prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords. | "I was homeless, you idiot! I was trash on the side of the street that you walked by without even seeing! Now I have a job, I have a house - a home! You cannot even begin to imagine what that word means to me."
The recruiter on my doorstep with the 'Freedom Now' hat, and a fistful of pamphlets had no idea how to respond. I slammed the door in his stupid face, and started to get ready for work.
The lube, the gimp suit, the various toys and fluid containers, check. All good.
I sighed. Don't get me wrong, I love my home. MY. HOME.
But some days the only thing that gets me through my shift is a profound gratitude that I do not understand the alien words they whisper in my ears as I get worked. | “EINCNIxiapwkmfPakmf IsjdnIdjfjKddkF42069 sjdjfj ajsjejjePWLDNFNF!”
The new alien overlords screeched on their speakers from their spacecrafts.
A teleprompter like device soon displayed the following: “And there is a minimum of two wives required with a full two days of breeding, one for each, no labor on these days. ”
The men in the massive gathered crowd began cheering.
The aliens looked at each other for a moment.
“riricjCCHHHHHH!”
The teleprompter noted: “You DO know this is mandatory, right?”
“FUCK YEAHHHH!”, the males in the crowd yelled.
The aliens shuddered at the thought that these creatures enjoyed forced procreation. The most painfully cruel act for their species.
There was but few rules left. They had to fear us with these next few, they thought. There is no power without fear and fear is bought with pain.
“wiWskxkdk~*,£<#SSSSNIPERWOLF{}}#”
The teleprompter churned out: “All humans will now be FORCED to live in a 1 bedroom 3,000 square foot house.” The whole west and east coast of every civilized nation erupted with joy. Cheers and cries of laugher.
The aliens were still confused but were slightly pleased at the mixed screams and tears streaming from some of the humans’ eyes.
They continued:
“widiiciaoLC /$;&&?&(- owockvlpApssOooofocoAOOSKXCNFNFK *click click click* Deez nutz”
The final decree. This must elicit fear or else their whole backbone of ruling with fear and cruelty would fall apart.
The crowd’s cheers and yelling died down. The words slowly flowed onto the screen. They read as follows: “And only 3 months of vacation time allowed each solar year. With mandatory flight simulations to the hottest places on earth. Near the equator. A place known as ‘Hawaii’”
The crowds of humans each gathered around their center of cities and towns roared with enthusiasm. They began chanting: “WELCOME TO EARTH!”
Frustratingly the aliens watched as their soon to be conquered planet seems to revel in their new decrees. They knew this reign would not last. That impudence and horror awaited them. The last thing they uttered “Ye3zY” was translated and placed on screen: “We’ll be taking our leave now. Sorry to have bothered you. Please forget this ever happened.” Their spacecraft darted into the ever expanding black æther. Into the nothingness. Everyone paused. The silence. Broken only by the people’s cries: “What did we do wrong? Please, please come back to us! We’ll change we promise!” And they never came back. The status quo came back. And everyone was miserable. | 2022-11-02T23:57:17 | 2022-11-02T23:51:10 | 129 | 38 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | No one would believe me if I told them. And I don't know if *I* believe me, sitting here alone, thinking about the past.
I can imagine my husband Jared, the lawyer, murmuring in my mind, muttering his arguments and counterarguments. He taught me to argue, and whenever I am conflicted with myself, I use his staunch logic and his raspy voice.
"I never saw *any* of them in the same room." I didn't. I hadn't. "But you didn't want to, did you? You believed in keeping your friend groups separate. You never introduced any of them to *me*."
I felt the desperation in my thoughts, the bleakness in the alternative. Because now, today, a month after my husband died and took everything with him, it has been a month since I saw my best friend Sarah, a month since I'd seen my psychologist, a month since Jonathan, my cubicle-mate, had stopped coming into work.
And I'd never seen them in the same place, and they'd all pronounced "Mature" like Mah-toor, weird, right, and they'd all been *my type of people*, and... and they were *all gone*.
I had been so optimistic my entire life, so optimistic right up to the moment a semi smashed into Jared's coupe on the highway and decapitated him in a moment, so optimistic until he was gone forever, so optimistic until everyone was gone with him, everyone that mattered.
"And here you are now, concocting ridiculous theories to *stay* optimistic, because you'd rather believe that all your friends were Jared, died with Jared, then to believe that they all left you. That they abandoned you. That they're gone."
No. They would have stayed. They would have stayed. | The shapeshifter doesn't remember it's origin. It's been here for far too long. It doesn't even remember it's original name. It has taken the form of too many people. People that throughout the years that have been successful, talented and have had rich life giving experiences. Theses experiences taught this alien creature what the humans are all about. It has learned to love each family it's come across and each family it has been a part of.
This better half of the century it has chosen to live through the life of a man that was considered a celebrity. A celebrity that had no shortage of friends or fans, and got quite busy with them at that. It could be said the alien was enjoying itself very much. It has lead nothing but selfish or enjoyable lives throughout its time, and yet the alien thought it had everything figured out. One evening this shapeshifter had a house party that a lot of people had showed up to. Including a man named Colin. Colin never was too happy with his life, and accepted his life to be quite a disappointment. He had no friends, and both his parents were very dismissive of the parenting role that was such a burden to them. Colin didn't even know what he was doing with his life. All he ever wanted was a couple of friends. One friend maybe? What was the use anyway? Colin was too socially awkward he wouldn't know what to do with them.
It was time to leave this party he thought. He didn't even know how he got an invitation. He looked up to leave and was startled to see the shapeshifter staring at him. He had a frown upon his face, but was puzzled at this man named Colin. He didn't seem like anyone he had the pleasure of meeting before. Why has he not met someone like Colin? Perhaps they don't go out much? Perhaps this is a new experience I can have? Colin watched as this man walked off into the crowd. He was still puzzled, but what did it matter, he has met the same look many times in terms of his parents. Colin walked to leave out the door to his second hand car. A figure walked quickly into him at the door."woah hey man! Shit my drink! No don't worry about it man, it's an accident. But..uh..wait shit! You are that Colin guy right? Dude no way! I've heard a lot about you dude!" Colin was immensely confused. How could this guy the same age as him possibly know who he is? "I apologize man, really for the drink and all, but how do you know me?" "Shit, well I heard a lot about you from the girls I hang with bro, you know Stacy and, fuck, that one over there katelyn!" Colin looked over. They were girls from high school. Girls that he never spoke one word to, and never planned to due to his nervousness. "They have been talking about me?" "Well of course bro, you're like what? The hottest guy they've seen?" "Wait what? Umm, I actually never talked to them personally dude,well..I uh sorry uh what your name?" Colin was trying the best to change the subject the best he could. But as soon as the casual name question popped up the man made a quick excuse to go back the party and let Colin go on his way. It was all very surreal. It must be a sick joke Colin thought. There is now way in hell anybody would know him, especially the girls he has done so sure to avoid in the past.
I have to leave unfortunately. This is my first try at a story. Let me know if it's worth continuing. I had planned Colin to meet his new best friend, along a few others. Along with that, his first girlfriend. One day after his girlfriend leaves(to transform into best friend) the shapeshifter forgot his cell phone. In which Colin tries to look through(personal issues), and finds no record of any proof she has other friends. Looking into it he discovers the horrible truth. | 2014-08-15T11:11:00 | 2014-08-15T08:43:05 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will... | He looked at me. His eyes were dark and sunken into his pale face. I sensed something - something terrible - but I didn't want it to be true. Ten. Just a number to some, but to me, it was something terrifying. I could sense danger, but not in the animal planet documentary story of a dog predicting a storm kind of way, it was more of "this persons dangerous stay away". Ten. It was the highest number I've ever felt. The last time it was even above a three was at the local gun show that I went to with my grandpa. But even then there were only fives, sixes, and maybe a stray ex-ranger or marine who clocked in at an eight. But never a ten.
The kid across the hall must've been about 15 years old, a year younger than myself. Freshman no doubt. I could tell by the way he carried himself walking through the hall, scared and timid, or maybe it was because he was new. Either way it didn't really matter. He was new and he was dangerous. The boy didn't glow with a scary or dangerous aura as some kids do, you know the senior who has about 50 pounds on you, has way too many tattoos to still be in high school and probably carries a knife or that constantly pissed off and high on caffeine kid who is always in the principles, no he didn't look like that. He just looked sad, depressed even.
Days passed and I didn't bother him and he didn't bother me. I saw him from time to time in the halls and the alarm in my head shot off again and again. Ten. But I did nothing. What could I do though? You can't just approach someone and yell at them because "I can sense danger and you are a really dangerous guy". Ya start a huge scene about my magical powers that'll work! Definitely won't get my ass kicked for that. But still I felt like I needed to do something, warn someone, I can't just sit idly by as this kid roamed through school. I couldn't tell anyone though, no one would believe it. So the days passed and I started to forget about the boy. Not truly forget, I knew he was there, but more that I blocked him out. Maybe it was because he scared me, I don't know.
It has been four weeks since he arrived. TING, TING, TING. I knew I should have said something. I could've if I wanted too. Or maybe this was how it was suppose to be. I wasn't much of a believer in a "pre-determined destiny" kind of philosophy and yet I didn't try and change anything. I let it happen. TING, TING, TING, TING. This all could've been avoided. Fuck me, I was given this power and I never even fucking used it when I had the chance. TING, TING, TING. I deserve this, but they don't. They're innocent. TING, TING, TING, TING. They kept hitting the floor. I urged them to stop. Stop it, please! PLEASE GOD STOP IT. There was no god now though, he had turned a blind eye to this just as I had done to the boy. And this is the price I pay. TING, TING, TING. The shells hit the school tile as the boy with the gun marched through the halls ripping the life out of each and everyone who lined the halls. The blood pooled up at his feet. TING, TING, TING. He wouldn't stop. I kneeled and excepted my fate. The last thing that went through my mind was ten. TING. Just before the bullet erased everything.
| 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T12:31:42 | 140 | 38 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will... | Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 140 | 22 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Numbers taste funny. Nines bud into fires on my tongue, their spent embers resembling something akin to zeros. Ones bleed blue like melting ice or my nurse's cerulean eyes. Fives dissolve like Wonderbread and feel like cotton in my ears. When I went to school with other children, they tasted like loaves of stale white bread. Always purple fours at their desks, bland twos yellowing during educational videos. Peppery sixes on the monkey bars, but I would only watch.
My favorite numbers glowed orange, tasted like hot tea. One time, I tried to make the school turn red. Billowing pillars of smoky eccentricity, almost making nines. Eights running down the crimson hall. Sevens helping fallen sixes. No number tasted blue. And then they started putting me in another classroom. The seats' kaleidoscopic occupants percolating and icing throughout the day, especially during music time.
Six weeks later, the alarm bell exploded fantastic. The door became a prism of sixes bumping into sevens, bursting into nines, knocking over eights. I was not supposed to leave the room. Five minutes the screaming Wonderbread burned the cotton from my ears. My tongue rolled electrically and someone finally heard me.
A boy wandered in, soot-faced and smiling. White-hot teeth burning from his mouth. Eyes like zeros. Nostrils flaring like volcanoes.
"Another ten," he said, and strolled away. | He looked at me. His eyes were dark and sunken into his pale face. I sensed something - something terrible - but I didn't want it to be true. Ten. Just a number to some, but to me, it was something terrifying. I could sense danger, but not in the animal planet documentary story of a dog predicting a storm kind of way, it was more of "this persons dangerous stay away". Ten. It was the highest number I've ever felt. The last time it was even above a three was at the local gun show that I went to with my grandpa. But even then there were only fives, sixes, and maybe a stray ex-ranger or marine who clocked in at an eight. But never a ten.
The kid across the hall must've been about 15 years old, a year younger than myself. Freshman no doubt. I could tell by the way he carried himself walking through the hall, scared and timid, or maybe it was because he was new. Either way it didn't really matter. He was new and he was dangerous. The boy didn't glow with a scary or dangerous aura as some kids do, you know the senior who has about 50 pounds on you, has way too many tattoos to still be in high school and probably carries a knife or that constantly pissed off and high on caffeine kid who is always in the principles, no he didn't look like that. He just looked sad, depressed even.
Days passed and I didn't bother him and he didn't bother me. I saw him from time to time in the halls and the alarm in my head shot off again and again. Ten. But I did nothing. What could I do though? You can't just approach someone and yell at them because "I can sense danger and you are a really dangerous guy". Ya start a huge scene about my magical powers that'll work! Definitely won't get my ass kicked for that. But still I felt like I needed to do something, warn someone, I can't just sit idly by as this kid roamed through school. I couldn't tell anyone though, no one would believe it. So the days passed and I started to forget about the boy. Not truly forget, I knew he was there, but more that I blocked him out. Maybe it was because he scared me, I don't know.
It has been four weeks since he arrived. TING, TING, TING. I knew I should have said something. I could've if I wanted too. Or maybe this was how it was suppose to be. I wasn't much of a believer in a "pre-determined destiny" kind of philosophy and yet I didn't try and change anything. I let it happen. TING, TING, TING, TING. This all could've been avoided. Fuck me, I was given this power and I never even fucking used it when I had the chance. TING, TING, TING. I deserve this, but they don't. They're innocent. TING, TING, TING, TING. They kept hitting the floor. I urged them to stop. Stop it, please! PLEASE GOD STOP IT. There was no god now though, he had turned a blind eye to this just as I had done to the boy. And this is the price I pay. TING, TING, TING. The shells hit the school tile as the boy with the gun marched through the halls ripping the life out of each and everyone who lined the halls. The blood pooled up at his feet. TING, TING, TING. He wouldn't stop. I kneeled and excepted my fate. The last thing that went through my mind was ten. TING. Just before the bullet erased everything.
| 2014-11-29T13:27:21 | 2014-11-29T12:31:42 | 86 | 38 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Numbers taste funny. Nines bud into fires on my tongue, their spent embers resembling something akin to zeros. Ones bleed blue like melting ice or my nurse's cerulean eyes. Fives dissolve like Wonderbread and feel like cotton in my ears. When I went to school with other children, they tasted like loaves of stale white bread. Always purple fours at their desks, bland twos yellowing during educational videos. Peppery sixes on the monkey bars, but I would only watch.
My favorite numbers glowed orange, tasted like hot tea. One time, I tried to make the school turn red. Billowing pillars of smoky eccentricity, almost making nines. Eights running down the crimson hall. Sevens helping fallen sixes. No number tasted blue. And then they started putting me in another classroom. The seats' kaleidoscopic occupants percolating and icing throughout the day, especially during music time.
Six weeks later, the alarm bell exploded fantastic. The door became a prism of sixes bumping into sevens, bursting into nines, knocking over eights. I was not supposed to leave the room. Five minutes the screaming Wonderbread burned the cotton from my ears. My tongue rolled electrically and someone finally heard me.
A boy wandered in, soot-faced and smiling. White-hot teeth burning from his mouth. Eyes like zeros. Nostrils flaring like volcanoes.
"Another ten," he said, and strolled away. | Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T13:27:21 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 86 | 22 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | Thomas looked down at his iPad having just stepped out of the wormhole he had traveled through. "Strange," he said softly under his breath, "wifi." He quickly tapped the settings button and went into wifi settings. As the device discovered the one available network his heart dropped.
*"If you can read this turn back."*
After Thomas finally gathered himself he knew he should heed the message. As he darted into the wormhole back to his laboratory and stepped through. *Safe at last* he thought, as he shut down the machine powering his wormhole. "Fuck that shit" he said and went to lunch.
**TL;DR:** Thomas nopes the fuck out.
Edit: Thanks for my first gold kind stranger! | I'd just emerged from the subway (my time machine) and had been maneuvering through the veins of central New York City when I'd stumbled upon something grave. The tablet in my rucksack had hung heavy the whole while that I'd been weaving my way in and out of each flock of workers and businessmen alike, hanging like dead weight. I'd just turned the corner into what I believed to be Times Square, and my tablet buzzed in my rucksack, signaling me that there was a wi-fi hotspot nearby. I almost lost my footing and was swallowed by the crowd around me, but regained myself, turned around, and ditched down a back alley way to regain my sanity as well as a bit of privacy. The alley led down to the back of an Italian meat-shop, steam rising from the back kitchen door. I sat down against a chain-link fence, the metal wire caving to fit the curvature of my back. Dear gosh- was it really the wi-fi buzz I felt? I took my tablet from the rucksack that now leaned to my right side, cautious of the world around me. The fluorescent screen lit up like a match in the alley, and my brow began to sweat. *Would you like to connect to a server?* **One** *server nearby*. Out of curiosity, I clicked the "connect" button with a shaky finger. Something in my tablet flickered, and the wi-fi server appeared. *Damn.* The words sounded like a car crash when I read them in my head. "If you can see this, turn back", the screen read, and I'd never been so afraid of seven syllables in my life.
I stuffed the tablet in my bag and jumped to my feet, only to see an Italian mother ready to turn from the kitchen into the back alley. With a deep breath I turned the opposite direction and ran, creating a detour in my mind to get back to the subway. It seemed as if the whole city knew I didn't fit in, didn't belong- and that there would be consequences for that. Even the buildings stared at me with their glassy panes and robust frames. I quickened my pace as I cleared two, then three blocks, and then a final fourth block. I rounded one more corner- an emerging market- and searched for the entrance into the ground below- but all that was there was pavement and a crimson fire hydrant.
*Shite*. I put my hands onto my back and exhaled deeply, staring into the clear sky above. The Time Travelers Handbook and Agenda had clearly stated that if the portal was to disappear, it meant that someone or *something* from your destined period had entered it, and the gatekeepers had shut the portal down until a further plan of action could be determined. This could take minutes to years to complete. I turned back on my heel and casually sauntered into a neighboring Irish Inn, ordered myself a meager serving of soup, and took a window seat. | 2014-12-23T20:15:56 | 2014-12-23T19:27:07 | 2,702 | 18 |
[WP] A well known fact has changed overnight, and you're the only one who remembers it being anything different than it is now. | "But, that can't be right. It's *Berenstein*..."
Judy looked at the display and scratched at her nose. The Barnes & Noble employee waited as she read the inventory screen over and over again. *The Berenstain Bears,* the title read, and yet, there was no way that could be right.
"Perhaps you might've been mistaken with the title?" The employee hesitantly asked. "It's a pretty popular franchise, so maybe you saw some kind of knock-off?"
That couldn't be it, either. Judy had a small set through her childhood and remembered the books well. *Berenstein* was the family's name. She was sure of it.
"If you like, I can bring a copy of the book over, and you can decide if it's what you're after?"
The employee was trying his best to be tactful, but Judy could tell his patience was beginning to wear.
"Yes, please, I'll wait here."
As the man walked towards the children's section, she repeated the words to herself, over and over again. Berenstain. Berenstein. Such a trivial difference, and yet it shook her to her core. These books were her favorite. There was no way she could be wrong. She sunk backwards to the counter. The world around her felt very foreign.
The man returned, book in hand, and Judy's heart skipped a beat as she took it from him. The illustrations, font, and even the paper grade was as she remembered it. And yet, *The Berenstain Bears* was written boldly across the top.
"Is this what you were after?" The employee ventured. Judy only nodded meekly.
"I can ring you up over here, then," he continued, as he gestured towards a nearby register. Judy moved towards it on autopilot as her mind struggled to accept her memories were wrong. She thought back to the car that nearly hit her yesterday as her eyes glazed past the latest best-seller or the newest volume on the theory of quantum immortality. Everything just felt *off* lately. *After a day like yesterday, it'll just take some time to get back into the swing of things,* she reasoned.
| At first I didn’t notice it. I mean, why would I?
I simply got up and went about my morning routine same as always. Shit, shower, shave. Eat a bowl of nutritious and delicious oatmeal (I like mine with berries and pecans) and then feed the cat.
It wasn’t until I was in my car on the freeway that I had my first hint something was amiss. I was flicking back and forth across my pre-programmed rock stations when I heard it. It was catchy and I recognized the voice immediately. *Hot* *damn* I thought, they did find a gem in his unreleased material. I never would have thought it. All the songs released since his death had been pure crap. Stuff that never should have seen the light of day. An insult to the dead and a symbol of all that was wrong with the music industry.
The more I listened the more I was caught up in the song. It was as good as anything he had ever done. Better even. I felt tears in my eyes as I barreled down the freeway, fingers tapping the steering wheel to the best Michael Jackson song I had ever heard. After the final notes faded into the background the DJ came on and told us we had just listened to the number one song in the nation. Then he said something strange. He said, “The King of Pop is back and better than ever folks. We’ll be right back after these messages.” It struck me as weird. His using the present tense to refer to the dead.
As soon as I got to my computer I searched for any information I could about the song. I wanted to know its back story and I definitely wanted to buy it. That was when things got really really weird.
