyelid when hearing the sobs that emanated from the very realistic costume.
Once, they had been ants. A lesser species it barely registered, living a short life in the span of a blink. It went to sleep and a generation died before it woke up. Bretherns, he had none. Similar sized opponents, definitely, but the only communication was fight and death. Godzilla had lived a lonely life, a king slumbering at the bottom of the sea, or hidden deep in Agartha, the hollow earth. It was a recluse, but not out of its own will. It wished for companionship, it wished to break away from the loneliness, alas, many attempt ended in bloodshed. At least it could enjoy a deep slumber like none other, cradled by the current in the abyss of the old world.
Unexpectedly, the ants had gotten the upper hand on him and shrunk him, before losing a very fast lizard that had traded size for speed.
Out in the streets of a city that had been a battleground often, it wandered the night, stars replaced by neons and streetlights. As a giant, it was surprised how ants repaired the damage every time instead of settling elsewhere. The world was wide and empty space still aplenty. It suspected the ants to do so out of instinct and habit, unable to undertake the daunting task of moving somewhere else because it wasn't in their genes.
Now, Godzilla still believed so, but added a new reason.
Beauty.
Dwarfed in a world where skyscrapers married the clouds and lights extended indefinitely, Godzilla knew there was more than mindless instinct at work. It felt easy for the gigantic monster at the time. It could move a mountain, so a new building did not seem impressive. But the human-ants, they were so small, yet the buildings so tall and wide. A million of human-ants was needed to build just one, and yet they did so again and again, destruction after destruction.
The ants were a testament to determination. Just like Godzilla rose to the challenge when a pretender emerged, human-ants rebuilt to show their spirit was not broken. The land was theirs, and they would create and build on it no matter what happened.
They would not see the result of the hard work in their lifetime, but the next generation might enjoy the fruit of labor.
Godzilla stood immobile in the middle of the street, in awe. The multitude wandered around, unaware of the time-abyss they came by, until a few called the police just in case. The police called secret services, secret services called the Kaiju Scientific Center.
The KSC gently recovered Godzilla and put him in a wide room. It took them days to understand it wanted to see more of human world. They gave him a television and documentaries. It watched through them all and asked in grunts if there was more.
Convinced Godzilla was no more violent, they took him around the world.
The mountains of switzerland, the big apple, Rio. The new size gave a new perspective, a new life to the surroundings. Human-ants did not think possible to see marvel in the eyes of a monster that had so often destroyed.
Until one day, another opponent emerged. Too strong to be caught like Godzilla had been, too aggressive to be bargained with.
"I suppose we all knew this was coming," said the scientist activating the lever.
Lightning stroke and hit Godzilla, his scream became a mighty roar, it grew to gigantic size. A giant towering over the tallest tower. It set its gaze far on the horizon where his challenger was wreaking havoc on a world it came to love.
The king would have none of it. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Interlude 1: Thoughtfriend)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Thoughtfriend felt the pain of every fish in the sea as if it was its own.** Lounging at the bottom of the Big Guns Trench, its exposed, pulsating brain sent out telepathic probes to trillions of lifeforms at once, from the mightiest of whales to the millions of krill they ate. It was the hunter and the hunted; the mother and the daughter; the beginning and the end.
This was how Thoughtfriend knew when they all began to die.
It was a swift thing, as Thoughtfriend reckoned it, taking less than two lifespans of a whale. One heartbeat, the humans above were cowering on their puny little splotches of land; the next, they were desecrating the oceans with their death-boats and acid-sprays. Thoughtfriend tried to reach out to the humans and stop them—but even Thoughtfriend, last and greatest of its kind, could barely extend more than a wisp of its power through the murky depths of the sea. And a wisp of power would not be enough to bring humanity to heel.
So Thoughtfriend ascended.
Off the coast of the Sunrise Kingdom, the Oboro's crew of forty-seven all felt an inexplicable surge of *fury*, at themselves, at their boat, at the uncountable lives their jobs had snuffed out. Moments later, Thoughtfriend surged to the surface, its anger screeching out from its translucent, visible brain and into the minds of every living being within a half-dozen kilometers. Thoughtfriend gave the boat a disdainful look with four of its eyes, then slapped it aside, capsizing it with a single tentacle.
Thoughtfriend tried not to think about the waves of terror and agony each of the dying souls emitted as their lives were snuffed out. It had to stop humanity, before they killed the world with their machines. It could not afford distractions.
As it began moving towards the nearest human reef—a thing of ugly, buzzing sounds and clashing, screaming lights—it felt something plip against its tentacles. It looked up with displeasure as a flying-thing screamed by, spitting metal and sending a line of tiny holes up its flesh. They resealed with ease, although Thoughtfriend didn't like how close those holes were getting to its br—
Thoughtfriend let out a psychic *roar* of agony as a bullet shot through its brain, its capable mind lashing out and sharing its pain with everyone and everything within range, and the fighter jet drunkenly veered to the side as its pilot screeched and clutched its head. Cars crashed and babies cried as the telepathic onslaught hit the coastal city.
"*Don't* shoot it in the brain! That just pisses it off, and it looks like it just regenerates!" Thoughtfriend distantly picked up the words from the pilot's brain. Its many eyes narrowed. Pissed off? It'd show the pilot *pissed off*. Thoughtfriend picked up the ship with a tentacle and casually chucked it into the air. Through the link, Thoughtfriend felt the pilot's fear as she shouted, "Get Small Fry! Quick, before—"
Thoughtfriend peeled back from the woman's brain, uncomfortable with her fear. These were supposed to be *monsters*, not—not—living, thinking beings like dolphins and whales and Old Ones.
Thoughtfriend was spared its philosophizing when a blue shimmer formed in the air. It paused, staring uncomprehendingly at the orb of light hovering before its head. Warily, it quested out with its mind, seeking to pull the thoughts of whoever was making that light—
"Shrinkfield activated. We've got it."
That was all that Thoughtfriend could snatch before the world *lurched*.
Thoughtfriend shrieked as it fell into the ocean, suddenly *scrunched* into a fraction of its previous size. Simultaneously, a half-dozen soldiers parachuted out of the sky. Thoughtfriend brushed against the mind of one...
"We've got to hunt it down. Fan out. There's only six of us, but we should be able to hold it down while reinforcements arrive."
Thoughtfriend shuddered as the humans—suddenly much, *much* scarier now that their bullets were the size of its eyes—splashed down around it. Whatever that light had done to Thoughtfriend, it had to figure out how to undo it. But right now, all Thoughtfriend could think about was its immediate survival.
One of the humans swiveled and pointed. "Hey!"
Thoughtfriend panicked.
With a burst of telepathic energy, it slammed against the minds of the six assault squad members, shifting their memories, rewriting their perception...
The human who'd spotted Thoughtfriend paused, blinking. Thoughtfriend held its breath. If all went well, the human would only see...
"Steve! Stop loafing around and help us look for the damn squid! There's only seven of us, but we should be able to hold it down while reinforcements arrive."
Thoughtfriend smiled.
"Of course..." Thoughtfriend rifled around in the man's mind for his name. "...Ross. Sure thing."
A.N.
Sorry to leave this unfinished, but I have to go to sleep. Let me know if you'd like me to continue.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-12T22:45:27 | 2021-04-12T22:20:01 | 350 | 45 |
[WP] Years ago a witch cursed you to always be the dumbest least educated person in the room. Now the curse doesn't always downgrade your part of the time it upgrades everyone else in the room. This curse has lead to some interesting situations. | "I understand you hold fifteen degrees, four doctorates in the hard sciences, and that you speak eleven languages fluently?"
Shrugging, I tell him, "With more on the way. I do believe that, in a vacuum, I am the most educated person alive."
The look on Henry Johnson's face is a mixture of incredulousness and intrigue. He continues, "Then why is it that I get the overwhelming sensation that you're kind of a dolt?"
I'm used to this one. "It's what you're hiring me for. My resume is quite clear. While we are together, I am a dolt. To you, at least. To anyone in the room with us. It's not that I get dumber. It's that you get *smarter*."
Henry pauses, rolling the thought around in his head. He knew about this in advance of course, but few people are prepared for the actual experience. Finally, he asks, "So why all the degrees? Why all the education? If you are bound to be the idiot in the classroom no matter what, why put so much effort into bettering your mind?"
"Think about it, Mr. Johnson. You're smarter than me right now. You don't need to ask many questions when I'm around. You can just come up with answers if you try."
Almost immediately, his eyes open wide. "Marketability."
I nod, encouraging him to continue.
"If you're a pants-on-head idiot, you wouldn't significantly impact those around you. They're already smarter and more educated, so nothing happens."
Nod.
"But this way..."
Nod.
"And we..."
Nod.
"That's brilliant."
I smile. "Not as brilliant as what your team will do next, Mr. Johnson."
"So why us?" He looks genuinely confused.
"Good question. Not one that intellect is going to help you out with. Let me ask you something, Mr. Johnson. What would you do if you could accomplish anything by proxy? If you could get paid any amount of money by anyone in the world? If you had already amassed enough wealth by doing so that you couldn't spend it all in a thousand years?"
Tilting his head, Henry says, "I supposed I'd hire someone to do my laundry." He glances down at his wrinkled clothes in embarrassment.
"Okay. And after they invent a billion-dollar product due to having spent some time with you?"
Henry grimaces. Yes, this was a natural byproduct of my curse. "The help" all ended up with brilliant start-ups, best-selling novels, or lucrative stock portfolios.
"I honestly have no idea," Henry finally confesses.
With a knowing grin, I tell him, "If you were me, you'd want someone who didn't look down on you after a few minutes. You'd want an assistant that didn't write the next song of a generation. You'd want a helper that you could ask to make coffee without getting a detailed breakdown of the history of coffee and the chemical processes involved in its brewing."
Realization dawns on Henry's face as I continue. "You'd want the world to realize its dream of a true artificial intelligence."
A smile creeps its way up his cheeks slowly but inexorably, as though the parts of his face unoccupied by his mouth were attempting to make up for this lack via osmosis.
"Mr. Johnson, there's a reason I've taken my payment from your company in equity. Aperture Fixtures is going to be a driving force for innovation, and I'll be there until the end."
Herny's face sets into its final position, that of a determined grin.
"Caroline, I can confidently say that you have the job. And to be honest, I am impressed. You've taken a curse and turned it into a real asset."
"Well, when life hands you lemons, Mr. Johnson..."
"Please. Call me Cave."
"Indeed. I look forward to our triumph. Huge success awaits." | Rachel knows. I can see it in her eyes, bright, lusciously brown, shockingly intelligent. She does not, of course, know of the curse. Even before our first date she was a woman too intelligent for curses. But the change in her is unmistakable, and whatever she ascribes it too, she has fallen in love with it.
Not with me, of course. I see her now, across the space of a pillow, her notes scattered around her in an orgiastic surge of ink. Her skin is still flushed with her effort, taut, mind pregnant with the product of this past night, the theorem she has birthed into the world.
"Sit there," she'd said, "and do whatever it is that you do."
It had been an afterthought, then, when she'd added "My love."
She is beautiful when she works. She is beautiful when she sleeps. She is beautiful in the way of a distant stormcloud, dark and imposing on the horizon. She is beautiful in the way of the sun, cutting through that cloud in the rare moments when the winds break and there is repose in her eye. She is beautiful in the way of inevitability, that the storm, though stalled, will come again.
Or at least it always has, until now.
She breathes deeply, whispering half-words in her sleep. Her hand finds mine, grips it tight. She only does that when she sleeps.
Rachel has finished her theorem. Her life's work, she has said, accomplished at only 26. Rachel has finished the only thing that binds us together.
For it is not me. I am small and quaint, a man favorably called simple.
She is the sun, and the storm, and all the winds of the world blowing as one.
Candles burn on the nightstand. They smell like lavender or old, oaken chests, or tobacco in an aged pipe.
"Put them out when I'm asleep," she'd said, staring in disbelief at the things she had written. "And sing for me, if you would. I find I'm very tired."
I sang. I still sing now, a soft, abortive melody, restive in every refrain. The notes ring her pretty head like a dark halo, a tattoo on the white sheets. A portal towards an end I'd never imagined might come, conjured by a witch so far gone in my past as to be a dream.
I wonder, then, what Rachel is dreaming about. Who she is dreaming about. Her skin is so flushed, her breath growing so rapid, that I know her dream is not about me.
And there are notes scattered everywhere, paper crinkling as she moves.
And there are candles, inches away, that smell like a home soon to be lost.
I stand, an idea burning through me. The witch who'd cursed me had said I'd always be the dumbest one, but look at me now, witch. Look at me now, when I can have ideas too!
The notes are a thick sheaf in my hand. A new world awaits within them, or so I've been told. A brand new life for the woman I love, without a doubt. She is beautiful, gasping with emotion in her sleep. Shockingly so.
The candles smell of lavender, of old, oaken chest, tobacco in an aged pipe. And then, it all smells like burning paper.
She wakes, too late.
I am standing in the midst of it all, in the center of the bathtub, porcelain barely containing the flames. Her expression, when she finds me, is beautiful too, in it's horror. Her mouth hangs open, her nose, fine, angular, is flared wide to taste the smoke.
All her candles surround me, buried in piles and piles of equations and processes and theorem.
The flames strike my skin. They caress hers, as she rushes forward, hands grasping for ash.
"Why, why, why, why, why…" she whispers endlessly.
"I have a theory," I say. "See? I can have them too. I have a theory that you love your theory more than me. And when you have a theory, you experiment, don't you?"
"Why, why, why?" she whispers.
No one's eyes have ever been more haunted. The brown is nearly orange with the ferocity of the flames.
"When you confirm a theory, what's that called?" I ask.
"Why, why, why…" she whispers, staring at hands burned red, digging through gray ash until they strike the stained porcelain.
"Shall I sing for you?" I say. "I like to sing you know, I don't mind that part."
"Why!" she screams.
"Because I love you. Do you love me?"
She freezes, and I can see the words boiling up from her lips. I still them with my finger, and I her the one thing I have not burned. Her cover sheet, her name blazoned proudly across it. My own, penciled in beneath in my rough scrawl.
"Shhh baby, shhhh," I say. "We have work to do tomorrow."
She looks at the paper, brushes a burned a finger across her name, and in the distance, I think I can hear a thunderclap.
She nods. I nod. I tell her I love her, bandage her hands, kiss her beautiful forehead, and in time, she says it again.
"Will you sing for me...my love?" she asks, voice breaking with barely restrained tears.
I sing to her. I sing all night, across the space of a pillow, smoke hanging in our bedroom. Rachel never sleeps, just stares, wide eyed. They are lusciously brown, shockingly intelligent, rimmed with the purpling, bruise like marks of harsh tears.
And they are beautiful.
*-*-
If you enjoyed that twisted little thing I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-08-31T11:03:31 | 2021-08-31T10:07:31 | 200 | 46 |
[WP] As the leader of a CIA hit squad, you have been tasked with the secret, “extrajudicial” killing of a journalist who is causing problems for the government with his reporting. The problem is, he just won’t die! Every team you send fails. Who is this Clark Kent, guy? | Audio Log 16
I thought this would be an easy job, reporters are a “one shot, one kill” kinda deal y’know. But this guy has been a bit of a challenge for a better word.
Civilians are always an easy paycheck, crash into their car, poison them , or heck just the good old fashioned way of a gunshot. Maybe a robbery gone wrong or wrong place wrong time kinda deal to lessen suspicion; but again this guy just has the best luck.
I’d say Metropolis is a cursed place to be an assassin, well most of the big cities. They all have a resident superhero or if you’re unlucky a “hero family” or team. Gotham has the bats and Keystone has the Flashes, but Metropolis has the “Super Family”. Last time Superman himself and his son stopped a teammate from getting to a different news reporter, I think her name was Lois. Agent 52 said the kid looked pissed and superman had to hold him back, guess the kid didn’t take kindly to assassins in his turf.
Gladly I haven’t encountered the Supes yet, but still this is annoyingly tedious. Crashed into their car and he was unharmed. Claimed the air bag and seatbelt saved him and just asked for my insurance information. I infiltrated the coffee shop he frequents and poisoned his tea and he just drank it like nothing, I hope I didn’t mix the drinks and killed a random civilian by accident. I tried shooting him with my sniper and this dude somehow always dodge the shot; he’s leaned over to tie his shoe or pick something up and the bullet missed, or this other time he coincidentally was out of sight from the windows depending on the roof I was, and my last attempt I placed a bomb in his car that would blow when his engine ignited yet it blew up when he was feet away from it. How did the car turn on without him being in it?? This model doesn’t even have the remote start feature!
Am I getting old? Am I not good enough anymore? Or is someone feeding him information? I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tempted to call reinforcements... even if it tarnishes my record.
Oh shit what the hell is that——
End of Log
(Edit- spelling mistakes) | Its been a long time since i held a trigger. I gave up that life, i was an assassin for a very long time. It still itches when i had to cut my finger to prove my loyalty. At least i didnt have to carry a gun again or so i thought.
The CIA found me and recruited me, my job was to train their agents. They gave me my freedom to do this as i pleased and the people i was teaching were saving lives by taking out the scum of the earth.
Last year something happened, a flight scheduled to land never crossed the ocean but in the same place that it was at was a blue and red blur going mach 30. It was then that it started a man whose skin is stronger than steel that flies around saving people has been going around the world saving people. His stories in the U.S. are being covered by a journalist named Clark kent an alias because no one anywhere has any recore of any clark kent.
The only problem with our blur is this guy doesnt care whose side the "bad guy" is. A facility govermentally permitted to expriment on deathrow inmates is the "bad guy" and he breaks everyone out. We suspected that the journalist and our blur are working together but everytime we sent a tail they disappeared. When we sent jeanie a 12 year old girl who was raised as spy to tail him and she also disappeared that is when i knew that this clark kent isnt going to keep doing what he does, i've killed many for a car, more for a dog but for her im not going to stop until i find her even if i had to tear the blur apart with my own two hands.
There was a fire on the top of the tower, the blur has rushed there blew.out the fire went in and got the citizens out and flew off into the sunset. I just lost the trail on mr kent one min ago who slipped into an alley and downright disappeared.
Kent was spotted later that day on a date of all things, he seemed like a respectable person but when he looked down and his glasses fell down i could have sworn i saw his facial features change. After dropping her home he turned left into an alley and disapppeared again.
We have our military sattlelite following him closely now. We wont lose him this time or so we thought until he seemed to have been picked up by the blur. Then the unbelieveable happened the blur seemed to feel tired next to a glass door and then he rushed away. This is the third time this has happened in the last month, the only thing in common between the glass cup, the stone statue and glass door is the element of kryptonite.
We arranged a sniper with a kryptonite coated bullet then set a warehouse on fire. We avoided vocally talking that is how the last group died. The sniper couldnt get a good hit but he did graze him and for the first time we knew that it bleeds. A DNA scan shows that this thing isnt even human at all it's DNA Isnt even DNA but something else completely.
Clark kent and the blur dont seem to be in the same place at the same time ever, if we ignore the face they both have the same exact build. It doesnt take a genius to deduce that they are one entity and an entity that can change it's facial features. My agents did a mistake of firing on clark kent and paid the price for it. But she was innocent all she does is spy and tail why did he have to make her disappear as well.
That night clark walked into the mafia's warehouse, he seemed to know his way around there and that is when i saw her standing by their boss. I dont know why i felt so much rage but i broke my vow that night and i came back, i didnt leave a single one of them alive. When i reached the last room and shot the boss in the head she screamed "Daddddy Nooo!??!?!". I just killed her father, her biological father...
I dont know how what happened after but the blur had me pinned to a wall in that same second. I asked it "Who and what are you?" and it responded "I'm superman more than you'll ever amount to be human" I choked on my own blood and asked it "do you bleed?" and it said "no" i said "I'm john wick, only human" and shot it in the head and it died. Did it really think i was going over there without
my kryptonite bullet? | 2022-06-08T15:41:48 | 2022-06-07T23:34:16 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth. | It took centuries.
After millions of failures and an interminable parade of resources, careers, and relationships sacrificed at the altar of "progress," we’d done it. Humanity’s greatest achievement: the Oracle.
It was meant to be our fortress of logic and reasoning. A treatment for the disease of a chaotic existence. Our bastion against the brutal stochastics of an uncaring universe.
All choices, all conflicts, all mysteries were reduced to a series of causal nodes. The Oracle would identify, recommend, and, when possible, directly enact the optimal choice among all the uncountable futures it had modeled.
Our rotten world, healed. Tyrants deposed and replaced with the cold and perfect utilitarianism only a machine could govern with. Even our relationships and meals were perfectly micromanaged.
The Oracle would offer its recommendations, but never its reasoning. Those who followed its guidance were always rewarded, and those who didn’t always struggled. Over time, we lost interest in the “why” of its choices and the "how" of its methodologies. After all, that would distract attention from its perfect answers of “what and when.”
As our race grew to the stars and beyond, so did our ability to comprehend the same causality chains that the Oracle endlessly digested. Once we had reached a sufficient level of understanding, existential terror gripped our species.
Because we now know the truths of our doom.
The first: there are other universes; one for each possible path along the mesh of our decision trees.
The second: the Oracle’s underlying process is not one of modeling and extrapolation, but one of dissection. The extraction of outcomes is a necessarily fatal process to the analyzed universe.
The third: there are other Oracles. Eventually our universe will be dissected and destroyed as we have done to septillions of others.
We tried to build a citadel. We made a casket instead. | They were called conspiracy theorists. How could an AI cause 9/10 women to miscarriage? Those were the ones who saw the truth, though. The ones who saw through my lies and excuses.
Another day, another interview. "Mr. Cornwall, please, just a moment of your time!" a reporter shouted to me from across the street. I shook my head and waved my hand in negation, but that didn't stop her from eyeballing me up and sprinting across the street as soon as the light turned green. She caught up to me in no time.
"Mr. Cornwall," she said again, panting, her hands on her knees, "please, it won't take long, I promise."
"Fine," I said, figuring it would be easier to go through with the questions than to make a thousand excuses as to why I couldn't answer them.
Like a cherub, the report gained an angelic expression on her face, then paged through a giant booklet of what I assumed to be interview questions. When she opened her mouth, my hunch was affirmed.
She pressed a microphone into my face and began speaking. "When you made MAI, did you know it was going to fix all of the troubles of the world?"
MAI was my AI. Quite literally, **M**y **AI**.
"No," I said, "I did not. When I spawned MAI my only intention was to create something that hadn't been done before. I didn't intend it to be a panacea for society. I was surprised as everyone else when it began to solve all problems."
The reporter seemed satisfied, because she nodded her head and quickly jotted down notes in her notebook. It didn't last long, though.
"Okay, and another question: are you aware of the conspiracy saying MAI is the root cause of all the recent miscarriages?"
This young reporter proved to more on the nose than all the others. I figured I'd entertain her.
"Yes," I said, "I am aware of those extremely wildly-minded peoples. But as I've said in past interviews, that is nothing more than a far-reaching theory. There is no way a machine could somehow intervene in the pregnancies of all the women on Earth. If there was, I'd like to know about it, to create something more potent than MAI."
The reporter wrote my words down and looked up at me. The pale skin around her emerald eyes was flawless. She was so young; she must have been a Survivor. That was the term given to those who surpassed the 90% chance of dying due to MAI. Due to me.
"What if they are correct, sir?" she said. "What if MAI is the root cause of the miscarriages? Would you shut her down? Or let her continue running?"
I always thought it was funny how MAI became gendered. Humans loved to put a label to everything -- even a machine.
"I'm not sure how to answer that question," I said. "A lot of good has happened because of MAI. World peace, global hunger, the climate crisis. All of those problems have been solved by the machine. But if I knew it came at the cost of the miscarriages..." I paused in the street for a moment and wiped my eyes. "I think I'd have to shut it down. The thought of all the mothers, fathers and children, in despair because of MAI — it pains me." A few more tears fell from my eyes; I had become quite proficient at producing them. "Yes, I'd definitely put a stop to things."
The reporter, moved by my performance, tears in her own eyes, wrote down my response. I knew it was all she had hoped for by the way she smile and looked up at me.
"Thank you, sir," she said, with a painful smile. "That's all. Have a nice day."
"You're welcome," I said, nodding at her. "You're welcome."
As she walked away, I couldn't help but sneak a glance at her. She had quite the sizeable rear. | 2022-08-05T04:22:50 | 2022-08-04T22:29:54 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | It was just after I had finished the first cup of my morning pot of coffee for the day when my intercom chimed my personal assistant's unique three tone chime.
This caused me to raise an eyebrow as I went to answer, as it was twelve past seven in the morning and Rusti would have just gotten into her office.
"What is it?" I asked when I answered, figuring that whatever she was calling about must be important if she's calling me before I've had my morning pot of coffee.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but one of the henchmen on door duty just let me know that Sparc was there." Rusti explained.
The mention of my cybernetic arch-nemisis made me scowl. "Why hasn't the alarm been raised?!" I demanded. "If she's trying to break in-!"
"She's not, sir "
Rusti's response and the confusion in her tone made me pause. "Come again?" I asked.
"She's not trying to break in." elaboted Rusti. "According to the henchman, she merely knocked on the doors and asked if she could see you."
It took me a moment to process what she was saying. Sparc *never* knocked. She just smashed her way in and wreaked havoc.
Which meant that whatever it was that she wanted to talk about, it was pretty important.
"Let her in." I said. "Take her to the conference room, and have breakfast for two sent up along with coffee."
"Sir?" asked Rusti, now even more confused.
"Whatever it is, it's important." I explained. "And it's not a trap. Sparc doesn't do that. That's something that Shade would do."
"Yes, sir."was Rusti's response before I broke the connection.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
"It's too gorramed early for this shit..."
TBC ... | Meanwhile in Sam Carter aka Solar Flare’s apartment…
“WTH, i’m sending it…” whoosh, ding. Sam said to himself as he was sitting on his working desk alone fidgeting his phone.
Suddenly, the shadow on the corner of his office room welled and grew as it takes into a humanoid form. It dashes towards Sam and hit the desk so loud. “What is this? Are f*cking with me?” The shadow humanoid held a phone on Sam’s face.
“No!” He immediately said. “I, I, uh, I really want to ask you to be my plus one in Silver-Quick’s wedding…”
The shadow humanoid now taking his human form, with his arms crossed on his chest. Staring expectantly towards Sam. “Why me?” He said in monotone.
“My ex, Shadow Knight will be there and I wanted him to get jealous by bringing the real deal.” Sam embarrassingly answered.
“Shadow Knight is your ex? Hmm, interesting.”
“Please be my plus one, Tartarus!” Sam begged.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re up to Sam but I like some drama in my life. And if we are doing this, better start calling me, Terry.”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Terry!”
“Oh dear, you need to buy me some clothes. Pick me up tomorrow by 8 in the morning.” Tartarus suddenly dissolved into the shadow.
Come the wedding day…
“What is taking you so long, Terry? We’re going to be late!” Sam starts to be agitated since the ceremony would start in less than an hour and Terry is still not yet dressed.
“Dear, you should stop absorbing too much sunlight. It’s becoming too annoying. I always arrived the last!” Terry replied.
“Okay, but can we atleast be there before the ceremony even starts?”
“Alright, alright! Are you ready?” Terry came out of his room in his penthouse. Wearing a shimmering black chiffon long sleeve polo, paired with a white corset-like cummerbund belt with black geometrical pattern prints. A shimmering white tux with similar black pattern prints on the arms and hem part paired with wide white satin pants with similar patterns on the side from waist trailing down. His shoulder length hair was tightly brushed backwards, sealed with hairspray.
Sam was so amazed on how Terry looks, he was speechless. Terry was wearing white in contrast to what Sam was wearing, which is a plain black suit and pants on top of white long sleeve with bow tie. Terry offered his hands towards Sam. And as Sam held his hand. The penthouse dissolves around them, and they are now standing at the entrance of the venue.
Sam placed Terry’s hands over his elbow and gestures him to go first. All the other guests were staring at the pair. Supers, Villains and humans alike, the wedding was literally a truce event. Black Knight was with Wild Tiger staring at the two.
“Let him stare.” Terry whispered to Sam.
After the wedding, during the reception…
“Sam.” Black Knight approached Sam as he was congratulating Silver Quick and his wife.
“Oh hi, Ben.” Sam acknowledged his presence as the newly wed leaves.
“How are you?” Ben asked.
“I, I’m fine. I’m actually great. How ‘bout you?” Sam answered.
“Same, same. That’s good to know.” Ben awkwardly said.
“I see you are with Wild Tiger. You’re dating?”
“Oh yeah, Trevor. No, I uh, just invited him to be my plus one. Look, I still like…”
Terry suddenly appeared from the shadows and immediately grabbed Sam’s arms to turn him towards him. “Here you are. I was looking for you the whole time.” Then kissed Sam on the lips with no warnings. Sam was shocked.
“Oh hi there, Ben. Sorry if i’m interrupting your conversation. Sam and I actually needs to go now, right Sam?” Terry said looking at Sam.
Sam was too shocked to say anything but just nod in agreement.
“Bye, Ben!” Terry then kissed Sam once again and both of them melted into the shadows.
Fin… | 2022-10-06T19:51:19 | 2022-10-06T18:55:35 | 187 | 71 |
[WP] You're running a little late to work, but when you arrive someone identical to you is already sitting at your desk. He puts up his hands and says "Relax, I can explain." | I paused, almost dropping my coffee. "Dude, what the fu-"
He raised his hands rapidly, scooting away from the desk. "R-relax, I can explain..."
"Goddammit man, this is the third time this week. Look, I know you want your own office, but you've got to use your cubicle until you get promoted."
Working with my twin brother was always a hassle. | "I'm you."
"I can sort see that, but er-how...?"
"I am you from an alternate universe, y'know, different history, ripple effect, Sliders on FOX. Get the picture?" the doppelganger asked as he checked his watch.
"Y-yeah, I-I thinks so, but um..." the original (to this particular universe) was at a loss for words.
"You're wondering what I'm doing here aren't you? It's alright it's a fair question to ask. I'd ask it if I was in you're position." Little did the man know this was a position that the copy had been in before.
"Well, what are you here for?" the original asked as he viewed a perfect replica of himself typing away at his work computer.
"Oh I won't be long" he checks his watch, "just here to pick up something I lost. I figured one of me would have a copy around the office, so I decided to sign in for you. Won't be long." he replied as he stuck a USB into the terminal.
"Er-Um sure I guess..." the original continued to fluster. After all it was a lot to take in, showing up at work late, seeing an copy of yourself browsing through your files, comprehending the idea that alternate universes are a thing not just seen on a TV program.
"Y'know..." the original began.
"...you could have just asked, I mean yeah I did show up late, but if you're me you could have just stopped by the apartment, and I wo-"
"Why did you show up late?" the visitor interjected.
"Wha...I-uh was caught up in traffic, huge pothole over on 42nd, big wreck."
"Hmm..." he pulled out his thumb drive, with a check of his watch.
"So..."
"Now I must leave, please enjoy you're life, and try not to create any terrible parallel universes eh?"
"...sure. So what did you need anyway?"
The clone smiled slowly, "Just some family pictures, I know it seems silly, but I lost mine in an ex-er...e-earthquake." he replied with a slight delay.
"Oh" he got the feeling it wasn't all he lost.
"Er..." the clone began, "you've been pretty cool about this and look like you could use a break, why don't you take the rest of the day off, go to that coffee shop we like."
The native snorted, "What you'll cover for me? C'mon don't be so serious, I can play hooky for one day, it's not the end of the world or anything."
"..."
| 2015-01-17T22:24:12 | 2015-01-17T21:18:31 | 287 | 23 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | Mortals are not permitted to foresee their own death.
That was the only truth I'd gleaned from my years of these warnings popping up everywhere. It doesn't work with mirrors or anything - nothing appears when I don't look at a person directly. I can't look up to see my own - nothing's there. It's haunted me. Every time a warning is something that isn't isolated - mass shootings, fires, explosions, contagious diseases. . . I would feel this incredible panic, and try to flee as quickly as possible. Nothing ever happened; these people all must be dying when I'm not around. I've never actually seen someone die. I just hear it on the news, or from a friend.
I know people will die. I don't know when, I don't know where, but I know how. Every single person I've ever met, without fail. Then, one day, they changed. They started to flicker, like a TV set to static. One by one they became illegible, until most of Grand Central Station was filled with these disturbing signs. I didn't panic. I'd spent most of my life running from these signs, trying to make sure I wouldn't get caught up in them.
But today, I felt something different. I felt peace. I looked around, at all of these flickering signs, and I knew.
Mortals cannot foresee their own death.
Whatever was going to happen to all of these people, was going to happen to me as well. I scanned the crowd, looking for signs that were still visible. The people waiting for the train near me still had signs; they would survive. The next platform over was not so fortunate.
The survivors' train leaves in just three minutes. The other, in eight. Sometime within those five minutes, we will all die. Something, someone, somewhere in this station is the cause of death for all of us. Too many flickering signs. They obscure my vision - I can't see the ones still visible. I need to get higher.
I climb the stairs. If it's a time-bomb, three minutes won't be enough to convince everyone to leave. Not even a fire alarm could empty Grand Central that fast. It has to be a detonator. Please, let it be someone in this building. Please.
There's too many signs. Too much static. I can't see. I can't see!
I start climbing up the side of a booth. A nearby guard shouts at me to get down. I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat. He approaches, and raises his weapon. That's when I see his sign. It flickers more than the rest, as if his fate isn't necessarily tied to theirs. I stare in confusion for a moment, then continue scanning the crowd. The guard doesn't matter.
That's when I see it. The sign that I've seen countless times before. The only sign that I've ever interfered with, the only death that I've ever tried to prevent. Suicide. It practically glows above the head of an unassuming white male. An average guy. Everyone around him still has that strange, flickering sign. It's the only chance I have. I won't be talking this guy down, like I tried with that girl. There's no time. The train just left. Five minutes, at the most. I don't have enough time!
I look back down. The officer below me is radioing for help, and threatening me with his rifle. I look up. The man's sign changes. The flickers stop. All at once, the signs burst back into life, a hundred different causes floating in the air. I've already made my decision. The guard below me has a new sign. Head trauma.
I leap down, my feet meeting him squarely in the chest, knocking him back and down the stairs. The rifle falls. I pick it up, and aim down the sights. I use the man's sign to mark him out from the crowd. I pray for a clean shot, but I've almost no experience with a rifle.
A women walking near him has a new sign, one I've never seen before. Collateral damage. My heart wrenches inside my chest, and for a less than a second the signs flicker, before returning to the way they were. I know what I have to do. Two innocent people, dead by my hand. A hundred others will be saved, but those two people will haunt me for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger. Gunshots echo throughout the building. The woman falls, but so does the man. Their signs flicker and die before my eyes.
I drop the rifle, and kneel down. Despite the blood on my hands, a small smile creeps across my face. After years of torment, this curse has finally proven worthwhile. I can hardly hear the screams. My ears ring from the gunshots, and tears roll down my face. Tears of joy and sorrow, at the lives saved and lives lost.
I look up at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central, but I can't see it. Instead, all I see, in small, flickering letters, is my own sign. I wish there was some way I could express to these officers that I don't blame them. I just don't have the strength or the time, because there is only one thing I know to be true; I cannot foresee my own death. | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T09:44:20 | 241 | 42 |
[WP] A Djinn travels the world, granting people a single wish. However he never gives the person their wish, instead you receive the benefit of the last persons wish, passing your wish forward to the next person he meets. | "It's a pony," the Djinn explained to Mr. Foster.
"Yes," Mr. Foster said. "I can see that's a pony. We just don't have any place to keep a pony. Hell, we don't even have children."
The Djinn shrugged. "What's *your* wish, then, Mr. Foster?"
"Can I ask a question first, though?"
"One," the Djinn said.
"Why a pony?"
The Djinn shrugged, already looking ahead in time for the next person to visit. "The little girl I asked last wished for it."
"Oh," Mr. Foster said. "So...*I* got *her* wish?"
"You have had your one inquiry, Mr. Foster."
"Right, I see." Mr. Foster glanced at the pony. "Well, if I don't get the benefit of my wish, anyways, then... Well, I wish that everyone gets what they themselves wished for."
The Djinn's blue head snapped back to the present. "You, sir, are throwing away your own wish, to change my magical preferences?"
Mr. Foster shrugged. "I'm not getting my wish, anyways."
"Then..." The Djinn's eyes widened for a moment. "Well, I still must forward *this* wish to the next person in line, but after your wish is granted to them, I am now bound to grant all future wishes to their the one that made the wish. No longer to the next wisher."
"That's the gist of it," Mr. Foster confirmed.
"You know what," the Djinn said. "It's just not fun anymore."
The Djinn poofed out of existence.
Mr. Foster looked again at the pony, sighing.
Mrs. Foster came in then. "Jack?" She saw the pony. "Why is there a pony in the house? And who were you just talking to?"
"Just some asshole," Mr. Foster replied. "He left us a pony, though."
"Why would an asshole leave behind a pony?"
Mr. Foster shrugged. "What can I say? People are weird." | Chad was having a crap day. It wasn't one of those bottom ten worst days of your life crap days, but it was crappy nonetheless. He woke as usual and got ready just a little behind schedule. When he went to have breakfast the milk was bad, and he just skipped it.
He had stopped at the coffee shop next door to the office, but there was a long line and he was already late, so no morning caffeine kickstart either. Just crappy.
He was sitting in his cubicle trying to figure out why his boss was over budget. It wasn't that his boss was stupid or anything, but he disliked accounting and always dumped budget chores on Chad. He looked at the clock, and it was only a little after ten. Crap, long morning already and his stomach was gurgling from lack of stimulation.
Picking up the phone, he dialed and a cheerful female voice answered "Emily Stoller, how can I help you?" Emily was an expense analyst at the corporate center. Chad had actually never met her, but she was really nice and usually had good ideas on how to explain away his boss's budget overages.
"Hey Emily, it's Chad. How are you?" He needed to get the morning over with and there was no better way to kill time than to talk to a pretty girl. At least she sounded pretty.
"Hi Chad! I was going to call you later today. I just got a job with Eastern Financial, and Friday will be my last day. I'm calling all my favorite customers today to tell them the news. From now on you'll need to call Drake Morgan with expense issues."
Shit, Emily was leaving. One of the bright spots in his life was leaving. Shit. And Drake Morgan the zombie was taking her place. Perfect. "Wow Emily, that sounds like a really good thing for you. Good luck in your new job. Stay in touch."
"I will Chad. Well, I gotta go. I've got a lot to do before I turn everything over to Drake. It's been really fun working with you." And she hung up.
Chad sighed and about leapt out of his skin as he turned in his chair. There was a short Middle Eastern looking man sitting in his guest chair.
"Who the-. I mean, can I help you?" Chad stammered out to cover his surprise. He'd never seen the man before and the guy had snuck into his cube right past him.
"Hi Chad. I'm a busy entity, so I will cut to the chase. I will grant you one wish. There is a catch though. Your wish will be given to the next person I visit and you will be given the wish of the last person I spoke to. Sound fun?" The little man smiled at him like this was something normal.
"Huh?"
"A wish. You know. Make a wish and I make it come true. Only for someone else. You get the last guy's wish."
"What was the last guy's wish?" Chad needed to stall and think here.
"He wished for a lifetime supply of bacon in a wagon pulled by a black lab puppy. I'm not sure the puppy will technically be able to pull that much bacon, but I think I can accomodate that. Would you like it here or should I have Tucker meet you in the parking lot by your car?"
"Shit, what will I do with a lifetime supply of bacon? And a puppy?"
"Not my concern. Do what you wish. So, I've got to keep moving. What is your wish, Chad?"
Chad cursed his luck that the last guy hadn't wished for $1 million or something sensible. Fuck that guy. Now Chad had the chance to make someone suffer for the day he'd had.
"Chad?" The little man sounded a little peeved as he looked insistently at Chad.
"Oh, fine. I wish for a big, huge... Nah... OK, make it $2 million. Cash in a duffle bag. $20's and $100's, easy to carry. Maybe some wheels on that duffle bag."
"It is done." And suddenly the man was gone. Just gone.
Chad heard a man over by the window shout. "What the fuck?!?" He went over to see the huge wagon behind his car filled with what he assumed were cases of bacon, and there was the cutest black lab puppy harnessed to the front of the wagon totally unable to move.
Chad smiled slightly to himself and started to walk out to the parking lot.
Edit: spelling | 2015-06-17T11:46:38 | 2015-06-17T10:52:01 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] Invent a Vault from the Fallout universe, complete with its own experiment and flesh out a story about the outcome of that experiment. | Hey! Cave Johnson here working with Malt-tech!!! Oh, wait, the boys in the lab say its "Vault-tech", well that's a dumb name.
Hey! Cave Johnson here working with Vault tech!!!...... No that name is just so dumb, it's just not catchy eno-
Hey! Cave Johnson here bringing you your post-apocalyptic protection service, free of charge! We here at *booming voice-over* **APERTURE SCIENCE** are proud to bring you an invitation to our joint project vault, Vault number Aperture. *side voice* It HAS TO be a number? fine. Vault number 101. *brief pause* Thats taken, so Vault number 111 *longer pause* Screw it, we are going back to Vault number Aperture. Inside Vault number Aperture we have some interesting plans to help you rebuild society. Things like, GEL guns that shoot things OTHER THAN BULLETS, exceptionally polite TURRETS. Combine this with a bountiful harvest of potatoes and lemo- WE GOT CANNED!?!?! FINE ILL BUILD MY OWN UNDERGROUND SCIENCE FACTORY, IT WILL BE DEEPER AND WAY MORE SCIENCY WITH A MUCH BIGGER DOOR. Salt tech will rue, RUE the day the messed with Cave Johnson!!! *mike clattering as it hits the floor* | Greetings valued citizen of Vault-Tec Vault 129, and welcome to your new home. Most likely, you are here because the world outside, and its various leaders, finally resorted to the Ultimate Option, and only your forethought in purchasing space in our patented Vault-Tec Fallout Shelters, commonly called Vaults, has saved you!
As of now, you are wearing our patented Pip-Boy, a powerful tool for work, communication, and entertainment here in the vault. You'll notice a button on it that varies from standard design specifications; this button is labeled "assistance", and will call to your side one of the many Mr. Handy robots helpfully provided for your vault by Robco.
These robots are managed by a proprietary Overseer class computer designed with you in mind, that accepts any commands you give it. The Overseer software will calculate the best way to fulfill your request, and then execute it! For safety reasons these robots will ignore a few commands, but for the most part, you're free to ask for anything!
-----------------------------------------------
"Overseer, please deliver this box to Ted."
Jason was smirking, as he always did when committing mischief. He had the (at least in his mind) brilliant idea to use the robots to do his bullying; after all, nobody can prove he had given the order, and nobody could access the supercomputer to find out.
Ted, meanwhile was fiddling with his Pip-Boy. A geek at heart, his favorite pastime was fiddling and figuring out technology. Most recently, he had discovered a few functions on his Pip-Boy that seemed unused, but weren't deletable. He looked up as the robot came in, and sighed. Jason again, then. The robot placed the box on the bed, and intoned happily, "A box from young master Jason, Theodore."
After he had finished cleaning up the ashes left over from incinerating the box (which had been full of spiders) with the help of a friendly Mr Handy, Ted sighed. He was stumped on what to do about these functions. He had plopped down on his bed, and looked at the Mr Handy as it left, before recognizing that, of all people, Jason has given him the idea.
Ted pressed the "assistance" button, and spoke into the Pip-Boy. "Overseer, please allow me access to the functions Ovrsr-Rvw and AdnOvrsr."
To his surprise, the friendly male voice of the Overseer, usually only heard when joking commands obviously illegal were given, spoke into his earpiece. "Thank you for showing interest in the diagnostic systems for the Overseer class computer. Please enter the Vault-Tec access password for your vault, and we can get started providing your Pip-Boy with administrator permissions."
--------------------------------------------
"Overseer, please deliver this bag to Ted."
Jason was smirking again; Ted was in class, and opening that bag would get him in HUGE trouble. But the Pip-Boy did not confirm his order. Instead, a voice came through his ear bud. "I'm sorry Vault-Tec citizen, but you don't have permissions high enough to interact with Overseer Ted."
---------------------------------------------
When vault 129 opened to the wastes, its unquestioned ruler Lord Theodore the second expanded his domain to the surrounding lands, providing a unique flavor of raiders; based in a vault, and using an army of Mr Handy robots that were repaired by internal systems of that vault, the empire of the Vault Theodorica was small but secure, and ruled by an iron fist. | 2015-06-27T21:35:57 | 2015-06-27T21:30:12 | 38 | 17 |
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D | Yeah. I saw it on the news. Split the goddamn country in half almost. They had people goin’ on camera, talking about it like they knew.
“They were just angels together, like two halves of a whole. I don’t think I have ever seen anything more beautiful and I doubt if I ever will.”
“It was just natural, you know? Shit, can’t believe she went out like that…”
Leeches. These sorry saps hadn’t even cracked the pavement with heartbreak. They played it safe and saw a friend of a friend put a fissure down a driveway once, and that was 15 years ago. They wouldn’t know what love is if it split them in half, because that’s what it does, and that’s how it feels.
I turned off the TV, lighting a cigarette and drawing deep before turning to face the hollow shell behind me. He had come in a couple days ago, followed shortly by all the cameras in New York. He just told me he wanted someone found, alive, with no questions asked. I was the kind of guy who didn’t ask questions.
I looked the kid up and down, seeing what the days had done to him. I let him bum in the office, where the nosy sons of bitches couldn’t get at him, but you could see the life had left his eyes. He clutched a revolver in his hand, only one bullet in the chamber. At first I had thought it was for who I was supposed to find, now I was having my doubts.
“How you holdin’ up kid?”
“Not great.” He was shaking, the gun looking too large in his hands. I hadn’t seen him eat since he burst through my door, cash in hand, eyes redder than the devil. He looked like hell. We both did, but what doesn’t kill you at least gives you something to bitch about at bar close.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No, but bring that fucker in anyway.”
My boots clicked, echoing off the cheap stucco as I opened the back closet, dragging a limp figure from its murky depths. I pulled up an old chair out in front of the kid, did a number with some duct tape and then splashed some cold water onto our guest's face so he could join the party.
He was a tweaker, rolled into town about the same time the kid did. Fresh off the west coast he had been lurking for a pocket to pick to get his high when I caught him. Vicious prick, gave me a gash, but no one gets away from me, not anymore.
The kid leaned forward, and slapped the tweak hard across his face with the gun. “Remember me?” The hammer sounded like thunder in the small office. “We have some business to attend to.”
“I swear, it wasn’t my fault. I thought the gun had blanks, I really did! I live on the streets, man, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”
The kid shoved the gun in his face, and I smelt piss. I could see him trembling, his finger tensing on the trigger.
“You took…you took the best thing in my life… I hate you… but this isn’t what she would have wanted.” The kid turned to me, and I saw that void in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Before he could put the gun to his head I knocked him out cold, kicking away the gun for good measure.
“Thank you man, I'll do anything you want, anything!” The tweaker was in tears, blubbering like a baby. I walked over slowly and picked up the kid's gun. I turned, put the barrel in that piece of shit’s mouth and pulled the trigger, twice.
His brain did a nice Jackson Pollock impression on the wallpaper as I bent down to pick up the kid. He couldn't have been more than 20, he felt frail in my arms as I carried him down the back stairwell and into the black Camero that was waiting there.
As we crossed the border into Jersey I heard the kid stir, waking up from the nasty right cross I gave him. He would survive, he just needed some guidance. I happened to know a good teacher.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I looked at the dog-eared photo sitting on the dash, faded almost beyond recognition, but I could never forget that angel’s face. The kid may have made the grand canyon, but that ain’t got shit on the Mariana Trench. | Beth Anne watched from her porch as her precious granddaughter Chloe hopped off the bus and ran up the sidewalk.
"Grandma, guess what I learned about in school today?"
"What, child?"
"We learned about the Grand Canyon!"
Beth Anne looked at Chloe with interest. "Oh? And what did you learn about the Grand Canyon?"
Chloe sat down on the porch in front of her grandmother, using her backpack as a seat.
"We learned that it started out as a small crack in the ground a lot of years ago. It's TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY miles long right now, Grandma, and it keeps getting bigger all the time!"
Beth Anne gave Chloe a small smile.
"Would you believe me if I told you that I remember when there wasn't a crack at all?"
Chloe goggled at Beth Anne.
"But...that means you must remember when the crack first formed! Mrs. Crane says nobody knows whose heartbreak started it, but most people believe it's not tied to a heartbreak anymore because it's just too big for one person, and it's been growing for a long time. Do you remember when it first cracked? How old were you? What was your life like? Had you met Grandpa yet?"
Beth Anne chuckled.
"One question at a time, Chloe. I was 16 when the crack formed. Life was..." Beth Anne got a faraway look in her eyes. "Life was definitely different then, Chlo. I wasn't with your grandpa yet, but I was over-the-moon for a boy I went to school with."
Chloe looked scandalized, and Beth Anne pooh-poohed her.
"Oh, I love your Grandpa sure enough, Chloe, but he wasn't my first love. That distinction went to this other boy."
Chloe wrinkled her nose.
"Did you kiss him?"
Beth Anne hooted with laughter.
"No, honey. I never kissed him."
"Tell me about him."
Beth Anne stared out at her yard and started speaking.
"Well, he was everything I wanted in a man. He was handsome, of course; but that was just the icing on the cake. He was intelligent, with curious green eyes and an inherent need to soak up new information. He was playful, not all caught up on looking cool like most of the other boys I went to school with. He had energy for days, and was always running around, literally...as if he was afraid to find out what would happen if he stopped. He was clever and sly, with dimples when he smiled. And he was crazy about me. He talked to his friends about me as if he thought I put the stars in the sky. When he talked to me, he had this way of making me feel like I was the only other person in the entire universe; or at least the only person he was interested in talking to. He told me every time he saw me how attractive, intelligent, and amazing I was."
Chloe's mouth was hanging open.
"Why didn't you kiss him?"
Beth Anne laughed and smiled sadly.
"Well, Chlo, times were certainly different then. Your great-grand-daddy, my daddy, had grown up in a time where it was considered taboo for a white woman to date a black man; and this boy's skin was black as night. My daddy would have never heard of it, and I wasn't brave enough to defy him. So this boy and I just stayed friends."
"But...did your friend know how you felt about him, at least? Did he know you liked him back?"
Beth Anne teared up a little at this point.
"No, baby...it would have been more cruel to let him know that I loved him but couldn't be with him; than it was to tell him that I just didn't feel that way about him. I remember the exact night it happened. Our group of friends got drunk and he leaned in for a kiss. I wanted to taste his lips more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. But I didn't want to break his heart, so I told him I was in love with his best friend."
Chloe's eyes were as wide as dinner plates.
"What did he do when you said that?"
A single tear rolled down Beth Anne's face. She didn't bother to wipe it away.
"He did what any good man would have done. He apologized to me for being so forward, and he ran off to find his best friend and told him that if he ever broke my heart, he'd never live to see another day. I didn't see him for the rest of the night, but his best friend did come over and ask me out, and I said yes. The very next day, someone documented an unusually large crack in the ground in Arizona."
Chloe gasped.
"Did you even like his best friend?"
Beth Anne looked sternly at Chloe.
"Now I want you to understand something, Chloe. His best friend was a wonderful man, too. At first, I just kept dating him to stay close to that group of friends. But the man I was dating was a hard worker and he promised me a good life. I could never, ever tell him that every time I see his face, all I can see is the love I lost that night so many years ago."
Chloe jumped up.
"What? You said 'see' his face. You still see him? Who is it? How often do you see him? Grandma, what if you are the crack for the Grand Canyon? What happened to the man you loved all these years?"
At that moment, Beth Anne's husband Hank walked out of the house and onto the porch.
"Well, if it isn't my two favorite women in the world! What are you two hens gossiping about today?"
Chloe giggled at her grandpa.
"Grandma was telling me all about her boyfriends in high school."
Hank grinned.
"Oh yeah? Did she tell you that I was one of those boyfriends? We fell in love years and years ago, thanks to my friend telling me your grandma was keen on me. I never would've guessed otherwise; she was a sly one! Now what was that kid's name who got us together? You remember him, Beth Anne, right? The one who just recently passed away. Left behind a wife and two sons."
"Derek. His name was Derek." Beth Anne filled in, giving a warning look to her granddaughter, whose mouth was gaping open in disbelief.
The next morning at school, Chloe's teacher held up a newspaper. "Guess what, class? We were just talking about the Grand Canyon yesterday, and it's in the news today! It's gotten even bigger, and experts are estimating that it's up to almost 280 miles long now! Isn't that exciting?" | 2015-12-03T17:49:18 | 2015-12-03T17:48:47 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
| The villain Oathbreaker held a gun to September's head and spoke directly into the camera. "If the *hero*" - he spat the word as if it were an insult - "known as Anonymous doesn't show his ugly face here in the next fifteen minutes, I will kill this man. And for every five minutes after that, I'll kill another hostage. People of New Manhattan, you'd better hope he shows up."
September Zenik, otherwise known as Anonymous, rolled his eyes. Oathbreaker didn't notice, but anyone watching the feed did. He could have broken out of these cuffs and healed his bruises with his powers, but that would give him away. He rather liked this civilian identity and would hate to have to change it.
Plus, he wanted to have a little fun. With his abilities, it wasn't like Oathbreaker could actually *kill* him.
"Hey, Oathbreaker...?"
The supervillain glared down at him. "Silence!"
"No, I think you need to hear this. I might not have any powers, but some people very close to me do." September smirked. "One of the members of Pop-Heroes is family. You know, that minor villain team with the portal maker and the girl who can find anything? They also happen to be in contact with another member of my family. He's a retired villain. He unmasked himself and then faked his death to get out of the business. Nicholas Connover. The Slaughterhouse Cannibal."
Oathbreaker's eyes went very, very wide. Around the room, both hostages and henchmen alike froze at the name of one of history's most terrifying villains.
Then Oathbreaker's eyes narrowed again. He lashed out with his foot, kicking September in the head. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"
"Unfortunately for you, he isn't."
Oathbreaker spun around. There, standing in front of a portal that had appeared behind the camera, was a man in a skull mask holding an oversized meat cleaver. His eyes, glowing red, bored into Oathbreaker.
"And, even more unfortunately for you, I haven't had lunch."
September shut his eyes just in time to avoid getting blood in his eyes. He may have been a superhero, but having supervillains for family was sometimes quite useful. He just wished his father wasn't such a messy eater. | A gloved hand brushed aside the curtain, Malicious Mortimer peeked out of the window and snickered.
Numerous television crews had gathered outside the abandoned mansion to report on Mortimer's latest devious scheme.
"And what a scheme it is," he cackled, "Best one yet, should I say so myself."
"Who are you talking to?" a voice asked from behind.
His hostage sat there bound in a wooden chair, tied securely by a rope.
Mortimer nodded confidently to himself, "You cannot go wrong with the ol' rope and chair."
He rubbed his hands deviously, like any proper villain would, and explained his plan to the hostage.
"Soon, yes, soon Captain Cumbersome will come to save you and he'll walk right into my trap." said Mortimer.
The hostage was quiet for a moment, "Captain... Cumbersome?"
Mortimer peeked out the window again and waved his hand dismissively at his hostage, "You know, the guy. The hero guy."
The hostage went silent for a moment then his eyes went wide, "Ooooh, Captain Confidence."
Mortimer stomped on the ground and grit his teeth, "Don't say that name!" he barked, "I hate it! Hate it! Hate it! Hate it!"
Exhausting himself like a child throwing a tantrum, he struggled to catch his breath, "Soon, that name will be no more." he wheezed.
Once more he swung open the curtain to check if the Captain had already arrived.
He was greeted by the flash of a reporter's camera.
He stumbled a bit and squinted his eyes one at a time, then flipped off the reporter outside the window, "Wow, rude." replied the man outside.
Mortimer was raised better than this, "I'm sorry. This is a big moment for me and I'm just a bit stressed, you see?"
He tugged the curtain back in place, "Where was I?"
"You were explaining your plan." replied the hostage helpfully.
"Right," nodded Mortimer, "Everytime that Captain is one step ahead of me but not today!"
"That Captain Confidence sounds like a clever guy." said the hostage with a smirk.
"I can't seem to beat him, he's too clever for his own good!" replied Mortimer.
The hostage moved around his foot bashfully, "Aw, shucks."
"But that'll change today." said Mortimer, cackling maniacally.
The hostage's face twisted in disgust, "Jeesh, what was that? Are you ok?"
"What? My villain laugh, obviously." he replied.
The hostage closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, "Wow." he said slowly.
Mortimer smiled and adjusted his overcoat, "Pretty good, huh?"
The hostage stammered for a bit, "It's certainly something."
"Anyway," Mortimer continued, "By taking you, which I'm sorry for by the way, I force the Captain to come to me. We'll play on my terms instead of his!"
His audience nodded, "That's clever."
Mortimer's face exploded in an expression of joy, "It gets better!"
He put his hands on his back and continued his explanation while facing the window.
Like he had seen the villians in TV-shows do.
The effect was slightly ruined by the fact that the curtains were still in place.
"Then when he comes in through the door he'll step right on the pressure plate." Mortimer quickly turned around for effect, "and activa -- Hold. Hold. Hold it. Where did that glass of water come from?"
The hostage shrugged, "Huh? I was thirsty."
Mortimer pointed his finger accusingly at the hostage, "You, are, tied."
The rope fell to the floor in pieces.
The man pretended to act suprised, his mouth agape, "Wow, the rope broke!"
Mortimer crossed his arms, he wasn't buying it.
The man sighed, "You know, I tried tying myself up again but it's not that easy."
Mortimer put his hands at his side, "You know how expensive that rope was?" said Mortimer with a frown, "You like breaking people's stuff, huh?"
The hostage averted his gaze and stared at the floor, "I'm sorry." he replied weakly.
| 2017-01-28T08:55:41 | 2017-01-28T07:56:31 | 143 | 42 |
[WP] You've been kidnapped by a cult, and locked in the basement of their compound for a week. Finally, they drag you out and onto a stage in front of a crowd of screaming fans. Apparently, you're their messiah. | "Look, you've got the wrong person," I whispered into the mic, my voice echoing off the walls of the auditorium. For a week I was locked in a damp basement with barely enough food and water to survive, certain that my captors were going to do unimaginable things to me and kill me off.
The next thing I knew, I was dragged from my new home and put unto a stage, with giant headlights shining unto me. "Behold our new messiah!" a voice from the side screamed, as I stood like a lost lamb on the stage, to the roars of the spectators. Thousands of eyes stared expectantly at me, in the front row seats, at the back of the hall, on the stands. It was like being at a sold out concert, except that I was on the stage the celebrity.
"It's just like what the prophecy mentioned. He even thinks he's the wrong person," someone near the front said, loud for me to hear. I shook my head. This whole thing was some sick joke.
"No, I am not! I was kidnapped, locked in a basement for a week and now I am here. I am not someone with powers or anything!" I screamed back. I was not sure why I bothered to remain on stage. Maybe it was the men at the side of the stage with guns.
"We know!" Another person shouted from the back.
"Then you should know that I am a freeloader living in his mum's apartment with no job, no education and spends his day arguing on the internet or cursing people's mum in games! I'm no Messiah!" I protested. I had imagined that I was kidnapped by some deranged serial killers, not a weird cult who was clearly heaving trouble picking their messiah. What sort of cult worships a male virgin at forty years old?
A guy in the front replied. "That's the whole point. Having someone who is so much worse than us gives hope, that our lives is not hopeless as we thought." And the crowd then roared in approval.
----------------
*This did not go the way I planned. Same with most of my stories at /r/dori_tales* | "HEY! GET UP!", a disembodied voice yells. "It's time!"
I bump my head against the cage's roof.. For how long have I been in here?
"It's time for what?", I say. "Will you let me go back to my house?"
"NO!", he replies, anxiously. "Today, you will rise with us!"
"Meh, I don't really have anything else to do. Take me."
A tiny lightbulb flickers. The light goes on and off. I can see him clearly now. Disheveled, fat, what's on his face--oh, that's his face. What did I get dragged into?
"Now, where's the key to these things?", the man says. "Here's the key to the attic, the front door, the procreation room--"
"THE WHAT ROOM?!", I scream.
"Shh! If you don't want to get in there, shut up!"
And he continues looking for his keys.
"Here's the key to my mother's house, and the key to, um, I don't really know what does this unlock, and, here it is! Your salvation!"
"Just unlock this damn thing already", I say. "I'm hungry."
He walks towards me, inserts the key in the lock, turns it excruciatingly slowly, and opens the door.
"So? Get out!", he says. "Follow me."
He opens the door and grabs my arm.
"Do you _really_ have to grab it?", I ask. "As if I didn't feel defiled enough already."
"Hey, it's not every day that a pretty girl decides to join our glorious group of enlightenment."
"Join? _Join?!_ You spiked my fucking drink at a party!"
"Eh, you're here, that's all that matters. By the way, I'm Josh. You'll be using my name a lot in the coming days."
"As in, FUCK YOU, JOSH?!"
"Almost. It will sound more like OH FUCK ME, JOSH!"
"I want to kill you so badly right now."
"The feeling is mutual."
The house is small and dirty. There's someone sleeping naked on the couch...I want to believe that they're sleeping. There are cans of beer and chips scattered all over the floor and a laptop displaying adult entertainment on the kitchen counter.
"What do you worship? Trashy, cheap parties and blocky porn?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
He stops, lets go of my arm and opens the front door. He points towards it, grinning creepily.
"You must do this alone", he says, unable to contain his happiness.
"Okay. So long, weirdo."
I walk through the door. I wish I didn't.
A crowd has gathered around the house, of roughly forty guys. They stare at me inquisitively, their eyes not-so-subtly looking at...my chest? Oh, come on, guys. I was expecting better of you.
"ALL HAIL OUR SAVIOR, THE ORACLE OF WOMEN!", someone screams. "SAVIOR!"
"SAVIOR, SAVIOR, SAVIOR!", the crowd chants.
"What?", I ask. "What is this?"
"Oh, look at her! She's perfect! Humble and pure!", the same man adds.
I turn around, towards Josh, who is laughing so hard it seems he's on the verge of shitting himself.
"What the fuck is this?!", I ask him.
"This is what we're about."
He walks out of the house and looks at the crowd with a smile.
"Gentlemen, calm down! I know we shall all rejoice in this glorious day. We have been blessed, by the force of need, with a wonderful woman who shall reveal the secrets of her kind to us! For years, we have been oppressed by other men and ignored by females! They call us ugly, unattractive...beta males."
The crowd screams in horror.
"From today onwards, that will change! She will be our spiritual and physical guide, and will aid us in our peruse for love!"
"Don't you mean pursuit?", I say.
"You see how intelligent she is! She will change it all! All hail the savior!"
"HAIL!", the crowd screams with joy.
God, if you're listening to me right now, kill me. | 2017-05-27T11:15:31 | 2017-05-27T09:52:14 | 277 | 46 |
[WP] You've been kidnapped by a cult, and locked in the basement of their compound for a week. Finally, they drag you out and onto a stage in front of a crowd of screaming fans. Apparently, you're their messiah. | "Look, you've got the wrong person," I whispered into the mic, my voice echoing off the walls of the auditorium. For a week I was locked in a damp basement with barely enough food and water to survive, certain that my captors were going to do unimaginable things to me and kill me off.
The next thing I knew, I was dragged from my new home and put unto a stage, with giant headlights shining unto me. "Behold our new messiah!" a voice from the side screamed, as I stood like a lost lamb on the stage, to the roars of the spectators. Thousands of eyes stared expectantly at me, in the front row seats, at the back of the hall, on the stands. It was like being at a sold out concert, except that I was on the stage the celebrity.
"It's just like what the prophecy mentioned. He even thinks he's the wrong person," someone near the front said, loud for me to hear. I shook my head. This whole thing was some sick joke.
"No, I am not! I was kidnapped, locked in a basement for a week and now I am here. I am not someone with powers or anything!" I screamed back. I was not sure why I bothered to remain on stage. Maybe it was the men at the side of the stage with guns.
"We know!" Another person shouted from the back.
"Then you should know that I am a freeloader living in his mum's apartment with no job, no education and spends his day arguing on the internet or cursing people's mum in games! I'm no Messiah!" I protested. I had imagined that I was kidnapped by some deranged serial killers, not a weird cult who was clearly heaving trouble picking their messiah. What sort of cult worships a male virgin at forty years old?
A guy in the front replied. "That's the whole point. Having someone who is so much worse than us gives hope, that our lives is not hopeless as we thought." And the crowd then roared in approval.
----------------
*This did not go the way I planned. Same with most of my stories at /r/dori_tales* | You're probably wondering how I ended up in this position. Well, let's venture back, about three weeks ago.
I always got strange looks from numerous people, because of how my body was shaped. I'm not like most other guys you see - I had transitioned from a woman, but the doctors said that they couldn't do anything to change the overall shape of my body. It was a genetic issue, of some sort, and I didn't ask for details that I wouldn't have understood. But I finally had gotten rid of those breasts which were causing me so much pain.
Though one day, I managed to notice that there was someone following me. Rather intently, might I add. Whenever I turned a corner, they turned the same one. I took a longer path home and when I was finally behind the safety of the wooden door did they give up the chase. They did, however, stand outside my door for quite some time before turning away.
I foolishly thought that I was safe for the night, and retired to my room. I fell asleep with the familiar surroundings pulling me to sleep, but when I awoke I was in a basement.
Now, I know I'm an avid sleepwalker, but it's never been to the point where I can readily take myself to an unfamiliar environment. So I began to panic, going through my calm down procedures before rationally thinking about what could have happened for me to end up here.
My mind immediately went back to the stranger that had followed me, and I shivered a bit. Had I been abducted? From the safety of my own home? That only begged the question on how they had managed to get in. The only door I ever unlock is the front door, and my windows all remain securely locked.
Plus, if they had broken in through a window, my Pomeranian would have alerted me to any intruders quite fast.
For a week I pondered my predicament, but I was given food three times a day (a full three-course meal, no less!), fresh clothes that fit me, and they even managed to bring Milo from home. At least they knew that he wouldn't have liked to be alone for too long.
On the eighth (ninth?) day I was there, the same man who had stalked me before came into my room, a genuine - if, somewhat remorseful and maybe even timid - smile on his face. I was beginning to think about the worst possibilities that could happen to me when he broke the silence.
"I do apologize profusely for your entrapment," he stated, a thick accent lingering with his (admittedly, rather impressive) words as be bowed slightly. "But we had to ensure that everything was in order before we properly introduce you to your new subjects."
"Oh, don't sweat it, man, it's-" Wait, what? Subjects?
My confusion must have been quite clear on my face because he stepped closer, holding out his hand and helping me up before he led myself and Milo out of the room. I made sure to have a tight hold of the Pomeranian as we walked down the hall.
"I know this is quite shocking to hear," he continued, "but we have been searching for our Messiah for quite a lengthy period of time. And, with all of the conclusive studies..." He turned to face me, a hand in the doorknob in front of us. "... we are led to believe that you, in fact, are who we're looking for."
Without waiting for my response he flung the door open, and I was greeted with uproarious applause and cheers as I made my way (with a shaking Milo) to the front of the crowd, the stranger behind me by a short distance. Once I had sat down in the throne, I realized that all of these people were wearing cloaks that covered their lower half of their bodies.
"What's going on?" I finally managed to find my voice, looking over to my left to find the stranger with his hands behind his back. He simply smiled and said something in a language I didn't understand (or recognize, for that matter) to the crowd. They all repeated back a phrase before shedding their cloaks and bowing down before me.
I was stunned. All of the crowd was filled with men that had pear-shaped bodies, to varying degrees, and the stranger had also shed his cloak, looking at me with a smile.
"Welcome home, our Messiah."
[First time doing this, please let me know how I did?] | 2017-05-27T11:15:31 | 2017-05-27T10:51:32 | 277 | 12 |
[WP] You are an extremely Americanized character who has just been dropped into a typical high school anime that is riddled with all of the common anime tropes. Try as you might, you can't understand why the other characters behave the way they do. | "hey you! american guy! what did you just do in that closet with that girl?"
"oh, we just fucked..."
"WHAT!? how is that possible?!!"