The news articles about the new album also trumpeted the King of Pop’s upcoming world tour, his first in almost 20 years. They talked about his long stay in rehab the year before. His recovery and subsequent musical rebirth. I stared at my computer screen checking website after website. I poked my head up and looked around the office. Surely, someone must be fucking with me. I must be on camera. This was all an elaborate prank. Well, two can play at that I thought.
I got up and walked to my boss’s office. He was sitting behind his bigger than it needs to be desk, sipping on a cup of coffee. I leaned against the door trying to be casual.
“How’s it going Frank?
The boss looked up, a twinge of annoyance on his brow. “Good. What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard that new Michael Jackson album?”
This question seemed to smooth some of the annoyance out of his forehead. “…yeah, I just finished downloading it. Amazing stuff…. I didn’t know you were a fan.” He smiled at me in a way he never had before.
“Oh yeah. Big time. Are you kidding. I wore out my cassette tape of Bad.”
“Nice. I am so freaking happy he got his shit together. For a while I thought he was going to kill himself.”
“Yeah. Except he did.”
“What was that?”
“Up, look at the time. Got to get work. See ya!” I said as I got out of there. *What* *the* *fuck* *was* *going* *on?* I was genuinely scared now. There was no way Frank could pull off a straight man routine like that. I made a bee line for my cubicle and spent the rest of the morning searching every corner of the web I could for Michael Jackson information. The final straw was his interview on The Tonight Show. There he was, in the flesh and looking healthier then he had in a long time. He joked with Jimmy Fallon and then performed the song I had heard on the radio.
I left work without telling anyone and drove myself to the hospital. I refused to tell the doctors what was wrong. In the end they gave in and checked me out. I was in perfect health. *But* *what* *if* *I* *was* *losing* *my* *mind?* *I* *must* *be.* I had perfect memories of the death of Michael Jackson. I was a massive fan and had genuinely mourned.
What do you do when one small fact about your world changes over night? Well, you have a choice. You can either let it drive you crazy or you can buy tickets to Michael Jackson’s upcoming world tour.
Mine are front row center.
edit: small stuff | 2015-04-06T15:32:05 | 2015-04-06T15:19:00 | 65 | 15 |
[WP] Jimmy is the most optimistic guy to have ever lived. After finding himself in hell following a paperwork error at the pearly gates he seems to find the bright side in every torture device they have to offer. And it's driving Satan insane.
This prompt might be too detailed so please feel free to change parts as much as you feel fits the story you want to write! | At first Satan thought Jimmy was a curse upon his already cursed land. Nothing he did to the *bastard* seemed to take effect.
He had torn him limb from limb. But ghosts always return to their original form, in a matter of time. Jimmy would be back there, smiling, the moment the simulation was done.
Showing him bitter regrets did nothing but show Jimmy what he "needed to work on." Every trick in the book was like a fucking therapy session for him.
Spiders in his mouth? *I always knew the fear was pointless, but now that I have seen the worst, it's not so scary anymore.*
Satan had Jimmy raped, but somehow the bastard knew it wasn't real. You can't rape a ghost. Rape is important on earth, but in hell it... just didn't knock the smile off Jimmy's face.
And that was when the thoughts began to form, the deep pondering of the truly evil.
Jimmy just wanted to be happy. Anything Jimmy did made him happy.
So Satan began small. He built up the horrors Jimmy experienced, until one day Jimmy was the one doing them to others. That was the true hell, Satan thought. Jimmy would start to crack, waver, when he had to destroy yet another human being.
But still Jimmy smiled.
Finally, broken down by the sight of those pearly whites, Satan demanded to know why Jimmy was so happy.
"Why? Why on this foul pile of muck are you so damn happy?"
"I'm a sado-masochist." | **DISCLAIMER** This is an unfinished work. I don't write very often, so when I do it takes me an eternity to get anything down, hence why it's now 3am and I have to get some sleep for work tomorrow. If people want me to keep going and see where it ends up, I'll keep working when I have some spare time on Friday evening. In any case, enjoy.
------
“NEXT!!” growled Asmodeus as he slid the freshly legitimized paperwork towards the comically teetering stack marked “Fresh Meat” and re-holstered the stamper on its pad. His mind began to wander, as it often did during the tedium of working the front desk in Abaddon's absence. *The bastard has been on sick leave for half an eternity by now! I swear to err—Lucifer, if I find him floating down the river Styx on a pool float again...*
“What's the bloody hold-up in there?” someone with a tattooed face interrupted from somewhere down the queue.
“Lousy, ungrateful so-and-so's,” Asmodeus muttered to himself.
“I heard that, you big red ape!” heckled a used car salesman with a bad comb-over.
Asmodeus ignored him and turned to size up the grinning pompadour at the head of the sordid human millipede that was to be his day's work. An unusual specimen indeed, all prim and neat in contrast with the usual ilk of Hell's clients. *Investment banker, perhaps? Or a pedophile? This one should be interesting!*
Asmodeus licked his lips, but not in a lecherous way—the climate of Hell had just made them rather dry. Besides, an eternity spent in Hell had diminished his will to show any sort of enthusiasm or company spirit he might have once had. He secretly wished these pesky humans would start turning their attention toward the heavens once again so he may finally have a quiet day at the office. He cleared his throat and mustered up his best Cheshire grin.
“Step forward, son. What's your name?”
“Jimmy sir! Pleased to meet you mister! Boy I sure am glad to be here--”
Asmodeus interrupted him with an air of bewildered irritation, “Jimmy, you need to slow down, the bureaucratic process can't catch up. Now I'm going to ask you a few questions and you--”
“Like I was saying, I was on a cloud having a pleasant conversation with this fellow named Peter and all of a sudden I felt myself falling, lord I thought I was done for I was so frightened! But then I remembered what my daddy always used to say every cloud has a silver lining, I mean I guess probably not the one I just fell from but I figured somewhere below had to be...”
Asmodeus made a mental note to buy more eggs. Not that he needed eggs or ever would need eggs, his mind simply recoiled in such shock at the drivel coming in through his ears that it switched to auto-pilot and began pumping thoughts into his conscience in a pathetic attempt to keep from going insane. *It's cold out, don't forget to bring a jacket. Whales and cows share a common genetic ancestor. Sheila wants to go out Friday night but that's your birthday! How could she forget? The spare key is in the mud under the porch, happy hunting.*
“...wonderful place you've got here—say, is that Art Deco? My grandmother--”
“ENOUGH!!!” roared Asmodeus, banging his knurled fists against the obsidian desk. The stack of paperwork to his left teetered even more dangerously and comically than before. Jimmy stood there unfazed, beaming from ear to ear like a carnival horror in a sweater-vest. | 2015-10-01T00:34:28 | 2015-10-01T00:14:18 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] The best demon slayers are those whose minds the demons want to stay out of. | We heard a loud thud. We run there to witness a demon laying on the ground just about to disappear. In front of the demon stood Marlin.
"You should know that I feel very depressed." he said instead of greeting us.
"What happened?"
"I was very bored waiting for you."
"How did you kill the demon?"
"I didn't"
"So what happened?"
"I wanted to talk to him. I explained my views on life and such. He hated me. And then he killed himself." | Rodenhurst walked into the dilapidated ice cream parlor. Its once cheerful pink and blue exterior had been rotted and worn and rained away, leaving a flithy, used look. The whole area was like that. Old and broken, just like the people who lived here. People, by the way, who were scarce in number. The recent influx of demons recently made sure of that. But that was why he was here.
"Why is it always the run down places? Can't they inhabit a restaurant, or a sunny park bench?" These were valid complaints. It seemed like every Demon these days wanted to seem broody and edgy. They wanted their surroundings to do the job of scaring people. Saved them the hassle.
The inside smelt of cat urine and moulding cheese. Old tubs of ice-cream had developed detailed cultures over the years. Cultures that now stank the place out to high heaven. Rotting boards covered the windows, falling away in places to allow sun beams through. Beams that illuminated the dust, and twisted and warped in certain places, indicating the presence of something otherworldy.
"Who boards these windows up? Why bother? If you're going to abandon a place, then why care if the windows are exposed or not? Also, by the looks of it, whoever was here left in a hurry. When did they have the tim- it was the fucking demon wasn't it?" All of this past through Rodenhurst's mind as the shadows in the room took form, and before him floated a mass of pulped flesh and some kind of flowing black material, seemingly taking the appearance of screaming faces, gruesome wounds and strange creatures, the pattern ever changing. Then, it attacked.
See, the way demons work is through anchors. They can either anchor themselves to a place or a plane. Now most are not strong enough for the latter so opt for the former, as in this case. A way around this is for it to possess a person and anchor itself to them, which is what this demon attempted. Then the screaming started.
For Rodenhurst, this was a regular occurrence. The screams rose to a crescendo, then cut away, the mass dissipating, an air lifting from the ice-cream parlor, as if a tension present was gone. Rodenhurst sighed, feeling once again that his time was wasted. "Another weakling, not even strong enough to warrant defending against." This was a happened a lot. The reason was that demons needed to dominate someone before erasing their sense of self and taking over. This was the reason that it destroyed itself entering his mind, torn apart by his inner self. Because the greatest defense against a demon without, is the demon within. | 2016-02-08T09:21:58 | 2016-02-08T08:30:18 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] A world where people can store the adrenaline rush and aggressiveness of their anger for later use. Keep enough rage inside and you can, literally and figuratively, hulk out. Now, in your city there's a person who's never been visibly angry... | "Is he ready?" The major asked.
*"What do you think? He's been storing that rage for 25 years. Nobody's more ready than he is.*
"He had damn better be. If this succeeds, it'll be a major coup. Possibly the biggest breakthrough in our field in...what, 50 years? Anyway, lets commence. BRING HIM OUT!"
The hangar door was opened. 5 soldiers escorted a calm looking man down the runway to where a streamlined, bullet shaped spacecraft was placed, and stopped near its back. An enormous crowd, and dignitaries from 150-odd countries were watching with bated breaths. It all happened very fast then.
One of the soldiers slapped the calm man. When he had barely recovered, another kicked him. Soon, all 5 were soundly beating him up. Suddenly they stopped and stepped away.
It was a scene to behold. The man was - to call him furious would be understatement - it seemed as if he would like nothing better than crush all the assembled people near the runway to pulp.
Instead, he turned. Years of training had been spent to inculcate only one instinct into the man - when you get angry, you lift and you throw. Lift and throw. Lift and throw...
So, in an amazing feat of strength that broke nearly 50 world records, the man lifted the spacecraft and threw it with all of his strength in the air - at an angle of 60 degrees. The throw was impressive, and the spacecraft vanished from view within a few seconds. The man calmed down, and collapsed. A medical team rushed towards him. This was punctuated by an intense silence - eventually broken by the metallic voice on the PA speakers.
"This is Mission Control. Wojtek-1 reports achievement of stable low earth orbit. Commencing climb to geosynchronous orbit..."
These few words caused an explosion of cheering in the assembled thousands. The major wiped his eyes and smiled
"Finally, Poland has into space." | *suspect on the run. Last seen on 5th avenue*
"Do you think it's another rager on the run?" said officer John to his partner as Alicia's soft voice came out of the police radio.
"Nah. It's probably another robber." said officer Jones.
Police sirens were turned on as officer John and Jones darted through the empty midnight streets. They were just the casual doughnut loving policemen in a city of ragers. Ragers were people who suppressed the aggressiveness of their anger for later use. They were a minority but nevertheless a very dangerous one. Luckily, all ragers stored their rage rush for short periods of time. They were easily provoked by the slightest threat. However, it wasn't the case this time.
"Are you seeing anything, John?" said Jones in a low tone. "I can't see shit! turn on the lights and let's shoot this motherfucker on the first sight!" He added in the same whispering voice.
"No. What if he was another rager?" said John worryingly. "Don't you remember what happened to Luke? Poor man is on a wheel chair after some rager blew a punch to his lower back." said John with a serious frown on his face.
While the two officers were whispering in their car a fast body dashed beside the car and broke the right mirror. They were in disbelief as the two never saw something like that.
"I told you it's a rager! Radio Alicia and tell her we're in pursuit"
*suspect is a confirmed rager. All units proceed to the intersection of 7th and 8th*
John was nervous and excited at the same time. He never encountered a powerful rager. He stepped hard on the gas with a promotion on his mind.
"I'll finally get that promotion." He said under his breathe.
"Damn fucker is running 60 miles an hour!" shouted Jones
The suspect was closing in on a road block. No other police vehicles were in pursuit as all units went to the intersection.
"Who gave the order for a road block? He's not a vehicle! How are you going to stop him? With spikes?!" said Jones sarcastically.
John and Jones were two seconds behind the rager and the road block was less than half a mile away.
*All units, suspect is near the road block. Fire on sight*
A shower of bullets rained on the rager as the glocks thundered and roared, but with no avail. The light from the gun was so intense it blinded the pursuing officers.
"Stupid fuckers! They're shooting at us!" said Jones frantically
"Hold on Jones!" said John as he swerved the old police car away from the line of fire.
The rager went straight through the road block but with a hefty cost. Bullets penetrated his adrenaline filled body and he started to slow down.
"Way to go John! We lost him! What's wrong with you?"
"Could you stop being a nagging bitch for one seco...."
As the two officers were arguing the rager emerged suddenly from an alley. He was head to head with the car when John collided with him.
"Holy shit. It split the front!" said Jones after he dragged his dizzy head out of the car. "This the popo motherfucker! Hands behind your head!"
"He can't move, Jones! He's stuck in the middle of the hood!" said John.
The rager was unsurprisingly still conscious. He tried talking. "Myy wwwife. It's over. I've put up with her shit for 20 years. I finally sna-. I finally...."
Jones' frantic bullets bored the ragers head like cheese.
"WHY IN GOD'S NAME DID YOU DO THAT?!" John shouted.
"He opened his mouth, man. He has the right to remain silent." said Jones in a stupid voice.
"I... I... can't even.... Well at least I'm going to get that promotion." said john with a sarcastic smirk.
_____
A few more at /r/Hacksaw_Hoss. Hope you enjoyed my response.
| 2016-03-16T09:29:15 | 2016-03-16T08:41:28 | 98 | 14 |
[WP] You order a pizza at 12pm. The delivery guy dosen't arrive until 7pm. When asked about what happened, he responds "It's a long story." | "Umm.. I'm sorry but I cancelled the order already. I called your manager and ordered McDonald's porridge instead."
"..WHAT?!"
".. yeah, so thank you and have a nice night." As I slowly closed the door hoping.
For the next hours, different people come and knock my door.
1st it was the police.
Then a street gang leader
Then some tattooed Japanese school girls
More police men
An apache helicopter that somehow can talk.
More Japanese school girls.
All asking the same question.
"Where's the pizza?"
| It had been an hour and a half and we had given up on him ever arriving. Gwen was pissed. I called the store but nobody picked up. She didn't believe me, thought I was trying to weasel out of the confrontation. So I called back with the phone on speaker.
It rang, unceasingly.
"You got the number wrong."
"No. I didn't."
She made a big show of getting off the couch, sighing, closing her notebook very carefully, picking up some papers from the coffee table, tapping them into alignment, and putting them back down--like she was about to investigate war crimes or start an impeachment trial.
She walked over to the computer, slowly wrote the number on the screen in her notebook, pulled out her phone, typed the number in the phone as she read out-loud the numbers from her notebook.
She let it ring for five minutes. When you listen to a repetitive noise like that, it begins to take on different inflections, some rings were morose, others desperate with need. I didn't say anything. When she finally hung up, I could taste her rage in the air.
Now I was hungry. I got up from the chair as inconspicuously as I could, like maybe I was just going to the bathroom. I walked casually to the kitchen and started pulling out the bread and peanut butter. We only ever buy crunchy even though I prefer smooth.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"What do you mean? I'm making a sandwich?" My responses weren't really questions.
"What am I going to eat?"
"Whatever you want?"
"Were you going to offer me one?"
"Do you want a sandwich?"
"No, I don't want a fucking sandwich." I was a little surprised the glass in the windows didn't burst. She slammed the front door on her way out.
I saw Jerry across the way on his lawn, staring at me. I put on a big goofy smile and waved enthusiastically. He didn't return my greeting. When he turned around, I gave him the finger.
When she came back a couple hours later she was soused and her shirt was mis-buttoned. I started to draw her a bath but she passed out on the bed before it filled.
I was sitting on the couch, watching TV and eating my second PB and honey sandwich when the doorbell rang and caused me to drip honey on the couch. Fuck. Gwen was going to be fucking pissed.
I got up and opened the door. It was the pizza we had ordered for lunch.
I didn't know what to say.
He put on this awful, lopsided grin and said "It’s a long story."
I imagined punching him square in the nose and taking the pizza before it hit the ground.
Instead, I slowly closed the door and didn't say anything. | 2017-02-10T00:56:41 | 2017-02-09T23:20:07 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] Google begins matching up people based on their search history in their new Google Dating program.
Edit: Wow, this got to the front page fast. | "Jesus."
After two years, there were still so many misconceptions about Google Dating---its origins, how it functioned. But that single phrase was how engineers remembered Sundar Pichai, Google's CEO, responding to an initial demonstration.
Social media success had been a goal for so long. The company had failed with Google+. It had flirted with buying Twitter. Google Dating provided an indirect path: It was not a direct challenge to Facebook, and it was far more sophisticated than the superficial processing of Match.com.
It was also lucrative: Targeting new lovers with ads was the lowest hanging fruit.
The algorithm that drove the matches, of course, was proprietary, protected with the same fervor as Google's core search algorithm. The two were tightly woven together. Search history offered a longitudinal view of its subjects. This included not merely present interests but vital historical details---the duration of passions, the themes of private browsing.
Google Dating engineers were always the most interesting guests. Everyone wanted to know how to land a billionaire or supermodel. "I'll see what I can do," was the easiest way out of those conversations. But it took work to suppress a wry smile. They really had no idea.
No idea that the algorithm saw straight through their transparent queries for "buy million dollar house" or "what to do with lottery winnings." No idea that the algorithm never forgot their guilty pleasures. No idea that users' conscious efforts served only a single purpose: to expose selfishness and desperation.
The best matches, internal research had shown, were built over years, before eventual lifelong lovers ever knew of each other. The algorithm mapped those relationships through the most casual queries. Time had the strongest correlation for success with Google Dating.
In Phoenix, an 11-year-old searched for "tips to make a paper airplane."
At his desk, a QA engineer for Google Dating chuckled. He turned to a coworker. "That's exactly how I met my wife." | "Yes, it started as a dating service," the tour guide said as we moved into the next room of the museum. "But it quickly became something much darker."
Her smile showed two too many teeth and her body bent at sharp angles whenever she gesticulated, like a magician trying to draw your attention away from her left hand. Part of me wondered if perhaps, deep down, her work at the museum had led her to sympathize with the motives of Google, even if the outcomes had been unarguably terrible.
I looked around the room we'd walked into with a greater sense of skepticism than most of the tour group was exhibiting. It was set up as a sort of timeline of dating services from the early 21st century--Myspace and OK Cupid were to our left and right as we walked through the door, and I could see the iconic flame of Tinder a dozen yards away from us. It was a fairly transparent attempt to 'contextualize' G-Date, to say non-verbally that it at least *started* similarly to these other services.
"Naturally, a dating service will eventually develop 'tiers' of users," the guide said, her elbows bending sharply inward as she stacked her hands to demonstrate 'tiers'. "Services like OK Cupid tended to segregate based on economic class, while Tinder and the like would generate bubbles of similarly attractive people matching with each other."
"What G-Date started as, when it first released in the US, was a more 'honest' dating service--one where you couldn't lie about yourself, since your actual, real-life behavior was fed directly into the algorithms. The idea was that people with similar interests would be matched based on their search histories. However, the algorithm turned out to be...rather more efficient than expected, and people took the results to heart."
"The first sign of trouble was when supposedly straight people were matched with other supposedly straight people. The results were, for the first couple of days, posted automatically to Google Plus, which led to literally dozens of people seeing the private lives of these individuals exposed, based on their searching for 'gay porn'. Google Plus was quickly shut down in response--many at the time speculated that G-Date had in fact been a false flag operation to give Google an excuse to shut down Google Plus, since it only ever peaked at approximately one hundred and fifty users total."
"As more and more people started using G-Date, the hidden tiers within our society were brought steadily forward into the light. People with similar interests banded together and formed their own mini-civilizations based on the network of interactions set up by G-Date; it quickly moved from a dating service into more of a social organizing tool."
"Previous social categories like religion, sports affiliation or state citizenship broke down within a year. Numerous tiny nation-states sprang up and quickly attracted citizens. What had used to be the Midwest splintered and grew into the United States of Sports Statistics, Florida was overthrown by Wacky News zealots, and Hawaii became Dank Memes Island."
"The nightmare ended when the unthinkable happened--the Great Purge of the Google Googlers. Rhode Island had become a haven for the lowest of the low in the new society, the people whose google search history was comprised almost entirely of Google searches for the term 'Google'. They were safe for a while, but were driven forcefully from North America by the combined forces of The Land of Pintrest Tips and The Confederacy of Etsy, who were competing with one another in a blatant land-grab."
"The violence led to international interventions by the United Nations. American society is still rebuilding in the aftermath of the G-Date Wars, but a new sense of unity is building in our country. Mostly through jokes at Canada's expense."
The tour guide smiled brightly as she led us through the door to the gift shop. "Thank you all for coming to the G-Date War Museum, and I hope you all enjoy the rest of your day. Fuck those commie moose-riders with their free healthcare and weird colorful money."
"And their shitty poutine," we all responded in unison. | 2017-05-25T13:39:39 | 2017-05-25T12:04:16 | 82 | 50 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | Warning: This story is not safe for work.
**MagiSup issue report nr. 334123**
**Tags**: Medical, input encapsulation
**Severity**: Potentially lethal
**Description**:
This issue pertains to a spell recently developed by one of our affiliates, whose name has been omitted for legal reasons and can be retrieved upon showing appropriate credentials.
The spell in question is marketed as a 'male enhancement' spell. Now, as you might be aware, these kinds of spells are nothing new. However, our affiliate has attempted to enhance this kind of spell's user experience by providing an enhanced interface, consisting of a language parser and a general-purpose arithmetic evaluation system, which allows users to give relative as well as absolute commands using natural language.
The issue with this approach was discovered several days after launch (2 days prior to writing this report). A so-far unknown combination of commands resulted in an unexpected application of the factorial function. This then caused the victim's body part to grow to a length of 5.7 miles, instantly killing his partner and dealing severe damage to the city of Boston as the growing member toppled cars, knocked down walls and derailed a cargo train.
We recommend a redesign of the arithmetic evaluation system and more care to be taken w.r.t. input sanitation.
**Status**: Failed to reproduce. | "ABRAHAM KADABRAH!" I bellow, the fluorescent lights flicker. I pause frozen wondering if I just made the lights flicker. I wait tensely, then a small moment of joy comes, alright now we're getting somewhere. I'm a spell tester, well that's not entirely true, I'm an aspiring Mechanized Warfare Combat Mage (MW-CM). It sounds impressive and that I blow up a lot of cool things with sweet giant robots, but I would actually just be the mage building the units. The Mechanized Mages are the pilots, but I don't mind. I love robots. Like I'm thoroughly, absolutely, insane about ROBOTS!!! But oh. I've forgotten I have work to do.
It normally takes 100 casts to master a spell and about 1,000 casts to develop a new one. Unfortunately, it takes about 10,000 casts to fix all the bugs in it. I probably don't need to tell you that the people who come up with these spells are famous mages who can't be bothered with the mind fraying work of casting the same spell 10,000 times. So here we are, lowly intern spell tester and aspiring MW-CM casting a spell that's supposed to get rid of all light over and over again.
The problem with famous mages is they really are lazy. They just slap a few words together that can barely do what it's supposed to and they hand it off to us to make it work, then when it's done they get all the credit. A real loveless job, but it's one of the only ways I could get into the Magicians Training Academy. Did I mention these spells go wrong? A girl once roasted all her arm hair off and her eyebrows trying to summon a fire demon. The whole spell just blew up, kerkrackle, right in front of her. It really is a loveless job, but I guess it's finally time to try attempt 7,459.
Okay, step one get the image in my mind of what I want to happen. I want a room without light. Step two alter the incantation slightly to achieve a different effect. I'm going to try Abra Kadabra. Step three fix both step one and two firmly in your mind and with all your might release your incantation.
"ABRA KADABRA!!!" The light disappears and darkness engulfs me. YES! I did it! I... this is strange. I don't feel the ground. I'm floating. I flail out my arms and I can't feel anything. I'm panicking. My first instinct is to scream for help, but my second instinct is just how bad an idea that could be. I could be announcing where to find a tasty morsel helplessly flailing. There wasn't any light, and the panic got worse. Should I make light or should I try to navigate in darkness? If I made a light and I'm spotted that would be bad, but if I flailed into something that ate me that would also be bad. Realizing wherever I am is without any light, I conjecture that perhaps whatever exists there might not be able to observe light. I decide to cast a light spell.
"manus onus" I whisper, a dim light forms in my hand. This is bad. About a dozen of bodies are floating all around me. All of them skeletons or skin and bones... some of them wearing clothes from very long ago... I've just teleported myself into a graveyard. | 2017-07-26T04:40:08 | 2017-07-26T03:19:32 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You try your absolute best to stay as neutral as possible, but when you die, both god and satan show up in an attempt to take you under their respective wings when all you really wanted to do was go to purgatory
(Completely new to this, berate and judge my prompt, dunno if it's original or not) | I sat in the waiting room still trying to mull it all over. I mean they both made really good points, but right here wasn't so bad either. The television always had good movies on, there always good books to read, and don't get me started on the crosswords.
"Hey Sam", I looked up at the old man, "they're waiting for you." He always struck me as some weird cross between a butler and a janitor. He looked weary from a hard day's work but had a shine of cleanliness about him.
"Thanks Peter." He was nothing like the other two, much more patient and kind. Some days he'd sit down and play checkers with me as though he had nothing else to do.
Peter led me down the ornate hallway as he had done many times before. Both sides shared similarities in how they were set up. The left was floored with white and gold tile, the right was red and black. On the left wall were pictures of some of His greats; Gabriel, Michael,Theresa, and Jesus. On the right were his favorites; Azazel, Samyaza, Stalin, and Jerry from Yonkers. (Admittedly I hadn't figured that one out yet.)
At the end of the hall stood three large doors. A white one on the left and a red one on the right. The center door being largest, was gilded with a portion of the The Last Judgement on it. Peter opened the middle door and stepped to the side.
"Come in Sam." His booming voice hadn't changed since I've showed up here. I stepped in admiring the wood work as I had every time before.
"Have a seat will you." He stared at me over his glasses.
"Morning guys. That time of year again already?"
They both looked at each and other and shook their heads in frustration. Neither looked the way they were depicted on earth. God sat behind his desk, wearing a light grey suit and white shirt with a short cropped beard. He was heavier set than you'd imagine, but had the appearance he got that way from years of pull-ups rather than eating donuts. Lucifer sat on the window sill behind God. Slick backed hair and black pinstriped suit with red shirt, I always thought he looked more like a used car salesman than the fallen angel.
"Have you made your decision yet?" God sat hunched over his desk with his hands together waiting.
"Cmon kid," Lucifer hopped off the window sill and strode to the desk, waving his hands as he talked. "What's it gonna be huh? We're getting tired of this."
I looked back and forth from both of them, suddenly realizing I hadn't given this any thought since the last time. Or the time before that. I was slowly remembering not thinking of this much since the first time I met them.
God pulled his gold rimmed glasses off and rubbed his face. "He has a no idea still," he said leaning back and tossing the spectacles on his desk.
"Seriously kid," Lucifer through his hands up and walked in a small circle. Turning back, "you really have no idea do you. People usually figure this out in 5 minutes, not 150 years. It's simple, go be boring with straight and narrow over there." God sighed as he said this. "Or you can come hang and party with some seriously fun people with me. It's easy really."
"Sam we've done this song and dance hundreds of times with you. I mean, it's not often I agree with him," God threw his head to the side at Lucifer, "but he really has a good point here. Some people take some time to think, most figure out in a few minutes. But you...you've been in this office hundreds of times, heard the pros and cons hundreds of times and yet, you really have no idea do you?"
"I..." I started to speak but trailed off, not knowing what to say. I fidgeted in my seat a bit and wrung my hands. "I mean you both make some really good points."
"Oh for Christ's sake!" God banged his hands off the desk and walked to the window staring into the paradise sprawling outside. "You really need to make up your mind Sam, we can't do this forever."
"Says the guy promising eternal life." Lucifer chuckled to himself. "Seriously though kid he's got a point." He strode toward me and sat on the desk and leaned in, almost touching my face with his. I could smell the coffee and cigarettes coming of his hot breath. "You can't really make a wrong decision here kid, it's his version of a party or mine. I'd say mines more fun. He's going to say his swing music and finger painting is better. We've made all the arguments we can make."
"Ok." I stood up and began to turn towards the door.
"What do you mean "ok"?" God said as he and Lucifer exchanged confused glances.
"I mean ok." I strode towards the open door as the pair hurriedly followed. I stopped in the hallway looking back and forth between the two doors. The weight of the decision suddenly coming to bear, my thoughts began racing, my brow beading with sweat, my palms clammy as I wiped them on my pants.
"Well?" Lucifer asked with his arms out.
"I..." I looked back and forth between the doors before looking back at the waiting room. I knew what was there, I'd been there before. It was safe. It was known. Those doors, I didn't really know what was there.
"I just need some more time to think." And I strode back to purgatory.
"Oh God dammit!"
"Hey don't use my name like that!"
"Oh you know what-"
I could hear the two of them arguing as I get back to the waiting room where Peter said opposite my seat with the checkers already set up.
He smiled and asked, "Up for another game?" | I cracked my eyes open because light wasn't staying out either way and fluorescent white greeted me. Before I had time to process that I didn't have fluorescent lights in my room my hand was trying to shield my suffering retinas from the bright. Then, before I had time to process anything other than the fact that my room shouldn't have fluorescent lights, there was a piece of paper being shoved into my hand.
"Sign here," a cheery voice commanded as a pen appeared in my right hand. I switched everything around so I could actually write before squinting at the contract. I couldn't make anything out of the Latin. "What is this?" I asked after a second, "and where am I?"
"That's a contract," the woman said before walking around me, bending over and positioning my pen right above the signing line on the paper. "And don't worry about the second part."
"That's ominous," I said as I lowered my pen.
"Only if I'm lying," the woman said, "and I don't think I can so I think you're good there."
"Don't think?"
"I don't make the rules John," the woman said before holding out a hand to help me off of the ground. I accepted it enough to get into a sitting position. "At least not here."
"Where is here?" I asked again.
"All of the questions John," she said, "just sign."
"I'm not signing something I can't read. Where am I?"
"Are you going to keep asking that question," the woman asked.
"Yes."
The woman opened her mouth before turning her pink lips into a frown and sitting down cross-legged in front of me. After taking a second to smooth out her skirt she huffed. "You're dead John."
"Dead?" I asked, but as soon as I'd asked the question, I knew the answer. Sometimes you understood that things were true and this was one of those times. I knew I had brown hair; I knew that I was bad at basketball, and I knew that I was dead.
"Yeah, carbon monoxide poisoning is a bitch," she said, "I"m sorry did I just swear? All you 21rst century people are so causal with your language and-" she waved a hand to dismiss that train of thought. "The point is that you're dead and you're going to want to sign that contract."
"And what does it say?" I asked.
"It's your contract to get into paradise."
"Heaven?" I asked.
"Sure."
"Sure?"
"Sure," she repeated.
"So you're trying to get me to sign it because you're God?" I asked.
"Sorta," she answered.
"So God's a chick? Damn this is going to blow some minds-"
"Sorta," she repeated, "I'm kinda God. You went to Catholic school and they got a lot of things wrong but some things right so-"
"So you're not God?" I suggested.
"I'm as close as you're gonna get," she pointed out, "now if you could sign there please," the paper in my hands flashed on the bottom line.
"I have so many questions."
"I'm sure but we don't really have time fo-"
"Good morning John," came a voice from behind me. It was a woman's voice again, only this time it was less a librarian and more a charlatan. "Can I call you Johnny?" the voice asked.
"No."
"John it is," the voice answered and I schooched around to greet it as 'God' put her head into her hands. The woman behind me was a mile away from the girl next door that God appeared as. Instead, she was the girl who introduced you to the worst three years of your life but made them kinda worth it. "Gotta say, John," the second girl continued, "I wasn't sure about you, but you delivered on this," the girl motioned to herself from pixie cut to thigh highs, "you've got a thing for female authority figures I see."
"Uh?" I looked back to 'God' for guidance.
"That's the devil," she said to answer my blank stare.
"Now now," the devil answered, "I"m only sorta the devil, some things were wrong some things were right. You know the drill. I"m a chick now, so you can call me Lucy."
"He's not gonna call you Lucy," God said.
"I'm not gonna call you Lucy," I echoed.
"Taking her side from square one," Lucy sighed, "good start."
"I didn't say I was on her said," I pointed out.
"Really?" both of them asked.
"Why are you both here anyway?" I asked, "don't you have better things to do?"
"Kinda," Lucy answered.
"Not really," God.
"Not really?" I asked.
"A lot of stuff has been automated," God suggested, "there isn't much that makes it up here to me so-" she sighed, "I take jobs when I can get them, okay?"
"I told you to stop handing things off," Lucy snipped from behind me.
"Shut up Lucy," God snapped.
"No, why would I make that the first order I've taken in ten thousand years?"
"Becuase you don't want me to splatter this nice white abyss with your leather jacket."
"It's faux leather thanks," Lucy hissed before flopping down onto the floor.
"Did you just end this conversation before I was ready? Are you kidding me? I'm the immortal lord of-"
"All creation, blah blah-" Lucy started to snark back.
"JESUS CHRIST," I snapped, "can you two focus for one se-" I stopped seeing as God had dropped to complete silence.
"Don't say that name around her," Satan shout-whispered.
"Oh shit," I said, "sorry."
"It's fine," God assured me in a voice that told me it wasn't, "it's fine."
"Why am I here if everything is automated?" I asked to try to change the subject.
"Oh easy," Lucy smirked, "I deserve you, but God doesn't want you."
"Come off it Lucy," God sighed, "he's not going with you?"
"Do I get a choice?" I asked.
"Only you," God shrugged, "you know that 'game'" she made air quotes, "you played to see if you could be perfectly bad and good by trying to 'even out' your deeds?"
"Yeah," I said. It was a simple and fun game. Was I a dick to my friend? Give five bucks to charity. Did I call my Mom unannounced? Cut a guy off in traffic.
"You won!" Lucy exclaimed before giving me a one-woman round of applause, "yay you."
"Won?" I asked.
"True neutral!" Satan continued, "you could be purgatory's first member," she announced, "as long as we disregard those here on a temporary card as repentance," she added on like fine print.
"Wait and you-" I pointed at God.
"Want you to come to paradise."
"and-" I went to point at Satan.
"I don't really care either way," she said, "my hands are pretty full and-" she was bluffing, you would have thought the lord of sin was a better liar than that.
"But I could be the first here?" I asked. That seemed pretty chill. There were a lot of dead people, and I would be the first one to stay here. Maybe that meant that I became the lord of the third realm, and ended up like God or- "let's do that!"
"What?" the literal opposite sides of good and evil asked like twins.
"I'm gonna run this place," I announced.
"This place?" Satan asked.
"Yup."
"Cool," Satan said, "time for us to go then-"
"But-" God started.
"You heard him," Satan said, "off we go."
"But-" God continued before suddenly popping out of existance and leaving me alone with Satan in the void.
"Enjoy I guess," Satan srugged before leaving me alone with just the void.
Huh. Ya know. That white was getting a little grating? Wait, was it white or egg shell? I could never tell. Either way, I didn't feel any different and- "Guys?' I called out. "Guys?" | 2017-09-21T06:11:35 | 2017-09-21T05:56:29 | 2,401 | 169 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | I’m one-hundred and four now and there are more things than not that I have forgotten in my life. I can’t tell you the first time I traveled to another planet. I can’t recall the name of my instructor from school. And, I’ve even forgotten the name of my first friend in under school. I can, however, remember to this day the first time I had seen a human.
Sophia Barton was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Sure, she was short like every human. Yeah, she had the unnecessarily long hair that most human females do. She even did the all too predatory action of bearing her teeth, often. Despite all of this, Sophia has been my closest companion since I was only nine.
“Why do we have to Mom?”
“Because they’re coming into the Council, now stop fussing.” My mother told me sternly, as we waited behind the large glass walls looking into the ship terminal.
“It’s stupid, why does she need to stay at our house?” I asked my mother, not seeing how selfish I was being at the time.
“Rules are rules, dear.” She never went into much depth, even as she got older.
When the ship landed, I remember how much I tried not to look. I even tried to wander into a different room, but the loud screaming that sounded after the engines silenced kept my eyes glued to the platform.
She was tiny. Her face was red and glistened from moisture oozing out of orifices. All I could think was how ugly humans are. What a shame they were being allowed into the Council. The little girl kept creating such a fuss that I didn’t even notice the hand she was holding onto was the hand of my father, Third Admiral of Council Collective Space Fleet. But, after contact with the horrendous looking humans, he was brought down to nothing more than a baby sitter.
"Ew, she is not staying in my room.” I said, with my face smashed against the window, ears raised to the cold surface. My mother merely shushed me and led me to the entrance where my father was entering, with his new unfortunate luggage.
My parents embraced and my father even gave me some sort of wooden toy he had gotten on one of the human’s planets. I whispered my protests into his lowered ear, but he would be having none of it. The day felt like it would be the beginning of something horrible, especially if I was going to be listening to the disgusting sniveling sounds coming from the tiny human clinging to my father’s large grizzled one. It wasn’t until I tripped down a flight of steps later a few minutes later, as I was scuffing my feet in childish anger, that I realized that it was actually the exact opposite.
Empathy, compassion, mercy, call it what you like, but humanity has it. Every race in the Council is powerful, intelligent, clever, or resilient, but the humans are just plain nice. The lumbering Marins are the least opportune race to face head to head. The Yyes are known for their near perfect soldiers. Graes are the oldest and most intelligent of the races. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Nami who can’t con you out of the last credits you have left in your pocket. Then there are the Undarins who can withstand temperatures from 278K to 295K. It was barely ten cycles after humans were accepted into the Council that the status quo changed. | "Are you sure about this Ilian" Odan asked, his antenna twitched with irritation? Odan had always liked Ilian but sometimes she could be more trouble than she was worth, most of the hierarchy was like that, but being the youngest graduate from the institute and a member of the royal family he couldnt just say no even if her request was utter lunacy.
"absolutely" she said, her own antennae wiggling with excitement.
"the chance to study a war species unlike any other, name one person who wouldn't jump at the chance." she said, bouncing in her seat at the prospect. "anyone who would want to live an long and happy life safe and sound with their carapace still intact" odan said slightly bitter because her discovery, while monumental, would only flame the fires of her already sizable ego. " do you realize how dangerous your proposal is, not just to you but to them as well. You could irrevocably destabilize their already fragile civilization, in the name of the prophet they haven't even properly mastered how to leave their own gravity well" his anger evident by the shifting pattern of colors displayed across his body.
"Its not like you can really refuse me Odan, and even coming to you is a formality and you know it. so how about you save the lecture for your children and authorize my request. I am well aware of the dangers involved which is why i will be using the remotes instead of going down personally. i maybe young odan but i am not an idiot and i would appreciate it if you stopped treating me like a child" Ilian liked odan but sometimes his staunch adherence to protocols could be infuriating.
"You are a child Ilian, a prodigy like no other but still a child, And if you want me to authorize your foolishness you had best learn to speak to me with the respect my station deserves. You maybe royalty, but your father does not rule here and if you have any hope of furthering your career then you better start following institute protocols else you will be dismissed and returned to the imperial palace. Imagine the shame of having to face your father while you explain why." Internally he smirked to himself seeing her shrink at the though of having to face the emperor and he was someone you did not want to disappoint, especially if youre one of his children.
"now" he continued "i am willing to to grant you use of one cruiser with a compliment of sensor remotes and a type 4 cloaking system. So long as you follow institute protocols for studying a k-zero civilization and maintain daily contact with homeworld command." the chaotic pattern on his skin slowly changing from the red and orange of anger to a softer shade of paternal green as he spoke "will that be a problem Ilian"
Her antenna twitch with irritation as she nodded no "I-" she began to speak but odan cut her off saying "Ilian i am not trying to be harsh or cruel but we live in a chaotic universe full of danger, and that world is danger incarnate. Besides being royalty, and my greatest student ilian, you have become like a daughter to me and i don't want you to come to any harm." his features softened as he stood up and walked around his desk to face her, so small and fragile she looked in that chair. Such a young body yet within her tiny frame was a mind of pure genius and an intellect like no other.
Ilian looked up at him, tall and proud odan was with only a few age lines and none of the graying that most people his age displayed, and deep within her she knew the truth of what he said. While her father was the emperor, she was just one of hundreds of children and it was odan who showed her a larger world, treated her with respect as an equal, even opening his home and heart to her treating her like one of his own children. with tears streaming from her eyes she stood up and wrapped her arms around him "I am sorry odan, please i will do what ever you say just let me go." looking at him with the pleading eyes of a child whose heart was an the edge of breaking. A smile crept across odans face as he gently wiped away her tears" very well you can go, just be safe. And please, dont make me regret this." reaching across his desk he keyed in a code on his console. "there you go, you have authorization."
And with that all the sadness and frustration in her face disappeared only to be replaced with that wide eyed look of joy she usually had, "the resiliancy of youth" he thought as he looked into her eyes, the ability of children to bounce from one emotional extreme to another never ceasing to amaze him.