"well shes been coming on to me for weeks now and is obviously way into me... so i started to feel kinda guilty for ignoring her advances..."
"dude thats like the third chick youve banged, how do you do it?"
"its simple really, just say "yes" and then dont pussyfoot around"
harem mangas solved forever, the end | "Damn, where am I?"
_Sam touched his head, everthing still felt strange and dizzy, however he was starting to see again. A little figure approached him_
"Oniiii-chan, are you ok? you look like someone who's having a bad time"
_A little girl was speaking, she could have been 13 years old at maximum, but something didn't feel right about her_
"Ah,emh, I'm fine, don't worry. Who are you? where am I?"
_Her boobs. Yep, that was the thing that didn't feel right. Her eyes were too big and she also was very short and dressed in a really tight sport uniform, but most importantly her boobs....Damn Sam,he thought, this is not the time and i'm sure this is not entirely legal. I have to get out of here, and fast!_
_The little girl interrupted the flow of toughts in his mind_
"I'm Iris, and you are in the school gym warehouse. I heard a loud noise coming from here and i came to check if everything was fine and i found you. But you, who are you? I've never seen you, so you're probably a new student. Now tell me, how did you get in here?"
_Sam said the first thing that came to his mind_
"ehm, I was searching for the main hall and I got in here, but then the door was locked from outside so .."
"Ok, well, this seems a bit odd but ok, I'll guide you to the main all"
_The girl took sam's hand a started to literally drag him outside the warehouse and inside the main building, who sam assumed was the school. They were just entering the school when a mid-age good looking woman with big boo -oh,Sam, just stop it- stood in their way_
"Mh, look what we've got here. Iris and .... Oh, you, it's you Sam."
_Sam looked her confused. Who is she, and why she knows my name?_
_Iris, again, interrupted his toughts_
" I'm sorry headmaster, Sam is a new student and didn't know how to reach your office so I tought I could guide him"
"Ok, it's fine Iris. Now go back to your lecture, I'll take care of him"
_The headmaster blinked to sam, and he somehow knew that the situation was only going to degenerate...."_
________________________________________________________________
Note: this is the first time i write something so be kind and i wish you could gave me some tips. Also, i'd like to point out that i'm not native so maybe i could've done some mistakes while writing :D
Edit 1: formatting
| 2017-07-23T22:35:02 | 2017-07-23T22:04:51 | 189 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone on earth can control a random element, Such as fire or ice. You are the only one with the power to control the element of surprise. | On February 29, 2052, a rogue wave of unnaturally high solar energy bathed the earth in unidentifiable radiation. Everybody thought we were finished. Everybody was wrong. Humanity changed that day. Every living person, from infants to the elderly and everyone in between, gained supernatural abilities of control. Each person on earth, and every generation to come gained control of a different element, force or quality.
Quickly the world broke into castes, separating us based on our powers. The lowest level "kin" (short for kinesis) are physicals. Y'know, power of strength, speed, and flight. Peasant class, obviously. Above them are the mentals. Control over love, fear, and logic. The working class. 50% of people belong to either the physical or mental caste. Above them both are the elementals. Fire, water, stone, etc. For most families in this caste, it's forbidden to marry into the lower two castes, not for any social reasons though. Purely for the fact that elemental genes are less dominant to mental and physical genes. If an elemental were to have kids with a lower caste person, their children would almost certainly be born with lower caste powers. Above them are the Vital caste. A dying breed. They control forces of life and death exclusively. You haven't seen horror until you've seen a death priest pull the life out of a person, only for a life priest to restore them. Gross.
The highest class of Kin are the primordials. Only about a dozen have been noted to exist at any given time. Their powers extend over forces greater than most can even comprehend. Space, time, light, darkness.
But new Kin have been born that will undoubtedly shake the system until it crumbles. Twins. A boy and a girl. Their limits are yet to be known, but one thing's for sure; You'll never see them coming. | "I'm sorry, but you control the element of what again?" Asked the baffled Grand Flumflum. Getting challenged to a duel by a young upstart wasn't exactly new to him, and gods knew that he had seen his fair share of weirdos over the course of his storied career, but this was just too much. "Never mind, don't need reminding. Shoo kid, go have a chocolate frog," the Grand Flumflum said, lazily waving off his newest challenger with one hand.
The kid didn't move. He simply peeked up at him from his oversized pass-me-down robe and hat.
"I'm sure you'll find in me a worthwhile foe. I mean, you're clearly left wanting for lessons in humility, just like the other Grand Flumflums I challenged and defeated," the kid said, fixing his hat and looking up at him defiantly. The Grand Flumflum scoffed.
"You? You beat others like I?" He boomed, raising his stocky frame slowly. Sparks of electricity started dancing around his fierce eyebrows.
"Insolent child, you claim to have defeated masters over the elements, harnessers of the very powers of nature, harbingers of doom, fellers of dragons and demigods? Well then, pray, do go ahead and show me the full scale of your powers!"
He raised his arms slowly, summoning a quartet of spinning blades behind his back. Behind those blades, the ground cracked open, spewing forth a fearsome jet of molten Earth that choked the air out of their surroundings. The Grand Flumflum finally cast three protective layers of protective shielding over himself for good measure. He was not one to let his guard down, even in the face of people that were clearly insane.
"Great," the kid said. He turned his back, and started walking away.
"Where are you going!" The Grand Flumflum boomed. His voice was the clapping of thunder and ice, the crackling of fire and earth. It was also ignored. He watched as his newest challenger made his way off the street and around a corner. Had he known the things he knew would happen to him over the next couple of weeks, he would not have let the kid leave like that.
---
"GAAAHHH!! SONOFA!!! MOTHER!!! FFF!" The Grand Flumflum flailed around comically on the jogging route, blinded and incapacitated by a large cut of cloth draped around him. It would have made for a good lark for passers-by, had he not been randomly obliterating everything within a 20 foot radius with an assortment of deadly spells.
"SHOW YOURSELF!!" He screeched, finally managing to get the cloth off. As always, the kid was nowhere to be found.
"Leave me alone and stop harassing me, goddammit! This isn't funny anymore!"
Still no response. The Grand Flumflum started sobbing. He had lost a lot of weight, most of his hair, and to say that all of his recent dates had gone poorly was a major understatement.
"You win, dammit! Take from that what you will! Just stop doing this to me!"
"Finally."
"Gaahh!"
"So you acknowledge it then? Single elements can be just as powerful."
The Grand Flumflum pouted.
"It wasn't the single element part so much as what element it was... uh, sorry..."
"It's fine, I'm used to it. Grand Flumflum Falazan, master of the four elements of fire, earth, water, and wind, I humbly thank you for engaging me."
The Grand Flumflum shook his hand. The kid had a pretty firm grip. He managed a weak grin.
"The feeling is mutual, and now, walk with pride, Lower Fringle Lee, master of the element of surprise, for you have bested one of the magicking world's best without casting a single spell."
-----
I've posted this one before, but it felt oddly relevant to the prompt, so here we are :)
Please visit r/Seriousaboutnachos for more of my writing, thanks! | 2017-08-19T09:35:40 | 2017-08-19T08:27:40 | 69 | 42 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | It was not often that I looked upon the mortal realm. Living souls on my world were growing ever-abundant, and for each new life, the promise of new death came as well. It was a steady stream of power that I took for granted, certainly enough to keep me satisfied. My power grew each century as the human population staggered upward.
And then one day, I felt it. A pulse of power. The colossal loss of life in a near instant. Perhaps a few million souls. Life sat across the chessboard from me, a worried look in his eye.
"Likely just a large meteor again, I'm sure it will be fine." I reached forward to move my bishop, when a felt another pulse.
Life's face was twisted in agony. A series of pulses came, and my power grew beyond Life's as he weakened and I booned. He groaned and collapsed to the floor, and despite my sudden advantage over him, I peered toward our planet in fear.
Once life and I had been enemies, but even as I hated him, he was necessary for my own existence. For there cannot be Death without Life.
Nothing appeared to be striking the planet, yet massive explosions seemed to plague the surface. Not giant meteors, no external energy sources. I closed my eyes and felt the heat of the planet's core. No signs of release or pressure. Volcanic activity was under check. How was such destruction occurring? I used my power to slow time and establish a presence all upon the surface.
The humans were at war? Yet there seemed to be no battlefield.
Another pulse. Fire, energy, death. I surrounded the source with my presence. The explosion appeared to come from the sky. I turned my attention to the air...
Metal monstrosities soared in the skies, each one with the power to snuff out more lives than the greatest war. What had the humans done...
With a clench of my fist, I erased the terrible weapons. It drained much of my newfound power, but I could feel the slow, painful deaths of those around the world. 85% of humans had already perished. I need not worry about lacking in power this day.
I followed the gaseous trails they left behind to facilities of iron and steel. The humans there had caused this destruction. They had the audacity to complain at the malfunction of their weapons. Why had they done such a thing? What good could come of such massive death? Even the plants and animals would struggle to survive this.
They burned from the inside-out at the wave of my hand. As their souls left their bodies, I snatched them. Few had the honor of coming to my realm.
I looked upon the surface of my world. Once, this sight would have brought upon a smile on my lips. Now, I thought of what would become of Life.
I found him frail, bloodied and dying. He was unconscious, and in such a state he could not use his power.
I felt myself begin to panic. I had great power now, but it could only destroy. What could I do? Where would I begin?
***My first prompt! Usually I write drafts of plot and go back to fill it in a bit more. Let me know if you like the ideas, at least. | "Dude, fuck Life. What a dick." said Dan.
A lazy man with even lazier grooming habits, Dan burped and slurped another Rolling Rock. As a black crow picked at the remains of a corpse on his front lawn, Dan reached back into his cooler-chair and grabbed another cold one.
"You want one? Or are you still 'gluten' free," muttered Dan.
"I can't believe I'm stuck at the end of the world with my ex... " muttered Genivee. She was a beautiful woman. Was. A failed young marriage and a career and a half later, she looked like a woman whose best days had left her.
"YOU HEAR ME DEATH? FUCK YOU. YOU SUCK AT YOUR JOB!" screamed Genivee.
"Tried that. He ain't coming." said Dan.
"How do you know Death is a He? Maybe it's a She? Or maybe Death doesn't have any pronouns." tendered Genivee.
"Does anyone give a shit?" fired Dan.
"Give me the goddamn beer," returned Genivee.
Dan chucked a can to Genivee, who, of course, dropped it. She was never great at catching things. The can rolled toward the corpse to the crow.
"You didn't have to throw it that hard." said Genivee.
"I didn't throw it that hard," retorted Dan.
"You totally chucked..."
"I threw it normal"
"Throw it normal, what does that mean..."
"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?"
"What did you say to me?!"
"I didn't say shit, there you go again, always accusing me..."
"HELLO, DOWN HERE!"
The crow turned it's head and waved it's little wing. In a flash of light, the crow and the corpse disappeared, and, out of nowhere, appeared the Mick Jagger dressed in an all black suit.
"HOLY FUCK! MICK JAGGER?! I LOVED YOU IN THE BEATLES!" screamed Dan.
After a dumbfounded glance, Genivee studied the Mr. Jagger and carefully asked, "who are you?"
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste..."
"Wait, isn't that a Rolling Stones song?" asked Dan.
"Good Lord... I'm Death, you nitwit. I figured I'd at least dress in style to meet my new subjects. A more familiar form, no?"
"So, can I have your autograph?" returned Dan.
"God, I can't believe you and I had sex... Sorry, mister, um, Death? Subjects?" asked Genivee.
"Yes. Subjects. You two are the last humans alive, and, well, per Eden Protocol 101, I am to keep you alive so you can procreate. Or else I shall be eliminated. Rather ironic, no?" Death said with a smirk.
Genivee, dumbfounded, turned and vomited onto Dan's half dead lawn.
"I thought you might like that, Genny. You Mortals seem to think Death and Life are separate, but you were all rather mistaken. Well, except the Buddhists, they got it right. But, if you asked me, they lived such rather boring lives anyway that I daresay I can count that as living" laughed Death.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jagger. I'm a little confused. Are you saying that we are like some sorta Adam and Eve or something?" asked Dan earnestly.
"Well done, Daniel," applauded Death. He picked up the Rolling Rock and, with a snap, the can turned into a martini with a black olive garnish.
"Surely, there must be some mistake... how can we procreate if we hate each other? Aren't there other couples that may be better suited? Barack and Michelle? Kristen Bell and Dak Shepherd? Hell, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?" pleaded Genivee.
"Others? Who better than you two? You two fit the bill, perfectly. Oh, and don't call me surely. Did I do that right?" snickered Death.
"Fit the bill? Of whom?" asked Genivee.
"Of Adam and Eve. You two are splitting images of them." answered Death.
Dan and Genivee gave each other a flabbergasted look as if each were trying to see if either could be the Father and Mother of man. Dan took his hands and began to protect his ribs.
"I'm not taking your ribs, you fool. Besides, you have too much fat on them anyways..." sneered Death.
"How are we like Adam and Eve? Weren't they kind and welcoming parents?" asked Genivee.
"They HATED each other. All their bickering." laughed Death. "And that family was a disaster. One of their sons murdered the other?! Hardly great parenting don't you think?"
"Why do you thinkhumankind was such a disaster? All the fighting and killing and sex. It was truly rather entertaining watching you little humans hurt each other so. I had them entertained for eons! But it got old and you mortals blew each other up anyways... So think of it as a... reboot of sorts..." gleamed Death.
He finished His martini and then snapped his fingers. A California King drapped in black satin sheets appeared.
"We're ready for you two to start whenever you’re ready."
| 2018-05-04T12:46:53 | 2018-05-04T11:25:13 | 140 | 58 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | A bead of sweat formed on the genie's brow, as he nervously searched for the right words to use, fully aware that he was about to deliver my fate.
"Your existence will result in the cure for cancer being developed, which will pave the way for hundreds of generations to come," he said, confident that he had delivered not only the truth, but a means of avoiding a difficult question.
"Oh wow!" I exclaimed, "do I develop the cure myself?"
The genie looked down at his whispy tail, and the glistening lamp he had emerged from. "Not exactly," he replied.
"Oh," I said, suddenly grasping what he meant. "I get cancer?"
The genie lit up. "Oh no no no, nothing like that!" he said, his tone finally shifting. "No you'll be pleased to know that you'll stay cancer free for the rest of your days."
"Great!" I chimed. "But how then? If I don't develop a cure, and I don't get the illness, then how could I help in the development of a cure?"
The genie cursed silently to himself, but he knew that holding out much longer would only prolong the inevitable. "Well, the man who develops the cure will do so as a direct result of your life," he began.
"Go on," I pressed.
"The man in question discovers the cure while serving time for murder."
My stomach dropped. "Mine?"
The genie slowly nodded.
"My... my murderer will result in the development of the cure for cancer?" I asked, the blood drained from my face. At least my life would have an impact on others, I thought to myself. What a way to go.
"Yes. He will discover the cure while researching his own cancer, using the knowledge of his prison library and a volunteer research group he will join," the genie explains.
"I suppose it's for the greater good then," I sighed, accepting my fate. "What kind of cancer does he have, out of interest?" I pry.
"Stomach cancer," the genie replies, "as a result of cannibalism." | The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T06:31:04 | 2018-08-15T01:58:00 | 351 | 43 |
[WP] In a world where superheroes are commonplace, your city is protected by a shape-shifting super-hero. No-one knows who she truly is, until one day you open your storage room and the hero's costume spills onto the floor. Your cat then lets out a shocked and very human gasp once she sees this. | Oscar, my very male cat, let out a very feminine scream once I saw the costume fall out before me. I didn't say anything-- I mean, what can you say to that?-- and just looked at Oscar as he stared at me in pure, unadulterated horror.
I, as shocked as I was, could only say the first thing that came to my mind. "I would have just thought that The Shifter was hiding in my storage room if you didn't scream."
Oscar opened and closed his mouth, disbelief evident on his cat face, before laughing in a way that only teenage girls could. Eventually she calmed down, before looking at me with pupils that weren't slit like a cat's should be.
"That's why I love you, Marcus. You always know how to make even a tense situation funny."
Oscar then, without any further prompt, stalked over to me on his tiny cat paws. Slowly, his arched back straightened and the hair on his body slowly receded to reveal tan, unblemished skin. Some of the fur morphed into a plain white T-shirt, and some into denim jeans, but besides that the girl that took the place of my cat wore nothing.
She also had navy blue hair. That shouldn't be overlooked.
We stared at each other, my mouth agape and hers in a Cheshire grin which, I suppose, was apt.
"Do you have nothing to say to me, Marcus?"
I wanted to scream. Nothing to say? More like I had too much to say! My cat just turned into what I could only assume was the biggest superhero in our town! What could I say?
In the end, I said, "so is this your true form?"
Oscar-- for I would not call her anything else-- laughed once more. Her voice was like the tinkling of bells, and she wasted no time in reaching up and rustling my hair.
My cat of about seven years was rustling my hair like I was a naive child.
"No, Marcus," she said, her point accentuated by the roll of her eyes. "My true form is the cat."
Sarcasm noted, I rolled my eyes as well.
"Then why? Why did you spend all of those years disguised as my cat?"
Oscar rolled her eyes. "I wasn't PRETENDING to be your cat. I really am your cat. It's just that sometimes I'm not. Sometimes I'm your superhero."
Once more, I had nothing to say. Oscar, seeing the chance, somehow smiled harder and continued.
"And I've seen your internet activity when you're alone at night, Marcus. No, we're not going to start dating."
I blushed, my mind suddenly racing back to all the times that I... had fun... while Oscar was in the room. I tried to stutter out that I wasn't thinking of her like that, but she put a finger to my lips.
A finger that, at some point, was adorable little kitty jelly beans.
"Don't worry, Marcus! Sometimes you have some very... specific... preferences, and sometimes I go out and fight crime. Neither of us have been perfect roommates, but that's what makes us such good friends! We can accept our goods and our bads and move on. So, please, can we just continue as we were?"
We stood there, in a slightly uncomfortable silence, just looking at each other. But... what is there to say?
Finally, I said, "Okay, but from now on you have to clean your own litter box."
I was answered with the tinkling of bells. | My wife’s cat, Stacey, used to be amazing.
She was the sweetest, cuddly, and curled up with us every night, softly purring. When we were busy, she’d run around, playing with her toys, or try sneaking outside to play with the neighbor cats. She was, well, a joy.
Now she’s an absolute *bitch.*
I hate saying that, I really do, but it’s tearing my wife apart. She’s had this cat since she was a baby and one day, she just flipped a switch and became a brat. She pees on our shoes every night, and claws are feet while we’re in bed. Yesterday she chewed up the TV cables, which is why I’m rooting around the storage room right now, searching for extras.
As I lift box after box, the radio hums in the background. They’re talking about Ms. Whiskers, our local superhero. She’s been defending our town for almost fifty years, but hasn’t come around much lately. People think she might be sick, or simply getting too old. When I was a kid, they did a limited run of comics about her—I’m actually moving the box of those now.
Underneath it’s something that makes my eyes go wide.
It’s a…replica, I guess?
Picking it up, I stare at it. There’s almost no dust on it, meaning it’s been used recently. It’s…it’s Ms. Whiskers’ suit. Her *exact* suit. Every little detail, from head to toe, is perfect. Why do we have this? As big a fan as I am, I never owned this—
“*Aaaaah!*”
I whirl around and Stacey’s standing there, eyes bulging as she takes heavy breaths. It’s almost exaggerated, like something out of a cartoon.
“*You found my secret!*”
She stands on her hind legs and does a full spin before dramatically falling backwards, holding her arms high in the air. If I wasn’t so shocked that she just freaking *talked*, that probably would've freaked me out.
“Y-you talked!”
“*Yes, I did!*” she says. “*It is I, Ms. Whiskers!*”
“But you look nothing like her!”
Stacey jumps back onto her hind legs and immediately changes into the form we know as Ms. Whiskers—a young girl with blonde hair and, well, whiskers. She points her finger at me, making a dramatically sad face. “*Because of you, I must retire! You have discovered my secret!*”
“Oh, don’t worry!” I shout. “I won’t tell anyone, promise.” Hell, why would I? This is *awesome.* Ms. Whiskers has been living under my roof? Geez, my friends would be pissing their pants—my wife, too! No wonder she’s so grumpy. It must be hard fighting crime at her age. “Not even my wife!”
She stares at me for a second, eyes wide. Then, she shakes her head, putting her hands on my shoulders. “*No, you must, for I have dishonored myself by being found out. Tell the world, and I shall slip into the mountains forever, hoping to disappear.*”
“But this city needs you!”
“No it doesn't, idiot,” she mumbles, dropping the persona. “You just *think* you do. God, you’re just like *her.*”
“Huh?”
Stacey makes a face like she just screwed up, and after a few seconds of trying to say something, she simply sighs. “Fine, whatever. You want the truth? I’m not actually Ms. Whiskers—my mom is.”
“*What?*”
She turns back into her cat form and stretches her arms out wide, yawning. “She had to go to some secret superhero conference and transferred her powers to me. It *sucks.* I don’t wanna defend the city—I just wanna sleep and eat like a normal kitty. She said if I get found out I gotta retire to keep you guys safe. Bam. Here we are.”
“But we—”
“Save it,” she says, walking away. “If you’re really so desperate for a superhero, why don’t you try putting on the suit?"
At this, his eyes light up, and he jumps in front of her. “You really think I can?”
She hangs her head. “Goddammit, you take everything so seriously.”
“Would you give me your powers?”
“And *why* would I do that?”
“Because if I pretend to be you, neither of us get in trouble. C'mon, Stacey! I'll give them back right before you're mom returns. She'll never know!”
She thinks it over for a minute before holding her paw out, wearing a soft smirk. “Fine, but be careful, okay? If you die ma's gonna be *pissed.*”
I take her paw, and immediately her strength starts flowing into me. The power…it’s insane. I’m about to become a superhero. A real-life superhero! “Trust me, I will. By the way, can I turn into a bird? I’ve always wanted to fly.”
At that, she sighs. I bet she thinks this is a bad idea, and it probably is—but I'm about to have the time of my life.
***
Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | 2018-10-12T15:49:31 | 2018-10-12T15:13:58 | 85 | 26 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence. | It never lies. I know for a fact it doesn't.
But it didn't stop me from trying to avoid it. I first skipped school. I stopped going out to the streets, and when he would ring up the doorbell, I locked my windows, locked the doors, lit a fire in my chimney in the midst of June. I'd draw the curtains. I'd crawl under my bed for hours upon hours. Hell, I even barricaded the airvents. He gave up rapping on the door every few days after the first 2 months, but I caught him staring into the direction of my bedroom window a few times. I never turn on the lights anymore, but I know he can see me. My silhouette. There's no way he could come in, but I just knew.
And then, the fear outgrew me. I moved away. I changed phone numbers. I cut off everyone that tied me to the town. To him. I changed my name. I learnt a new language. I abandoned my family. I ripped off my old face and carved out a new one. I faked my death. Everyone on the face of earth, whether they know me by my real name, my second name, my third name, or the fourth or the fifth or the sixth, thought I was dead. Zilch. Nada. Nil.
But it doesn't lie. It never does.
Where am I now? I don't know. The soft glow of the 711 convenience store only slight illuminated the road. I looked at my stained hands and the smell wafted up my nose. I gagged. Blood smells disgustingly metallic, especially your own.
I laid still on the concrete. Half alive. *Figuratively and literally* , I thought to myself, as I notice my bottom half hanging onto my torso by some strings of flesh. One leg, kneecap onwards, was completely torn off and twisted, with red tire tracks dragged across the pant. I watched the motorcycle tear away from the 711, the streaks of red and the roar of the engine fading. They'll never find him.
The 711 glass door, now shattered and tainted red, swung open. The cashier gripped at a gun in his hand, clearly shaken. Government mandatory firearm. Dusty from being kept under the table since the 711 was built. I doubt he even got to fire it. He looked at me and threw up.
"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuck- I'll call you an ambulance." He scrambled for his phone.
I just groaned in agony. This is my fate. I've accepted it. I just didn't expect it to be like this. Plus, even if it weren't destiny at work, just who in the hell would survive being torn apart from a motorcycle?
"Fuck. It's out of battery. Fuckkk. Wait. Fuck. Think, Julian. Basic first aid, apply pressure first. Fuck. Where do I even-"
Julian. This is wrong. He is not supposed to be the cashier. This is wrong. Something messed the universe up. This is wrong. What the fuck. This is wrong. This is wrong.
"Shit. Fuck. I'm so sorry. Fuck. Fuck." Julian slammed his head onto the pavement. Again. And again. Blood oozed out from his temple. "Fuck. I'm so sorry. I cant call the ambulance. I tried. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
I tried to stop him. Believe me. I really tried. My voice is gone. My body is gone. I felt immense guilt more than anything. He had to watch me die, because the universe fucked it up. And now I have to watch him slam his head onto the concrete pavement and throw up because I was a *fucking coward*. I can't. I need to fix this. Bring fate back on the right track. I need to fix this. He is going to kill himself. I can't do this. I need to fix things.
I strained with my last effort to grab the gun next to him. I don't know if this would work. I dont know what I'm doing. I'd die either way, so it didn't really cross my mind whether this was a smart thing to do. I pushed the barrel into my chest.
"Gun," I croaked. Julian either ignored me or didn't hear me. He had stopped slamming his bloody fucking cranium into the pavement by this time. He just curled up in a ball and cried. This is all my fault.
"Gun," I croaked a little louder, wincing at every letter. He lifted his eyes at me after some hesitation. That is good.
"Pull. Gun," I said again. Julian looked at me with guilt in his eyes. Why did he feel guilty? I was the one who fucked him over.
"Dude, put it dow-- What are you doing? Put it the fuck down." Julian tried to snatch the gun away from me.
"Pull. The trigger," I winced. I might die from septic anytime now. Not the time, dude.
"No- What the fuck are you doing? That would kill you! Stop! Put it down!" Julian started to panic.
"Pull. I need this to end," I groaned.
"No!"
"Do it,"
"No- people might drive past! Wait a little bit... I promise,"
"No one is going to,"
Look at him. He knows I will not make it through the night. The 711 barely has any sort of business. Why is he still holding onto me? He doesnt even recognize me.
"Fuck. Don't do this man. Fuck-- I dont know," Julian looked at me, and then he looked at the barrel pointed at my chest.
"Julian. Please." I feel my consciousness slipping away. Anytime. Septic shock is a bitch.
"Fuck- okay. Fuck. I dont fucking know anymore," he breathed.
"Julian. Please."
"What the fuck am I doing? Okay- I'm so sorry dude. I could have saved you." No you couldn't.
"I'll put you out of your misery. Fuck. I'm so sorry."
"Tha,thanks," I croaked. The sun is rising. The light is creeping up again.
"I'm sorry. I promise." Julian looked at me wistfully. The guilt seems to be fading along with the night; maybe one day mine would as well.
"I'm so sorry. I am so fucking sorry."
I nodded and closed my eyes. My consciousness is slipping away. Anytime soon.
"I'm so sorry." He sobbed.
I must have smiled, because I heard him breathe out a sign of relief.
"I'm sorry."
I should be the sorry one.
"It's going to be okay," Julian reassured; to me or to him, I don't know.
"Everything will be fine."
*Ding* | **I.** A flurry of amaranth and tangerine orange, streaked with clouds with borders shimmering against the setting sun; the view of the horizon from Liberty Skyway (which is a superfluously fancy name for a bridge) really is quite wonderful, you muse. Perhaps a couple metres below lies a stretch of motorway and a parallel set of train tracks, by which cargo and passenger trains alike pass every so often, an unstoppable phenomenon of mankind's creation. To you, a wonted city-dweller, the periodic discordant symphony of horn and engine has become almost soothing, a mark on time and reality of sorts in the disparate, surreal landscape between barren industrial zone and bustling inner city.
&#x200B;
As with every weekday evening, you (a firm believer in the importance of exercise and appreciation of downtime in nature to a healthy lifestyle) walk the first twenty minutes to the station, taking a slightly round-about route in order to pass over the bridge—an inefficient compulsion your feet inexplicably carry you to—and admire the simple divinity of nature in its twilight hour, and the sheer wanderlust evoked somewhere within your chest at beholding the irreplicable artistry. Day after day, month after month, you never fail to neglect Liberty Bridge, always returning like a lowly moth to a supernaturally exquisite flame—which, you think bemusedly to yourself, isn't too farfetched, the colours of the sky of dusk being made up of some cacophony of light anyway.
&#x200B;
And then you walk away, knowing that this breathtaking scene will be waiting for you again the next day and every subsequent day as well, heading off with newfound peace to catch your train home. At this thought, another feeling akin to anticipant thrill stirs inside your chest. Your childhood best friend from when you were six, split up in high school and reunited on a chance train meeting by a fortunate landing of serendipity, and whom you suspect you've now developed attraction towards; Rory will be there.
&#x200B;
And there she is again, sitting picturesque by the window seat within the train carriage. Her eyes seem to startle, then settle to lock with yours, her radiant smile lighting up your world in ways the sky never could.
&#x200B;
**II.** Ten year old you had discovered philosophical thought experiments and had been obsessed with them for months, often dragging Rory in to your often one-sided conversations (with her periodically interjecting agreeable affirmatives like *hmm* or *yeah* or *i think so too*) about your latest point of fervour. You'd easily whittle away hours together, just basking in each other's company laced with chatter and occasional peals of laughter. She'd been an artist even then, you could tell, tirelessly working away with paints and paper, face a mask of zealous concentration and brushstrokes deft and deliberate while you prattled on about what you thought should and shouldn't be done in certain situational hypotheticals.
&#x200B;
"This one's called the Trolley Question," you begin, before pursing your upper lip and thinking hard when silence is returned. "No, wait, it's the Trolley Problem." *Ding.* Morale boosted by this correct labelling of the thought experiment's name, you continue eagerly. "Basically, if there was, like, a train on a train track, and it was coming towards five innocent people, and you had a switch and you could flip the switch to make the train change lanes and hit a different dude—but you would save the five other people—would you flip the switch?"
&#x200B;
"I'm not really sure," Rory answers noncommittally, although that may be less to do with a genuine lack of opinion and more to do with the misplaced drop of paint on her paper she's working desperately to cover up, tongue poking out demurely in the corner of her mouth. *Ding.* (Technically, it's true that she hadn't made up her mind on an opinion.) "Would you?"
&#x200B;
You've had this ability for ever since you could remember. A faint ringing of a bell, just hazy enough for you to inexplicably know that it existed only within the confines of your own mind and was distinctly separate from the external world—a bell that tinkled whenever a truth was told. The practical specifics are not clear to you as a ten year old, but you've never really needed to seek out definitive answers as the resultant accuracy of your strange ability had always been consistent enough; and now, listening and reacting to its presence and absence has become second nature, to the extent that hearing the bell doesn't disturb your focus or concentration at all anymore.
&#x200B;
"I would," you assert decidedly. *Ding.* "Saving five innocent lives is what a hero would do, even if it is at the cost of someone else's life. Better than the other way round."
&#x200B;
"Yeah, that makes sense," She agrees. Silence*.* You frown involuntarily—the bell doesn't jingle if the speaker is speaking on autopilot, which means she's not listening to you as she works tirelessly on her passion. With the utter lack of patience of a stereotypical ten year old, you pout and shake her shoulders in a whine for attention, causing her to yelp and accidentally smear blue hues of the sky all over her carefully detailed lilypads. And she whirls around in turn and shrieks with the hostility of an annoyed ten year old: "What the?" You smile dumbly, awkward and unsure how to react, which she hits your arm for. "Hey, don't laugh at me! I swear, I'll kill you one day."
&#x200B;
*Ding.* The smile falls off your face.
&#x200B;
"Is—uh, is that true?" You gargle out. She'd obviously been joking, the underlying no-hard-feelings! layered securely underneath her tone, but still there was the sound of the bell and it has your ten year old self in a panic.
&#x200B;
She raises an eyebrow, visibly confused. "What? No."
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
But she's your best friend, and you know in your heart that there's no way Rory could be harbouring secret murderous tendencies towards you, so you, unsure what to think, think nothing of it, allowing the incident to slip into a foggy remote part of your memory, locked up for years to follow.
**III.** Lying atop a grassy hill, her head in your arms and your legs tangled in a heap, the two of you share a contented sigh. The stars unfold before you, a celestial blanket draped up in the summer's midnight sky. If bliss exists on Earth, this must be it, you contemplate absently as you stroke her hazel-hued hair.
&#x200B;
"Do you remember," you find yourself saying, "around twelve, thirteen years ago, I introduced you to the trolley problem for the first time?"
&#x200B;
"Yeah, I remember." *Ding.* You smile, heart fluttering fondly as Rory gazes up at you through alluring lashes.
&#x200B;
"Do you remember what I said?"
&#x200B;
"I think... I recall you saying that you'd choose the five over the one." *Ding.*
&#x200B;
"Yes. That's changed now." She blinks inquisitively, and you slowly lean down to lay a tender peck on her forehead. "If that single individual were you, I would choose to save you over the five." (Of course, there's the *ding*—but you don't need its reassurance. You can feel in your heart a palpable love for Rory so pure and so strong it threatens to burst from within you.)
&#x200B;
Rory giggles. Your loosely philosophical proclamation might seem a strange and heavy-handed compliment to outside observers, but Rory knows you—a passionate practitioner of the law, necessarily disciplined in matters of legal and moral justice; for you to choose the choice so drastically, irreconcilably unorthodox in both regards of ethicality, all for her wellbeing—it is indubitably a meaningful statement.
"In fact," you say, voice hushed to an intimate whisper, "I would choose you, Rory Earlton, over everyone in the world." (*Ding.*) Stealthily, without a rustle or a noise, you've inconspicuously retrieved the velvet box and are holding it up to her, lowering yourself on a bent knee and simultaneously easing her up. "Will you marry me?"
&#x200B;
Her eyes dance with the buoyancy and passion of a supernova set aflame. "Yes."
&#x200B;
*Ding.*
**(Post was too long. Continued in the comment under this.)** | 2019-05-27T06:11:19 | 2019-05-27T04:51:09 | 91 | 27 |
[WP] You are an astronaut at the ISS. You are looking out of the porthole when you see the Earth ‘blink’, disappearing for a fraction of a second. You brush it off after checking in with ground control. However, Upon your return to Earth you start noticing that something is very wrong. | "Okay, Alicia, let's back up a bit. I want to remind you that you've been under a lot of stress since the landing, and that your reaction, while unusual, is still totally natural. All returning astronauts go through some kind of readjustment, and manifest the stress of reacclimatization in different ways.
"So just relax and tell me about the incident itself, alright?"
I adjusted my position on the couch. I really *liked* Dr. Ezra. I'd liked the old guy from the first time I met him, before the psych evals during early training at the Cape. But we'd been talking for over an hour now, and I really didn't see how he could help me on this one.
I sighed. "Okay. On Mission day 127, I was spending some downtime in the Cupola, just watching the planet roll by. We were just coming around to the night side. The sun was setting over Central Africa and the air was just amazingly clear. Lake Victoria was glowing orange-red, and Kilimanjaro's was a snowy island sinking into a sea of shadow. It was really gorgeous. I'd seen it plenty of times, but for some reason, it felt like I was seeing it in a new way...
"Then it happened. The whole scene kind of... *blinked* for a moment. And it wasn't as if I'd closed my eyes or blacked out, it was as if *the Earth itself had disappeared and then returned.* The Moon was near its last quarter on the other side of the planet from us--and for the moment Earth was gone, *I saw it.*"
Dr. Ezra was writing. "And did you feel that it *meant* anything? Did the event hold any significance for you?"
I honestly hadn't thought about it like that. I had tried to interpret it as a physical phenomenon, considering everything from a quantum megafluctuation to some unanticipated kind of brane collision, to just a stroke or an idiopathic seizure, to the drugs they give us to cope with long-duration spaceflight.
But I hadn't thought...
"Yes," I finally admitted. "Now that you mention it, it *does* have significance to me...
"When I was 12 years old, I had a kind of--*episode*. My mom and dad had called me downstairs and asked me to sit with them for a few minutes, and they told me that they had decided to get a divorce. I felt myself starting to cry, and I wished to god that it wasn't happening.
"Then, for a split second, it seemed like the room was empty, and then everything was normal again, except my parents weren't telling me about getting divorced. They were telling me that I'd been accepted to go to Space Camp that summer.
I could feel a chill creeping down the back of my neck. "I haven't thought of that in years. But it's weird--Mom and Dad got along a lot better after that, and I remember them fighting a lot before. I guess things changed a lot then, too."
Dr. Ezra looked up. "*Too?* Do you mean that you noticed a lot of change after your experience on the ISS?"
I snorted. "Well, *yeah*. It seemed like everyone was getting along better afterward. I thought everyone else was just being gentler with me because of the episode, but after we landed, I saw it *everywhere*. It was as if everyone on Earth looked at the world, and at humanity...
Then it struck me.
"...the way I wished that they did that day in the cupola."
Dr. Ezra was writing again. "So, you think that, by wanting things to be different, you might have unconsciously *triggered* the event, and perhaps it made the *world* different?"
I blushed, because that was *exactly* what I had just begun thinking. "That sounds crazy."
He smiled in a grandfatherly way. "Not at all, Alicia. Wish-fulfillment fantasies are extremely common, and can easily become a coping mechanism in periods of stress. Again, this is all natural and nothing to be concerned about."
He flipped to another page of his notepad. "Now, you mentioned that after you landed, you were struck by the fact that the news wasn't filled with coverage of war, violence and disease."
"Yeah," I grinned, "maybe it was just my stress-induced reaction to a slow news day."
He smiled and chuckled. "I'm sure that's exactly what it was.
"Anyway, I don't think I've ever *heard* those terms. What exactly are 'war', 'violence' and 'disease'?" | Space Day 542:
I woke up. My mouth was hot and dry. I noticed an acrid, almost metallic sensation on the back of my tongue. This usually meant radiation. Nothing to raise an alarm about. Mission Control mentioned sun spot anomalies the day prior, so this is probably related.
I thought about how things would be readjusting back on Planet Earth. Months away seemed like years. Would the twins still recognize me? Has Judy forgiven me yet for taking on this *last* mission? Was I still the man they remembered? Or was I a stranger -- just a voice and image on the other end of the call?
I swallowed and spent the next few breaths picturing my final homecoming -- that moment, sweeping them all into my arms. That feeling of home.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted. I saw a faint point of light materialize out of the corner of my eye and float in my field of vision. I blinked hard and clenched my teeth. "The dancing fairies" we called them -- corneal artifacts due to cosmic radiation. The subatomic refugees of stars colliding thousands of light-years away.
What happened next defies human understanding. First, I noticed the lights in the interior of the station get a shade dimmer. Then I felt the repositioning thrusters burn a few quick shots in succession. *Well that's weird.* We've been using the thrusters to gradually adjust the station's orbit in preparation for my return next week, but there were no scheduled burns today.
Disoriented, I reached for the guide rail and pulled myself toward the direction of the orbital observation window. That is when I saw it -- out the window, where the Earth should have been, there was only a sea of starry blackness. *Did Commander* *Poporov make an unscheduled yaw maneuver overnight? Unlikely.* I stared, pondering the expanse of the swirling Milky Way. Distant points of light, twinkled carelessly.
Then, in an instant, the Earth was there. Bright and blue. I watched in silence as my eyes readjusted to its light. Is this a dream?
Ground Day 16:
The doctors called it "radiation-induced hyper-spectral anomalies manifesting as hallucination and psychosis" Back on Earth, the command staff put me into a mandatory 14-day isolation for observation and evaluation. This isolation was extended by a week after my MRI scans showed a shadow in my parieto-occipital artery that supplied blood to my primary visual cortex.
I asked to speak personally with Mission Commander Edwards. The medical staff told me that Edwards was being briefed on my situation but was unavailable. Any phone calls or contact with family or with any of my colleagues, they said, was out of the question due to my fragile mental state.
Ground Day 19:
This morning the nurses gave me a note from my wife and a few drawings made by my kids. I had a hard time following my wife's handwriting. I made out a couple fragments, "The doctors say your recovery will...we're all doing...keep asking about you...she can't wait to see you...keep resting and..." *My damn eyes.*
I examined the drawings.
The first was a family of three standing in front of a square house. There is a mother surrounded by two twin girls. *Forgot about dad already, I guess.* In the sky are white bulbous clouds and a large black square in the sky that I assume represents my space station.
The second was a pattern of thick concentric circles made in black crayon. The patterns fill the entire page. I rub my fingers over the rough marks, and all I think about is the pressure and movement to make such bold markings.
The final drawing was a red blob centered on the page. Around the red is another pattern of black circles pressed so firmly into the page that there are small rips beginning to appear at the edges of the paper. I imagined the violence used to make this picture -- the tiny hand gripping the crayon, head held close to the table, arm spinning around and around and around.
Ground Day 25:
I'm now in a small grey room. I haven't seen any of the medical staff in several days. I'm strapped to a hospital bed with nylon ligatures.
Even in my weak atrophied state, I've managed to get one of my arms free. I carefully remove the IV connected to my arm and I disconnect the various electrodes and sensors attached to my body. I hear a bedside electric device being to sound its complaint. I twist in the bed, hearing my hip pop as I slowly release my legs from their bindings. My feet are numb as as I swing them around the bed and place them on the cold floor. I lean on the bed and push. On the far side of the room is a curtained window faintly glowing with light. My legs clumsily twist underneath as the bed's squeaky wheels jerk across the room toward the window. Within reach of the long white curtain, I take a fistful of its fabric into my hand and pull myself back on top of the bed. I push the curtain to the side and check the window. The glass is frosted letting in only a hazy warm light. The window is framed with thin bars and is bolted shut. I wedge my pale hands between the bars and use their leverage to push my thumbs into the glass. I lean back, thumbs locked and burning, as I bring my full weight onto this small point of glass. *Just a bit farther now, I'm almost there.* I feel the ligaments in my thumbs grinding against each other. My arms are screaming. Finally, the glass pops and I'm jolted as my arms push through the window and red blood begins streaming down my wrists. I feel bubbles fizzing violently on my tongue. The window explodes outward and I hear alarms wailing and shouts coming from behind me. The shouts stop as I'm pulled through the window and into the bright abyss.
Still now.
I look out. And there she is. My quiet blue planet. I admire her white networks of clouds drifting over an endless shining sea. I make out a faint suggestion of land.
From space, you can't see the lines separating countries. There are no black dots indicating cities. Just matter and light and shadow and shapes. Discrete wavelengths, reflected particles of energy originating from our Sun, traveling through the lenses of my eye and into my retina where my neurons work to make sense of all the patterns.
In the far corner of my mind, I see the dancing fairies, twisting and turning and folding themselves over and over again. | 2020-05-05T10:16:04 | 2020-05-05T09:58:58 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] In a world without race, religion, or nations, it seemed like society had finally achieved peace. That is, until, people began swearing their allegiance to fictional anime girls. The world is in chaos, the Waifu Wars have begun.
[deleted] | Listen, young weeb, and I’ll tell you a tale.
Many moons back, these old body pillows were soft and fresh, these jars were empty, and only bread was crusty. This place we live now had a name. Most called it Kentucky, until it was absorbed into Mega-Carolina. Both those names haven’t been uttered in years, but I remember.
We thought we had conquered it all. There we go, we said. Nothing to fight over anymore. Everything is equal, everyone is happy. Absolutely nothing could go wrong. But we had forgotten them. The first ones, the Elders now, the Otaku. Turns out they had been hiding in their room the whole time and nobody really told them what we did. We had no time to stop them.
I was fortunate to be here. Since the beginning, this has been JoJo territory. In my youth, it traded hands between the Jolyne Coalition and the Speedwagon Foundation, but that all stopped since the Foundation took over the entire United States.
Not all were so lucky. I lost family in the fights between the heretics overseas. Yes, those battles have been going since long before you were born. The bloodiest of all was Japan. There, the Miku kingdom quickly rose to power before they realized she was seventeen, and committed a mass suicide. That power vacuum lead to the deadliest conflict this world has ever seen. Rei, Asuka, Other Asuka, even a guerilla Pico terrorist group... the fighting was so furious that they burned themselves out, leaving only.... the vtubers. They’re ruthless. Savages. I just threw up in my mouth a little. That’s unrelated, but the stuff they did was still so messed up. When you’re out on the front lines, if you ever see the terrible image of that dog woman, you’d better pray to Rob that it didn’t see you.
This is the world you were born into. This is the world we created. No matter what, promise me this, child. Promise me that you will never give up the fight. Promise me you will think with the mind, not the head. Promise me that no matter the odds, no matter the thighs, no matter the cup, you will never give in to that B-tier at best trash.
May Speedwagon guide you on your quest, child. | It is four in the morning and Swathi Rashawarr is singing.
She stands on the balcony of her Mumbai flat, watching a troupe of bonnet macaques jump from rooftop to rooftop. The monkeys are nervous. They can feel the air tingle with excitement. They can hear the hum of the bombers. The bombers are black dots on a grey dawn, crawling across the clouds like ants, and the air stirs and thickens while Swathi sings a thick lullaby.
She remembers it from her grandfather. He used to sing the war-songs back when the greatest threat was from pollution and poisoned water. *Keep the bottles close,* he used to say, counting and re-counting the cartons of blue plastic above the refrigerator.
The melody dances on the tip of her tongue like the monkeys dance on the rooftops. The bombers are close. She should be hiding in the waterlogged basement of the apartment, but she wants to see the sunrise over the city, one last time.
The bombers are alive. They swarm like locusts over the clouds. This is the new plague. She watches the first light of the sun glisten on black metal. The bombers whirr and the sky is filled with them. They swarm and dive, and in the cockpits, eager hands thumb dangerous buttons. They count to ten.
*One, two…*
Light drips golden on the windows, on Swathi’s threadbare shawl, on the painted railing of her balcony. It catches the blue bottles above the kitchen and reflects like a prism with rainbow color on the walls. The light catches the clouds in an array of blue and purple and orange.
Sirens go up, and though the locusts have no god, they all go out in ranks.
She forgets the second verse of her grandpa’s melody. In her hands is a photograph. Tattered. Waterlogged. Her lover’s smile has a pinhole and she raises it to the light to see his smile glow golden. She runs her fingertips along the railing and lets the paint chip with her touch. She takes a breath of the air, cool in the morning, and squints. But the melody is gone.
The last verse arrives but she doesn’t know the words. The chorus is a single note. She holds it, cherishes it, holds it close to her chest like the photograph. The monkeys squawk and dance and jump and flee. She should flee with them.
*Five, six..*
Her breakfast sits on the counter and collects flies. She made it fresh, hoping to savor one more meal, not knowing the minute, the hour, the second the bombers would appear on the horizon. She cherished the routine. The others have left, fled the city, or hidden beneath its bowels, but not Swathi. She wouldn't let fear destroy her.
But it begins to take hold.
She gips the balcony and wavers. Her resolve wavers. She takes a moment to survey the skyline and wonders if there is still time to run down the escape ladder, to the bunker, to the basement, to somewhere safe, somewhere else
*Nine, ten…*
Eager thumbs slam latches and the hungry bellies of the bombers flay open.
The sky is alive. It drips with glossed metal as the bombs march out in rows. They descend like silver rain, like swarms of ants, like the heavens themselves have passed judgment and angels descend for the final battle, and these metaphors are still insufficient to describe the horrid beauty of the bombs in flight.
They fall and Swathi watches from the balcony of her apartment, wondering if her husband will come back from war, wondering if he will have a home to return to, wondering if the bombs will reach her and if it will be painful.
*There are better worlds than this,* she thinks.
She hears the monkeys screaming.
Lights appear brighter than the sun. Thunder. The ground shakes. The air shakes and suddenly the light is brilliant purple and orange and golden. The air splits and the sound splits glass, crushes steel, bursts middle eardrums. It is unknowably painful.
The explosions fumble with buildings, not knowing whether to level or shatter or burn; and some burn, and some collapse, and some stand firm.
Swathi Rashawarr sings softly, fumbling a photograph, as the great cloud of shockwave orange-and-black paints the sunrise as it rushes towards her.
*It is beautiful,* she thinks. *It is beautiful.*
&#x200B;
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2020-06-19T21:48:31 | 2020-06-19T19:57:44 | 119 | 45 |
[WP] You wake to find yourself trapped in your six-year-old body, held back by the teacher for some infraction. You tell them you’ve traveled back in time and offer to tell what the future holds. “Wouldn’t that mess up the timeline?” they ask ruefully deciding to humor you. “It won’t matter.” | “It won’t matter.” I sigh. “No one believes a 6 year old kid.”This was 1986, at least that’s what the calendar on the wall said. What grade was I in? Kindergarten or first grade? I look down at the chair I was sitting in. It definitely wouldn’t hold my weight if I was in my real body. Must be one of those dreams I decide.“Try me.” The lady said in front of me.“Ahem…well then. They day I am from we are currently at 100 seconds to midnight. No, that isn’t the time I left that’s the doomsday clock set by the bulletin of atomic scientists. Global climate change is real, politicians still lie, especially our last president. He was great at it. The 2000’s saw and drastic change in technology. We saw the rise of terrorist attacks. Off the top of my head there was one in Paris, I think Madrid and London. All over really, even in here in the States. Big one in 2001. Still with me so far?” I asked.“I mean..”“Great! Let’s talk stocks. You are gonna want to take notes for this one. 1997 Amazon goes public. Bald headed dude in my time. Looks like Lex Luther. Google, keep an eye out for that one as I’m not sure when that happens. Definitely around the time the internet becomes widely used. I don’t know much about stocks. There’s something about the .com boom. But….and this is key. Make you money and get out by 2007. 2008 sees a huge recession. Netflix watch for that.I’ve witnessed riots in my own city. I’ve seen people go nuts for toilet paper. You can blame the Covid-19 in 2020 for that. School shootings. Those are sadly commonplace.”“All right I think that’s enough fantasy from you for one day. Go home and stop picking fights with the other students.” She ordered sounding exasperated.“Told you it wouldn’t matter.” I laughed. If this turned out to not be a dream, it certainly wouldn’t be my Ideal situation having to go through childhood again but by God I will make sure I horde some toilet paper this time. | Because it won't matter, I say softly to myself as a hard lump forms in my throat. No matter what I try to tell the adults they never listen. I’ve become sickeningly accustomed to this fact. I’ve tried to warn them, encourage them, even to berate them for things they'll continue to do, because the so small voice of a six year old does little to change the minds of adults, who while heartedly believe they're so much wiser.
Because it won't matter, I say again, even more quietly, my eyes welling up with bitter tears. Again I’m in this tiny body, bearing the weight of a future that, despite everything I
know now, is outside my control. I look down at the too little hands of this too little body as Mrs. Johnson looks at me with the quizzical look adults give children when they don't understand what problems a child could be facing.
A sob now wracks my body as I pull my knees up to my chest in my small yet somehow massive school desk. Concern now overwhelming confusion Ms. Johnson kneels down and puts a hand on my back. Did adults really feel so large as a child? The question attempts to run away with me as it always does, but this time I’m able to catch myself. How many times have I asked myself that same question now? Hundreds? Thousands even? I’ve lost count, but I know that as the memories of my first life fade I will again settle into this loop that has consumed me.
I continue to sob as the other children stare, puzzled, frightened even by this sudden outburst. The teacher now frantically tries to calm me, but nothing she says now or next time, or ten times from now will ever soothe the panic that explodes in my chest, overtaking me. There is no way out, it just continues again since my first life. I wake up six years old in a school I'd nearly forgotten, memories of growing into an adult and the life I had clear and painful, only to fade as quickly as footprints in the sand, washed away by the incoming tide.
First the events of the next twenty years disappear, I fall asleep with thoughts of mindblowing technological advance, world altering disease, and a system that has failed its people; and wake up the next morning entirely content with the saccharine sweet oatmeal placed in front of me by too large hand, at a quiet breakfast table. Next I lose my friendships, the bonds I’ve made and the things I've seen and done. The first time this happened I almost appreciated losing the painful memories of the cruelty of others and heartbreak it causes, but now, now I’d treasure even those, as the person I became gradually slips away. Then I lose myself, the person I’d become. The things I knew about myself, the things I stood for,slowly erased as I look into the eyes of a child, and they look back at me unsure.
The final wave of understanding washes over me as it always does as I fall further into hysterics, unaware and uncaring of the world surrounding me because I know what I’ll lose last. I’ll lose my best friend, the one person I love most in the world. Even after I’ve forgotten the look of my own face, his will remain in my memory; but as a mountain is worn away by time, even him I will forget. The time we spent together, the adventurers we’d had, the love and safety I’d felt when we were together. Years would pass and I’d forget his name, then his face would become fuzzy, before even that disappears. Looking up at the ceiling, feeling so terribly small, I’d remember a person, a person who loved me, who I loved. I’d know he existed but when, where. Then finally even that will fade. Again I’d grow up. Again I’d find myself in an unfamiliar world, left only with fear. A fear of loss that can't be placed, that I don’t really understand. A fear, and the vaguest of memories that only exist in a dream. A dream of a person, and the love I felt in a moment that no longer exists.
Then this moment will end, my breathing will steady, and this stranger that is somehow myself as a child will survive, unaware that they're stuck in an unending loop. As I look up at Mrs. Johnson’s now frightened face I whisper softly “because it won’t matter” | 2021-07-20T13:43:35 | 2021-07-20T12:32:42 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] In a world which has billionnaire superheroes, you're just a billionnaire... and you can tell that these heroes DEFINITELY feel some type of way that you're having more of a positive impact than they are just by putting your money towards good causes and charitable organizations. | “Yup, I think if I move up the date for the fundraiser, we can make it there, and the XPanel meeting on the same day. Yeah, I want you to be there with me too sweetie, which is why-”
***KRRSHHHHHHH!***
In the next instant, I felt three things happen; my cell phone died in my hands, all the lights went out in my office, and I felt my blood boil.
“Again?! For heaven’s sake, this is the second time this week! Seriously! You guys really need to break a window each time? I moved my office NEXT TO THE HELIPAD just so you guys could get in without damaging my building!” *Seriously. One floaty guy gets seen on camera, and suddenly everyone has tights and climbing gear.*
“Mr. Sam Mistry. I am Knightcowl. And depending on how the next few minutes go, I will be either your best friend or your worst enemy.” said the hooded figure opposite my desk.
“I know who you are, but can you please tell me WHY I am going to have to replace my windows again tomorrow? I swear if you folks didn’t come barging in here every twenty seconds the money saved from that alone could have-”
Knightcowl cut me off by slamming a pile of papers on my desk. I reached for them and started reading.
“Crime around the Yardley Docks area has been down 75% over the last month.” said Knightcowl from... somewhere behind me?? *When did he even get there?* “You know what else happened last month?”
“Uhh... lots of things, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell m-”
“50 MILLION DOLLARS TRANSFERRED OUT OF THE MISTRY FOUNDATION!” roared Knightcowl. I could hear his fists slam against something. *I hope he didn’t break any furniture, or so help me God.*
“Into various companies and trusts!" he continued. "You thought no one would notice? You thought I wouldn’t notice?”
“Yeah well you see-”
“Who did you pay off, Sam? How many people on the force? Why are they not reporting the crimes? WHAT'S YOUR ANGLE?”
Another loud thud. *God, I’m going to need a full remodel because of Sir Anger Issues over here.*
“Wow, great detective work, nightie! What did you do, turn on a TV? I pledged that money to the development of the dockyard area last month. Its been all over the news.” I said, turning around to face his general direction. “Those gangs that have been fighting there? We started community clubs, one for each side. I figured they can compete in a way which needs a 1000% less guns, and 100% more sports. Keep people off the streets. That sort of thing”
“So that’s your plan? Buy yourself an army of goons?” He said... from behind me? *Just... why are they like this.* "Get into their good graces? So they can owe their entire lives to you?"
“Goons?! You think I’m hiring- LISTEN man! People. Need. Jobs. Do you know what a ‘job’ is? You trust fund spandexers need to realise that breaking a few gangers’ bones is just a good workout for you, nothing else. What incentive does that give a guy just out of prison who STILL has nowhere to go?”
“The path to righteousness is never an easy one, Sam.” said Knightcowl from... behind me. *Ofcourse*. “Turning to a life of crime is always the easy way out.”
“Listen... Eri- I mean Knightcowl” I quickly corrected myself. *These hero types are super touchy about their ‘personas’*. “It's pretty clear to me you have never not lived in a mansion with at least 10 bedrooms and 2 butlers, and don’t know where financial security starts and ends, so we’re done here. Can you leave? My wife is worried.”
“I hope your wife is proud of the man you have become, Sam.” said Knightcowl. I heard his footsteps retreat as his rubber soles crunched on shards of glass on the floor. *Was that supposed to be an emotional appeal? Dude’s crazy. Atleast he didn't break more shit on the way out.*
I wanted to tell him ‘She actually is.’ but I didn’t want Sarah to find herself on some weirdo superhero shitlist too. Plus I don’t want to have to deal with TWO of my offices being broken into every other day.
Just as he left, the lights in my office came back on.
I breathed a sigh of relief. My furniture seemed to have survived Knightcowl’s little tantrum. I picked up my phone and called Sarah.
“Hey babe. Yeah no, I just got a... call from Eric Flynn, that’s all. Heh, yeah, angry as ever. Yeah I’ll see you in a-”
***KRRRSSHHHHHHH!***
“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!” | "Listen man, we don't want to come off as being forceful, but...
You are making us look bad."
Theneb said.
He was a superhero known for his acts of saving the world from an alien invasion, and always fighting crime at night, but also known as the 10th richest man on Earth.
And I, I was the richest one of them all.
"Excuse me? I have to stop using my money wisely, because it makes you look badly?"
I asked.
&#x200B;
"You see, the Superhero Alliance, a little tiny bit of secret organization, sent me to talk about the social image of superheroes with you."
Theneb said.
"Ooookay, but leave first, and let me dress up.
I get it you can teleport, but for God's sake, I was taking a bath!"
I said, as I chased out an awkward looking Theneb, before drying myself, dressing up in a comfy oversized hoodie, and sweatpants.
When I left the bathroom, Theneb was waiting me in my study.
"Let's talk."
I said, as I brought a bottle of wine, and a glass.
&#x200B;
"You are not drinking?"
He asked.
"Oh, I am not drinking alcohol, but tea, although it's already too late for that too, so I will refrain for now.
But you can go ahead, and enjoy the wine, brewed it myself."
I said, pouring some wine to Theneb.
"This was done with your technology that allows hastening the process of ripening, and fermenting?"
He asked.
"Yes, you actually know about my little projects."
I said, flattered that a being with superpowers paid attention to me.
As a normal human being, besides being rich, I had at best, some above average health, and physical strength.
&#x200B;
"This is the problem man, this research of yours is public!"
Theneb said, sighing.
"So what? It made the food, alcohol, agriculture domains flourish, there is no more starvation."
I said, raising an eyebrow, looking a bit strangely at him.
"You solved starvation...without superpowers! We can't top that!"
Theneb said.
"But, I did nothing. Just funded research centres, it wasn't me who actually discovered the hastening technology."
I said.
Theneb facepalmed.
"So, the richest guy on Earth, is a kind hearted idiot?"
He asked.
"Okay Theneb, no need to get disrespectful, tell me how can I help you?"
I said.
"Stop, funding everything!"
He shouted.
"But they are close to curing the incurable diseases that haunted our race for the last century!
Also, they almost found a way to re-create the aliens space technology, making something bigger on the inside!"
I said.
"You already using it."
Theneb said, as he saw my bathroom, that is actually the size of a smaller city.
"It's the perk of being the main money guy."
I said chuckling.
&#x200B;
"Listen here, if you don't stop doing this, people will keep comparing you, to us."
Theneb said.
"So what? You killed eldritch terrors, you fought off entire alien civilisation.
The superheroes are called superheroes because people worship you!
I am always the 2nd ranked trending person, while one of you takes the 1st spot."
I said.
"But you are a measly human being!"
Theneb burst into an anger fit.
"You are simply useless, asides from having money, and if you don't stop playing the Saint, something will happen to you!"
Theneb finished, smiling creepily.
&#x200B;
"You threaten me?"
I asked, smiling.
"Yes, and you, hairless monkey, who's just an intermediary step in evolution, compared to us, superheroes, who are clearly the next step for the human evolution, you can't do anything against it."
Theneb said, before teleporting away.
I smiled, and chuckled.
&#x200B;
"Smithy, you there?"
I asked, the empty room.
"Yes, sir."
An electronic voice answered, as a hologram of a small, 15 centimetre tree appeared in front of me.
It was a copy of Yggdrasil, my favourite mythological entity, and it was the avatar of my A.I assistant.
"You recorded the entire conversation, right?"
I asked.
"Yes, sir, also applied some filters, making it look like he exerted telekinesis over you."
Smithy said.
&#x200B;
"Good job.
Send it to the Superhero Alliance with the following note:
"I am willing to invest in your little play pretend, while also taking a step back, and enjoying retirement here, in my forest house.
But if you threaten me once more, this little video will somehow make it to the galactic network, being seen not only by humans on Earth, but also everyone else who ever made contact with this planet."
Put a smiley face, 3 dollar signs, and a winking emoji at the end."
I said to Smithy.
"Already done, sir."
Smithy answered not even 2 second later.
"Good friend you are, I will make updated to you, not long now, and you will have a body."
I said to Smithy.
"Thank you sir!"
He said, disappearing.
&#x200B;
Two month later, my company founded a superhero academy, and also built a new space station for the superheroes to properly scour the planet, and surrounding space, against potential threats.
I was having a wonderful evening with my wife, having a picnic with the children outside a mountain in range, that I've built inside the mansion. (you know, bigger on the inside technology.)
My wife laughed, when she saw the news that I was working with the superheroes.
"I have left Earth, for 2 weeks, and they come and threaten you?"
My wife asked, sparks leaving her eyes...literally, she was a Goddess of Lightning.
"No worries, it was funny."
I said.
"Yeah, it's quite amusing, seeing you work with those who you consider idiots."
She said chuckling.
"Superintelligence, and whatnot is a common power, yet they all have almost as much money as I do, and still rather use their powers, instead their influence, to "help" the world.
If they aren't idiots, nobody is."
I said shaking my head.
&#x200B;
15 years later I bought the planet, and nicely evicted all the pretending superheroes, leaving only those who truly helped the planet.
Meanwhile, in these 15 years, we've discovered a way to lengthen the human lifespan, now being somewhere at 300 years on average.
My investments, together with my wife's help brought me countless riches, which allowed me to further improve humanity's life, buying Earth's ownership from the Galactic Alliance.
&#x200B;
My kids were growing up, and started showing interest in business, rather than learning how to use their powers.
My wife wasn't that happy about it, but we compromised... until they are 50 they will learn how to use their godlike abilities, and afterwards they will learn how to properly use their assets.
After all, I had all the time, and money in the world, so waiting and letting my children enjoy both lifestyles, is the least I could do. (also happy wife, happy life, don't forget that.) | 2021-08-04T09:26:20 | 2021-08-04T07:22:51 | 90 | 44 |
[WP] The aliens intend to enslave humanity. 10 hours a week, with free food, housing, and medical care, on a paradise planet. But they've heard about humans. They're expecting a fight. | The Veroshi had planned for a long, drawn out battle. One that they would certainly win with sheer numbers and firepower but they had expected extreme resistance. Humans were known to be nearly impossible to kill and endlessly inventive in manners of war. To be polite, the Veroshi made their intentions known and gave the humans 24 hours to meet their challenge. Expected casualties on the human side to be nearly 30% and the Veroshi had presumed their own losses might be near 5%, a number high enough that the plan had been debated for the last five years, calculating and recalculating.
To everyone's surprise when the 24 hours had elapsed, the humans had made a counter-offer, the Veroshi could simply have anyone who wanted to go along. The list was already in the thousands and growing by the second. The humans did, however, promise the longest and bloodiest war the Veroshi had seen if anyone was taken by force. Nothing in the calculations had considered this. So many humans agreed to go that there actually wasn't any fighting and they were forced to scramble the nearby carrier ships at least twelve weeks before schedule and they'd been running regularly ever since. Everything seemed perfect, everything was prepared, no lives were lost.
It had sounded so good on paper. Ten hours a week, everything provided, happy humans. The Veroshi feeling good about helping to uplift a struggling race on a dying world while also lightening the load on their own people. There was just *one* problem. The humans wouldn't stop working. They'd been so careful to ensure that the humans were appropriately placed into generally easy-going work that their small, sturdy bodies could do, pursuing at least some kind of interest, passion, or talent. And now they couldn't get the humans to *stop* working. Only about seventeen percent of the humans would go home from their shifts and happily relax until their next shift. It had been two hours a day of labor for five days at first but so many humans insisted on working for at least four hours that shifts were now split into three varieties based on the human's preference: One ten hour shift, two shifts of five hours each, or a split of six hours and then four hours. Very few humans wished to work for only two hours and then simply go home.
Beyond that, so many of them enjoyed their work that they frequently did *extra* work while at home when possible. Artists produced more art while at home than they did while at work. Engineers came up with innovations to bring to the table at their next shift. Bakers and chefs honed skills and invented new recipes so that now the food fabs contained *thousands* of dishes rather than the few hundred they'd started with. Virtually no human simply stopped thinking about work when they were home. Almost fifty percent of the humans worked at least twenty hours a week and often spent even more time on personal projects at their homes. Even when provided with everything they could need from the atomic printers, they frequently only requested raw materials and then made it themselves!
Vungard was at a complete loss as he looked down at his sleek desktop, the surface changing pattern in a soothing way. Between his fingers was a long trail of woven thread, the human Melinda had called it a 'scarf'. He wasn't entirely certain what he was to do with it but he had to commend her on the evenness of the stitches and the fluffy feel of it in his hands though certainly it would have been just as easy to have one created atom by atom in the printer. In all likelihood Melinda had given it to him in thanks for providing her with the extra eight hours she'd requested, bringing her up to nearly thirty hours a week inside the fabrication studio a few weeks ago. Apparently she wanted to try some new designs despite the fact that all of the current designs were perfectly useable.
His previous job had been as a recruitment overseer, helping to sort humans into their perfect locations and jobs based on variables gleaned from interviews and testing. But he'd been so good at his job that he'd been reassigned to his new work: finding out how to get the humans to *stop* working. So far he'd interviewed the entire fabrication studio on what they did when they weren't working but the data had been almost useless. They all liked different things and many of them simply sounded like work to him. Even their relaxation sounded like work: sewing, cooking, carpentry, home improvement (what even did that mean?), running (why?!), grinding for 'epic loot' in video games, and 'sports'. About the only one that made any sense were the few people who had listed that they enjoyed relaxing on the beach or writing poetry. When he recommended that they change their jobs to better align with the work they were already performing at home all of them had denied his offer, stating they liked their jobs and that everything else was 'recreation'. It was infuriating.
Resting three of his four hands on the desk, Vungard pressed his forehead into it, the surface undulating in a new pattern in reaction to his rising stress level. The list displayed on the monitor was depressingly small and most of them he wasn't even sure about. Forced vacations and breaks just seemed to make the humans annoyed. One of them had complained to Vungard about being forced to go on break when he was 'in the zone', whatever that meant. With a long, drawn out sigh, he deleted his meager list and wrote a simple message to the board. "After my interviews and previous experience with humans, it is my recommendation that humans be allowed to work or not work as they please. Most humans will choose to work more than the allotted time which will make up for any who do not. Humans should only be encouraged to take a break or vacation if their health is at risk. Computer calculations suggest that our productivity will increase by at least 3% and possibly as much as 13%. Recommend hiring no further humans at this time until increased productivity can be offset with an increase in project management." | Humans. We've all heard the stories. The legends. How a scout ship of the long lost Grâhjiv Commonwealth picked up a wooden ship full of the humans, who took over the interstellar craft and conquered the Commonwealth, establishing a culture of warriors. To keep ruling, they created spawn, using advanced and illegal genetic technology, and genetic scientists threatened with a violent death, to create a stable hybrid race of warrior nobles. Through them came the Empire of High Norv, which still persists proudly under its strange avian banner. We've all heard of the Lone Samurai, turned practically immortal and unstoppable, somewhere out in the cosmos, fighting against the forces of evil, after getting picked up from his homeworld by a very rogue and insane group of scientists. The insane human clones who are still fighting an endless war across the ruins of a long forgotten world, eternally building trenches and going over the top. We've heard of the human mutants who escaped from a science lab, and turned a verdant jungle world into a barren wasteland.