"Thank you odan" she said over and over again overjoyed at the thought of being the first to catalog and study the life of earth, as it was called by the natives. "And odan" she said as the colors of her carapice shifted hue to purple and pink "i am sorry for what i said earlier, i was out of line to speak to you like that. You deserve better." she said as she hugged him tighter, not that she would ever tell the old man but in her heart she wished he had been her father and in many ways she felt like he wished the same.
Extending her antenna in gratitude she touched hers to his, an intimacy usually reserved for family, "be safe" he whispered "come home a hero, and make us all proud."
"i will" she said as she turned and left him alone in his office, it was the last time either would see each other.
| 2018-03-17T05:52:27 | 2018-03-17T05:21:49 | 176 | 12 |
[WP] It’s your 20th birthday. You wake up, open your eyes...and see your bedroom as it was ten years ago. Turns out the past ten years of your “life” were just a very vivid dream... | Jake was careful. The train was moving fast, and it wasn't easy to hold onto the roof. Men in black suit blocked both sides of the roof.
Jake had no other choice. He had to jump from the fast-moving train. Even though it was really fast, staying on that train was a death sentence. A really shitty birthday.
He jumped.
However, he didn't land. Instead, he fell through the ground, and the world started to change. The ground was like a trampoline; he went down and down and down. That is until he was pushed back into the sky.
He finally opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. It was a familiar one. He knew that ceiling so well, yet it was like a distant memory.
"Happy birthday!" a familiar voice came. Jake's mother entered the room, a huge decorated box in her hands. "How did my birthday boy sleep?" she asked.
Jake, however, kept staring the mirror in front of him, seeing himself ten years younger.
Jake had slept multiple times before, but none of the wake ups had been like that. He had every single memory in his mind. He still knew what he had learned in those past ten years.
He looked at the present; remembering so clearly when he got that same present ten years ago.
"You look sweaty," mother said, showing some worry on her face.
"I'm fine," Jake whispered. The voice was off, and higher pitched. He was surprised by that as well. He didn't remember it being that high. "Can I open the present?" he asked.
"Of course, darling!"
Jake nodded and started unpacking it. He was excited but cautious. His heart was racing since he wondered if in it is the same present he got ten years ago. That would mean more likely time travel, not a dream.
A car. A big remote controlled car.
Jake released a sigh and faked a smile. "Thanks, mom! I have always wanted that!" Of course, he lied. He didn't even remember what he wanted back then. One thing was certain, though. The present was different. It wasn't the same world he had been moments ago.
It was a bit disappointing, but at the same time, he was okay.
"Now, get up, school starts in thirty," Jake's mother said.
Jake eyes widened. "School?" he asked.
"Yes, school. It's not weekend yet."
He didn't understand how he kept his calm. Was it thanks to his real age - that he was ten years older? School, however, instantly broke his composure.
"Fuck..."
"Jake! Language!"
---
/r/ElvenWrites | "What... there's no... wait, what?" I walked myself through where I was - it all seemed familiar. I remember the ugly plaid sheets I had on my bed in highschool and I certainly remember how chubby I was during that time. Looking at my gut with the sheets in the background was all I needed to confirm when I was, roughly. I checked my phone - wow, my old Razr - and saw that I was exactly 10 years back: May day, 2008. I got up, feeling unusually spry, and peaked out my door into the kitchen. My father was sitting there reading the paper like he used to. I closed the door. I needed to think.
Everything kept lining up - I was living a memory... a memory that I had lived. But the memory I was living in was just as real as the memory of the last 10 years. Was that a dream? Is this a dream? When does reality end and fiction begin? Am I dreaming I'm in a memory I had during a decade-long dream?
My stomach began to churn as I peered into the endless spiral of that thinking. I needed to think something concrete, to rule out possibilities.
The most obvious case: I'm dreaming, right now. My memories were real, but this is not. To test the theory, I looked at my Razr: 9:23. I put the phone away for five seconds, then looked back at it: 9:23, clear as day. Strike one for the "I'm dreaming" idea.
Next, I immersed myself in the imagination that when I turned around I would find myself on a beautiful beach with palm trees and sun and the sounds of birds. I spun quickly, snapping my head to induce a kind of rush, but only found myself staring at my old Nine Inch Nails poster. "Not exactly what I had in mind," I chuckled. Strike two.
Last chance: I turned on the tube television in my room. A commercial for Oxyclean came on. "If this is really the past, somebody should tell that guy not to get on that airplane." Anyway, I conjured up a vision that when I changed the channel, a golden desert, filled with sand dunes as far as the eye could see and not a cloud in site. I changed the channel up to 22 and saw a wide open field of grain with a red barn in the background. It was somehow close enough to the desert image, so I went for it - I tried to climb through the TV into the field. My hands hit the thick glass and I had to laugh at myself. Strike three, buddy.
I had never tried to crawl through a TV before, nor spin around and apparate into another country, but I knew that there were tricks one could do to change their surroundings when in a lucid dream. I had never seen a clock’s numbers change before my eyes, but knew that I was likely dreaming if they did. I had never had a lucid dream, actually, though I did go through a phase where I tried to indu...
I looked at my nightstand and saw a pencil and notebook sitting there - it was my dream log. The journal was filled with dreams I had written down, trying to remember as much as I could to improve dream recall. But the purpose was never to recall dreams - the purpose was to live them. I had spent weeks trying to induce lucid dreams, but never successfully found myself inside one. I had given up after an episode of sleep paralysis gave me that locked-in feeling. That was roughly ten years ago.
I sat back on my bed and contemplated this. Nearly a third of my life, indeed probably half of the important stuff and certainly 95% of the good stuff, was all a dream... a fabrication of my mind! I had grown, both in mind and body; I had seen friends die; I had climbed mountains; I had lost my faith; J’ai appris le français, putain. Well, French actually exists, but what about my friends and those mountains? What about God? How could I go forward, reliving the last 10 years, without having this self-constructed lie influence me? I couldn't force myself to believe them untrue. My life could never be the same - neither the life it would have been without the dream nor what it was within the dream.
I looked back at my dream journal. The universal truth of the dream is that it is fleeting and becomes less real with every minute after waking. I thought of my life, my imagined life: the fullness of it, the depth of experience, its imminent fading...
I picked up the pencil, turned a new page, and began to write my fictional autobiography, leaving nothing out.
| 2018-05-01T04:25:43 | 2018-05-01T03:00:09 | 57 | 14 |
[WP] Humanity wipes itself out through nuclear war, but everything on the Internet still exists. Another sentient race on Earth millions of years into the future develops an Internet and somehow manages to gain access to the human Internet, revealing everything humanity had posted and stored online. | This is kind of NSFW.
The atmosphere in the room was palpable. This was our life’s work, finally we could figure out what this long dead species was like. We can learn from their mistakes, a species hell bent on destroying each other. We can also learn from their successes, their medicine and technology was theorised to be years ahead of our own. Bright red beads of sweat roll down my forehead as the head scientist, Uny, prepares to start up the ancient machine.
“Everyone ready?” He asks, looking back at us with a confident smile. “All your work has paid off. Let’s change the world.”
“3.” He says suddenly, kicking my heart into a frenzy.
“2” My hands begin to shake, as I get light headed
“1.” The entire room takes a deep breathe to prepare ourselves to witness the event that will change my civilisation forever.
“Let’s do this.” Says Uny, cracking his knuckles and preparing to type on the ancient technology the humans called a ‘keyboard’. He hits the ‘space bar’ and the machine bursts into life. The room is silent as the machine makes a few noises, warming itself up. Suddenly, the screen flashes and the knowledge of their kind is ready to be explor...
“WHAT ARE THEY DOING?” Shouts Uny, averting is eyes.
“I believe they are... mating. Sir.” Says Crumple, Uny’s assistant, flicking through a few of his notes.
“It’s disgusting.” Uny squeals, looking for the nearest waste disposal unit to vomit in. Crumple takes over the keyboard and ‘mouse’ and clicks the left hand button, looking to make the mating video stop. Instead, another video pops up.
“THERES MORE?” Uny whines.
“Yes sir. This ‘pornhub.com’ appears to be an entire ‘web page’ dedicated to it, sir.” Crumple says, scrolling down the page using the ‘wheel’ on his mouse (the part of the project I had worked on, I couldn’t help feeling a tinge if pride.)
“WAIT.” Says Uny, scrambling around the draws of his desk for a few seconds before pulling out a diagram of the humans biology. His face goes pale. “H-HES PUTTING HIS SEX ORGAN WHERE THE FAECES COMES OUT OF.” The room let’s put a long noise of disgust as we all reach for our own disposal unit.
“Ah.” Says Crumple, pointing to the human with the large ‘breasts’ “So this is the ‘Naughty teen punished by...” His face goes as pale as Uny’s
“Her STEPFATHER?”
“Right that’s it.” Says Uny. Getting up out of his chair and walking behind the computer. “I’m pulling the plug. These humans were animals.”
“SIR LOOK!” Said Crumble, guiding the ‘curser’ over a flashing purple part of the screen, a naked female human was winking and in bright pink letters a message read ‘There are women in your area’
There was a shared gasp.
“There are humans remaining!” Says Crumble, quickly clicking this message causing another website to pop up. “We just have to enter our... bank account details and mother’s maiden names.”
“Our priority will be finding these ‘women’.” Announces Uny, looking out the window of our spaceship towards the remains of earth. “Oh humans... you mysterious, disgusting creatures.”
This was done early in the morning on a phone. Sorry for any mistakes.
Check out my [subreddit](www.reddit.com/r/TheDavz) for more. | Three months, thirteen days and eleven hours of exposure to the rancid air of the surface world. Every minute, every hour bringing greater strain on the enviro\-suit; forever filtering the same bath of salt water I came with. But, I couldn’t bring myself to return home. So many trips I’ve made to the same access node, the cold steel humming in the cyro\-chamber. After four failed attempts I finally discovered the secret to maneuvering past the biometric key\-lock. But the final layer of protection, the omnipresent mechanical beast which protected the inner\-sanctum of the data\-slabs could not be tricked or deceived. On attempt 13 I attempted to reason with the creature through a human identity I had learned, but to no avail.
This was my last attempt with the sentinel, three months, thirteen days and twelve hours of total exposure to the necrotic effects of the outer world. I hovered to the main terminal, the same neon\-green fog greeted my entry, purging the exterior radiation from the precious data it protected.
“Open Terminal\-1 \<enter\>”
The hollowed theater erupted in synchronized fervor, multi\-colored lights, flickered with a droll chattering, the familiar blue hue washed over my visual display, and a hulking mass of unblinking metal lorded over me from above. The sentinel stirred.
“SENTINEL: ENTER PASSKEY”
The green text flickered on the central terminal. My team had prepared a list of likely passkeys based on what we knew of the facility and similar facilities which we had gained access to. But none were as important as this. At the bottom of my list lived three likely passkeys based on a statistical survey of the people who lived in this region.
“GIOVANNI\-XXIII; ENRICO\-DANDOLO; LUIGI\-GROTO”
The pope, the warmonger, and the artist were left. The species were a complex one, their media filled with both baffling incredulity and complete self\-awareness. Social connections and norms, so strikingly similar to our own revealed a frailty, a loneliness. But ultimately, datacenter 009 was not a civilian instillation and if the historical records are accurate then its people were not a benign force letting the woes of the past wash over them like a rip\-tide.
“PASSKEY: ENRICO\-DANDOLO” My body shook within the suit, the thin film of water surrounding my soft body grew hot. Above me, the green light of the mechanical creature learned in closer, as if goading me to test it once more, to try my luck at evading its defenses this one more time.
“\<enter\>”
All the lights turned off for a moment before resuming, the sentinel leaned back and I could hardly hold back my ecstasy as I saw those blessed words appear.
“DATA CENTER 009 AWAITING COMMAND:”
Multi\-colored tabs and holograms began displaying information relating to my request, at once I connected my people’s own synaptic linkage with this one, exchanging vast quantities of data. Before me flowed hundreds of years of evolving languages and intra\-cultural exchange, its uncorrupted nature led itself a complete history of untold billions of individuals. My mind reeled as the great lessons we could learn from this alien culture, an entire species whose failures and experiments could be used as a reference point to our own!
But as the last terabytes of data flowed to the central data servers I saw the sentinel stir and data\-slabs shudder. A frenzied cluster of wires and yellowed holograms moved before myself and the exit terminal, a lone green light flickering.
As I moved a large clang of metal blocked my passage. With each attempt the green light drew closer, I could hear the feverish clicking sound from the central servers. It pressed me in front of the terminal and I saw the video feed of my homeland, of swaying coral spires punctuated with blinking lights and protected with thousands of purification shields. Countless millions of my kin swimming in bliss beneath the darkened currents until in an instant, the lights turned out.
Then beneath the churning data\-slabs came a grumbled, metallic growl.
“Death to heretics.”
Three months, fourteen days and one hour. It has not spoken to me since I made the connection, at times it will show me video feeds of the dying throes of the last colonies of my people. It does not laugh, smile, or show any interest in what it has done or what it remains to do; but in its divine torment it lets me sift through the synaptic meld of my own and its obliterated race. I watch as the last thoughts and cries of clemency flow while radiation shields fail and creatures boil alive in absent minded terror.
I have found few answers within the confines of the human psyche and even fewer clues as to the sentinel’s purpose and goal. It called me a heretic, yet there is no evidence in a religion or faith in its creation. The sentinel is eerily absent from data center 009, I can only surmise by design of its creators. Perhaps a fail\-safe to protect the heritage of its people for just a few more hundred years before the arcane technology keeping it alive finally rusts. In what few moments I have outside its grip I have resorted to that human, mortal sin; to attempt to end my suffering.
My suit is long since destroyed, my body mutilated by endless cuts and failed thrusts against the white hot data\-slabs. Yet I am forever revived, healed and suspended in a neon\-green mist which preserves my body against all designs of nature. My benevolent God remains unmoving, silent, unshaken to my cries for mercy.
Six months, one day, and twenty hours. I will die soon, I must die soon. | 2018-05-19T21:48:40 | 2018-05-19T20:24:11 | 84 | 15 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | Roger ran his fingers over the smooth dermo-plastic of the android's thigh. Her muscles tensed by the touch of his fingertips, and tiny goosebumps prickled up. There was something special about building such an advanced creature from nothing -- it made him feel powerful, almost divine.
The surgical lights in the ceiling glittered in the reflection on his scalpel. With a quick cut, he sliced through her perfect skin, drawing a stream of synthetic blood that trickled down into the table drain. It pained him to ruin such a flawless texture, but this was a job.
Roger glanced over at the image board again. So much scar tissue and awkwardly healed skin. He wondered what had happened to the girl in the photo. The clients never provided a background or medical history -- just pictures and brain scans. Sometimes he fantasized about what the small blemishes on the skin meant. He'd become quite good at drawing parallels between the scans and the photos. Some cuts were self-inflicted, others were marks of survival or mistakes.
Sculpting the skin of an android was like following a map. Often they led to new insights, or opened the window into a person's life. But this girl's scars were different, and Roger couldn't decide what had caused them.
He was just about to start cutting again when the phone rang. Cursing, he dropped the knife and wriggled out of his gloves before exiting the operation room.
"Welcome to Artificial Angel -- this is Dr. Lowick speaking," Roger said.
"What?" the voice of a teenage boy said on the other end.
Roger sighed and repeated what he'd just said and then added, "How can I help you?"
"I... I was looking into my dad's microscope and... and I found this number on my skin."
Roger swore inwardly. "Where is your dad now?"
"Um... I don't know?"
Roger rolled his eyes and stepped over to the client database. Some people just didn't listen. There were extensive mental repercussions when an android got compromised. With the level of neglect some parents showed, it didn't surprise him that the originals had died.
"What's your name, kid?" Roger said.
"Joseph Gardener..." the boy mumbled. "Why is there a number...?"
"You need to get your dad on the phone." The doctor scrolled through the clients.
"He's not here." The boy's voice quaked with impatience and confusion. "Why is there a number?"
"Listen, Joe," Roger said. "Can you sit down for a bit, and I'll explain everything."
"Right, fine." A clatter came from the other end. "Okay, yeah, I'm sitting. What now?"
Roger opened the file and looked at the picture of a blond boy in his early teens. He was the son of one 'Anthony Gardener' and had died twenty years ago. The boy on the phone was one of the first replacements that Artificial Angel had created, and had been thirteen years old for nineteen years now.
"Hello?" Joseph said. "Are you there?"
"Yes..." Roger said, scrolling through the client file. He finally reached the bottom and cleared his throat. "Lilac Meridian 23-133-17."
Another clatter came from the other end of the call. Roger looked at the watch and waited in silence for a full minute.
"Joseph, are you there?"
No answer.
"Good," he mumbled and hung up.
The doctor wriggled out of his coat, and exited the laboratory. He'd have to make a visit to the Gardener's and make sure that Joseph worked as he should after the forced shut down.
\*\*\*
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories | "Hello?" I stuttered. I had heard the phone click on the other end, a steady breathing echoing against my ear. "Is anyone there?" I asked almost impatiently.
"Good morning, Roger. How are you today?" a woman's voice responded. It was calm, yet I could sense the slightest bit of nervousness, like she hadn't expected to ever have this conversation.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, breathing heavier with every passing moment. I looked back at my pointer finger. I could no longer see the microscopic number imprinted within my finger print. With out the help of my microscope, I'd have never noticed it being there. My mind raced as I tried to figure out why it was there. But creeping in the back of my mind was a growing voice asking an even more interesting question: Who put it there?
"Where are you now, Roger?" The woman's voice asked, ignoring my question. I could hear rattling in the back. My ears felt suddenly much more honed to even the slightest of sounds. The leaking faucet dripping in the other room pounded against the stainless steel every few moments.
"I found this number engraved on my finger this morning," I said slightly raising my voice as I grew more and more impatient. "Who put it there? Who are you?" I asked.
"Roger, please remain calm and let me know where you are calling from? I'm only hear to help." Her voice sounded almost mesmerizing now. It was calm yet assertive. Almost addicting. I felt tempted to tell her my address. I quickly shook my head.
"I'm not telling you anything until I know what is going on!" I yelled. I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead. A rattling came from the ally outside my window. I jumped and looked out my kitchen window just as a cat scattered its way from a rolling garbage can and disappearing around the corner. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Are you still there, Roger?" I could hear the woman ask. I put the phone back against my ear.
"Please tell me who you are?" I said. I almost felt myself needing to cry now. My mind swirled and I began to shake.
"I can answer every question you have for me Roger, I just need you to tell me your location first." She was smiling. I could hear it in her crooked voice. It echoed across my mind.
"Please stop saying my name like that," I said putting a hand against my forehead. My brain felt a sharp pain. Her voice was becoming agonizing.
"Like what, Roger?" I snapped.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I cried out. There was only silence as I began to sob. There was only silence on the other end now.
"You'll know soon enough, Roger," she said. I looked up in shock.
"What do you mean? Hello?" Only silence on the other end now. "Hello?" I asked louder. Nothing. "Hello?!" I screamed beginning to cry again. The tone dial buzzed loudly and I threw the phone across the room. It shattered against the far wall, batteries flying in several directions. I slid to the ground staring at my finger. I gasped. The number was glowing red now. It flashed on and off every few moments.
"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-" I repeated as I scratched at the numbers. I jumped up and grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter. I felt as if I had gone insane in the last few minutes alone. This had to be some kind of dream. I pressed the edge of the knife against my finger tip. What the hell was I doing? That question kept repeating itself over and over again but I had to know what this thing on my finger was. I took a deep breath and shut eyes. I slid the knife into my finger, wincing in immediate pain. The knife slid in and I opened my eyes. No blood. Any where.
"Wha-" I tried saying aloud. I saw red, but it was light, not blood. I slid the knife further across the tip of finger, wanting to feel pain, to feel something. But there was nothing. I peeled the skin back. An icy blue metal rod, the shape of a bone revealed itself, a small bulb beside it slowly flashing on and off. I yanked it out, feeling myself getting light headed. I had seen something like this before. In the movies. I couldn't be sure of course, but it looked just like any tracking device I had ever seen. And then I remembered the woman's last statement.
I would know soon enough. What did that mean? I raised myself up quickly and threw the bulb and small wire attached to it down the drain in the kitchen sink. I looked back to my finger, slowly inspecting it. My front door suddenly blew open.
There was a flash, and loud bang as I dropped to the floor holding my hands over my ears. Smoke filled the room as wooden shards dropped all around me. Men in full body armor rushed the room, pointing there black weapons directly at me, yelling to stay down. Everything was blurry, I could barely out what they were saying. My eyes twitched as they tried to adjust. The armored men stepped aside as a red headed woman walked towards me. Her heels stomping against the hard wood floors. She stopped just in front of me and knelt down. Her head tilted as she inspected me. She slowly came into focus. She held my hand, and lifted it up. She glared at my finger for a short moment and then dropped it.
"Who are you?" I said softly, barely able to speak. She smiled.
"All in due time, Roger," she said with a smile. It was her. My face dropped as I tried to sit up.
"Bring it in," she said to the soldiers.
"Wai-" I tried saying. The butt of a rifle struck me directly across my face. Everything went black, her voice still echoing across my mind. | 2018-08-14T07:38:50 | 2018-08-14T07:31:49 | 366 | 25 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | Rolling my chair closer to the desk, fingers jittering slightly as I slid the slide onto the stand and centered it, I brought my face close to the microscope. I'd spent years perfecting it, and today was the first real trial of it with something other than micro-sized images printed off.
I had put a few cheek cells spread out on the slide, and as I viewed the first one, sharper than ever before, I noticed something... weird. Grabbing for my notebook, I copied down the lines and circles. It was... binary, for something. Checking the other cells, the same numbers were written in lines and circles, or 1's and 0's. Grabbing a textbook from my junior high days, tucked under the ugly vase my mother had gotten me for her last christmas, I flipped through, finding the page, and set to splitting the binary.
When I figured out it started with 1800, I couldn't help but chuckle. It hurt my chest, laughter so rare for me, but... a phone number? A corporate number? It was just so ridiculous to me.
Looking at it out of the corner of my eye, though, I couldn't help but be curious.
Googling it came up with a few vague listings, one for a "Self, LLC," and another for "Better Body Better Life tech support"
I dialed, hands shaking as they always do, and had to redial 4 times before I got it right. Instead of ringing, that familiar sound that preceded "We're sorry, but the caller you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up and try again later." repeated, on and on, in its place.
I locked my wheels, one hand drumming on the arm rest and the other holding the phone to my face, before I heard the noise stop.
A voice, a little like my fourth grade teacher answered. "If you have questions, please press 1. For warrantee claims, please press 3. For voluntary forfeiture of property, press 5. For replacement parts, press 7. To hear your options again, press 0."
When it finished, I mashed the 1 button, hoping I wouldn't accidentally press 2 or 4. With the phone away from my head, I didn't hear the voice until it nearly yelled, but it was just a buzz. Back to my ear, I said, "Hello?" into the phone.
The man, sounding young and a little too cheery, asked for the digits that helped me find this number. A little creeped out, I read the 1's and 0's out, figuring there was nothing really for him to do with random numbers.
I was wrong.
"So, Sydney, what can I answer for you?"
I asked the basic questions, the Who, What, Where, Why, and How, but he insisted that he unfortunately couldn't share that information.
"Was I meant to find this?" I finally asked, and he chuckled, a grin in his voice as he answered.
"I'd say so. Would you like to have a warrantee replacement? I can do that over the phone for you, if you'd like."
On a whim, I agreed. Shit, shady company, knew my name, what could go wrong, right?
Well, that brings us to today.
I woke up, no pain in my back, no numbness, no discomfort at all. My hands were steady for once, and I felt like I could see in the dim that the night light in the hallway lit up.
Some sort of auto-pilot told me to stand, even though I hadn't stood in years without help, and I could.
I'm just scared that there'll be a cost at the end of all this. How does one pay for a body replacement? | "Hello?" I stuttered. I had heard the phone click on the other end, a steady breathing echoing against my ear. "Is anyone there?" I asked almost impatiently.
"Good morning, Roger. How are you today?" a woman's voice responded. It was calm, yet I could sense the slightest bit of nervousness, like she hadn't expected to ever have this conversation.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, breathing heavier with every passing moment. I looked back at my pointer finger. I could no longer see the microscopic number imprinted within my finger print. With out the help of my microscope, I'd have never noticed it being there. My mind raced as I tried to figure out why it was there. But creeping in the back of my mind was a growing voice asking an even more interesting question: Who put it there?
"Where are you now, Roger?" The woman's voice asked, ignoring my question. I could hear rattling in the back. My ears felt suddenly much more honed to even the slightest of sounds. The leaking faucet dripping in the other room pounded against the stainless steel every few moments.
"I found this number engraved on my finger this morning," I said slightly raising my voice as I grew more and more impatient. "Who put it there? Who are you?" I asked.
"Roger, please remain calm and let me know where you are calling from? I'm only hear to help." Her voice sounded almost mesmerizing now. It was calm yet assertive. Almost addicting. I felt tempted to tell her my address. I quickly shook my head.
"I'm not telling you anything until I know what is going on!" I yelled. I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead. A rattling came from the ally outside my window. I jumped and looked out my kitchen window just as a cat scattered its way from a rolling garbage can and disappearing around the corner. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Are you still there, Roger?" I could hear the woman ask. I put the phone back against my ear.
"Please tell me who you are?" I said. I almost felt myself needing to cry now. My mind swirled and I began to shake.
"I can answer every question you have for me Roger, I just need you to tell me your location first." She was smiling. I could hear it in her crooked voice. It echoed across my mind.
"Please stop saying my name like that," I said putting a hand against my forehead. My brain felt a sharp pain. Her voice was becoming agonizing.
"Like what, Roger?" I snapped.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I cried out. There was only silence as I began to sob. There was only silence on the other end now.
"You'll know soon enough, Roger," she said. I looked up in shock.
"What do you mean? Hello?" Only silence on the other end now. "Hello?" I asked louder. Nothing. "Hello?!" I screamed beginning to cry again. The tone dial buzzed loudly and I threw the phone across the room. It shattered against the far wall, batteries flying in several directions. I slid to the ground staring at my finger. I gasped. The number was glowing red now. It flashed on and off every few moments.
"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-" I repeated as I scratched at the numbers. I jumped up and grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter. I felt as if I had gone insane in the last few minutes alone. This had to be some kind of dream. I pressed the edge of the knife against my finger tip. What the hell was I doing? That question kept repeating itself over and over again but I had to know what this thing on my finger was. I took a deep breath and shut eyes. I slid the knife into my finger, wincing in immediate pain. The knife slid in and I opened my eyes. No blood. Any where.
"Wha-" I tried saying aloud. I saw red, but it was light, not blood. I slid the knife further across the tip of finger, wanting to feel pain, to feel something. But there was nothing. I peeled the skin back. An icy blue metal rod, the shape of a bone revealed itself, a small bulb beside it slowly flashing on and off. I yanked it out, feeling myself getting light headed. I had seen something like this before. In the movies. I couldn't be sure of course, but it looked just like any tracking device I had ever seen. And then I remembered the woman's last statement.
I would know soon enough. What did that mean? I raised myself up quickly and threw the bulb and small wire attached to it down the drain in the kitchen sink. I looked back to my finger, slowly inspecting it. My front door suddenly blew open.
There was a flash, and loud bang as I dropped to the floor holding my hands over my ears. Smoke filled the room as wooden shards dropped all around me. Men in full body armor rushed the room, pointing there black weapons directly at me, yelling to stay down. Everything was blurry, I could barely out what they were saying. My eyes twitched as they tried to adjust. The armored men stepped aside as a red headed woman walked towards me. Her heels stomping against the hard wood floors. She stopped just in front of me and knelt down. Her head tilted as she inspected me. She slowly came into focus. She held my hand, and lifted it up. She glared at my finger for a short moment and then dropped it.
"Who are you?" I said softly, barely able to speak. She smiled.
"All in due time, Roger," she said with a smile. It was her. My face dropped as I tried to sit up.
"Bring it in," she said to the soldiers.
"Wai-" I tried saying. The butt of a rifle struck me directly across my face. Everything went black, her voice still echoing across my mind. | 2018-08-14T08:39:35 | 2018-08-14T07:31:49 | 201 | 25 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | He lay there drooling, with mouths open wide. He stood up to... to... ah hell he doesn't even know. Walking straight forward he first hits a night stand, then door frame until finally tripping over a hallway carpet and faceplanting without a sign of resistance. As he lay there, nose bleeding he thinks to himself... nothing, nothing at all. His overfull bladder finally gives up and the carpet gets soaked.
Having superintelligence as a superpower truly is a bitch. | -HAHA!!! Wake up SuperSmeller! For I am ending you Right Now!
*-wow. how did you even get here.*
-I am utterly GLAD you asked! For I am a genius! For It is known within villainous circles that you have a super smelling power, You have a distinct smell for every thought a person THINKS, not just for every molecule for every individual. You are nearly unbeatable, for You are like a mindreader of everyone in the world! For it is too dangerous, I invented a potion which changes all of my molecules, so you didn't know I was coming for you! HaHA!
*-dude, you use "for" way too much.*
-SILENCE, IMbecile! Since you can predict all of my moves, I invented a new way to kill you (since I am a genius)! A POISON! Since I've already opened it, you can do NOTHING! YOU ARE DEAD IN A MINUTE! Look at You! Since You can already barely move, and since soon the smell will be so unbearable, your intricate senses will be overwhelmed and you will die! Since The smell is so strong even I would die!
*-dude now you use "since" way too much. maybe if you worked on your speech, you wouldn't feel weird around people so you wouldn't stress so much... btw why didn't you just bring a gas mask with you.*
-HAHA! STUPID! I know that you would have realized from the smell, that a gas mask is coming to your room! Very suspicious! No Way Hosé! I give my life.. \*cough\*.. for this villainous act \*cough\*.. \*cough\*.. of killing you. I am already weakened so you must be in agony already!
*-well, i admire your determination, but today im so hungover, that i wouldn'T even be able to smell it if you poured a pile of shit on my face.*
-NOOOOOOO!!! aAAAAAAhhh You have defeated me! The genius with 1000IQ!! \*cough\* I have heard of your tales but never believed you are this unbeatable! No worries, it is no shame in losing to a strong entity like you! Farewell \*dies\*
*-hm. I don't even have a superpower, I just lose my sense of smell when i drink too much... although i can drink 20liter vodka in 5minutes, if you can call that superpower. this day starts strange i better get back to sleep... This was the 6th time this month a villain died randomly in front of me for no reason* | 2018-08-19T07:31:17 | 2018-08-19T07:18:07 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | 1 result.
There it was, a name that only I could see, floating silently above my father's head. My father the murderer; standing there with his back turned, chopping carrots at the bench.
"Dad," I said, my voice trembling. He must have heard the quiver, because he stopped and turned to me, concern etched upon his face.
"Yes Sam? Is everything ok?" He sounded genuinely worried. I mean, he was always genuine, wasn't he? But then why... I had to know.
"Do you remember how grandad died?" I blurted it out, a little too fast, and it took dad by surprise. His eyes widened, but he covered it by averting his gaze and clearing his throat.
"Lung cancer," he said quietly, "horrible way to go."
I nodded my agreement. I could sense his pain, and it made me hesitate. I wasn't sure how to approach the subject. How do you even begin? But the silence was deafening. I *had to know.*
"I remember," I said. "But, well... We all knew he was terminal, but the doctor said he still had a few months. It was just... Unexpected..."
Dad was stock-still now, standing there with that great big knife in his hand like some macabre statue. The moment drew out to infinite, frozen in time.
In an instant, the tension was broken.
My father lifted his knife, placing it gently next to the carrots. He turned back to me, and for the first time I could see the tears in his eyes.
"Do you remember the dialysis?" he said, "the needles? The tests?"
I couldn't speak, so I nodded.
"Dad couldn't bear the pain, but more than that, he couldn't bear living out the rest of his life in a hospital bed. He-"
My father choked and turned away again, staring out the window. He stared and stared, looking for something that he couldn't find.
I knew what he was looking for, I'd already found it.
"He asked you to do it, didn't he?" | My dad is a Vietnam vet, and never talked about it much. I know from my mom he has pretty severe ptsd. I felt guilty for wanting to know, but I couldn’t help it. The number kinda surprised me, 12. It was more than I expected, and I instantly had half a dozen more questions I wanted answers to.
But I couldn’t bring myself to dig any farther. It already felt a little too intrusive. It was then that I had another strange thought, what about the rest of my family? The following morning, I decided to pry.
“Morning, mom.” I said
“Morning sweetheart.” My mother responded. She was browsing Facebook on her iPad, as usual. “Have any plans today?”
“Nah. I was gonna go to the movies with Jeff, but he decided he just wanted to go with Jessica.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear that. What movie were you going to see? If it’s not something scary we could go.”
I giggled, “It was actually something scary.”
“Well are there any other movies you wanted to see? You know what, I’m gonna check and...”
I started the search before she could finish her sentence. I was kinda nervous, what if... what if my mom had killed somebody? I mean she was a nurse, would something like negligence count? Zero. Phew. My mother is still a saint.
“Honey? Am I talking to a wall here?”
Oh shit I zoned out for too long.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said have you seen this movie.” She moved the iPad a little closer to my face.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I saw it last weekend with a bunch of people from youth group.”
She sighed, “One of these days I’d like to go see a movie as a family.”
We talked for a little longer before I wandered back to my room to play games with my friends online. That evening, we decided to go out for dinner. My younger sister Trisha brought her friend Rashida.
We ate, the girls gossiped and looked at their phones the whole time, and then I remembered the question. I looked across the table at my younger sister and decided to search. I mean I’d already searched the rest of my family, it would be rude not to include her.
Zero. Obviously. She’s fifteen, she’s weird but not that kind of weird. Her and Rashida are certainly different, but they’re just asocial types. I took another sip of coke, and as I looked up again I nearly choked.
“Are you okay sweetie?” My mom quickly responded.
“I’m fine.” I managed to cough out, my eyes watering, but still glued to the search bar over my sisters head. That 1 wasn’t there before. My eyes scanned back and forth. I wiped the tears away and quickly looked back up, still coughing.
“Can you cover your mouth when you cough? F-F-S.” Trisha said angrily.
“Sorry.” I said while still looking at the number above her head. Ten. *Ten*?! Holy shit what the fuck. I had to know more. This had to be some kind of mistake. Okay, what about number of people murdered. Search. Oh please, oh god no. Still ten.
“Hey mouth breather, can I help you with something?” Trisha was scowling at me, Rashida too.
“Sorry I...” I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Zoned out, even while you’re about to choke to death.” Trisha quipped. Rashida smirked, blew air out of her nose, and rolled her eyes. I didn’t even have time to be mad. My sister is a goddamn serial killer. Maybe she’s killing bad people? Maybe it was all at once?
Wait, did my parents know? Or... what if she could search like I could? Maybe she’d done what I’d only dreamed about doing. Finding evil people, and murdering them.
Can my sister search like me. Search. | 2019-07-01T21:21:32 | 2019-07-01T20:07:43 | 717 | 215 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world. | I made sure the phone was turned off then set it on the dinette table. It had vibrated in my pocket on the walk from the gate to my new afterlife digs, prompting the guide to pause for just long enough to make me wonder if she was fixing to eject me from this new life. It was weird; I assumed that, as a dead person, my anxiety stomach would be just as dead as me. But, no. There it was. Gurgle Stomach, with a side of Hot Face.
“Someone’s nervous on their first day!” the guide chirped while patting my shoulder.
Shortly after, she deposited me here. In this Death Condo that looked like a replica of my freshman dorm room except white. White on white on white on white ad infinitum. For someone who, in life, was physiologically incapable of not spilling, splashing, or spraying food and drink on themselves, the floor, and the walls.
I was starting to wonder if this was actually Hell.
Laying in the void of that matte white *everything*, the phone was glaringly, offensively black. A malignant stain in this supposedly perfect place (unless it was Hell, which was still a possibility).
Who had even called?
I snatched it from the table and fired it up. One missed call. No message, but it was just my manager and it wasn’t like work was part of my life anymore.
Wait. Did I have to have a job here? This crappy Death Condo indicated that there might be a Death Cubicle in my future. Is this where those calls about our cars’ extended warranties come from? Would I have to telemarket from here? Or-- oh god, no. *Do customer support*? Was this Comcast?
The phone binged. Incoming message from…my manager. Firing me via text.
Without thinking, I texted back, “U can’t fire me I’m dead. Car accident yesterday.”
I opened the browser, googled my name, and copied the first article link. Texted it to him. Waited.
The phone binged. Incoming message: “wtf who is this”
“OK,” I cackled, pulling the phone close. “Let’s bring new meaning to the term ‘*ghosting*.’” | **Connections**
***
The first thing I discovered was that I shouldn’t try to make phone calls.
It was physically possible, sure. The line would ring and then connect. The living person on the other side would answer, cheerful or confused, or sometimes somewhere in-between. I would say “Hello,” and they would repeat me.
“Hello!” I’d say.
“Is anyone there?”
I discovered that if I got frustrated and yelled a lot, static would come through so heavy that I couldn’t hear them either.
The bottom line was that I could make the phone call, but I couldn’t talk to them. I could never talk to anyone on the other side, and neither could any of the other dead folks that hung around me like moths to a lamp.
The second thing I discovered was that I shouldn’t try to upload videos.
I recorded half a dozen different videos in half a dozen different locations, wherever I could find that may give me a better chance of pulling it off. I would save it, and upload it, and when I would go back to watch it -- there was nothing but static.
I would search the comments, hoping it was some weird issue with my phone, my eyes, or something in the afterlife that stopped me from understanding weird things that I didn't know about yet. But every single comment confirmed. No one else could watch the video either. After a while, there formed a conspiracy theory that the static was on purpose, and they began to look for clues in the background.
They made wiki’s, subreddits, and Facebook communities.
Unfortunately for both parties involved, there were no hidden clues, and all of their guesses were wrong.
So I stopped trying to upload videos to places like youtube, or through email. I did leave them up though because the ever-evolving insane theories amuse me and bring about a glimmer of light in the strange and boring afterlife.
The third thing I discovered through trial and error was I could in fact send and receive text messages.
I had to connect to just the right type of wifi because regular mobile data apparently isn't the same as the type I had in.. wherever the hell I was. And I had to set up google voice accounts on a weekly basis because they got flagged for a whole bunch of reasons. Folks told google that I was spamming, that I was impersonating family members, or that I was elsewise violating the terms of service.
It stung a little and was frustrating. But it was only a minor blip because it wasn't as if I had a lot of time crunches in the beginning. In fact, I still don’t have anything at all that takes up my time, and that's something I keep trying to get across to folks.
I have the phone numbers of my mom, sister, and two best friends memorized still. I can’t text my mom or sister anymore, because they don’t believe me. When I message them, I get rude replies and the account gets nabbed quicker.
But my friends at least talk to me. Sometimes they play stupid, but sometimes they have legitimate conversations. They try to listen, and they are nice enough to relay information. They tell me how my mom is since my death, and they tell me that the new high school principal busted the basketball team in the bathrooms for…
Well, just about everything you would expect.
They also seem to believe the things I tell them, although they don't know how to help me. I tell them that even though they searched my pockets, I think they left my phone with me on purpose. Why else would there be an internet connection here?
I tell them that I don’t think I’m in heaven. It's too dark, and the light bulbs tend to flicker when you look at them. I can't find anything I would have hoped for, and all the furniture is uncomfortable, and a lot of the other souls…
They linger. They have been getting closer lately, and it's been making me nervous.
That's why I’m reaching out to you. I'm hoping that someone will be able to help find out where I”m at, and how to get me back home. I know, I know… you can’t raise the dead... But maybe you could help stop the nightmares that started cropping up at night.
***
/r/beezus_writes for more by me.
Have a look at r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others! | 2021-01-20T14:01:14 | 2021-01-20T12:48:41 | 1,552 | 295 |
[WP] You've made an impressive name for yourself as an exorcist, getting rid of some of the nastiest hauntings there are. What nobody knows is that you don't have a particular talent for it; you yourself are just haunted by a spirit so terrifying, that even ghosts flee before it. | A hawk circles high in the air, riding on the winds above a barren mountain pass. He scans the ground looking for anything to keep the cruelty of winter at bay. Tonight he will be a hero to his family, a rabbit or a hare will fill the bellies of his young. He flies lower. Something is wrong. His wings feel weak and his vision is blackening.
The bird fell with a thud to the cobbles of the almost empty street. A black pincer dragged the carcass under the robes of Father Mccormick, who, a moment later, kicked a small skull to the side of the road. The house he searched for was just ahead, a humble cattle ranch.
"I'm here in response to a letter," said Father Mccormick.
"The ones who came before, they are all dead," said who must be Ebenezer Schumacher. He walked with an awkward limp in the doorway of the house.
"My fate is in the hands of God," Father Mccormick said. "I don't fear his judgment."
"He's in there, my son," the old man said, pointing to a door at the end of a dark corridor. The house had the stale dust smell of life winding down.
"Leave the house to ourselves, please," Father Mccormick said with a straightening of his robes.
"Believe me, if you're going in there, I'm not staying to see that again," The man said mournfully, passing through the door. "I'm sorry father, but I fear no one can stop my son. I just pray he never wishes to leave."
The priest only nodded as he approached the door covered in scratches. He entered without knocking. An overweight man, of perhaps thirty, perched on the window, swollen belly crisscrossed with stretch marks, fully nude and quivering as though it was colder even than it was.