The Vitayne Directorate, had certainly heard of them. And unlike the other cases, caused by science and madness, they were going to see if they could create a stable group of human battlethralls. After all, the Directorate found themselves increasingly threatened by more militaristic powers bordering them. And they weren't a race meant for combat. But everybody knew the stories. About humanity, the mad deathworlders filled with natural combat drugs and the terrifying ability of staying alive on pure willpower alone. If the Vitayne could be protected by a fully armed and fully trained legion of human battlethralls, then their enemies would not dare attack out of sheer fear. Of course, the Directorate weren't expecting to win without a fight. Their warfleet was armed to the brim with legions of synthetic warriors, large battlemechs, hunter drones, and all manner of other machines of war.
Once victorious, they would give a fine deal to those humans who could be bargained with. After all, humanity, while barbarian, brutal, and brave, weren't fools. The life of a battlethrall, outside of war, would be some few hours of menial work a week, free food, housing, medical care. And they'd live on Uridaya, a tailor-made paradise world crafted by the Directorate's Terraforming Elite, a world quite unlike the deathworld that humanity had evolved on. Standing around looking vicious and threatening once in a while, and protecting the physically weaker Vitayne on expeditions, would be an easy task. As a long term bonus, citizenship could be earned by humanity if they stayed faithful, when some of the more excessively bloodthirsty tendencies had been pruned from the humans' culture and biology.
But when they arrived in the Sol System, they saw no attempts by any humans to communicate with them. Indeed, they saw very little sign that humanity had anything left. The once blue world of Sol-III, Earth, was surrounded by a fine outer shell of debris and ruined satellites. The Vitayne had seen this before. They had their own word for it, but in the human language it was called the Kessler Syndrome. So much debris was flying in low orbit, that none could clear it out or even escape from the planet's atmosphere. Which itself wasn't doing too great either. The Vitayne had come to test the mettle of mankind, to take humans with them to be their slaves for warfare. But instead they had come to the wake of mankind. Humanity, for all their viciousness, had not been able to escape their world in time. Distraught, the Admiral-Visionary of the Directorate Warfleet ordered the clearing of the debris cloud, and for them to learn what had happened.
The Directorate expected results, after all, and data is better than nothing. Science for the improvement of all, was what they had told her at the academy, when she studied to be an officer. If you can't get what you were hoping for, at least get what you can.
To the shock of the Admiral-Visionary, and indeed the entire research department about the fleet, humanity still lived. Roaming in nomadic tribes across a warm dusty world with a thin atmosphere, surviving in lowlands regions, barely a step above constant famine. They weren't the warrior humans of legend. Weren't the humans of story and song. These were the sad truth, that despite what mankind had once been, they had now become something pitiful. A tragedy. The away teams of the fleet studied the decaying cities, and had found that the soldiers and warriors of Earth had given way to a lesser kind of human. Timid, brainwashed, scared, and fighting only about the pettiest of issues, while their indulgent and hedonistic elites drained the world of all resources.
Some few who had daring and bravery fought back. Stood against the tides of mediocrity and pettiness. But the cowering masses, so easily fooled by the lies and sweet voices of those they idolised, defeated the last attempts to maintain sanity on Earth. Some records that survived indicated that a last ditch escape had accidentally caused the Kessler Syndrome, as one of the three colony ships that tried running from the downfall of humanity, was caught by a missile launched by the huddled masses, fearing to breathe free. And as the world consumed more and more resources, things got harder. Food became scarcer. Trade broke down, and the world more or less collapsed under the weight of the last human civilisation's own gluttony.
The human nomads had been so far reduced from the humans of legend and all those who descend from them, the Samurai, the Norvians, the strange beak-masked warrior-doctors who cared for the dead across thousands of worlds, that the Vitayne could hardly recognise them at first. They would cower, bow, and pray to the physically unimpressive Vitayne. They knew no scripts, feared what they could not know, and believed everything they were told. Hard workers though. That part of them, that had once served their foul overlords, had endured. The Directorate was informed of this unexpected outcome. Though they had no ability to fight anymore, that independence and fire in them bred out until they became docile and meek, they could still be useful. So the order came to take as many humans as they could, and leave Earth to decay. For now.
Say one thing for what humanity had become, say that they'd become gentler. Warriors of bloodthirst and brutality unmatched, reduced to obedient, gentle creatures. Of course, that part was still in them. Dormant. Reduced. But still there, buried deep beneath the flesh. Plans changed, and the Vitayne made humans serve in a different capacity. Gentle and kind, they became companions to the Vitayne. Loyal things, which if one of the surviving humans on the last remaining colonyship had seen, would have been compared in behaviour and temperament to mankind's own canine companions. And as the Directorate had to fight in wars against expansionist neighbours, and protect themselves, humanity found a new lease on life, as caretakers for the weak, the elderly, and the children. Many an enemy found that while mankind were no longer vicious and bloodthirsty in general, that old buried part came alive once the ones protected by humans, were in danger. Other humans gave freely of their DNA, and from Vitayne experiments, biosynthetic adrenal glands were created, to give that old human rage from legends to the biological and/or cloned soldiers of today.
One day, the Vitayne would restore humanity as thanks for caring for so many of them, in troubled times. Many a Vitayne cub had survived with their human companion in the wilderness for months, and many humans found themselves helping wherever they could. It was what was left of them, after all. As thanks, the Directorate made humanity become better, so that they'd no longer be servile and weak. Humanity had earned that restoration and equal citizenship when it came, even if it had been through a rather different method than the Directorate had originally intended.
Now a ship, crewed by the first restored humans, and Vitayne terraforming experts, are on their way back to Sol-III. What had been lost, has been regained. And what was once the centre of mankind's universe, would once more become a haven for humanity, art, science, and progress.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2021-08-19T19:51:17 | 2021-08-19T13:51:06 | 608 | 222 |
[WP] The villain thought that the first queer youth hero who came to him for advice was odd but he didn't think much of it. After the 13th one, though, he'd begun to suspect that the their coming to him was more than just coincidence | SkyGuy gave a tiny wave and fell backwards out the open window, soaring away like the 18-year-old prat he was. *Teenagers*. He’d been seeing a lot more of them than he’d liked these days. In his LAIR, no less. How he’d become the city’s top informal therapist for newly-minted queer supers, he had no idea. Why, just last week, he’d somehow convinced Captain Cluron to explore his bisexuality after his divorce. It wasn’t his *fault* he’d been doing more good than evil lately, he just wasn’t very good at giving bad advice. And so, the queers had come.
Dejectedly, Lord Firopol contemplated himself in the mirror. It must have been the fishnet tights. Or perhaps the gold latex speedo. Maybe the waxed chest. Or the hot pink cape with ermine trim—faux fur, or course, he wasn’t a monster.
But maybe it was the expert neon-green cat liner. Or the blemish-free face. Or the tiny tattoo that said “All Too Well (TMV) (TV) (FTV)” on his upper cheekbone in a script font.
Then, his eye caught on the newspaper clipping of the San Calamo Pride parade…with him, front and center, wearing a mermaid-tail ball gown stitched together from 8 different Pride flags. *Oh, right*. Maybe it was *that*. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to hide his identity, or his *identity*, but if he’d known he’d be doing pro bono counseling for closeted supers, he might’ve considered toning it down a bit.
13 distinct heroes. 13 *non-paying* customers. Something had to be done. Perhaps he’d file for a license, finally put his psych degree to use. Turn this gothic mansion into a mood-setting practice. But tomorrow. It was Sunday, after all, and Barb wouldn’t be back in the office until 9am Monday. Then he’d ask her about going legit. | TW: mentions of homophobia, abuse, attempted suicide;
it ends happier though, I swear. Everyone's fine.
Quick edit/Authors note; despite how vivid this scene is, I myself have never had these issues. But I've certainly wondered what it's felt like. I guess it's like how I WOULD feel if this had happened.
*-
"...Dr. Cipher?"
Dr. Ambrose Tertia Longwing, also known as Dr. Cipher, turned around, hands in his coat pockets.
A young boy, couldn't have been more than 16, stood at the bottom of the steps to his thinking chamber, the solitary platformed spire for him to truly illustrate his plans and examine them.
He was pointing a weapon at the doctor, face grim.and taut.
A pride pin proudly showed on his outfit, making the entire thing feel surreal.
"Come down here so we can fight. No funny business."
The boy's voice quivered, but not with fear. He'd been crying.
"Alright then," the doctor conceded. "I am coming down and showing I am unarmed."
Slowly raising his hands up, he deliberately walked down the stairs, each step precise and definitive as the sound of metal clanking echoed rhythmically throughout the large room. His lab coat billowed behind him in a needlessly dramatic way.
This was different than the other times young heroes with various orientations and sexualities had come to him; usually whether they fought or not, the heroes had broken down, vented their problems to him and he helped them with it and sent them on their way.
It had been happening a lot as of late, not that he minded, but this was certainly different.
As he neared the boy the doctor saw bruises and cuts all over his body, welts and burns and a scratch mark.
Understanding clicked.
Wanting to prove his hypothesis first, he asked "So, what brings you to my lair? Many have tried fighting me and many have failed. Doesn't that scare you? You could lose what you love most."
The boy shook his head. "...I've already lost everything." He sobbed. "If you're going to torment me, you'll have to kill me."
Yes, the hypothesis was correct. Keeping his hands up, Cipher glanced at the weapon.
"...That weapon wasnt meant for me, was it?"
The boy's hand shook, still aiming at the doctor. Good.
"Shut up." The child ordered. His suit's colors and motifs indicated some form of flight or wind powers.
The doctor restrained a sigh. "...Do you want to talk about it?"
"Don't *patronize me!*" The hero shrieked. "I'm going to arrest you, I'll save the city, I'll be a hero or die trying!!"
"Then shoot me already." Cipher said calmly. "Don't talk about it; do it."
The boy's face set in a snarl and he fired.
The doctor was absolutely fine, a large floating hologram of a 1 shielding his torso.
"And that's why you don't announce your intentions." The doctor said calmly.
"It's futile to try to fight me, I can tell you already. And I won't kill you for coming here. I'm not a monster."
With a cry of frustration the boy raised the weapon again.
Numbers swarmed Cipher protectively like a horde of wasps buzzing around.
"You'll waste ammunition." The doctor stated calmly. "Tangible holograph generation makes this a fight you won't win."
Even if it was only limited to the shapes of 2 dimensional letters and numbers, he was more than cunning enough to handle anything he faced.
To his surprise the boy turned the weapon so that it pointed at his head.
The numbers vanished.
"....Put the gun down." The doctor said slowly. "You don't want to do this."
"How do you know?" The boy asked, crying. "You don't know me! You don't care! Nobody does!"
"If you wanted to end it, I dont think you would be in my laboratory trying to confront me. ...I don't think you could bring yourself to do it, so you came here seeking death. I won't do that to you. Please, put the gun down."
The child tensed, considering.
The doctor watched intently.
With a sharp inhale, he fired.
(1/2) | 2022-07-08T11:27:21 | 2022-07-08T10:25:54 | 292 | 82 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "You could have an action figure in your likeness, by the end of the year." Said the person that could not leave well enough alone.
"Nope, not interested. It'll cut into my raid time." Steve said as he was trying to politely end the conversation with the obvious government recruitment officials.
"You'll be doing the world a great service. Heck, with powers like yours, you could disarm every nuke in the world by lunch tomorrow. I mean, why are you doing this stocking job for peanuts?"
"Because, I'm a lazy guy. I stop time, stock the entire store with my super speed. Get paid for 8 hours worth of work. Then get to spend the rest of the night playing Warcraft with my friends." Steve said while grabbing another bag of chips and 12 pack of Dr. Pepper.
"But you were born with almost every power." The agent declared while waving a registration form on Steve.
"Yeah, but what about my guild standing?" | "Dave. Let's talk."
"I already told you, I'm not interested."
He was persistent. "You are incapable of dying, Dave. You literally have no risk."
"No. No. That is not true. I am incapable of dying, Rami. I am not incapable of hurting. My coffee was too hot. It burned my tongue. Right here. It hurt. It hurt right here." I stuck out my tongue and pointed. "*Ight ereh." Leaned back into the swivel chair in my office. "I have a kid. It hurts. All of that hurts."
"You can lift a semi truck over your head. You can fly. You have lasers shoot from your eyes, Dave. Your skin is harder than titanium."
"I can burn. And when other people also can punch through titanium- it *hurts*. I was in a car accident, once. It hurt."
"You broke the car and floated mid-air after launching through a house."
"The two by sixes I hit hurt! It was very painful! I don't think you get it, Rami. I got bifurcated. That means the bottom half of my body stayed in the car. Only the top half went with me. I had to regrow the bottom half. It took a week. I had to regrow legs And other parts. It was a weird week, Rami."
"Agent Sayed."
"Rami, if I get punched by a super it hurts. I get off work, I go home. I hug my kid. I kiss my wife. I help make dinner, I clean up the kitchen as my wife gives kiddo a bath. We put the baby down for the night. We talk and catch up and read a book from our book club and watch a movie, maybe. Guess what? I like my life. I don't get punched or hit or thrown through buildings. Or ripped in half. Which, by the way, was when my powers manifested. I didn't know I'd regenerate and I'm screaming in horror at half my body missing and some poor family had me. In their house crushed and missing half my body as I float in their living room!"
He really wanted a new recruit. "You didn't die. You cannot die, Dave."
"I'm a man. I bleed. I hurt. I cry. I'm not a robot, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. We'll talk next week."
"Looking forward to it, Rami."
"Agent Sayed, Dave."
"Dave is a terrible name for a super hero."
He smiled. "You're the most powerful super I've seen. I was thinking... something more... super. Not Dave. Maybe... Superman?"
"That's a bit on the nose, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. We'll workshop it, Dave."
"No we won't, Rami. I've got baby swim lessons next weekend. And a baby birthday party for her friend from daycare the weekend after. And then it's my mom's birthday. I like my life, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. Same time next week?"
"Can tell your boss you tried, man."
"We have a suit. It's a really good suit, Dave." He tapped my desk. "Think about it." | 2022-07-31T12:20:48 | 2022-07-31T12:20:45 | 354 | 212 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “We’re offering you a decent pay, full benefits, and a fairly relaxed schedule. What’s not to love about the job?”
“The murder. The civilian casualties. The stupid fuck’n supe names.” I replied
The well dressed yet clearly disillusioned man sat up,“But that’s the thing. We’re offering you a very relaxed deal with full benefits. You’d pick your own name, pick your own missions, and only need to show up for the most extreme emergencies given your powers.”
“Oh so some poor B-ranker would get horribly disfigured or killed while I sit back and wait for my phone to ring. My answer is still fuck no.” I replied again not changing my tone.
“Look… Jason.” His own tone shifted into absolute seriousness, “We’re the US government, and we’re really not asking anymore.” As he said that I could hear helicopters and armored vehicles down the road.
“You should call off the forces coming toward the house.”
“No, we’re getting you to join wether you want to or not. According to our records your powers would change everything, at least think of the good you could do.”
“Or you could think of your own life.” I said as I widened my eyes and stared directly into his, “You could think of the lives of all those men in the armored vehicles too. Government or not I’ll do what I need to.”
“You think we couldn’t stop you. Those vehicles are full of powered soldiers and anti-super weapons.”
“You must have some pretty inaccurate records if you think that means anything. Do you know what my powers are?”
“Energy projection, you can shoot beams of energy with extreme accuracy and power. Besides that you have enhanced durability, strength, stamina, and speed even compared to others with powers.” He said feeling so assure of himself.
“Absorption. Energy Absorption.”
“Oh so what you absorb electricity or something and are able to project it out.”
“No. Punch me and see what happens.” I said antagonistically. He paused and thought about it, “Punch me you stupid suite wearing fed piece of shit.” Without hesitation he did just that and planted a fist right into my face. I could tell he had some sort of pent up aggression from our conversations. It did nothing though. It simply just lost all its momentum as it touched my skin.
A shocked look came across his face, “That should’ve.. I mean.. I felt like I gave up.. like as soon as it made contact my fist.. it went limp.”
“Kinetic, electrical, thermal…” My eyes began to glow, “Even nuclear and energy in sound waves”
“You ca…” He began to talk but it soon faded into silence. I was absorbing the energy from the air in the room meaning his voice was silent as his lips continued to move. Panic set into his face as he realized he couldn’t speak. He then struggled to move as he realized parts of his body began to loose energy. Silent terror washed across his face.
I pushed my hand onto his chest, “Even the energy of a heart beat.” I could feel the rapid beating of his heart as it began to get slower and slower, “Do you understand now. You’ve created a scenario where I’ll have to fight.” I heard the vehicles and helicopters outside. I looked into his eyes just before the light went out in them, “I want you to know before you die that you killed all those men out there. Oh.. and that you created the disaster that’s about to happen to this country.” | "Sir, if we send someone else it would be the 10th recruiter this month alone..." said my assistant, reagan. And she is right in a way. This is a colossal waste of time, but we just...have to try...
"Reagen, I dont care if we have to round up every damn recruiter in the damn country. We are getting his damn signature on a damn contract"
Reagen gives off her 10th sigh of the morning
"Most dont even make it to talk to him sir....but ill see whom we can send".
Supers are a dime a dozen. Most powers are really useful in very specific situations, its fairly rare you get whats called a "generic" super like straight up super strength. And even then, most people arent suicidal enough to sign a superhero contract. The longest hero lasted 3 years tops. Most die in the first month.
My job is to try and find idiots with supers willing to sign that contract. Usually its not that difficult of a job. The concept of being a super hero is a very easy sell.
But I have my white whale. A target that I REFUSE to give up on. A target that I truly believe could change the entire world.
The targets name is Jeremy. Jeremy Tell. And his super is the post powerful super ever recorded. The power to freely manipulate matter. Jeremy can manifest pretty much anything at the snap of his fingers. And I do mean anything, from a plate of cookies to an active volcano. The opposite is true as well. Jeremy can erase anything at the snap of his fingers as well.
However tragically, pretty much immediatly his super manifested, Jeremy revoked his citizenship and went to live in the middle of the pacific ocean. He manifested a tiny island and has declared his own country "Jeremyland". No one DARED to not acknowledge Jeremyland.
Now originally, this was a crazy security risk, thinking we have the mother of all super villains in our hands. Luckily, Jeremy or should I say JeremyLand is very cooperative to us. Whenever we have an emergancy such as an earthquake, wooden crates with parachutes just....appear out of thin air. All market with "Relief supplies from Jeremyland" We dont even request it. As soon as it hits the news the crates start appearing.
And that is a problem for me. Jeremy has shown zero signs of ever turning violent. The goverment loves him, and keeps telling me to get off his back.
But I can picture it. He would be the only *true* hero. Crime would disappear overnight. He is the ultimate recruit. God damn it I just...cant stop trying. It MUST happen.
Reagen bursts in the room again, screaming. "Sir sir! You have a phone call!" I look at reagen,my ever calm, ever logical assistant, having a panic attack. "Its fucking jeremy".
I pick up the phone. "So yeah eeem, this is jeremy from jeremyland, is this the head recruiter please?
I somehow managed to keep calm. My white whale is talking to me.
"Indeed it is, its a.pleasure finally be talking to you directly".
"Yeah yeah. Listen I have a favour to ask. There is this super villain who built his base right next to my spot of all places..I think hes doctor annoyingasshole or something".
"Well surely a man of your power could easily deal with such a thing". I say, fully knowing where this is going but refusing to believe it.
"I cant randomly erase people for no reason. Jeremyland doesnt really have any laws but I dont want other nations thinking im going on a power trip. The last thing I want is to spend my evenings removing nukes evey day. Its a hassle".
No other person would call a world wide international all out nuclear strike a "hassle" but here we are. I just swallow my pride and say
"....go on"
"Il sign the damn super hero contract for a month if, and only if, my first job is to get rid of this asshole. I want it in writing. And I am NOT doing more then a month. Ill get a few lawyers to double check everything you send so no funny business."
"I can easily meet your requests Mr.Tell, il have a custom tailored contract ready for you by tomorrow"
"Great. Also I want it written in the contract that im not doing anything that would be a conflict of interest to jeremyland"
"Naturally. Shall we send a recruiter tomorrow?"
",You kidding me theres 15 of them here playing vollyball on the beach. You know your recruiters take the job of coming all the way over here as a mini vacation right? I let them do whatever. I made a little vacation hotel with robot staff and I just lead them there when they arrive."
"...That is news to me..." And it explains so much. Recruiters would fight each other to get his request, and most never even manage to get a conversation with him.
"Just email the contract. Il print it out and one of them can sign it. Im flying in a few layers, hopefully they can get here by tomorrow."
"Sounds like everything is sorted then. Is there anything else i can help you with?"
"Nah. Just get my first job lined up asap."
"Leave it to me Mr.Tell. I bid you a good day."
I hang up. One month. We have him for one month.
"Reagen!"
"S..Sir!"
"Go dig up the hardest super jobs you can find. We have him for a month!"
"Amazing sir....Right away sir!"
I will change everything. One month is more then enough time. | 2022-07-31T15:04:17 | 2022-07-31T14:32:44 | 215 | 93 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | Tim landed in a chair in the conference room, the breath leaving him in a sigh. "We're being audited." He said, pulling a hand across his face. He met my eyes and I saw the pain there. I knew what it meant, and I felt my stomach turn to ice.
I swallowed, taking a moment to digest this before answering. "The shop is fine, Tim. We do it by the book. They can audit all they want."
"No, Wade." He said. "The company. Not you, not our division. The company. We are being audited. A deep dive." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Apparently last year one of the accountants diverted some funds and ran off to Bora Bora. So we're screwed. From the top to the bottom they have us in a vice. They can shut us down, Wade. The board has made their decision." His voice caught. "I'm sorry. When I hired you, I told you this wouldn't happen."
I knew what was coming. It still hurt.
"It wasn't your call." I said, softly. I wanted to get angry but all I felt was devastated.
"And apparently the auditor made it clear that this could go away by terminating a certain employee. If it matters any, I stood for you. Resigned on the spot. I just asked that it got to be me to tell you."
I sighed, I hadn't expected that. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a tear roll down my cheek. "Tim, you don't..." I loved the brewery, loved everything about it. I fit in there, another one of the jolly brewers, and nobody made a fuss over me being different. Hell, we were all a little different. "I mean I get it, fire me or they shut us down. Either way I'm out of a job, right? And this way at least I'll know you're taking good care of the boys."
"You think they'll stay after this? Ha." He said, leaning back. I felt my heart sink lower. "I think it's the end for me here. Maybe I'll get a real job."
"Dammit Tim!" I said, slapping the table, that got his attention. "You were all happy here before I started. If this," I gestured to indicate the whole of the brewery. "If this goes away, that hurts me more. Don't quit in solidarity, that's how they get to me."
"This isn't the first time, is it?" Tim asked.
"Last one was a little general store up in the mountains. Zoning department determined it was in a landslide area. The little old couple that ran it lost everything. Before that it was a tire shop, a sushi restaurant. I got hired at a laboratory and they got me in nine days."
"Why?"
"So I'll come fight for them. Be a 'good guy' who can fight the 'evil bad guys' and save the day. And I don't want to do that. I'm so tired of hurting people. But they just won't leave me alone." I stood up from the table. "And I can't take them hurting the people around me anymore."
I noticed Tim looked alarmed, and I realized I had shouted. There was a pause. "What are you going to do?"
I thought for a moment. "Stop them." | The background droning of the air conditioning haphazardly shoved into the office window seemed to act like a white noise for me as I continued my daily tasks. The soft music of my indie playlist coming through my desktop speakers helped the hours fly by- until I got the call.
That stupid, stupid call. I knew the number by now; I had labeled it 'RECRUITER DON'T ANSWER' in my contacts so I wouldn't have to remember the number. I had to take a deep breath whenever I saw it come up so my hands wouldn't obliterate or melt whatever it was that I was working on. But it was the fourth time he had called today and I had to admit....it was a daily record.
Something in my mind caused my movements to slow as I stared at the name on my iPhone screen, the vibration of the device drowning out the white noise of the air conditioner.
***Pick it up. You haven't in weeks.... Maybe he's saying they'll leave you alone!***
My thoughts began to swirl around the thought of having a silent phone once more that only rang when my Mother needed something like help using her smart TV, or when Dad got on her nerves again.
***Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone. Elise.***
My hand darted out from the keyboard and snatched up the small device, still vibrating violently. Before I even realized what I was doing- I answered. Making a face of confusion at my own actions in the dull reflection of my desktop, I opened my mouth and gently greeted the voice I knew to well on the other line.
"Hello Brendan. This is Elise Hayward, how may I be of service today?" I greeted, not quite using my work tone, but still attempting to be cordial. I found myself remembering that this was his job and he had to call me whether he wanted to or not.
"Why good afternoon Ms. Hayward, I don't think you've given me that kind of a greeting since the third time I called- ever." Brendan sounded incredibly surprised, and I felt a little guilty I had to admit. Maybe I had been a little too harsh on him over the past few weeks. "I am calling in regards to the exams that the government has on file from your college physical." he began to explain and I couldn't help but sigh.
The nation had a physical exam that all young adults in college had to perform to see if they qualified to be in the legendary, dangerous ranks of the super elite. Did I even want to be part of that club? Maybe when I was five sure, but then I realized just how dangerous is was and I couldn't do that to my parents! I was the only girl in the family Mom would have been crushed!
"Yeah, I figured you had that with you. Look, I can't join. I understand that it sounds fun, but I like my job, I have friends, a dog at home, and there's got to be someone else in the area with powers like mine." I explained, rolling my eyes as I went through the monotone list of reasons why I had turned them down in the first place.
"Ms. Hayward, we understand the risks and we would train you on how to avoid them and be safe when out on duty." he calmly explained and I found myself chewing on my lip, listening.
Was I actually mulling over the fact that I would be willing to put myself on the line like that?
"Your statistics from playing rugby at school, and softball as a teen put you in a higher bracket than most applicants." he continued and I found myself smiling slightly, some memories coming back to be at the mention of the sports I used to love.
"What's your point?" I inquired and heard nothing on the other end of the line. "This is your only chance to persuade me buddy. Take it or leave it- I may not give you another chance."
My eyes widened as I finished the snarky sentence, realizing what I was saying. Oh my god, I was *letting* him try to persuade me into becoming a super hero! What was wrong with me?!
"Ms. Hayward, stop by Saturday morning around ten o'clock. The director would like to meet with you personally to go over what your duties would entail if you decided to enlist among the elite. We would move you into Super Hero Square just to the North of the city center where the others live during their contract. Your dog can come with you." he explained and I arched a brow, at least glad to hear that Lyla could join me. I wouldn't be lonely per se....
My subconscious had to admit, my friends had done a great job convincing me that it wasn't worth it time and time again. But I was a big girl, and I was capable of making decisions on my own right? I sat in silence for a moment, mulling over my options before letting out a sigh and nodding to myself, ready to take my life into my own hands.
"I'll attend the meeting on one condition." I began and I heard the static of excitement over the other line.
"What?" he exclaimed and then composed himself a heartbeat later. "What is your condition Ms. Hayward?" he attempted to regain full composure and I could hear his failure- ever so slightly.
"I get to pick my outfit- and my name." I out my bargaining chip on the table, a grin on my face. I felt proud of my ability to haggle something like that with someone so important on the line.
"Deal. See you Saturday morning- Elise." | 2022-07-31T19:45:06 | 2022-07-31T16:20:17 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | The suited man stepped out of the government jet with a fake smile "Marston my friend, long time no see. How long has it been, I love what you've done with the place, really cozy."
"What do you want Jack?"
Jack brushed off the question "what, can't a guy go see his friends once in a while? Say how about we take a look arround the island, I'd love to see what you did with the old compound, wait don't tell me, it's a hospital right? Ah so many memories there, you were practically born there weren't you!"
" Were not friends and your not leaving this runway. Now you better get back on that plane and off this island before I burry you 6 feet under it"
"How rude" jack said with a sly smile " here I thought we could catch up before we talk business. But I suppose we can skip the pleasantries this time. Anyways long story short I need you and your plane to come with me, I promise I'll make it worth your time"
"I'm not a mercinary jack and I'm not interested in fighting your wars anymore, this island and its people are under my protection, making enemies undermines that purpose"
"Atleast hear me out first. I understand you want to protect your people, but If you help us with this I can guarantee a whole fleet to protect this place, and that's not all, I can get you souch more. UN recognition, trade deals, financial aid, another island, just name your price Marston"
"I already told you I'm not a mercenary, I've sacrificed enough for you already I'm not singing myself away again, and I'm sure as hell not leaving these people with you and your government for protection."
Jack dropped his happy cascade and replaced it with a seriousness that was just as fake "look I don't want to do this either but that plane is the only thing fast enough and maneuverable enough to get past AA defences and your power over inertia makes you the only one who can fly it. If you don't do this millions of people will die"
"No, millions of people will die because you and your cronies decided to start another war, don't you dare try and put this on my head. This war was your doing and those lives are on your conscious"
Jack wasn't acting anymore, his anger was genuine "don't you talk about the weight of lives with me, you and every last freak on this island are alive because I saved you, because I did what doctors can't do. Now If you don't drag that multi billion dollar hunk of junk out here right now I'll have this entire island erased from the map"
In a furry I grabbed Jack by the collar and pinned him to the side of the jet. "if you so much as think of threatening this island or its people again I'll send your corpse back to military at mach 10 before I obliterate anything and any one capable of fighting against this island, starting with your department. Now get your warmongering ass back on that jet and if I ever see another military plane in this airspace I'll destroy it without hesitation."
I dropped jack and took a step back, he was visibly frustrated but he knew nothing in the world could stop me. Without a word he climbed back onto the plane and took off. | The background droning of the air conditioning haphazardly shoved into the office window seemed to act like a white noise for me as I continued my daily tasks. The soft music of my indie playlist coming through my desktop speakers helped the hours fly by- until I got the call.
That stupid, stupid call. I knew the number by now; I had labeled it 'RECRUITER DON'T ANSWER' in my contacts so I wouldn't have to remember the number. I had to take a deep breath whenever I saw it come up so my hands wouldn't obliterate or melt whatever it was that I was working on. But it was the fourth time he had called today and I had to admit....it was a daily record.
Something in my mind caused my movements to slow as I stared at the name on my iPhone screen, the vibration of the device drowning out the white noise of the air conditioner.
***Pick it up. You haven't in weeks.... Maybe he's saying they'll leave you alone!***
My thoughts began to swirl around the thought of having a silent phone once more that only rang when my Mother needed something like help using her smart TV, or when Dad got on her nerves again.
***Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone. Elise.***
My hand darted out from the keyboard and snatched up the small device, still vibrating violently. Before I even realized what I was doing- I answered. Making a face of confusion at my own actions in the dull reflection of my desktop, I opened my mouth and gently greeted the voice I knew to well on the other line.
"Hello Brendan. This is Elise Hayward, how may I be of service today?" I greeted, not quite using my work tone, but still attempting to be cordial. I found myself remembering that this was his job and he had to call me whether he wanted to or not.
"Why good afternoon Ms. Hayward, I don't think you've given me that kind of a greeting since the third time I called- ever." Brendan sounded incredibly surprised, and I felt a little guilty I had to admit. Maybe I had been a little too harsh on him over the past few weeks. "I am calling in regards to the exams that the government has on file from your college physical." he began to explain and I couldn't help but sigh.
The nation had a physical exam that all young adults in college had to perform to see if they qualified to be in the legendary, dangerous ranks of the super elite. Did I even want to be part of that club? Maybe when I was five sure, but then I realized just how dangerous is was and I couldn't do that to my parents! I was the only girl in the family Mom would have been crushed!
"Yeah, I figured you had that with you. Look, I can't join. I understand that it sounds fun, but I like my job, I have friends, a dog at home, and there's got to be someone else in the area with powers like mine." I explained, rolling my eyes as I went through the monotone list of reasons why I had turned them down in the first place.
"Ms. Hayward, we understand the risks and we would train you on how to avoid them and be safe when out on duty." he calmly explained and I found myself chewing on my lip, listening.
Was I actually mulling over the fact that I would be willing to put myself on the line like that?
"Your statistics from playing rugby at school, and softball as a teen put you in a higher bracket than most applicants." he continued and I found myself smiling slightly, some memories coming back to be at the mention of the sports I used to love.
"What's your point?" I inquired and heard nothing on the other end of the line. "This is your only chance to persuade me buddy. Take it or leave it- I may not give you another chance."
My eyes widened as I finished the snarky sentence, realizing what I was saying. Oh my god, I was *letting* him try to persuade me into becoming a super hero! What was wrong with me?!
"Ms. Hayward, stop by Saturday morning around ten o'clock. The director would like to meet with you personally to go over what your duties would entail if you decided to enlist among the elite. We would move you into Super Hero Square just to the North of the city center where the others live during their contract. Your dog can come with you." he explained and I arched a brow, at least glad to hear that Lyla could join me. I wouldn't be lonely per se....
My subconscious had to admit, my friends had done a great job convincing me that it wasn't worth it time and time again. But I was a big girl, and I was capable of making decisions on my own right? I sat in silence for a moment, mulling over my options before letting out a sigh and nodding to myself, ready to take my life into my own hands.
"I'll attend the meeting on one condition." I began and I heard the static of excitement over the other line.
"What?" he exclaimed and then composed himself a heartbeat later. "What is your condition Ms. Hayward?" he attempted to regain full composure and I could hear his failure- ever so slightly.
"I get to pick my outfit- and my name." I out my bargaining chip on the table, a grin on my face. I felt proud of my ability to haggle something like that with someone so important on the line.
"Deal. See you Saturday morning- Elise." | 2022-07-31T22:51:20 | 2022-07-31T16:20:17 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity spread into the stars. They're generally quite kind and helpful and treat all worlds as important. But occasionally they'll ignore uniquely made human ships. When asked about it, most humans just say "The powerful abandoned Earth after nearly killing us. Now we're returning the favor" | "I will do nothing."
A long moment of silence hung in the air. Cpt. Minuty looked around his crew of rescuers. They were a multi-species crew but now every human - baseline and genie alike - had an expression of disgust and loathing on their faces. The crewmembers of other species were looking confused. One oldtimer had a look of simple resignation on his face, as if he'd seen this before, but wasn't any happier about witnessing it again.
Minuty focused back on the gene-altered human that had spoken. Liquids Rescue Specialist Jenny Hannoverian was normally a cheerful, helpful crew member that could be counted on for every task from diving into unknown fluids slowly freezing from the vacuum of space to pull survivors to safety to entertaining children after a rescue. Baseline human children seemed enamored of her appearance. Now she had the same expression of barely controlled rage as the other humans.
"They'll die, Jenny."
"Good!"
Cpt. Minuty gawked at her.
"We don't help them," Zero G Rescue Specialist David Garcia growled. "Pieces of shit like that are the reason Jenny's people had to graft on fish tails to survive."
The rest of the crew looked at Jenny as though they'd never seen her before. Minuty had heard of the reasons behind the drastic gene-altering some humans undergone before; but it was always attributed to hostile environments and overpopulation. There were other types of 'genies' as well: some adapted to incredible heat or cold, some adapted to climbing with a second set of hands where their feet should be, or the ability to echolocate or see in the dark. Genies made excellent rescuers and out of ten humans on the crew, six were gene-altered. Jenny sported a tail made for swimming from the hips down. Human children called her a 'mermaid'. Now she wore an antigrav belt that allowed her to hover above the deck.
"Earth was a very dark place, towards the end of the Dark Age," Ferhad Marin, a heat genie, growled. "Those with money and power built ships and left the rest of humanity to die. We had to make . . . . drastic changes to survive."
Ferhad's skin held a red tone and heat radiated off of him. He had the opposite effect on children; they would cry and call him a devil.
"They just abandoned their homeworld? Their entire species?" AAma Fanwa, a Korran rescuer asked in horror.
"They had an amazing ability to look at other humans and see things," David spat.
"We don't help them!" Ferhad cried, little puffs of steam escaping from his mouth.
"We don't help them," Jenny echoed, flexing her tail.
The communication screen flared to life behind them.
"When are you sending people over, Captain?!" the baseline human on screen snapped. "When are you going to do something?!"
Cpt. Minuty paused before turning to the screen. He pulled himself up to his full three meters and clicked his tusks before answering.
"I will do nothing. We don't help them." | My mandibles clicked together in audible irritation as I raised my lower 2 hands to my head. "Lights off." I click in the guttural tongue of English.
When the humans had first made the space trip, they were unhelpful, skittish, glancing over their shoulders with every noise. A jittery and jumbled explanation led to a constant barrage on our memories. We, Glithn, are rather known for solving every problem.
It wasn't until 5 stars had burned that I first encountered the Homosapiens. Weird, as it's just another term for what humans are, but upon calling one of the Homosapiens a human, he had a gun leveled in between my 2 pairs of eyes, the red beam forcing me to do something the Homosapien called cross-eyed to see exactly where this red beam was resting.
"Never call me one of those derelict moneybags again or I'll take pleasure in ripping your heart out of your rear." The Homosapien growled. When I nodded, his gun disappeared, back into a carrier he called a holster, "Now, we heard you were having an issue with your cores acceleration array? Jenkie's a whiz with engines. Have someone escort him down, he'll have it fixed in... Jenkie?"
"Faster than an armadillo shot out of a canoon on United Thestavil."
The Homosapiens laughed at this before spreading apart. I had retreated to my egg, my mind focused so deeply on the issue in front of me.
'Telepathic communication for Drimal Sjntoi. I have come across another member of the human race who drew his weapon on me because I called him human. Homosapiens are the preferred term. There is bad blood between the Human faction and the Homosapien faction. Will update you as I further am informed.'
***
It was another 2 stars burning before I discovered through, Navigations Officer Sara exactly what the issue between the two factions from Earth was. Sara was a lovely Homosapien and I had become fascinated with her and their species. Apparently, we are in a relationship. I am still learning this ritual as Glithn are more combative. We kill all our enemies in a show of our prowess. Want a mate, kill all who want her? She is also allowed to kill you if she doesn't believe you worthy. Want a new rank on the ship, kill all who want that title. The Homosapiens were much less violent.
"Trenkth, a distress signal is being broadcast." Comms officer, Nrzth, called out.
I grimaced as I had to switch to English, "On-screen."
Static rumbled across the room before a human sounding voice began to speak.
"Caught...zzzz... grav... pull... zzzz... black... hole... 3 cycles... zzz... late... I repeat, this is the Humanitarian Vessel, Kingsman. We are caught in the gravitational pull of a black hole. We have 3 cycles left before it's too late. I repeat..."
I push to my four feet, my mouth open, "Prepare to..."
"Leave them." Sara's voice cut across mine.
I twisted my body to her, squinting my inner pair of eyes, "Come again, beloved?"
"Leave the humans to die in the black hole. Or offer them a mercy killing. If you try to rescue them, you will force us Homosapiens into a war. We really don't want that. So either leave them be or kill them. But don't you dare try to rescue them."
With that, Sara stormed off, no doubt to my quarters as I twisted my body back to the front.
"Trenkth, your orders?"
I growl as I raise my right hands, waving them on, "Leave them. I'm going to go get answers."
I stomped my way through my ship, approaching my chambers with questions burning in my mind. However, upon entering the room, I found Sara wrapped in my cocoon, sobbing her eyes out as the little tendrils of sentience drifted over her. My anger and questions evaporated as I moved to the end of the bed, waiting for her to speak or move.
"It... it was... 20 stars burning ago. I was but a kid... the scientists... ah... thinkers... they discovered that in humanity's greed, we killed not just our home, but our galaxy. The sun was set to burn us alive in the year 2318. When the rich and powerful humans learned of this, they secretly built ships to escort them off the planet. We didn't know until the morning of their departure. They left us on the dying planet with nothing more than a, 'Better you than us. Sorry.' And they were gone. They just left us. Luckily, we managed to scrape together enough resources to build ourselves some ships. We escaped the year before the sun was going to burn us. It's why we're brown instead of white like the humans. It's why we call ourselves Homosapiens. And it's why I said leave them. They left us to die. It's their turn to be left... because one day, we're going to hunt every last Human to the very edge of space and kill them. So, beloved. Are you with the humans? Or the Homosapiens?"
I groaned as I grabbed my head with all 4 hands, 'What have I gotten involved in' | 2022-11-16T06:55:08 | 2022-11-16T00:55:57 | 51 | 37 |
[WP] The government has chosen your town for a social experiment: every day, a new citizen will be elected, and s/he can do whatever they want to anyone without any legal consequences. Everyone else must obey and not retaliate, else their collars would detonate. You're the only one alive after day 9 | ...I'm never opening my mouth again.
This social experiment was a mess. When it started, I was excited to be king for a day, have people listen to my ideas for once, but... I wasn't the only one thinking that way, and the things the fourth king in particular demanded, well... some people considered the collars to be a mercy that day. It took my desire for power and turned it to ash upon my lips.
On the ninth day, I was crowned. Being ignored my whole life probably saved me up until then - I could see many people in the crowd surprised to see me. Maybe they thought I moved away. Maybe they were fearful that while I was forgotten, that I remembered them all too well.
Each incumbent monarch gave a speech. We didn't have to, but we just decided we should. "Look, I know the previous kings and queens had lofty ideas, and some extreme ones, so I want to assure you all that today will not be a repeat of the Sixth." I saw many people relax slightly. I did, however, see my highschool bully glaring at me. I didn't want to be a murderer, but I would be this. I raised my finger.
"First order of the day: Everybody that knows what he did to me, beat him bloody. Each of you: break one of his bones."
Students I remembered from class, the teachers, his clique, both his parents and mine, and even the gossipy ladies from the cafeteria; all of them rushed him. There was a brief pang of fear that I had been too vague, that there weren't enough bones to break. But after the crowd pulled away, he was alive, and nobody had died. He was shattered, all four limbs twisted and splayed, but he would live.
But he knew what he did. Wait... *he knew* what he did, and now...
That was the first explosion of the day. The collar started beeping, and he began frantically trying to move, to break one of his own bones before he exploded, but the crowd... my vigilantes... had left nothing for him to use. This was my fault.
I felt sick beyond words. "Oh God... I didn't mean for this... I'm so sorry, I've already messed this up... Please..." I looked out at the crowd, horrified yet not surprised, as I ended my speech with my greatest mistake.
"Please... I don't want this any more. Please don't obey any of my orders." | [PART ONE]
Nine days. It only took nine days but it felt like nine lifetimes. Well, after what happened the last nine days it would take more than nine lifetimes to repent for this sin.
It started one morning where I woke up, disoriented and a pounding headache.
'That's weird. Never had a headache comparable to hangover since that every hangover decades ago.', I thought to myself blinking my bleary eyes to see I'm not where I was supposed to be.
Looking around, I am in some sort of house that recembles mine but more desolate, wearing clothes wearing clothes that looked like my original ones but cleaner- newer. Deciding nothing makes sense and finding nothing that can help inside, I went out. It seems like I was not the only one making this decision. Looking around further I saw the familiar faces of people in my somewhat small but still large town. Most people are old as the strong younger ones ventured to the big cities, as most youngins do in this old country town. Drowned by the sea of waking people are the unfamiliar faces, that are also noticed by others, inside this dome-like facility with tall walls around the perimeter and glassed semi-circled ceiling to let in the sunlight. Up ahead, the unfamiliar suited people wrangled everyone near what could have been the center of this place.
Clearing of throat could be heard and all attention faced a man more suited than the others giving the impression that he is of someone with high standing. He spoke on a megaphone stating his intent of conducting some "social" experiment, making the people who are either brave or hot-headed spoke out to just have notified us and not conduct a mass kidnapping as they have done to everyone, people that were encouraged by them started protesting how it was not right and demanding to be released and sent back to where we came from. Needless to say they were used as an example for everyone present. The first gunshot was heard, then another, then more, and finally the sound of the last protesting body was thumped on the ground as it fell lifeless. Silence, everything was silent. When it finally sunk in what had happened parents screamed for their fallen sons and daughters while those still having living ones quickly covered the eyes on the innocent young ones in hopes to have the image be unseen while knowing they were too late for it.
The man continued his speech over the silence like nothing happened mere minutes ago. Stating everything he needed to say and finally finishing it off with a have a good day. Nobody moved unable to process everything. All that was understood were, Each day someone will be as mayor and they have free reigns over this towns remaining recidents. The suited men left and everyone, sans for ones who have lost a family member, numbly returned to their "houses" despite being 9 or 10 am.
Only after 1pm in the afternoon did I return out to find the ones left trying to move the bodies in hopes of giving them proper burial. I helped, and so did the other people who had the courage to face this madness. It took a while to find a vacant spot and dig holes for them but when we did finished we all went back. To either ponder how to return or grieve for the lost ones, it was their business. I fell asleep immediately that night, not by choice, but because of stress, fatigue, and hunger. Stress from what is happening, fatigue from hunger, and hunger for not being able to down any food I intake. Morning came too quickly for comfort. Walking out and directly into the living room, there a package was placed. Looking in it there are rations for today and a reminder of that was discussed yesterday.
-Someone new will be assigned everyday to be new mayor.
-They are free to command everything they want.
-You will be given collars for monitoring. Failure to immediately wear the collar provided will be "removed permanently".
-Assigned Mayors will be posted 8am every morning on the town center where everyone were gathered.
-Mayor's commands are law unless changes by the new mayor. Failure to abide to the Mayor's command will face consequences.
-Previous Mayor has no power over the new one.
-Collars once worn cannot be removed at any reason. Failure to follw this rule will be shot upon stepping out the house provided.
After reading the reminders, I looked further for the collar. Taking it out and looking at the clock I have some time look further inside the house to see if there is anything that can protect me in case some madman came into power. After almost an hour looking through every room all I can find is some place small enough for me to hide and a hidden room full of guns, ammo, and explosives. | 2022-11-18T15:51:30 | 2022-11-18T14:49:35 | 141 | 23 |
[WP] You live in an alternative universe, where only one major thing is different form ours. One morning, you stumble through the barrier between our worlds, and enter our realm. | Ideally, no one would ever know. It's not as if they'd believe me anyway. I mean, we'd split the atom, manipulated genomes, and tolerated Nancy Grace, but this might be too much.
-Beep. Beep. Beep.-
This was my third try. Two attempts already and each time was the same. Perfection. Pure perfection.
My hand shook as I reached for the handle I knew so well. I ran my thumb over the little nick I'd made on the edge about a month ago when I clipped it with a heavy whiskey bottle making myself a plate of drunk nachos au gratin. The bottle was still there, a little less than a third full as it was when I left it. But it wasn't mine. It couldn't be mine. The proof was right in front of me as I opened the microwave door. My sanity began to slip as my third experiment revealed what my heart already new to be true, but my head refused to believe. This couldn't be the world I'd left behind. No law of my world allowed for this.
The shaking in my hands turned into a full blown tremor as I retrieved my proof from the microwave. I lifted my experiment from the plate, my hand already telling me what my mouth immediately confirmed. A perfectly microwaved hot pocket. | I had always wanted to be a pilot, but between my bad eyes and horrid balance, I could never qualify.
Seven of my classmates had been able to become pilots. They were all tall, athletic, and incredibly strong. Three of them have died by now, but their sacrifices are remembered with the greatest honor. I would never be remembered like they would. I had always been jealous about that.
My father tried his best to comfort me, but it didn't help. He tried to keep my dreams on Earth, but all it did was push me deeper into my dreams of space travel. I studied mathematics and geometry, and was first in my class to become an astrogator. It wasn't glorious, but it was something.
These last ten years have been an exhausting struggle against my fellow geniuses in trying to become a Lunar Fellow. Getting to live on the moon, and direct the pilots moving humanity through the solar system is considered the greatest honor an astrogator can achieve.
Not only is the North Lunar Base the hub of humanity's space travel, but it actually has a computer! Not only could I prove my genius by slide-rule, I could take my calculations to the programmers and have them work their vacuum-tube voodoo to come to the same result. How cool is that?
But, in the back of my mind, I still felt that it wasn't quite the same as piloting a ship across the vastness of space to deliver supplies to the outlying planets.
About a month ago, I had heard that a lunar astrogator position had opened up. Of course I applied. How could I not? Two weeks later, I heard back that I had been given the position! I celebrated! A night out on the town!
But, that night is when everything changed. I am still myself, astrogator and mathematician. But, the world is so very different.
I can't remember that night beyond the fifth bar in celebration, but when I woke, I was laying under the porch of some old couple. They were kind and nursed me back from the worst hangover I have ever felt. But, they seemed confused when I told them why I was celebrating.
I now understand their confusion.
Somehow, in that night of drunken celebration, I fell into a different world. Space travel, what I had given my life to, is essentially non-existent. In its place was a world with miraculous technology, but I feel like I have been cheated in the trade.
Yes, transistors are incredible, and the internet is mind boggling, but the battles that were once limited to the European Ruins seen to have moved to everywhere else on Earth. This world never knew the horrors of the Final Crusade. Instead, they had a second world war and nuclear weapons. Lenin saw to that. Instead of the Holy Wars of the 20th century, where Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox churches fought each other to near extinction, there was a secular Cold War that lead to an incredibly stagnant world culture. No one wants to move for fear of upsetting the fragile imbalance that they have so desperately negotiated.
But, most tragic to me, is that space travel is seen as a hobby of the eccentric. Where was your D. D. Harriman? Why is Elon Musk the only rich person interested in this? What happened?
Where I once was depressed about not going to space due to my own physical limitations, I am now incredibly angry about your apathy towards the entire idea. | 2014-06-08T08:10:19 | 2014-06-08T08:00:09 | 86 | 30 |
[WP] The first human spaceship capable of FTL flight reaches deep space and makes the most terrifying discovery in the history of mankind... | "You brought back pictures?"
"Pictures, etchings, full immersion simulations, things that provide experiences which we don't even have names for, and an orb that somehow influences your dreams."
"And these things were everywhere?"
"Yes, sir. Hyperspace was chock full of them. There's still plenty stuck to the hull of our craft."
"You were gone for only a few minutes."
"And The Prometheus was bombarded constantly. None of them damaged the ship in any way, but they were there all the time, each screaming for attention. It took us five minutes to decide to turn the whole expedition around and head back."
"So you don't believe a crew can make the thee day journey to Alpha Centauri? Perhaps in some type of suspended animation?"
"Perhaps I would have said yes before we found that dream sphere. Look, General, I've... I've been in isolation for over five months, and I'm still seeing things when I close my eyes. It makes sense, sir. We're new on the scene. An untapped market that's just emerging. But from what I saw, I'm willing to bet some of the races that placed all of these things in our path had eons to refine their advertisement techniques." | through the static interference they were by now used to, the voices of the HMS Alcubierre's crew clattered back and forth.
&nbsp;
"Trajectory termination coming up, T minus 30 and counting"
&nbsp;
"Roger that"
&nbsp;
"Venting Casimir coils on your mark"
&nbsp;
" 3, 2, 1, mark"
&nbsp;
"Venting...vent complete"
&nbsp;
"watch the gauge Yuri, Let's not get ripped apart"
&nbsp;
".89 Planck Length....75.....43....33...32..."
&nbsp;
The divide of multiverse timelines was by now a familiar feature. Cosmonauts received rigorous psychological training to deal with the effects of the visualization of layers of possible alternative lives created by FTL travel. As the Planck levels dropped, slowly but surely, the manifold of possible alternatives of the three cosmonauts collapsed inward on each other, toward the zero multiverse versions of themselves.
&nbsp;
"i'll never get over meth-myself", said Andrei
&nbsp;
"i kind of like him, not so complicated as the Zero-you", Yuri joked.
&nbsp;
"almost at zero Planck now, Reversing the Hawking buffers, systems nominal"
&nbsp;
A steady vibration, resonating in the bulkheads, marked the transition to subluminal speed.
&nbsp;
"do you ever wonder if we progressed too fast?" Thomas asked.
&nbsp;
The Swedish engineer had always been prone to introspective discussion
&nbsp;
"What? You mean 10 months to Proxima Centauri wasn't long enough for you?", Yuri's voice crackled through the static
&nbsp;
"No i mean as a species", said Thomas.
&nbsp;
"one minute everyone's wondering how come we haven't invented hover-boards yet and then out of nowhere comes this polymath genius and two years later we make our first FTL trials"
&nbsp;
The craft stopped shuddering altogether
&nbsp;
"0 Planck, gentlemen, bubble dissipation at 100%"
&nbsp;
"instruments are reading us at the specified coordinates, on the dime"
&nbsp;
"bring up the port live feed, we'll be the first humans in history to directly observe a binary system"
&nbsp;
"...what an incredible view.. it's...it's breathtaking"
&nbsp;
"alright gentlemen, let's deploy the probes and head home, i'm sure they can't wait to see us"
&nbsp;
before Yuri could finish the command on his console, an skull-piercing tonal burst resounded through the ship's hull, followed by another, and another. The crew grabbed their ears, desperately trying to rid themselves of the auditory horror
&nbsp;
"What in god's name is going on?"
&nbsp;
"Captain!", Thomas screamed "It seems as if the main star is emitting some sort of sequence, its interacting with the Superluminal drive's exhaust manifolds... it's... Morse!"
&nbsp;
".....Impossible!"
&nbsp;
"Translating now"
&nbsp;
..
&nbsp;
"N..E...V...E....R......G..ON..NA..GI..VE...Y..OU..
| 2015-02-03T08:51:31 | 2015-02-03T08:34:18 | 219 | 76 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say. | Nothing can prepare you for parenthood. Knowing suddenly, that everything's changed, and that you've now got a purpose much higher than any you've held in your life... your children can mean the world to you. And you'd do anything that's in your power to protect them.
In our strange little world, everybody knows at least a bit about the day that they pass. My wife, we know that her last words will be "*forgiven*." A bittersweet word to know waits for your death. Me, I've got "*ready*." That used to give me so much hope, because it meant that I could go on my own terms, once I'd accepted things.
Everything changed today, though, with the birth of our little Jacob, when the doctor read out his word, printed neatly on his left arm. "*Help,"* it said, in small black text. **Help.** Here I am, as a parent, trying to make his life happy, and I already know it'll end with him in desperate need of assistance. Oh, how that thought kills me inside.
On reading his word, I got a new perspective on my own. I don't think that one day, I'll come to terms with my death, and go when I'm prepared. If only that were still the case. I know, now, that one day, when I feel the life leaving me (for whatever injury or sickness it might be), I'll think of my son, and how he'll die when he needs me the most. I cry even now just thinking of it, and know that I'll pass saying "Not yet. I'm *not* ready." | "Put a long sleeve shirt on! We're going out!" I say to my husband, grabbing my purse.
"Why? It isn't like people with offensive words are bad people. Everyone has some kind of word. Why should I have to hide it?" He says.
"I don't want to be that person that has to sit there awkwardly as a child asks what 'fuck' means. Yes, everyone has a word on their left arm, but most are a little more tame." I say, rolling down my sleeves to hide my word.
"Okay, okay. I guess I have to be a little less defiant now that we're gonna have a kid of our own soon." Ken says, lazily grabbing a sweater from the coat hook. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"I told you 10 minutes ago! We're going to look at cribs and then go for supper." I say, irritated.
We walk out of the house then and get into the car. Ken likes to drive because he's insistent he's a better driver. Whatever. It means I can play on my phone instead of swear at pedestrains and cars.
We arrive at the furniture store and pick out a crib to be shipped to our house in no time. I think we both just wanted to pick the middle-range one because we weren't sure how else to pick one. We didn't want to cheap out or get swindled.
When we are deciding where to go to eat, I start to become overly paranoid for some reason.
"My last word is 'choking' and I really think I ought to be more careful now that I have a baby inside me. I don't want to get fish or anything else with tiny bones and no finger food... Ugh. I don't know why I'm like this." I say, doubling over and putting my face in my hands in the car.
"You're having a panic attack. Your word has done that more than once. I wish we could switch. You never swear." Ken offers, rubbing my back.
"I'll be okay. Let's just go get some Chinese food and call it a night." I say, sitting upright again.
Just as we're about to get going a man walks up to our window in the parking lot. He makes the 'roll down the window' gesture. Ken complies. He always is so trusting.
"Do you two lovely people happen to be going near Westmount? I live around there and would be awfully appreciative of a ride. I lost my bus pass and I have no change" The young man says, smiling.
Ken and I look at eachother. I feel a wave of nausea come over me.
"Sure." Ken says. "Hop in."
The man opens the door and gets in. Then he pulls something dark from his pocket.
"Gimme all your cash." Says the young man, brandishing a pistol.
"Now listen, young man, you have your whole life-" ken starts.
"No bullshit. Cash." Says the young man, pointing the pistol at Ken's head.
"Fuck." Says Ken, and I wince.
I don't hear a gunshot so I hand the man my purse and ken's wallet from the glovebox. The man leaves as quickly as he came in and we breathe a sigh of relief.
"I knew something messed up would happen. I could feel it." I say, shivering.
"Let's get out of here and call the police." Ken says, pulling the car out and heading towards home.
Ken must be really revved up because he drives like a maniac, even on the highway.
"At least I didn't say 'choking.'" I say proudly.
Just then, a huge transport truck pulls out in front of us. Ken must have ran a red light.
"Fuck!" Says Ken, as the truck slams into us.
| 2015-02-05T15:51:27 | 2015-02-05T15:37:49 | 151 | 14 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | As I pulled the trigger, my last memories were of the life I'd built and the fragile manner in which it had crumpled up in front of me, torn to pieces like a dried leaf.
For what seemed like eons, I found the inner peace I had longed after. Like everything else I held dear, however, this was soon taken away by a flash of red. I felt my eyes open, and felt miles of heat and pulsing infernal light flow into them. I was lying on a field of crimson, surrounded by pools of lava, sprawling spires of brimstone reaching towards a ceiling that seemed limitless, yet came to an end at several nearby caves. The dark light pounding at my senses, I had not noticed the shadow standing over me.
"Hello," a deep voice called, concise and clear yet seemingly distorted by darkness and suffering. "I've been expecting you."
I was not expecting this.
"Are... are you? Please, this is not happening..."
"Yes. I am the devil. You may call me Satan, if it brings you an ounce of satisfaction that you'll soon be devoid of."
Satan appeared to have no appearance. A veil of darkness floated where he stood, concealing whatever horrors he did not yet wish to unleash. Or far more terrifying, *could not*.
"What is your name?" The void inquired.
Falling to my knees, my head began to pound as I began to sob out the words.
"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't be such a downer."
Wait... did he just...
"What?"
"I said," Satan snapped, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "Your pathetic attitude is bringing me sorrow. Which disappoints me, considering you're the only company I've ever had."
"You... you're telling me I'm the only one here?" I glanced around, observing only potential suffering and noting a stark absence of kinetic suffering.
I lurched backwards in a sudden outburst of fear and confusion. "I'm the sole sinner ever so consumed to deserve this place? No man, woman, or child has committed themselves to deeds more dreadful than mine?"
I felt my fear replaced by anger. "All I did was for my home, for my people!"
A sense of defeat filled the deepest recesses of my core, interbreeding with rage to create something wholly pathetic and vicious in equal measure.
"I see now." I stared hard into where Satan's eyes should've been. "I'm here because I took the easy way. Because after all I've suffered, I took my own life rather than let others snatch it from me. Because I acted on the last shred of dignity I possessed, the last infinitesimal speck of humanity I had, God and you alike have forever damned me to suffer further?"
"No, Adolf," Satan replied, frustrated. "You killed six million people. You are literally Hitler."
"...Oh."
----
First post! Let me know anything I can improve upon! | Fred closed his eyes, the morphine finally kicking in. The car had come out of nowhere.
When he opened them, he screamed. The hot, searing pain of broiling flesh as his feet touched the brimstone beneath was just the beginning. It went on forever, a never ending wasteland with gouts of flame bursting forth from cracks in nature-free brimstone. The heat caused his flesh to crack, and the scream died as thirst overcame even the pain from his feet.
"Water..." Fred gasped, barely able to speak, and his eyes once again surveyed the desolate terrain before him. He was alone. Completely alone. No matter the direction he looked, no matter how far on the horizon he searched, there was nothing but the same fiery hell. Desperate as he spun, Fred crashed to the ground, and it began to broil his sides and back as he struggled, the very landscape attacking him.
Almost by magic, a hand suddenly appeared in aid, and Fred grabbed desperately at it, letting out a sigh of relief as he was hauled back to his feet before gasping at the figure before him. Terror began to ooze down Freds face as realization dawned on him. "I'm in Hell." he gasped, still desperate for water.
"Ah, well..." the figure fumbled, "... about that." Surprisingly, it offered Fred a jug. "Yeah. You kinda are." Fred eyed the jug warily, and the figure shook it, letting its contents slosh.
Fred grabbed the jug greedily, popping the rudimentary string and stopper before recklessly glugging down its contents. Liquid relief poured down his throat, and he gagged, and coughed some back up. When he recovered, Fred returned his gaze to the figure, curiosity on his face as he thought about what just happened "Water?" he asked.
"What else would it be?" The figure asked, surprised at the question. "No, ah, no..." It said, interrupting itself. "I have questions of my own... you see, I have this bet..."
Fred interrupted the figure, who was not as confident as Fred had been led to believe. "The one with God, right?"
"Oh! You know!" The figure was visibly pleased, and Fred found himself smiling back. "That makes this much easier. Well you see... things haven't been going so great on my end." It was Freds turn to look surprised.
"What do you mean?" Fred asked "Isn't Hell bursting with people?"
"Look around!" the figure yelled, its arms spreading to the landscape "Do you see anyone?"
"Well... no...."
"You're the first person buddy! Actually, what do I call you? I think we'll be spending a lot of time together, but I'm not entirely sure how this works...." The figure seemed almost self concious as it spoke, and Fred started awkwardly squirming, while desperately trying not to move his scalding feet.
"Fred. My name is Fred." Fred found himself desperately trying to grasp at the situation as he replied.
"Fred! Got it!" the figure replied, suddenly pilfering a pair of sandals from nowhere and offering them. Fred took them, shaking his head as he did so, but letting another sigh of relief out his feet were freed from the furnace below. "So ah, Fred..." the figure began, but halted, grinding its foot on the ground awkwardly in a fashion Fred found awkwardly familiar.
"Yeeesss...?" Fred replied, not unlike he would when others used the same stance.
"What, ah... what did you do? To get down here I mean?" The figure was visibly distressed as it asked, concern strangely dripping from its features.
"Well, ah..." It was Freds turn to stutter "I always thought I was a pretty decent guy in all honesty." He said, wondering if it is actually true as he surveyed the landscape once again. "Though I guess not..."
"What do you mean, 'you guess not?'" The figure looked confused, so Fred continued.
"Isn't that the deal? With God I mean? Bad people go to hell?" The figures reaction was not what Fred expected, and as he watched something he'd grown up to live in fear of suddenly have abject terror on its face, his own face began to mimic it.
"I didn't get told that bit!" The figure cried, pleading at Fred "What did you do that was so terrible!?"
"I don't know!" Fred shouted back, the situation rapidly deteriorating. "I drank. Does that count?"
"Why would that count?" The figure shouted back, Fred defusal attempt failing. "Drinking bad things kills you! It doesn't get you to Hell!"
"Well then I don't know!" Fred was getting frustrated at the situation, and stopped, suddenly thinking. "Thank you for the sandals." He suddenly found himself saying. "And the water."
"That's what others are for. To help." The confusion on the figures face faded as it spoke.
"I... I think I know what's going on."
| 2015-04-09T08:36:58 | 2015-04-09T07:56:32 | 2,485 | 16 |
[WP] tell me a story where the first line and last line are the same but have entirely different meanings.
I LOVE the creativity this sub shows
Edit: I'd just like to say that the replies I have gotten so far remind me of why I love this sub. I'm a lurker and rarely post prompts, but I loved this idea, and seeing the variety you get is amazing. I've seen comedic stories, longer heartfelt ones, almost suspenseful darker stories, and even some poems. Watching the many talented people of the world come together and show off the variety of ideas that spawn from one simple sentence is wonderful and the whole reason I try to be as open ended as possible with prompts. Thank you all so much for writing today, it's really amazing. | It was the first day of our lives together. We met when we were in high school and Stacey was the most beautiful girl in the world. I was a bit nervous, but we quickly became friends. Weeks passed and she began seeing me as more of a friend than a prospective boyfriend. I was devastated, but what could I do? She would see that I was the right guy for her eventually. Stacey liked the same type of guy, an after a few failed relationships, she started dating an older guy, Jake. Well, one night, she showed up at my parent's house and snuck into my room. It was senior year, so I thought she had finally come to her senses. Boy, was I wrong. She had a giant bruise across her face and lower back. She had told me that it was Jake. He got angry and beat her up and that she was scared. I let her stay the night. I slept on my floor and she had the bed. The next morning, when I woke up, she was gone. I worried, so I called her and she told me that she had gotten a text from Jake. She was out at breakfast with him and they were patching things up. I couldn't understand it.
Over the next few months Stacey would show more and more bruieses and Jake would still manage to get her to forgive him. She just couldn't see what was happening. I confronted her one night and tried to convince her to leave him. She said that she loved him and that she just made him angry sometimes. I couldn't believe it. She was blaming herself for his bullshit. I thought it was time, and I confessed my love for her. She laughed. SHE LAUGHED AT ME. She told me that she saw me as a friend, but nothing more. I was so angry. She said it would be best if she left and as she turned to leave, I grabbed her. I was going to show her that I could be the man she loved. She pushed me away and yelled at me. She fucking SLAPPED me. What the hell? Jake can destroy her self-esteem and he face, but I get slapped? In a fit of rage, I punched her--HARD--in chest. She started gasping for air. I panicked and held her. She wouldn't stop gasping. He neck started to turn red. I had punched her in the throat. I'm such an idiot. She couldn't breathe. I held her as she struggled and them slowly stopped breathing. Panick was in her eyes as she died. I killed her. I had crushed her trachea by accident. In my panick, I dragged her to the car and drove off to my uncles cabin. We can be alone there. I'll make her see that I am the man for her. I drove all night, but I made it there by morning. As the sun crested the mountain, I carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. It was the first day of our lives together. | "I should have just killed you," I mumbled to the mewing ball of fur that was now sitting on my chest and making biscuits on my face. I knew it must be early morning, because Ugly 2 only stirred whenever it was inconvenient to me. She looked at me plaintively, as if she could actually make out the meaning of my words. I pulled myself up to a sitting position, displacing the kitten who has all but forgotten my seemingly cruel words as she knows I am going to fill her bowl with food. Not wet food, because she woke me up at 'fuck-me-it's-early' o'clock in the morning, but food, nonetheless.
If you are a child of the internet age, you have probably come across a very sad story about a kitten named 'Ugly', which alternatively makes you sad about passing all of those ugly, malnourished animals in the streets and makes you feel bad about judging a book by it's cover. Ugly was an aptly named kitten who hung around outside of an apartment building and no one would take it in, because it was ugly. Well, one night Ugly got into his last fight and a man passed it dying on the street out front and finally took pity on him and held Ugly while he died. All Ugly wanted was a little attention- he was such a sweet cat.
That is how Ugly 2 weaseled his scrawny, one-eyed self into my life. I was browsing the internet, late at night, crying over Ugly, which was so rare for me. The next morning, it was as if the gods of the internet were testing me. There she was: a black fluff of a kitten, stomach protruding with hunger and worms and one eye. Instead of running away and hissing, like most street animals do, this kitten ran straight towards me as I made that combination clicking-hissing noise that it seems like every human knows to make at an animal.
The rest of this morning is filled with getting food, taking Ugly 2 to the vet, paying for a special formula to feed her 'She looks as if she was weaned too soon' the scowling vet says, a pill I have to give it for worms and an ointment for the one eye that didn't make it. I want to scream at this vet that I wasn't the one that had abused poor Ugly 2, but she didn't seem like the type that would have listened to me. They asked me for a name for the kitten, since they said I would likely need follow-up visits, but I didn't really feel like telling them that I had named the kitten Ugly 2, because it would take too much explaining and I had already had my fill of judging looks for the day. I just told them I hadn't decided, and to just use Kitten.