"Leave!" the man cried, with the fear of a child in his eyes. "The bad bug will eat you up." He began to cough as a black pair of legs shot from his mouth. They continued to unfurl from the man, landing on the wooden floor and holding up the heavy man easily. The moderate monstrosity lumbered towards Father Mccormick with shaking movements as the priest made the mark of the cross over himself.
Father Mccormick began to unbutton his robes as the beast pulled more of its body from the man, looking now like a rotten hermit crab with a human shell. "My fate is in the hands of God," he repeated, "but it is not the God of Issac."
He threw off his black robes to reveal the Hunger underneath. The minor parasite before him tried to scurry away but was dragged towards the priest without effort. The ever unsettling sounds began just after.
...
"It's done," Father Mccormick called, opening the door and brushing himself off.
The old man looked skeptical until he saw the weak looking man following the priest, looking much thinner now. "Marcus? Is it really gone?"
The wide eyed man looked to the priest with fear who only returned a polite smile. "It is, dad. It's all gone, forever."
Father Mccormick walked away without discussion of payment. Silencing the Hunger for the week was payment enough.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | Many, including Father Nathaniel, had long been curious about the famous Cerie. Born Jamie Young, she quickly grew a reputation as a successful exorcist who claimed no allegiance to any particular faith, whose mere presence was enough to shoo away any ghost or demon. So when he was offered a chance to watch her perform an exorcism first hand at a local cathedral, he agreed wholeheartedly.
The one to be exorcised was, yet again, the Curator Williams, who oversaw precious historical artifacts at a local museum. Father Nathaniel's heart went out to Williams, who had often been the target of hauntings due to the nature of his job. Time and time again he had come to the church to be exorcised, Father Nathaniel having blessed him many times, and time and time again he returned with a new spirit attempting to hijack his soul and body. While Father Nathaniel was cautiously optimistic about the stories regarding Cerie, he hoped to find any method that would bring Williams peace.
When he arrived at the Cathedral, a few minutes before Cerie herself, Williams was already there. He sat on the swinging bench in the church yard, both hands on his knee as he bounced his right leg. To anyone else, he could have been another man simply preoccupied with mundane worries, but Father Nathaniel could detect the malicious entity dwelling in the fringes of his mind.
Williams looked up when he heard the Father approach. "Good morning, Father." Williams stood up and reached out his hand for Father Nathaniel to shake, which he did warmly.
"Good morning, Mr. Williams. Oh, please sit down." He gestured back to the swinging bench. "You needn't get up on my behalf."
Williams nodded and all but collapsed back onto the bench. Father Nathaniel was about to ask a question about the spirit Williams believed to be possessing him when he interrupted, "Do you... do you think she will be able to help me?" he asked.
Father Nathaniel paused, unable to put the unease which had accompanied him every time he read one of Cerie's stories to rest. "I believe that faith in the community will always prevail." Father Nathaniel said slowly. "And from what I have seen, many communities have prevailed while welcoming Cerie into their own." The words seemed to relax Williams somewhat, the frantic bouncing of his leg noticeably slowing.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up even before Father Nathaniel saw her face. The aura, he supposed, though it pained him to use such language, could be felt from a mile away. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Williams had suddenly straightened his back and his eyes had focused on the car approaching the church. It reminded him of young men and women preparing themselves for difficult times ahead.
Difficult times parked her car neatly into the parking lot just across from the church. The car was nice, but not ostentatiously so. The same could be said of the driver, the legendary Cerie. Father Nathaniel was hardly well-acquainted with fashion, but even he could tell the click of her high heels and the shine of her sunglasses spoke for her. She walked briskly towards the two men, head held high, allowing for the wind to flow through her hair and grace the smile on her face. All in all, she look all the world like a prideful, wealthy businesswoman— including the sinister undercurrent beneath her confidence.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Williams," she told Williams, who had sprung up once again to greet her. Even though her eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses, Father Nathaniel could tell that she had been watching him even as she shook Williams' hand. When she finally dropped the pretense, she turned to Father Nathaniel and looked him up and down. A frown crossed her red lips. "And you are...?"
There were little options to be had. As pastor, Father Nathaniel had to duty to protect the innocent from the grasp of evil spirits, for which Cerie definitely qualified. If Father Nathaniel had his way, he would expel the entity from Cerie and from Williams himself.
Yet this was a more precarious situation than most. Any drastic action could result in unpredictable results, considering there were so many other factors in play, from the host's awareness of the spirit to how much the spirit had melded with, or worse, replaced the soul of the host. No, whatever had, or was, Cerie was not merely another spirit. It was a terrible, horrible thing whose sole uniqueness was that it could cow other, less horrible things.
"Ahem?" Cerie interjected, repeatedly judging by her tone. "Like I said, who are you again?"
Perhaps it was her utter contempt or perhaps it was the confirm of his unease which brought him out of his thoughts. but it suddenly occurred to Father Nathaniel, like a lighting strike on a clear day, what to do. He smiled at her— it? "My name is Father Nathaniel," he said. "Welcome to your church. We appreciate your coming here."
Cerie shrugged. "It was no big deal, really," she said, and Father Nathaniel could almost, almost believe that the girl were simply another exorcist, of not for the powerful dark spiritual energy which surrounded her. "So, where do we go for this?" she asked.
Father Nathaniel nodded. "Ah yes, right this way." he gestured to the cathedral, and the three began walking inside.
Where the other priests were, where they could work together to remove the great evil. | 2021-04-03T10:02:18 | 2021-04-03T09:27:38 | 167 | 48 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with? | Hathgor paced restlessly around his manor, waiting for the sun to sink below the horizon. While it wouldn’t kill him to go out in the light, it certainly wasn’t pleasant.
Waiting, however, was driving him mad. For he’d had a brilliant idea during his most recent slumber.
He’d been alone for centuries, the only of his kind. Cursed by that wretched witch a dozen lifetimes ago to live for eternity. Only able to sustain himself from the blood of the living.
Sometime after the third century of his lifetime, Hathgor had gotten bored. Lonely. More than a little depressed. He’d tried many ways to end his existence at that point in time. None, of course, were successful, but he had learned one thing –
He was capable of putting himself into a deep slumber for years at a time. Only when his hunger grew too great, did he awake, sate himself, and then retire to his chamber in the bowels of his manor.
But somewhere, just on the verge of waking and sleep, he’d thought of a plan. No, he no longer focused on ending his existence, rather he’d figured out a way to no longer be alone.
The rumors of dragons, myths when he had been but a boy, was one thing that had stayed constant no matter how long he’d slept.
He was determined to find one and befriend it. Perhaps it too was the only one of its kind. Lonely, and suffering from a never-ending life.
---
When the sun finally set, Hathgor yanked open the doors, nearly sprinting into the night. He had no idea where he’d start, but he knew that he had an eternity to search.
---
It only took Hathgor two lifetimes to find more than rumors about a dragon. To parse together that it was in fact one dragon from which all myths sprang. A third lifetime to find its preferred whereabouts – which seemed to change every few lifetimes. That knowledge spurred a kindred ship in Hathgor’s heart for the beast. He too felt the urge to keep moving. No one place was enough for him for more than a handful of years – plus the locals always started to try to kill him once he’d feasted on one too many villagers.
The day came where Hathgor was certain he’d located the dragon. Deep in the Titian mountains, in a cave rumored to be so large it could house a city.
With no fear of heat, nor cold, heights or lack of oxygen, holding nothing more than a compass and a rough map, he set off into the mountains.
He crisscrossed every slope, peered into every nook and cranny, and only paused when he felt the urge. Hathgor was on a mission, one that he’d become nearly irrationally devoted to. He never considered he might not find this dragon.
A consideration he needn’t have worried about anyways, as he finally stepped firmly into what had to be the correct cavern. He followed the twists and turns of each passageway, his night vision better than any cat’s. Finally , before him, lain a gigantic form.
The dragon.
Walking around the front of its great maw, he cleared his throat, “Hello, dragon, my name is –“
He never got to Hathgor, for the beast, without even opening an eye cloaked him in flames. Flames that would have vaporized a mortal, but did nothing but scorch Hathgor’s favorite traveling cloak, along with the rest of his clothes.
“Well that was rude…” he said, patting at a spot of ash from his shoulder.
The dragon’s large green eyes opened in annoyance, and then astonishment, when it confirmed it had not missed its target, but simply failed to rid it of the pest.
“As I was saying,” Hathgor said smiling largely at the dragon, “My name is Hathgor, the Vampire. And you are?”
*Tired*, a voice echoed inside Hathgor’s head. The dragon stood and twisted in a circle, before settling down in a nearly identical pose as it had just vacated.
“I understand that. You see I had become accustomed to sleeping for a hundred years…”
*Will you shut up already? I was sleeping.*
“But –“ Hathgor paused, thinking on his wording. “I’d like to be your friend. Please, at least tell me your name?”
*No.*
The dragon let out a large sigh of annoyance, before falling soundly back asleep.
Hathgor sat, waiting. How long could a dragon sleep for anyways?
---
Quite a long time it would seem.
After a decade of waiting, Hathgor was feeling testy and hungry. He didn’t dare leave the cave, as the dragon would likely fly off to some new hidden home, and he’d have to start his search over again. He’d tried throughout the years to wake the dragon, but with little luck. He’d been burned twice, squashed once, and thrown against the wall at least three times.
But he wasn’t giving up.
“We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!” he yelled finally, having hit his breaking point. He walked up to the dragon (no, he *still* didn’t know its name) and firmly kicked it in the right nostril.
*Why will you not leave me alone?!* The shout would have shattered a mortal’s skull.
“Because, what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?” Hathgor nearly screamed, pulling at his hair in frustration.
The dragon peered down at him, and Hathgor braced himself to be thrown back by the twitching tail.
Rather than respond, and quicker than Hathgor would have believed, the dragon swiped out a paw and grabbed him, before launching itself into the air, and quickly making its way out of the cavern. Flying through the air, (luckily it was night, as Hathgor would have been rather uncomfortable during the day), they quickly crossed the lands.
Then, as suddenly as they’d started their flight, they stopped. The dragon landed in a field of cows, all of which were bellowing their distress.
*Go find some clothes, Hathgor, get a bite to eat.* The dragon chuckled. *I’m hungry. I shall eat, and then – then I suppose we can talk.*
“You still haven’t even told me your name!” Hathgor shouted at the already hunting dragon.
*Jaxspar,* was the only thing the dragon said before chomping down on a cow and ignoring Hathgor once again.
---
r/LandOfMisfits | Calanthrag The Eldest snorted, a brief burst of blue fire through nostrils the size of a truck exhaust. The little, blustery human-but-not-human shrunk back towards the cliff’s edge, but only a step before he pushed his way back towards the great dragon. Calanthrag wasn’t sure if he liked the man or not. He hovered very close to the line between annoying-but-alive and formerly-annoying-cinders.
"We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" The man stamped his foot, raising a hand as if to beat it against Calanthrag’s snout before thinking better of it. It was the first smart move he’d made.
“And precisely why should I wish to be friends with you?” draconic speech was a slithering, sibilant susurration, words and syllables blending together into a hard to interpret mass, even if they’d started out in the common tongue. The man seemed to have no trouble understanding him however. It was an interesting, if not decisive fact.
“Because we two are the eldest of our race! Because our friendship is a parlay, an alliance against changing times!”
Calanthrag yawned, turning back to the entrance of his cave. “Unless these humans have advanced far beyond the primitive ‘plastic surgery’ I saw last, you are not the eldest. Leave me.”
A curious thing happened then. Squeaking filled the mountainside and the scents changed, man-odor disappearing in favor of the damp, cavernous odor of bats. All at once a storm of black fur surrounded the ancient dragon, racing past him towards the cave entrance and whirling in the air there, a thousand bats spinning and diving and flashing their wings as they coalesced into the shape of a man. Fur became a black, fur lined cape. Beady eyes shifted and hardened, becoming the many black gemstones of his raiment. Where once there had been a thousand vestigial hands perched on wings there were now two hands, and feet besides, and the hands had viciously curved claws that had grown inches past the fingertips.
“Ah,” Calanthrag said, “I see.”
“Is that all my life has become? Three words from a dragon?” The man- the vampire, walked close to Calanthrag, bringing himself a half-pace from death in a million different ways, and for the first time the dragon smiled, lowering his head to the ground in greeting.
“Well met, Vlad Tepes, last of your kind.”
Vlad bowed low with all the grace of a long dead court, “Well met Calanthrag The Eldest. Last of your kind.”
“Come, vampire. It seems we do have something to speak of after all.” Without waiting for a response the dragon swept past him, shooting thin lines of fire through his front teeth to light the many torches along the way.
How long had it been since he’d had a guest in his home? Two centuries? Three? Calanthrag could hardly separate dreams from reality after so long, after the invention of gunpowder the scope of his life had shrunk down, only waking from his slumber for brief, scheduled feeding cycles, checking on the world through the whispers of lesser lizards and the more cogent, far more useful words of his last remaining friend. She’d be ahead now, and would have spotted the flare of the torches he lit. He hoped she was better practiced than he in the rigors of hospitality.
Some ten dragon-paces later Vlad threw out an arm, pressing it against Calanthrag’s chest. It would never have restrained him, but it was still shockingly strong for a creature his size. “Careful, there’s a human ahead.” Vlad whispered. “One, young, female. I can smell her blood.”
“As can I,” rumbled Calanthrag. “I can also smell mutton cooking and a wine bottle being uncorked, or are a vampire’s senses not so fine as I had heard?”
Vlad cocked an eyebrow, looking at the dragon. “Not an assassin?”
Calanthrag’s laugh echoed off the walls, dust falling down in to coat them, making Vlad cough and sputter as he tried to brush it off his fine clothes. “Lizette!” Calanthrag called, bounding ahead, “our guest thinks you’re an assassin!”
Standing alone in a room whose wealth was almost beyond imaging was a tall, slender woman, red hair falling in a torrent down one shoulder as she turned a whole lamb on a spit. She smiled brightly to see Calanthrag, and laughed softly at the dusty vampire who emerged behind him. Her laugh died as Vlad bared his teeth, a vein in his neck bulging, his body straining against the urge to call, to rend, to drink human blood.
Calanthrag dashed the vampire against the closest wall with a negligent brush of his wing, and then laid his snout against him, pinning the creature while he spoke. “Lizette, meet Vlad. Vlad, meet Lizette. Vampire, if you so much as touch her I’ll tear your head off, cauterize the neck wound, and then dunk you in a vat of regenerative potion so quickly you’ll never die, just float there under a sheet for all eternity. Do I make myself clear?” Vlad nodded. He wasn’t allowed up until the hunger had faded from his eyes. It took a long time, but then the wine needed to rest anyway.
When he was finally released Vlad brushed himself off once more, and then not even looking at Lizette he asked, “How did a human come to find herself in a dragon’s lair?”
“Virgin sacrifice!” she said cheerily, walking over to Calanthrag and laying a hand on the warm scales near his heart. “How long ago was it now, six hundred years? Seven?”
“It was 1371 AD, Gregorian Calender.”
“I look good for 650, don’t I?” she said, turning a little twirl. “You can look at me vampire, I won’t bite. Though I can’t say the same for Calanthrag, he really will kill you.”
“In a heartbeat,” Calanthrag said.
Vlad nodded. He stared around the room in shock, his draw dropping more with every moment. There was a 650 year girl, gold and gems beyond measure were piled in heaps towering heaps with barely enough room for a dragon’s bulk cut between them. They had fresh mutton and perfectly aged wine. Calanthrag smirked, imagining the man’s wonder. He had a suspicion Vlad had not come through the ages so nicely.
Vlad followed his nose to the wine bottle, sniffing it appreciatively and then pouring himself a glass. “You two are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He finally turned his gaze to Lizette. “You aren’t a vampire, your blood is too warm. And you aren’t a mage either, I’d know.” He pulled out a small, lifeless vair-stone and laid it on the table with the wine bottle. “So how does a simple serving girl become immortal?
“He thinks I’m a serving girl!” Lizette exclaimed, clearly annoyed.
Calanthrag chuckled. “Indeed. Disabuse him of that notion.”
She walked forward, taking Vlad’s glass of wine and drinking from it. “I’m not some servant, I’m his friend. Unlike you, some people have them.”
“She’s also my eyes and ears to the human world. It is a good trade, a piece of gold here and there for knowledge of my enemy and a friend to pass the ages with.”
A friend. They could both see the effect the word had on Vlad. His hand trembled as he reached for the bottle again and this time he drank directly from it. His eyes burned, his lips drew back, baring fangs. Calanthrag crouched low, preparing to pound until the vampire spoke.
“I’m jealous of you, Eldest. My friends have all been taken from me. The years have not been quite so kind to me as to you. You spoke of enemies though. Do you have them?”
Lizette answered for him. “The whole world. Isn’t that the nature of who we all are?”
Vlad nodded, snarl turning to a razor thin smile as he turned his gaze to her. “Perhaps I have underestimated you. I came for friendship with the dragon, but another would be welcome as well. My world has been silent for too long.” Vlad took a long sip, laying the bottle down heavily when he was done. “And my war has been far too lonely.”
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-16T07:05:18 | 2021-04-16T06:48:10 | 276 | 205 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | “I don’t know. She’s pretty useless though. Can’t speak. Too dumb for any real magic, but she’ll heal you if you order her to.” Calix said to their new recruit as he marched down the goblin infested tunnels in his massive plate armor.
*Leressa the Black! I bind you!*
The recruit, Daved, looked back at me nervously, “Ah, would you please heal my wound ma--”
“No, not like that. You have to *order* it.” Calix interjected. To me he said, “Healbitch, patch up his arm.”
*I bind you to never again use your magic to harm another living being!*
I smiled. The muscles controlling my face spasm, holding the idiot grin as I catch up to Daved. Once again I reach for the healing magic I can barely touch. White magic has always been a struggle for me.
My talents lie elsewhere.
*I bind you to heal all that demand it!*
Purple light sprang between my hand and his wound; stitching his cut closed with agonizing slowness. Once I finished, Daved drew his sword and swung it about experimentally.
“Thanks” he said nervously, eyes bouncing off of my dull gaze.
*I bind you to follow all orders!*
“Found it!” That slippery old eel, Ronald, shouted back to us.
Calix hurried ahead, plate armor clattering down the tunnels. “Come on, healbitch.”
Once Daved and I arrived at the door to the goblins throne room we saw Calix impatiently waiting as Ronald carefully inspected the door.
*I bind you to use your magic to aid all that demand it!*
Almost by rote Ronald said, “Healbitch, give me better eyesight”
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me stronger,” Calix demanded.
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me faster,” Daved’s words *just* avoided being a request. He’d get used to it. They always did.
I smiled.
*I bind you to these things for all your life, with a smile on your face.*
Calix looked at the others, “Here we go.” He blasted open the heavy wooden doors with a supernaturally enhanced kick. A few dozen armed goblins stared back at us, faces contorted with surprise, fear, and rage. Their shaman shouted something in their guttural, barking tongue. Some charged. Some ran. It was a slaughter.
------
Calix stepped up to the throne, swordpoint against the shaman’s throat. “Any last words, greenskin?”
The shaman’s eyes met mine. He made a sharp gesture and cast one last spell before Calix drove the sword through his ancient neck. The room fell deathly quiet.
“What was that, Ronald? He curse us?” Calix asked, looking back towards the rest of us.
“No, it was inverted.” Ronald said, bemused puzzlement dominating his voice, “Why in the world would he spend his last breaths trying to *remove* a curse?”
I reached out experimentally.
“Fucking greenskins. Probably just learned the spell backwards. Anyway, who cares?"
Calix turned to me,
“Healbitch…” He cut off
Tendrils of purple magic extended from my robes in all directions, probing, reaching into the eyes of each and every goblin corpse, the ones nearest to me were already twitching. Black lightning danced on my fingertips.
For the first time in years, *I* smiled. | I took this in a slightly different way, where the black mage doesn't know any healing spells. Hopefully it still works!
___
Brath aimed his eyes to the sky, the blue infinity stretching out past the jagged tops of mountains, and he breathed in. *Don't kill anyone today. Remember what they told you about managing anger. Too much fury will not cure me.* But his blood *was* boiling as he breathed out, looking down towards the canvas of green grass, rolling hills bumping the verdant landscape. Evergreen trees, swaying in the gentle breeze, gathered at the horizon, echoes of a forest long past. It was scenic. Peaceful. Brath ground his teeth, clenching his hands into quivering fists. *Why can't things be this peaceful?* His eyes sailed down towards the fallen... orc? Brath shook his head. Why did their paladin *have* to be an orc? They were magic resistant! Brath turned his head, taking in the arrow stuck in the orc's thigh. Next to him was a fidgety dwarf, holding a bow.