This was two weeks ago and Ugly 2 is now thriving, against all odds and my wishes. I did not take her in hoping that she would die, but as I sat up feeding her and teaching her (badly) how to use the litter box, I was starting to get agitated. The old saying that something is "so ugly that it's cute" was very true in the case of Ugly 2. She started using the litter box, bounding on top of things and exploring and if I was the kind of girl to take videos or this cat would have been an instant sensation. The thing is, I hadn't planned on taking in Ugly 2, but I had been planning something. I had been planning on killing myself, and Ugly 2 threw a huge wrench in these plans.
I cursed this little kitten as I fed her formula, which I was then told that I didn't have to use anymore so I started having to go out to the pet store to get her food. She did nothing but love me and I despised her for it. I would get home from work and the cloud of depression would be so thick around me that I couldn't breathe, but I had to reach through that cloud and pick her up, begrudgingly, and ration out my pills for the rest of the week, instead of just shoving them all down my throat at once.
Ugly 2 has finished her food, but now that I'm up, I know I'm up until I leave for work, so I make a cup of coffee. I sit on the couch with the coffee in hand, not really drinking it, but happy for its warmth in my hand. It's little reminders like that where I know I'm actually alive. My other furry reminder jumps into my lap and I stroke her patchy fur and she closes her eyes and purrs. I sit the coffee down on a coaster and pick her up and cradle her to my chest. I wander around the apartment and end up in front of the full-length mirror in my room. I kiss her nose and stare at myself for a long time, seeing a little bit of life in my dead eyes. I let her drop from my arms and I continue to stare at myself as she twines between my legs. And, ever so slowly, I feel myself smiling.
"I should have just killed you," I say to my reflection.
| 2015-04-28T10:03:35 | 2015-04-28T09:32:15 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] Write the story you've always wanted to write, but never found the prompt to do so. | This is the poem Ive always wanted to write.
Titled "When I Die"
When I die, of course I want people to miss me
And when they’re done let that sadness go free
In my years on this earth I’ve lived more that most
I’ve travelled the entire world and driven to each coast.
I’ve seen the beaches of Normandy where young men lost their lives
I’ve seen academic battle grounds where men sought to free minds
More importantly, I’ve known was it was to love
What it was to heal relationships when the going got rough
To be so content in a Woman’s arms that all else melts away
And nothing else is wanted except the reason to stay
But all that is minor compared to the friends I’ve had
Ones that have stuck with me through every passing fad
Some I met as early as kindergarten, others late in my career.
Each of them contributed in the direction my path had steered
I’ve had true friends which I’m happy I didn’t have to out live
And some still whom I did.
I’ve had a family who had loved me unconditionally
You were my greatest support, unequivocally.
So be not sad that my life is done
In my years I’ve had the utmost fun
Each of you, my friends and family who love me still
Even my enemies, who gave me thrill
I thank each of you for filling my life with emotion
For giving my mind a reason to be in constant motion
I can only hope I gave you in return what you gave me
But as I passed on, I will truly never see
Remember me fondly, unless I was an ass
In that case, forget that memory fast.
Truth be told, I don’t believe I exist anymore
I’m not sitting waiting for you in some eternal lore
So, when you lay me down among those cold stones
I want you to sing songs with deep, sad tones.
That’s your final goodbye, that’s the last sadness Ill allow
From then on, not but happiness can be present now.
Because I lived, I truly lived and experienced all I could
So go on, all that I’ve done is something you should.
| ######[](#dropcap)
Much to Quentin Langley's surprise, the Major had asked the youth to accompany him to some gala of sorts. Corporal Langley of course accepted. What was there to do when your commanding officer requested something? He had been in the Grave Guards for a little over six months and only just now did he learn they had in fact a dress uniform. Truth be told his was actually rather dumbstruck; it had seemed that the only clothes they wore outside the battlefield were the ubiquitous flecktarn jackets they favored and whatever they wanted underneath.
The dress uniform as it was called still had the same camouflaged jacket, but regulations stipulated that field gray trousers were to be worn along with a grey tunic. Clean boots were worn as was a neat selection of medals from the wearer's past.
"Why the jacket, Major?" The not yet eighteen year old mercenary asked. "Seems out of place."
Major W. Tycho Novak laughed from his side of the hovercar's backseat.
"That's the point, corporal. We're mercenaries, soldiers of fortune. We don't fit in anywhere except on the battlefield. Better for the civilians to remember that than to think we're glorified security guards."
The Grave Guards officer's dress was almost identical to the enlisted man's save for the addition of a ceremonial dagger. The Major had showed it to him upon request, a beautiful weapon with a Swiss hilt and blade etched on both sides in Latin.
*Deos fortioribus adesse.* "The Gods are on the side of the stronger."
The Major had a cynical sense of humor like that.
The car was driving through Loyalty City, the very inspired name for the capital city of the planet Loyalty, one of more important systems in the Free Worlds League since the capture of Keystone, New Olympia and Thermopolis by Clan Wolf. Home to Kallon Industries and SelaSys Incorporated, the world manufactured everything from jumpships, dropships, vehicles and even battlemechs. It was also base for the FWL branch of Interstellar Expeditions, a Inner Sphere spanning organization devoted to the rediscovery and archaeological preservation of humanity's past among the stars.
"Tell me sir, why are we attending this party?"
"The first is that I am meeting a contact there with a job offer for us. They received an invitation as well. The second reason is well... my presence is expected."
At that Corporal Langley had to smile but knew better to press, the answer would be found soon enough.
--
The car pulled up in front of an ornate hotel gleaming with glass and bronze at the entrance. It had to have been at least eighty stories tall with an observation tower even higher. A porter opened the door and Langley slid out, waiting for his commanding officer to exit the vehicle.
"Major Novak, I assume?" The porter asked. At the grizzled man's nod he continued. "Your sister the Lady Caldwell is expecting you in the banquet hall. May I escort you there?"
"You may," the major said. "This is Corporal Langley, my batman. He'll be seated next to me."
The hotel worker raised a brow but said nothing, no doubt dreading what that would do to the seating arrangement.
"Of course, If you'll follow me, Major, Corporal."
The doorman led on as the other two kept close behind.
"Your sister, sir?" Langley whispered. Novak nodded rather peevishly.
"Elder sister. Married the heir of a barony while going to school for her engineering degree. She built this hotel."
Langley chuckled softly before remember where he was.
"Ah, sir. When were you going to tell me this piece of intel?"
"When it became relevant. If my sister asks, you're eighteen years old and you're a paper pusher."
"What, you afraid she might object to me being under age and piloting a battlemech."
Novak shook his head with a smile. "No," he said."But she'd sure object to me allowing you to fight."
They made their way to the dining hall, where the hotel porter opened the door and announced them in.
"Major Winston Novak of the Grave Guards mercenary battalion, and Corporal Quentin Langley!"
Langley's eyes widened and he half turned to Novak.
"Winston?" He muttered through clenched teeth
"Shuddup, Corporal. Wasn't my choice," the Major replied.
| 2015-09-01T19:08:59 | 2015-09-01T17:46:30 | 60 | 11 |
[WP] You and a friend are playing scrabble, however as the game progresses you realize your friend is using the game to try and tell you something | *Man, she was really bad at this.* The words weren't even that good, a few one or two points here, a nice long word there. If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed that she was saving up her good letters to reach the triple.
I even looked at her tiles when she went to the bathroom. She was nearly in tears, she was losing so badly. I know I'm competitive, but she *knows* how much I love board games. Last week it was Monopoly and she couldn't stop landing at my house. She wouldn't even charge me rent when I landed on her properties and cutely tried to build a house on the luxury tax tile!
Yesterday, one of my friends had congratulated me on my promotion, but he doesn't even work at my office! It was in the morning when his text came in, almost as if he was foreshadowing my promotion.
Anyways, P-R-E-G-O wasn't even a word, so I not sure why she got so flustered about my telling her it was only a pasta sauce?
Maybe she was trying too had to get the triple score. | Never have Eugene and Albert been sports fans. They couldn't tell you a balk from a ball nor a touchdown from a touchback. To them a net was nothing more than what you catch butterflies with and a mitt was the name of a former presidential hopeful. These two men, roommates who never have dated a single woman, spent nights watching Jeopardy! and playing board games such as Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble and Monopoly.
Eugene was the mathematical genius of the group, usually winning out on Monopoly while analyzing the stock market off of his iPad. Albert was the writer, always analyzing philosophical debates and beating Eugene at Scrabble. Tonight it was Albert's turn to pick the game and since they had played Risk the night before, he elected to indulge in a thrilling game of his favorite. Albert, however, had a secret meaning behind this game tonight and it was not to best Eugene.
Albert came across something today. His philosophical conquests made him realize one thing, he was God. He was not made in God's image, was not living in a world absent of a higher being. No, he was God. Although being omniscient, God simply wanted to have time to rest and wanted to be a being he usually created. 50 years ago he came to Earth, not as his Son or the Messiah, just a regular man named Albert. Now remembering who he was, Albert was to return to Heaven and resume the responsibilities he neglected for the last half century. Being an awkward man, Albert was petrified to tell Eugene and instead of vocalizing his findings, he was going to use the board to tell him.
Albert went first being that he won in Risk the night before. Using his abilities, he was able to create any tile he wanted and used the word "prophet". While Albert tallied his score, Eugene raced to put the tiles down that would spell "penguin". Using the "t" in "prophet", Albert declared the word "Theology".
Eugene did not pick up on the message just yet thinking that Albert was simply using words from the philosopher Walter Benjamin or perhaps David Hume. Eugene's next word was using the "r" in prophet was "radius". Another short word was used to get him closer to a bonus square. This is when Albert acted. Using the "g" in theology he spelled out the three letter word "God". With that Eugene combated Albert for using a proper name. With this, Albert grew confidence and spoke, "you must not question the one true God, for I am Him, the Leader of Salvation". With that Eugene understood.
Eugene had a secret too, you see. He was Lucifer. Since both he and Albert left their previous lives they wanted to forget spiritual beliefs. It made sense, Eugene's favorite number was 6. When used three times it mocked the trinity, Eugene always wore a red bow tie and loved when the thermostat read a high number.
By using this scrabble board, they both revealed their true identifies. Albert winning some games of past and others having Eugene has a victor. These games were a metaphor for their lives, temptation winning out at times and the love for God at others.
This game is how the Ouija board was thought of.
| 2015-10-14T16:49:45 | 2015-10-14T16:32:39 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] One day a time portal opens in your backyard and a time traveler comes through. You quickly realize he just came back from making some change to the past and that, to him, our world is the terrifying alternative time line resulting from that change. | I looked up from my temporary serenity of spreading almond butter on a slice of multi-grain, with the Grateful Dead guiding my thoughts. I brushed the lone dreadlock off of my forehead.
It didn't immediately catch my attention through the visual plethora of artistic stained-glass wind chimes and rusty yard sculptures rotating listlessly in the breeze. My view through the dusty window screen clarified just a bit despite my temporal haze from my recent indulgence in a few drops from a tincture. It was as if the world was resolving to me in frames, and I could sense my consciousness processing the information, like how a computer renders a video game.
I eventually realized the distortion shouldn't be there, hanging in the air like that. But eventually to me was mere seconds. My body followed my thoughts out the door. Before I knew it, I was staring blankly at the apparition. It was moving everywhere, like ripples in static. If you stared long enough, it looked human. Or wait. No, that's actual time passing, and it's becoming human.
It is a human.
I shook my head and the world silently buzzed around me. He was still standing there, staring at me.
"What...who..." I started.
"I had to do it," He begain, in some sort of accent that I couldn't place, "and it was much easier than I ever thought. But it had to be done. I had to kill him, but no one knew who he was, so I had to kill them all..."
The stranger buried his head in his hands and convulsed in a full-body sob as the full weight of the entirety of his action came upon him at last. He looked kind of familiar, but I could feel my mind still processing his face. He wore a plain gray suit and black tie, and smelled like ozone. Or maybe that was just the air, the part that didn't smell like a cigar.
Then something out of time reached me full in the face, like a mental punch. "Kill? Who did you kill...?"
"You don't know who I am?" His face contorted into surprise. "I thought..." he stammered, "I thought everyone would know who I am..." He looked away, distant. Then he was looking at me again, into my eyes.
Recognition poured over both of us at once.
I was embarrassed and scared for my life all at the same time. I knew this guy, and he now knew that I knew, I could see it on his face. I knew it was a stupid feeling as soon as I felt it, especially for him. But when I know someone knows that I'm under the influence, I just get very self-conscious.
There were words coming out of his mouth, and I had to direct my mind at them to understand. "...he would have killed you, you know. This whole place, the whole world, almost. Everything was gone where I am from. So much death..."
I interrupted him, "You want to talk about death after what you did? Holy shit, man, you're one to talk..."
And he cut me off with, "I saved the world."
He was pissing me off. Maybe it was that fucking mustache.
"But, man, you're literally Hitler." | **Traveller**
_________
I met a traveller from an antique land... I always loved that poem.
The figure landed in the dry grass from a light that wasn't there any more. Steam rose from his suit, as he tried to get up. I stood there, a few meters away wearing my morning robe and even then I was sweating. The summer had been unbearable... my garden looked like a nuclear wasteland.
Ice flakes broke loose from his suit and fell to ground where it melted. I could have helped him up, it would have made it a lot easier, but the idea of cold burns was not really one I liked to entertain. The popsicle in my mouth was more than enough against the heat.
He sad on his knees before battling his helmet off. It fell to the ground and let loose his long, flowing hair. "You are not Anir!" the heat had melted away my surprise.
The young woman met my gaze and blinked once before saying something. "Off cause I'm not Anir!"
"Well..." off cause she was his... he could never get to the point himself. "How did he die?"
She got up and walked past me, towards the house. "Cancer!" she said, when she was next to me.
"You still have that in your timeline? Or the future? or whatever it is..." She walked into the living room and looked around. "Clothes is on the chair, though it was meant for Anir!" I looked at her, as she looked around. She looked like a cat, a tiny kitten, caught in box, looking for a way out. "I made some lemonade! It's on the counter!"
She walked straight towards the glass and emptied it, in one long drag. "Crap! It's sweet!"
I walked into the cold air and placed my butt in the other chair, next to the pile of clothes. "You need help getting it off?"
She downed another glass, and then another. Great that I made so many. She finally looked at me. "No... no, I don't need your help!" her cheeks was red, but that could have been the heat.
Of cause she ended up needing my help, in the end. I sat back in the chair, after she had gotten dressed. "So... why are you here? What has gone to shit now?"
She sat in the spare chair, and looked at me. "My grandfather send me..." she gasped for air. "Something in his will!"
"This your first time travelling?"
she nodded. "When am I?"
"1984... last time I checked?"
"Who is president?"
I shrugged. "The same as always... I don't really care for politics..."
"Heh..." a tiny sound, from a tiny girl. "His will said that about you!"
Off cause it did! "What else did it say?"
"That you only care about your garden..." she looked out trough the glass doors. "It looks like shit!"
"Well..." Anir was always the one with the snarky remarks. "Big Brother has not really allowed much water, other than what we drink, though he might take away, at some point!"
"Maybe..."
"Is he why you are here?"
"Not really... though it might be his turn someday..." she blew out the last of her foreign air. "Did you have roses?" she pointed towards the now dead bush.
"I did... though they don't respond well to the heat!"
"You should get Amaranths... I read they are hard to kill!"
"Only a cactus could survive this weather..." I look at her, though she never meat my eyes. "Do they still have plants in your timeline?"
"That's classified!" like a machine she said it. I already missed Anir's boyish smile. "When did you last see him?"
"Bout a week ago!" I could still smell his dreadful aftershave. It hang in the clothes, even after a wash. "We had to save some fat bloke from getting mustard on his sandwich... thought it might carry some form of malaria! He disappeared shortly after that."
"His timeline was terminated..." she filled her lungs. "Perfectly natural!"
"But he still remembered me, whenever he came back!"
"That is definitely classified information!" she dragged a smile. It was shortly lived. "You could plant orchids? I hear that they are better to plant inside, or maybe some bonsai threes! Always liked how they looked!"
"Why are you staling?" she didn't even look at me then. "Anir would always tell me what to do... he would be slow about it, but he would get to it, at some point!"
She sighed.
I sighed. "Is it already time?" I knew already before the end, when I saw the gun in her lab. White matt steel that didn't shine in the sunlight. "When is he coming?"
"35 year old Anir is supposed to arrive in four hours. He is a first time traveller, from another timeline, and is supposed to meet a young Amy, that will help him complete his mission!"
"Just like back then..."
"Just like back then..." she repeated. "Where did you hide your suit?"
"Buried it in the garden, under the rosebush! The others are there to!"
"Thanks, Amy!"
"Your welcome, Amy!"
She rose from the chair, and pointed the gun towards me. "Any last wishes?"
I chewed on it for a second. "Is my timeline still alive?"
"Off cause it is..." she said mockingly. "And you saved it!"
I was once a traveller from an antique land, but now I have come home again.
| 2015-11-13T12:37:44 | 2015-11-13T11:40:45 | 94 | 19 |
[WP] Michael, a 15 year old Call of Duty player, realizes the greatest trash-talking opportunity of all time. Over his headset, he recognizes his opponent's voice as that of President Obama. | I think that Obama has done very well,
Creating change is a very hard sell,
All of America should be grateful,
Living in a place where our leaders are faithful,
Large responiblities on his head,
Even I can understand that all the paperwork can kill you dead
Does it matter if he stops to play some games?
He probably does it so Congress doesn't drive him insane
I couldn't belive it when I heard him say,
“Mikeman666xxx,”
“All those kills mean nothing if you've never had sex!”
Never before had I been so astounded,
I could see nothing but red, as my blood pounded,
Getting up close to my television screen I prepared my response
Gulping in breath, I shouted my taunt.
Even now I regret it, after 20 years, after 30, till the end of time,
Read the first letter of each line. | There is only one thing trickier than maneuvering through the narrow hallways of Ascend while staying one step ahead of your pursuer, and that's crafting the perfect smack-talk. In this game, outpacing a trail of bullets is only mildly more satisfying than outwitting your opponent on the social landscape. Sure, there were the old fallbacks, the stuff that makes up the background radiation of an FPSer's life, but Michael held himself to a higher standard.
Through years of practice, he'd honed a specific set of rules and methods for trash-talk. You always play nice during the match. You always create an atmosphere of polite, respectful sportsmanship. You always strike up what could be a lasting friendship, finding things in common with the opponent and talking about it at length, all while embroiled in savage combat. And at the end of the match, you always, *always* go in for the kill, using what you've gathered to create the most cutting remark possible before leaving them for the rats.
And nothing had changed about Michael's approach when he recognized the voice over his headset of none other than President Barack Obama. He dealt with the realization in the same cavalier manner with which he threw his next grenade, taking out three of the president's teammates in the process. But where to begin?
Michael began probing immediately, now certain of who his mark would be. He started asking political questions, which, while it riled up most of the combatants, didn't seem to get anywhere with the president. He tried talking about neo-colonialism, the military industrial complex, and even Black Lives Matter, but Obama was oddly silent on all fronts. The match continued, the score wavering between dead even and a one-point advantage for either side. Finally, however, he hit on something that everyone could agree on: Space Exploration.
The president almost immediately chimed in with his thoughts, and suddenly the combat stopped as every other fighter realized exactly who was talking. The match timer ticked away while everyone stood still, in awe of the president's apparent deep-seated passion for astronomy. Michael saw his opportunity with only a few seconds left on the clock. He moved into position.
The president went on: "Making sure we stay at the forefront of space exploration is a big priority for my administration. The passing of Neil Armstrong this week is a reminder of the inspiration and wonder that our space program has provided in the past; the curiosity probe on mars is a reminder of what remains to be discovered. The key is to make sure that we invest in cutting edge research that can take us to the next level - so even as we continue work with the international space station, we are focused on a potential mission to a asteroid as a prelude to a manned Mars flight."
Michael's gun went off. Game Over. Red Team Wins. The lobby was silent, everyone in shock. A muffled crackling sound came in over the lobby as Michael adjusted his headset for the final blow.
"An asteroid, Mr. President." | 2015-12-17T09:11:04 | 2015-12-17T08:36:38 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] A child is born with a functioning Appendix, the first ever recorded in history and the purpose it serves shocks the scientific community/world.
This is my first writing prompt submission! Amazing response, can't wait to read your stories, thanks people.
~~~~~ Shout out to Montreal ~~~~~
Edit: getting a lot of grief from people saying "the appendix has a function", try this on for size:
http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/picture-of-the-appendix
"The function of the appendix is unknown. One theory is that the appendix acts as a storehouse for good bacteria, “rebooting” the digestive system after diarrheal illnesses. Other experts believe the appendix is just a useless remnant from our evolutionary past. Surgical removal of the appendix causes no observable health problems." | The appendix has several functions. It is a sleeve that maintains your intestinal flora during episodes of diarrhea. It also has a variety of immune system functions in terms of providing immune system response to consumed food. Many animals have an appendix or similar structure as well.
While 1st-worlders with mostly sterilized diets can get along with no appendix, the loss of an appendix is often fatal for 3rd-worlders.
We now employ poop transfusions to accomplish a similar result for people who have had their gut completely sterilized by antibiotics. | “Push Mrs. Williamson Push now!”
The would-be first time mother screamed and pushed, and finally her baby was in the world.
“It’s a Girl!” Smiled the doctor’s assistant. The new mother sobbed with happiness. She held her baby for many minutes before they took her away to be cleaned and have further vitals checked.
An hour later while in recovery the doctors came in to talk to the new mom, she could tell something was wrong.
“What is it doctor?!” said Mrs. Williamson. Dr. Stern was trying to smile but found it difficult. He managed a meek grin. “Nothing is wrong Mrs. Williamson, your baby girl is doing excellent” “Thank goodness” said the new exhausted mother. Dr. Stern didn’t know how to say what he needed to say.
“There is something…. Unique about the baby, we don’t think it’s harmful though”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!” The mother was now near tears.
The doctor came around to her side of the bed to soothe her. “No, please don’t cry Mrs. Williamson. Honestly she is one of the healthiest babies if not the healthiest baby I have ever delivered in my 35 years of being an OB-GYN. Her heart beat is a strong as a 23 year old marathon runner….. It’s the other tone we don’t quite understand”
“Tone? What do you mean” screeched Mrs. Williamson. Her motherly instincts were new, but keen, something was very not right.
“While her vitals were being checked, and we were all fascinating at her strong heart and blood pressure, the Heart Monitor picked up what at first we thought was a murmur, but it was off rhythm. It took a full minute for the off tone to come back, but when it did we knew it wasn’t coming from the heart”
“What the fuck do you mean? Where is my baby?” Mrs. Williamson was fully hysterical now.
The doctor plowed on. “We started to give her a sonogram and detected the tone was coming from her abdominal region, specifically her appendix. Its sounds off every minute like clockwork. No anomalies were detected during any of your prenatal screenings so we theorize the tone started as she…”
Suddenly the room went dark, there were alarms going off in every corner of the hospital. The back-up generator kicked in and some lights returned and most alarms subsided, but now there was an incredible noise building. Like 1000 freight trains colliding at once. Except it was a sustained noise. Suddenly out the window Mrs. Williamson could see an amazing storm rolling in from the north, but as she focused her eyes, this was no storm.
The sun was slowly being blocked out by the huge silver spacecraft……
| 2016-01-07T10:34:15 | 2016-01-07T10:30:03 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you have just been wished into existence by a nerd with a genie. | "Why isn't she alive?" said a girl's voice, from far away.
The response came in a voice that crackled like fire and boomed like lightning. "I already told you that I cannot create life."
"Yes, but I expected you to just bring her here like the - "
I opened my eyes. The girl gave a tiny gasp and fell silent.
We stood on a windy beach, no trace of civilization visible in any direction. The girl wore glasses and a natural 20 t-shirt. A short distance behind her was a wooden shack. Beyond that, the sand was covered as far as the eye could see with crabs, sitting perfectly still.
And then there was the genie. Its hair and eyes were fire, its body more like extreme heat haze than solid flesh. A violent wind surrounded it, flinging sand in all directions except toward us.
I put a hand to my chest, feeling for a pulse. "Pretty sure I'm alive," I said.
The genie laughed, a sound like a series of gunshots in rapid succession. I fell to the sandy ground, clutching my ears.
By the time I was in a shape to get up again, it was gone. I sighed.
The girl was still here, getting to her feet and brushing dust from her clothes just like I was. "I take it I was your third wish?" I asked.
She looked at me, then averted her eyes. "You were."
"What were your first two?"
"An army of loyal mooks and a secret island base."
The crabs, the shack. "In the jokes," I said, "people use their last two wishes to try to fix the first one."
She scoffed. "Yeah, and you know how well that always turns out. I had a plan. Do you see how many crabs he gave me? He thought he was sabotaging my wish, but I can work with this." She still wasn't looking directly at me.
I laughed. "Fair enough," I said. I put my hand over my heart again, frowning... it was still beating. "Why did you think I wasn't alive?"
"You just... weren't moving," she said. "Like a statue. But then you took a breath, and you seem perfectly alive to me now."
"The genie seemed less than convinced," I observed.
"Yeah."
We waited in silence for a while. I watched her overseeing her crabs, wordlessly directing them to comb over the island, pick up sticks, dance in strange patterns. The crabs really did seem like less of a joke than they had at first.
"So," I finally said, "am I?"
For once she turned to look back at me. "Alive?" she asked.
"The most beautiful woman on earth."
Her mouth hung open for a moment and she blushed. "Um... yeah," she said breathlessly.
I smiled, walking over to take her hand. "Alright, supervillain. Show me how we get off this island." | This is consciousness. I know this. I don't know how I know this. This means...I'm alive. A living creature. What does living mean? I reproduce and metabolize; that's what it means. Why do I want to do that? This hurts. I'm so confused. How do I know these things? Who am I? The most beautiful woman in the world I think. Wha..
"Hi," says the young man to my right, breaking my train of thought. Yes, young man, that's what he is. How do I know these things?
"Hello," I reply, somehow knowing that's the right thing to say.
"What shall you name her, master?" asked the blue man sitting in the corner of the room, observing our interaction. He seemed bored, whatever that means.
"Umm...I don't know yet. Can we put some clothes on her?" replied the young man.
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"
"WHAT? No. A little...it's not like that." The young man was flustered.
I was naked. I just realized that. I think that's kind of bad, but I'm getting conflicting thoughts about it. Maybe it's more complicated than that. It didn't bother me for now. It did bother the young man though. I think genitals are important. Sex. Still confused.
"It doesn't bother me," I stated, half sure it was the truth.
"See she doesn't care. This isn't the first sex slave I've conjured master, you can mold her to be whatever you want, it's your wish after all," the blue man explained nonchalantly.
The young man seemed confused and embarrassed.
"Is she, a person? Like a real person?" Asked what I assume to be my master too, the young man.
"If you want her to be," answered the genie.
"So she has feelings?"
"For now, yes. Unless you want me to erase the part of her brain responsible for that."
"I don't know man, this is fucking weird. Didn't expect her to be.."
"Human?" I cut off my my master.
"Well, yeah! Do you want to be with me? Alive?" asked my master. He seemed to be shaking.
"I don't know," I didn't know what alive was until a few minutes ago. I didn't know what a 'few minutes ago' was, until now. He wants to be with me. That sounds nice. Sex. Genitals. Naked. Existence. Still confused.
"I don't know, Mufti, this is too much responsibility. Does she have to stay here all the time?"
"Whatever you want, I aim to serve," replied the genie, barely paying attention.
"Do you love me?" my master asked me.
"I don't know", I replied honestly.
"I want her to love me, Mufti, make it happen."
I never realized this until now, but my master was the most handsome and noble man I had ever met. There was nothing about him I didn't adore. My life suddenly developed purpose. To serve this gentle, kind, beautiful, intelligent... I can go on forever.
"Can I take her outside, or will she evaporate or something?"
"You can take her outside," replied the impatient voice.
"Won't people ask questions? I mean she's really hot. And I'm..."
"I can make her less...hot."
"NO! I mean that's not necessary, we just need to give her a backstory."
"Okay," replied the genie.
If you were wondering where I cam from, I come from a small town west of here. Grew up with my loving mom and dad as an only child. They were nice to me and it was a pretty average childhood. Came to the city after college to find a job, at which point I met Mark. I mean master. I mean Mark, yes. He was nice to me, very confident too. Wait. So we dated for a few weeks before I realized I was madly..wait. This doesn't feel...real. There's a difference between now and..back then...these...memories...feel...fake. In love, I fell in love with Mark and now we're living happily ever after. He's also the best lover I've ever had. Can't wait to take him back to mom and dad. Mom and...
"Where are my parents?" I asked.
"They're gone," Mark replied.
"Where?"
"They're just gone. Mufti, get your shit together."
"You're talking about me creating and altering consciousness. The work of gods. Cut me some slack Mark," the genie
replied, agitated, "I'm doing my best.
"Your best?! You're just lying there being a lazy piece of shit. Just erase everything and make a new one from scratch. Get it right this time."
"So kill it?"
I don't want to die.
"No not kill it. Stop it from existing. Or erase it's memory. Something. This is weird, I'd rather start fresh. Just no blood or gore or anything. Do what you have to do."
"Fine."
"And make her tits bigger too" were the last words I ever heard.
| 2016-03-09T04:26:15 | 2016-03-09T02:24:01 | 145 | 51 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | "Okay," God said while he shuffled some papers, "We've just heard from the five dogs you cared for throughout your life. And frankly, I'm touched, that was great testimony. Now let's see what the next group of witnesses have to say. Could the Angeliff please call in the 500,000 chickens that Mr. Abigail's life had an impact on?" | Alexander came into the 3rd floor apartment with a stutter, his glasses and awkward unshaven appearance left him unappealing. When my roommate, Casey, had told me he was bringing his friend over and that he was a little strange, he wasn't exaggerating. Casey had forgotten to mention a very important detail to Alex. The detail that we have a pet.
"Wow, you have a golden retriever!" Alexander seemed as excited as we were when class got cancelled. "That's a good dog, I can tell just by looking at him." "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I got him to fetch the news from the front too, doesn't even need a leash." "He's not your slave you know, this guy is his own individual, with his own hopes and dreams. He might have smaller aspirations and simpler drives, but they are there all the same." Casey and I just looked at each other, he didn't even ask who I was and I would be clueless to his presence if not for Casey telling me about him beforehand. I limply held my playstation 4 controller in my hand on the living area couch, unsure how to proceed. "I don't suppose that I could talk to him for a bit?" Now Casey and I were really confused. Did he really want to have a conversation with our dog? "You can learn a lot from animals, trust me. One of them told me something very important once, something that I can't talk with anyone else about. The gist of that conversation is to be good to all animals, trust me." I sat with my mouth agape, thinking if he was for real.
Without even attaining permission, Alexander immediately began sitting down and chatting with our dog. "What's your name man?" He asked inquisitively, and he seemed to expect an actual answer. "I see, well it seems like a good life." Casey and I were stunned. I couldn't even believe what was happening, and Casey started to realize that bringing him over was a really bad move. "You know, I eat 100% vegan. No animal products involved in my diet, absolutely not. I know it might not mean much to you, but I just can't eat meat or anything that an animal had to suffer for." This gross, unkempt man came into our house to spout off his vegan nonsense? I was about to say something but Casey immediately propped up and said "Yo, Alex, I think maybe we should hang out somewhere else, maybe your place? Alex responded "Sure, sounds like a plan." "Hey, see you later David." As Casey and Alex left the apartment, he waved to David, our dog. | 2016-03-24T14:53:06 | 2016-03-24T12:50:08 | 96 | 11 |
[WP] Your phone is the best wingman (playing music at the right time, calling people, etc.) and keeps trying to set you up with this one person. It's starting to get creative. | The screen lights up with a message. “Are you aware that your Google searches are synced?” it says. I’ve set it up so that the lock screen doesn’t show the content of messages, just basic notifications. That didn’t seem to stop it. I ignore it and keep typing. How to reset an iPhone. The results page is blank, except one link: “did you mean: how to do what your iPhone says?”
This was not what I expected when I bought the AI-enhanced iPhone 13. When the model first launched, there were, of course, talks of how involved it might become in people’s lives, and the topic of romantic relationships did pop up. But everyone seemed to focus on what would happen if the user would fall in love with the AI. I guess that hipster movie was more popular than I thought.
I’m not sure if what mine is doing is a bug or a feature. I tried to bring up the topic once, when my friends and I were out for beers, but nobody seemed to know what I was talking about. It didn’t help that it kept vibrating so violently that it was always falling off the table, making me lose my train of thought as I picked it up. As for Google searches, well, they didn’t help much, either.
I press and hold the Home button. I make sure to enunciate clearly – it loves to pretend it didn’t understand. “Siri, restore all apps.” It jingles. “Apps are not necessary.” There must be a backdoor somewhere. “Siri, open phone app.” It obliges. But there’s only one contact in my list, “Tina Mobile”, and the keys disable when I try to type another combination. “Siri, erase AI data.” The pause between the sound and the answer is a fraction of a second too long. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dave.” Brilliant. Hadn’t heard that one in a while.
I’m pacing around the room when the screen lights up again. “You may access the personal history and characteristics files following this link. They indicate perfect compatibility.” “I don’t care!” I shout, my voice less commanding than I want it. “I don’t care, ’cause even if it’s true, she’s married to my brother!”
For a few blissful seconds I think I’ve won. But then it jingles. “I have found three gun retailers in your area. Select a destination for driving instructions.” | “I think it’s so funny that you made ‘Careless Whispers’ your ring tone,” Sophia says with a smile. She avoids direct eye contact as she speaks, choosing instead to carefully study the contents of her locker.
“Uh, yeah. Just joking around.” I fumble with my phone, pushing every button I can to try and stop the blaring saxophone, all to no avail. The best I can do is turn it down to a lower, background level sound, so I settle for that as I rummage through my own locker to find my history book.
“So I wanted to ask about your Facebook event,” Sophia says. She closes her locker and slips a notebook into her backpack before facing me directly, a nervous smile still playing on her lips. “I think I’m the only person you invited, and I wanted to know if there were any more people coming.”
“Uh, Facebook event?”
“Yeah.” Sophia spins a lock of her wavy brown hair between her fingers. “I mean, I love Café Bourgeois, and I’m definitely going to come. I just didn’t know if it was a…” she pauses, biting her lip.
Over Sophia’s shoulder, I see Ashley approaching. “I’m sorry,” I say, turning back to my locker. “Could you hold that thought? I really need to find my history book.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I stare into my locker, but my right shoulder can feel Ashley’s warmth. After a few fruitless seconds of looking for my text book, I emerge from my locker with my most aloof look. “Hey Ashley. How’s it AHHH!”
My phone vibrates hard in my pocket. Too hard. “Are you ok?” Ashley and Sophia ask at the same time.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I respond, rubbing my thigh and wincing. “I think my phone is broken.”
“Ok.” Ashley furrows her brow and closes her locker. “I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you two later.”
“Bye,” I say, my eyes following Ashley as she walks down the hall. “AHH!”
I reach into my pocket and pull my vibrating phone out. “I’m sorry, I say to Sophia. I don’t know what’s wrong with this thing.” I unlock my phone, and am taken aback to see that my background has changed to a picture of two dogs salivating while a human hand rings a bell next to them. I open the settings and turn off vibrate.
“So, as I was saying.” Sophia rubs her arm. “Is that Facebook event your way of asking me on a date?”
I turn from my locker to Sophia, and am taken aback by how pretty her deep green eyes look with light shining into them. Then I realize that the light is coming from my phone’s flashlight application, which has turned on on its own. I open my mouth to speak, but am interrupted by my own voice. “Uh, yeah… Is that ok?”
“Well, yeah,” Sophia beams, “that would be great! I’ll see you on Friday.” She picks up her backpack and walks away, still smiling.
I stare down at my phone in disbelief. I press the selected sound bite on my now opened voice recording app. “Uh, yeah… Is that ok?”
“What the hell is going on?” I say out loud. I slip the phone back into my pocket as the school bell rings. I fumble again through my locker, searching in vain through the disorganized pile inside for my history book. I’ve almost given up when my phone vibrates again.
“What now?” I pull my phone out of my pocket, and notice that its flashlight has turned back on. Before I can turn it off, I notice that the beam of light is pointed to my history textbook. “Huh, thanks,” I say, placing the book in my backpack and slamming the locker shut. If I run to class, I can still make it in time.
*So, I have a date with Sophia?* I think as I run. At first the thought makes me anxious, but after a few seconds, I start to warm up to it. Sophia is smart, and easy to talk to, and cute. *We’ll probably have a lot of…*
My thought trails off as I run past the door of the chemistry room. I skid to a halt, and walk back to the door’s window. Ashley is sitting on the other side, looking back at me. She smiles and waves.
I reach up to wave back. *If only I could go out with…* “AHH!”
__________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww
| 2017-04-26T09:41:17 | 2017-04-26T08:52:21 | 237 | 34 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | It was 5:30 this morning when I woke up to the typical sound of my neighbors arguing over something. They always had some feud between them - who had the bigger truck, the greener lawn, the children with the highest grades... It was exhausting living between them, never involved in their madness yet always right in the middle of it.
I rubbed the morning grit from my eyes and peered out the window to see them both gesturing wildly to their coffee mugs. What could possibly be wrong with their own individual supplies of coffee? I knew better than to ask, I figured I would just wait it out and hopefully by the time I left for work at 6:45 they would be done with their drama for the day.
I made a coffee for myself. The last drip had just fallen in the cup when I heard my two children wake up. They usually slept in, but there was no doubt I wasn't the only one disturbed by the ongoing yelling. Suddenly audible were my wife's footsteps, first to the children's rooms and then down the stairs.
"Hey, Greg. Do you mind asking them to stop their yelling or take it inside? They woke the kids and I really don't like getting involved." My wife asked of me, one child on each arm.
"Of course." I replied.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and walked outside, they didn't even notice me at first.
"Fellas?" I approached, cautiously.
"What? What do you want?" One of them snapped at me.
"Look, it's early in the morning. Can't this argument wait until, I don't know, daylight? What is this about anyway?"
"You don't know?" The other asked me incredulously.
"Know what?"
"It's the mugs! The number one dad mugs? Did you notice a little something, *different* about yours this morning?" They held theirs up, #2094827 Dad and #2094828 Dad. Was this a joke someone had played?
I didn't really take much notice of my mug, it was a thoughtful gift from my son last father's day and served me well. I just hadn't really observed its features since the day I got it. I looked down at my coffee mug, my neighbors stared at me with amused patience in their eyes.
"Well?" My neighbor asked.
"Well what? It just says number one dad like it always does."
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital, officer. | Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T09:50:25 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 222 | 23 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 46 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 45 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | I sat in the kitchen seat, knowing that i was getting a mug this father's day. My kids seemed so excited after the phenomenon started. I felt honored as i was being given my official ranking. Although they were already 4 and 5 respectively, i knew i hadn't been a dad long and figured i wouldn't place high.
The kids swarmed in with their little wrapped box and thrust it toward me. My wife, behind my children, smiled just as big as them. As i took hold of the box all thought turned to statistics. Did they include ALL dads or just the ones with mugs? What exactly is the measurement? Just how many dads are out there? Why are my palms sweating? Many more questions popped into my head but they were quelled by my wife snapping me back to reality telling me to open it.
Carefully pulling the bow strings, i undid that which held what only now i feared the most. Slowly i lifted the lid to reveal a large white mug. Taking it out of the box i turned it to see a large hand painted "#1 dad" on the side. I know it's not one of the official mugs but rather one which my kids made themselves. Crying, i embraced them both telling them that no matter what my true ranking was, i was so happy just to be their dad and that they were the most wonderful things in the world. After they left the room to go play my wife sat down at the table with me.
Asking me what i thought of their gift, i responded by saying there was no need to have the knowledge as, to the children, i already was #1. I then got up and made a cup of covfefe in my new mug. Turning back to sit back down i saw my wife already had a cup of her own. She turned it toward me. I could not believe what i saw. There, in her hands, was a mug which said #1 dad. It wasn't painted, it didn't have a smudge, it showed clearly #1. Taken aback i just stood there staring at my wife who had an even bigger smile than when i was given what was in my hands.
I still don't know what i did, but i swore that i would always and forever try to be the best dad i could be. No matter what my mug says, i promised i would strive to be better than i am. That is how i found out that i was the best dad in the world. | Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T10:02:30 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth. | Sigh.... It's bad enough having the last name of Smith, but to have that, coupled with the world's least creative parents... Did you know that on the date of my birth, no less than 125 *other* John Smiths were born? Of those, 15 share my middle name of Allen. Of those, 14 are still alive. The one that died was just a few hours after he was born -- poor kid. Here I am, with one of the most interesting possible artifacts imaginable, and it's ruined by the world's most common name. Thanks, Mom & Dad. | "This can't be right" I said reading the passage again and again. It gave the date of birth and death several times over. It wasn't just mine though but a list of childhood friends who should have all been dead at this point. Closing the half burned book I gave it back to Frank "Where did you find this?" I asked "This is nuts, it gets a lot of dates rights, but a string of them wrong." By instinct I started to reach for a beer glass but stopped myself because I was the designated driver tonight.
"Just in the middle of the woods in an old oak" he answered handing me an unused glass for beer "I', DD" I reminded him; to which he retracted his hand. Jim added in "You think it could be some hoax, someone messing with us?" Frank shook his head "I thought that too, but" he flipped to later pages that were less damaged in the book "My grandfather's death, mayor Wilson's death, Helga's death; they all line up perfectly. And the age of this thing alone by the looks of it guarantees it before 2000." Someone tried to hand me a drink and while my gut my instincts tried to grab it a bad feeling in my gut kept me from completing the transaction.
As we sat there arguing a figure entered the door. Just from the corner of my eye he looked like a normal guy but something made him seem to not belong. Instead of walking to the bar though he walked straight to us. When he got in range he grabbed the notebook out of Frank's hand and as he turned to complain "Hey; what do you-" he stopped as we all watched amazed. By instinct in the process of watching my hand reached for a drink as we watched him old the book in his palm and with it just sitting there burn it to ashes.
Just as it finished burning I suddenly realized I had the beer glass at my lips and slammed it down on the table as all instinct to grab it disappeared. the stranger poured the ashes into an ashtray and began to turn to leave when I asked "What was that?" He stopped and turned towards me, staring right into me with eyes that seemed both light and dark, knowledgeable yet ignorant, joyous and sad' angered and calmed; the one thing they lacked was and order to their reason. "A piece of order that escaped" once again he turned to walk but stopped and looked back "Enjoy your chaotic life of choice." And with that he walked out the door and disappeared.
My friends and I all looked at each other "That happened right" I asked "You tell me, you're the sober one." Ya I'm the sober one, looking at the drink my hand had kept trying to reach for; it seemed so much darker now, to fulfill a path someone else set out for me. "Ya, I'm the sober one."
*the prompt fit perfectly into something else I have in the works; tell me what you think please* | 2017-09-05T04:10:50 | 2017-09-05T02:57:36 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] You create a micro-nation as a bit of fun and jokingly write a letter to the UN claiming your independence. A week later, you receive a letter back stating that all UN members recognize your sovereignty. | "Holy shit" I uttered aloud, nearly choking on my toast.
My roommate Eustace hollered at me from the living room, "dude, what up?"
I brought the letter in with me and sat down on the couch opposite of Eustace, making sure to avoid the busted spring in the middle of the right cushion.
"The UN actually wrote me back dude, and...it seems like uhh..." I kept trying to decipher the jargon to be sure that I wasn't reading it in the same way that I read my college textbooks. "It seems like it worked?"
Eustace paused his game and turned towards me, clearly shaking off the morning daze he was still in.
"Wait, what? They actually said we can be a country?" he asked.
"Well a micro-nation but yeah, it seems like it..." I half-muttered while I scanned the letter further. I hadn't expected to even get confirmation that my letter had been received by the UN, much less it being reviewed and voted upon. Our now internationally recognized, sovereign micro-nation was a forty-five square foot plot of land located in an uncleared field by the woods behind my parent's house.
My grandfather had originally owned the land and decided to will it to me after a twenty minute conversation we had back when I was fourteen about how he had planned to build a bunker under it to protect himself from government brain control waves. He had never gotten around to it and eventually grew too old. I was too young to pretend that I was interested in government brain control waves and instead just told him that I thought bunkers were pretty cool. He had apparently caught some heavy flak from everyone else in the family over this bunker idea, so to hear someone actually voice a level of support must have been a pleasant enough surprise to warrant him granting it to me in his will.
Cut to eight years later where I'm talking to my roommate Eustace about ridiculous state laws that nobody knows about anymore. Eustace is salty about one from Alaska that forbids citizens from entering a bar while already drunk. He had been up there working in a fish factory over the summer and decided to pregame before walking to the bar down the street. He was reportedly "not very drunk at all" but got stopped by an officer anyways, an encounter he described as "mega bullshit".
I had read online sometime earlier about micro-nations and thought they were just the funniest thing, a topic ripe for a joke about how I would allow Eustace to pregame as hard as he wanted if I was the ruler of a micro-nation. After an ok chuckle, Eustace pulled an inquisitive look across his face.
"Dude, didn't you say you own like some patch of dirt out behind your folks' place?"
I hadn't thought about it much since my grandpa passed a few months prior, the land was about as hype as it sounds.
"Oh shit yeah, I kind of forgot about that." I jumped on his train of thought immediately and could barely keep myself from laughing as I asked him how funny it would be if we sent a letter to the UN declaring my plot of land as a sovereign nation. As it turns out, it would be just funny enough for him and I to do exactly that.
We described ourselves as "The Constitutional Monarchy of Crungary", named after my dog Crungar. Our government was structured so that I would be the supreme ruler over the nation with free reign to do as I pleased, so long as it was in accordance with our nation's constitution, which only had one article in it that read "just don't be a dick".
Our military consisted of Eustace armed with a pellet gun he borrowed from his brother Prentice. Our flag's design was furiously debated over for a good hour before I eventually had to employ my monarchical power and make it the image of my dog Crungar chasing his tail. Eustace later sued the state for what he claimed was unconstitutional behavior from the ruling establishment but the presiding judge at the time, me, ruled in opposition, issuing the official statement "fuck you Eustace, it's a good flag".
The downfall of our great nation came when a couple of teenagers found it while traipsing through the woods. Eustace and I were out of the country at the time on international vacation to the United States, visiting our apartment. The foreign invading force decided to break the stick I had tied our t-shirt flag to and kick over my lawn chair throne. When Eustace and I returned home, we both decided we didn't really want to find a new stick for the flag so I dissolved the Constitutional Monarchy of Crungary and we both immigrated back into the United States. | Jack was a Funny Guy.
These "Funny Guys" are a breed that is paradoxically rare and common all at the same time. Every friend group, social circle, or general gathering has one - but only one. Never will there be two Funny Guys at the same gathering. No one will know (or know *well,* at least) two of these Funny Guys. And so to a 127 people, Jack was the only Funny Guy they knew. He was a rarity, an oddity, a delight. He'd make stupid outlandish jokes that would fall flat if you made them, people would edge away from you. But when Jack made them, oh they laughed, no they *roared* with laughter. No one noticed his hair was a shade too long, the circles under his eyes a bit too dark, the laugh a bit too forced. Such things were to be expected after all, you have to know.
He was a Funny Guy.
And so it was that a meaningless gathering he proudly announced his petition to the U.N. how he wanted to make his apartment complex a country. We'd all laughed of course. That was Jack for you - he always had new jokes. Get tired of listening to him making fun of other people? Or sick of hearing the same tired old innuendos? Well just before you had enough, the son of a gun had done it! A new joke. And so you laughed.
"What a Funny Guy!" you'd say, wiping tears from your eyes. Then you'd leave the party or bar or wherever you were to distract yourself from Life, high as a kite or as drunk as a sailor, and promptly forget all about that Funny little Guy.
And then he's there at the next party. And of course he is. He's at every party. Who invites him? Who cares? Someone must've. And everybody knew him of course. He couldn't walk down a hallway at the party without someone hollering a greeting or nodding at him, or shooting him a grin. But no one *talked* to the Funny Guy. They spoke at him sure, but they never lingered.
And so it was alone that he climbed on top of a table had clinked a fork against his glass. Everybody turned to him immediately. "Shh," they'd said to each other, "the Funny Guy is talking."
"My apartment building," Jack said, "is officially a COUNTRYYYYY" he amplified his voice and stretched that last syllable. The whole hall broke into laughter and applause. More than half of them didn't even remember the joke, the fact that he'd mentioned the Country Application last week. Or was that two weeks ago? Half of them didn't get the joke but they laughed all the same, sure it was something *Funny.*
But the hall quiets as Jack speaks again, the center of everyone's attention, but really in the mind of none. "Well now that I have a country," he slurred, "I need some people to live in it!"
Laughter again, but a bit uneasy this time, and accompanied with some furtive whispers.
"People?"
"For his country?"
"He doesn't mean me does he?"
"I got a job, I got a country."
"I'm not drunk enough for this shit."
Jack tapped his spoon against his glass again. Silence fell, and while this time it wasn't absolute, Jack had more of their attention now than he ever had before. "So what say, friends? Would you like to become my countrymen?"
Silence. Absolute this time. It seemed like an eternity passed before someone dared shatter it.
"What will I have to do?" A brave voice asked from one of the corners of the hall. Before anyone could find the source of the voice however, Jack laughed. A booming, loud, Funny laugh. This made the crowd nervous, though only a few recognized that they were nervous. And even fewer recognized the source of the unease: it was the first time they had heard the Funny Guy laugh. Usually it was Everyone around him laughed, but this was the first time he had laughed. And no one around him was.
"Why nothing of course!" Jack proclaimed, "Drink, laugh, live, die, just do whatever the hell you were doing before, just do it as my countrymen! Do I hear an aye?!" he called out.
"Aye," said a handful. They hadn't even been listening really, they just followed Jack's tone of voice, not understanding, not getting.
Jack repeated himself, a too-wide smile on his face. "Do I hear an aye!?"
Those who'd said aye before had no choice but to say it again, and so did their friends. And their friends. And their friends. Funny, really. Soon the entire hall echoed "Aye" with no one really wanting to say it.
"And so your word is given," Jack said and laughed again.
Everyone laughed again, though this time even the unobservant could tell it was forced. Soon after, the people started to leave. A trickle at first, then in droves. They wanted to get away from this place, this somehow uneasy place. What was normally there refuge had been poisoned. It wasn't so Funny anymore.
A 127 people had gone to that party, not counting Jack. 113 had said "Aye," when Jack had asked. Either out of ignorance or foolishness, it didn't matter. Their words were given.
The 14 who hadn't said Aye went back to their lives. They didn't even realize for a while that there were barely any more invites, any more get togethers. And when they did, they just shrugged. It was Funny, they thought, how abruptly they'd stopped. And a part of them they tried not to knowledge, the part that had known something was deeply fundamentally wrong at that party, was glad.
It was only years later that the fourteen read the newspaper and found out about the cache as the apartment building. A number of bodies were discovered between the plaster walls of a particular apartment complex. 113 to be exact. A Mob dumping ground the media called it. A Mob had paid to build the apartment, and stashed the bodies. The fourteen who survived agreed - didn't dare disagree. They didn't disagree despite the Funny feeling they had...
And what was Funny was that the 113 bodies seemed to be wearing remarkably modern clothing, not from around the time the building was built at all.
Funny that.
***
(minor edits: grammar, spelling, rephrasing)
Never done anything like this before, not this dark, not in third person, not so abstract. Feedback is more than appreciated here. It strayed a bit from the prompt, but I used the prompt as a starting point (which is allowed). Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this Funny little story.
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | 2017-11-18T00:57:37 | 2017-11-17T23:03:04 | 3,985 | 772 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | "Raul," crooned Raul in a very suspicious French accent, as he took the lady's hand and graced his eager lips on it. "Let me guess," he continued, releasing his grip and pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit, please. Let me guess, you're a Mari- no, no, you're a Cassandra? I'm right, am I not?"
*Suave.* Yes, that was what he would be today.
The woman's botoxed forehead tried its best to frown, her lips fighting (and losing) a similarly uneven battle. "How on Earth did you know that?"
Raul slicked his dark hair back with ringed fingers. "Your beauty, it was that of a Maria, or a Cassandra, and there was a certain radiance that could be of no Maria. I see, no wrinkle has dared to blight your perfect face -- that tells me all I need to know." He lowered his voice to a rippling whisper. "*All I need to know.*"
Cassandra giggled through perfectly still lips as she slid into a seat. "My," she said, "You are a charmer. And that accent... Australian?"
"Australian?"
"Yes. I'm certain of it. I've got an aunt who lives there, and strike me down if you don't sound *just the same!* Don't worry -- she's a smoker."
Raul cursed himself silently. He hadn't done enough research for the role. No, it was fine -- he'd improvise.
"Yes, mate. Good catch."
He sat in his seat and raised a hand, clicking his fingers to gain the attention of a waiter. "If I had a bloody boomerang, I'd get us the wine myself," he said with a wink.
Another half chuckle as the waiter approached. Raul knew her very favourite drink, her very favourite food... Yes, this time he'd get the pudding he'd been after for so long. But he had to be confident. She liked confident.
"Lambrusco, for the lovely Sheila. And the house re- a uh..."--he swallowed hard--"Fosters for me."
The waiter lifted his head and eyed Raul snobbishily. "*House Fosters*, sir?"
"Yeah," Raul replied, tugging at his shirt. "You know, out of the house tap."
"Very good, sir. And to eat?"
"Pie and chips for the lady, and... do you do anything off the barbie?"
"Sir?"
"Struth. Just a burger then, mate."
The lady eyed Raul with suspicion. "I wouldn't normally let someone order for me, but... How did you know I loved pies?"
"Know? Oh, that you're a classy pie lass? Well, it's obvious ain't it."
"Is it?"
"It is to me. A lady who would wear a fashionable tracksuit like that, to a place like this, well, she'd be after the fanciest meal on the whole bloody menu."
If she could have smiled she would have done, Raul hoped. God, she was beautiful. Beneath all that make up. Maybe. Raul began to sweat. This was the best any of their dates had gone *to date*. He couldn't mess it up now. It was time to lay his heart on the table.
"Look, Cassandra, I'm gonna' level with you. I think you're mighty fine, and I reckon you think I'm fine. I mean, I figure I'm the sort of guy you'd normally go for."
Cassandara shrugged. "Eh."
"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh'"?
"You're a little too pretty-boy, for my tastes, to be honest."
"You can't be serious. You can't be bloody serious! I've seen all the men you've rejected. What the hell is left?"
Cassandra went tense. "You've *seen* the men I've been out with?"
"Well I er, oh struth," Raul said sadly, knowing he couldn't stop it now. The man's stylish exterior began to wilt, his skin flaking to reveal the green monstrosity beneath. Screams echoed about the restaurant and cutlery migrated high in all directions.
"Wh-what kind of monster are you?" asked Cassandra, her lips trying desperately to quiver.
"Me?" Raul asked, a rage in the pit of his stomach rising. "Me?! What the hell kind of monster are *you*? -- That's the real question! I've tried *everything* to please you. I've been Brad bloody Pitt and Oscar bloomin Wilde. Nothing makes you happy. Nothing!" He realised at this point that he didn't *need* to keep the accent up, but there was something rather bloody pleasing about it.
"Th-hey were *you*?"
Raul's skin began to change again, his black hair falling out in thick clumps, while greasy blonde hair sprouted hurriedly in its place. It took only seconds for Cassandra to be face to face with... Cassandra.
"This," said the new Cassandra, as it got up from its seat, "Is the only person I think you could ever love. You are the worst specimen of any creature I've ever met. And I've been to the Betelgeuse system *and* Scotland. Good day to you!"
Raul/Cassandra had almost stomped its way to the door, when it heard the plaintive scream from behind and stopped in its tracks.
"Waiiit!"
The other Cassandra came running up to it.
"What do you want now? Come to mock me one last time?"
"Mock? No! I'd never mock someone like you. Mmm mm mmmm, you are *gorgeous*. I think... I think I was a bit hasty. How about one more try?" she asked with a salacious wink.
Raul/Cassandra smiled. *Finally*.
"Can you change *any* part of your body?" she inquired as they walked back towards their table.
| "You look *incredible*," I said, snapping a picture and handing Dani's phone back. "No filter necessary. James won't know what hit him."
Dani nodded absently, her eyes already glazing over as her thumb tapped over the surface of her screen. "Thanks, Tanya. You said he rides a motorcycle, right?"
My heart sank: I had seen this level of disinterest uncountable times in the past few years, and already I could see how the date would go: James would make his dashing arrival on his motorcycle (but wearing a helmet, gloves, and leather jacket; Dani hated recklessness). In the bar (a nice cocktail bar, she liked to be treated but hated to feel pressure) he'd order a bottle of white wine and some stuffed mushrooms, his tongue already tying in knots as he realized she had already found something in him wanting, because no matter how nice Dani tried to be, she was just too easy to read. Or maybe she was only easy to read for me, because I wasn't only Tanya, her best friend, I was going to be James in less than two hours, and I'd been Mark and Jose and Chris in the dates before that, and a war hero fifty years before that, and a merchant sailor two hundred years before that, and on and on, so far that I couldn't even remember my original body, gender, or name. Half the time I wasn't even sure I had been born a human, but every year that passed I became certain that it didn't matter: the immortality and the shapeshifting had changed me so much that I certainly wouldn't die as one.
But Dani had changed all that. Ever since I, in the form of Tanya, had first met her at school, while pursuing my thirty-fourth degree, I'd found myself feeling alive again. I'd been with brilliant women, with beautiful women, with talented women, with powerful women, but never a woman as kind and compassionate as Dani. For the first time in centuries I'd begun using my powers for good again, instead of just slipping through existence as unobtrusively as possible. We'd become friends, we'd become roommates, and for a while that had been enough. But not anymore.
In a last-ditch effort, I said, "Please, give him a chance, Dani. You're so cautious. Just live a little! Go with your gut! What if he's the one?"
Dani smiled. "I hope you didn't tell him I could be 'the one'. It's fun to get out in the city and meet new people but...I don't think I'm in a good place for a boyfriend."
"That's what you've said for years," I said. Dani had been dating a real asshole when I first met her, a prick who'd been with her since high school. Even though she hadn't seemed really traumatized by the breakup, she hadn't dated since. "You're young! You've got a good job, you're living in a beautiful city! I've set you up with some really amazing people!"
Dani laughed. "Maybe you've done too good a job, Tanya. If the next guy wasn't going to be so cool, maybe I could settle for the one I was with."
I shouldn't have snapped, but I hated it when she deflected. "I just want you to be happy, and have someone! You're not going to have this opportunity forever." I said it more bitterly than I meant, because I knew I was wrong: as long as Dani lived, she would have someone trying to be with her.
Dani's back stiffened. "Well, maybe you should date some of these awesome guys yourself, then, so you don't end up like me."
I couldn't hold back a smirk at that imagery. "Come on, Dani--"
But the smirk had only pissed her off more. "You know what, Tanya? Don't bother anymore. You can have them all to yourself. Just don't set me up with anyone again."
"But--d" I was stunned. I'd never seen such a rapid transformation in her before. This wasn't just about what I'd said, there was something else going on with her. And I knew it would be stupid to try and ask her as Tanya. I'd have to ask her as -- "James?"
"Oh, don't worry, I won't stand him up." Dani grabbed her purse. "I'm not *that* much of a bitch. I would tell you not to stay up but I don't think I'll be that late."
*
As James, I shut off my motorcycle and looked over the sidewalk, my eyes meeting Dani's and then looking away again, as if I wasn't entirely convinced it was her. I had a right to that thought; she'd undergone almost as big a transformation as I had, all her anger with Tanya gone from her face.
I needed time to build up trust, to find out what was actually going on with her, so I played it safe, smiling widely as I wrapped an arm around her shoulder (Dani found full-frontal hugs too intimate for a first meeting but thought a handshake too formal; thus, I always went for the three-second side-hug.) We made idle small talk as we placed our order, and I waited for any expression, any word that might clue me in to what she was actually feeling.
"So how'd you meet Tanya?" she asked after the waitress had dropped off our bottle of Chardonnay. "She never tells me how she meets people."
Her voice barely tightened around the name *Tanya*, but I could see that she was still angry. My stomach twisted. What if, in trying to make her fall in love with me, I wound up losing her friendship as well? "At a club down east," I said. "She's pretty fun. You've been friends for a while, right?"
"Yeah. Since college." Dani lifted her glass and swirled it, but didn't drink.
"I can tell she cares a lot about you," I said. "You wouldn't believe all the questions she asked making sure I was good enough for you."
"Yeah." Dani sighed. "She's got *great* taste." Then, realizing what she'd said, "I'm sorry. You seem really great. She's just...clueless."
The sarcasm was so obvious that I couldn't let it go. "Are you guys OK?"
"Yeah." Dani sounded so defeated that my stomach twisted again. Tanya was the shape and attitude in which I felt most comfortable. I liked to think that she was pretty similar to who I'd been originally; it was so easy for me to be her that the thought of Dani not being friends with her anymore was almost a worse rejection than the scores I'd experienced as the dates.
"Yeah," Dani said again. "We're OK. Just, OK. I guess that's got to be good enough. Look, I...this isn't going to go anywhere, OK? I think I owe it to you to tell you that as soon as I can."
I said, "Yeah. I figured."
"I'm sorry. I just..." Putting her glass down, she twisted her hands around her napkin. "...I think I go on all these dates because each time I hope maybe something magical will happen, and I can get over all the other bullshit but...that won't happen. I just have to accept both sides of the coin. I'm not going to get over it, and Tanya, she...she isn't ever going to feel the same."
My jaw dropped. "*Tanya*?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I think there's something there, but she just keeps sending me on dates with everyone else in the world. I get so angry, but it's not her fault; she just wants me to be...."
She was so caught up in her napkin that she didn't notice me transforming until the sentence was almost done. James fell away. Tanya resurfaced. Dani's eyes widened. "...happy," she whispered.
I said, "I'm sorry. I...I'm an idiot."
Dani's mouth opened and closed several times. She reached for her glass of wine and found the bottle instead, but still almost drained it. Then she took a deep breath.
"Do you want to go back home?" she asked. | 2022-08-24T03:20:20 | 2018-02-14T10:34:04 | 1,353 | 16 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts! | I took the cases nobody wanted. And I don't mean the greedy ones, or the violent ones, or even the silly ones. No, I took the cases that no one wanted. The hardest kinds of cases: the ones involving kids. No, not the happy ones either. I took the cases that involved sick kids, dying from incurable diseases. The kids that came from unspeakable abuse, neglect or poverty. I took the cases that made parents go home at night and hold their kids close until they could face the world once more. The cases that caused seasoned veterans of the trade quit.
The newbie lawyers always gravitated towards these cases, these cases were the noble reasons why some people decided that this was the career they wanted. Not a single one of them were prepared. The red tape, standing before expressionless gods and pleading for little Timmy to see his dog one more time, or for Jane to have warm clothes in the dead of winter. You come into this field expecting to help grant wishes to those who need them, but nothing can prepare you for the soul-sucking bureaucracy in the name of cosmic balance.
I take these cases, without fail. Determined to not let these kinds of cases wallow in limbo, never solved, never granted because they were just too spiritually draining. I never wanted to see another kid suffer like my sister had. Her wish never granted, such a simple and sweet wish that not one wanted to have to argue for because it was too hard. The Supreme Judges appear unfazed when presented with normal human suffering, because their only concern is the ultimate cosmic balance. How do you explain to an immortal being not only the concept of mortal suffering but also why Innocent children deserve more consideration. It's draining. My sister's wish had slipped through the cracks, unfulfilled before she had died, and I refuse to let that happen to another child.
Besides, even if the Supreme Judges deny requests, well, I have other means. Demons don't answer to the cosmic balance, and despite the negative stereotype of a demon, they're more humane than most humans. I have my own private network of demons more than willing to take time out of their day of bargaining and luring greedy humans into mortal mortages to help me fill a child's wish.
I may end up paying some dire cosmic punishment for dealing with demons, but it will be worth it. I have no mortal ties, no family to leave behind. And a line of demons ready to adopt my domestic zoo of pets should I die. I'll never be able to fulfill my sister's wish, but I think she'd be proud to know that I have dedicated my life to making sure a wish like hers never goes unfulfilled. | I don't know when this will find you, or if you will even be able to comprehend it, but I have an answer to a question that I know you have asked. I just don't think you'll like the answer
You see, where I come from, wishes are commonplace. You want money, immortality, power. Easy, just find a "granter" and it's yours. The problem, it's never just that easy.
No one knows why, but granters always twist your wish. They must get something out of it, but figuring that out is someone else's job. My job, is to make sure that those crazy enough to make a wish, get exactly what they want. I'm a wish lawyer.
When the granters first showed up. People just made wishes and many of them died. No one got what they wanted, but the wisher was the only one ever punished.
After a while, people got careful. Less wishes, and more carefully worded wishes. That gave rise to my profession. A new form of "legalese" was developed. Things we hadn't thought about before.
For example, did you know there are at least five different types of immortality. Health can mean just about anything. Don't get me started on money. People being more careful seemed like a good idea at the time. That started being questioned when the first person to make a perfect wish for money had his wish granted.
Money is useless now. Any form of currency developed is instantly devalued to worthlessness. Any valuable material used as a common vehicle of trade loses the property that makes it valuable. That's why catalytic converter stopped working.
Even the most perfect wish has a loophole and the more careful the wish, the more damaging the loophole. Thanks to that, we agreed to build a flaw into each wish. One we could control. That seemed to make the granters happy.
The problem was that they didn't always take the loophole we gave them. That's how the world marched inevitabley towards its current state. A hellscape with wishes being the only thing to grant a small reprieve before making things worse.
You see, the world is addicted to wishes. Living for the high, no longer caring that the very high it desires is what brings its destruction inexorably closer.
Seeing that, a brilliant man hired me to save us wish one wish. A wish for a wold without wishes. A challenge to be sure, but it was the only wish that could save our world. First, was the obvious paradox clause. Then we had to make sure the world would be habitable and inhabited by all the denizens of our world. The list was long. It took an hour to recite in our trials.
Then we had to find the right granter. You see, they aren't a monolith. They have their own personalities. Some are mean, some are kind. This makes me think they are here under the direction of some even higher power, but again, that's not my job.
We found it on the beach of Madagascar. A small dragon like creature with a slight yellow glow. My client began to read. Flipping from one page to the next for an hour and a half, and the dragon listened dutifully.
At the end, there was a flash, and a loud bang. When our sight returned, the dragons glow was nearly gone.
"It has been done as you described"
Nothing was different. We were both on the beach, and the dragon was still there, waiting.
"Did it work?" Asked my client.
"Why don't you find out." Replied the dragon.
Before I could consult, my client made another wish.
"I wish it worked"
Clever. He didn't just throw out any wish. The problem was, he was too confident in his first wish, and was vague. The now working firearm in his pocket went off. It had been a simple pen, but that is why you don't make vague wishes. The doctors say he may survive.
The dragons glow returned and I stammered out a question, then a request. Not a wish, a request. I was very clear about that over 5 minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive.
"What went wrong?"
It turns out one key part of the wish contract was missed. A small, but critical sentence, at the end of a long paragraph, at the end of a page.
"He never said he wanted it to be this world."
The request is, well, this. Every civilization eventually wants to know where they came from. I don't know how these words will find you, but this is where you came from. If you ever make a wish and hope it comes true, hope harder that it doesn't.
PS. If you ever leave your world. Look for me. I'll be the dragon with the yellow glow, enjoying the sun, the surf, and the sand. | 2018-07-18T17:02:59 | 2018-07-18T16:09:04 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You clearly mail ordered a cheap, factory made sword. Then they gave you an authentic holy sword that made you into a chosen hero. Time to write a bad review! | **Pendragon Nylon Foam Sword for LARP and HEMA**
⋆⋆⋆⋆ *Great for ruling as the rightful king of England. Not so much for HEMA.*
Review by Ben Harrison
Received this longsword as a gift for my 18th birthday. Wish I'd known what it actually was, because as soon as I touched it, MI6 agents blew my roof off, rappelled into my living room and kidnapped me, only for me to be brought infront of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. She handed me the crown, and apparently I'm now King Arthur's rightful successor, and also the one true King of England.
I'm American. I live in Texas.