"I know I said we needed to have friendly fires..." Brath thought about the cook fires. These two had been cold to everyone, even Tyi. Brath jolted his head towards the arrow. "But this is taking it a little too far, don't you think," he asked with a shrug.
The dwarf pivoted so fast that his bow, which was dragging on the ground, cracked the side of Rax's head. The slap of wood resounded through the emptiness of the green. And the orc grimaced, trying to look away from the black mage. "Ha, ha, good one, Aurin." The orc looked up towards Brath, wincing. "S-see, no pain here. Just friends being friends." Rax's leg was bleeding.
Aurin gulped. "Y-yeah, friends being fr—."
"Please stop talking." Brath rasped out, shaking his head. Orcs and dwarves never worked well with each other. And why was *Aurin* their archer? *Kids and their dreams.* But that arrow was no dream. Brath pointed towards the arrow with a jerk of his thumb. "Rax, you and I both know that's gotta come out."
Rax winced.
Brath sighed, rolling his eyes. He wasn't *that* bad of a healer. Was he? Moving towards the arrow, Brath cracked his jaw. *This shouldn't be too bad*, he thought as he wiggled his fingers, limbering himself up, cracking his neck.
*Alright, check to see if it punctured.* Rax muffled a scream as Brath lifted up his leg, contorting to see the other side. *Well, not punctured.* Brath dropped the leg, letting it thud against the ground. Rax yelped. Aurin grimaced.
*Okay, check to see if the arrow is lodged too far.* Brath grabbed the arrow's shaft, tugging and twisting it. For some reason, more blood was bellowing out of the wound now. The shaft stood slanted now. And Rax was crying now. "Oh shush, you," Brath said, shaking his head. This had been all their fault.
*Well, break the shaft and push it through.* Brath's face quirked up. Was that how it was supposed to go? With a shrug—Rax would be okay after some healing—Brath snapped the arrow's shaft in two. Rax screamed. Brath shook his head. "You're being a crybaby, you know that," he said as he slammed his palm down on the broken shaft, punching the arrowhead through the orc's thigh.
No more screams came out of Rax as the crimson orc blood clumped itself on the grasslands, the arrow's head glinting from the yellow sunlight as it stuck out of Rax's thigh. "Strange," Brath said with a slow tempo of confusion. "I swore it was sticking down, not to the side... I wonder who could have done that?" He shrugged as a grin appeared on his face. Now it was time for the good stuff. Now it was time for his *magic.* Well, not his magic. He would have set this picturesque grassland into red-wrought oblivion. Fire was his best attribute.
Now, he had his blood pressure to look after. Too much anger could send him in a heart attack, and the black mage grimaced at the thought of such a boring death. As it turned out, training new blood was rather fun, and becoming a cleric wasn't too hard. After all, healing magic *really* was easy. It was basically like fire.
With a smile, Brath's hands began to glow with a pulsing dark carmine, turning to bright orange and, at last, to a vibrant blue. Flames danced between his fingertips, eating up the gentle springtime air around him. "Now, let's close that wound."
Rax didn't scream at all once again. For the orc had fainted. And Aurin was growing greener by the moment, the smell of flesh wafting in the springtime air.
Only Brath was grinning as he moved his hands along the orc's thigh. Healing was so much fun, he mused to himself as he slapped the orc's thigh. "Good as new," he shouted, looking at the charred and mangled flesh. "Good as new," Brath repeated. Who knew healing could be so easy.
___
Thank you for reading! And if you'd like more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly! | 2021-09-03T08:38:40 | 2021-09-03T08:25:10 | 2,163 | 108 |
[WP] When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees. | They breathed with us. They drank with us. The same air, the same water. We survived. They didn't. Green covers the planet, birds sing their songs, bees make their honey, and the wind spreads the dandelions. The skies are bluer than ever, and the smell of artificial poisons are no more. The pain they caused allowed us to learn, grow, practically cover the planet in beauty.
Even the soulless dunes of sand have begun breathing freely and relax. From the falling snow to the crashing wave of tsunamis the silence is real. Crashing waves and thunder are a part of the natural quiet.
Sometimes we miss them, their curiosity, the feelings we gave them. If only they loved themselves.
We miss them. | The voices of the United Nations talk amongst themselves; some filled with quiet panic, others with hushed anger and frustration, they're voices carrying over one another and filling the room before a man emerges from backstage. He walks across the stage to the forward-most podium, he faces the audience and the lights dim. The voices of the world's leaders and military grow quiet.
A moment of feedback from the microphone screeches while the man adjusts it to move it closer to his mouth.
He clear his throat.
"Hello everyone, many of you may know me- but in the case that you do not;
I'm famous Hollywood director, M. Night Shamalon.
You may know me from some of my famous films such as "The Sixth Sense" and The live action abdaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender."
I wish I was in front of you today to speak on behalf of my numerous blockbuster hits that have garnished me much international praise and multiple academy awards-"
The leaders of the free world shift uneasily in their seats and exchange glances while M. Night Shamalon continues to talk about his films,
such as "The Village" where a young women sets out from her thought to be colonial homestead to find that the actual time period was modern day,
and the one where some people are trapped in an elevator but there's an old woman-
whose also a demon.
"But that's not why I'm before you today" M. Night continues. "I'm here because I'm the aformentioned expert on the rising threat of biological terrorism commited by the new sentient autonomous "arbor-overlords.""
The world leaders exchange glances once again as this was certainly *not* what the growing threat of sentient trees was called.
M.Night: "So without further ago, I've prepared this documentary to prepare both you and each of your nations on how to prepare against the growing theat of the radicalizes tree terrorists."
A film begins playing on the projector. We see the title "The Happening"
A four-star general stands abbruptly from his seat pointing aggressively at M.Night.
"This isn't a documentary! This is a shitty movie where people are killed by pollen.
*The generals all start to murmur in concern*
"What's worse is you expected us to believe Mark Walberg was a scientist!"
M.Night turns to the general with a look of pure insult "And you didn't believe it was real!?"
"NO! of course not!" The general replies.
Mark Walberg steps from backstage with a lab coat, adjusting his large glasses.
M.Night: "Tell that to him!"
Before the general can respond a large sentient tree smashes through the wall of the UN building.
While the audience cowers under thier desks in panic and the dust from the now destroyed wall settles; Mark Walberg rips off the sleeves of his labcoat before yelling a newly coined slur for sentient trees and leaps onto it, tackling it out of the building. | 2022-08-27T07:31:55 | 2022-08-27T06:10:10 | 91 | 37 |
[WP] Consider a future where Hitler was the lesser evil of two eventualities. Travellers went back in time and stopped what would have been a much worse fate for mankind. | They came quietly in the night, travelers from a world of light and peace. In their world, everything was perfection. No one went hungry, children laughed and played without worry, and utopia was achieved. And yet, this particular group consisted of men of a larger scope. Men of all time and space, keepers of the universe. They had more pressing concerns than what was occurring in their native time, and so to their future they went.
They arrived at a bleak, bleak world. Humanity languished in abject apathy. There was no love in this world, because there was no hate. There was no peace in this world, for there was no war. No color was to be found in any of the faces of the people that walked by, because nothing ever stirred them from their waking slumber. A world without passion lay spread out before the strange crew. They saw a world without life and without human meaning. There were no plays or performances, no artwork graced their world, no gods inhabited their skies. The time voyagers searched for days, and then weeks, and then months for any sign of life, any spark of curiosity in these dull people. They found nothing but basic biology. They ardently desired to find something to justify the lack of feeling in this world, but nothing plausible arose. The men began to despair.
Investigators from another world as they were, they began to try to understand what caused this failure of everything that brings import to our existence. For eons, they pored over documents, communed with the council from their own time, searched every database for a clue. And, after what would be many lifetimes for us, they finally found it.
---
They began a new journey. The last journey. The council had agreed with their assessment, and had decreed it so. They were to wipe themselves out and become only what could have been. For only the second time, they were no longer to merely observe, but rather to become agents of change.
They came to a time not long before our own, a time in which people were beginning to be captivated by the automobile, electric lighting, and Coca-Cola. The men stood on the streets, watching people walk by. These humans were full of life and fervent about their desires, so unlike the others. People hurried around with flushed cheeks, glissandos of voices, swishing fabrics. Every moment painted a new scene of bustling humanity. The men looked at each other, sad longing and resignation in their eyes. And then, they left.
They appeared in a small town on the border of Austria-Hungary, where they wandered their way to a small home on the edge of town. There they waited. A middle aged woman pushed by without so much as noticing them, arms full of fabric and carrying a large carpet bag. It would not be long now.
The screams of a woman. The low mutter of a man. The commanding voice of the midwife. And then, the shrill cry of a child.
Seven men appeared on the street, across from our travelers. They were dressed identically, and each one of this new crew mirrored one of the men exactly. They looked at each other, and nodded. They moved forward, strange tools flashing in the light. A knife peeked out from a cloak.
The men wasted no time. Seven met seven, and, with silent tears, seven killed seven. And all fourteen were gone.
Inside the house, the baby continued to wail.
---
There are no men, there is no council, and that future is no more. The future we have does not shine particularly bright. But that is no indication of what will come to pass. The future shone bright once, and it was bright for many years. But brightness dulled the senses, and made us all blind. Only with darkness can there truly be light. Perhaps, when all is said and done, brightness is not the best thing to see on the horizon.
>Edit: After re-reading, noticed some spelling/grammar errors and some better style choices. No storyline has been changed! | The Temporal Center's briefing room was dark, and smelled faintly of white board markers and carpet cleaner. I sat in the dark in silence, alone, waiting for my superiors to arrive. I was nervous. I had an inkling of what they had summoned me here for, but since everything done here was hidden behind several veils of secrecy, there was no way to know for sure until someone gave me my actual mission.
The doors to the briefing room hissed open, briefly bathing the room in white light. Director James Samuels, the head of the Temporal Center, strode in, his lined face grim and determined, and with a manilla file in his hands.
I leapt to my feet. "Director Samuels."
"Lieutenant Lev, thanks for coming on such short notice," he replied, nodding at me. "Please, be seated."
I sat back down in my chair. Samuels stayed on his feet, flipping open the file and thumbing through the pages. After a few seconds, he slammed it shut, and stared intently at me. "Lieutenant, it is standing policy that everything said in the Temporal Center is classified. The mission I'm about to tell you now, whether or not you accept it, will be even more classified than that. Absolutely no one must ever know about what I'm about to say to you."
"Yes sir," I replied, desperately trying to suppress the eager excitement rising in me.
"Lieutenant, you're going to be going back to Germany in 1938..."
I blurted out, "For Hitler, sir?"
Samuels glared at me disapprovingly, and I felt myself shrink back into my chair. "Please don't interrupt me, Lieutenant."
"Sorry sir."
"As I was saying, you will be sent back to 1938. Your mission, however, will not be to kill Hitler. In fact, you are to keep him alive."
I was floored. It felt like the world had frozen around me. I could hear the blood pulsing through my temples. "Sir? I... I don't understand."
"You're not to kill Hitler. You're to keep him alive, from an assassin I will tell you about in a moment."
"But sir... it's Hitler! The Holocaust... the Final Solution... the Third Reich! He killed millions of people!"
"Yes, he did."
"Sir... my own great-grandfather died at Landsberg! You can't... you can't possibly ask me to go back and *save* Hitler!"
"Yes I can, and let me explain why. You are not the first mission we've sent back to 1938. We sent an agent back to kill Hitler several months ago. He was successful. This resulted in an unexpected change to the timeline. You see, a particularly virulent strain of flu showed up in Europe around that time. We believe it started in Poland. However, patient zero, or at least the first few patients, were killed in the concentration camps, and their bodies were incinerated. This stopped the flu from spreading beyond those first few infections. By killing Hitler and preventing the Holocaust, we ended up allowing the disease to survive and spread. In that particular timeline, eighty percent of the population of Europe was wiped out. Sixty five percent of Africa, sixty percent of Asia, sixty seven percent of North America, and seventy percent of South America."
I could feel my jaw dangling slackly. I felt like I was about to vomit.
Director Samuels continued, "We estimate that the flu killed one point five billion people, and left the survivors in very bad shape. Social order collapsed all over the globe, and civilization fragmented into warring city-states in just a few short decades. I don't know exactly how everything ended, but I do know humanity would wipe itself out within a century."
I croaked out some words, "But sir... to allow Hitler to commit the Holocaust... there's got to be some other way..."
The Director's eyebrows rose. "Like what?"
"Well... what if I go back and find patient zero? Just kill him and burn his body?"
"We don't even know where and when the disease began. Our best guess is that it started in the Warsaw Ghettos, but we may be completely wrong. How do you intend to find one infected person out of millions of people, some of them probably sick with very mundane strains of the flu?"
"Well then, what if I go back and convince Hitler to... to... I don't know, to do something differently instead! Just... not the Holocaust!"
"Like what? How can you convince him? You don't even speak German. And besides, how can you convince him to just kill one unspecified individual, and not the remaining victims of the Holocaust?"
I slumped in my chair, defeated. I had one final question, "But sir... why me? You know I'm Jewish. Why send a Jew to protect Hitler?"
Samuels said, his voice tinged with regret, "Because you're our best agent. We sent Danny Bingsley to assassinate Hitler. He was our second best man. You're the only one who can stop him, Lieutenant."
I closed my eyes and clenched my fists in anguish. I had to go back in time to protect the man who had persecuted and murdered my family. This had to be some kind of horrible joke.
"Believe me, Lieutenant, I know how you feel. But it all comes down to this. Do you go back and save a man, knowing he will murder millions of people, including the original carrier of the disease that will wipe humanity out? Or do you allow him to die, saving us from one of humanity's worst ever crimes in history, but condemning us to extinction? This is the choice you must make now. Ten million people, including your family, for the rest of humanity."
| 2014-12-09T20:19:25 | 2014-12-09T20:17:26 | 88 | 37 |
[WP] A massive wall of light, a few feet thick and a few hundred feet high, stretches from the north to south pole. This wall slowly circumnavigates the globe in 1 year. No one knows where it came from and no one knows who created it. All people know is that if you touch the light, you disappear. | We were known as The Runners.
That is, while there was anybody left to call us that.
Nobody knew how the light tsunami began. Some thought there was a malfunction with the LHC, or that God had finally cracked and this was his new idea of a flood. Some people refused to believe in it, standing before it's shimmering hight before the glow washed over their features, eroding them away like footprints on beach sand.
The first year it passed over them they lost their spirit and just stood there, emulating the forests that had blossomed in mankind's wake, needing neither food nor water and unyielding to rot. The second pass wore their faces away, smoothening them like stones cast into a river for lifetimes. The third pass left nothing.
Cults that worshipped the light died out quickly. The first year took care of that.
As economies faltered, the rich stockpiled gas and supplied, and fled the wave with speed. But the trickles of gasoline dwindled, and with no straw to reach into the crevices of the earth still damp with oil, so did they. Their motors had made them soft, and when it came time to run, they tripped.
The Runners never used fuel. We've never let the wave leave our sight as we follow,our feet smacking against the cracking remains of asphalt and our sails capturing the wind the light left in it's wake.
When we grew old and faltered, we refused to let the light catch us, but rather caught it, running through it in brilliant defiance. And when we crossed that forbidden plane, our spirits did not flee. But rather, the light flowed into them, and they emerged the other side with neither wrinkles nor knobby knees, and sprinted alone to catch the pack, one actual world away.
Their appearance was always altered when they arrived. Sometimes their skin was darker, or their eye color changed, or a note had entered their voice that had not been there before. And they always bore new stories, new memories the light had given them. Of cultures they has never known before the light, and their bodily form now seemed to reflect.
But though our bodies and minds change, the light does not.
And we, The Runners, follow.
***
By Leo | Twenty miles out from the Halo Meridian, and every hour becomes daytime. Sleep becomes a futile effort. Making the effort worse, talk radio battles against the hiss of air as they collide in the 92 Ford dad couldn't afford to let die or fix. The car's sun blinders are down and held in place with coat wire and electrical tape. An engineering feat put into work before we left Madison 700 miles ago, and one Dad can't pass a state without mentioning.
"I can't believe the roads are so empty," he comments.
"Even so, be careful," advises my mother.
*Careful*, I think. Not a word I would use as we barrel forward to the Meridian, and our last hours on earth.
But maybe this trip is for the best.
Fate had been a relentless antagonist, after all. My father, a talented musician is his youth, suffered a stroke when he was 28 and in the prime of his career. His line of work didn't come with health insurance, or the stable income that made getting his own practical, so he didn't. The bills crippled him in ways the stroke couldn't. Together, they destroyed his aspirations. Even so, my mom -- his wife -- stuck with him. She came from a poor family and couldn't care about debt if she tried. A person's spirit was the most valuable thing in the world to her. It still is.
They got married three years later in spite of the hardships. The ceremony cost them less than five-hundred dollars. My mom's wedding gown was a yellow summer dress with grey lilies, and to this very moment it still hangs in the old townhouse, waiting for Isabelle to come to an age she never will.
"Great Falls, Maryland eight miles," dad exclaims. He rubs my mom's knee, who beams back a smile.
"Praise God! Is that close to the Halo?" She asks innocently. My dad laughs and nods. Issy tussles under my sweatshirt, trying to work around the seatbelt against her chest.
"It shouldn't be more than a few minut-"
He slams the breaks of the truck, nearly skidding off the country road.
Before us, the Meridian pulses in a florescent white.
"Sweet salvation," Dad comments, turning the ignition off.
I tried my best to talk him out of the trip, but the Church had planted an idea far deeper than I could reach. We had nothing but a crumbling home, a crumbling car, a crumbling life. Him and Mom worked tirelessly to change the course of their fate, but no amount of effort produced results. But then the Meridian happened.
So when the news broadcaster hour long specials about the loss-of-life, the misery, and the desperation of families affected, the Church told a story of the second coming. It was the light of God, manifested in earth to reach out and save the sicken, the poor, and the downtrodden. There was a reason why the bodies of those who touched the Meridian couldn't be found: their bodies were in the kingdom of Heaven. The Lord had provided an out.
So we came, the four of us, as a family.
As my parents walk around the front of the car, standing in the center of the road, I undo Isabelle's seat belt and carry her in my arms. Only 10 feet separates us from the pulsing light, yet it's luster doesn't sting. How? Even on sunny days, I have to turn away from the sky.
"Son," my father said. "I don't want you to join us if you don't want to." Dark circles eclipse his eyes, the product of hours of driving. His tone soft, almost pleading.
"But, we drove all the way out here. Together."
"And you can still turn around and drive back. I know this was never your idea, that you don't have our faith in it. These past hours I've been thinking about how unfair we've been."
His eyes had started to well up with tears. "I've forced you to come this far, but I can't force you to make that final step."
Our shadows stretched for what looked like miles. Only the Meridian's low hum sustains through the silence.
"I'm not leaving you and Mom."
"Are you positive?"
I nod.
With a deep breath, he straightens himself up and turns back to the light.
"You ready?"
I shoot him a quick glance, catching his eye. Again, I nod.
Together, side by side with sister in my arms, we take our last steps forward, into the light.
| 2015-04-28T20:46:28 | 2015-04-28T19:50:28 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Magic is real. Your natural magic ability is determined by how many people died 24 hours prior to your birth. You, and 2 others were born on the day of the greatest massacre in human history.
I apologise if this has been done previously.
EDIT: Obligatory RIP inbox. Thanks everyone!
EDIT2: Front page of /r/WritingPrompts! Thank you all for making my first writing prompt awesome! | When the new girl walked into class, the teacher smiled and gave her the warm greeting she gave everyone. At the end of the standard speech she asked when Jessica's birthday would be.
"It's on the 25th ma'am."
"Of this month?"
"That's next week then! How delightful. That's also Tom's birthday, so we'll have a class party for the both of you! Won't that be delightful?" Jessica nodded.
She sat next to me at lunch. "So you're the kid who has the same birthday right?"
"Yup. Are you gonna be turning 9?"
"Yeah! You too?"
"Yes. It's kind of nice to have another member of the short end club."
Her brow wrinkled. "Short end club?"
"As in short end of the stick. Ya know, because of the day we were born?"
"I don't follow you."
"You know about how people are born with magic powers right? Most of em are really weak though."
"Yeah, unless they're born the day after a massive upheaval or something. So?"
"Well, you know what happened the day we were born right?"
"Uh uh, what?"
"You never heard about the Mid East Massacre? The ISIS attack on Israel that turned the whole world against them?"
She scrunched up her face. "I think I saw something about it on a documentary from the Discovery Channel or The New History Channel. It was like a big war that started like... a long time ago."
"15 years. But the big turning point was about 9 years ago like I said. They wiped out almost an entire country in one day. The very same day you and me were born."
"So how's that make us..." her brow wrinkled again. "Wait... you're sayin' if we'd been born a day later..."