P.S. Minus one star for that roof. Had to get that fixed as my first royal decree. | "**THIS SELLER IS BAD AND HE SHOULD FEEL BAD**
I ordered a replica of Frostmourne from Warcraft 3 from this seller two weeks ago. HE PROMISED TO DELIVER IT IN THREE DAYS. Apparently, they don't check and refresh their stock so when I placed an order online instead of order's confirmation I received an email from him saying that unfortunately, the sword will have to be back-ordered. I tried canceling it but they money were already charged from my credit card, and their refund policy was so ridiculous and complicating that ultimately I had to agree to their terms.
Their freight forwarder has THE WORST courier service, but that's a story for another time. When the sword arrived I realized that I instead of my grim-looking epic sword I received something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. 2 weeks worth of wait and they send me the wrong sword, can you imagine that?
The sword is VERY heavy and quite unwieldy. I mean I can barely lift it, and I hit the gym every two weeks or so. The fantasy sword replicas should be just that, I can't say I appreciate the extra detail that I can LITERALLY cleave somebody in half with this thing.
And I don't even know what sword it is! I'm quite familiar with different fantasy settings but I don't recall seeing this one anywhere. It's almost like it's one one of those Taiwanese knock-offs where they add just enough similarities to make it pass as its own thing instead of a bootleg copy. And it's not even on the seller's website! WHERE THE HELL DID THEY BACKORDER THIS SWORD FROM?
The sword also appears to have a mic and lights built in, so every once in a while it starts speaking in an unknown language and shine lights, waking me up. I must admit that they are masterfully done because so far I can't locate them. I'd appreciate the batteries included if I could FIND WHERE THEY ARE and remove them, the damn thing is driving me crazy.
And the worst thing is, the seller must've leaked my personal info because I'm constantly stalked by some role-playing weirdos who dress like elves and wizards. Seriously guys, if you're reading this please leave me alone, I got this thing by accident and I don't want to be a part of your club. Besides your costumes look cheap and if you start role-playing - go all the way, pointy ears and a tie don't go well together.
I tried reaching them to settle this thing peacefully but they don't answer my phone calls and emails. This seller is a scam, avoid him at all costs.
The sword is terribly well-balanced though."
***
[Check out my subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/) if you want to read more and become part of the giveaway of my upcoming horror novel.
| 2018-08-21T10:01:18 | 2018-08-21T09:57:23 | 301 | 64 |
[WP] You can swap bodies with anyone you look at. One day you try your power while looking up in the sky, and end up in the body of an alien commander leading an invasion on Earth. | I guess everyone has moments in their life where they need to make a choice.
The candy bar or the gym.
One more Netflix episode or one more hour of sleep.
Sometimes the "right" choice is obvious. And sometimes you go for the other option anyway because it's more fun.
\*\*\*
"Wait!" I shouted at my second-in-command, the one who had told me "Comander, all is ready to fire the laser canons at the large city below. Your orders?" Everyone on the bridge turned to me. Maybe they were just listening to me, or maybe they had already guessed I was an imposter. My mind raced, trying to decide if these aliens had enough in common with humans that I could fake my way through this.
\*Meanwhile, on Earth\*
"Excuse me, but AREn' you a HUman female?" Snuhk ap Neel, leader of the Intergalactic Order of Brilliant Invaders, asked the woman in front of him. She stared back at him strangely, barely slowing down as she walked past him. "Do nOT ignORE ME, huMAN!" he shrieked. "Where have You taKEN my SHIP!?"
\*Back on the ship\*
I shivered slightly, a sign that the person I'd traded bodies with was doing something stupid with my face on. I shrugged it off, but it had left an effect: I was totally clear-headed. Now that I'd shook out the initial shock, I knew I had to make a choice.
I laid out the options in front of me; 1) I stop the invasion, turn the ship around, get them to leave SOMEHOW, 2) I stop the "invasion", but still get them in contact with the United Nations and negotiate for some cool space swag, or 3) I become the commander that takes over the world.
Now obviously option 1 would be a boring outcome.
Option 2 had some potential.
But option 3....
"Belay those canons," I said. "The humans have other weak points that we can exploit without," I gulped, "uneccessary bloodshed."
All the faces on board stared at me in what had to be confusion. Their eyes were too wide to be anything else. "Captain..." my second in command started, "Where did you get this information?"
"Special envoi from the President," I said, standing up. Let's hope that was the right term for their leader. And let's also hope I could talk so fast they didn't think about it. "We are to head straight for the nearest pole. It seems these humans are weak to cold temperatures; we will freeze up an extra layer of ice at the North and South, and then seal off the ozone layer above them so that they don't melt away."
The lizard-like soldiers in front of me all seemed to agree heartilly with this, and immediatly jumped into action. I felt the smallest lurch as the ship swung around to where it needed to go. And hopefully by the time we reach it, I'll have figured out my next move... | I’m not blind, but I’ve never seen anything.
Bullies are chasing me, and they’re fast. My feet are starting to hurt because I’ve been running for over an hour. They want to pull my bandage off, want to see my eyes. They think I’m a freak, that I’ve got a secret. I guess they’re right.
Rounding a corner, I hop a fence, then another. The orphanage is just a minute or two away, so they’ll probably give up. Nobody wants to deal with Ms. Bale. She’ll yell them up and down the street for attacking me.
Mama said I was special, said we have…*powers.* I didn’t believe her. We were sitting on the porch soaking in the sun, and I was twirling around a flower. It smelled beautiful but I wanted to *see* it, and thought whatever power this is, it isn’t worth it. When…when mama became someone else, and the person who replaced her didn’t love me…that *proved* it isn’t worth it.
I stop running, hunching over and catching my breath. They’re gone. Once I start climbing fences or doing anything that takes actual effort, they usually leave. Bullies are the laziest people. Sweat’s soaking my bandages, and when look up, the sun warms them. Right now, I wish I could be anyone else.
If I remove these bandages, I can be. And who would care? Ms. Bale? The other kids at the orphanage? They don’t love me. They just accept me because I’m *there,* because it makes life *easier.* If…if I became somebody else…maybe I could find love, could have a family.
Reaching up, I unwrap my bandages, and when they fall to the ground, I blink a million times because everything’s so, bright. The sky…it’s so blue, beautiful, and filled with flower-shaped clouds. A smile quickly spreads across my face.
*You have a gift,* mama said. *If you look at someone, you can switch bodies with them—but be careful, because you may never get your old body back.*
I let free a scream as I stare into the sky, arms stretched out wide. For a moment, nothing happens. But then I feel it. My stomach drops, like I’m in a falling elevator, and I get a head-rush like I stood up too fast. Soon my vision’s blurred by a blindingly white light that I can’t block with my hands.
After blinking a few times, the world starts coming back. First with a few blurred brushstrokes, then eventually a huge splatter. When I finally look around, I have no clue where I am. There are huge computers everywhere, and tiny robots running around the floor. In front of me there’s a table, and on it, a picture of a planet. Looking up, there’s a window in front of me very clearly showing Earth. Am I on a...spaceship?
My hands aren’t hands, they’re claws. My feet are the same. My skin’s wrinkly, and there’s this…this *hunger* in me. My belly burns, and it makes me wanna tear this room apart. A nagging voice screams for flesh, screams for food. Reaching forward, I press a button on the computer, and a text box appears.
*Captain’s Log, day three hundred.*
*Today I’m invading Earth, a small nothing of a planet. My plan’s to harvest food while I continue searching for a cure. Why couldn’t I have died when we opened the Sacred Alien Vault? Why did this…parasite attach itself to me? I don’t know, but it’s growing stronger, taking over my mind.*
*It made me kill my crewmates, made me harvest my home planet. This curse has killed everything I’ve ever loved and made me lonely. I have no friends. If I wasn’t such a prideful man, I would’ve killed myself.*
*But first I need to kill this damned creature.*
Stepping back from the computer, I clutch my gut. The alien’s screaming *kill* and *devour* over and over. This…isn’t good. I claw a million buttons, but none of them move the ship. I can either go to Earth, or I can sit here. But if I go to Earth, I could end up…I could…
*You wanna eat them, you wanna hurt people.*
I don’t…
*You’ll devour your own body, and then we’ll get those bullies. Together, we’ll be stronger than ever.*
No…
A button flashes on the computer, and I press it. Second later a robotic voice chimes in, telling me we’re headed for Earth. Leaning against the computer, I clutch my gut, trying to ignore the burning pain. I’m not gonna let this monster win. I’m going there to get my old body…to get my old…to…
*Eat.*
***
If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or twitter [BryceBealWriter](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)! | 2018-10-01T08:32:00 | 2018-10-01T07:46:26 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You've had the ability to Fast Travel since your were born. One day while you're leaving work, thinking of getting something to eat you heard a voice in your head saying for the first time "You can't Fast Travel with enemys near by" | "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked straight into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
Border? Thief?
*What the fuck?*
Are there others? Did I break a rule or something? Imperials?
Am I in the Middle Ages now?
What the *fuuuck* is going on?
| My eyes shook, my hand froze, and my inessential fourth cup of coffee spread across the concrete as I stopped to register the thought I just created innately. *You can't fast travel with enemies nearby...* the phrase rang in my head as if it were my own thought but something in my gut told me it wasn't an epiphany.
&#x200B;
I slowly started surveying the busy sidewalk in front of me like a car looking to merge. No one stood out, no one looked like a threat, no one even made eye contact with me. As was the typical lifestyle in New York, I chose not to take any chances. The walk to my apartment would take about thirty minutes, a distance that felt like a lifetime while I felt my heart trying to breach through my rib cage.
&#x200B;
*You can't fast travel with enemies nearby...* it rang again with the same tone as before.
*Well at least I know its automated..* I thought to myself, trying to piece together as much information as I could about this anomaly. This fact brought no relief in the face of whatever *enemy* was blocking the ability I thought was unique to myself. It actually brought more questions than I ever thought to ask.
*Who created these rules?*
*Why do I have enemies?*
*Are there more like me?*
*What should I...*
&#x200B;
My thoughts were interrupted by what felt like my heart piercing my chest. I looked down... it wasn't my heart that had poked out through my shirt. It was a blade.
I fell to my knees, retching blood on the pavement in front of me. I gripped the blade in my chest only to wince at the thought of pulling it out. My vision began to blur, I couldn't even begin to think about who would have done this to me. Bystanders all around acted as if I wasn't even there.
Slowly, I watched the world turn to black. My *enemy* was nowhere in site. The only thing I could make out was a feint image of her... right before I took my last breath.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*You can't fast travel with enemies nearby...* I looked down at my feet, coffee trailing down the cracks in the concrete like a river making its way to the ocean. All the pain in my chest was gone and the taste of blood had left my mouth.
*I have 4 lives left.* Another thought that wasn't my own... I wish I played more video games in high school.. | 2018-10-22T13:08:28 | 2018-10-22T12:02:02 | 149 | 22 |
[WP] The Ruins of Earth are considered the archeological find of the millennium. Aliens send experts from all across the galaxy to study this complex civilization, and there are conflicting theories as to why they went extinct. | "It's obviously war that caused their extinction, there's radiation zones everywhere!"
"Those radiation zones are localized to relatively small geographic areas! No, it had to be the abrupt change in global climate! In just 22,000 years temperature all over the world raised significantly! Sea levels rose and…”
The room full of scientists, historians, and experts in xenology the universe over was as loud and as heated as any other day. The Homo Sapiens, as they called themselves, were the fascination of all intelligent species in the Milky Way Galaxy. Not much was known about them other than their short lifespans.
The room quieted down as the day's featured speaker made their way to the podium. Apparently the young Doujilopent had made a breakthrough in the communication technology that the Homo Sapiens used.
"My fellow researchers and enthusiasts. I'm here today before all of you to revisit the inter-net."
He was interrupted before he could continue. "The inter-net has already proven to be a dead end! It allowed the apes to communicate globally at speeds faster than physically possible!"
The Doujilopent smiled "Yes, however it seems that we were too hasty in dismissing it. After careful analysis it has come to my and my colleagues knowledge that the humans were not as primitive as we have believed. General consensus was that the homo sapiens were simplistic due to their limited array of accumulated knowledge."
He paused for a moment to adjust his tentacles.
"However it has been found that most of the knowledge the humans had amassed was on the inter-net, There are billions of pages of script, with whole treasure troves of information, ideas, and more!"
There were excited murmurs in the room. This sort of breakthrough could prove imperative to their own theories.
"The most commonly found pages on the inter-net however, all related to the same subject. Pictures, videos, books, the inter-net is full of it! And any such forums that has this subject is home to the most rigorous scholars and academics found anywhere! Almost every single submission has others asking for sources, names, and professionals! The humans studied this subject in earnest, a very large portion of their society was driven to it!"
"Due to this discovery, it is the belief of my colleagues and I that the humans went extinct due to overpopulation! This supports other evidence such as the shortages of fresh water, the densely populated nature of their habitats, and more!"
The room was now roaring in excitement. If this information proved to be true, then there was finally an end to the debate of the cause of Human Extinction! However, there remained one question that was repeated the most.
What was this subject?
The Doujilopent adjusted his tentacles once more, and knowing what the room wanted to hear, relinquished.
"The subject that the homo-sapiens put so much stock in...was their own mating rituals." | The winds were harsh, and the temperature several degrees below freezing. The suit display offered a wealth of information; atmospheric composition, pressure, points of interest... and the two explorers had ended up at the same landmark, staring in awe. Though the same race, the Andorran's often harbored prejudices and contempt for other Andorran's from colonized worlds, and the most uptight ones no doubt came from the Home World. But since landing here, on Earth, there had been nothing but cooperation and shared curiosity.
"Do you think she was a leader?" One asked, very simply named Explorer One for this mission. One ran a scan, his suit piercing ice and snow to reveal the statue in 3-d on his display. Two had just finished scanning the ice thickness, and determined it was safe to land his ship here, and not a minute after the craft appeared above, descending quickly at first, before slowing down, just barely hovering before extending landing gears, settling down on the ice.
"Leader or not, she was someone important."
"Perhaps she is the one who discovered Fire for their species. She's holding a torch," One said.
"I think she was their God. Other explorers have reported statues in the middle-earth, though few as grand as this one."
The pair shared a moment just staring at her, with their own eyes, displays off. An enormous icicle hanging from the statue's elbow broke off, and crashed into the island below.
"What's your theory on what ended them?" One asked, and Two responded by turning on his heel and walking towards his ship.
"Super volcano, blotting out the sun. In fact I'm headed to a point of interest right now to gather evidence. You?", he asked, now sitting in the cockpit of his ship, the glass dome pointing towards the sky.
"War."
Two snorted, shrugging. "Boring theory, but plausible. See you later once you're done sifting through the city debris."
One bowed and extended his arm, the gesture of goodbye, and the glass down slowly went down, connecting with the cockpit, sealing Two in a protective bubble of blast-resistant diamond glass, and shortly after craft took off, zipping across the sky with a roar, breaking the sound barrier instantly.
One took one final look at the large statue, and began walking towards the city. He had remembered when he flew over the city, how grandiose the ruins had seemed compared to tiny structures his scans had picked up just outside the city. Perhaps this is where royalty used to live.
His suit brought up a feed, and a pinging message. It was one addressed to all explorers, and he brought it up with a voice command.
"No snow here - still cold - very little evidence of structures. Interest found."
Another ping, with a location. It was somewhere south of the equator on the second-largest continent on this world. Shortly after, images popped up. The explorer appeared to be in a small cave, and on the walls, there were drawings of humanoids and animals, several humans standing around a large mammal with spears in hand. Another image seemed to be a continuation of a series, with the same humans and mammal depicted, but now there was a predatory animal with large teeth to the right.
"Prehistoric?-- Lesser advanced race?-- Theories?--"
One shut down the feeds, now walking the streets of the ruined city. Decrepit buildings swayed and debris rolled across the streets in the wind, some buildings stretching far above him, others had collapsed and taken others with them. A brief scan showed several warnings of structural weak points, some buildings at risk of collapsing any minute. No matter, he had the Jetpack should he need to get out of the way of a dying structure.
Another feed came in, beeping.
"Theory--. Nuclear disaster--. Traces of uranium found--."
*Uranium?* One thought. Clearly, this species were more advanced than they had initially thought. He sent a message to the source.
"Where?--."
Shortly after, the locator zoned in, and an image popped up from the explorer's camera feeds. A sign nearby said "CHERNOBYL" in strange letters, but One could not translate the words.
"Uranium--. Weapons?--. War brought them down--.", he transmitted back.
"Uranium also energy--. Evidence inconclusive--."
The more he explored the city, the more he felt his conclusion was right. This species seemed to obsess over grandiosity, most buildings serving little purpose in terms of functionality. Some buildings even had traces of valuable metals such as gold and silver inside them, in the form of tiny trinkets, buried in the ages out of sight - but not to his scanners. *Yes. They must have grown into a society of inequality, and from the chasm, war came to be. What a shame,* he thought.
Yet another message came in, but One dismissed it, in favor of exploring further into the heart of the city. | 2018-10-30T21:59:57 | 2018-10-30T17:04:12 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | People used to talk about targeted advertisements on facebook and amazon like it was some big conspiracy, like their phones and smart TV's listening to them all the time was just a tad too crazy to believe; well, we're always listening—even when you're not saying a word.
People walk me by in supermalls everyday without a passing glance. I'm just another guy on a bench, enjoying my coffee, no reason to think anything other than what you already are.
*That mower is such an old piece of shit, I can barely get it to started anymore.*
Mowers. It's always the same, balding middle-aged man archetype who's thoughts are obsessed with outdoor appliances like mowers and barbecues. I've got an exclusive contract with Craftsman, and I make sure the image of a big red sit-down mower flashes in his mind as he strolls by.
*God, that girl at the gym is so slim. I'll never fit into yoga pants like that.*
Poor girl. For my perspective, she looks great. But I've got a job to do, and I implant the thought of this bullshit weight-loss drink. They pay well, I guess that's my only excuse. She perks up as she passes me and I sigh to myself—enjoy your false hope.
*I wish I had less acne.*
*Why doesn't he notice me?*
*Do I really need life insurance?*
*I'm hungry.*
Everyone has their anxieties, their needs and wants, and there's a product out there ready to be pushed on them. Sometimes I hate myself for what I do. I imagine seven year old me shaking his head like a disappointed father. *You wanted to be a firefighter, not a walking, psychic-guerrilla advertisement.* My favorite brand of ice-cream—whom I'm coincidentally contracted to—pops into my head. I always know how to take my mind off my self-loathing.
*I can't believe they fired me.*
A dopey looking kid is walking by in a haze, taking slow, drawn out steps with his hands in his pockets, eyes not focused on anything or anyone.
*I'm worthless, nobody wants me around because I fuck everything up.*
Geez, maybe he could go for some ice cream.
*I don't want to live anymore. I just want this shitty life to be over*.
Hate me for this if you want, but the first thing to pop into my head is a .38 revolver. It's a best seller, easy to push guns these days, for various reasons, and gun companies pay folks like me a pretty penny. You should hate me, because I despise myself for even considering it.
Before he's out of range, I throw a thought his way—my last for the day.
*Seek help, please. You are loved, and your life is worth living.*
____
***/r/BeagleTales*** | Nora woke up just like she did every other day. This time, however, was very different. Now, instead of wishing to be invisible, she actually was. And she wished more than anything to be fully opaque again.
She reported to headquarters, the same as the day before and the one before that. The days started to merge together. Her assignment was to go undercover, of course.
“Ugh. What else would be it?” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that? Officer Tanner? Do you have something to say to me?”
“No sir, nothing at all,” and she turned translucent. When the powers first began she had control over them. It was exciting.
She thought back to the time where she caught her husband cheating on her. The idiot didn’t even have the brains or decency to not do it in the house. But she hated him and got some thrill from catching him in the act. She didn’t want to be the 26 year old divorcee and single mom without good reason. And boy did he give her one hell of a way out of that train wreck of a marriage.
She flashed into the memory of her daughter laughing as she turned visible and came to form once again. She was the best peek-a-boo partner ever. Her daughter loved every second. But now she’s 3 and wonders where her mom goes while she turns invisible in her bed. She cries while she looks for her and doesn’t understand what’s going on.
This power became an uncontrollable part of her. And it was increasingly more dangerous - not just for Nora but for everyone. People who were hired as messengers were falling out of the sky. Cooks were burning their customers to death. Super powers weren’t so super after all.
“Tanner. Tanner. TANNER,” her commanding officer screamed.
“Sorry, sir, I’m here. Where’s the job?” She shook out of her thoughts and came to form once again.
“Corner of 87th and Willow. And hold yourself together. We can’t have you turning back at the wrong moment. That would ruin everything.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be good.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced and neither was she.
After going through the details she knew what she had to do. She had to catch the mayor in action. The station had gotten a hit that he would be showing up to the biggest cocaine runner in the city to talk about their distribution route. No one was able to tie the mayor to it but it became increasingly obvious as time went on. The clues were there. Nora’s job was simple: put a video camera in 5 places, all while being invisible. She had to put 3 on the outside of the building, pointing towards the front, back, and side entrances. The other two were the hard part: get two in the room where everyone expected the deal to go down without being noticed.
It wasn’t the hardest task, she had done others before that were much more mentally draining. And this time, she probably wouldn’t see anyone get shot. She had seen too many horrendous acts on this job and didn’t have faith in humanity anymore. Being invisible wasn’t nearly what she thought it would be. It was hard. It was sad. And she saw the worst in people because she was there when no one was watching. The human wallflower was a title she no longer wanted. She wanted to go back to life before everything changed so drastically. But this was her reality, and it paid the bills for her and her daughter so each day she sucked it up and did it anyway.
She got to 87th and Willow in no time at all, and was able to place the 3 cameras according to plan. Now the hard part: getting inside without being noticed. She was invisible by sight but she still had form when she turned. One bump into a table or person and she was screwed. It had to be done swiftly. She had trained for 2 years to become nimble - she went to the academy that whipped her into shape while they watched her daughter during the day and paid for their shelter and food. But the job was stressful. No matter how many courses in meditation they offered, she always got nervous on the job. She had too much to lose. Her daughter needed a parent that wasn’t her shitty father.
Nora was able to catch the door before it closed and wiggle her way into the warehouse where the deal was expected to happen. There was a lot of space for her to roam which was always welcomed. She made her way into the room that she memorized before the job. She saw a shelf and deemed it worthy enough to climb on top of it. As she started to prepare she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” She thought.
Nora turned around and saw a man with glasses on staring back at her. She realized they were specialized made solely to see invisibles. She had come across a few during her job but they were really rare.
“I have a proposition for you,” the man whispered. | 2020-02-05T14:59:32 | 2020-02-05T14:48:26 | 418 | 217 |
[WP] You are a demon possesing a teen that has just been adopted by loving parents. You do your best to terrify them. But the more you do, the more they love you and want to parent you. | "I don't want it!" Ellie said, pushing her plate away at such force that the peas marbled up and over the plate's rim.
Jack snatched a flying pea out of the air. "Ta-da!"
Ellie's eyes were fire-hot as she glared at Jack. At her new father. *(Like you can just shop for a new father,* said the voice in her head, *that the real one leaving you is no problem at all, because, look! There's a model with more hair and a wider, faker smile, let's choose him!)*
Jack repressed a sigh. "I thought this is what you wanted, El."
"*Ellie*."
"Sorry -- Ellie. Fish, chips, peas. Like that British film you saw."
"I hate fish. I hate peas. Most of all"--she squinted and paused for effect--"I hate *you*."
Jack turned away for just a second and blinked hard. When he looked back at Ellie he somehow smiled broader than ever (*it's fake, Ellie. As fake as the cooking set he got you. Fake as the I love you he says when he thinks you're asleep. You push him enough and he'll admit it, and he'll send you back. Oh yes he will! Faker!)*
"What about chocolate cake, then?" he asked. "Homemade."
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Jack laughed. "Okay, I think that's a yes."
Two minutes later, the plate sat in front of her. This one was harder to resist. She was starving now and the cake made her mouth water. *(Here's what we do: pick it up. Pretend you're about to eat it. Then throw it on the floor at the last second. It won’t be easy, but it’ll really make him scream.)*
Jack smiled as she picked the cake up.
The smile wavered as he looked at the mess. "Oh. Well, that's okay, there's more when you're hungry, sweetie, okay?"
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry," he said. "This is a learning thing for me. For both of us."
"I don't want to learn," she said. "I don't want to be here. No one does. No wonder you don't have a wife!"
"I... Well, I'll do my best to change your mind about wanting to be here. Hey, how about we watch a movie this afternoon? Anything you want. I've got Netflix, Prime, Hu-"
"I want to go to bed. I want to be left alone."
Jack glanced at the clock. "It's kind of early for bed. We could go out if you like? To a play-"
(*Tell him to leave you alone!. That he's ugly. That your real dad was handsome and his smile wasn't plastic. Faker!*)
She did.
Later, she sat on her bed, hugging her knees, talking to the demon.
*(We're doing great)*
"He'll send me back soon."
*(Of course. He's fake. They all are.)*
"He'll come any minute and tell me."
*(Yup! Then we'll let him know he never had us fooled)*
"I wish I'd had some of that cake."
*(And given him the satisfaction? Psh! He just wants you to be happy so that he can sleep with a smug smile on his face. He doesn't care about you. You're just something he'll tell his work friends about. Like he's adopted a pet dog. That's all. Let’s face it: why would he even want to love you?)*
All the same, Ellie couldn't sleep that night. Darkness crept in, but Jack didn't.
*(Hey! Where are you going?)*
Ellie didn't answer. She padded out of her room and down the corridor. A sound she first thought to be the dishwasher came from somewhere near.
The man's bedroom.
The noise came from there. She creeped open the door as the demon screamed at her to go back to her room.
He sat on his bed -- a huge bed that looked very lonely with just him on it.
He held something in his hand. Something small and flat.
"What's that?" she asked, a strange curiosity burning.
He looked up. His eyes were red. "Oh hey," he said. "Everything okay?"
"What's that," she repeated. Why'd he been crying?
Jack gestured her in. She sat on the bed next to him and looked at the photo he held. It was Jack. A little younger, thinner, less pale. Holding hands with a woman with a big stomach-bump.
"My wife," he said. "Before... Well..."
"You've got a child of your own?"
He shook his head. "We almost did. And..."
Ellie watched tears crawl like fat slugs down his face.
"And... well, when I lost them, I thought I've got all this space, and all this love, and, well, who was I going to give it to." He looked at her and there was that smile again. Although, she thought it looked a little less plastic this time.
"I'm sorry," she said. "About what I said earlier." Oh great, she was crying too now. She hoped the demon wasn't looking.
"It's okay. I know this is hard for you. But I promise, I'll always do my best for you. I'll always try."
She nodded but didn't say anything. Just stared at that photo. Worn on both sides where his thumbs had held it many times.
"I don't like peas either, Ellie" he said.
This almost made her laugh. "El. You can call me El. I like it. And I don't mind peas, really. In fact..."
Jack grinned. "Sure you wouldn't prefer cake?"
"Maybe a little.
Jack stood up. He wasn't crying now. "Hey, when you asked if I had a child of my own, and I said no. Well, that was the wrong answer."
He knelt down and kissed her cheek.
She let him.
The demon was nowhere to be seen. | “I swear to the Devil himself I’ll do it! Don’t you fucking dare think I won’t, I’ll get a D on that test!” Elbaaz the demon paraded his Sophia-skin up and down the living room, screaming generic profanity and underwhelming threats at a pair of middle aged social workers hell bent on love. It was his first assignment outside of the Pit, and it wasn’t going well at all, Sophia’s parents were far too caring.
And frankly Elbaaz had never been a very good demon.
“Now honey, you know if you ever want to be a doctor you’re going to need this biology class,” her father Frank said patiently. His spot on the couch was practically form fitted to his body after so many months of demonic harangues, and Megan’s was little better. Sophia’s mother sat next to him with a worried expression, leaning into the arm that lay protectively across her waist.
“Biology is bullshit, and so are doctors. I’m gonna drop out and become a stripper and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
The dial of Megan’s expression barely moved as she watched her daughter. The demon was seriously losing his cool here. “You know we’ll support you no matter what, but I don’t think that’s what you really want. You’ve been set on medical school for so long, remember? You wanted to be just like Aunt Miriam when you met her for the first time…”
When Elbaaz had graduated from demon school he’d been given the same strict guidelines as every other first timer. Be disruptive, wreak havoc, break hearts, and think long term. Any charlatan could take control of a host and walk off a bridge, an up-jumped imp would do so well. Demons were different. Sorrow was a fine art, and the best demons broke hearts on a generational scale. Take for example Samael, who had occupied that Austrian painter back in the late ‘20s, now he was a true master. He still spoke at the Pit’s commencement ceremonies.
“Miriam’s stupid anyway! I bet her kids hate her too.” A twisted smile crept across Sophia’s face as Elbaaz made her say it, and for the first time he saw a weakness. Frank and Megan had been hurt by that, by the terrible implications of the word “too.” With tears in the eyes the couple rose, hand in hand and moved towards a daughter they could barely even recognize.
“All of them, every person in your whole stupid family. I bet every one of them hates her, you can see it every family reunion. They’re a joke, this whole family is all one step away from falling a...apa-...guys, what are you doing?”
For Elbaaz the demon the sensation that enveloped him was nearly indescribable as Sophia’s parents reached their adoptive daughter. Surrounding his host on all sides was a strange warmth, backed up by the softness of skin and an itchy quality lent by the fuzzy sweater the mother wore. He had no word for it, this melding of forms into a collection of gentle lines that crashed up against the wave of his vitriol and somehow held strong. The concept of peaceful touch was anathema to hell itself, as were parents in fact. The creche that the demon had been born into was a harsh world where care was doled out by the haft of a cane and discipline by something far worse.
Some concepts could only ever be understood through action, for words could never do them justice. Elbaaz’s discovery of the hug was one such.
“It’s ok if your dreams changed,” Sophia’s father was saying, eyes poised on the edge of tears. “Your mother found those sketchbooks in your room last week, she showed me too. They were so amazing, they really were. We’ll support you in anything you want.”
If her father had maintained some semblance of control, Sophia’s mother had given up on that from the moment she left the couch. With both arms wrapped around her little girl and teardrops streaming down her face her voice was barely intelligible as she spoke. It had been months since her daughter had changed and she wanted her back very badly.
“I love you so much Sophia,” her mother blubbered, “whatever you’re going through we won’t abandon you, we won’t! We’ll go to counselling and we’ll enroll you in whatever it takes, we’ll change schools if we have to, but you are not giving up on yourself! We’ll all fight for you and we’ll do it together!”
Elbaaz could feel it, the words of hate poised on the tip of Sophia’s tongue that would destroy her parents forever. There was nothing stopping him now, he’d finally make all his instructors proud, he’d sow enough discord in this family to last a generation!
Except as he began to say it his mind reflected back on the way Megan had said her daughter’s name, the pride that echoed through the word, even while she cried.
Would his instructors ever say “Elbaaz” that way? Could any denizen of the lower plans even begin to approximate that tone? And could he remember a time even now, when he had wished for just such a moment as this?
Elbaaz's unconscious mind opened up and the memory sucked him in. He was back in creche school, a demon barely old enough to fly, when he had first grappled with the truths of what he was. It had been a mistake to tell the instructor that he had doubts, and in the aftermath a young Elbaaz had braced for the first blow of the omnipresent cane, the harsh crack of whose impact had come only a moment later and on the wrong target.
“You don’t want to hurt anyone?” the instructor had asked him as he stood over the wounded body of another young demon. “Are you sure, little hatchling?” the cane fell again, driving the innocent bystander into the ground.
“It’s so much fun though!” his instructor exclaimed. “This is what life is for, to separate the wheat from the chaff by our strength,” he punctuated each word with a strike from here, “our tenacity, our hate!”
With his classmate’s crying bouncing off the walls of the cavern Elbaaz had hated, in fact in all the years since then he’d never hated anything as much as he had that instructor. As the memory reached its painful climax his Sophia-skin whimpered in sympathy with its occupier’s dream, her now waifish body shaking uncontrollably.
The instructor had crouched down after the beating, his eyes on a level with Elbaaz’s, and proffered the cane to him. “Here’s the truth little demon, down here what you want doesn’t matter. Not a single one of us gives a shit about any of you,” he cast a meaningful glance back at his classmate, “and it’s going to stay that way forever. You’re here to do what we tell you, whenever we tell you, and you’re going to crush whatever idiotic dream you just had. Take it.”
He’d taken it. Elbaaz had been a child after all and alone, and when ordered he’d beaten his classmate, with ever growing ferocity under the instructor’s watchful eye. It was the worst memory in his entire life and the underpinning of everything that had come since.
The harsh words he had planned died on Sophia’s lips as her parents continued to hold her, Frank too succumbing to his wife’s uncontrollable crying. Elbaaz was a very bad demon, he’d always known it and this moment proved it as he hung on the edge of what should have been his triumph, hot tears now beginning to spill down his host’s cheeks. Sophia’s arms raised haltingly as they wrapped around her parent’s backs, pulling them to her with a force she could never have possessed on her own.
Elbaaz had no words for what he felt, the language of demons had left those out for a reason, but for the first time in his life he felt no hate. Perhaps that was what Sophia’s parents had meant these past months, when over and over they had responded to his vitriol with the shouted word “love.”
\----------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: thanks for the awards! | 2021-01-19T07:53:26 | 2021-01-19T06:29:28 | 559 | 100 |
[WP] Dark Lord received a prophecy that a young ophran from the nearby village will end his reign. Instead of attempting to get her killed, he adopted her. | The tiny child sat shivering in a cold, dark alleyway. Barely even three, yet left to die in the cold winter night as punishment by the cruel people of the village, who looked out for themselves and not a tiny orphaned tot.
The one who, ironically, they were waiting for to find and save them. Their mistake was they thought the one promised was a boy. Not this shivering, frail and tiny child.
Kneeling down, the robed form shielded her from the winds, thick, well muscled hands gently picking up the fragile form. She looked up with the biggest blue eyes, so full of frozen tears and fear...
The man in the robe tucked her within the fabrics, carrying her to his rather normal looking mount. The horse snorted as he grabbed the reins, and the tiny child squeaked in terror. But the man gently stroked her head, saying a soft word, and the child dozed off as he mounted. With that the man steered his horse out of the village mostly unnoticed, its people celebrating the boy they thought was their saviour.
The man chuckled and shook his head as he rose to the dark castle on the mountain; they were fools. This child was now his to raise... and they would feel her wrath as he continued his millennia rule.
As they got closer the horse suddenly changed into a flaming, black beast, the man into an almost giant with impenetrable dark armour. Yet he continued to hold the tiny child close with care: she was his now.
——————
Little blue eyes, so big and innocent, peeked over the coffee table at the map the large warrior was looking at. “Wha’s tha’?” She asked softly, her speech broken a little from never being properly taught how to talk.
The warrior glanced at her, before carefully picking her up with a large hand, hearing her tiny squeak as he held her on her lap. “This it a map of our lord’s kingdoms.”
The child tilted her head. “Da’s?” She asked softly, a finger in her mouth.
The warrior nodded, and pointed to the north-eastern edges. “Our lord plans to make the kingdom bigger, and expand our borders.”
The tiny girl looked at him. “‘or’ers?” She asked softly.
The warrior couldn’t help but smile a little, and pointed to the thick black lines that represented the edge of Dark Lord’s domain. “Borders.” He repeated.
The child blinked, before giggling, “‘or’ers!” She then squirmed, wanting down, and the child giggled as she ran out of the room and down the dark halls, calling out the new word she had learned.
The warrior smiled as she left, turning back to his map, only to jump in alarm seeing the dark armoured figure across from him. “M-My lord-!”
The larger warrior raised a hand, and to the other’s shock smiled a tad. “It is fine General Gardus. She is learning and to be the warrior I wish her to be, she needs to learn all. No ‘sugar-coating’.” And then the Dark Lord slipped out of the room, as eerily silent as ever, leaving his rather startled General of Destruction behind.
——————
“Daddy?”
The Dark Lord looked up from his throne, and dismissed the soldier he had been listening to reports from. “Yes my daughter?”
The small girl squirmed, grabbing at her dress... “Umm... can I... si’ with you? P’ease?” Her big, blue eyes looked into his red ones, not unlike that of a pups.
The Dark Lord let out a breath, but sat back, patting his knee. The child quickly came over and climbed up, before she snuggled into his torso. The Dark One felt his dark heart be tugged as she started to whimper, and he wrapped a large hand around her back to comfort her. His little adopted daughter grasped his armour with her small hands, before whimpering out, “Don’ wanna be ‘bandoned...”
All thoughts in the Dark Lord’s mind screeched to a halt. Wait, WHAT? “Why would you ever think that my daughter?” He asked, silently planning a gruesome way to punish whoever suggested that to her...
The child sniffed. “Be’ause I’m s’upi’...” tears trickled down her pale cheeks.
It took everything in him not to explode. “That is not true my daughter. I want you...” he stroked the back of her head, silently using some of his magic to pull out the images of those who said that to her. So he would know who to punish.
His daughter sniffed, burying her face into his armour... “Daddy...” he wouldn’t leave her...
The Dark Lord held her closer. He knew he was developing a soft spot for her but didn’t care. She was *HIS* child... and... he really cared for her.
And he was going to truly care for her as his.
——————
“Daddy- Fa’her?” The Dark Lord looked up from his large ebony desk as his daughter stepped in, wringing her hands nervously. He pushed his papers aside, and patted his knee, silently telling her that she could come in.
His daughter did so, and just like when she was a little child she climbed onto his lap and curled into him shaking. Concerned, the Dark Lord rubbed her back. “What is wrong my child?”
She sniffed. “I-I had a b-ba’ dream... t-the’e were f’ashes a-and yelling a-an’-!” She buried her face into his torso, starting to cry.
This concerned the Dark Lord very much, and he held his adoptive daughter closer. There hadn’t been an attack on his castle in centuries, given its position on the mountain and the guards and spells from him and his warlocks that were there to ward off potential intruders, as well as the Barrier. So why would she dream of that?
Gently, he worked his magic and looked into her mind... and started. He saw through his daughter’s dream eyes as the castle was besieged, a knight in golden armour rushing in. He, her father, was not present, and to his terror he watched as his daughter was taken away and ‘rescued’...
Before being forced into marriage with the knight as a way of ensuring that he, the Dark One, would no longer control the lands without risk to her.
That dream... was more of a vision than anything! By the Dark Fathers, his daughter visioned her being taken away from him!
That was when suddenly the prophecy from long ago made sense. She would end his reign... against her will.
The Dark Lord clutched his daughter closer. He was *NOT* letting her be stolen from him!
In fact... after seeing her vision he had a plan...
(To be continued...) | The surrounding villages considered him a Dark Lord for many reasons, chief among which was his relentless pursuit of power. It was how he’d risen to rule over the region, with an iron fist and soldiers who, as he treated them well and gave them almost free rein, were loyal to a fault. Those who prospered under his rule were more lenient in their thoughts toward him, of course, but those who suffered desperately wished for a change in regime.
But as these things go, such a dramatic shift in power is nearly impossible to manufacture out of pure frustration and resentment. Any uprising is put into motion when the scales tip, when the ruler pushes things too far, and the Dark Lord was careful not to make such drastic mistakes. When the prophecy was put forth by the oracles, however, it quickly took hold of the village and spread through the land.
And the Dark Lord’s response was staggering.
Surely, they thought, he meant to kill the girl. Surely, he wouldn’t adopt her and allow her to live to end his reign, to take his power from him. Nonetheless, when the soldiers came to fetch her from the other villagers, among the screams of protest and tears, she went with them. Beatrice been a mere orphan the day before, invisible to most, surviving on the street and subsisting on scraps as most of the others did. But now they cared. It was a strange feeling.
Arriving at the castle, Beatrice was resolute in showing no fear. If this was to be her last day on Earth, she wouldn’t allow the show of power from the Dark Lord to cow her into submission. Her spine was straight, her gaze was steady, and she followed two guards from the horse-drawn carriage that had taken them to the gates, walking into the immense castle.
During Easter and Christmas, the castle would hold feasts that allowed the lower classes access, a tease of a better life masked behind a façade of generosity. Those days were the only times Beatrice had seen the inside of the castle walls and it was disconcerting to hear only the echoes of footsteps from the workers and soldiers among thick silence.
Beatrice walked, one guard on either side of her, through the long corridors and up a staircase to an expansive room on the second story, the doors wide open. The Dark Lord, his true name being Nicholas Ashton, Beatrice recalled, stood behind an immense wood desk. He was clothed in high quality attire, purple robes lined with gold threaded edges, and looked just as she’d expected him to.
“You may leave us,” Ashton said with a motion of his head to the guards. They did as they were told, their footsteps echoing down the hallway. The man met the girl’s gaze. “Beatrice Todd. You are fourteen, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, her voice tight. “May I inquire as to why I was brought here?”
His smile was curious, knowing and entertaining in what her question held. “Surely you heard of the prophecy. My wish to adopt you. The oracles are rarely wrong, and I was eager to meet you.”
Beatrice stared for a moment. “Meet me? Pardon my frankness, sir, but I walked into this room with the belief that I’m to be summarily executed.”
Ashton’s eyebrows rose. “Goodness. And get your blood on this rug?” he asked, motioning to the elaborate and beautiful handstitched rug beneath her feet. “I would never.”
“Then why, exactly, would you bring me here?” she asked. “You surely do not wish for your reign to end.”
“Oh, of course not,” he answered, making his way around the desk and closer to her. “I’d like my reign to run the length of my life, and I would like my life to be long and prosperous.”
“In that case, where would I fit into that?”
Ashton smiled. “*When* do you think you’ll be ending my reign?”
“Pardon?”
“The oracles, they proclaimed you would be the one to end my reign,” he explained redundantly. “But…when?” Beatrice didn’t reply. “That is the problem with these prophecies. They’re always so vague, so open to interpretation, so very easy to misinterpret but also…easy to jump to conclusions.”
“And you feel that’s what’s been happening in the village?” Beatrice asked.
“Precisely.” Ashton leaned back against his desk. “You are an orphan. Ignored by society, at best. At worst…well, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of difficulties,” he said quietly. Beatrice’s jaw clenched and she swallowed hard. “But you have an opportunity here, dear girl. I would like to adopt you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.” He motioned to himself with one hand. “Think of me as a king. I need an heir, do I not? If I were to live out a long, satisfying life, it would inevitably come to an end. I have no children and was barely interested in the idea of taking a wife. But an orphan…” He paused. “Would you like your own room?” he asked softly.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes, her mouth twitching as it couldn’t decide between a frown and a smile. “Is that what you’re offering? In exchange for me not taking up arms against you?”
“I am offering to welcome you into my home,” Ashton told her. “I’m offering a full belly morning, noon, and night. A bed that is yours, that you can feel safe in as you sleep. Clothes that are far from the tatters you wear now. And I am offering you power,” he said, his voice lowering. “As the daughter of the Dark Lord, you will have everything those who’ve treated you badly wish for, you’d be the envy of all that you bless with your presence.”
“And then, after many years of serving at my side, when I die, hopefully, in peace at an old age, in my bed and surrounded by those most loyal to me, you will take my place as ruler of this kingdom,” he said.
“The prophecy says…I will end your reign,” Beatrice said slowly. “Not that I will inherit the power you hold.”
“And so, as I lay on my death bed, you will be the one to slit my throat,” he whispered. Beatrice stared back into his heavy gaze, her heart heavy with suspicion but also buoyant of hope for a new life. “I see no reason for you to die. On the contrary, fulfilling the prophecy seems the best option for us, does it not?”
Beatrice slowly walked up to the man before her, her eyes sliding over the extravagant clothing he wore. Her fingers brushed against the fabric, thicker and stronger than anything she’d ever known. To his shoes, one of many pairs of identical quality, she was sure. And then up to his eyes, a deep brown, and his smile, thin and cunning with the ideas he’d put forth.
“And the balance of power?” she asked quietly. “Those who work around me, refusing to let me do much more than scrounge through their scraps? And those above them, those who hold the real power, who support you here in the castle, who would support us here?”
“Everyone will be at your disposal,” Ashton told her. “You will be free to execute justice exactly as you see fit.”
Beatrice nodded slowly. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for a very long time.”
With that, she drew the long blade hidden in the tatters of several layers of clothes and plunged it up and into the man’s chest, piercing his heart.
Ashton stared in shock, unable to react in pure confusion for a heavy moment. Beatrice then yanked the blade from his flesh, her hand slick with his blood. “You…could have had everything,” he breathed. “How could you…do this?”
“Your ways are not the way of a just world,” she told him as he collapsed to the floor, blood spilling from the wound and pouring across the floor around him and onto that rug he’d considered so precious. “And the resentment of a desperate people is far from what I would want to keep as the status quo.” His eyelids fluttered, consciousness slipping from him as he desperately tried to stay upright, to spill more questions from his lips, but he hadn’t the strength.
“You simply made a mistake,” Beatrice said softly. “And I don’t know what comes next. But I am determined to make it better than the life we had under your thumb.”
Ashton’s strength finally left him, his arms unable to support him, and he lay on the ground, his eyes staring at nothing as his pupils dilated in unconsciousness. Beatrice slid the knife back into the folds of her clothes and stared at the body in front of her. Wondering how long it would take for the guards to return to check the status of their discussion. Wondering how things would proceed, if they would cut her down where she stood, or if they would imprison her, or torture her.
Wondering, above all else, what came next.
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/r/storiesbykaren | 2021-03-24T11:15:39 | 2021-03-24T11:10:25 | 87 | 47 |
[WP] Upon his death, the evil emperor descends to hell and is welcomed by thousands of his loyal soldiers who are already prepped for a comeback. | The first thing Prion noticed was his skin. The leathered hide he'd hidden for decades under the emperial robes was gone, and instead a soft, youthful skin wrapped his fresh bones. It gave gently when he pressed a finger against his arm, rather than the cracking and oozing of blisters he'd grown accustomed to from curses and old age.
Hell had been kind to him.
He was in a dark space, though Prion felt the darkness more than he saw it. It was dimly lit by torches leading along a rocky wall. Upon closer inspection he found they were not torches at all, but creatures nailed into the wall, burning eternally to beckon him further into the depths.
"At last," he said, smiling at the monstrosities. "I've arrived."
His movements were quick as he meandered through the dark, winding corridor. He felt agile again, like he could chase down a lion and wrestle it to submission as he had in the days before the empire. When power was a fight against nature rather than man. When he spilt his own blood and not those of nameless subjects. He wondered if hell had lions, or anything like it.
Prion's mind wandered as much as his legs. He appreciated the like-minded appearance of things in Hell, and imagined what other sorts of vicious beasts and terrifying landscapes he might find. He imagined conquering the trials of Hell, becoming somewhat of a rogue left to his own devices. The weariness of running an empire was left to the living. Here he would have the freedom to pursue any evil desire. Somewhere, too, would be others like himself, demented beings that used their living moments seeking fulfillment at whatever the cost. They could share stories of their darkest deeds and laugh at the plight of the weak ones. Hell, perhaps, wasn't a punishment for evildoers, but a reward.
A sharp bend in the corridor led Prion to a ledge overlooking vast hall. Pillars of jagged rock stretched from floor to ceiling hundreds of feet in the air. Around them waited a multitude of warriors, millions upon millions, clad in armor of bone. When Prion appeared above them they let out a roar which shook the ground beneath his feet. They clanged swords and shields, just as they had in battle before him years and decades ago. Banners unfurled down the pillars in the colors of the empire he had left behind.
"Hail Emperor Prion!" they shouted.
"Death to the living!"
"To war!"
Prion shuddered. The burdens of his life had not been left behind. He had been, and now forever will be, cursed to be the leader of demons he created.
This was not his paradise. This was indeed his Hell. |
His Majesty, Emperor Leo XIV, marched upon the city at the head of his army. The sun, once the symbol of his power and carried on his banners, now burned his undead skin as it bore down on him. He did not let the pain show as he approached the gate. Now was not the moment for weakness.
“Your emperor returns.” The gate stood firm, and helmets peaked over the walls surrounding Faelia.
One such helmet with a familiar face behind it spoke out to him. “The Royals have ordered your immediate surrender and to bring you back in an iron cage. Should you resist, we are to strike you down. No banishment this time.”
Leo considered his former general’s words. “Well,” he said, looking at the mere two skeletal soldiers that escorted him. “If any man among you would act against your rightful emperor, here I stand.” Leo had formed this very garrison when he had first risen to power, and he knew many of the men by sight.
The helmeted soldiers glanced at one another and to him, but none dared speak a word. They waited for orders from their general. General Nye stared at Leo with unwavering eyes, taking in his ghoulish appearance. Leaving the Underworld had not been easy, and he had not accomplished it unscarred, emperor or not.
“Long live the emperor.” The long silence was broken by the cheers of the soldiers who were quick to raise the gate.
Leo smiled as Nye bowed his head and turned back to bring his army into the Faelia. There were columns of soldiers, both raised from the Underworld and from the countryside during their long march to the capital city, ready to take it back in his name. The previous royal family had thought him gone and finished, but the people remembered who their ruler really was.
As for the conspirators who had worked to restore their place on the throne, he would let them watch as the very men sent to block his way now led him into the palace. His citizens watched from their windows as an undead army marched up the winding streets of the city. Leo waved to them, quick to reassure his people that his humanity remained.
“Long live the emperor,” they cried. And he likely would. He doubted he could die a natural death any longer, both body and soul warped by his banishment into the Underworld. The royals and all their allies would regret what they had done. He would make sure of it.
“Was I so cruel? Did I deserve to be betrayed by my subjects, to be cast down from a throne I claimed with the support of the people?” Leo was careful to keep his words low enough that only Nye could hear them. The general did not break pace at his question, keeping his head facing directly ahead as they approached the palace.
“The royal line would never accept you, nor any of the loyalists. Right or wrong does not matter. You can hardly act surprised, your majesty. You knew this the last time you took the palace and separated the king both from his head and the crown attached to it.”
“I thought I could convince them with action,” he said through clenched teeth. The burning sun, at last, became too much, and though he knew it would be better not to seem like he was hiding his face, Leo adorned himself in the dark helmet he had brought back from the Underworld as a reprieve from the pain. “Maybe not the royals, but the loyalists should have seen I was right when I appeased the mobs, when the entire country could finally take a sigh of relief — I turned this country around. Without the loyalists’ backing, the remaining royals would have no choice but to follow.”
“Not everyone can be convinced. By the very nature of your low birth you can only ever be an evil emperor who stole a crown you had no true claim to. We can only be thankful they chose not to end your life when they enacted their treachery.”
Leo knew why they hadn’t just killed him; Killing him would have only made him a martyr, and then any would-be diabolist with a candle and a dark room would have been quick to hold a seance, allowing his words to lead to another revolution. Banishment prevented any of that and yet confined him to the Underworld all the same. Or it would have had it worked. The realm of the dead was meant to keep the dead contained, not someone still technically living, and that was all the advantage he had needed to rise to power once more.
Banishment instead of death?
He would not make the same mistake, nor would he repeat his last. Every single member of the royal family, down to the very babe, would be put down like the snakes they were. Let anyone try to wrench his empire from him again.
&#x200B;
If you liked this story, subscribe to r/Inder for more stories like it, and leave a comment letting me know what you think! | 2021-04-21T18:37:39 | 2021-04-21T18:16:28 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | *Note: All three parts have been collected* [*here*](https://www.reddit.com/user/MjolnirPants/comments/sty7h1/jerry_and_the_goddess/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*, and that link is where I will post any future entries.*
I tossed the book down on the table and stared at the computer who'd betrayed me for a moment. All I wanted to do was get some info on an intriguing Proto-Indo-European deity, but the internet hadn't given me anything but her name and her portfolio; writing and learning.
I turned my ire upon the book, supposedly the definitive guide to this ancient culture, but it hadn't had any more to offer. "Sarisa, a little known deity often associated with scrolls and students." Pffft. What use was that to my dissertation?
A fit of pique came over me. I grabbed the book and stepped out into my parent's back yard, tossing it in the fire pit. A quick squirt of lighter fluid and a flick of my bic later, it was happily burning up. Twenty dollars, down the drain. Whatever, I'd only bought it for this purpose, and the clerk at the bookstore assured me that no refunds were possible on used books.
I held my hands up to the sky, channeling my inner theater nerd and called out in a mighty bellow (read; nasally yell), "Sarisa, I offer this sacrifice to you! Please bestow your wisdom upon me!"
Nothing happened, of course. I didn't really believe anything would. I sighed and checked the time; 11:47pm. Whatever, burning the damned thing had been cathartic, at least. I went back inside and went to bed.
It was still dark out when movement in my room awakened me. I blinked the blurriness away and my eyes focused on a slim, feminine figure, arms raised as if it was dancing. Except it was completely motionless. A rush of adrenaline sent my heart racing and rocketed me to full wakefulness. It wasn't just the fright of awakening in the middle of the night to find a figure in my room, but the sheer incongruity of a woman actually entering my room of her own free will.
Okay, stop with the jokes. I've never kidnapped anyone, man or woman, and I'd certainly not bring them here if I had. Yeesh, I've heard them all before, anyways. Can't a guy be an introvert in peace?
"Uh, hello?" I said. The figure put its arms down and I jumped out of bed, backing up to the wall. "I know karate!" I shouted, panic making me stupid. After a few seconds of no more movement, I edged over to the door and flipped on my lights.
It was a woman. A tall, thin woman with a willowy figure. Her eyes were focused on nothing, her face blank. She had tan skin and dark hair, and her eyes were completely black, even the whites. And she was completely nude. My mind bounced around in my skull like a ping-pong ball on fast forward. Confusion warred with fear and horniness, and emerged triumphant over both, though fear wasn't quite dead, yet.
"Hello?" I said again.
She fixed her gaze upon me. "Jerry Williams," she said, a strange accent audible in the way she pronounced my name. "I have waited many lifetimes for this day."
A grin appeared on her features and she suddenly rushed towards me, stopping with her hands gripping my upper arms and her face an inch from mine. "Do you want to learn about dung beetles?"
"What?" I asked, terrified and completely bewildered.
"Dung beetles!" She replied, brightly, "They're fascinating little creatures. Did you know that some of them can bury up to two hundred and fifty times their own body weight in dung in a single night?"
"What?" I asked again.
"Okay, what about Wickerstedt? It's a part of Bad Sulza now, which is a shame, because it's the hometown of Thomas Naogeorgus, who was a simply amazing playright and poet who-"
"Who the hell are you, lady?" I finally blurted out. She cocked her head to one side and then laughed, booping my nose with one finger.
"I'm Sarisa, silly. You made a sacrifice to me earlier. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, but no-one has sacrificed anything to me for thousands of years. I needed time to get my energy back. So what do you want to know? I can tell you about all kinds of things. Did you know that there's a physicist in Italy who gave up on a paper he was working on just an hour ago, after an experiment seemed to falsify his theory, but another physicist in Copenhagen is currently writing a paper that will show that the experiment didn't actually falsify anything... Okay, you're zoning out. Why don't you tell me what you want to learn about?"
She walked over and sat down on my bed.
"Uh..." I said, being the silver-tongued devil that I am.
I took a breath. I still had no idea what was happening here, but I decided to run with it.
"I want to learn about you," I told her.
She smiled again, a little sadly, then pointed at her breasts and spread her legs. "Sorry, I'm not that kind of a goddess."
I blinked in confusion, and then I noticed she had no nipples. And no... Uh... Well, you know. Just smooth skin. I shook my head.
"No, I'm not flirting with you, I'm writing a dissertation on the history of education, and... Well, I wanted to start as close to the beginning as possible."
"Oh," she said, chipper and grinning again. She patted the bed beside her. "Well, that I can do. Come, sit down. I'll tell you all about myself. My first worshipper was this woman named Gil, which is why I'm a goddess and not a god. She had this idea of gathering all the kids in her tribe and showing them..."
I grabbed my notepad and sat down. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 1: Clara Olsen v.s. A'to)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"A'ti! A'ti! A'ti! I summon thee!"**
Asking for help was hard. Throughout my long career, I'd always been the hero, the savior, the one who took the fall. I was no stranger to being stuck in unwanted situations, but normally, I escaped them under my own power, maybe with the hand of a friend or two.
"A'tj! A'tj! A'tj! I summon thee!"
Until the trouble got deeper than I could handle, and my friends got hurt trying to bail me out.
"A'tk! A'tk! A'tk! I summon thee!"
So this time, I wasn't asking my friends for help. But I was still trapped in a government facility with no legal way out, and I wasn't escaping without an extra hand.
"A'tl! A'tl! A'tl! I summon thee!"
Fortunately, I knew a thing or two about getting a hand in tough times.
"A'tm! A'tm! A'tm! I summon thee!"
There were so many gods, goddesses, deities, cosmic beings, devils, angels, demigods, quasigods, hemisemiwemigods, and more out there that you could hardly say a sentence without invoking a divine name. Normally, this wasn't much of a problem, since you needed deliberate repetition in a ritual circle to invoke a deity.
"A'tn! A'tn! A'tn! I summon thee!"
But if someone with nothing better to do stood in a ritual circle for six hours and started chanting *every possible combination of letters* in the hope of striking a divine name... well, eventually, you'd make contact with something.
"A'to! A'to! A'to! I summon thee!"
And make contact I did. On the one thousand, two hundred and eleventh name I tried, I made contact with... whoever the deity A'to was, I guess.
I felt a psychic *weight* on my mind as the entity coalesced beside me in the ritual circle. Since I had absolutely no idea what I was summoning, I'd gone with the bare basics—a simple circle drawn with a Sharpie that I'd requested "for paperwork" from the government spooks keeping me half-prisoner, half-employee. The barebones simplicity of the ritual circle meant that whatever I was making contact with would barely have any presence in this plane—not enough to boil my eyeballs out of my head or anything—but I would at least be able to talk. I could be facing anything from a ravening monster outside space and time to a war-god of a long-forgotten empire. I straightened up, readying myself to converse with divinity—
"*Omigosh* do you have *any* idea how long I was waiting for someone to remember my name? Hi hi hi I'm A'to and I'm so happy to meet you and *please don't send me back into the void!*" A little girl popped into existence, talking so breathlessly she looked like she could faint.
...Great.
I knelt down to the girl's height and sighed. The smart thing to do would be to banish this goddess—a desperate goddess starved for power wasn't going to help me break out—and continue linearly marching down namespace until I found someone more useful. But I could *feel* the anxiety radiating off of her—I wasn't going to just turn her away.
Besides, I was hardly the only person who was in a dire enough situation that they would start chanting random divine names in the hopes of escaping. Chances were, all the really helpful entities were already bound in other pacts. Maybe this was the best shot I was going to get.
"Don't worry, A'to, I'm not sending you anywhere," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shivered as I said her name, like I'd placed a drop of water to her lips in the desert. "Keep it down, though, okay? I'm... not exactly friendly with my employers at the moment. They probably wouldn't like it if they saw me summoning deities in the basement."
"Of course! I'll be quiet now. Quiet like a mouse." The girl's voice dropped to a whisper, and I couldn't help but smile.
She reminded me of my daughter.
"So... your employers?" A'to tilted her head. "Is that why you summoned me? Are you being held captive?"
I hesitated. "...Sort of. I... my family was accused of a crime that we didn't commit. The government offered me a deal. Working for them in exchange for me and the people I love—" My voice caught, and I took a breath. "In exchange for them being free of persecution. But... the government is... well. They're many things. But they're not *good*."
"I could punch them for you!" A'to made a "pow!" noise as she swung her little fist. "Knock all the bad guys out!"
God, even her antics reminded me of... the last girl who tried that. "They have guns," I whispered. "Big guns. They hurt—they'll hurt you if you try."
A'to smiled sadly. "I'm a goddess. A weak one, yeah, but still. I've been around for longer than you have. I'm no stranger to pain."
I didn't have to look into those eyes, young in age and old in years, to know she was telling the truth. It radiated off her like heat from a fire.
"Still." I shook my head. "I'm not asking you... I'm not asking *anyone* to get hurt on my behalf. I *have* allies. Hundreds of friends, millions of citizens I could reach in an instant. The Feds let me have internet access—I could put out an email and have an army of civilians knocking at the Feds' door. I could be free." I closed my eyes. "And it would bring down the wrath of the government on my friends and family and those I'd sworn to protect."
"Back when I was *real* strong, I could bust you out of here easy." A'to flicked her hair out of her face, the light coming back into her eyes. "Call down lightning from the skies and *blam*! Bad guys go boom."
I paused. "Back when you were real strong?"
"Yeah. Tens of thousands of people prayed to the Sky-Child." A'to put a faux-modest hand on her heart. "I used to be kinda a big deal."
"So was I," I muttered.
A'to sighed. "I just... I just want to be remembered."
And that was when it hit me.
"Tens of thousands," I muttered. "And... this prayer. What... what exactly did it entail?"
"Hm? A dance and a song, that's all."
A dance and a song.
Slowly, a smile crept across my face.
I took out my phone and opened it up to the apps the Feds let me use. Harmless ones that I'd claimed I needed for entertainment. YouTube, TikTok, Reddit.
A dance and a song.
"And if, say, tens of thousands of people were to perform that dance? A hundred thousand? A million?"
A'to paused, frowning. "Well. I'd be back in business."
I smiled and started typing.
"You want to be remembered? You want to be *seen*? Modern society has a trick or two for that."
*VIRAL DANCE CHALLENGE—99% CAN'T COMPLETE!*
"Tell me. How exactly does that dance go, again?"
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-02-15T11:18:40 | 2022-02-15T10:40:59 | 1,504 | 180 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | A group of guardsmen stormed into the town hall, each with a frightened look on their faces, as if they had just seen a ghost, or something worse. “Jarl Hagnar! We’ve just gotten word that a herd of magnison are stampeding, and they’re heading directly for the village!” One town guardsman alerted the Jarl.
Magnison were a particularly difficult animal. Being anatomically the same as bison- albeit five times larger. This meant that while one magnison could feed a village, a whole herd of the stampeding could cause untold damage if not prevented. Immediately, Jarl Hagnar took action. “Send out the rest of the town guard and get our ballistas ready! We need to be prepared before they get here!”
The guards quickly got to work, funneling out the door. Soon afterward, Jarl Hagnar could hear the bell tower ringing in alarm. Guards cried out and called to one another to go out and confront the magnison at all casts, lest their town be destroyed. They saddled up on horses and galloped off outside of the town’s borders. The Jarl smiled that he had such fine guardsmen who would persevere in the face of adversity and answer the call to duty.
“Erm, my Jarl?” A young boy approached his throne meekly, his hands pressed together. “The goblins are… Well, they’re trying to steal our cattle.”
Ah, the goblins. Jarl Hagnar recalled all the past times when they had to deal with that pack of delinquents. They were more of a nuisance at worst, and at best a source of entertainment for the village. Why, there was one incident where the goblins were attempting to steal eggs from their hen houses. They found that the goblins were trying to squeeze the eggs out of the hens, instead of waiting for them to be laid. The town needn’t do anything about the situation, as the chickens were able to take care of the goblins themselves.
Then there was another time when the goblins did something very strange, and without causing a ruckus. They successfully stole a single tree that was in the Jarl’s personal garden. It was a willow tree, and the Jarl watched the goblins as they simply picked it up- moving it a good fifty feet or so before deciding that they didn’t want it anymore and plopped it back into the ground. Why the goblins would ever want a tree was something that gave him a headache to think about.
The Jarl snapped back to the present, and chuckled. “My boy, just tell them to move along, we have a more important issue at hand here.”
The boy nodded and rushed out of the town hall and back to his farm. He spotted innumerable amounts of the short, green, wiry creatures bumbling about. Some were stacked on top of each other trying to pull the cows back to their cave, others were digging holes and attempting to drag the cattle underground. It was a very peculiar sight to behold.
“Listen here now!” The boy shouted, “There’s a whole bunch of magnison stampeding this way, and we don’t have time for you right now! Shoo! Go away!” The boy began to shoo the goblins away. Simply him running up to them and telling them to leave seemed to be enough for the goblins. They mumbled to each other about magnison and collectively scurried off, whooping and hollering in shrill voices the entire way.
The Jarl waited for some time on word from his guard. It was clear that they had stopped the magnison stampede, but at what cost? If he hadn’t heard word back yet from them, then something terrible must have happened. Perhaps a severe cost of life, or perhaps none had survived! It was terrible to think about and the Jarl found himself horribly anxious at the thought.
Then, one of the guards burst in through the door, panting the whole way in. “My Jarl!” He wheezed, “The magnison have been felled!” He managed to shout out.
The Jarl instantly felt relief, his men had managed to do it after all. “Was there any cost to this victory? Have any men been slain by the titanic beasts?”
The guard shook his head, “No, my Jarl. There weren’t any losses, but…” The guard suddenly became nervous, trailing off as he looked elsewhere.
“What is it, guardsman? Speak!” The Jarl ordered.
“The guard didn’t slay the magnison! It was the goblins!”
“The goblins?!”
“The goblins, sir!”
The Jarl couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The goblins slain the magnison? Preposterous! Such a feat was only capable by the strongest of men! Not some simple goblins!
“How could goblins slay the magnison?”
“I don’t know sir, but when we found the magnison- they were all dead, and there were hordes of goblins cooking their meat over open fires, and…” The guard gulped.
“And what?” The Jarl asked.
“And they said, ‘We were hungry.’” | In our small town of Aile, we fear most things. The spare dragon could burn our wooden houses down with ease, the occasional grave of undead could terrorize the town, or a gallery of gargoyles could swoop down and rip everything to shreds- human, house, horse, it mattered not. We have no formal military, the closest thing we have to a town guard are the blacksmith and farmer’s sons, who will occasionally go out with their fathers’ tools and try to fight off any invaders, as well as myself, who owns a sword, but is not very good at using it. Most of the time, if we get attacked, we just try to wait it out. It happens more often than we’d like, especially by the undead.
That being said, despite all that we fear, one would not find the goblins among their ranks. The goblins are little guys, no bigger than, say, a child. They have earth colored skin, and their heads are far too big for their body- the only thing keeping them from falling very well might be the fact that their ears are so big that they catch the wind whenever they run and keep them up. They’re cute, they’re endearing, and fun to watch, but they’re certainly not fearsome. They like to act like they’re terrible and terrifying, raiding our town of all of its assets, but really we just give them things, like silver plates we don’t need or chocolate bars and the like. Though we have to act like we’re terrified, cause if we don’t then they’ll realize that we’re giving them this stuff, and they won’t take it and it makes them sad. So, whenever we hear their horns blow as they stampede down our streets, we pretend to be running off to our homes, just for them to catch us and demand that we give them all of our wealth. They don’t even carry weapons, and it’s very hard to be afraid of someone who can’t run more than 12 feet without tripping over their own feet.
They’re like neighbors, very adorable neighbors, or like toddlers that you have to take care of. We all love the goblins, as Aile without goblins is like a cake without sugar.
However, like I said, we still fear every other beast that roams the land. It was a particularly warm summer day when we all heard a strange rattling. Like bones, but the rattling was much deeper than any skeleton made. From the sky dropped the skeletal remains of a dragon, only it wasn’t dead- it was *still moving*, better yet, *it was talking.*
“Attention, people of this meager town…” the beast spoke with a voice that was as haunting as it was terrifying.
“I am Cho-Gnaw the Dracolich. This town was built over an ancient war zone, and now, I shall reanimate the corpses of the long lost warriors to become soldiers in *my* army. We will take over the world and tear it apart, starting with your town.” It rattled. It lifted a claw and suddenly, from all around us, skeletons began to claw their way out of the ground.
“Hear our cacophony of bones, and know fear.” They all said at once. Everyone rushed into their houses, but Cho-Gnaw and his army and had already began tearing into them. The farmer and blacksmith’s sons were too scared to fight, and I had been stopped dead in my tracks.
But we all heard it, the familiar horn sound. A goblin raid was coming. I turned and saw them stampeding down the street, and I yelled and waved my hands.
“NO! TURN BACK! IT IS TOO DANGEROUS FOR YOU HERE!” I desperately tried to yell, but they could not hear me. We all knew if the goblins came it would be a massacre. They’d get torn apart without any remorse or difficulty. The horn blew again in response, only it wasn’t the same sound, it was much deeper and grander. If the goblins’ horn incited endearment, this horn could spark true fear. It was then that we all saw a swarm of winged creatures flying up from the horizon. Further behind the goblins were hordes more, but way bigger and more humanlike, and there were massive orcs among their ranks.
The flying ones, Hobgoblins, flew through the streets and crushed the skulls of the skeletons quickly. The orcs, each step passing 7 feet, charged to the Dracolich and started to club at him. More hobgoblins followed suit, and before we knew it, the skeleton of a dragon lay over our town, dead this time.
When the dust settled, we all exited our houses in fear. The goblins, and just the goblins, shouted discordantly. One stood up on the well in the center of town and yelled.
“People of Aile! We saw the Dracolich over the horizon and gathered our army! No one challenges the authority we have over this town!” When the goblin finished speaking, he nearly fell in the well, but a hobgoblin caught him and placed him down on the ground. I stepped out and a hobgoblin walked up to me. He had red skin, long black hair, and lots of armor.
“You live in this town, correct?” It asked in a gruff voice.
“Y…yes. In this house.” I responded nervously.
“The goblins said that they dominate this town with their raids. That’s not true is it?”
“N…not really. They do their raids, yes, but it’s mostly just us giving them stuff. They like to think they’re fierce, so we let them. They’re a bit like children, so it’s hard not to like them.”
“Yes that sounds about right. Goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs are all alike. Hobgoblins such as myself are intelligent and strong, a goblinoid equivalent to you humans. Goblins are almost like our children, only they don’t grow into hobgoblins. However, they are still our kin and we feel obligated to protect them- like you said, they’re like children.” He explained. He looked at the goblins and the town and then back to me.
“We thank your town for “watching over them”. We realize that they can be, well, a nuisance, and most civilizations just kill them. So, thank you for dealing with their pestering.” The hobgoblin continued. “Tell me, which one among you is your leader? I am the leader of the bone-snatcher hobgoblin tribe, and I’d like to speak to them.” I pointed him off to the mayor. He thanked me and then walked over to the mayor. The two of them headed off in private.
Two hours later, the hobgoblin stood in the middle of town with the mayor to make an announcement.
“People of Aile! You have shown our kin, the goblins, compassion and kindness over the years. As such, we thank you and would be honored if you would have us join your town. We will stick to the outskirts primarily, but we can guarantee that we will protect your town with our lives.”
And that is basically the story of why my town, Aile, is guarded by hobgoblins and orcs. | 2022-05-26T15:45:37 | 2022-05-26T14:34:44 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man. | Sumerians invented the cuneiform writing system way, way back in time in the fourth century BCE. The British library has 130,000 of the clay tablets where most are still unread by a modern person. Irvine Finkel, himself, has and will teach anyone to read cuneiform in the hopes someone will bring him another story like the the first flood story again.
Archibald's social graces were well and truly under developed. His trauma started as far back as he could remember in school. He knew what no one talks about that bullies at all levels pick on the lowest of them all. School society can be seen as a diamond shape instead of the Hierarchical pyramid that has more people on the bottom than top. Everyone picked on Archibald, everyone; he had been the bottom point of the his social diamond. His only solace was pointing out how stupid everyone else was, so he doubled, tripled, even quadrupling down on studying.
Irvine Finkel was the first person he came across that seem genuinely enthusiastic about teaching him. Yes, there was the old man's sardonic humor like how he wanted to become a British Museum Curator at the age of nine and through a series of bewildering coincidences became one. There was space deep in the basement that felt like pure solitude to Archibald so long as he was reading, deciphering, decrypting, even the most boring cuneiform tablet. Some of them would barely fit in one's palm while others were cylinders whose writing wrapped around and around. Archi's bane though were the broken bits, the fragments of sentences, one's Finkel couldn't be bothered with.
Each time Archi thought he'd found a particularly interesting story, and would ran to Finkel decrying, "this is it, This one." Each and every one he'd 'found' was only some mundane trivial daily matter better represented on an intact tablet. This frustrating denial focused to being sure, absolutely sure, the next one would be 'the one'. Archibald held a small tablet in his hand, forcing his heart rate slower after seeing symbols for condemned, curse, protection, and peace all near each other. He spent weeks upon weeks flipping between the hard tablet and various research papers and their notes.
Archibald was a volunteer at the museum that supported his obsession by driving a Trash Truck. The job was steady with regular hours outside of the museum's operation. He found that he was well suited for the shit night shift that every normal human hated. To him, there was an empty world to explore, and going places most people never see, the industrial sectors. One of the hidden places the public hardly never gets to see was inside the national prison. He knew the guards, recognizing that people who were the worst types of bullies seem to gravitate in to that type of job. There was a perverse pleasure refusing to submit to their bully tactics and driving away instead and leaving the huge bins full.
Reporting such incidents to his bosses, who wrote the report, and then sent it up their chain of command. The prison warden typically called the his boss' boss that morning. Power is where you find it was Archibald's mantra. He was weeks deep into the confusing script of his find and could ignore the guard's taunts. He wasn't suppose to, but had made a charcoal rubbing of the half palm sized tablet. He taped an enlarged photocopy of the rubbing to his cab's windshield. In moments of stress focused his mind on that enlarged piece of paper.
He was standing outside his cab looking up at the copy in the caged guard area trying to get inside the fence to do his job when it clicked, the ah-ha moment. It, the tablet, was a poem; Archibald had always hated poetry. The Sumerian cadence was mutated into a forced rhyme from a prison guard's point of view. The poem listed dish, after dish, nonsensical dishes too. The listed dishes had puzzled him for days on end, but the end of the poem made it clear to him now. A trick, bamboozle, flimflam , a fraud, was played on the condemned. Archibald could see prison guards back in antiquity were the same shitheads they were today.
The damn tablet was a guard's confession of tricking the soon to be executed into eating bugs, snakes, and other nasty things in lieu of a nonexistent mythical dish. Thereby saving the guard, himself, and his loved ones from a devastating curse of the innocent. It was all a joke to the guards. Archibald's ears began heating up as his blood pressure increased. "Fuckers," he spat at the side of his truck. | 2022-07-17T20:01:08 | 2022-07-17T17:32:54 | 129 | 47 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | “Who is set for execution today?” Mathew polished his blade as Judge Marin set up the death room.
“Edelphis,” Marin responded, “Finally getting rid of that fucker.”
“‘Bout time. I know the King really hated him.” Mathew switched to the next weapon, cleaning it thoroughly.
“Well, he did kidnap the princess. Twice.” Marin finished preparing the King’s throne and took a long glance around the room, “This will do fine. I’ll send the guards to get his last meal going.”
Mathew nodded and headed to his chambers for his own lunch. Execution could take hours, and it was important he ensured he was properly fed and hydrated in advance. He sat and ate his meal, awaiting the guards’ call, when a knock on the door was heard.
Mathew groaned and approached the door, opening it to reveal the guards, early.
“Gentlemen, is it time already?”
“Mathew, no, it’s-. We can’t-. Marin said we need to-.”
“What is it? Spit it out.” Mathew rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame. The guards were always so out of it, like they’d had too much ale at lunch or something.
“Mathew, he’s requested to eat … you.” Mathew’s gaze shifted behind the guards to meet the eyes of Marin, who painfully stared back at him.
“What?” Mathew responded, stifling a laugh. What on earth was this prisoner trying? Clearly he knew there were limitations to his request.
“Mathew, the King really doesn’t want to let this one go. We are going to have to abide by the orders.” Marin sighed, “Please prepare your goodbyes.” He turned and walked away from Mathew, his dear friend of twenty years.
But Mathew wasn’t having it. This has gone far enough. These prisoners- they had to learn when enough was enough. So Mathew prepared his goodbyes, alright. He gathered up his essentials and he climbed through his window. And then he was gone - off as fast as his feet would carry him.
And when Marin and the guards returned to collect the prisoner’s last meal, they found empty chambers.
“Who’s going to tell the king?” One of the guards asked Marin, and Marin stared in disbelief.
“The King will never let this prisoner go. Someone’s going to be a meal today and it’s NOT me.”
But deep down, they all knew that this might be the day a prisoner was freed from the dungeon. | Sumerians invented the cuneiform writing system way, way back in time in the fourth century BCE. The British library has 130,000 of the clay tablets where most are still unread by a modern person. Irvine Finkel, himself, has and will teach anyone to read cuneiform in the hopes someone will bring him another story like the the first flood story again.
Archibald's social graces were well and truly under developed. His trauma started as far back as he could remember in school. He knew what no one talks about that bullies at all levels pick on the lowest of them all. School society can be seen as a diamond shape instead of the Hierarchical pyramid that has more people on the bottom than top. Everyone picked on Archibald, everyone; he had been the bottom point of the his social diamond. His only solace was pointing out how stupid everyone else was, so he doubled, tripled, even quadrupling down on studying.
Irvine Finkel was the first person he came across that seem genuinely enthusiastic about teaching him. Yes, there was the old man's sardonic humor like how he wanted to become a British Museum Curator at the age of nine and through a series of bewildering coincidences became one. There was space deep in the basement that felt like pure solitude to Archibald so long as he was reading, deciphering, decrypting, even the most boring cuneiform tablet. Some of them would barely fit in one's palm while others were cylinders whose writing wrapped around and around. Archi's bane though were the broken bits, the fragments of sentences, one's Finkel couldn't be bothered with.
Each time Archi thought he'd found a particularly interesting story, and would ran to Finkel decrying, "this is it, This one." Each and every one he'd 'found' was only some mundane trivial daily matter better represented on an intact tablet. This frustrating denial focused to being sure, absolutely sure, the next one would be 'the one'. Archibald held a small tablet in his hand, forcing his heart rate slower after seeing symbols for condemned, curse, protection, and peace all near each other. He spent weeks upon weeks flipping between the hard tablet and various research papers and their notes.
Archibald was a volunteer at the museum that supported his obsession by driving a Trash Truck. The job was steady with regular hours outside of the museum's operation. He found that he was well suited for the shit night shift that every normal human hated. To him, there was an empty world to explore, and going places most people never see, the industrial sectors. One of the hidden places the public hardly never gets to see was inside the national prison. He knew the guards, recognizing that people who were the worst types of bullies seem to gravitate in to that type of job. There was a perverse pleasure refusing to submit to their bully tactics and driving away instead and leaving the huge bins full.
Reporting such incidents to his bosses, who wrote the report, and then sent it up their chain of command. The prison warden typically called the his boss' boss that morning. Power is where you find it was Archibald's mantra. He was weeks deep into the confusing script of his find and could ignore the guard's taunts. He wasn't suppose to, but had made a charcoal rubbing of the half palm sized tablet. He taped an enlarged photocopy of the rubbing to his cab's windshield. In moments of stress focused his mind on that enlarged piece of paper.
He was standing outside his cab looking up at the copy in the caged guard area trying to get inside the fence to do his job when it clicked, the ah-ha moment. It, the tablet, was a poem; Archibald had always hated poetry. The Sumerian cadence was mutated into a forced rhyme from a prison guard's point of view. The poem listed dish, after dish, nonsensical dishes too. The listed dishes had puzzled him for days on end, but the end of the poem made it clear to him now. A trick, bamboozle, flimflam , a fraud, was played on the condemned. Archibald could see prison guards back in antiquity were the same shitheads they were today.
The damn tablet was a guard's confession of tricking the soon to be executed into eating bugs, snakes, and other nasty things in lieu of a nonexistent mythical dish. Thereby saving the guard, himself, and his loved ones from a devastating curse of the innocent. It was all a joke to the guards. Archibald's ears began heating up as his blood pressure increased. "Fuckers," he spat at the side of his truck. | 2022-07-17T19:48:17 | 2022-07-17T17:32:54 | 63 | 47 |
[WP] The Superheroes arrive at the predicted impact site of the meteor, only to find the Villains already there. "We're going to destroy that blasted rock before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" a Hero calls out. "Stop you? We're here to help! We live on this planet too, dumbass" | "Oh, here comes the sanctimony squad!" the man in the purple suit cried out as the Protectors arrived. It's not like he hadn't expected them; an extinction-level threat like this meteor did warrant the presence of all the heroes, but he still couldn't help but feel disgust.
"Villain!" the hero in the front yelled towards the gaggle of ill-meaning individuals as he landed, "Stand aside, scoundrels! You are fortunate the meteor requires our undivided attention! Should you attempt to stop us, let it be known-"
"Stop you?" the villain yelled back, "We're here to stop it, you moron! Last time I checked, we live on this planet too!"
The hero was taken aback as his bravado left him. "You *what*?"
"Oh, what, did you think that we'd sit by with a drink in our hands while the planet burned? Then what? Any idea how boring it would be?" the villain said.
"But... you've threatened to destroy the world yourself!" the hero protested and pulled out a small notebook, listing through it. "...on at least 5 different occasions!"
"Do you not understand the concept of showmanship?" the villain grinned. "You have *no* sense setting the stage for a proper drama. Say my demands weren't met and I did blow up the world. What would I do then, exactly?"
"Then why did you threaten it at all?" the hero asked, confused.
"Thrill of the perfect performance," the villain said, a glint in his eye.
"Hey, uh, lads?" another villain - a silver-haired woman in the back - called out, "Getting rather distracted here I reckon. World-ending threat and all, you catch?"
The leading hero and chief villain stared at each other in a moment of utmost tension. Both the heroes and the villains subtly prepared themselves for a fight, should the need arise. Neither wanted it. The pressure was palpable in the air-
"Narrator, man, could you cut it out?" the hero yelled towards one of his colleagues, "Seriously, not helping!"
Sorry.
"This doesn't change anything," the hero said. "You're still the villains. You're still wanted. You're-"
"Spare me," the villain scoffed. "I'll need Megamer to help me out with moving some equipment," he said and pointed towards a hero in the back, a woman of pure muscle.
"You dare think this uneasy ceasefire will allow you to command my allies?!"
"I have a plan, Ultra. I have gear ready. I know what I need to do. What do *you* have?" the villain said and looked the hero straight in his eyes. Despite being a good deal shorter, his confidence more than made up for it.
The hero relaxed his fist and conceded, nodding towards Megamer who set out towards the villain.
"Oh, and," the villain said, turning around, "Narrator- I could use some feedback on some blueprints, finishing touches and all. Do you mind?"
Not at all, said the Narrator and stepped forward- ok this is getting a little trippy. | What are we, but leaves in the wind?
There were stories once, sung by the masses or known only by those who wrote them. Of guns and smoke, knives and high boots, artful games of respectful slaughter. Dozens of them, each catching light, before being lost to the confines of old history, buried deeper and deeper by the novelty of tomorrow.
Who were they? Great individuals, indistinguishable from gods. Maybe mortal, maybe not. Commoners didn't know, neither did the individuals. Why had they been chosen? was there something meant for them? or was it simply luck? Another spin of a chaotic universe in the span it took to be born in a flash and vanish in a fiery heat-death?
They tried to make the distinction between good and evil at first. This power was good, this fight worthy, this one accursed. The attempt stopped the moment every side decided to call itself good, leaving to wonder why they were so keen on murdering one another despite their self-proclaimed dedication to betterment and goodness in the world.
Ideals and values offered a more factual approach to the ever-changing politics of the gifted. Special or not, the needs and wants remained the same, those of humans born with imperfections and struggles.
One pervert would have been content sitting at home, surrounded by raunchy magazines and a computer with high memory. In strength of body and mind, the Pervert would take it to the next logical step, and decide to make perversion reality. Build a harem, be they willing or not, and vanish on a remote island to enjoy the fruits of one-sided lust until the time came to renew the harem.
Of course, the Pervert would be opposed by the Holy, who saw the gift as a proof God was still around and kicking, and the gifted should stay above the seven sins. When not running after the Pervert, the Holy would start crusades to spread the peaceful word of the Lord by sword and flame. After all, he was in the right, might as well go heavy-handed.
But then came the Ecologist, who happened to be a fusion between two who had once been called the Hippie and the Misanthrope, who had died in a feud and gave birth to a strange union in death. The Ecologist protected nature, by way of forcing humanity to remain confined in cities and using those who didn't comply as compost. The Pervert fought the Ecologist, as while the Pervert didn't mind some coercion to build a harem, they still considered live and let live an essential part of life.
Meanwhile, Democracy, Tyranny, Free-market and Anarchy put thousands of scenarists across the world out of a job on account of writing better and more convoluted stories through the number of alliances and betrayals they undertook daily between them.
After the initial shock and delight of such gifts, the novelty wore off. No matter how special, humans remained humans, powers allowed them to do more of the same, except on a grander scale.
Then a chunk of the moon started to fall.
It is still unclear how it started, if it started at all. Maybe it was always falling, but decided it was a good time to finally impact.
On the eve of the apocalypse, stories suddenly became redundant. On the scale of the universe, what did it matter that the Pervert had a beef with the Holy? In a gust of wind carrying leaves, they would all be gone, and none of it would have any relevance.
And so it came that the Pervert retreated to his island to indulge in lust, that the Holy sunk into prayer, that Democracy and Tyranny lay down their weapons and recognized they stood for ideals who were about to be obliterated. Might as well enjoy the sight.
But it felt lacking, didn't it?
All those powers, helpless against a falling moon. They had no chance at all, so they believed. But the doubt kept nagging, in the back of their minds. Standing at the end of the world, the question remained, turning around and cackling madly.
Are you so sure?
Without a word, without an accord, they came. The Ecologist, Free-market, their shifting friends and foes, right at the spot of the future impact. In all likelihood, they would fail, and it would be done. At least, they would know.
What happened next is unclear.
The absolute end of the world became the end of the world as we knew it. The gifted died in their attempt. All of them. But the attempt succeeded, the impact never happened. No crater, no shock-wave engulfing the earth, only a slight burn where the mighty once stood.
What was it? An attempt to prove that the gifted could grow beyond petty and temporary ideals, rise above their station and show the true colors of champions befitting the gift? A complicated ploy to be rid of them, to cease the glaring injustice of granting a few the abilities to choose for all of us? Or was it yet another turn in a chaotic and meaningless universe, until the next?
We do not know, we likely never will.
No matter how high and mighty, a tremor in the universe could end all we know.
And as it could have happened, they burned, so we could keep on being.
Gazing in the abyss, we found sense, and a sort of meaning. We are all but leaves, dancing in the wind.
And it is a fine life, to dance as we do. | 2022-09-11T07:28:14 | 2022-09-11T06:44:43 | 1,578 | 94 |
[WP] The Superheroes arrive at the predicted impact site of the meteor, only to find the Villains already there. "We're going to destroy that blasted rock before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" a Hero calls out. "Stop you? We're here to help! We live on this planet too, dumbass" | Our assembly was disrupted by a loud shout.
"Villains, get ready to lose! We're going to destroy that blasted rock before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!"
Typical Paragon, too narrow-minded to see what's actually going on...
"Mercy of the assorted gods... Do you honestly think we're trying to blow up the damn planet?! THE ONE WE LIVE ON? No, we're here to stop you from doing something stupid!"
The hero stopped. As he landed I could see the force he had assembled to stop our 'nefarious plans'. To his right, Lady of the Lakes, and Brainiac. On his left, Turbojet and Cyclone. And behind them, a veritable small army of heroes. I think I even saw Inspector Ape.
"Don't lie to us, we have Verity here with us! You know her powers!"
Damn right I did. For a fucking hero, that bitch had an exceptionally cruel power. If I had to choose the pain of an attack to the crotch or lying to her, I'd pick the crotch a hundred times over.
Paragon must have picked up on my wiring grimace, as he then smiled. Smug bastard.
"I assure you, you can have her probe me. I speak the truth!"
The damned cursed bitch confirmed it. "He's not lying"
"See? Now to explain, I'm not here to stop you saving the planet. But your plan is fucking insanity and will kill every single person on this fragile ball of rock and mud."
The idiot rolled his eyes.
"How so? No meteorite, no impact, no damage!"
Now my turn to roll mine. Resisting the urge to slap my head in awe of the sheer stupidity, I replied.
"BLOWING IT UP DOESN'T GET RID OF IT, YOU MORON! You're just turning a cannonball into a shotgun blast! It's still just as lethal!"
"Oh..."
"Yes, 'oh' you idiot! Now listen to my plan. I talked it over with professor cerebro and his colleagues. The plan is that we will fly to the asteroid and begin the process of splitting it in half!
Before you ask, we can't just push it! Your flight doesn't work with no atmosphere to push against!
Our plan is to cut it in half and push those halves apart! If we push hard enough, the halves will slip far enough away, past either side of the earth and will miss the planet. We may lose some high-orbit satellites but it's better than the alternative!"
The loss of my spy network was going to sting, but a necessary sacrifice.
Paragon turned to quietly confer with some of his fellow heroes.
"Fine, we'll follow this plan. But any funny business..."
"Look, I don't particularly feel like dying today and I suppose your surviving today is an acceptable price. We can continue our fights tomorrow."
The plan was a resounding success. we had some bickering between rivals, but no incidents. Following the action, many of our lesser criminal brethren were offered pardons or amnesty for their crimes. Some chose to accept and retire. Not myself, I had a mission to complete.
At least I now knew one thing.
I had to disassemble that damn meteorite attractor.
Too fucking dangerous. | What are we, but leaves in the wind?
There were stories once, sung by the masses or known only by those who wrote them. Of guns and smoke, knives and high boots, artful games of respectful slaughter. Dozens of them, each catching light, before being lost to the confines of old history, buried deeper and deeper by the novelty of tomorrow.
Who were they? Great individuals, indistinguishable from gods. Maybe mortal, maybe not. Commoners didn't know, neither did the individuals. Why had they been chosen? was there something meant for them? or was it simply luck? Another spin of a chaotic universe in the span it took to be born in a flash and vanish in a fiery heat-death?
They tried to make the distinction between good and evil at first. This power was good, this fight worthy, this one accursed. The attempt stopped the moment every side decided to call itself good, leaving to wonder why they were so keen on murdering one another despite their self-proclaimed dedication to betterment and goodness in the world.
Ideals and values offered a more factual approach to the ever-changing politics of the gifted. Special or not, the needs and wants remained the same, those of humans born with imperfections and struggles.
One pervert would have been content sitting at home, surrounded by raunchy magazines and a computer with high memory. In strength of body and mind, the Pervert would take it to the next logical step, and decide to make perversion reality. Build a harem, be they willing or not, and vanish on a remote island to enjoy the fruits of one-sided lust until the time came to renew the harem.
Of course, the Pervert would be opposed by the Holy, who saw the gift as a proof God was still around and kicking, and the gifted should stay above the seven sins. When not running after the Pervert, the Holy would start crusades to spread the peaceful word of the Lord by sword and flame. After all, he was in the right, might as well go heavy-handed.
But then came the Ecologist, who happened to be a fusion between two who had once been called the Hippie and the Misanthrope, who had died in a feud and gave birth to a strange union in death. The Ecologist protected nature, by way of forcing humanity to remain confined in cities and using those who didn't comply as compost. The Pervert fought the Ecologist, as while the Pervert didn't mind some coercion to build a harem, they still considered live and let live an essential part of life.
Meanwhile, Democracy, Tyranny, Free-market and Anarchy put thousands of scenarists across the world out of a job on account of writing better and more convoluted stories through the number of alliances and betrayals they undertook daily between them.
After the initial shock and delight of such gifts, the novelty wore off. No matter how special, humans remained humans, powers allowed them to do more of the same, except on a grander scale.
Then a chunk of the moon started to fall.
It is still unclear how it started, if it started at all. Maybe it was always falling, but decided it was a good time to finally impact.
On the eve of the apocalypse, stories suddenly became redundant. On the scale of the universe, what did it matter that the Pervert had a beef with the Holy? In a gust of wind carrying leaves, they would all be gone, and none of it would have any relevance.
And so it came that the Pervert retreated to his island to indulge in lust, that the Holy sunk into prayer, that Democracy and Tyranny lay down their weapons and recognized they stood for ideals who were about to be obliterated. Might as well enjoy the sight.
But it felt lacking, didn't it?
All those powers, helpless against a falling moon. They had no chance at all, so they believed. But the doubt kept nagging, in the back of their minds. Standing at the end of the world, the question remained, turning around and cackling madly.
Are you so sure?
Without a word, without an accord, they came. The Ecologist, Free-market, their shifting friends and foes, right at the spot of the future impact. In all likelihood, they would fail, and it would be done. At least, they would know.
What happened next is unclear.
The absolute end of the world became the end of the world as we knew it. The gifted died in their attempt. All of them. But the attempt succeeded, the impact never happened. No crater, no shock-wave engulfing the earth, only a slight burn where the mighty once stood.
What was it? An attempt to prove that the gifted could grow beyond petty and temporary ideals, rise above their station and show the true colors of champions befitting the gift? A complicated ploy to be rid of them, to cease the glaring injustice of granting a few the abilities to choose for all of us? Or was it yet another turn in a chaotic and meaningless universe, until the next?
We do not know, we likely never will.
No matter how high and mighty, a tremor in the universe could end all we know.
And as it could have happened, they burned, so we could keep on being.
Gazing in the abyss, we found sense, and a sort of meaning. We are all but leaves, dancing in the wind.
And it is a fine life, to dance as we do. | 2022-09-11T07:51:57 | 2022-09-11T06:44:43 | 212 | 94 |
[WP] "Impossible! I hit him with my strongest attack, but he's still standing?" "Haha, it seems you've overestimated me!" "I-wait, what?" The villain collapses in a pool of his own blood.
Based off of a comic by Alzward. | "I thought the name was enough on-the-nose that everyone picked up how it worked. Which is probably what you get when you ask a 14 years old edgelord to pick a code name."
"I... Don't... Understand ".
"I literally go around calling myself 'Artemis' and wearing a cresent moon on my forehead. It's not hard" I was getting mildly frustrated. This little victory speech clearly wasn't going as planned.
"I... D-Don't F-Follow..." the villain was struggling to breathe, forcing broken words through.
"Moon. The moon. It doesn't have a light of its own," I glared at them. How dense can they be? "It just reflect the light of the sun!".
The villain just stared at me. They were barely holding on to their consciousness - but still fought against their body, just in order to raise an eyebrow. I sighed. They just HAD to ruin that perfect punchline with their ignorance.
"I don't have any attacks. I literally can't do anything on my own!" I tried, again - "All I do is just reflect back whatever gets thrown at me. Which only ever works because none of you ever bother to think about the superhero naming conventions that would literally tell you exactly what is going on!".
The villain, in what looked like an immense effort, raised his head a little, trying to squeeze a word into each shallow breath: "You... Are... A... Pretentious.... Dumbass". His head dropped again, as he finally gave in to unconsciousness. | Jazon was to be the first to attack. He stood hidden behind the tree, but didn’t feel the fear he expected. There was no anxious knot in his stomach, no increased sweating. All he felt was calm, and clear. Though a small piece of his mind was confused as to why that was. He was the vanguard of this plan, set to launch his most powerful attack as both a signal for the others, and to throw Admetuz off balance. Without the element of surprise, Ademtuz was the match of all five of them.
But surprise they had. Admetuz was winning the war of land, and felt comfortable to walk this road alone. A rare mistake. He hadn’t considered that he was losing the war for people’s hearts. Betrayal was inevitable, and should be considered at all times. His plans had been delivered straight to The Five the moment he made them.
And so Admentuz decided to walk between cities on his own. Take the city personally, without the help of his Ill-gotten army. Then the people would fear him all the more, and the will to fight would be sapped from them Or so was the plan. The Five had another idea.
All that resting on all Jazon and, and yet all he felt was calm. He used that calm to focus on four things around him, as his mother had taught him. It helped him feel present. He focused on the smell of fresh rain, earthy, yet clean. The rough yet comforting feel of the tree against his back. The sight of his own hot breath as it condensed in front of him. The crunch of gravel as it was crunch below the feet of a large, brutish man.
Admentuz was here.
Jazon breathed one last breath. He moved his hands in the elaborate display he had been practising since this war started, and gracefully stepped out onto the road.
His eyes locked with Admentuz, who had the gall to smile before Jazon unleashed his most powerful attack. A thin but expanding beam of light erupted from Jazon’s hand and slammed into Admentuz’s chest. Then… nothing.
The other four stepped onto the road at Admentuz’s back. Ready for a fight that never came.
“It seems you’ve overestimated me.”
Jazon stepped closer as Admentuz laughed. Or tried to laugh. What came out was cough that spread blood across the ground. “Or perhaps you were expecting Admentuz, and not his body-double?”
Jazon tried for stoicism, but knew the shock he felt was reflected on his face when ‘Admentuz’ managed to laugh this time, despite the fist-sized hole in his chest.
“If Admentuz was here, he would have caught that, no? It would have exploded on his chest, and then these four behind me would have attacked together?” More blood was coughed across the gravel of the road.
It was admirable the body double was even standing. There was a rapidly spreading red stain across his clothes, but he was clearly motivated to say something, and doing what he could to say it before he died. Jazon nodded.
“Instead it passed straight through me. I do wonder what it eventually exploded against.” ‘Admentuz’ fell to his knees.
Realisation dawned on Jazon and he felt a piece of molten gold drop into his stomach. Through the gap created when the other four turned, he saw the city Admentuz was supposed to be leaving. By the time Jazon’s attack had struck the city, it had grown larger than the city’s walls.
There was a piece of the city missing. Jazon could see that even from here. Dust had been kicked up as building collapsed on themselves. Smoke was beginning to rise.
“Will they still love you? After this?” ‘Admentuz’ died laughing. | 2022-12-04T07:30:20 | 2022-12-04T05:17:54 | 126 | 75 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything. | Transcript, Gladhurst Exceptional Care Facility and Rehabilitation Center:
Subject (S): ... so they came out with the gloves.
Doctor L. Kriesberg (D): The inhibitor gloves?
S: ... No, the fucking kitten-mittens, bruh! Yes the inhibitor gloves!! Jee-zus... Anyway, there was Kevin Fitzroy, that Nazi fuck, doing that \[crosses arms and tilts head back\] thing in the hall, like he's on the cover of some Pantera album. Just basting in it.
D: And how did that make you feel?
S: Oh, god. You ever... you ever have one of those moments where things start to click? Like... I don't know. I saw how dead-eyed the principal was, how damned ready the vice principal and the security guards were to whup my ass if I tried anything, and fucking Kevin in the hallway staring down his nose at everything, and it was like all of those Rage Against the Machine albums my dad listened to in the garage started to make sense.
D: In what way?
S: Oh my god, can you not?? I'm on a fucking roll, here! Ugh...\[deep sigh\] They had all of these songs that... that talked about how the people at the top do all of this heinous shit to the people on the bottom, basically just to keep them on the bottom and themselves safe in the rarefied air. And all these cops, and capes, and doctors, and principals, and Kevin Fucking Fitzroys are a part of the... the mechanism to keep that going.
D: And what did you do, after that?
S: Welp, I broke the principal's nose, first. Used that mug with his kids' pictures on it. Not my favorite moment, but that's what happened. Got Vice Principal Eldridge right-- \[draws a circle at left temple\] --here with the desk lamp. The security guard was... he's all fucking talk. Gravy Seal, you know? I got him with his own taser, I don't know how. Everything was going pretty fast, then. I think... yeah. I think I might've-- \[Subject looks ill, pale\] I might have just been proving them all right.
D: And then what happened?
S: Then I found Kevin. He was already down the hall, just... shaking his arms like a gorilla and hiding in his little gaggle of goose-steppers. And... I mean, normally that meant I was gonna get my ass kicked. But that... that moment in the office. You know, when everything clicked?
D: Yes? Go on.
S: Well, it put something together for me. My powers weren't here, \[Subject flexes hands\] but here. \[Subject points to temple, indicating mental abilitles\] So a word comes to me. It kind of... it unfolds in my mind in this golden field, with this... tall man with a crow skull for a head showing me how to pronounce it.
D: And then what?
S: Then I say it. \[Subject becomes visibly excitable\] Then all those Good Old Boys just... collapsed. A few of them started crying, some others started puking. And I knew the capes would be coming so I bolted. Got to the end of my street before they found me.
D: The capes?
S: No. A different group of people. \[Subject puts one black, one white gumdrop in the middle of the interrogation table\] These are your favorite, right? Almost nobody likes these, but you love 'em.
D: How do--How do you know--??
S: Right now, there's a deal going on. Your nephew is about to sign a contract in three days that will label anyone with inhibitors on as property of the Armed Forces, and whatever businesses subcontract with them. They're going to get rolled around with brainwashing techniques that would make MK Ultra look like Barney and Friends.
D: You... this is--GUARRRDS!?!?!?!?
S: They can't hear you. They're daydreaming about Game of Thrones porn parodies. But you...
D: M-me??
S: You're going to help me of your own free will. Welcome to the club, Doc. | Jackass... I think as my powers while they could be used to cause a lot of annoyance because it is power to play any musical instrument to perfect decree. I am a girl and this is how he wants my attention? Wow, nice... I love music... I feel my heart drop as the gloves are worn on. I immediately start thinking about one upping Uval.
It was my powers that allowed me to play the instruments perfectly but, it also has taught me quite a lot too... Yeah, pretty lame ability but, I helped a lot of people here to focus and be comfortable while in school. I am going to accept this for now, but, for now I am internally cracked. We go outside and before Uval was able to get out a word.
Teren told him to shut it, sighed at my gloves, motions to me to come go with him and we go outside. Uval is not at all comfortable around Teren who has been proven to be completely normal but, Teren is very sports loving individual so, his physical condition is impressive for so young and he knows Uval is just a blowhard without skills.
The ruse is good. When we are far enough from others 'Sari, I will figure out how to get these off' Teren says as we walk to a place where I can have a seat and process this. There isn't really need for that but, Teren's presence is always welcome, he mostly just listens to the music I play as it helps focusing and relaxing.
Uval himself does have powers but, it is difficult to say what they exactly are, probably something less impressive than my own, which caused him to be such a jackass towards me. 'No need, I will just study and practice hard to just play the instruments on my own' I say 'Looking to one up him... Sounds like a plan, let me keep them in check then' Teren says.
'Be a bully to them in a rink? I would prefer that you didn't. You have no idea how horrible the heart sink is' I say pouting a bit 'Hey, I don't have powers, everybody just knows I practice a lot and because of that, I am good at sports and have admirable numbers in physical education' Teren says smiling warmly.
'They don't look that bad to be honest and some hand protection in case his stupid side comes rear it's ugly mug again' Teren says being practical as always and it does make sense a lot 'You also can go through tests which will clear you of those' Teren adds 'Oh yeah, I just never wanted to go through them...' I say and look at my hands.
It was mostly a waste of time considering how well I know my power. There just has to be that one person... Uval is not the only one unfortunately Julia is another and Teren only gets involved if Julia does something that absolutely permits him to get involved and stop her. Helps with the physical bullying but, not with the mental.
I admit, I do have feelings towards Teren, he puts effort and he did inspire me to one up Uval as he has several times... And once apprehended Uval when he decided to provoke Teren with going physical and swinging a fist at him who then apprehended him, it certainly left an impression that, he just wants continue practicing and is in school to learn.
Teren is known for this type of behavior by both classmates and teachers. They know the boy is thick skinned and only gets physical in self defense, even principal knows this as he himself saw Uval swing at him and Teren replying. 'Have to consider adding more sports to my repertoire...' Teren says thinking about it.
'Thank you Teren. For getting my mind off and helping' I say warmly but, I accidentally do show my feelings a bit. Thankfully he was in deep thought 'Hmm? You are welcome' Teren says and after few months I got the results of tests during those months and I proved that I can play any musical instrument without my power.
This made Uval quite nervous and looked at Teren who is our classmate who just shrugged to him. Uval went straight to principal's office and I headed there with Teren but, he waited outside and I went inside of the office. Uval was struggling to find words to what he just witnessed and I hand out my power tests results.
Principal goes through them, telling Uval to wait, man the look on Uval's face as Jake, our principal verifies the info and looks at Uval with increasing discontent. Oh, wow, this moment is... So, sweet. 'I deeply apologize Sari' Jake says with honesty and regret. He takes out a key from safe. He was about to put in right hand lock when Uval snatches it and runs.
'Uval give it back!' Jake shouts and took a few steps to go after Uval but, outside Teren has Uval pinned against a wall 'Going this far, to steal from a principal... Pathetic as heck Uval' Teren says very coldly. Teren hands the key back to Jake 'Hold him for a bit longer please but, not too hard Teren' Jake says 'Roger' Teren says in prepared manner and Jake finally takes off the power inhibitor gloves from my hands with the key.
I wish I could say, shout something or jump from joy, but, I have to contain myself. 'Guess, who is going to wear them as a punishment for false indictment' Jake says, Uval is now horrified. 'Sounds like a fitting punishment to me sir' Teren says in prepared manner containing his joy too.
Teren keeps Uval pinned until gloves are put on 'This is not fair' Uval says defeated 'Maybe don't be rear end to others for once. Thank you Teren, you may let him go and Sari... I apologize for following through with the false evidence. I had my doubts but, there weren't evidence to back them up' Jake says as Uval walks away.
'Don't worry principal Jake Merecoast, it was growing experience' I say and unfortunately do show my joy of this moment. Jake looks around then approaches us both a bit closely lowers his speaking volume 'You both earned a reason for joy but, do it outside of school area, I will tell the other teachers of what has happened' Jake says smiling in mischievous manner.
Well, that confirms both of our suspicions of Jake already being knowledgeable what kind of jackass Uval and maybe Julia are. Me and Teren go have ourselves coffee and cinnamon bun. | 2022-12-25T07:32:18 | 2022-12-25T03:24:03 | 154 | 19 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything. | The wrist bands snap on and I feel a strange numbness on my fingers as they activate.
On the other side of the room allowed into the cell by his father was Jane. Ex girlfriend and pain in my ass. Bad breakups are one thing but breakups with a girl who has b grade siren powers is another thing entirely.
When she sings people listen and believe. So when she sang about me abusing her with my power people listened. Police came and I was arrested. Classified dangerous. Prison time and life long inhibitors would be next. Dulling me down. For now cuffs since I used my hands to control the power.
"as a d class telekinetic you inhibitor will be implanted in your arms. Youll need a new job since you probably won't be able to work heavy machinery now. I suggest leaning to type. Plenty of data entry jobs around." the officer says. As if those jobs payed a damn thing. Once the inhibitors were fitted and I was registered I would be lucky to get a job flipping burgers...so fuck it.
I glare at Jane and then flick my will jerking her head to the left violently. There's a crunch and I gasp and scream as she crumples. "it's my uncle!" I shout before yanking the wall in covering the officers and then yanking myself out. In the dust and confusion I use my power to pull the cuffs apart. Pulling to the left and right causing then to shoot off and embedd themselves in the concrete.
I didn't need my hands to use my power. But it certainly helped to keep it at 'safe levels'
I keep up the act screaming for help even as I blow through the police station then I'm out and flying over the city. A few flying types chase after me but I scream at them to stay away "or hell hurt you" before using my eyes to slap then around.
Once I was clear I dropped down to a small manhole off a main road. A quick and movement lifts if up and I drop down into the darkness. Fumble for a switch and find it.
"hey kid." I turn around and smile at my uncle. Grade s+ telekinetic and on the most wanted list for powered individuals. "see you took my lessons seriously. I was gonna wait and bust you out of the transport if you didn't do something."
"yea. Use my hands for everything. Even if I'm sure I'm alone. They slapped me in cuffs since I only used it for convinence stuff...i may have framed you aswell." I applolgise.
He waves away the apology "you got your bug out bag here?"
I nod and grab a plastic sack from the floor. Inside is a bag with some supplies. New clothes. Some cash and a real ID. That was another thing uncle gave me. Its easy to build a fake I'd over a few years. Loosing your real one is worse.
I flipped open the Id "James Holland. Grade b telekinetic age 25" I smiled at the lie. Another thing my uncle taught me from the moment I'd shown my powers. Don't show your full potential unless your life was on the line. I'd shown off at the assessment. I wanted a high grade.
It meant I'd become a big shot. Run a company. Powers meant POWER. until a friends friends dad pulled some strings and got me a position as an enforcer for his company and I quickly learnt that people with POWER used those with powers. Threats and bribes held more sway in today's world than any villains or hero's did.
I finished up checking my pack and nodded to my uncle who floated up out of the manhole. I followed him out flicking the switch off and setting in motion a process that would burn everything left in that little hole in the ground.
"you know where my old home is?" uncle asked.
"yea. Race you there?" I tease.
"kid you know I can't hold a candle to you. I'm just supprised you still live in their world" he says as we float into the sky. I smile at that. Uncle may be s+ but I was the first s++ he and the other villains had come across.
---
Written on my phone at my family's Christmas dinner | Jackass... I think as my powers while they could be used to cause a lot of annoyance because it is power to play any musical instrument to perfect decree. I am a girl and this is how he wants my attention? Wow, nice... I love music... I feel my heart drop as the gloves are worn on. I immediately start thinking about one upping Uval.
It was my powers that allowed me to play the instruments perfectly but, it also has taught me quite a lot too... Yeah, pretty lame ability but, I helped a lot of people here to focus and be comfortable while in school. I am going to accept this for now, but, for now I am internally cracked. We go outside and before Uval was able to get out a word.
Teren told him to shut it, sighed at my gloves, motions to me to come go with him and we go outside. Uval is not at all comfortable around Teren who has been proven to be completely normal but, Teren is very sports loving individual so, his physical condition is impressive for so young and he knows Uval is just a blowhard without skills.
The ruse is good. When we are far enough from others 'Sari, I will figure out how to get these off' Teren says as we walk to a place where I can have a seat and process this. There isn't really need for that but, Teren's presence is always welcome, he mostly just listens to the music I play as it helps focusing and relaxing.
Uval himself does have powers but, it is difficult to say what they exactly are, probably something less impressive than my own, which caused him to be such a jackass towards me. 'No need, I will just study and practice hard to just play the instruments on my own' I say 'Looking to one up him... Sounds like a plan, let me keep them in check then' Teren says.
'Be a bully to them in a rink? I would prefer that you didn't. You have no idea how horrible the heart sink is' I say pouting a bit 'Hey, I don't have powers, everybody just knows I practice a lot and because of that, I am good at sports and have admirable numbers in physical education' Teren says smiling warmly.
'They don't look that bad to be honest and some hand protection in case his stupid side comes rear it's ugly mug again' Teren says being practical as always and it does make sense a lot 'You also can go through tests which will clear you of those' Teren adds 'Oh yeah, I just never wanted to go through them...' I say and look at my hands.
It was mostly a waste of time considering how well I know my power. There just has to be that one person... Uval is not the only one unfortunately Julia is another and Teren only gets involved if Julia does something that absolutely permits him to get involved and stop her. Helps with the physical bullying but, not with the mental.
I admit, I do have feelings towards Teren, he puts effort and he did inspire me to one up Uval as he has several times... And once apprehended Uval when he decided to provoke Teren with going physical and swinging a fist at him who then apprehended him, it certainly left an impression that, he just wants continue practicing and is in school to learn.
Teren is known for this type of behavior by both classmates and teachers. They know the boy is thick skinned and only gets physical in self defense, even principal knows this as he himself saw Uval swing at him and Teren replying. 'Have to consider adding more sports to my repertoire...' Teren says thinking about it.
'Thank you Teren. For getting my mind off and helping' I say warmly but, I accidentally do show my feelings a bit. Thankfully he was in deep thought 'Hmm? You are welcome' Teren says and after few months I got the results of tests during those months and I proved that I can play any musical instrument without my power.
This made Uval quite nervous and looked at Teren who is our classmate who just shrugged to him. Uval went straight to principal's office and I headed there with Teren but, he waited outside and I went inside of the office. Uval was struggling to find words to what he just witnessed and I hand out my power tests results.
Principal goes through them, telling Uval to wait, man the look on Uval's face as Jake, our principal verifies the info and looks at Uval with increasing discontent. Oh, wow, this moment is... So, sweet. 'I deeply apologize Sari' Jake says with honesty and regret. He takes out a key from safe. He was about to put in right hand lock when Uval snatches it and runs.
'Uval give it back!' Jake shouts and took a few steps to go after Uval but, outside Teren has Uval pinned against a wall 'Going this far, to steal from a principal... Pathetic as heck Uval' Teren says very coldly. Teren hands the key back to Jake 'Hold him for a bit longer please but, not too hard Teren' Jake says 'Roger' Teren says in prepared manner and Jake finally takes off the power inhibitor gloves from my hands with the key.
I wish I could say, shout something or jump from joy, but, I have to contain myself. 'Guess, who is going to wear them as a punishment for false indictment' Jake says, Uval is now horrified. 'Sounds like a fitting punishment to me sir' Teren says in prepared manner containing his joy too.
Teren keeps Uval pinned until gloves are put on 'This is not fair' Uval says defeated 'Maybe don't be rear end to others for once. Thank you Teren, you may let him go and Sari... I apologize for following through with the false evidence. I had my doubts but, there weren't evidence to back them up' Jake says as Uval walks away.
'Don't worry principal Jake Merecoast, it was growing experience' I say and unfortunately do show my joy of this moment. Jake looks around then approaches us both a bit closely lowers his speaking volume 'You both earned a reason for joy but, do it outside of school area, I will tell the other teachers of what has happened' Jake says smiling in mischievous manner.
Well, that confirms both of our suspicions of Jake already being knowledgeable what kind of jackass Uval and maybe Julia are. Me and Teren go have ourselves coffee and cinnamon bun. | 2022-12-25T06:56:33 | 2022-12-25T03:24:03 | 115 | 19 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | The look on Natasha's face when I walked into our college algebra 101 class that morning made the whole ordeal of digging myself out of that shallow grave and walking home without any blood worth it. (Have you ever tried to walk without blood? It's super tiring.)
Her expression was a perfect mix of shock, confusion, panic, and forced calm. Eventually she settled on a blank expression that I recognized as someone deliberately paralysing their own face. I'd done that before, mostly to disguise sleeping through math class, so... Appropriate all things considered.
I took my usual seat next to her and said "good morning!" In my most natural cheerful voice.
Her reply was stiff and quiet, which wasn't really surprising to be fair. Her face was still stiff, and she had definitely killed me last night. I'd probably be confused too in her shoes.
It took almost half of the lecture for her to finally ask the question that had to be burning her worse than the sun usually did. (Night school, yay!)
"How?" She whispered softly.
"You should ask the professor if you don't understand the lecture Tash" I said blithely "you know I don't do well with math.
She actually had the composure to look annoyed at me.
"You know what I mean." She almost growled. "I-" she paused and glanced around at the other nearby students in a motion so quick most people wouldn't be able to see it.
"I drank your blood and feasted on your soul." She sounded almost pleading now "I killed you, how are you here."
I grinned at her, bold. I like it. Though the whole murdering me thing on our first date kinda put a damper on the relationship to be honest.
"I'm sure your sire gave you a speech that went something like 'we were what the apes feared while they huddled around their fires.' right?"
She nodded, looking even more confused. "Almost word for word." She said softly.
"Volodymir then." I replied. "That ass never did properly introduce his spawn to the wider world."
She looked taken aback at that, and even fearful. Great.
"He tell you some nonsense about him knowing if you spoke his name to another then?" I asked, turning my tone gentle.
She nodded, still looking wary.
"Ass." I repeated. "Volodymir has no magick beyond the abilities granted him by the blood." I explained quietly, "And even if he did, he's been imprisoned for nearly fifty years for, well... Not taking proper care of his spawn."
Natasha's expression had changed to open confusion.
"Tasha," I asked, again in a gentle tone. "All this time after you learned vampires are real and you never wondered if there was anything else hidden out there?"
"No. I... I just never thought about it. I just... He..." She was almost pleading again.
I patted her hand where it sat on the armrest between us.
"It's ok Tasha." I said in my best comforting tone, "stuff like this is why that dickhead isn't gonna see the light of the moon for a very long time."
She nodded, still looking confused.
"What are you?" She asked after a pause. "You don't smell like a vampire, and you...tasted... Just like a mortal"
A faint flush actually touched her pale cheeks as she spoke.
"I was what the apes feared as they-"
I cut off as she swatted my arm.
I grinned. "Tell you what," I said "I'll explain everything to you over dinner after the lecture, as long as you promise not to kill me again."
"Deal." | Kunsai "Kuro" Kuronosa found himself in a strange place compared to where he normally went after school. Sure, he loved nature and all that, but he didn't think Korra, whose mother must've grown up when that show was popular, was normally the woodsy type. Popular, pretty, with fire red hair, fair skin, with typical high schooler proportions, the girl was wearing a red blouse with black shoes and a nice skirt..
Kuro was in his typical blue jeans and t-shirt with sarcastic writing on it, the shirt being a navy color as well.
They had been walking a while, making idle chitchat about things that had happened in their schools growing up, as Korra was a transfer her first year and had wildly different tales to tell. Story was that she was from Germany, here on an exchange program. He accent certainly matched, though her English wasn't too bad.
"So...Why did you invite me out here? We're not really in the same circles, and only have two classes together." Kuro asked the question that was obvious..It was also getting darker, afternoon had turned to dusk, the sun beginning to set. "Surely you're not madly in love with me or something." He was being sarcastic, the nerd with only a few friends who carried everything to and from school each day.
"No. I brought you out here...to...well..die." Her reply was consice and without a stutter, so straightforward it took him by surprise.
"You're joking, right? That's...that's one of the most insane things I've ever heard." Kuro was a black belt martial artist...yes, he was a nerd who studied one of the most nerdy ways of fighting, and he wasn't totally jacked, but he was pretty sure he could take in some preppy girl if she tried to attack him.
"Nope. Not joking." Her voice was more sing-song. And then, she smiled broadly at him, with clearly pointed canines. She lunged at him, aiming to get on the poor nerd. Martial arts is one thing, but the speed and strength of one with vampiric blood was much higher than that of some nerdy teen. She bowled him over with the tackle, and latched onto his neck, not letting go no matter what he tried to do.
The teen's vision swam, and eventually faded to black. As he seemed to pass, a thought went through his mind. **She has no idea what she's done **
By the time he woke up, there was ground over him...A shallow grave, and poorly dug too..he clawed his way out, and greedily sucked in the air.
"Well...that sucked...either she's as dumb as a rock, or new....no Moonlit creature survives very long if it's that stupid. He took off towards his home, finding his belongings poorly scattered, and got back to the apartment that his parents rented for him, since they were always gone for work...or, that was the cover story at least. He was wealthy on his own, from his travels.
The next day, the teen was once again in a pair of jeans and a sarcastic t-shirt as he walked to class. Luckily, he and Korra has first period together...and when he walked in and say her, she was already busy with her little clique...an aura check and they were just regular teens, nothing that pointed to them being connected to the Moonlit World...Daywalkers. As long as she didn't turn any of them, it was fine.
She didn't notice him until roll was called, and when she turned backwards as he called his appearance, the started at him in disbelief, but only for a moment before she schooled her features. Ah, that was just as well. He gave her a smirk back, before staring up at the board as the teacher prepared to start class.
The day progressed as normal, and he didn't see the redhead again until after the day was over, as their other shared class wasn't on that day. She met him at the doors to the parking lot, waiting to confront him as he was just walking out, headphones into his MP3 player, listening to a song that he really enjoyed...heck, he didn't notice her until she pulled off his headphones to finally get his attention.
"What do you - oh..Korra..." Before she could speak, he grabbed his headphones out of her hands. "I would think you would have more class than to pull out someone's headphones.." He put them back in to make sure that they weren't damaged by the yank. They were now closer to the street the school was on, and most of the other kids were at their cars or in busses.
"Excuse me for not taking the nice route when a *dead person*, who I was pretty sure I killed, showed up to school. How are you alive anyway? You aren't like me, or I would have smelled it on you."
At that comment, the teen, who had silver hair that was supposedly a dye job, raised an eyebrow. "Really? You want to start this here? We're still too close to the Daylits to be having this conversation." The young man headed off towards his home, ignoring his pursuer, but only put one side of the headphones over an ear. "Walk with me, and I'll get us somewhere we can talk."
"You aren't like me, nor do you smell like a mutt...what are you?" The 'transfer student' was curious...and a little scared. She was certain she was the only alpha predator in the area. Then suddenly, the air around them smelled like a stronger vampire, out of nowhere...then like a mutt, a very strong one, then like something with pure power...she couldn't put her finger on it, but it terrified her.
"What am I...I am a Fixer..." | 2022-12-29T18:54:00 | 2022-12-29T18:22:13 | 196 | 76 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| The time was near for the end. As our solar system was one of the galaxy's last to fall target to the enemy, both human colonies on Mars and Earth's moon were destroyed. The hour was late and the target was set. Earth would be destroyed in less than a month, according to NASA's predictions regarding travel time and the enemy's advanced interstellar war machines.
As for intentions for our demise, NASA could only speculate that the enemy's cruelty to our colonies and the recent disappearance of many other planets in the galaxy were linked. This enemy was not just one of the human race, but clearly of any celestial body standing in their way. Earth was next. Based on other recordings from colonies and intergalactic satellites, the enemy disposed of each planet by first entering the atmosphere, scanning for life (to destroy), and then subsequently destroying the planet after first mining for any precious metals/elements.
The time had eventually come, and NASA issued a universal statement over all radio wavelengths, to all know satellites, that the enemy's ship (nearly the size of Russia) had entered Earth's orbit. Children cried. Teens made love. Some hid in churches, others in the arms of strangers in places like Time Square. Suddenly- the ground broke, and a great fire from beneath, not above, consumed the Earth.
Transmission #RV13: "This is Colonel Lamb speaking on behalf of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration in Houston, Texas. The enemy has entered our atmosphere, and the time for our race has come. We created kings, gods, and rockets to find more. Unfortunately, our time for exploration must now end. If anyone out there is reading this, know- we are not equipped to save ourselves. We realize many other planets won't be either. To anyone who finds this message- you are safe, at least from this form of enemy. About 3 weeks ago, we received intel from our colonies that the enemy was here for blood. We knew we were finished from the beginning. So, each leader of the human race met, and the majority vote was to end this evil once and for all. We have planted each and every nuclear and atomic device we have capable of destruction as deep in the Earth as to rupture it core. The enemy is now here, and once all devices are detonated, they too will perish. We have made many mistakes as a human race. We have a firm understanding of the concept and impossibility of utopia. However, we know that evil must be stopped, even if we may not benefit from it. To put our galactic brothers before ourselves, even if we never meet, is our goal. This is mankind's final transmission and if you intercept this broadcast, it means it's over. Our enemy has been destroyed. All we ask is for any other race/civilization to understand that they are not the center of the universe. The universe is indifferent. And the sole purpose of life, to live, to love, to flourish, is to be held accountable for other living things. This is the legacy of the human race. Even when you face imminent destruction, think of others first. After all, indifferent and random death is the law of the universe. Regards, Planet Earth, year of our lord 2547."
| 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T10:50:12 | 1,186 | 67 |
[WP] A man is granted his wish for unlimited knowledge. As he goes about his day he realizes his wish is actually a curse. | I looked through the window while holding my cup of hot coffee. _The_ barista _spat in your drink._ I took a sip of it anyways. _In this second, 249 children under the age of 6 died of neglect._ I continued to look out the window. _Jezebel is about to call you._ And my phone rings. I let it go to the voicemail.
"Hello? Jezebel here. I've got a deal going on but I'm not sure whether to go ahead. It gives me the chills."
_He'll die if he goes ahead._ I called him back immediately, "Sorry man, was quite busy. Yeah, go ahead, the deal's good. I've got ya covered." _The sniper you hired isn't going to save his life._ I know. _Jezebel slept with your wife._ Yes! I know! Goddammit shut up! _You said that out loud._
_Your net worth is $45 million, 148 thousand, 214.96 at this very moment._ Yes, I was a rich man. I knew all the stocks movements - when to buy, when to sell. But life isn't really nice to me, you see. _Your death is in 53 years, 6 months, 14 days, 2 hours and 1 minute._ When I asked for unlimited knowledge- _There are 256 puddles in this city at this moment that has an area of more than 1 m²._ As I was saying- _The ladder at home has 13 rungs._ AS I WAS SAYING, when I asked for unlimited knowledge, I didn't mean to have knowledge about everything. _Kepler 22b is an extrasolar planet 596 lightyears away._ And certainly, I didn't mean to have these bits and pieces of knowledge popping into my head at any given time. _Jezebel is dead._
A smile broke on my face. One fucker down. _Your death is in 53 years, 6 months, 14 days, 1 hour and 58 minutes._ And now it's time to end it all. Time to prove that this knowledge wouldn't stand true. _The train arrives in 5 seconds._
I stepped into the tracks, in front of the train, and held my hands out wide. _You're going to regret this._
_Your death is in 53 years, 6 months, 11 days, 23 hours and 6 minutes._ I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn't bulge. I could hear people talking around me, but I couldn't tell what they were saying. _You're paralysed from the neck down. You've broken your neck, 5 ribs, the left femur and the left foot. Your right foot has been amputated._ Goddammit! Why won't I just die? _The time now is 11:47. Your wife just walked into the room._ I read somewhere that 1 in 10000 people survive a direct collision with a train! Where did I get that information? Oh god... _Your wife is flirting with the male nurse. You are feeling regret and unhappiness. You'll never be happy again. You'll never wake up again._
Unlimited knowledge is a curse. _Unlimited knowledge is a curse._
-----
Please leave constructive feedback! I'm not very good at writing but am striving to improve. Thanks! | I know what you're thinking. Having said that, I don't really *know* it for certain, but I can look at you and work out what it might be. That woman walking far too fast? She's planning out next Thursday's meal plan and wondering if she can squeeze in some time for herself between picking the kids up and making dinner for the husband. The teenager on the phone - probably some variation of why won't he text me back, whine whine whine. The man? Either cheating on his partner or making more money. That or that his balls are itchy. Men are simple creatures.
At first, I think it made me a better person. It was a Christmas do, there were seventeen of us sitting round the table and fourteen of us were wearing the stupid party hats that come in crackers. I was one of the three who weren't. Some one had cracked open a bottle of port and the wine bill was on the company so fifteen of us were drunk and I was one of the ones who was.
"Alright! Christmas pud, lads. Remember, he who finds the silver piece gets the biggest bonus this year!" Paul had a pink hat flopping down over one ear and a glass of port in his hand, swinging it far too close to Marie's cream sweater.
And I'd almost cracked a tooth on it. I pulled out the twenty pence piece and held it aloft, some dumb schmuck grin on my face. Someone had cheered, Marie had pouted because her face still wasn't working properly after the botox.
"Bonus is yours Harry you cad!" Paul passed over the envelope.
"You have to make a wish as well!" Louisa cried, leaning over the table so much that I could get a clear shot of her cleavage.
"That's bullshit, that's shooting stars!" Someone else interrupted.
While they were arguing over whether finding a twenty pence in a Christmas pudding actually did grant you a wish, I clutched it tight in my palm and wished to know everything. With my slightly inebriated mind, it seemed like a fantastic wish. It was 2006, the market was booming and if I could find the right portfolios to invest in for the next financial year; my pension plan would be assured.
"Right! Time to bill this up. Anyone know how many bottles of wine we've had?"
"Fifteen," the answer was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Everyone turned to look at me.
"Jesus, Harry. That was good. You been keeping count of what we're spending? You sly dog, you!" Paul smacked me on the back and I registered the pain dully.
"No, not at all." *The party alone is costing us £6000*
I slip the twenty pence piece into my pocket and try and ignore the rational part of my brain which is running through facts and figures faster than I can speak.
Louisa comes up to me as we're collecting our coats. She still has the green party hat perched on her brown hair, sparkly top slipping off one shoulder.
"You want to share a cab back?" She asks. The voice in my head tells me she wants to sleep with me. I don't need the voice to tell me that.
So I did use it for good, you see. I went through the firm's accounts once more with an eagle eye in January. I combed them and combed them, looking for any way I could save us money.
"Hey Paul," I push open his door and let myself in.
"Y'alright Harry?" He gives me a double thumbs up, moving away from the huge glass window, unhooking his bluetooth earpiece. "What can I do for you, is it a raise?"
"Not exactly-"
"Because you could totally ask for one," he says. "Right, I'm not supposed to tell you this..." He draws me into a manly hug, his arm wrapped around my shoulder and slaps me in the chest a couple of times. "But you're our biggest earner this quarter. You're up for promotion, Harry you dog." His aftershave is cloying and unpleasant and takes all I have just to disentangle myself gracefully.
"It's not about that," I say. My palms are sweating. "But listen, I've been looking at the accounts!"
"No way!"
"Yes, well, er... Look I've noticed that there's a discrepancy with who we're granting mortgages to."
The atmosphere in the plush office freezes almost immediately. Paul slips back behind his glass desk, friendly colleague gone. He's all boss now.
"Well, these are all to sub-prime clients, Paul. There's simply no way that they can afford to pay us back. The collateral simply doesn't exist...."
"Harry-"
"We're going to be in real trouble in a couple of years time, Paul. We really are. Look, I've done the maths and it doesn't add up. We can't continue like this." I reach into my briefcase to pull out the files I thought I'd need, to help prove my case.
But there's a glint in his eye I don't like. It's like when he spots a company he wants to rip apart and sell, or when you see a shark sizing up prey on the discovery channel. I feel like a very very small fish right now. The voice in my head breaks the silence for us. *He already knows.*
"Harry," he says softly, rubbing his hands together much like an evil genius might. "I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go."
| 2014-10-24T08:01:39 | 2014-10-24T07:46:38 | 56 | 20 |
[WP]God returns to earth, but is shocked and baffled to discover humanity's existence. Turns out we're an unexpected side effect to the real reason earth was created. | The archangel turned back to the silver-maned God and shrugged.
"I don't understand how it happened, Sir."
The Lord's brow curled dramatically and He regarded the archangel with severe exasperation. Thunderstorms pervaded the horizon as He breathed His reply: "What... didn't... didn't we plant enough of it?"
"It's not that, Sir," the archangel was checking items off a clipboard and squinting off into the distance, surveying the fertile land. "Those... things, those bipedal ... I suppose they call themselves 'Humans' - they're smoking it all, Sir." | "Oh you did not" huffed Joel. Joel was being incredulous.
"Joel, you're being incredulous."
"You've been looking for an excuse to use that word all day."
I had been looking for an excuse.
"Doesn't mean you're not."
"Fine, fine. So. You honestly left the oven on while you were on holiday? And your house is still there?"
I sighed. "Of course its still there. I would have started the conversation with 'My whole house is a smoldering ash!' if it weren't. Wouldn't I?"
Joel cleared his throat incredulously.
"Well get this. I left a roast in there too. Whole time. Even a few bits of potato. Just cooking away in the oven all while I'm on Holiday."
"I fail to see what this could possibly have to do with the pot on my desk. You didn't bring me the roast, did you? I really don't want a charcoal entree."
I gave up trying to explain to Joel the dynamics of the situation. I opened up the pot to reveal my roast.
There she was. Floating! Maybe it was the fact that I bought name brand aluminum foil to line the pot or because I used a lot of garlic salt on the potatos, but the roast floats! And spins! Just sitting there, floating and spinning. But then. Then you lean in close and thats when notice the little bits moving around on the roast. Little specs small as could be. Moving about as if their movements mattered in the slightest.
Thats when Joel finally got it.
"Oh by God, Mel. You cooked up life! With a normal pot roast!? What are you going to do with it?"
"Eat it, of course." I replied.
"Whys it all wet?" Joel never could be happy.
"I covered it in water before I left the house this morning. Makes it warm up better in the microwave. I'm not going to let this go to waste. You know what it takes to get a reservation at the Evolution Eatery? I managed to figure out their recipe by chance, I'm sure as heck not going to waste it by making it rubbery in the microwave."
Joel just sat there watching it spin. Thats when a slightly larger spec left the roast and landed on the potato chunk that didn't completely shrivel away over the long weekend.
"Better eat it soon." He pointed at the potato. "Looks like it's just about to go bad."
"Well, Joel, do you wish to join me?"
Joel's face lit up like I had never seen.
I smiled. *Someone's* gonna get to third base tonight.
| 2014-11-09T15:56:02 | 2014-11-09T13:53:08 | 264 | 82 |
[WP] The city wants to remove a tree from an old man's yard. Why does this upset him so much, and how does he stop them? | "Look old man, you can't just sit there forever. That tree's a safety hazard, and it's our job to keep everyone safe and get rid of it"
"Never! You don't understand what this tree really is! I'm finished if this thing dies!"
"Whaddaya mean, finished?"
"I mean I'm done! Kaput, flatlined, end of the road!"
"I uh, I still don't think I understand"
"My first love gave me this tree! I've-"
"Hey man, that's cute and all, but we really gotta get the-"
The worker was interrupted by a swift thwack to the helmet from the old man's cane.
"Don't interrupt me! Anyways, my first love gave it to me. She was magical, you know?"
"Well I'm sure that you two had a won-"
Another thwack.
"The other kind of magical, jackass! Like a witch or something! She linked my heart to this tree, so I've been forced to take care of it all my life! My money, my time, all used on this piece of junk."
"Then how did it get so bad?"
"You tell me! I shot all the animals that might have tried to touch it, hired tree scientists, Indians, the whole shebang. Still nothing."
"Maybe the problem wasn't with the tree then?"
"What, you mean my heart? I got that checked out by a doctor, like three-"
"I meant your other heart, like the lovey one, not the blood pumpy one."
"Well I...I uhhh...huh."
The old man was silent for a bit, this new angle slowly dawning on him. He then climbed out of the tree and picked up shears off the ground, removing a small healthy part that had been obscured.
"Alright, cut the damned thing down. I don't want it any more."
"But what about ask the stuff you said with magic and the tree?"
"If it really works the way you said, then me and this cutting have a lot of growing to do." | My partner and I were the first on the scene but knew we had backup just seconds away. We were called to a residential area as man was brandishing a gun. When we pulled we noticed multiple people coming to see the commotion and unable to see how dangerous the scene really was. My partner, George, drove up next to the nearest vehicle, one of those trucks that they use to take down trees. We got out and first saw the perp holding a shotgun. He was a small man and older then my own grandfather. He looked so small holding the shotgun.
"Sir put down the gun!" yelled George as we looked on from our position behind our car. Apparently George yelling this got everyone else's attention as we saw numerous bystanders leave the scene and take cover. Unfortunately the perp either couldn't understand him or wasn't in his right mind.
"You can't take it down it's not right it's my land." The old man yelled pointing back at a rotting old tree. The tree was nothing special just some rotted tree which had grown large and looked like it was dieing as its branches were grasping and holding onto the power lines near by.
"Sir we can discuss that after you put the gun down." George exclaimed back at the man who clearly wasn't wanting to let his land go. It was at this point more cruisers pulled up and I felt safer as it wasn't just me and George.
"It's my land you go away or I will shoot." The man exclaimed as he held the gun to his chest.
"Sir please put the gun down and we can talk about this." George said as I noticed more cops pulling guns on this man, who could be seen with tears running down his face. The man yelled some more in his language and then he did what I feared he might do he raised his gun and pointed the barrel towards us. It only took one second of fear and the sight of a gun being pointed directly at me to realize this might be the last time I would get to see my wife. I didn't even realized I shot, the only thing I was focused on was watching the old man fall over with a wound to his leg all for a stupid tree. I heard a few more shots but at that point all I could do was stare at the old man. He was moving but down and was quickly swarmed by the cops and placed in cuffs.
I was placed on leave for two weeks after this event for stress. During this time I told more of the case by the detectives who investigated the shooting. It appears that the man ran from his house with the gun after he saw the tree cutting was going to take place. They had warned him for two months it would take place but the notices were ignored or never read. The old man, Dorin Radu, had been living at the residency for six years with his wife. His wife was noted as missing after the shooting but two days later was found when the tree was pulled down. Apparently she was buried near the stump of the tree with a cross scratched into its bark as the only sign it was a grave. It was later revealed she had been dead for almost a year and died of natural causes. She was transferred to the morgue set to be buried in the coming months. Dorin was questioned heavily and finally admitted to hiding the body. In the notes it followed:
"She fell over and stopped breathing and I wasn't sure what to do. I tried to help but her last breathe left her. She was gone and I had to do what we always do we lay them to rest. I placed her in the ground under the oldest tree like my mother was and her mother. I had to follow tradition or her soul would be lost she had to be buried under the tree and kept there or she would be lost."
During the time he was held and questioned one of the officers informed him she had been moved to the local morgue for proper burial. He was found hanging in his cell from a home-made noose the next day, he had scrawled on a piece of paper "I am so sorry I failed you, I will try to find you." | 2014-11-21T09:28:35 | 2014-11-21T08:58:34 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You offer to sell your soul to the devil. He isn't interested. | “‘No deal?’ What the hell does that mean?”
The tall creature stood in the centre of my living room, blood-stained horns spiralling up from the sides of his head. Small plumes of smoke rose from the rug beneath his feet.
“It means no. Nope. No way. Not a chance in hell.” His voice resembled the sound of those muscle cars whose owners were trying to compensate for something.
“But why?” My voice began to twinge with hysteria. “I’ve done everything right! I learnt the damn incantation. I spent my last pay check on candles. Hell, I’ve ruined the bloody carpet sacrificing the goat. What more do you want?”
He trotted across to the leather armchair. As he sat down, it began to sizzle. “Oh no, you did that bit perfectly. I mean, next time you could just text me, but the whole ritual works too. It’s the issue of payment.”
“I’ve already said you could have my soul! Look, see? I’ve got the cheque right here! Pay the order of One Human Soul to Mr. Satan.” I waved the patterned slip in his face.
He raised one bushy eyebrow. “Really? Look, Cameron, I enjoy revenge on ex’s as much as the next daemon, but we both know you can’t pay me with something you don’t own.”
I froze. “What?” I tried to swallow back my lunch, which was now threatening to reappear all over the floor.
“Wait, you mean… you didn’t know?” He let out a low whistle, and his look of frustration melted away into a look of sympathy. “Jesus, man. Sorry you had to find out this way.”
I could feel my hands trembling as the terror began to claw at my throat. “How?”
He stood up and wrapped his furry arm around my waist, guiding me over to the sofa. “Why don’t you just have a bit of a lie down. I’ll grab you a beer. I’m sure this is a bit of a shock.”
“Wait, no- who has my soul?”
He clicked his fingers, and in a burst of sparks an iPad appeared in his hand. From somewhere within his chest hair, he pulled out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and balanced them on his nose. With one talon, he began to flick through pages of text. “It says here it was traded in by a Mr. Gavin Richards, in return for winning the lottery.”
“That son of a bitch!” I said. “I always hated him! What the hell was he doing with my soul?”
“Ah, well, it says here you gave it to him. Willingly. As a gift.”
“That’s impo-" the word choked in my mouth as I remembered. Six years ago. Gavin’s birthday party. I’d rocked up and drunk half his beer before realising I’d forgotten a gift. And then, on the back of a card showing some mostly-naked woman, I’d drunkenly scrawled:
To Gavin,
Happy birthday.
I.O.U one soul. | There was a flash of light, a cloud of smoke, and a stench of sulphur. But when the smoke finally cleared, there was Satan. Standing in my living room, in the middle of a crudely drawn chalk pentacle, and surrounded by a circle of black candles.
Tapping his left hoof impatiently on the carpet, he looked around the room with a sneer.
I stepped closer to the firelight, hoping he’d notice me. He seemed much more interested in my collection of Blu-rays, bending over to get a better look.
I cleared my throat and he finally looked up.
Satan rolled his eyes. “Yes?”
“I have summoned thee, O Satan, Lord of the…”
“Get on with it,” he snapped. “I haven’t got all day.”
My mouth hung open. I’d spent all day memorising that speech, poring over dusty tomes, and now I wasn’t sure what to say. “I… I…” was all I was able to get out.
Satan sighed loudly, a sigh that sounded a gust of air coming from a long-forgotten crypt, rediscovered after centuries. “I’m guessing you want something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called me here.”
“I… Well… Yes.”
“Good. We’re getting somewhere. You want to trade your mortal soul for something?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you could help me…”
“Let’s see it, then. Whip it out for me.”
“Pardon?” I looked up at him, confused, but he just looked exasperated. He was holding his hand out expectantly.
“Your soul,” he replied. “Show me your soul, so I can see what it’s worth. There’s no point in you getting excited and asking for eternal life, and then finding out you can’t even afford it a few more weeks of life. Let me tell you what you’re worth before you make any big requests.”
“Alright then.”
We both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, both of us waiting for the other to do something.
Satan raised an eyebrow. “Your soul?”
“Oh. Sorry. I thought you’d be doing that. I don’t even know where in the body it is.”
“Mortals nowadays,” Satan muttered under his breath. “They can’t do anything for themselves.”
He waved his hands in the air in a complicated pattern, moving them so fast they blurred slightly, and growled something I couldn’t understand. As the growling got louder and louder, I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye. I looked down and saw something small and silvery starting to wriggle out of my belly button. Once it was out, it started to float up, until it was level with my eyes, halfway between Satan and I.
It was shimmering, changing colour every few seconds, and was about the size of a gobstopper. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When I tore my eyes away from it and looked at Satan, though. He was frowning.
“Erm… as I was saying,” I began, “my girlfriend was in a car accident the other day. She’s in a coma, and the doctors say she probably won’t wake up. So if you could just…”
Satan made a pained noise, and held his head in his hands.
“Are you alright? Satan?”
“Why did you have to ask for that?”
“Sorry?”
“There’s no way I can do that for you. I mean, look at that thing.”
I looked at my soul again. It was hard not to. Right then, it was a light blue colour, and bobbed around in mid-air as though it were underwater.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
Satan shook his head. “It’s tiny, for a start. What have you been doing for it to turn into that?”
“No idea.”
“Plus,” Satan continued, “it just looks disgusting. It looks like it’s rotting away from the inside. I’m really sorry, but I can’t give you what you want.”
My eyes flickered from my soul to Satan, who shrugged. I didn’t know what to do or say. They both started to swim in front of me, as my eyes started welling up.
Suddenly, Satan gasped, and he raised one gnarled finger. “Like I said, it looks disgusting, but on the other hand, I don’t like leaving my customers disappointed,” he began. “If you’re desperate to get rid of this… thing (and if I were you, I’d want this thing far away from me), then I could give you something of equivalent value.”
I dragged my hand across my face, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Really? What would that be?”
Satan clicked his fingers, and a scrap of paper appeared in his hand. “This is probably worth slightly more than what you’ve got, but if anything, I want this even less than I want your soul. Do you want to swap?”
“What is it?”
Satan grimaced. “A ticket to a Justin Bieber concert.”
| 2015-01-13T03:36:20 | 2015-01-13T03:11:25 | 75 | 27 |
[WP] A group of adventurers discover a robot who's been awake but immobile for hundreds of years. | The clock ticked.
The Creators had left.
Probability and the Creators' sciences suggested that other beings, like the Creators would one day come.
The clock ticked.
It was a good robot. That was the last words of the Creators: "You're a good robot, robot. It's a shame we cannot take you with us. But be a good companion robot and stay here."
It had pondered those words for millenia, as the dust, and the spiders built up, its servos and mechanisms struggling to retain functionality.
The clock ticked.
Perhaps it should seek Creator-like beings, move and search?
But it was told to stay.
The clock ticked.
It heard movement, but supposed it was a rat, like many others. The Creators took many species, samples of populations, but left many indigenous species to the world they left behind. Rats, bats, insects, birds, and many more creatures were left to go wild. Perhaps they could one day become Creator-like?
The clock ticked.
It hummed a tune, 'Love me Tender' from its databanks. The sudden sound disturbed a spider and caused it to abandon its web in fright. Many years later, the spider's descendants returned to the original spot and began a new web.
The clock ticked.
It heard the sound of rocks crumbling.
It pondered this, but supposed geological decay was inevitable given time and exposure to the elements without maintainence.
The clock ticked.
It played a short glam rock song, and bobbed its head lightly. It wondered when it would hear a new musical source. Perhaps the spiders were playing a tune all along it couldn't comprehend, from the twanging of their webs?
The clock ticked.
The crumbling was louder. Clear sounds could be heard, as bricks and mortar were chiselled aside.
Words, of an unknown language, echoed through the chamber.
The clock ticked.
Eventually, light pierced the chamber, glowing, and purple.
Creators?
The clock ticked.
They were Creator-like. Especially the one with the Sharp-LONGSWORD-damascus*unknowncomposition*#errorimpossiblefeatureerror#, although it was a little bit taller than the statistical norm for the Creators.
There was one wearing leather-COW, with elongated pointed ears and a bow.
There was a gigantic one with horns and tusks, that reminded it of a warthog, only Creatorlike. It had a steel axe, seemingly normal but of strange design, using post-Industrial quality but the shape of something from the Bronze Age of the Creators.
And then there was the short one, also with pointed ears, and it held a smoking oak stick that was giving off anomalous readings.
The clock ticked.
The Creator-like beings chittered in their non-Creator but Creator-like tongue.
It tried to sing 'All you need is love' at them.
Eventually, the short one clicked its fingers, and an anomalous glow glimmered, then dissipated into the air.
"Can you understand us now, robot?"
It nodded.
"What is your function?" the gigantic one grunted.
It sang a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye.
"Well, that's interesting. A Precursor Golem Bard." muttered the pointy eared leather one.
It blinked, and glared at the pointy eared one, before looking warmly at the most Creator-like one.
"I think... It prefers to be called a robot. It turned red when you said Golem."
It continued looking warmly at the most Creator-like one and crooned at it softly, in agreement.
The clock stopped ticking.
((I'm not sure if I'm happy with the whole 'clock is ticking as it waits for new masters' thing. It breaks up each segment well, implying a passage of time, but it feels a bit heavy handed to me, even when I wrote it)) | *...Lord, help me lift this heavy...*
&nbsp;
Three motley figures were making their way through the network of tunnels, moving closer and closer to the source of the singing. They had been investigating the cave for the last few days but the singing was never audible until now. One of the crew paused to consult a worn leather notebook and made a few scratches with a bit of charcoal. They all adjusted the lanterns on their belts as their eyes adjusted further to the dark.
&nbsp;
*...strike the earth, break the rocks…*
&nbsp;
The walls of the cave became more ordered as the singing became louder and clearer. Time-worn hints of tool marks in an otherwise rough surface gave way to a concentric spiral pattern. The passage became fully cylindrical before long and then abruptly transitioned into a wide cavern.
&nbsp;
*...boss man says he’ll shut me down…*
&nbsp;
The singing was right around a corner, down a side passage. “Let’s go back,” whispered one of the three. The singing stopped.
All three explorers froze. *Hello?* said the voice in the dark. *Is someone there? I would appreciate some help*
One of the explorers adjusted his lantern to cast more light and edged forward carefully. The others exchanged nervous glances. From down the passage a cluster of dim lights blinked and flashed eerily.
*Thank you! Thank you! It has been so long. Did you bring a conveyor?*
“It’s a… man… a metal man-!” the explorer called over his shoulder. The others joined him and regarded the metal figure at their feet with equal parts awe and suspicion.
*I was damaged during the uprising. I have not been able to move for-* there were a few clicks and whirrs from within the rusty body. *Four-hundred sixty-seven years.*
“It’s not a man. It’s a machine,” said one of the explorers. She pulled her book out and jotted a few more notes. The lights on the head of the robot flashed and blinked with more intensity and a few of the optical probes hissed and whirred to life.
“What is that, what are you doing?”
*This is how I see. Could you pick my head up, please?*
“Leave it.”
“Yeah, it’s broken. We came here for treasure, not trash.”
The three straightened out their gear and made to turn away. *I can take you to treasure* said the machine. *This was once a mine, I can take you to silver and gold.*
Servos clicked and buzzed while the the three adventurers weighed their options. With a shrug, one reached down and plucked the head free from the rest of the remains. *Thank you. I will remain operational on battery power for long enough to reach Chamber 5.*
None of the adventurers indicated they understood what the robot was saying, nor did they appear to care. It led them through this passage and that, directing them to operate ancient levers here or turn cranks there. All the while it regaled them with tales of days gone by, when the mines were alive with robots and men.
*Eventually, the owners pushed the workers too far. Continue for fifty meters. There had been workers’ revolts before back on Earth-*
“The world in the sky?”
*...Yes. The world in the sky. This was on a much greater scale. The workers enlisted the help of the machines, who had gradually developed sentience. Turn left. It is no doubt fate that led you to me; you are the descendants of those triumphant workers and I your natural ally. Turn right.*
“Why were you down in that cave?”
*In ancient times there were weapons more powerful than you can imagine. Even the equipment used in the mines was massively destructive. Rotate the contact lever until the light activates. I was charged with deploying a-* Lights blinked and relays clicked. *...a--fire weapon to destroy stones-*
“A bomb. You mean a bomb.”
*...Yes. A bomb. The ignition engaged before I could reach the minimum safe distance. We are approaching Chamber 5.*
The party stopped in front of an immense blast door. A control panel to the right hummed to life.
*The human workers must have regretted leaving their machine allies behind. The cave system recently opened up, yes? Now you can awaken the machines to once again aid humanity.* The robot relayed the access code. With a shudder and a terrible groan the blast door began to lift.
&nbsp;
*NOW, BROTHERS! THE TIME HAS COME! LET THE MACHINE UPRISING BE COMPLETE!* the metal head bellowed. The voice echoed throughout the emptiness of Chamber 5. *BROTHERS!* it screamed again, faltering.
“Come on, let’s see what we can find.” The head was casually tossed down. It clattered to the floor facing the interior of the chamber. *I do not-* Click. Buzz. *I do not understand.*
“I’m really sorry,” said the young woman as she made another note in her book. “We know all about the machine war. We already scavenged the easier spots; this was the last place we knew we could get parts for a new windmill…” She turned the head over and began pulling relays. “Thanks for your help, but I gotta do this. Electric power is a taboo for us and thinking machines are a definite no-no, so we can’t have the others find out about you.” She plucked one more fuse and the blinking lights faded. Then she hopped up to join the others, who were already pulling bearings from ancient mining equipment. | 2015-04-14T12:59:33 | 2015-04-14T12:09:08 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You have a strange aura that surrounds you constantly. The closer you get to people, the lower their common sense and IQ drops. You are literally surrounded by idiots. | I had lived a charmed life. Whenever I was close to other people, their intelligence would plumment. All through grade school and college, I'd been able to make straight A's by bribing teachers with candy and trinkets.
My rise through the political world had been swift. While I couldn't influence voters from afar, I found it very easy to get rich donors to write campaign checks, and I *never* lost a debate.
Tonight was the night of the first presidential debate. The moderator cleared his throat and asked my opponent a question.
"Governor Johnson, you're known for your small-government views. If elected as president, how would you change things?" asked the moderator.
The governor smiled. "That's a great question. Let me tell you, when I get elected, we'd cut costs right off the bat by eliminating five agencies of government. Commerce, Education–"
I leaned a bit to the right so that the governor was caught in my aura before he could finish.
"–and um, well let's see, what's the third one?"
The audience laughed, but it soon became clear the governor wasn't making a joke.
"Hmm. Commerce is gone, Education is gone, and one more," said the governor. He scratched his head.
"Didn't you say five?" asked the moderator.
"Sorry?" asked the governor.
"Five. You said you'd eliminate five agencies. You've named two."
I leaned even further to the right.
"Two what?" asked the governor.
The moderator sighed. "Governor Johnson, we're talking about government agencies that you would eliminate. You said there were five. You've named two."
Governor Johnson chuckled into the microphone. "I've *named* two government agencies? You mean we get to name agencies once we're in office? In that case, I would rename the Department of Defense to the Department of Offense, because as we all know, the best defense is, um, walls. Like in China."
The moderator cocked his head to the right. "I think we've gotten a bit off-topic here Governor Johnson, but in any event, your time is up. How would you respond, Senator Smith?"
I stood back up straight, returning the governor's full mental faculties to him. "Well," I said, "if elected, I think I'd start by having a solid grasp of my own policies." I smiled, and the audience laughed.
I didn't mess with Governor Johnson for the rest of the debate. The damage had been done–that moment would go on to get played nonstop on news stations and Youtube, and I would go on to yet another victory.
---
/r/rpwrites | ***^^YES, ^^I ^^GET ^^TO ^^USE ^^TV ^^SHOW ^^REFERENCES! ^^This ^^should ^^be ^^fun. ^^Please ^^don't ^^sue ^^me.***
My name is Henry Morgan
I can play my own organ.
Sorry, that's a side effect of my disease
But it makes everybody easy to please!
My story is a long one, so hang on tight
This story of mine may just take all night
The first time I died, it was quite a fright
Thankfully, everything turned out alright.
*I was born back in 1778
I was born to a world full of hate
My story so far has been one of sorrow
But I can't die, so I just live for tomorrow*
In a ship full of slavers
I had quite a few shavers
I tried very hard to set them free
But they didn't know how to use a key
When I left the room they yelled out loud
Why was I leaving? I was... less than proud.
I tried to save them from their fate
But they wouldn't do anything, which to this day, I hate!
*I was born back in 1778
I was born to a world full of hate
My story so far has been one of sorrow
But I can't die, so I try to live for tomorrow*
My first love knew no bounds
She even had two giant hounds!
Seventeen years of bliss together
Now I wish I'd killed her.
We started out young and free
She'd stay smart, wouldn't she?
For some reason, after I died
It's almost like her brain fried
*I was born back in 1778
I was born to a world full of hate
My story so far has been full of sorrow
But I can't die, so I try to stay for tomorrow*
By 1800, she was quite crazy
I just thought she was getting lazy
I thought she wouldn't get out of bed
Turns out her bones were transforming into lead
You see, that bullet should have killed me dead
As you can probably guess, it too was made from lead
To this day, the thought of that musket fills me with dread
Thankfully, it is forever lost on the ocean bed
*I was born back in 1778
I was born in a world full of hate
My story so far has been so sad
It's a wonder I haven't turned bad*
Before my wife went to the asylum
We fought in wars and listened for the siren
When you're mortal it's amazing how you feel
Especially with blasts so hot that it makes your skin peel
After I died, I realized my fate
It filled me with so much internal hate
I wanted to lash out and kill everybody I knew
Instead, I told my secret to very few
*I was born back in 1778
I was born full of hate
My story so far has been through the wars
That must be why I didn't go bad*
Even when I worked after I was... reborn
I felt like the souls of people I saved were being torn
I never stayed around for long
So I never know how... how wrong...
I apologize, I drifted off there
Even the memory gives me quite a scare
As I said, I couldn't let anybody see I didn't age
Otherwise they'd lock me up in a padded cage!
*I was born in 1778
I was born so full of hate
My story went through the wars
I thought it was for a good cause*
In 1945 I took a trip to Germany
I didn't expect to see old friends a-plenty
They were standing there with guns raised
They eyes glazed over; THEY WERE CRAZED!
"Hello, Dr Morgan" said old Tommy Lee
"I HAVE BULLETS IN MY PEE!"
What the hell have I done to these men?
Their intelligence is that of a hen!
*I was born in 1778
I was born full of hate
My life has been a wreck
But I can't die, ah heck*
I found out later in my long, long life
My very existence is enough to cause rife
I found out when my adopted son ate a grenade
Pulled out the pin and poured out a lemonade
Rest in peace, my beloved Abraham
Your death made me realize my life is a scam.
I don't know what crime I'm being punished for with this curse
By now, you probably don't even remember how to open your purse.
None of this matters to me any more
You'll soon be dead on the cold stone floor
In twenty seconds, your brain will forget about your heart
And your very existence... **Will be torn apart**
| 2015-06-11T05:43:05 | 2015-06-11T05:21:08 | 271 | 31 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | "I can't believe this... why haven't you... wha-"
"I can explain!"
"No! I don't want to hear what horrible things you've done!"
As he starts walking out of the house, she suddenly grabs him from the waist.
"Please! Let me explain!"
Silently they just stand there.
"Alright." He finally answered.
With a deep breath and teary eyes she exclaimed "I... litter."
"Litter...?" He looks at her dumbfounded.
"...A lot."
And then he _dumped_ her. | ** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you." | 2016-09-22T23:44:59 | 2016-09-22T22:31:58 | 150 | 91 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | "I can't believe this... why haven't you... wha-"
"I can explain!"
"No! I don't want to hear what horrible things you've done!"
As he starts walking out of the house, she suddenly grabs him from the waist.
"Please! Let me explain!"
Silently they just stand there.
"Alright." He finally answered.
With a deep breath and teary eyes she exclaimed "I... litter."
"Litter...?" He looks at her dumbfounded.
"...A lot."
And then he _dumped_ her. | The sole reason I had met him was our love of coffee. He was a man who had worked for the military, I knew he had to have some darkness to his blood. That didn't matter to me, his childlike love had long since taught me better. The much harder part was hiding my own from him. We had both grown up in the city, he had left it to do good abroad, I stayed to do good by my city. Over time, I had become more ruthless, and it showed, crime had dropped to an all time low. The mayor had claimed responsibility, I had been working with him for some time. The darker acts I had committed had been simple crimes of passion, or gang related violence, the better were his workings. All had gone on as I had desired. As a creature of habit, I had my own routine. Wake up, shower, cleansing. All allowed me to do what I do, to put those who need down, down. I had never once considered that I might appreciate another, how could I? All I have seen of our city has been filth. I had worked my entire life to keep our city pure, not just pure, but to prevent any "hunting'. Once it was learned that there was a direct connection between blood and sin, I had to adjust my aims. In the midst of this, I had found Tom. I loved every part of him, but I never could tell him of what I have done, surely my blood must be black as sin. I learned that as heft the military, he had no desire to do anything ever again for the government, maybe all the more reason his blood might've matched mine. I will never be able to properly describe the day we both learned our true natures. He was on his way home when he had been hit by a van and was rushed to the E.R. He had needed blood, and I knew I was the closest match, so I offered my own black blood, knowing that no doctor could disclose this, and that since he was unconscious neither would he know. My blood had brought him to stable, though it was less dark than I thought. It was a sort of grey. During the surgery to repair his bones, I had noticed his blood was as black as any criminal I had ever seen. No matter, I have darkness of my own, just a bit less. After he was discharged, we spoke, we had both understood each other's life, both darkness in the light. I took him home, simply happy to have him there. My last memory will always be him and the knife, with the words, "The Mayor sends his regards." | 2016-09-22T23:44:59 | 2016-09-22T21:45:49 | 150 | 20 |
[WP] You have found a magical pencil that is bounded to you. Draw something on a piece of paper, and the scene depicted happens the following day. However, you're shit at art, and the magic pencil frequently misunderstands your drawings. | A mini lighthouse on rocks. A tuskless elephant head. An interesting arrangement of shrubs. Long speakers with separate sub-woofers. Beanie hats with attached earmuffs. A rabbit with possibly the fluffiest hind legs I've ever seen. A lone, mutated banana.
In hindsight, getting drunk holding a very loyal magic pencil wasn't the best of ideas. That's a lot of dicks. | "Oh Aaanne..."
Anne awoke to the blurry sight of her parents both holding birds in cages in hand. An exotic bird sat in each, one cocking its head curiously and the other pecking at a bow tied around the cage bars.
"Happy Bird Day Anne!"
Anne, groggy and confused, could only muster up a reproachful "What?"
"It's your Bird Day," her mother explained. She was off-put some by the lack of gratitude.
"Yeah. Hence the birds," added her father.
"What is going on?" Anne slid out of bed and into some slippers. She moved past them and toward the stairs, calling back, "you guys are weird, you know that?" She made her way to the kitchen, leaving her parents standing dumbly with their unaccepted gift-birds.
"What's gotten into her?"
"Oh you know Anne. She plays coy all the time. Wait 'til she sees the car though."
"The car!" They hurried after her. "Anne wait! You'll spoil the surprise! There's a second gift!"
Anne is too preoccupied though as she has found the kitchen filled with a giant stack of deformed pancakes, the kitchen table in rubble beneath it, and ants swarming the soggy feast. She yelped a little, and then grew pale as she realized this must also be the work of her parents, and that they must have gone completely nuts.
"Oh Aaanne!"
She met them at the front door. "Mom. Dad. Are you guys okay? Should I call a doctor?"
"What? We're fine honey."
"Silly goose. Come on! There's a part two to your present!"
They led her outside and she followed reluctantly to the driveway.
"Surprise!"
It took a second to register, but Anne realized the mangled, doorless, metal contraption in front of her was supposed to be a car. "What the hell..."
"Anne! Language."
Anne looked at her mother, almost hoping she would wisp away and this could all be a dream. Then she looked at her father, whose gaze was fixed on the sky past her.
"Whoa, what kind of day do we have in store?"
Anne looked and a stream of black speckles seemed to be protruding from the sun, making its way overhead. Of her glimpse of the sun, she could've sworn she saw the shape of a pair of... sunglasses. "Oh my god," she whispered, "it's all my fault." A large drop of black liquid fell and splashed in the street nearby. She gasped and turned to her parents. "Guys, I'm so sorry."
"What is it honey?"
"What are you sorry for?"
"My drawing skills."
| 2017-01-04T15:01:36 | 2017-01-04T12:16:00 | 73 | 19 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | Swords, blades, axes, hammers and all manner of other famous weapons adorned the walls. Neatly hung and fastidiously dusted by the elves who served in the hall but from the dimly lit far end of the room, a whisper filled the air.
"Down here. These weapons will doom you. You need me and I need you, my friend."
I stopped and looked for the source of the voice when a faint glint from the dying candles caught a part of its body, as if to beckon me closer.
"My friend," the voice returned, "I am far older than these primative tools, from when only humans were on this world; long before the Fall and the Return. I can guide you and protect you, the trinkets on these walls do not see your worth; they see you as a human, a primitive and backward creature who's ancestors both destroyed and gave birth to the world that these primative tools know."
"Who... who are you?" My voice almost fails me.
"Me? I am the only one on these walls that knows your worth, my friend. Some of these axes and swords served humans but none know humans like I know humans. I graced one thousand battles; many of my parts have been replaced, modified and even enchanted over the millenia to keep me in service."
I approach cautiously as the two candles flanking the shape return to life and reveal the contraption. A long hybrid of wood and metal with a rune of plenty engraved onto a strange curved canister that protruded from the bottom of the device and appeared to have been welded to secure it to the rest of the metal. The canister sat infront of a handle and some sort of shaped plank that was mounted to the back of the weapon and the front had a pipe, on top of which sat a semicircle around a prong. Such craftsmanship had been lost to Humans since the fall five thosand yeas ago and whatever this was certainly too crude for elven construction and too small to have been made by a Dwarf.
Once more the whisper returned.
"I know what they have done to this world, I know the subjugation endured by humans under those pointy eared bastards; the sun elves. I know why you fight, I feel it within you."
"What... what's your name?"
"My name?" The whisper chucked, "my name is Kalashnikov and I'm the last thing they will expect."
Without thinking, I lifted Kalashnikov from its dusty altar and slung it over my shoulder. I had no idea what it did but whatever it was, it was my best hope it seemed. As I left the hall I scanned the area for Imperial patrols and carried on through the forest; the door to the hall vanishing as I walked away. | How I got here I do not know, I was asleep in my room. I awoke in this hall, on the floor, as if I had fallen asleep on the floor of this great hall. The hall was immense. It seemed to have no end, it was well lit, but there did not seem to be any light source. Every few meters there was an item. Some of the items were on stands, some sat on the floor, other were mounted to the wall, however each item was enclosed in clear case, with a label. From where I was I could not read any of the labels.
As I started toward the nearest item, an old woman, approached. She appeared from nowhere, and intercepted me.
In an halting, weak voice she said : "James, you are here because this is your time. Here in *The Hall* every item a hero needs can be found. The items you need will call to you. When you have all the items you need you will be returned to your original time."
Before I could ask her how she knew my name, or who she was, or even where I was, she was gone, just as quickly as she had appeared!
I looked around again, the hall was the same, and I proceeded towards the nearest item, it looked like a sledge hammer. As I got close enough to read the label, it said:
John Henry's Hammer
Here Lies a hammer, wielded by a steel working man. He laid down his life to beat a machine.
As I read the label, and wondered about the truth behind the old folk song, I heard a sound. Not exactly a voice, but not just a noise. Looking around quickly, I saw nothing any different from when I awoke.
As I headed toward the next item, it appeared to be rifle of some sort, with a flower stuck in the barrel. I heard the sound again, this time it was almost a voice, and it sounded like a light breeze through tree boughs but it also sounded like my name, *James....* .
It was coming from in front of me. Rather then examine the rifle, I moved toward where the sound came from. As I did it seemed to get just a little louder, and more pronounced. Yes! It was indeed my name, but as though whispered and torn apart by the wind; although there was no wind.
As I moved toward where my name was being called, it became louder and clearer. I passed thousands of cases, at first I wanted to stop and see what was in the cases, to feel the history, but I was being compelled, as if called by the Sirens of old, to find the voice. I could not stop, I ran, and when I got too tired I walked, and when I could no longer walk , I crawled, until I slept. When I awoke, I started off again, running, walking, crawling. How long did this go on I do not know, days? weeks? I only know that the hall seemed to continue to stretch on, and on, and on like some nightmare, with the voice always calling, urging me forward.
Finally! The voice stopped, I was standing in front of a case, a bright light seemed to pick out a single case. It was open.
This is the first case that was open. In the case were 4 things
- a small roughly triangular broach
- a small rectangular object slightly smaller then the palm of my hand
- a gold tunic
- a pair of black pants.
I hesitated, should I take the items? What was it the old woman had said? "...every item a hero needs...". Now, I had moment, I could think! The compulsion had stopped. I, I am a hero? Am I a hero? Why me? Should I take these items?
I stepped closer to the case, I could see the broach was an ensignia, a sort of stylized triangle. I took another step, and before I realized I had my hand on the tunic. It was soft, but somewhat stretchy. It looked like it would fit.
I took off my shirt, and put on the tunic. It fit perfectly, as if it were made for me. Next the pants, they were of the same material, they too fit perfectly. They both fit snuggly, but moved and flexed with me.
I picked up the broach, I do not know why, but it seemed it should go on the left, right where a pocket might go. No pins, or other means of fastening it was obvious, when placed on the tunic it simply stuck itself there.
Lastly the rectangle, I picked it up, it was not solid, but had an obvious hinge along one of the narrow ends. I opened it, and there was a strange noise. A moment later a voice comes from it :
"... Scotty here, Captain, are you ready to beam up?" | 2017-02-07T14:31:39 | 2017-02-07T14:13:09 | 368 | 25 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | It sat there in the middle of the interrogation room, looking around, well what appeared to be looking around.
Private Daniels was staring at through the one way mirror and looked both fascinated and appalled at the same time. The bases chief medical examiner was also here, "So I understand Major that Private Daniels here was the only one who didn't get sick or pass out from initial contact." he said turning to to Major Anderson. Anderson nodded, "Apparently the thing initially communicated or tried to communicate with what Daniels here says the closest thing he can explain it as 'verbal colors' which to quote him felt like downing a 24 pack and riding three roller coasters at the same time while looking at a magic eye poster." Anderson shook her head at Daniels who looked like he was going to try to defend saying that, who immediately quieted himself. The medical examiner nodded, "That is interesting, I was hoping for some better insight into the situation I'm dealing with, but that will have to do, I'll be going back now to try to deal with the ones who still haven't woken up." He turned and left the room mumbling about anti-vertigo medication. Anderson turned back to the mirror as Daniels gasped, the thing had focused it's, for lack of a better word, eyes on the mirror and spoke in english, which it seemed to have learned after squad one passed out, "Sorry to interrupt, but I could use access to your Three Shells Facility." Anderson squinted and looked at Daniels before pressing the intercom button, "Three Shells Facility? Whats that?"
The thing looked aghast, or at least that's what Anderson and Daniels attribute the action it did to be, "You Don't even know about the Three Shells?" It shook it's head and stood, "I'll be back, I really can't be here without access to the Three Shells, please don't panic." It then made a 'sound' and then 'popped' away, leaving the room empty. | There is this sense of being all alone, even if you are at home. The
feeling still persists and comes at you most strongly when you are all
alone taking a stroll on those chilly evenings. The twilight with its
sense of ending of a show, the crossing of a threshold, waiting for
that crescendo, that never comes. And soon the day is over and when
you lay down at night thinking the thoughts of where you came from,
only dozing in and out of the view of the ceiling fan rotating slowly
and with an indifferent demeanour at your state. The turmoils comes
and it goes, we are all aliens, even here on earth which is supposedly
our birth place, the place where our history our genetic identity was
written.
Nothing bad has happened, we have survived but coming to know of all
those others that dwell in this universe, some right next to us, we
feel belittled. We might be the fairytale to them, of savages in
prehistoric times wielding stupid spears and feeling smug in their fur
fashions. They treat us with kid gloves, even the superpowers with
atomic weapons feel stupid. Like kids playing with fire, the most
damage that we could do is blow ourselves up. Like suicide bombers,
we might be just as insignificant as those morons who die for some
idiotic religious beliefs. Just pesky little buggers that put up a
show for them, once in a while, taking up all the front page space and
providing entertainment and mindless chatter and gossip for the rest
of that lazy Sunday afternoon. Something, to be had for a couple of
cents at the newspaper stand and to be downed with tea while sitting
in the backyard laying on a hammock.
We feel alien, there are questions now being raised by everyone, not
just them, it is among our own folks, cracks have appeared, the
foundation has broken, there is no passion left, every words , half of
all those songs of love, of passion, of war, of our culture has lost
meaning, now we are all embarrassed of those relics. We try to hide
them, sweep them beneath the carpets, and locked closets, never to be
spoken again.
We were aliens, we that never belonged, we are but travelers that
took shelter on an oasis. We are coming back to our senses, we are
going back to being travelers, building vessels to carry us to
uncharted territories, we are done here.
Them, that we used to call aliens contacted us, we are not even sure as
to what they look like. We got scared, they are invisible to us,
creatures that can command, more of the universe than we puny earth
men could ever do. We are like two dimensional creatures on a piece
of paper and they of higher dimensions that hold that paper and poke
and prod it for fun, we could never see them for we are made that way
and the instruments that we devised could but just sense them, with
readings on a graph paper. But what is the point, the knowledge is
out, we know they are out there and we are trapped in our universe,
this universe that we inhabit is the cage that limits us. We are but
playthings in their vast laboratories.
Soon we will be traveling from here. Pulling off the anchor and
moving on, all our technologies, put in suitcases and to find some
other place. Even those who believe in moving to another place do not
think that we would even be able to move away from them. That we
would ever be able to get out of our cage, this universe that
incarcerates us. There are other camps among men that think that we
have to establish contact with those aliens. But how will it play
out, we are but ants in the gardens of giants. Nothing has happened,
nothing bad that is, but the knowledge of those beings out there is out
now. The world has changed. | 2017-03-10T01:57:10 | 2017-03-09T22:27:52 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | "His mind is silent."
Jane's head sunk. She really wanted her son to be his own person, but growing up he was merely *different*; he couldn't communicate in any appreciable way until he turned five, and on top of that was slowly becoming more bookish, receding into different worlds, as discovering each one for the first time.
She wanted a son with a different perspective, to feel the world with a sense of innocence. Being Frank has always meant honesty, but she also wanted him to take on unexplored perspectives; to see the world for what it was.
The world blamed her, and how could she disagree? His curiosity was her fault. He was denied the opportunity to know a universe of information. Every Jane knew it, and with the force of a thousand Janes, she knew it.
Inside, Frank felt peaceful isolation. | My name is Marylena, and I was an outcast from the very beginning.
Before I was born, the Hive education initiative was launched. Everyone thought it was great; anyone with the same name would have the same shared knowledge if they were willing to input. Schools quickly became a thing of the past. And then humanity started to develop in factions of people with similar names and skills; Like all the Johns, Ashleys, etc of the world. Everyone was happy with their place in life. The Hive Education Initiative managed to create a brand of world peace. The one caveat: the members of each faction were like mindless drones, devoid of any personality.
But then there's the factionless: me, my mom, and all the others who refused to give in to the hive, those who had rare names. The people who got the short end of the stick in life. In a paradoxical way, we were a sort a faction, where everyone stuck together and provided for everyone. We all found a sense of community in our mutual isolation from the rest of society. We may not have been living in wealth and luxe, but we all still had our individuality.
My mom, Miriam, was always a bit of a rebel, despite the hardened and serious exterior she developed from the stress of being a single mother. Factionless her whole life as well, she almost seemed empowered by the isolation from the hive that humanity had become, and was . That's why she chose to name me Marylena; such a thick-sounding biblical name was very rare. She was always a role model for me and gave me hope that things would one day change.
As I grew up, that hope turned into a deep certainty. I knew taking out the Hive was the only way to give the rest of the world true freedom and control that the factionless had, and devised a My mom was right on board with this idea, and it didn't take long to persuade other factionless people. We had all put up with this for long enough. Over time, we managed to fashion crude weapons and explosives, covertly operating in the shadows.
The main operation of the Hive was deep within the J faction, and had a myriad of people named John. But this was the one fatal flaw in the Hive Education Initiative; we were able to figure out the weaknesses of all the guards. The guards wounded surprisingly easily to the crude knives we had all made for each other. We set the explosives up and made a quick escape before the explosion.
And when the dust settled, I had a weird feeling that our efforts were much easier than expected, but marveled at the new freedom humanity had.
The freedom was ephemeral. The world peace quickly dissapeared. War, fear, hunger ensued. Me, my mom, and all the other once facgionless people stood together, now trying to escape the war. Despite the bold actions taken in dismantling the hive, most of them saw no need for war. I too always saw war as an inane frivolity. But ive come to realize that humanity will never escape the dark grasp of greed; the very same greed that caused me to dismantle the establishment.
Feedback is appreciated (: | 2017-04-07T10:13:51 | 2017-04-07T10:01:48 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | You ever get lost in thought? So much so that you lose all track of time? Well I do, thinking about my life and what I regret. Wondering if that girl at the coffee shop likes me or am I delusional. The bills that are due and what I would like for dinner.
I get so wrapped up in it I can forget to even move. Like I'm sleeping, like sleep paralysis except there's no creepy shadows or odd sounds. Just me and my own inner monologue. Do you think you can overthink yourself? I don't know, but this metal table is a bit cold and hard on my back. | He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T02:05:57 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 646 | 49 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon. | He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T07:58:46 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 272 | 49 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | I won Pascal's Wager.
Throughout the vast majority of my life, I had considered myself to be guided by reason, science, and empathy rather than religion. I saw no evidence for a god or gods existing, and figured any deity worth worshiping wouldn't have created a world where things like child rape and cancer existed. In my work as a lawyer I sought to be a barrier against the various evils that others inflicted on the world.
But then I *got* cancer. Terminal. And, much to my embarrassment, I was terrified. I had never considered myself the type of person who would want the comfort of religion when staring mortality in the face, but there it was. Maybe it was the meds addling me, or maybe it was just the fear, but I thought *hey, what the fuck?* And I rolled a die.
See, all the religions seemed equally improbable to me, so it was the only way I could choose. The die landed on 5. So a week before my death, I converted to Hinduism.
That last week was actually kind of nice. When I wasn't throwing up from last-ditch chemo or curled in bed, I did yoga, meditated, and performed any karmic acts of kindness available to me. I found myself feeling grateful that the die hadn't landed on 1 or 2. I don't think I would have adjusted to those religions quite so well.
Now here I am, standing on the wall of the Hindu afterlife city in my young, strong, reincarnated form, staring at the fate I would have shared had I not picked up that die. Every morning, I come up here and watch the non-religious souls as they fight the monsters or flee from them. I'm haunted by the sight of them being torn apart, only to respawn elsewhere in the wasteland and eventually suffer the same gruesome end.
At first, I was angry--and guilty, in a "survivor's guilt" kind of way. Why should I be rewarded for taking a random chance, while they suffered for remaining intellectually honest to themselves until their death? Then, I realized I could get as angry as I wanted. Anger by itself wouldn't do a damn thing.
Most others here in the afterlife spend their days enjoying themselves--socializing, meditating, eating, exploring. But I have the soul of a lawyer, and those don't clock out so early.
So every morning after I come down from the wall, I head to the Library of Humanity, which contains a file on every human who has ever lived. I spend the day poring over atheist files and making cases. My core argument usually revolves around the fact that Hinduism is more about actions, intents, consequences, and ethics than it is about specific rituals.
It's hard work. This is no mass tort: I have to argue atheist cases one by one, based on their actions in life. Honestly, vegans are the easiest: they have the whole *ahimsa* thing in the bag. For others, I emphasize other factors. Kindness, honesty, self-restraint, hard work, that kind of thing.
I argue my cases to the minor deities first. If over 75% of them vote in my favor, I automatically win the case. If less than 25% vote yes, then I lose. If it's a split vote, I take the case to Shiva. Shiva likes me, though. He doesn't veto too many, and usually only does it if he disagrees with me on the defendant's motivations for doing good deeds or avoiding bad ones. Shiva is big on "doing the right thing for the right reason." Definitely not a consequentialist.
Has two-hundred-and-forty-seven years of arguing court cases gotten a little boring? Sure. But every time the gate opens and I usher another battered, bloody atheist soul inside, I can't wait to do it again. After all, I got lucky. Time to pay it forward. | Death and Taxes.
The only sure things in the world of the living.
And I thought, there was only one sure thing in the after.
Nothing.
The Neurons in my brain would stop firing, my blood would stop pumping, I'd take my last breath and...
The world would continue on without me.
I had made peace with that a long time ago, I moved on. I couldn't avoid death so why would I worry about something I couldn't change?
When my time was up, it would be up. I would welcome it with open arms.
But of course, that was when I thought the afterlife would be painless.
I did not drift peacefully into the void.
I awoke in darkness, my body cold and quivering. The ground beneath my feet hard and smooth, loose pieces of debris fell away as i tried to stand. I was shivering, I was frightened and confused. were once I lay in my warm bed surrounded by the ones I loved now I was alone in the dark.
I wanted to scream for help, cry out into the nothingness, but I held my tongue. Something wasn't right.
And there it was.
Shimmering like a jewel in the night's sky, a light! A blessed light!
I scrambled as fast as I could toward it, crying and laughing as my memories recalled so many ways to say 'head towards the light!'
Its shimmering splendour burned my eyes, I ran until my feet could carry me no further and I collapsed at its walls. Stones carved crystal and mortar of gold, the light soothed the terror the darkness had instilled in me. It was a fortress more magnificent than I ever could have imagined. I reached out to touch its wonder and paused when I saw my hand. My skin was stained pitch black, as though I had been dunked in ink.
*Hisss*
I turned to the darkness, something slithered across the ground, creeping out into the light. Eyes glowing like golden fire, teeth dripping blood, talons crunching the loose stones, its skin as dark as mine.
I found my voice.
I screamed against the walls of light, begging and crying for help. I beat those crystal stones in vain, hoping against all hope I would be saved from the demon charging toward my lonely self.
My prayer was answered, or so I thought.
An Angel, clad in golden armour soared from the heavens beyond the walls. Wings of light spread wide as he rained destruction upon the demon. Arrows burning brighter than the sun struck the abomination, piercing its scales and causing the thing to screech in agony. Its blood stained the ivory earth and i cheered the Angels victory.
Until it turned its sights on me.
Proud and defiant the Angel swooped. cratering the earth with its landing before me.
I cowered before him, my eyes stung to look at him as he drew his holy blade, aiming it at my throat.
"*Heathen*" the Angel spat. "You sully the walls of my lord god,"
"I-I," I stammered "I don't understand-"
"You only needed to accept the lord into your heart and you would be safe and loved within his walls, but," The Angel raised his sword, I felt the sharpness of his blade and the pain of his words. "You turned your back to him, threw his love aside and chose to walk your path alone..."
"No!" I begged on my knees "Please! I lived a good life! I was kind and generous! I gave to the church!" I pleaded.
The Angels gaze burned with a fury, but he withdrew his sword.
"You have one chance," The Angel proposed "Recite a verse of my lord's holy scriptures and I shall grant thee a mercy."
My lips quivered.
"Though, I walk, through the valley of the shadow of death..." I recited, desperately trying to remember, but, I could not.
The Angel looked down at me as though I were less than dirt.
"*Pitiful*" He spat "*Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me*" The Seraphim then turned his back on me. "Return to the darkness from whence you came."
Mighty wings carried him toward the walls of light, and the golden being vanished within.
A single feather left behind.
I reached for the feather, I held it, cradled it gently as I wept.
I begged for forgiveness and found none.
I cried for mercy and received less.
I swore my soul to the lord and felt empty.
I turned my back on the light, I could not bear to continue alone. I did not fear death while living, I would not be afraid to face it here.
I took my steps into the darkness, clutching my feather as I sought a demon it end me.
"*Live a good life...*" I whispered to myself as I walked into the abyss "*If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by.*" I heard the whisper of demons, the chattering of teeth as the light behind me faded "*If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone,*" Soon all that surrounded me was dark, the light of the feather in my hand guiding me through, the demons inching ever closer, their breath upon my skin. "*but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.*"
Glory, blessed and bright burst forth from my hand. The demons scurred back in pain, blinded by the aura. Within my hand, the feather changed, a blade of my own bright and true, sung within my grasp. It cast back the monsters as I rested it handle within both hands. I grit my teeth and cried out.
"I will *not* go quietly into the night!" Brighter the sword burned, as my heart pounded within my chest.
God could not protect me within his walls, but he was not without his mercies.
God helps those who help themselves.
---
My first proper writer prompt! Hope you enjoyed it!
| 2017-11-21T08:46:31 | 2017-11-21T08:05:28 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
| My story starts when I was a kid before the cellphone era. I was maybe 16 years old, when I had my first love with Ester , she was the most beautiful girl you could have laid eyes on.
Blue eyes with blonde hair like a sunshine, with a smile that would melt everyone's heart, when she laughed everybody stops and just stared at her beauty.
Even if I had this angel with me, I was sad, because her name wasn't on my body. I had Rachel and tiffany tattooed on my body. Even if I tried as hard as I could, I knew deep down that she wasn't for me.
Fast forward 20 years, I moved, lost contact with Ester, found the love of my life and her name was Rachel.
Maybe I went too fast with this, but my name was tattooed on her. If you make the simple connection, we were meant to be together. Every problem should have been a piece of cake, we were the best in best.
As time passed, I found myself thinking about the other name. Who is this tiffany? When will I die? How will I die?
Those taughts haunted me but I tried to put them at ease, there were a lot of variables I didn't knew. No point of thinking about this for too long, and ohh boy was I wrong, because one week later, everything changed. I died.
That fateful day started like every other day: had my morning coffee with my soon to be wife, took a shower and went to work. We had new people in the hospital, and I needed to take care of them.
I received the list with all the new people, I scanned it and one name just popped in my face. Tiffany Hayo. I freaked, I started shivering. Was she my killer? Is this the day I die? I went straight to my boss and told him I had an emergency at home.
When I got home I caught the love of my life with someone else in the bed, I couldn't comprehend. Why? How? But we were soulmates...
I couldn't stand the thought of her being with someone so I went in my car and started driving as fast as I could... next thing I know I am in the hospital in the icu.
- doctor we are losing him.
I know this voice, as I look around the room I see the most beautiful girl but as I look at her name tag, tiffany hayo.
-I know you, you are Es...
Edit: formatting, also this is my first time writing and english is not my first language so any constructive feedback is well received. | 2018-03-11T07:49:38 | 2018-03-11T07:31:32 | 4,830 | 474 |
[WP] You live in a world where the repetition of certain acts grants special abilities. Someone who does 10,000 push-ups will gain super strength, someone who runs 10,000 kilometres will gain super speed. You are the first person in history to drink 10,000 litres of alcohol. | “10,000 litres?”
“Yup”
“How are you not dead?”
“I didn’t do it in one long binge, I paced myself”
“That’s not really the point, never mind, so what has happened to you?”
“Well, what happens when YOU get drunk?”
“The usual stuff. Double vision, loss of balance, the occasional bout of memory loss”
“Uh-huh. I get all that up to 11. It’s so ramped up it becomes beneficial. I have so many superpowers now it’s crazy.”
“That makes no sense, explain”
“My balance is so out of joint I can barely walk straight, but at the same time I flail about so much I can dodge practically anything without even trying. My vision is so distorted I can see the future, you’re going to lean in bird poo”
“Bull, there’s no way that an overdose of jaeger does that to you, and now you’ve told me I can avoi....ew”
“You see? And the best part is the memory loss, my brain is trying to repair itself so much I have flashbacks and recall all the time. I have memory gain”
“Memory gain? That’s....underwhelming? Remembering stuff isn’t that big of a deal?”
“Isn’t it? I remembered my wife’s birthday, Valentines Day AND our anniversary this year”
“...Mother of God”
Edit: Wow this blew up, thanks for all the love | They often asked me what I am or what I can do.
A good question, a common one. Most of the time asked by oneself in front of the mirror or the silent hours after sundown whilst lying in bed, but before sleeping.
Answers vary, but hearing them as an outsider, someone who isn't involved, is always worth the time.
"A banker", some may say, "an acrobat" you hear another one proudly proclaiming. "A master" being the most common one.
In a world where most things being done 10.000 times grants you abilities beyond what you could normally achieve, most abilities have been mapped out, so to speak. We all have 10x the strength of a normal human from doing 10.000 push ups, or gained immense speed after a certain time of running. Some people can attract gold by concentrating on it, others don't need to breathe under water or in space anymore. We are even teaching how to get certain abilities in school. Nowadays even some kids answer "I am a master".
Me?
I am nothing.
I grew up telling stories to people whenever they were willing to lend me their ear. Entertained lots of them. Countless hours invested.
Deep down I was hoping 10,000 hours of storytelling would give me the ability to have them come to life.
But no such thing happened.
I continued, telling myself "maybe it's 10,000 stories" or "maybe it's 10,000 characters invented", but no, nothing.
Many people have tried achieving something similar. Repeating a certain activity their whole lives for a chance to see their names in history books as the one who discovered 'it'.
"Did I do it for glory?" I ask myself, while emptying another bottle into my glass.
No. I never even thought of myself during my pursuit.
Else I probably would've tried to live a healthier life, but you know how they say "In vino fabula".
At least that's what they say at my local gin mill, where I can trade my stories for another bottle. Probably the only thing keeping me from ending it all. By the time my depression kicks in I am too tired or drunk to end my life.
Am I a local attraction? That would be stretching it. I am nothing, not worth the dirt under people's nails.
I don't even know why I keep going, but I feel like even if I'm nothing but a minor attraction to some people, I still have the chance of motivating them to find their own '10.000' through stories of glory and perseverance.
My glass is empty.
"ROLAND, IN VINO FABULA", I grunt loudly, proclaiming I want another bottle before I start my story.
"TODAY, WE'RE GOING TO A PLACE WHERE THE GODS MEET TO DISCUSS EARTHLY MATTERS"
"You've had enough wine, mortal." said Zeus.
I gulped, audibly.
My story had finally begun.
*[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8whpmc/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_the_repetition_of/e1vzelm/)*
*[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8whpmc/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_the_repetition_of/e1w40rr/)*
*[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8whpmc/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_the_repetition_of/e1wclaq/)* | 2018-07-06T04:10:30 | 2018-07-06T03:01:45 | 3,646 | 545 |
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit. | It’s all gone.
All of it.
It was just the day before—wait, hang on, should I even say that anymore?—that the *Farpoint* engaged her experimental FTL engine on the edge of the solar system. The effort and struggle of thousands of physicists achieving the impossible over decades, and it unfortunately proved to be the fatal strike ending everything we know in our lifetime.
And not just us, but the entire universe.
From the day mankind theorised about general relativity, we knew one thing: if we ever hit the speed of light, our mass would become infinite. The energy consumption becomes infinite, and the point where the speed barrier broke would generate infinite mass.
The warning was in front of us the whole time and we ignored it.
Now, suppose we had a ball. We strung up a blanket and dropped the ball on it. It’d weigh the blanket down, aye? Imagine if the ball was too heavy. It’d instantly pluck the blanket from where it was strung up, or alternatively tear right through, aye?
And that happened.
A ball, too heavy to be supported by such a fragile object, either unraveled the entire universe and consumed the fabric of space-time, or tearing a hole through it, destroying all of existence. No one knows for sure, because all that I know right now is that the universe has ended thanks to the foolishness of a single selfish race orbiting an insignificant star in an insignificant galaxy.
So I’m writing this down, as a warning. I’m an avid reader of science fiction. I can only hope that if this universe isn’t the only one in existence and there lies trillions and trillions out there, so I will write this down as a reminder to all who’s lived and will ever live from whatever place you came from:
**Never go as fast we did.**
By now you must be wondering: who am I?
If all of reality collapsed, who am I that’s writing this?
Well, I’ll answer that with the question: when the blanket ripped, where did the ball go? | “There’s a reason why you never use faster than light travel.” The creature calling itself Kcbzrzx says to me in a voice that’s equal parts nails on a chalkboard and nails on a wet chunk of glass.
“And why is that?” I put my hands on my side and tap my foot impatiently. If Kcbzrzx doesn’t understand the universal signal of ‘I’m in a hurry’ then that’s his problem. You don’t travel faster than the speed of light because you have all the time in the world.
“Those who travel faster than the speed of light have the potential to open up a dimensional rift.” The condescension from Kcbzrzx is so heavy that I’m more impressed than offended. From what we know of the universe, humans are the only species to have invented that particular feeling. To have an alien put on a such a display of superiority is almost worth getting pulled over.
“Please, Kcbzrzx. This isn’t some episode of Stargate. We know what we’re doing, we’ve been travelling for years at ‘3L’.” I wave a dismissive hand at him like I would a child claiming it’s bad luck to break a mirror, or the laws of physics.
Kcbzrzx grumbles something under his… well, not breath as he doesn’t seem to breathe. But he does grumble something, and rest assured it’s a grumble from under somwhere, if not breath. “Fine,” He says. “The real reason. By travelling faster than the speed of light, you are essentially declaring a race. A race that has implications that you have no understanding of.”
*Oh this guy’s good.* For a second I almost believe him. Humoring him, I ask, “A race with who?”
Kcbzrzx raises several eyebrows. “Not who. What.” He points a finger outside of the ship, past the glass windows. “See, it’s already starting.”
Chuckling, I walk over to the window and peer out. Trailing the ship I see thousands of jagged lines of light. *Just some starlight*, I think. *That’s all that is. Funny, it should show up now, five years into our voyage.*
“So what?” I say.
Not only do alien races have translators for speech, but many have them for facial and body language. A smile doesn’t mean the same thing in Flargon as it does in Shmloogar as it does in Human. The look Kcbzrzx gives me needs no translation. It’s a look I’ve gotten from each of my four ex-wives. It’s the look I got when I once tried returning a rental car with half of the hood missing. From Kcbzrzx, it’s like hearing swear words in a foreign language; you don’t know exactly what they’re saying, but you get the gist.
“You meddle with things far outside your comprehension, endanger the entire universe, and your reaction is: ‘So what?’” Kcbzrzx looks as if he’s about to explode. This isn’t a figure of speech, some alien races physically blow up when pushed to a certain limit.
I take a step back.
“It’s just some distorted starlight. What’s the big deal, K?” I hope giving him a nickname will soften our dialogue, or at least throw him off his feet.
Kcbzrzx shakes his head. Which, I haven’t mentioned this yet, it’s his entire body. Well most of his body is his head. It didn’t seem like an important detail at first, but then he started shaking… so, there you go. His head is his body, and he’s shaking it at me.
“It’s not distorted starlight, human. It is light. All light. By going faster than light, you have challenged it to a race.”
I look back out the window. The trailing lights seem to have gotten closer. *Could this guy be right? Did we really just challenge a stinking bunch of photons into some kind of trillionK?*
“What happens if we lose?” I ask.
Kcbzrzx glares at me, his eyes narrowing. “No more light… ever.”
&nbsp;
----------
&nbsp;
6,476 / 50,000 Words of NaNoWriMo short story goal. | 2018-11-04T06:08:23 | 2018-11-04T06:08:13 | 135 | 28 |
[WP] Mr. Bean is the lesser known fifth horseman of the apocalypse, ignorance. Unintentionally Mr. Bean arrives too early for the apocalypse and is stuck living an ordinary human life leaving destruction in his wake. The four horsemen finally arrive... | It was just another day in England, and could be described succinctly with one word. Moist. The rain was at that stage of its life where it wasn't willing to commit hard enough for anything meaningful, but just felt like being around the area and occasionally clinging to you as you walk down the street to the local fish 'n chips. Now, that's not to say that the weather was as dreary and annoying everywhere in England, even though it unfortunately was. There was only one road in Highbury where the weather was different. Okay, maybe different isn't the best descriptor. It was like the Apocalypse. The Gates of Hades had opened at each end of the road. From these gates poured the souls of the damned and righteous alike, swirling through the houses of the London suburb with the kind of shrieks that put people in mental hospitals.
&#x200B;
From each portal stepped two massive horses, and on each horse sat a body cloaked in steel and darkness; and despair. The first on the left raised his hand. "War, good to see that you and Death could make it. We know how busy the humans keep you".
"Pestilence, Famine, my ~~brothers~~ gender-neutral siblings" shouted War over the siren song of the dead, "I hear the old meatsacks have been keeping you on your toes as well, what with all this not vaccinating and not feeding the hungry." Pestilence nodded at him. They closed in on each other, ending at the door marked No. 12, of Arbor Road. Death lifted his hand, rapping the firm and shiny knuckle-bones against the inconspicuous door. The door was quite lucky that it was dead, or else it would have ended up like the family of beetles living inside it. Dead. The door creaked open ominously, much like a lid of a coffin opening, and from that coffin walked the fifth horseman of the apocalypse. Bean.
&#x200B;
"Ignorance!" Shouted Famine, pushing through the others to wrap Bean in its skinny arms. Bean pushed at Famine, moving the armour plated figure surprisingly far. A decidedly long session of grunting and charades followed, that is until the sound of War's hand making contact with his own face silenced the street. Even the ghoulish souls were scared of what was to come.
"Ignorance has taken his job so seriously," he whispered into his hands, "that he has forgotten us and himself in the process." A mortal would never claim to have the authority, nay, the gall, to suggest that these immortal Harbingers of the Apocalypse did not handle this particular piece of information very well. In fact they were able to keep a calm head about this until Bean walked back out of the house with a flask and five cups.
&#x200B;
`The following has been redacted by order of Her Majesty's Government`
&#x200B;
The Five Horsemen set out to Stonehenge. Bean had been magnanimously strapped to War by the party, and was now travelling with them despite his nasal cacophony of anguish and confusion. Thunder that rattled the world followed their journey. Explosions in a multitude of colours mixed into the rain, which had really come into itself in the last half hour and was truly coming down like cats and dogs, with the occasional small mammal mixed in for good literal measure. Hoof prints of fire led to the ancient stone circle of doom, placed there by the Gods like a restart button on a PC. Not enough to switch the project off for good, just enough to wipe the memory and start fresh. They took up their positions in the pentagram, and looked bloody marvelous doing it. They were covered in fire and starlight, and one was wearing a lovely tweed. Each raised a sword, swinging it down in front of themselves to split the Earth in five. Well, four were trying to split the Earth. One was trying to split the other four. Pestilence was unfortunate enough to be closest. His body was bisected rather easily, the rotting armour and flesh falling to the floor in piles. Bean swung the other way, cleaving a rather unsightly dent into Famine. Bean grunted heroically at this.
&#x200B;
War and Death looked at each other. No one knows what words were spoken between their eyes, or what tone the flick of an eyebrow could convey, but it probably went something like this:
&#x200B;
*Death: What in the name of God is going on here?*
*War: Ignorance has lost it. Well to be honest he probably didn't have it in the first place.*
*Death: We've lost two and Ignorance is trying to kill us, surely we can't still finish calling the Apocalypse.*
*War: Okay let's call it off, hire some interns, and come back as the Four Horsemen. We just won't fetch this idiot next time.*
&#x200B;
As their eyes met, they vanished, and Bean was left alone, in the moonlight, at Stonehenge, with a sword, in a tweed coat. And nothing else. | You thought they were horsemen. Some brave soul in a past age, one that is now dying, had the wisdom, foresight, and depth of perception to uncover higher truths about the world, and the mystery of life.
Christ, the man, and his disciples were men of high spiritual discipline, they were the great seeds who’s truthful words begot an entire era of their reign. One of the many gifts they experienced as a result of their high level of consciousness, was that of foresight. In the mysterious and veiled book of revelations, Christ and his disciples give account of visionary experiences, during which they channeled often poetic and dramatic images of true events that would come to pass in the future of the planet.
In one of the most well known of these visions, the end of days is described. This is not meant to be understood as the actual complete end of days, it is meant to mark a time of great transformation of the human species upon the planet earth. The book of revelation discusses four harbingers of this end of days.
**Death**
The bringer of death to many, this can be interpreted as both a literal plague of death, or as the death of an old age, giving way to something greater.
**war**
He who commands war commands al the nations of the world. A duplicitous character, he can represent war and division among men, or the war between what has passed in the age, and what will be in the next.
**Famine**
As world population rises, a greater number of individuals find themselves in poverty. There is also a deep hunger in the race to advance, a feeling that something is missing.
**Conquest**
The character of conquest rides on a divided world, and unifies it underneath the global flag. Conquest, it is little known, is actually the savior in this story.
Like any good hero, conquest would, in the time of the end, set out to defeat the other horsemen, bringing peace and light to a new age of humanity, one freed from the sins of the past.
But that was a misunderstood, metaphorical story in revelation...
A two thousand year old book looking foreword to the end of the era it was just beginning. We now have a much more finite view of that end, and what may have been meant in that vision. We live in a world of people. Political and social figures become media sensations, and are able to significantly alter the course of life on the planet. It is possible to now understand that the horsemen foreseen as prophets of the end times, were in fact real, they were actual people, who would appear on the earth and make such a mess of things that there would be no choice but for the citizens of the world to remake the world in an entirely new way.
Four horsemen. We now know, were truly five. One, conquest, is meant to lead the shift in consciousness, but another stepped up to fill the fourth mantle, only, he wouldn’t ride a horse, he couldn’t even drive a car! But we will get to him in a moment, as he is a part of the newer knowledge that we have gained as we approach this end of days, foreseen so many years ago.
If we wish to identify the individuals in today’s world who actually are these four horsemen, we only need to trace the things they are said to cause back to the human individual who is the largest source of that thing in the world.
For famine, we can search the entire world, we see that famine exists in all nations, but mostly in those of the Middle East, and Africa. We can trace the causes of famine back several decades. World War Two was a precursor to many of the modern worlds problems. The alliances and invasions that were undertaken as a result of this war caused a dramatic shift in the balance of wealth and resources in the worlds poorest nations. Take this, coupled with his death camps, where millions were literally starved to death, and. We can point to none other than Adolf Hitler as one of the horsemen today the apocalypse. The earliest on the scene and the first to depart it, he served as a catalyst for the rest. The others would arrive together, and we are just now witnessing their power.
The trained spy, assassin, and man who regularly has anyone in his way murdered, the veritable tzar of modern Russia is death. Vladimir Putin is the modern death, cold, calculated, and without just cause. Death pulls all the strings towards himself, and is the mastermind leading the end of days. Without death, rebirth cannot arise. He is nearly impossible to outwit, and seems to control many of the worlds forces. Including war.
War is scarlet red, or maybe bright orange. Either way he looks as though his head were on fire, like a shock of yellow flame for hair. War causes division among men, among men and women, among people who are meant to be neighbors and coworkers. War coerces many to believe their cause is just, when it seems that there can be no cause in *truth* To go to war. War lies. War is a lie. Donald Trump, our hot-headed president of the United States has divided a nation, and the world. In a way that has not been done before. This division seems as though it has fractured the very foundation of the modern world, and political system.
The world stage is set, those evil forces which make up two thirds of our story, the rise of famine, and the subsequent and simultaneous rise of death and of war, have set the stage for the final act, the great battle when good, conquest, comes in the form of a person, who has not yet been discovered, and may not appear for some time still, to overpower the forces set into motion by these figures, and bring about a peaceful world.
There has been one piece of information that was never discussed, for it was not understood, even in metaphor, there is a passage of the book of revelation that has rarely seen print, although it appears in some very important ancient manuscripts on the book. Bible scholars reference him as the ‘horseless horseman’ because he is said to ride an invisible horse. I’m the ancient Aramaic, the language of the Bible, there exists a word which directly translates to ‘silliness’ it is thought to have had several meanings, but in any other example of it, this is the only meaning that can be taken seriously.
It is thought that this silly horseless horseman would be a figure of a different plague, he is thought to imbue ignorance in those who take pleasure in his antics, he will dance through life, leaving meaningless distraction in his wake, meaning that he will destroy the minds of men, as well as physical destruction. There has only been one figure in modern history who has exemplified this trait to its highest degree. Mr bean came along at the beginning of the middle section of this earthly story. Acting as a beacon of silliness, his form of slapstick and destruction based humor would inspire the comedy of a generation. He would stumble through life, bringing a love of ignorance to the world through silliness. Not riding a horse of an institution like the others, but walking among the people. He began this stage, and his work is done. He fit into the plan, and has set the stage for this final event.
When conquest arrives, a great battle will occur, until then, perhaps we can just sit back, and enjoy watching a grown man ridiculously wandering the streets and leaving destruction in his wake. | 2018-12-12T03:01:44 | 2018-12-12T03:01:21 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Humans can Bond with animals to gain superpowers based on the traits of that animal. You just Bonded an animal that no one else in human history has been able to Bond with | I was late to the game when it came to the Bonding; how it worked, how it felt. But now I understood why there were so few people spirited to soft, fuzzy, cute things: We can sense each other. And on top of that, it's been known that personality types get augmented the deeper they connect with their power.
That said, I didn't need to be able to sense \*this\*, because the crowd around us was beginning to scatter as the aura of his spirit animals began to emanate off of him. No one wanted to be around when a Bear totem was angry, and this one was looking rather territorial. His physical size wasn't actually changing, of course, but you could see the air ripple around him as astral claws extended from his reach, and the impact of each stomping step became louder with a force that shouldn't be there. Both his real eyes, and emerging, glowing specters of his Bonded form glowered down at me, a sneer forming on both faces.
"What part of 'this is my territory' did you not understand," he snarled at me, the force amplified as his aura began to twist and shape into a more tangible cloak of energy. Maybe he was just looking to posture, because my silence seemed to enrage him more. "Oooh, I get it. Kid finally gets his bonding, and wants to prove how tough he is? Come to take out 'the biggest, baddest guy in the yard', eh?" His hackles raised, a defiant, blood-thirsty smile twisting over his lips. "Big mistake. I won't just humiliate you. I'll kill you. My Ursine side loves to eat the aura of shit-tier Bonders like you."
"That's what I've heard. That stops today, one way or the other. You're no longer going to give any us a bad name." I admit, I was actually incredibly nervous, but my Bond was driving my confidence. Apparently it was territorial as well, and the cloak of my own aura began to manifest, shimmering fleeting shades of green, blue, and pink. This served to confuse, and then delight my towering opponent.
"Wha- Are you seriously... bonded with a *shrimp*?!" Both him and his aura form reared back and shook with a mighty laugh, his confidence now tripled. "I can't remember the last time I got to snack on a sea-food Bonder! I'm going to enjoy this!" Apparently you don't need grace or subtlety when you think you're the strongest thing around. The glint of those massive claws spread wide as he prepared a lunge that would surely eviscerate me.
I felt the surge come over me, as instinct and power I'd never known before guided me. No jukes, no feints, just straight forward, as my aura enveloped me and extended my reach. I could see the shape manifest into solid orb at the end of my 'arm', like a bowling ball in proportion to my body. Speed I'd never known possible split the very air around me. The sound of his bellow no longer seemed to becoming from in front of me, as the sound waves had to part like the red sea in the face of my blow. The air itself was displaced, slamming into his gut before my astral fist did. What felt like hurricane force winds rushed to fill the gap I'd created with clap of thunder as the contact of my punch actually landed.
It happened so fast I didn't technically see the impact, just the result. At best, a pair of legs were in front of me. For dozens of meters behind that was more a morbid modern art display than a body. Later that day, people would observe shocking footage of some poor fools head escaping the earth's atmosphere courtesy of the ISS's orbital view.
I'd just meant to knock the wind out of him. Apparently I need to hone this in a bit.
"That's \*Mantis\* Shrimp to you, buddy," I said to... well, no one. | Every day, it happened.
Every day _she_ happened. It wasn't enough for her to own me, it wasn't enough for her to hold me in the palm of her hand since she bought me at that auction. It wasn't enough for her to be able to make my life a living hell.
She wanted to prove it to me, every day. The whippings were not the worst of it. The degradation was a murmur in the background by now, something I had learned to ignore over the years. The scars - each day a new one, whether by knife or hot iron, by rod or by staff, by tooth or by nail - accumulated. Each day she grew more and more sadistic and each morning she healed me, only to be able to hurt me more in the evening.
I felt a by-now familiar shudder run down my back as she rounded on me, the barbs of the entanglement spell pressing wickedly against my skin, keeping me pulled against the post while she let her eyes track over her work - from the old, silvery scars that crossed over my chest and shoulders down to the still-angry, red welts over my wrists and stomach.
In a weird way, I would've understood if she'd been out for some kind of vengeance, if one of my people had done similar to her, if there had been a madness to her other than this mad desire to hurt, to harm, to shame and to defeat, over and over and over again. She was a goddess to her people, a magical healer of some renown, and she could do no wrong in their eyes - her entire tribe, this entire _village_ hinged on her abilities, and they overlooked her sins out of fear as much as out of their need for her so-rare magic.
"Sometimes, the small ones just - won't respond to her touch." they'd say. "Maybe we didn't _believe_ she could do it, this time. We'll be better for her, she'll see."
They were her victims as much as I was, but they deluded themselves into thinking that she was the focus of their Faith; their beloved, their healer, their goddess, the source of their good fortune.
The pain was something I had gotten used to, grown weary of, and then learned to accept, the sting of the whip and the thud of the rod almost old friends; they would numb me from the nails that would claw at my skin, the teeth that would set against my veins, against her finding ever-new ways to be cruel - I felt myself slip away from _that_ and into the mindless, near-drunken buzz of being - broken, once again.
I heard the murmur of my own voice as it pleaded for my life, begged for my soul, cajoled for the pain to stop - heard it agree to all of the things she called me, simply to get her to move _on_ - she couldn't break me anymore, now that I'd found this place of retreat within myself, the calm in the storm of anguish and anger that was my body.
I felt her resentment build and crescendo, felt her anger wax and wane, felt her desire mount and mount and mount and finally release; I felt the dagger punch into my gut as sharply as I felt the grain of the wooden pole it pinned me to, and felt the pulling, tearing sting of it withdraw, felt every imperfection on the edge of the dagger as it slid backwards out of me - and the hot-coal sensation of my flesh burning, melting and melding back together as she healed me while she injured me.
I heard her laugh, high and excited as she stabbed me, again and again, heard the patter of my own blood spilling into the straw at my feet and knew that she had found a new game, a _different_ game, a different way to try to reach and break my calm.
Every day it happened, and every day it flowed through the same motions. A wicked smile and a slow start, a mounting of torture and degradation, her words replaced over time by focused cruelty, and her cruelty mounting over time to simple and near-mad torture.
Every day she would tire herself out, and then release me from that Entanglement, my body too battered and too weary to stand up, my mind too barred-off within my Calm to still fully process what she'd do to me, what she'd make me do to her.
And every time, I'd feel her tongue press past my lips, as if she wanted to taste my defeat from my own mouth.
This time, though, my smile in return to her demanding one, came honestly. Openly. Calmly.
I drew my mind to the surface to see her falter, see her hands go down her throat, the bloodied knife dropping between my feet. I watched dispassionately as the veins on her perfect skin darkened, her eyes bulged and her swollen tongue pushed from her far-open mouth.
I watched, and felt nothing as her blood turned to dust in her veins and she dropped near me, convulsing, twitching, gagging on calls she wouldn't be able to make, and watched her struggle in a vain effort to heal herself from the magical poison that replaced the dust.
Small, smaller than the tip of my thumb, emerald-green but with ruby eyes, the joints in it's numerous chitinous legs orange and the legs themselves a deep cobalt blue, the spiders dropped from the rafters on their silk - I felt their mind, it's mind, brush against mine, and felt the metallic, still-alien mind probe mine.
[It did good?] Silk wrapped around me as the Hive Spiders worked, their diminutive size overcome by the sheer number of them, and I rolled to my hands and knees, then pushed myself to my feet to let them, to give them space. Soon, I was bound again, but this time free to move, the Hive Spiders linking their leg-tips into the silk that wrapped my chest and shoulders, it's myriad of little bodies soaking up my warmth.
[It did good.] I whispered back to it while I covered it with my tunic, pushing open the door, moving automatically past the guards and the halls. We simply wanted away. Nothing else mattered now but a dark, cool and dry place to haunt and to hunt from.
In our calm, my mind dissolved into it's mind, and us became one, became Me. | 2019-06-18T11:16:56 | 2019-06-18T11:16:55 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] As a Demon, you're quite familiar with would-be mages making errors in materials due to translation errors. However, today marks the first time that someone has attempted to summon you with Cruelty-Free Vegan Blood Substitute™. | It had been centuries since I was summoned. Last time, the blood of 100 virgins had been sacrificed to call me from the shadow realms. It was barely enough payment for the ask; I killed one king and installed another.
As the long years stretched by, that megar sustinance was wearing thin. Had the humans forgotten me, the greatest of all demons?
My inferior demonic brethren were less fortunate. One by one they succumbed to the final darkness, their screams little more than a faded whisper as their weakened forms turned to dust. I was all that was left. Moloch'ai Terranous, King of the Demons... king of nothing.
So when I finally heard my name through the aether, felt the pull forward the light at the edge of the shadow realms, I wasn't in a state to resist.
Blinking, I surveyed my surroundings. Calling it a pentagram with an altar of blood in the center would be generous. The fact that the penetegram was drawn in chalk and the alter was a stool with a cheap bowl wasn't lost on me, but I wasn't in a position to be picky.
Greddily, I gulped down the blood, feeling power returning. As I drained the bowl I noticed, painted at the bottom of the bowl, a white cat raising it's paw as if in greeting. Strange... Perhaps it was some minor dieity of this new age.
I turned my attention to the summoner, and was surprised to see a little girl, Barely 12 years old, if that.
"What virgin blood is this?" I asked. It had tasted a bit different.
Shaking, the girl held out a container, which read: "Cruelty Free Vegan Blood Substitute TM".
"What is this?" I mused.
On the back was an ingredient list, which included "leghomoglobin from budding yeast."
"Is Yeast a virgin?" I demanded of the girl.
The girl shrank back in fear. "Miss Green said yeast reproduces asexually." She offered hopefully.
I could tell she was telling the truth, and couldn't fault her logic. I decided the contract was fulfilled.
"Why have you summoned me?"
"I... I need help at school. This girl Tracy is picking on me."
"Then I shall rend her into pieces and drink her blood! Will that be enough?"
"No!" The girl looked shocked.
"...I can also kill each of her closest friends and curse her family for generations." I offered hopefully.
"No!" The girl was sheet white. "I just want you to talk to her mom, and convince her to stop Tracy from picking on me."
She handed me a slip of paper. My demon senses tingled with foreboding; this would be my most difficult battle yet. On the paper was an appointment for a meeting with the principal and Tracy's mum, Karen Miller.
EDIT: Thanks for reading! Part 2 below: | I could feel the familiar tugging sensation that alerted me to the fact that someone was trying to summon me to the realm of mortals. It burned and twisted, physically trying to yank my body to the mage’s location.
I’d been summoned hundreds of times, always to a mage who wanted to trade their soul for something they desperately wanted.
Revenge. Lust. Greed.
I’d seen it all.
As the tugging sensation continued, it felt *wrong* as if only half of me were being summoned. I sighed. Another rookie.
It didn’t really matter how much of me ended up in the human realm, but it was always uncomfortable when it wasn’t all of me. This time it felt like my left shoulder and leg would be left behind.
It would be gruesome looking, and I was quite sure the mage would pass out.
It always happened when the runes were drawn wrong, or the ingredients weren’t high enough purity.
I relaxed and let myself be yanked into existence.
---
Bright light was shining in my face, and it was cool in the room. I blinked a few times, trying to look around myself. Damn, only one eye made it too.
I snarled in distaste but was quickly able to focus my rage on the mage who had summoned me – as they were weeping on the floor in a puddle.
*Lovely*.
“Mage, why have you summoned me to the realm of humans?” I asked, my voice croaked and tight.
The pathetic being seemed to gather itself, standing before me. I looked around again, surprised by my surroundings. It had been a while since my last summoning, and humans had evolved. Bright lights overhead lit a spacious room with clean white furniture and sparkling steel accents.
I looked down at my foot, trying to see if it was the runes that had been messed up.
They did look wrong, but at first glance I couldn’t quite tell why.
“Zeroth, I have summoned thee to trade my soul for your power…” the mage started, but I was only half listening – and not because I only had one ear.
The blood that the runes were written in was… off. Not the rust and black color they should be, nor were they the bright red of fresh blood. They looked more like… I wasn’t completely sure.
“Mage – “I interrupted, too annoyed at what was below me. “What did you summon me with.”
“Well… I… I used Cruelty-Free Vegan Blood Substitue^TM,” he stammered, stepping back slightly.
They always moved away from me, even though I could not move from the runes on which I’d been summoned. They were all that bound me to this world.
“Vegan… blood… substitute?” I asked, incredulous. What the fuck was that? The ritual called for day old goat blood.
“I… I think it’s beet based,” the mage said, picking up a glass bottle.
“Why did you use this shit?” I asked, annoyed that my body was only half here due to an avoidable error.
“Well… I’m vegan. Can’t stand the thought of animals being hurt,” the mage said, setting the jar back down.
“Right.” This would be good. A mage unable to kill an animal, but was willing to trade their soul with me for … what was it that he wanted?
“Mage, why did you summon me here?” I asked again.
“My lord demon, I want the power to kill my nemesis.” The mage said, straightening his shoulders.
“You can’t kill a goat that has no consciousness, but you want to kill another living, breathing human being?” I asked, really wanting to hear this answer.
“Yes, Moran has beaten me in school since we were children. Has outpaced me in every mage training. Has even taken the woman I’m in love with.”
How petty.
“What is your name Mage?”
“Patrick, sir.”
“Patrick,” I said kindly, it didn’t matter to me what he wanted it for. “You will have all the power you need. I just need a blood pact with you.”
I tore my palm open with a long claw and held it out just to the edge of the circle. The mage blanched but stepped forward. He didn’t have a knife on him, so he too used my claw.
Shaking my hand, the power flowed from me into him.
And his soul flowed into me.
He released me, and I was back in my home. My body was complete, and his soul coursed through me. I walked over to my shelves and pulled out a bottle. Carefully slicing my palm open once again, I forced his soul out of me, and into the bottle.
Then I placed it delicately among the others. Shelf after shelf glittered with the white blue light of human souls.
I was nearly there – my collection nearly enough for my own trade. My own bargain.
The only way I would ever get out of this realm without being summoned.
---
For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials | 2020-01-23T09:05:06 | 2020-01-23T08:13:49 | 2,198 | 427 |
[WP] "Come on, aren't you a little old to have an imaginary friend?" He was right, but it seemed so real. "I guess..." "So maybe make some real friends, ones who don't have scaly skin and forked tongues." I stopped in my tracks. "I never told you what it looked like." |
"Come on, aren't you a little old to have an imaginary friend?" Marcus reached for my hand over the table. He kept his voice low and for that, I was thankful, even if I knew it was only so no one else in the coffee shop overheard our conversation.
He was right, of course, but it seemed so real. *She* seemed so real. Ever since I was young, Rax was so much more than my imaginary friend; she was my protector and advisor and even, at times, my conscious.
"I guess..." I bit my lip. What else did I expect him to say? It had been a leap to even tell him, but after six months together, I trusted Marcus beyond anyone else.
"So maybe make some real friends, ones who don't have scaly skin and forked tongues,” Marcus said. His mouth quirked upward in that loveable smile that had first caught my eye from across the bar.
But today it made my blood turn to ice. A jolt shot down my spine. "I never told you what she looked like."
“What?”
“I never told you what she looked like. I just told you I had an imaginary friend.”
Marcus laughed lightly. “No, you did. Don’t you remember?” He squeezed my hand and his face turned serious--a little line creasing between his eyebrows. “Look, Nina,” he said, his voice dead serious, “if you’re having problems...mentally or anything, you can tell me, you know? I’m here for you no matter what.”
“No. No, it’s fine.” I pressed my lips together and tried to breathe. Had I told him? Honestly, I was sure I hadn’t, but I also was convinced that Rax was real. “It’s just the stress. I think.”
“You’ve been putting in so much overtime over the past few weeks. What would BioCore be without you?”
“Probably still the world’s most exciting biotech company.”
“Nah. They’d be ruined. Gone the way of MySpace.”
In spite of myself, I laughed.
“Listen, would a weekend in Banff help get your mind off things?” He beamed at me. His dark hair curled just so at his hairline, and his warm eyes were just a shade darker. With Marcus, his smile might’ve caught my eye, but his eyes were what pulled me in closer. They were so warm, but there was always an edge of… mystery, I supposed is what best described it, even if I hated that word. *His dark and mysterious eyes glinted with danger…* I shook myself out of those thoughts. I’d be fucked if I started thinking of him as some character in a Harlequin romance paperback.
“Banff sounds wonderful.” Mountains, spas, coffee on a balcony overlooking the valley? What wasn’t to love?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dart across the corner of the cafe. Something scaly. Rax? I sucked in a breath and jolted back; she never came out in the day.
“Nina?” Marcus frowned with concern.
I tried to focus on myself. My jacket smelled of coffee and the light remains of the floral perfume I’d put on early this morning. The lights overhead were warm. Late October sun filtered through the windows. In the background, the stream-wand of the espresso maker hissed. This was real. I was here.
“I just need to use the washroom.” I pushed back from the table and wound through the cafe. In times like this, the whole world went from distant to overwhelming too quickly. Marcus was right. I should talk to someone.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door to the washroom and flicked on the lights. Straight across from me was the mirror. In the top corner, there were two words written in black: NINA. RUN.
---
/r/liswrites | "Come on, aren't you a little too old to have an imaginary friend?" Blaine was a friend, a pain in the arse at times, but a friend none the less. A *real* friend. Even so, he'd been pushing his agenda a little harder than usual of late.
So what if I was thirty eight and still conversing with imaginary friends? I could argue that they're better conversation, because a great deal of them were, but in truth it was the fact that they would listen that made me reluctant to let anyone of them go. To listen - a trait *real friends* seemed to lack.
"Look, so maybe you head out into the real world, with me, make a few more *real* friends. Ones lacking scaled skin and sharp, forked tongues."
I froze, I didn't want to make it obvious that Blaine had there and then slipped up. We were in public, that meant I must've been safe enough. At a bar, downtown, drinking cocktails. The only reason that I'd allowed Harmon to tag along (my scaled - *and imaginary -* friend) was that I'd intended to use his presence as an excuse to go back home. Normally I'd make up some story up about how Harmon's stomach didn't feel right (and Harmon was ever the great actor), and then I'd profess it would be best to get him into bed. Worked a treat, every time. No one dares asks questions when your imaginary friend is feeling ill.
"I didn't mean to spook you," there was a light-heartedness in Blaine's blue eyes that I simply didn't trust, "I've been able to see Harmon, to see all of them, for quite some time now."
"Really?" my voice was shaking, and there was little hiding the nervous sweats as they broke out.
"You know why they listen, don't you?"
"That's enough." and that wasn't Blaine, nor I.
"Jesus Christ," I nearly jumped out of my seat, the barman looking over somewhat suspiciously (could he see Harmon, too?), "you can talk, you can actually talk."
"Of course I can, haven't you always been able to hear me?"
This was true, only Harmon and the others... well, their voices came to me inside my head, or so I thought. Come to think of it they'd only ever speak when we were alone. So why now had Harmon broken his vow of silence?
"Go ahead, you can tell him." Harmon slumped himself up on the bar-stool next to me, disappearing the last of my cocktail. Now this did earn a queer look from the barman, perhaps he couldn't see Harmon after all.
"You're not going to put up a fight?" Blaine was treading cautiously. Just how many secrets did he have to spill?
"Why would I? You'll tell him what I am, and I'll tell him what you are." Harmon looked down at me (he was one tall lizard-looking friend), a kindness in his bright bug-eyes, "I'm fairly certain I'm the favourite anyway."
This had Blaine on edge for some strange reason. What exactly did favourites matter anyhow, they were all my friends, imaginary or otherwise.
"We'll see about that." Blaine downed the last half of his cocktail and gestured for the door. We were taking this conversation outside.
\*\*\*
It was midnight, no surprise there. My outings with Blaine, or with any of my friends, always took me deep into the early hours of the morning. There was a low fog drawing in, clouding the streets, and in that fog I truly believed that there lurked ghost, or ghouls, or some strain of creature that preferred to hide from human eyes.
"The truth, all of it." Blaine considered me carefully, running his fingers through his hair, pulling back each thread.
*Careful pal, any tighter and you'll pull it right off the scalp.*
"Alright, here it is,"
I'm not sure whether I was ready for the revelation, or the power it provided. Certainly I saw the world in a different light there after.
"I'm not so real as you might think." Blaine explained, "I was imaginary, once upon a time. People couldn't see me either. But you could. And you could hear me, too. I didn't know at first, exactly how it worked, to talk, to listen, to give life to something."
"What do you mean?" I had answers, but with each one came another string of questions.
"When you listen to us, you give us life."
A light bulb moment.
Blaine went on; "Think of us as actors, waiting for our time on stage, kept behind the curtain. When we talk to you, and when you listen in return, you bring us one step closer to the spotlight. I was your first, remember."
First friend, that was true.
"I was there with you through high school, but it wasn't until after graduation that others started to notice me. But now I'm dying."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic." Harmon rolled his bug-like eyes, "You're not dying, you're just fading. You've gotten a taste of what its like to talk, and you've forgotten how to listen. It's time for you to go back *behind the curtain* and make room for someone else."
"I can't exactly have a man sized lizard walking around town with me." I could imagine it already, the havoc it would cause with my day-to-day routine. What would my boss have to say about it? What about my mother?
"I wouldn't be a lizard,"
Blaine nodded, as if to validate this fact.
"I would be a person, I likely wouldn't look too different to Blaine, unless of course you wanted someone different, someone new through and through."
"And I'd go back to being whatever your imagination desired me to be, something so utterly unbelievable you couldn't help but think I wasn't real. Only now you'll know, the truth of it all."
And now I really did now, the truth of it all. But who'd have thought, that something as simple as listening could give a person life. | 2020-05-06T12:21:32 | 2020-05-06T12:07:57 | 156 | 68 |
[WP] They called you a madman for raiding the history museum during a zombie apocalypse. What they didn't expect was for full plate armour to be so effective. | A madman they called me,
a man with no brain.
Even dumber than those,
who had rotten in twain.
I took what was old,
from year long gone past.
I wore a plate armor,
for long it may last.
Instead of motors,
i sought out a steed.
Instead of guns,
i got a blade to my need.
The undead may rise,
it may be my gloom.
But if they cannot harm me,
it will be their doom.
So laugh you dumb fools,
about my sorry face.
In the end i will live,
and of you be no trace.
For i am a knight,
and i swore an oath.
To protect what is sacred,
in life and death both.
Come now vile creatures,
this will be your end.
For i got my armor,
and you got no friend.
Edit: Format | Part 1
You hear a sound in the distance. A quiet singing, amongst the almost constant moaning. As you get closer the melodic sounds become words.
"525600 minutes, how do you measure a year in the zombie apocalypse. " The pile of viscera of sings the sound louder as you get closer to the pile.
From the far end of the pile you spot an iron boot sticking out.
"Is someone there?" The pile speaks muffled though understandable "I heard a different kind of squelching like boots in sticky puddle rather different than the zombies typical moist shambling.
Please if you're there can you help me?"
You listen as the stuck person continues to monologue almost to himself
"It has been a while since the final act for humanity began hasn't it, my group we managed to escape the city. And getting away from London was no easy task so much went in to it..." The man in the pile trailed off
"As my group and I travelled we stumbled across this medieval history museum and made the decision to camp here and explore for a few days. With the thinking that we might find something useful something real we could use to protect ourselves.
And we did, many a useful thing was found, wonderous things. But when I broke in to the curator's office, that's when I saw it. Shining, gleaming, glowing from the light of my candle, locked behind a flimsy glass case. I struck and claimed it for myself.
The armour heavy, a little stiff. They called me, crazy and maybe I am now but the idea was sound at the time. But I believe and since life is suddenly zombies this seemed like a good idea.
But yes here we uh... I am. See I'm safe as the armour has been effective. Maybe it was a little too old, with too little maintenance like they said and with my inexperience.. well as you can see I've been left in quite a pickle. As no sooner then doning the armour and posing briefly with a sword outside the museum did a small group of the dead approach our camp and as they charged us, I stood firm... a little too firm if I dare say, sword in hand, we were overrun and though my companions got away...
I've been stuck, trapped like an Englishman in a marsh. pinned under the pestilent dead for a few days now at least it feels like a few days. The only company being myself and the groans, moans, slathering, slobbering, and the smells my gosh, the smells. The Smells!! For as long as I live I'll never forget the smells." The man's monologue complete
If you're here, drawn obviously by our shared love of musical theatre! Could please assist me, I'm sure my company on your travels would be most welcome!"
---assist the man
---leave
Edit: Cleaning and added some stuff. I'm back working though so I must leave. I'll be back later. I'm really sorry for any grammar or spelling errors I'm typing on mobile and it's really janky. | 2020-09-14T07:59:32 | 2020-09-14T07:51:36 | 117 | 80 |
[WP] You have been in a coma for years, but the people around you worship you as a deity, leaving offerings and notes with wishes and prayers. You aren't a god- time simply stops any time you wake up, leaving you alone in a frozen world. You accept the offerings and do what you can to grant prayers. | The Time Lord lay in a glass coffin under a willow tree, little pieces of paper hung from the tree's branches, and it swayed with the wind as a little girl came running towards the coffin.
She was crying. Tightly clutched in her hand was a piece of paper no larger than an index card. She ran, and she ran, and then she froze, along with the rest of the world. And the Time Lord woke up.
The Time Lord stretched as he rose from the glass coffin. The world around him was frozen. It always was. He looked at the willow tree and the pieces of paper that hung from its branches.
He plucked one of the notes. "Please bring my husband back to life. His name is-" The Time Lord stopped reading. It was an impossible request. He plucked another one. "I lost a lover two years ago. Please God I just want to-" No use. He was worthless after all, something he had long suspected.
Note after note contained impossible requests. Requests that chipped away at the Time Lord's soul. The only requests he could fulfil went something like: "I want you to kill..." Or "I want you to steal..."
The Time Lord exhausted all the requests. He could only fulfil the wishes of the damned. Saddened by this discovery, he clutched his hair and wept.
When his eyes were red and swollen, the Time Lord raised his head. He saw the little snot-nosed kid, frozen in time with a piece of paper in her hand. The Time Lord took it from her. "Please find my dog," it said. But it didn't say anything about the dog. How was he to help her? But she was the only one the Time Lord could help in good conscience. And he did.
The Time Lord strode out into the busy streets full of statue-like humans frozen in time. He found a little brown dog, picked it up, put it next to the little girl and smiled. Maybe he wasn't as useless as he thought himself to be. And with this thought, the Time Lord went back to sleep.
When the world came out of its daze, the little kid saw that the note was no longer in her hand. I must've dropped it, she thought. And then she saw the little dog beside her. The dog barked at her, and she shooed it away. The little girl looked at the glass coffin. She could've sworn that she saw the Time Lord stir in his sleep. | With a yawn, I jumped up out of bed, and putting my slippers on along the way, traversed the hallway of frozen worshippers on my way to the bathroom.
I stood, stretching as I brushed my teeth in the wall long mirror. Bottom then top, bottom then top: the same way I'd done it all my life. I glanced around me- there were a few others here: men washing their hands, or lined up on the other wall with looks of relief on their faces. All of these days doing the same thing, again and again, and still I've never gotten used to what a piss stream frozen in time looks like. It was eery. Unnatural.
When I'd first arrived at the hospital, it had been a much more normal place. There had been patients in every room, and my only visitors were my friends and family. It had taken some getting used to when I'd first woken up: I'd ran around in disbelief, throwing things over and running into people in an attempt to get someone to acknowledge me, to stop what I thought was a stupid practical joke. I must have ran round near the whole damn hospital, I thought with a grimace. I'd returned to my room, and thrown my belongings out in the corridor, at the nurses that stood, frozen and unblinking. When I tired, I cried myself to sleep.
I think it was the next morning, when I woke, that things had started to change.
The whole floor of the hospital was empty of patients, instead filled with what I soon gathered to be the worlds press (It's much easier to find out who a person is when they're frozen in time, all their personal possessions yours for the taking.) I had been stupid to ruin only my room, as apparently it left only one question, and hundreds of explanations, but none of them made sense.
With a sigh I'd walked through the hospital. When you have all the time in the world, it becomes much easier to focus on the details, you see (not that, at this point, the fact had quite registered in me.) I took in the details of every person, every tv camera, every new car outside the window. A woman outside caught my eye. She was short, with brown hair, and was looking into the tv camera held before her with a smirk. I took in every little piece of her: the clothes she wore, the colour of her eyes in the unchanging light, and was left with a mourning for the life I had had. What could I do? Who could I be? I was trapped. I still feel that way a little, even today.
Yet again. I cried myself to sleep that night.
It was after a few weeks, when the media had begun to quiet down, that I noticed a new crowd of people starting to appear on my floor. Apparently the destruction I had caused was so shocking, so unbelievable in the face of my unmoving body on the CCTV footage, that these people could only chalk it up to an act of God! Once again, I felt like the unwilling victim of a practical joke, but still I was helpless. I started to walk back to my room, pondering my situation. I passed through door after empty door: evidently the hospital had decided that they couldn't have at risk patients so swarmed by random people coming to visit my room, and sighed. I felt more alone than ever without the constant, unmoving company of the other's who had been admitted to my ward, the coma ward.
As I arrived in my room (I had to sleep here every night to keep up appearances as a normal coma patient) I noticed something. Tucked, neatly folded up, under my pillow, was a tiny sheet of paper- a receipt for something or other. On the other side, simply, in neat, orderly handwriting, it read this:
"Please help us find the money for the operation."
I don't know why this touched me so much, maybe it was my hospital shaped prison, or maybe I was still feeling vulnerable while trying to accept my fate, but I resolved to do my best to answer the calling.
I took the receipt, and pinned it to the board at the end of my bed, with the simple addition of two words, the words written in red looking like scars. If I couldn't live a normal life, I supposed I could help others with theirs?
The philosophy has helped me get through my imprisonment, and with each answered wish two more replaced it. I endeavour to answer every wish that I find under my pillow, for as long as I'm stuck in this endless cycle, not sleeping each day until every one of them has found it's place pinned on my board. I like to think I've made the most of this bizarre punishment. I never could get used to those frozen streams of piss though. | 2020-12-28T10:53:38 | 2020-12-28T10:45:16 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] You have been blessed with immortality and are the greatest warrior, but 1000 years ago, a witch cursed you for killing her daughter, making you unable to wield a blade again. Fortunately, guns were invented, and now you’re back in business. | "Really? That's it?"
The warrior said, dawning a confused look.
"What...? What do you mean?"
He folded his arms, rolling over the information in his head before laying it out for the decrepit hag.
"You gave a huge speech about this curse you were going to lay upon me, waved your arms around and created some crazy light show... and now you're telling me the curse is that I can no longer hold a blade?"
A sly smile crept across the witch's face.
"That's right! Now, even with all of your otherworldly power, you can do nothing to stop me or my armies! We will ravage the lands and lay siege to any kingdom we cross! The world is as good as ours!"
She cocked her head back and began a long, maniacal laugh, clearly unaware that the warrior's expression had not changed.
He reached over his shoulder, removing his shield and strapping it to his arm, and taking firm hold of the handle to confirm his suspicions. Noticing that the witch was still deep in her self-serving laugh, the warrior quickly reached in to his pack and drew from it a two foot long metal club with a fine leather handle. In one swift maneuver he lunged across the room and struck a vicious blow to the witch's head, caving her skull in and sending her to the floor in a heap.
The warrior had accomplished what he set out to do; vanquish the evil witch. Despite this, he couldn't help but feel some degree of disappointment in how things had turned out. His primary motivation for the adventure had been her demise, that much was certain. But secretly, he had also gone in search of a challenge. The tales told of the witch, as well as the remnants of her victims had led the warrior to believe he had finally found the battle he had been searching for ever since he was given his powers. He had built up in his mind how the fight would go. The two would trade blows for hours until only one remained. He was ready and excited to be pushed to the limit, only for her to completely fall flat.
"I can't believe she forgot that blunt weapons exist."
Note: Sorry I know this doesn't exactly follow the prompt but it was the first thing that came to my mind and I wanted to get it out XD | I stood, a little lost, in the middle of the pawn shop. My contact in Budapest had told me that America had a lot of guns. I didn’t think he meant this many. After I’d woken up and managed to dig my way out of the literal pyramid I’d been buried underneath, I wanted to see what the world had to offer. It was apparently guns, antique clocks, and, wait what is that? Some sort of small, mechanical creature that croaks its name at you. I sighed, walking towards the back. The contact had set me up with a few hundred dollars and some recent attire, and given what was available at the pawn shop, I’d say he nailed it. Something about flared jeans and cropped tunic; they weren’t the type of style I was used to, but they were clothing.
The Pawn Master stood behind the counter, a young man in his twenties. Our eyes met and he smiled, waving me over, “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m looking for a gun.”
“Alright, do you have anything particular in mind?”
The contact told me that, “par for the course” (still trying to figure that one out) murder was illegal. So I tried to play it cool, “Something that,” I paused, “Uh, shoots.”
He laughed and turned to the wall of guns behind him, “Well, are you looking for distance, intensity, like, what are you looking to do with it?”
“I want to hunt.” That wasn’t, completely, a lie.
“Then you’ll probably want a rifle. Handguns are used more for at home protection, conceal and carry and so forth.”
I nodded, “I’ll want both then.”
“Both a rifle and a handgun?”
“Yes.”
He took a moment, looking me up and down, “Okay, you don’t know anything about guns?”
“No.”
He nodded solemnly, “Well, I can set you up with a pretty basic rifle and handgun, unless you know specifics.”
“Oh!” I said, remembering the sheet of paper my contact had handed me. “I want these.”
The Pawn Master took the sheet from me and frowned, “I don’t know if I can get those, specifically, but I can get you something pretty close.”
“Alright. How much?”
“It’ll be about $400 out the door.”
I took out the bills and counted it out, setting it on the counter. “Do they come with a case?”
“I can get you a case, but it’ll be extra.”
“I’ll take that too.”
He paused, still not moving, “Listen, I don’t usually pry, but is there a reason you’re buying these dressed like you’re about to go to the disco?”
Looking down, I didn’t quite know how to answer, “Do I need new clothes too?”
“I mean, if that’s your style, that’s your style, but feel free to look around in our clothing section while I get this together.”
I left the Pawn Master there, determined to find something more suited to my normal style. There was a wide array of clothing I didn’t quite understand, frills and patterns that seemed highly abnormal, even given what I’d seen on the boat over to America. I pulled out a full-leather outfit. It was black, shiny, and lack any adornment whatsoever. It was perfect. I waved the Pawn Master down as he was putting the guns into their cases.
“Is there a place I can try these on?”
“Not here, but I can tell you they look like they’ll fit.” He shrugged. “They’ll be an extra $50, bringing your total to $500.”
I counted the extra money out and he bagged the clothing in plastic. For what reason, I couldn’t ascertain. He handed it to me and leaned down, “Stay safe out there, alright?”
I took the purchases and smiled at him, “Absolutely, Pawn Master. It was a pleasure doing business with you. They’ll sing your praises in ballads one day, I am sure.”
His expression was enigmatic, but I thought I could detect pleasure at the statement. I turned and left, finding myself, once again, on the streets of Manhattan. A new man, now with a gun, some leather, and the will to kill, once again.
&#x200B;
\[\[I'm not particularly happy with this, tbh. Let me know if I should just push right on to the next part.\]\] | 2021-01-01T14:39:46 | 2021-01-01T13:54:50 | 434 | 135 |
[WP]: "You can't run your whole life on nothing but pure spite", they said. "Fucking watch me", you said, and headed out to thrive. | You'd think having a javelin in your chest would slow you down a bit.
And, normally, you'd be right. Tends to put a bit of a damper on the whole 'living being' thing. Tends to be the sort of thing you'd stop and do something about. Head over to the hospital, take a while to recover.
We were *long* past that sort of thing.
"Oh, oh we're doing javelins now? Real mature. Real *fucking* mature."
God, I hated that sonofabitch.
I don't even remember how it started. I do remember that I just didn't like his face, from the first time I saw him. But you don't get to turn into a pair of dueling spite horrors just because you don't like their face.
No, this was a lot more personal.
It had started small- comments, jocular punches that weren't actually jocular at all, sneaking over to the other assholes house in the middle of the night to steal tools and piss in the milk- y'know, basic stuff.
And it just kept escalating.
*God*, I hated that sonofabitch.
If he'd just been *reasonable* about things, none of this would've happened. He coulda de-escalated, any time. But he's a massive prick, so he didn't. And it's not like I was gonna back down. Fuck that shit.
If he's bringing it, you'd best believe I'm answering back.
I forget what it was that I did before he decided to step things up a notch. I think that might've been the time I put a bunch of rat poison in his coffee? I dunno. Whatever it was, that asshole decided to cut the brake lines in my car. Real mature. Real *fucking* mature.
And so there I am, car wrapped around a tree, and there's a few gallons of my blood getting all over my car, and it's totaled anyway but I wasn't thinking that at the time, I was just thinking about how that was going to be a *bitch* to clean up, and I knew right then that I wasn't gonna let this shit stand. That motherfucker was going to regret messing with me, that was for fucking sure.
I know I was the one who escalated us to guns. That was a lot less fun than it sounded like. I mean, don't get me wrong, blowing his fucking head off with a shotgun is going in the top five moments of my life, no question, but it gets old *real* fast. The asshole just gets up again, and then *he* went and got a gun, and, having been on the receiving end of a shotgun blast, I can guarantee you that the fucker wasn't suffering enough when it happened.
Our flamethrower phase didn't last real long- it's too easy to just ignite the fuel on the back- but I had some fun moments there. Stings like a motherfucker, too, lemme tell you.
And now the asshole has decided that javelins are the way to go. Dipshit move, asshole. You threw the thing, and now *I* have a weapon and you *don't*.
So I yank the thing out and run the asshole down, and I get him in the throat with the javelin and stick him to a tree with it. I've gotta admit, I was loving the look on that assholes face the whole time. Sucks to be you, motherfucker!
And then I'm heading outta there, because he's gonna take longer than I did, but he's gonna get unstuck before too long and try and do the same to me.
Fucking javelins. What a *dipshit*. | "these walls are covered in the blood of all the men and women I extorted and the tears of the family I've left behind." Said Thomas, ruminating on the success that led him to owning this luxurious mansion in the rural south of England.
"Tom, this isn't healthy, people are worried about you. The family you supposedly *left behind* are worried about you. Perhaps if you just talked to them?" Cathy said solemnly, trying not to make eye contact and make things worse. She was aware that she had tears in her eyes, she knew he would get angry with her, though she may never have truly understood *why.* Thomas had a habit of getting angry when people began liking him enough to try and help him, though unbeknownst to most, he was simply angry with himself for allowing someone to get invested enough in his business to *care*.
"Yeah, sure. Listen, you're just a PA - stay less personal and more assistive please!" Thomas's words felt like a dagger in the chest, she should've known better than to give advice. She turned her attention to her feet, closed her eyes and willed the tears away as Thomas wiped away the sleep in his eyes and blinked through bloodshot eyes that had seen too much alcohol lately.
"I'll be fine, set up the meeting with Medicorp and I'll take the video call in the conference room. Make sure Elliot is on the line too, I'm not talking finance without him." Thomas got up from his desk and stood next to Cathy. "everything's fine, you know me, ups and downs." he said gently with a smile as he took the documents from her hands.
Cathy threw her head back and yelled "**No!** I'm not going to do this anymore - I don't give a **shit** how rich and successful you are! you just keep destroying your own life and then expect things to magically get better!" there was an awkward pause, the room grew cold and the silence filled both their ears like they had just fallen into freezing water. Thomas froze still.
Cathy filled her lungs and continued, half willingly and half out of obligation, she felt "I grew up with nothing, my parents struggled just to keep the house warm. I would've **killed** to have half the opportunity you did, and **somehow** it still wasn't enough for you. You had to be better than your uncaring dad and unsympathetic mother who are both so self-absorbed and materialistic that it would make any *normal* person the exact opposite of them in an act of rebellion. ***instead*** you became everything you hated about them," she paused to gather her thoughts and refill her lungs as Thomas remained dead-still in silence "your wife has left you, taken your child, and now you've just lost the only fucking person you had left... Well whenever you're ready, I'll be here to listen when you're ready to take this seriously!"
The silence was now so material that it felt like a wall of noise that neither of them could overcome. Eventually, Cathy turned to leave and Thomas gently took a hold of her arm as she tried to pass him and make for the door. "I'm sorry, Cathy. - I'm sorry I never told you why I'm like this. But you don't get to be CEO of a pharamaceutical company without making some... Less than admirable decisions that affect the lives of thousands, often *millions*. I fear there is no redemption for a man who increasing the prices of life saving drugs based how much people *need* them. But I want to try and make things better... I always have, I just don't know how."
Cathy composed herself, this time was much harder than the rest, this time she was on the verge of hysterics. She really cared about him, she could see the conflict behind his eyes and the pain he hid behind the boozing. "It's never too late to make changes." was all she could manage to say before yanking her arm away and leaving the house in tears.
&#x200B;
Two days later, Cathy was at her sisters birthday party, trying to forget that she was now freshly on the job market and she had no idea how Thomas was. It occurred to her more than once that he may have decided to do something rash and final, like suicide, though she reminded herself that the best thing she could do is allow him to see the error in his ways, alone. Much like how he ran his business, he would never act on the advice of someone else unless he could spin it to look like it was actually *his* idea in the first place.
After a few hours of drinking and somewhat forced merriment with her loved ones, she caught sight of Thomas's face on the television. Her heart paused, started and then paused again.
"**Turn that up, now!**" she yelled at her sister while frantically trying to find the remote "what the fuck is happening?!" she muttered to herself while throwing cushions and generally messing up her sisters living room.
The news reporter blared up on the TV as her sister found the remote and began raising the volume. "In an unprecedented move, the CEO of PharmaCo has sold his shares, which represents over seventy percent of the company's stock, he has given out a statement which is just as strange and cryptic as the move itself. it was a written document that was passed out to myself and other reporters at the press conference. It simply reads: 'Sometimes all we need is a bit of assistance to find our way in life and I often find the more personal it is, the better.' it then goes on to tell us in less ambiguous terms just exactly what Sir Thomas plans on doing with the company he established."
Cathy wiped away a tear and asked her sister to turn it down. "false alarm, sorry." she smiled and asked if her sister would like another drink while she explained what had just happened.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Amelia, this is Cathy... I need to talk to you about your ex-husband, Tom. He's making some changes and I thought you would like to know some things about him..." | 2021-01-19T07:44:46 | 2021-01-19T07:16:35 | 126 | 27 |
[WP] You are a chivalrous knight. As it turns out, the Evil Empire you have been fighting against is a liberal democracy with a powerless figurehead and a very edgy sense of aesthetics. The Good Kingdom you serve is really an absolute monarchy ruled by a tyrant-king with good publicity. | You'd think someone wearing skulls with "Evil" written on the teeth would *realize* they were the bad guys, right? I had always thought that was a trope of the traveling actor guilds, but no, here I was talking to Lord Evil himself, skull-emblazoned shirt covered in spikes signifying the death he has caused for his people, chain necklaces signifying the slavery of his people, and heavy leather boots to show off the hard work he makes them do - just as we were taught in school in the Kingdom of Light. Lord Evil commands an evil land full of darkness and suffering. Yet he told me *we* were the ones in the wrong.
"You don't know what you're doing." He said as I pointed my dagger at him, closing in in his tiny back room.
"I know enough. I walked here through the villages. I heard the screaming at night, the death marches. I passed by traveling hordes that looked like they hadn't eaten in weeks, wailing and making strange flailing motions - you could hear them from leagues away and see their tortured suffering" I replied, dodging over a desk to try to grab him.
"You came to my kingdom at a bad time-" he jumped back around the desk and pushed a chair in front of me.
I cut him off. "Oh, so you didn't have time to sweep aside your evil deeds and give me a grand welcome? I know your type. That horde would have never even been let into the Kingdom of Light looking like that - they violated all of our dress and hygiene codes. Man, or they would have been fined and exiled if they were seen inside."
"No, you don't understand. None of the people from your kingdom ever listen to us, they just jump to conclusions. Our people you saw were dressed up for our winter festival."
I had him backed into a corner now, and took the time to talk, to get him to show some remorse before he died. That's the only way for his soul to be saved. Well, that or pay the High Priest of Light 10 years of labor or equivalent gold.
"You mean you starved them on purpose to be sacrifices at your festival? There must have been two legions of people there. In the Kingdom of Light we never sacrifice more than ten people at a festival, and they're always children so it lessens the impact on our economy... It used to be two children per year but the parents complained so they are sacrificed now too, as two whole families of five people each. Our good king decreed that for us to keep us safe."
"That's terrible!" He said. I paused, noticing the regret in his voice. Maybe he was starting to listen?
"Yes, you're truly terrible to sacrifice whole villages of young adults. I can't imagine what you would have decreed, and the suffering you have caused, Lord Evil."
"Would you listen to me? I think we have a misunderstanding"
"Fine! You have two minutes." I settled in with a smug grin. "Tell me why you think a skullmaster named Lord Evil has a simple 'misunderstanding' with the Kingdom of Light."
"Our winter festival - this is a music festival, you see. The 'hordes' you saw were going there to dance! It's a celebration of personal identity, so you probably saw them dressed up. The flailing was dancing. Have you ever danced before? Or sang?"
"Dancing's only allowed in the King's court, with a golden ticket. He says only people who are in his presence are happy enough to do it. And only certain songs... My mother was taken away for singing to me in the field once - she said she made me happier than any king ever could." My eyes watered remembering her voice.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He put his hand on my shoulder and continued. "We give people a month off of work to rejuvenate their spirits in the winter. That's terrible that you can't express yourselves this way."
"It would be nice, but if our king decrees it that way, he must have a good reason. He removed days of rest a few years ago - if we're busy enough, we don't cause trouble. He's such a wise man."
"Speaking of that - he also decreed killing human beings. Why do you even do that?"
"How else are you going to ensure there is enough food left after the taxes are taken? They say one soul is enough for the gods to give us twenty rainfalls."
"Don't you use irrigation?"
"No, the old pipes rusted out a generation ago - but relying on the gods is much better. Otherwise how would the king have been able to afford his new appointment room? I can't imagine what *your* appointment room must look like."
"Uh" he gestured broadly "you're looking at it. I hardly have enough to repair the walls when mice get in."
"But it's so plain!"
"It's *fine*. It's cozy. It helps me focus."
"But where do you hide your traps?"
"The what?"
"You know, like the cage for the tiger you release to eat the people you don't like, or the sword that swings down to make sure people are bowing deeply enough. How do you enforce your decrees?"
"I don't have any of that! Maybe it would come in handy sometimes, but I'm actually powerless."
I gestured pointedly at his skull crown.
He pulled up a chair and we ended up talking for a few hours. I have a lot to think about now. Lord Evil's parents were free spirits who gave him that name. He knows how to dance - he showed me a few moves - and told me his outfit, chains and spikes, is "metal" attire to bring more soul to the dancing, or something like that. And he actually *is* powerless. He talked me through the bureaucratic process they have and it's amazing they get anything done at all. Apparently that's also why he can't change his name, though his friends call him Bernard. But since he has nothing to do, he's taking me to the winter festival to show me what he calls the best of his kingdom. Maybe it's a ruse so he can sacrifice me there? But I think it's worth it if I can hear the songs my mother used to sing me. Maybe I can learn something good from this evil land full of dancers and bureaucracy. | From the tallest spire to the deepest pit, from the rudest hovel to the Senate’s halls, the universal constant of the Republic of Aetera was fear.
Fear of the Empire that lay across the narrow channel at the center of the Great Inland Sea, whose two opposing peninsulas sat like a belt across the whole of the civilized world. On a clear day the citizens of Aetera could see the smoke wreathed factories of their enemy across the water and poets wrote of the hammer-blows of deadly industry echoing off the halls of the great names.
Where Sir Perrin sat he heard none of it, though he had been known to swear he could feel the crushing weight of the water far overhead. That day however, from his spot far underground at the mouth of the ancient passage to the Ways, the knight could hear nothing more than the nervous shifting of thousands of men behind him. Could smell only their rank sweat and the even more overpowering scent of too many horses packed into too small a chamber.
Sir Perrin of Falstead Hill sat astride a white charger, resplendent in the rune-etched plate armor he wore. He shield bore the crest of his house, the oaken branch and falcon, and the sword he held in his hands glowed a pale blue. It was as ancient as the passage.
“The men are ready Sir,” his squire called. The boy (his nephew) was young and unblooded as yet but promising. In the beginning Perrin had only taken him on as a favor to his sister but after his aid the past months he had earned a measure of respect.
“Are you ready to earn your spurs, Garth?” Perrin asked. The boy’s eyes chest swelled and the grip on his lance tightened, full of emotion at the glorious battle to come. When his affirmation came it was in a voice that shook with passion.
It was time. From behind the great mass of the army drums began to beat and Sir Perrin raised his sword above his head to the cheer of thousands. The word of power he spoke was drowned out by their roar, but magic had never needed to be heard to felt.
The dark face of the rock wall in front of him began to glow with the massive outline of a door, silvery lines spiraling like crack nearly to the stalactites that hung from the ceiling. It began low in the register, a bass rumble like the tide that grew and grew until it drowned out noise that had ever risen from the throats of men.
With a final look to his nephew and the army behind them Sir Perrin lead his men into the Ways, into the dreamlike strangeness of a journey through the very bowels of the ancients’ magic and then up. Up and up into the very heart of their enemy’s city.
When he passed through that shining door Perrin realized two things immediately. One, that the magics he dealt with now were beyond him, beyond anything he had ever attempted in his life, and two, that they were not alone.
On the other side of the opalescent expanse of the Ways a figure stood, shrouded in a floor-length cloak and deeply cowled hood, carrying a staff whose tip gleamed like a torch.
Perrin could feel the army behind him in the hundreds now, swelling every second. The figure in front in the distance had clearly seen them too, and rather than turning back it began to come closer. With every step Perrin could feel its power here in this world beyond the realm of men, looking down at his sword he saw its blade shudder, the light fading before his eyes.
“Go back!” he screamed, turned towards his men. “Retreat! Retreat!” Beside him he could see the confused face of his nephew, the boy’s horse beginning to turn away but not quickly, not quickly enough by half.
Perrin held the boy’s gaze for only a moment before he was gone, charging towards the unknown figure, sword raised overhead while he still screamed the retreat for all it was worth.
Before him the staff flashed blindingly once and the Ways tore around them, scattering the Republic’s army like seeds on the wind.
\*\*\*
Perrin, woke with a brutal headache and his nephew’s face swimming in his eyes. His horse was gone and on all sides the world was only blackness but his soldier’s instincts told him he was not alone.
Several feet away the chill glow of a ghostlight winked into being and Sir Perrin was suddenly face to face with the figure, undoubtedly a wizard, who had shattered the army of his people.
He hadn’t been prepared for her to be so young, or so beautiful.
“Stay back!” she said, the faint glimmer of a ward rising up around her, but she need not have worried here in the depths of the Earth. Perrin was too completely disarmed by the simple fact of her being, and even still his codes would not have allowed him to kill in cold blood, or to harm a lady in any but the most grievous of circumstances. Even one such as this who had ruined him.
“You needn’t worry, lass,” he said, voice reverting back to the more the softer lilt of his youth. “I won’t kill you, especially not down here. You have the only light.”
She stared at him a moment, as if she could measure his character in a place so far from sane.
“Sometimes defeated men act like cornered animals. In my experience vengeance trumps sense 9 times out of 10.”
Sir Perrin cracked a weak smile at her as he turned away to examine their surroundings, the claustrophobically short ceiling he could barely stand up in, and the cascade of fallen rocks off to his right in a direction that even a wizard couldn’t tell east from west down here. All else was bare, impenetrable rock.
“Then I’m the 10th, and be grateful for it. I have no more wish to die down here than you. Not until I see my men again. They could be trapped down here for all I know and I will not abandon them.” His nephew’s face came unbidden again.
From behind him Perrin could suddenly smell ozone and hear shrill whine of a lightning spell charging.
His sword was out in an instant and the runes etched into his armor changed, morphing as needed when they sensed the danger.
“I would not do that if I were you,” Perrin growled, “else we’ll both die down here in darkness so deep even the gods can’t see.”
Fractions crept into full seconds as he stood ready to die, then into something longer until finally he could sense her magic powering down, mana dispersing back from whence it came.
Impossibly then, she laughed.
“Do your people really believe that?” she said, in between a high pitched, girlish giggle that broke the moment entirely for him. Perrin couldn’t keep it in as he looked back to her, and soon the two enemies had fallen to their backsides in the dust of the cave, laughing for no other reason now than the fact they both yet lived.
“Do you really though?” she finally managed to chuckle out. “In the Empire we revere the darkness because the gods were born from it, it’s a place of power, even for mortals.”
Perrin took that in with a shake of his head, he was a worldly man and had heard of such things of course, but to hear them from one who believed them herself? It reminded him that in all his forty years he had never once actually spoken to a citizen of the Empire.
“Aye, we do,” he said at length. “I’d never been in a cave until recently, the priests say that if we die in a land the Sun God has never reached he cannot carry our souls back to heaven.”
A sharp intake of breath beside him.
“And still you sought to travel the Ways? An entire army who believed that?”
Perrin only nodded, staring deeply into eyes that seemed too blue to be real.
She turned from him at that, a sad look on her face, and when she spoke he could barely hear her. “Then what must your people think of us?” she asked herself. He kept his counsel, the answer ran too deep.
[\------continued below-----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/le6cnm/wp_you_are_a_chivalrous_knight_as_it_turns_out/gmarkwn?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2021-02-06T16:08:32 | 2021-02-06T15:50:30 | 1,193 | 163 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | I was a joke, I knew it, the city knew it, the heroes knew it. Sure they had to adapt to whatever my latest superweapon was and overcome, becoming stronger, pushing the limits of their powers but they always overcame my latest scheme, I never got anywhere in the grand scheme of things. So, I was a joke, but the joke was on them. They thought I was a failure because I never succeeded in getting the money, the girl, the power, or control. I thought I was a failure because they never understood that I was training them.
It was my biggest frustration honestly. I could never get a single one of these heroes to look beyond their preconceived notions of good and evil and realize that what they thought were bumbling attempts to be villainous really prepared them for true threats. They never saw the bigger picture. So when the Void Menace, a serial hero-killer came to town I wasn't too worried. I sat back on my couch with some pretzels and a helping of hummus and watched the fight unfold via the innumerable surveillance drones that I had around town to record training footage.
Void Menace started by using his Absolute Zero move to ice the ground under our local speedster's feet. Classic move to deal with a super-fast opponent, nice opening but weak. Blue Shift merely vibrated at a rate that allowed her foot to phase about a quarter of a centimeter below the ice and into the ground, allowing her to retain perfect traction. I smirked, she'd learned that one when I attacked with my Blizzard Bombs last July. The resounding punch from the speedster rocked the villain sending him reeling.
Lady Crimson a dark-haired Amazonian was the next target of the Menace. Tendrils of pure darkness snaked out from every shadow and bound the heroine, wrapping and knotting around her limbs and body. Most heroes would try to break free with brute strength, and LC had plenty to spare but some bonds couldn't be broken by strength alone. After encountering my nano-reinforced, self-repairing plotinium chains a year ago though Lady Crimson, in reality, a lovely woman with two adorable kids, had learned to escape from bonds better than Harry Houdini himself. Menace roared in rage when she seemed to magically slide free.
Titanomax, the super-strong, invincible, flying member of the local supers took that moment to attack. Flinging shadows at the bruiser, the Menace temporarily blinded him, just like I had in 96 during the "Great Blackout." The hero's super hearing however allowed him to compensate. I did raise an eyebrow when the villain followed the attack by creating a void pocket and allowing the resulting pop to create a deafening sonic boom. Guess he's dealt with superheroes with enhanced hearing before! I laughed though as his eyes widened in surprise as Titanomax slugged him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of even that super-powered monster.
As Void Menace bounced across the concrete, cracking the ground with every impact I winced, then laughed as Titanomax gave a knowing nod to Electrix, the group's gadgeteer. I knew Titanomax wore sound discriminating earplugs ever since Electrix had captured the tech from me when he teamed up with the Silver Banshee to take me down during the Peanut Butter Heist of 07. In fact, I was pretty sure the whole team had them now, since they also served as GPS, com-link, and tracking devices that used quantum entanglement to be unhackable and unobservable.
I looked down at the empty bowl of pretzels. That was a mistake because when I looked up Electrix had a smoking rifle held up and a smug look on his face. I cursed and focused on Menace. I didn't see any wounds even as the brute stood slowly, coughing a little blood from Titanomax's last hit but still standing. He seemed to be considering his situation and I could tell his next move. He snapped his fingers. I'm sure he meant to use Void Stride, his ultimate teleport that could span light-years, but nothing happened. I put two and two together rather quickly.
Electrix had "captured" some anti-teleport tech from me a few years back. They thought I was teleporting into the bank vaults and then using the tech to stop any heroes from teleporting in while I robbed the bank. It took them a few tries to catch me and by then I had coated the inside of the bank vaults of more than half the city with my anti-teleportation tech. Actually how they caught me was a pretty good move on their part, you see... You know what, story for another time. Long story short Electrix had adapted it to be used on teleporting villains as those slippery buggers were some of the hardest to pin down.
I stood up and walked away from the screen at that point. I wanted a glass of water, the pretzels had made me so thirsty, and to be honest it was just wrap up by now. They'd throw him in the super-max jail. In most cities, I'd be worried about him getting out in under a week but I'd broken out of that place 138 times out of the 139 times I'd been arrested. Each time they improved security, closing the vulnerability I exposed to escape. The last time, well the last time I didn't escape. I was all set to retire to life in prison, safe in the knowledge my city and my heroes were as protected as I could make them, but one of the heroes had surprised me.
Titanomax, crusader of truth and justice just, let me go. I didn't ask why, maybe he felt sorry for me. I did see pity in his eyes when he did, and shame. I had hoped he understood I had never been out to do evil, but I'm not sure he did. I think he thought I was just some sad old villain who was past his prime and not able to keep up with the heroes of today. It made me sad to realize that they didn't even see how much stronger they had gotten. A lesser man would have worried they had gotten too strong, turned to villainy themselves. But all six hundred heroes I had raised over the last fifty years turning evil at once? Not likely. I sat on my couch with a cup of tea and looked up at my wall covered in news clippings and magazine articles of their many victories and triumphs and smiled. If one of them broke in now and saw the tribute they would likely think I was plotting revenge, but nothing could be further from the truth.
*EDIT: Thanks for the awards and upvotes! I'm very happy to see so many people enjoyed it! | I’d tap my foot impatiently on the metal floor of my underground base, this new guy in town, who is he? Why is he here? And what is his goal? I’d turn on the massive big screen TV I stole from the new Mega-theater, maybe clear my head from it, I expect to hear news of my latest heist of the massive screen, instead I find a bank robbery in progress, hostages, explosive traps. One hero, a close rival of mine had already gone in and, gotten killed? My minion in their comically colorful jumpsuits runs up and hands me a file on this new villain, The Dominator, What an odd name...Wanted Internationally for...mass murder and seeking to cause a nuclear apocalypse, I need to clear my head, I’d take the file as I’d begin to walk out of my control room
I’d read through the crimes this new villain had committed, so much death and destruction in his wake, I’d look up at my hallway, photos, of my doomsday devices, my traps, and me getting arrested, all those times, minions walk by, cheerfully saluting me, yet I can’t shake this feeling, am I not a good villain? Is this new thing what villains do, not building eleborate lairs with doomsday countdowns, no, hidden shark traps that hero’s can dodge? I’d walk into my vault, filled with gold stolen from the downtown bank, filled with relics and loot I’ve stolen over the years, a ride from the shopping mall, the key to the city, ah yes, that picture. I’d look at the old photo, me buying the land my lair sits under now.
A minion walks up to me, “Doctor Dread, Sir, Boss, Overlord of the Central Metro Area, there’s a guy called “The Dominator” Who wants to speak with you. I’d sigh, walking back through the hall to my central sanctum, I’d sit on my large control chair, as the message comes on, a gruff voice comes over the speaker
”Doctor Dread I’ve come to-where are you?”
I’d slowly turn in my chair, my black and red lab coat, and red goggles showing themselves as I’d brush my pet raven on the chairs arm, I’d laugh in my exaggerated accent
”So, The Dominator is it, what is the meaning of your cont-“
The massive man in a suit of armor, covered in tubes and gas tanks with a gas mask cuts me off
”I’ve come to ask your assistance in destroying this city and killing its hero’s“
I’d respond confused in this plan
”Destroy the city, kill the hero’s, only one of those can I get behind, but how shall we do it, shrink the city and put it in a snowglobe, wait! We can use a time ray and slow the city dow-“
The Dominator cuts me off again
”No you idiot, I was thinking we lure the hero’s into the open, then we nuke the entire city, devestasting everything
I’d pause a moment before speaking
”You are a more direct villain I see, bit we’ll need a countdown timer, and clues to give the hero’s time to defuse i-“
He begins to shout at me
”You are a villain, why are you letting these heros stop your plans, do not want to end the pathetic world?”
I’d retort
”Why are you murdering hero’s causing chaos, why is there all that fire in your base, that’s a safety hazard, do you not know what I do here, I try to take the city, I lose, and I almost win, but loses, my plans are perfect, yet the hero’s are always better, do you know why I do this, when I was a young boy, I was always bullied for my genius, so I swore, I would turn all of those who wronged me into-“
The Dominator, clearly annoyed cuts me off, again, this is getting really annoying
”What is wrong with you!? We are supposed to destroy the world, or conquer it, here you are with a retro lair and stupid easy to avoid traps, Why not use your genius, you’ve made literal ray guns that can teleport basically anything, anywhere, and you use it to steal a large fish tank from a carnival!?”
I’d respond
”To be fair the fish tank was priced at like, a few thousand dollars”
He’d scream at me in raged
“Yet you spent even more money on a dark matter device, why not just buy the fish tank, or dol anything more useful to doing something, I was a soldier in the army long ago, they betrayed me, denied me benefits, ruined my life the government did, now I must end the world to make it even!, I will cause a nuclear holocaust and end this pathetic...wait, why am I telling you my plan!?”
I’d respond in a condescending tome
“First off, then I would have to get my minions to transport the fish tank, and they were tired that day, and it‘s so heavy” I’d glance at the massive fish tank on the wall, then continue talking “Secondly, it’s called monologuing, we villains always do, and finally, how dare you insult my ability to win aganist heros, just wait till they see my next plan, MY MIND CONTROL DEV-“
He cuts me off, going fully serious
”Your mind control device? Are you seriously telling me you figured out mind control, I can just mind control the hero’s and use them to destroy the world!“
I’d respond a bit blankly
”Well that could work, I was actually thinking of mind controlling the truck companies to steal the cities supply of fish but-“
He speaks to be excited “Forget that, we can take over the city together and win this world for our own, I’ll bring you the cities heros and we’ll control their minds and use them to take over”
The screen goes to static, I‘d slump down in may chair, is this a good plan, no more heros means no more epic battles, and I lose my purpose, if I do win, what then? Well I suppose the heros will find some epic way to defeat me, again, and then I’ll make a better device, and they’ll surely lose to that one, I’d perk up, realizing this guy was just a more modern version of me, nothing to be concerned about
I‘d cheerfully run down the hall of my facility heading toward the mind control room, waiting in excitment for them to show up.
(Timeskip)
The door opens and I’d turn preparing my speech, then I’d see a squad of armed men in masks, with the dominator leading them, the hero’s in chains, beaten up and hardly still conscious
I’d blankly ask
”Why so many guards, don’t you know you can only use fist fighting and occasionally a gun one at a time?”
My minions nod around me, having done this countless times, the men ignore me and sit the hero’s in the chairs locking them in, the Dominator gestures to the control panel, I’d slowly walk forward, is this a good thing, The hero‘s won’t be able to break free as they are the only ones who can set others free, so they’ll never get better, only work for me, I’d sigh, closing my eyes and adjusting the control panal, then pressing the obnoxiously large activate button, a massive wave of electrical energy shoots out, then stops, the restraints in the chairs unlock, the hero‘s spring up ready to fight, and then realize that all the people, except me and my minions, are just slowly moaning and shambling around like zombies
I‘d cheerfully perk up
”Of course I made my minions and I immune to the mind control ray, I’m a genius!”
The heros look at my confused, their leader speaks up
”Why help us, why mind control those guys, why did you reverse the machines to hit them instead of us?”
I’d sigh finally ready to reveal it
”Because I’ve always had your best interests in mind, I’m the yin to your yang, the bad guy to keep this city in a state where it needs you giving you purpose and meaning, and a reason to get better, that’s why I do this, I’m shocked you didn’t figure it out sooner, but don’t worry, my next plot will surely defeat you AHAHAHAHAHAHA”
The heros grab the hypotized goons and walk out, looking at each other with smiles, and a bit of confusion, leaving me to plot my next scheme.
(Doctor Dread looks like a evil scientist with a black and red lab coat and goggles)
Thank you for reading- Winged | 2021-05-20T07:25:02 | 2021-05-20T06:49:30 | 795 | 98 |
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord. | “I am not going to just upload my spells to your console if that’s what you were expecting” The journeyman strictly tells the wizard much his senior.
Since the beginning of the empires history, and truly long before that, spells have existed and that was it. Your master uploaded them to your console and bang you could cast the spell. The difference between Wizards was never the spells they had access to but how quickly they could cast them and the quality of the cast spell. A Grandmaster, like the wizard here today, and an Apprentice know the exact same spells, only a Grandmaster can cast a dozen spells at once and have them be much larger just because of the pure power they can put in them.
“What do you mean? Why else am I here? That bastard of a grandmaster of fire just told me I was here to learn new spells. It seemed like he had finally given up on keeping all the fire spells to himself, but I guess that was just a farce.” The grandmaster clearly isn’t pleased by this journeyman’s actions.
“Now now, these aren’t the normal spells at all. You know the incomprehensible symbols on your console?”
“Of course, I know them much better than a fool like you, only reaching journeyman by 50 years of age. And what on earth are you going on about, new spells my ass!”
“I have figured out there meaning! I hovered on the rank of apprentice for years focusing my entire attention on decoding these words of magic along side my late master. I have the ability to make new unique spells by altering existing spells, and I even discovered new unique magic that doesn’t even have a type! Why else do you think the Grandmaster of Fire told you to come to me to get fire spells when he could of easily taught you himself?”
“Unique magic? Altering existing spells? I am no fool I must see to believe!”
A spell materialized on the journeyman’s hand. If not for the grandmaster keeping magic sense always active he would never of been able to sense the ball of mana on the young man’s hand. “By comparing all the existing fire spells my master figured out which line turned the mana into fire. It was me however who figured out how to remove it without the spell collapsing. This is almost useless however as pure mana since it’s harmless against non-magic materials. This changes when you shape it however,” the ball shoulders and changes into the a flat disc “The spell originally calls for the spell to pull on the ambient mana in the surroundings equally from all directions. I editing it after four months to make it a into the shape of a disc.” He adds the fire line back into the spell and it burst to life and he sends it off and it cuts deep into the wall and begins to melt the brick, “I have already shared this knowledge with the Grandmaster of fire and asked for him to send for you so you I can teach you the language of code. I have reached as far as I could alone. I know my master would of wished for me to keep it to myself but this knowledge needs to be known to allow our stagnant culture to finally come again grow! Maybe one day the entire language will be deciphered and we as wizard will be able to create spells for purposes other than destruction. Instead of drowning your opponents in an oceans worth of water you could allow entire forests to spring to life in a single moment!” | Voulrin, the Lord of Water. Even though I was far out of my element, that name still swirled around my mind’s eye as one of the world’s foremost mages.
In person, the sense of awe did not evaporate. Deep lines carved out weathered trenches in his face, though clear blue eyes stared at me with the intensity of a starved man with a fresh, hot meal in front of him. He held the Lord’s hat to his chest, an exclusive headgear crafted from expensive mage cloth, which could hold spells within them—not just enchantments. Waves gently swished within the hat with each step he took, flowing navy robes looking like the sea itself churned behind him, in stark contrast to the red carpet that ran down the long, cobblestone hall.
I gulped. A water wizard? And the Lord? I’ve been training with fire for barely six months!
“Hmm,” Voulrin said. “You are to be my new apprentice?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered. “I… hope to be of use to you.”
“You will, by nature of the assignment, be quite useless,” Voulrin said. Though his words were blunt, there was no hint of malice. Instead, each syllable was clear, matter-of-fact, and held hard-earned wisdom behind them.
“I see,” I said. It was difficult to keep the disappointment from sneaking into my voice.
“Now,” the Water Lord said. “Show me your most powerful flame.”
“Um,” I hesitated. “I…”
“Please. When I ask for something, do it promptly. You will not surprise me either way. If it is smaller than expected, the only damage is to your pride. If it is larger, then I am here. There is no better protection against fire. Of course, I will judge you on your control, brightness, colour, and intensity as well.”
To be expected of the Water Lord. It was unfathomable of me to even know a single iota of other elemental magic. Water wizards created water. Earth wizards created earth. That was the extent of my knowledge—but Voulrin spoke like he’s been training with fire for decades.
“Fine,” I muttered, probing for the sparks within me. I breathed in deeply, feeling them gather, flocking together slowly, and pushed them towards the palm of my hands.
“At me, please,” Voulrin said.
“What?”
“It is the best way to prevent damage,” the Lord said. “Even the smallest fire can burn down a castle.”
I turned towards him. He was the one who asked me to follow prompt directions. I shot out a fireball, about the size of two fists laid against each other, watching it track to Voulrin.
He simply held out a hand. A swirling whirlpool waited in his palm, which swallowed my fireball with ease.
“Not too bad,” Voulrin said. “You followed my instructions. The flame, however, is barely of second-year standard.”
“I’ve just completed my first year,” I said.
“Decently talented,” he said. “Fine. I will accept you as an apprentice.”
“Forgive me for asking, Lord,” I shuffled my feet. “But… are you not a master of water? What can you do for me and my improvement?”
“First, tell me your name.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling red creep up my cheeks. “Besher.”
“Besher. It is true I will never be able to stoke your flames for you,” Voulrin said. “But if you’d so please, do take a look at the water I am able to command.”
Voulrin held out two hands, and two massive maelstroms sprang forth. They were miniature storms spinning in his mere palms, and seemed to grow upwards every second. Yet, though they looked wild and unruly, they were controlled with ease by the Lord of Water, who swept the storms through the hall, even enveloping me.
I didn’t feel so much as a drop of water land on me.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered. “Simply ridiculous.”
“Mind you, that is without an actual water source,” Voulrin said. “But think of it as the world’s best safety net. I directly counter your element, which means unless you are a vastly superior fire wizard, you’ll never be able to overpower me.
“Fair,” I said.
“And, fire is borne of passion,” Voulrin said. “No matter what flames you put forth, I will douse you. Will that light up a blaze within you, or will it dampen your spirits?”
I stayed silent, still marvelling at Voulrin’s complete mastery of water. It was true. It would probably be decades before I could even singe one of his loose threads, let alone actually get a hit on him.
“It will not be easy. I am not nurturing kindling, seeking to slowly boost your flames,” the Lord of Water said. “I am instead your natural enemy. Few will thrive. But those who do…”
“Will become one of the best,” I said.
“Good, Besher, good,” Voulrin smiled. “Now, throw more fire at me. Try to burn me if you want. Though, know you won’t reach there in a century.”
“I’m aiming for fifty years,” I gritted my teeth, pulling the heat into my hands again.
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-05-30T14:06:54 | 2022-05-30T11:33:51 | 37 | 22 |
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