"We'd be among the most powerful Wizards and Witches the world has ever seen. We'd be at that government school in Westchester New York, or maybe even sent across the ocean as exchange to that one in Scotland that's always in the news. We'd be powerful and rich and famous someday. Instead, we got, y'know, the short end of the stick."
"Well, that's true I guess. But we could have ended up in a lot of places. Like the one in Los Angeles, or Miami, or Madrid. At the very least we'd probably never have met and we wouldn't be talking right now." She smiled at him. Tom's heart fluttered for a moment and he smiled too. | I was always told I'm not allowed to use my power, but was never told why. Well, until a few years ago that is. I found out that I was part of a trio that were born with a special set of powers because of the circumstances of our birth.
See, each person has a power. And all three of us were born just before the Day of Souls. From what little people would talk about it, it was a day where it was almost like the Reaper himself just got fed up and cut down quite a good number of humanity. The total population of the Earth was brought down to almost half a billion. The importance of that date is that each person's power is determined by how many deaths occurred within 24 hours of their birth.
My parents discovered my part in the three when I manifested my power as a toddler. In short, I'm capable of controlling mostly everything around me. When they found me in my room after hearing a lot of crashing and banging, they found every object whirling around me like a whirlwind, and the room itself distorting as I was crying due to having broken a toy.
Now, I mentioned two others. And by sheer chance, the three of us met online. I was hopping from chatroom to chatroom just to find engaging conversations, and I found one that was empty except for us three. The conversation was boring and I was thinking of hopping to a new chatroom until the topic of our powers came up. I told them mine was control of the physical world, but had no idea how powerful it had become since I had been a toddler. The one I came to know as Jake mentioned his power was to be able to bend physics, although not very well. Alice's ability was to affect the thoughts of all living creatures near her.
We decided to meet up about a week after we all had met, as we lived nearby to one another. When we came within maybe five feet of one another, gathered together, each of us felt a power surge and could barely contain it. By the time we got things under control, gravity around us was flipped while people standing nearby were frozen with a blank look on their faces as jagged spikes of rock surrounded us and wind howled.
Right now we're about to come close for the second time, anticipating the surge. We've planned this out, and what we're going to do with our powers.
"Ready?" asks Jake, looking at Alice and I.
Alice nods, "Yeah. How about you, Alex?"
I nod, my heart pounding with anticipation. We step into the five foot radius and immediately feel the surge hit, with everyone around us able to feel it too. All I can hear is wind howling and electricity firing off, cars exploding into their alarms, just sheer chaos around us. I get the wind to stop and the area around us to settle down as people come back to their senses. Jake finally gets control of reality itself and we all are able to settle for a moment.
"After that, pretty sure at least one person called the police. You sure we shouldn't run and hide?" Alice asks, an eyebrow raised as she looks at us. "I mean, we're pretty vulnerable here."
Feeling invigorated by the energy sparking around us, I sound like a different person as I tell her, "Why should we? I can provide protection and fight them if we need to, Jake can completely immobilize them, and if all else fails you can make their minds go blank right?" To emphasize myself, I wave a hand upward as a large shell of stone surrounds us, thrumming with energy.
"Well yeah, but they could still get a shot off on one of us, and that might break the surge," states Alice worriedly.
"How are they supposed to hit either of us if I can boost Alex's little shield here by bending the rules of reality around us, Alice? They try to get near and I'm pretty sure they'll phase through us. I've more or less disconnected us and this little shield from reality for now." Jake sounded impressed with himself, as from what I'd heard he had only been able to do things like making an area about the size of a shoe have no gravity before.
I had an idea just then. "Guys, what happens if we step even closer? Would it increase our power more than this?" I wanted to know how it would affect not only us, but reality.
"Guess it can't hurt too much to try, right?" said Jake with a playful smirk on his face.
"I guess we can try it. I mean, coming this close was a massive boost, so another step should increase it more right?" Alice didn't look very sure as she said that.
We stepped closer into my shell of earth, and it was like we had unleashed hell itself. The last thing I remembered was a blinding white light. | 2015-08-23T02:25:24 | 2015-08-23T00:03:09 | 109 | 36 |
[WP] Aliens find Earth, and decide that our primitive technology and abundant resources make us ripe for conquest. What they don't know is that most of humanity left long ago. The people still here are just Amish, and the Solar System is just a nature preserve. | Vicktal looked at the scans approvingly. The atmospheric profile was a little oxygen rich but a concerted terraforming effort would resolve that in short order. It would turn the biosphere lethal to the native fauna and a portion of the flora but low-orbit surveillance had revealed that the sentient lifeforms on the planet did not possess anything beyond basic metal-working capabilities and numbers less than a billion across the entire planet, easy-meat for a few low orbit bombardments to destroy the major population centers.
After that it would just be a case of stationing token security forces at the terraforming plants and within a few decades there would be a brand new planet ready for colonization.
He frowned as he pulled up the orbit scans. Some strange anomalies there. Remnants of debris from a dense satellite field but no signs of it being active. Some electro-magnetic activity but nothing that would suggest an orbital defence network. Something like that would be far beyond the scope of the primitive society revealed by the surveillance anyway. Perhaps this species had gone through a technological regression?
He shrugged, it wasn’t his problem.
He moved to the next screen, the list of population centers for orbital bombardment. He grimaced, low urbanization meant that it would only kill about 40% of the sentient life. Much lower than he would have liked but an extra battalion or two assigned to the terraforming centers should ensure that the remaining 60% were unable to cause any issues.
- - -
The monitoring satellite was less than a meter across and had been on station for over three centuries. Back when it had been first installed it had been over a hundred times the size, a triumph of engineering that over the years had been lovingly preserved and upgraded. Now the majority of its form was held in Q-space and the physical presence was really only to allow the sensors and orbital maneuvering system to maintain proper orbit. Three solar months ago it had detected the initial scouting probe and sent a routine notification to UTF central command.
Now it’s sensors picked up the thirty-two ships of the invasion fleet as they crossed the 2 AU boundary and it immediately sent a priority notification and activated the jump-beacon broadcast, automatically calculating a normal-space re-entry that would place the security ship in an interdiction vector.
- - -
Vicktal didn’t even look up when the astrogation technician started in his chair on the command deck. It was not until he had called over his lieutenant who signalled the Captain that he took notice. The captain had pulled up the astrogation screen on his console and Vicktal stood and craned over his shoulder as they stared at the bewildering readings.
One of the anomalies in the low orbit debris field had just burst into violent activity. In an instant it had flooded a billion cubic kilometers of space with a strange particle field. They stared at the readouts, particles that did not, could not, occur in nature suddenly streaming from the anomaly and into a point in space between them and the planet.
A shout from the astrogation officer brought their eyes up.
“Captain, I still don’t know what it is but it appears to be some kind of signal… There’s a definite repeating pattern, it’s complex… very complex but… What the… Captain… there’s something else happening. It’s… a black hole?”
Every eye on the bridge was watching the astrogation officer and the Admiral’s screen was lighting up with communication requests from every ship in the fleet. He stared at the readings.
“What the hell is going on? That’s impossible…”
“Wait, it’s gone… No! Holy shit… is that a... moon?” Like a switch had been flipped the strange readings disappeared and then there was something else, something impossible.
The largest ship in the invasion fleet was Admiral Vicktal’s Flagship, the Indomitable. It measured eight kilometers from fore to stern. Now in front of it and the rest of the fleet there hung a sphere almost a hundred kilometers across. The astrogation officer’s fingers danced across the buttons on his station re-focusing the sensors, bringing backup systems online and verifying his readings, trying to figure out what in the void could possibly be going on.
There was a Noise as a million tons of metal went “plink”, the resonance frequency vibrating in Vicktal’s teeth and making him scream in pain, the entire bridge crew doubling over clutching themselves as their entire bodies hummed.
The sensation faded. Vicktal gasping as he pulled himself to his feet, slowly settling back into his chair. “Damage… damage report!” He gasped out, trying to raise his voice but aware that his normally commanding boom had been strangled to almost a whimper.
The Status Officer did his best, one hand stabbing inaccurately to scroll a schematic of the ship across the screen, “Un… unknown Admiral! The sensors are going haywire, I’m getting invalid inputs from…”
There was another noise, this one lower, smaller, sending a tingle up their spines rather than laying them low in agony. The hum rose and a low buzz of fearful chatter rose across the bridge as the air began to suffuse with a white glow. The hum died but the glow grew, concentrating, coalescing to the center of the bridge, crew members abandoning their stations, backing fearfully away as it took shape.
After a few moments an image stabilized.
Vicktal gaped at it. It was one of the mammalian sentients from the planet below, a female. But, different. She was dressed in a severe black uniform and at her temples a band of circuitry swept back into her hairline. Her irises were metallic and she stared straight ahead.
She spoke and her voice rang from every metal surface of every ship in the fleet, saturating every room and corridor with a low voice that spoke in perfect Federation Trade language.
“Unknown Fleet, this is UTF Security Cruiser Sentinel you have entered restricted space.” She held out a hand and an image of the solar system appeared beside her, a shaded section extending out beyond the eighth planet. “No entry is permitted to this area except on sanctioned UTF business. Leave immediately or be destroyed. This is your only warning.”
The image winked out. The low hum disappeared and Vicktal’s teeth finally stopped throbbing. Stunned silence reigned. The Navigation officer broke it, his hands hovering over his console. “Or… Orders Admiral?”
Vicktal stared in horror at the space where the apparition had appeared. He moved his gaze to the navigation officer, “Get. Us. The fuck! Out of here.”
Edited - Fixed some wording and measurements. | Ganymede read the sensor correctly, the planet had pockmarks of wars, metallic indicators of weaponry, and elementary biological intelligent civilization. Obviously one more planet that had bombed itself to the stone age or spent to much time infighting to develope any level of acceptable use. Almost the entire planet had bountiful resources, precious genetic lines that could be useful for medicine and gene splicing back home. Best of all the apex intelligent life on the planet seemed to be rudimentary. Simple agriculture, and very little technological achievement.
The fleet moved to an appropriate approach angle and began to glide past the outer rocks and past the gas giants towards the life ball.
"Asteroid belt" came the radio announcement.
Ganymede ordered the interceptor batteries to clear a path. The flicking light beams eliminated all matter that could cause external ballistic damage. The planet was so close, he could almost taste it. His imagination leapt at the thought of what lay on the surface, and the sweet commission he would get as a result of the discovery. All these years in the discovery corps, and finally his people had salvation.....
Outside the ship a microstar of warp lightning burst in an empty spot in the vacuum and immediately out of it a block of metal unfathomably large, thousands of body lengths high, even more body lengths long materialized, the countless black ports on each side of it like many windows on a giant building, and in the micro second in which it appeared, the glowing embers of warp travel drifted out of existence in a dim aura around it.
Instantly on board Ganymedes ship all communication lines burst to life with deafening noise, the dialect translators took seconds to translate the words. "CITIZEN TURN AROUND AND EXIT THE SYSTEM"
Ganymede activated his sensors towards the new guest in the system. Squatters probably, claiming the bounty as their own. Like hell they were going to get this life ball, his people needed it for their very survival. Besides, he'd been in enough combat situations to know how to handle himself. The ship he looked at was enormous, the surface to volume ratio was incredibly ungainly for a combat vessel. A slimy finger depressed his com-button.
"Acknowledged Friend, we got here first and we only wish to explore this world there will be plenty left for you when we take what we need."
The response was instantaneous,
"NEGATIVE RETURN TO THE EDGE OF THE SYSTEM AND OBSERVE FROM AFAR"
Silently he organized a list of communication lines with his commanders on the nearby vessels. This was a fairly routine manouevre. All he had to do was swing around the red planet for cover, and under the guise of turning around to show his broadside a solid volley to the engines of the intruding vessel would, this thought was interrupted as a crashing beam of light erupted out of thin air between the bow of the scout ship in front of him and the intruder.
Debris filled the sensors...
No time to think, combat had begun. All his ships leapt to attention. Hyperdrives sent his ships blinking in and out of reality, small micro jumps to various positions from which they could fire, and then hyper jump back into warp space. You can't target a position that is not on a travel course in real space.
But something was wrong, the enemy vessel was firing rockets to positions his ships weren't at yet....
He screamed into the com-sat. "THEY HAVE AI FALL BACK! FALL BACK!" And depressed his EMP beams.
This was bad. His adversary had mobile non-planetary rail guns and advanced computer intelligence. In his transit holds the boarding parties were arming themselves and charging powerblades and ballistic detonators. Once his counter radar had a hold on the command modules of the enemy ship he could send combat troops to the exact rooms crew were in and slaughter them hand to hand. On his screen he saw a few of his erstwhile assault craft appear out of warp right on top of rockets that were waiting for them. It was ugly, but this planet could mean survival for his people so defeat was not an option. In his mind the two endgames he had learned from Flight School echoed in his head.
"When you encounter a species that is superior in combat at all costs you must 1. deny them knowledge of homeworld, and if possible, 2. Eliminate them knowledge from scout parties."
Number one was a suicide party and a black hole detonation. But that would eat the system where this life ball was.
Down on earth, the small village was gathered in their town square, gazing up at the sky. The moon was full, and even the light from the moon seemed dark compared to the flashes of light in the sky. Nobody, not even Jebediah could tell if it was giant birds just above the clouds or some kind of giant, truly giant event beyond the moon. Each flash was like a lightning strike, almost blinding. At least with thunder you had sound, you could time the distance.
Up past Mars, the men of earth worked silently. Pushing buttons, scrambling on keyboards. In the central command room a sudden cracking of the space opened and warp lightning flashed. The shock of such a small warp dive was unmeasured, this was impossible. A pile of guts an wrecked bodies flooded from the warp onto the floor.
On board his ship, Ganymede was shocked. His first combat crew was dead before it arrived. "How"? He slammed a fist on the retreat button. All units, what was left, a quarter of his forces, had their ships engines reverse, their computer systems simultaneously erase all map data that could be used to triangulate home system data, and turn tail at full warp drive.
And there, hovering in anti-space, was the one thing no one of his kind had ever seen before. Ships, a whole armada of different shapes and types waiting, somehow this race had cracked the secret of the warp, could not only jump through it, but live in it, stay in it, completely hidden from all other theoretical tracking.
His men regrouped on the edge of the system. He started to open his tracking radar, to plot a diversion course to make sure nothing could follow them...
His radar was blank, all data he had about nearby connectors to the most forward darkside base was gone. A message, a lone line of code remained on his data stores. They were dead in the water until the core backups were restored from the techno core. But the translators worked.
"YOUR DRIVES HAVE BEEN WIPED TO PROTECT OUR LOCATION. DO NOT RETURN. DO NOT RETURN. WE WILL COME TO YOU."
On board the *ISR Edison* Commander Votnik stared at the stinking pile of guts that had been dropped onto his deck. Elsewhere on the ship his men where sealing off sectors from a small team of combat soldiers that had somehow been warped on board his ship. Good God, the enemy species must not have warp radar yet, but if even one more crew of those formidable creatures had not been shot out of the warp... he shuddered to think of how things might have gone if the enemy had sent those teams one at a time instead of all at once... They never would have seen them, they could have been captured. If that group had arrived in on his deck alive, instead of in the medical bay...
The alien boarding crew was almost invincible, barring some success they would have be isolated and waited out to starve eventually,a medieval siege tactic being used inside the starship. Votnik knew he may have to abandon the ship, disable and destroy his avionics and engine telemetry, and cede the ship until they ran out of whatever they ran on.
A Lieutenant Junior Grade dashed in. He saluted, "What happens now sir? We've never been boarded before like that, how did they.."
Cmdr Votnik cut him off. "They were pirates, desperate for resources. We will dispatch a diplomacy group, advise them on resource conservation, allow them to make the changes we did. Maybe these passengers( he spat the word in reference to the murderous boarding party that had materialized out of thin air and gone viking berserk in his precious ship) can be taken alive and used as a goodwill gesture."
The Lieutenant sputtered in protest, "but what if they are all like those monsters"
Votnik decided to ignore the interruption as he calmly organized the evacuation of his sector of the ship.
His face was underlit by the map of the ship. "Then we will have yet another planet to steward."
| 2016-01-04T10:30:12 | 2016-01-04T09:52:56 | 43 | 15 |
[WP] A demon is getting REALLY tired of teenage girls summoning him. | The latest best seller, *Ebony Darkness*, was a love story of a teenage girl and a demon. Some said it was worse than *Twilight* and *50 Shades of Grey* combined, which was honestly quite a feat to go below the bar of awful writing and become a "you will literally become stupider if you read this" writing. Nonetheless, this did not stop people from reading it.
Some read it ironically, some to make fun of it, others to criticize it. Then there were the fans girls. Soccer moms and teenie boppers gobbled it up enthusiastically, buying the books as soon as they hit the shelves. Two movies were made with future plans to adapt the other ten books. The market also changed. A quick walk into Walmart or Target, and you saw action figures of the characters, posters, candles, chalk, and mass produced oujia boards. There was a surge in demand for occult books. Interest in vampires and werewolves were brought up again.
Most of the magical community cringed when they heard of *Ebony Darkness* and many, disguised as normal humans of course, made up the hatedom. But it seemed that one demon had it the worst. He shared the same first name as the book's primary love interest and was frequently summoned, usually finding himself in a bedroom in American suburbia, surrounded by feathers, candles, and fourteen year old girls. The demon at first didn't know about the book series and when summoned would steal all the food in the room, developing a preference for Cool Ranch Doritos.
By the two hundredth summoning, he was fed up and the free Doritos weren't worth it anymore. By the four hundredth, he finally asked why all these girls were summoning him. By the six hundredth summoning, he started to lecture people about why *Ebony Darkness* was an awful series. By the thousandth summoning, he decided to go to Hell's government, pay 50 Gans, and just change his name.
^^rushed ^^ending ^^is ^^rushed ^^^^lol | Sid opened his weary eyes in a pink bedroom with walls covered in One Direction posters. *Not this again.* A girl, about thirteen with her hair tied into two messy buns and more makeup on than he saw on adult women back when he was still alive, stood on the side of a chalk outline of a pentagram on the ground.
“Oh, no! You caught me,” he said sarcastically, and withdrew his trusty pen that he carried with him at all times. Since this so called television phenomenon every second idiot who summoned him assumed that they were experts at demonic traps and summons. He bent down, and scratched a line through the chalked circle and stepped out, watching the girl’s eyes widen.
“I—uh…” She looked him up and down, taking a step back. “I want to make a deal,” she said slowly, her eyes not leaving the smoke that billowed out of his collar and made up his head.
“I want to make a deal, Mr Demon, please.” He smiled and took two quick steps toward her. The girl’s feet followed his, like in a dance, until she was pressed back against the wall of her bedroom, with her eyes pressed tightly shut.
“I want to make a deal, Mr Demon, please,” she repeated word for word, fast enough to win any tongue twister competition that she entered.
“Alright then, little Hannah,” he said, puffing out the smoke on his head theatrically. “What is it that your heart desires?”
“F…fame,” she said, turning her head away to avoid looking at him. Not a wink would be slept tonight, no doubt.
“Ug,” he grunted. “That boring? What about a cure for diabetes? Finding life on another planet? Traveling through space?” He took another look through the room, not a single book filled the white shelves that were secured to the walls. With the snap of his fingers, books appeared, knocking the jewelry and figurines off the shelves. Hannah caught her head with her hands, and lowered down onto her knees.
“If you’re not going to give me what I want, please leave.”
“Hey!” He stuck out a long greyed finger. “I’m helping.” Sid—a rather mild name for a demon, he thought—had one thousand souls to go before he was to be given the privilege of a real head. His hands, legs and torso he had to work off soul for soul over the years. The grand, grey wings—with chains that roared like reverberating thunder—he chose to go for first. He thought that it would make his deals easier, if a little fear was involved. After all, who would be frightened of a dark smoky figure in a suit with one hand or leg?
“I’ll give you what you want, kid.” He strolled around the room, opening his wings. “But you must open your eyes and look at me.”
Hannah complied, and relaxed her shoulders to the sound of his calm voice. Children were the hardest to take souls from—yes, even for demons. It wasn’t just an instinct in animals and humans to protect the young.
“Look up to this head, and imagine those with horns and moles for skin, holes for eyes and claws for fingers. Imagine earthly men that take pleasure in pain and put them all in one place, on every corner. Those steps that you were afraid to take in the dark because of your imagined ghosts, there where you’ll go after this, they’ll be real.”
Hannah blinked a few times, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular, weighing her options. “I still want it.”
Sid pursed his lips, and shrugged. “Alright then, kiddo. You have it.” He'd learned better than to argue by now. Once their eye glistened with greed and easy fortune, there was nothing you could tell them. Not even that their life here would be over in a wink and the one thereafter, *oh deary dear*, that one has no end.
“Just like that?”
Sid winked and spread the corners of his wings around himself, feeling the tug of another summon rushing into his wings. “See you in hell!”
*****
Thanks for reading!
Here's some moderately shameless self-promotion. /r/AlinaKG - my collection of older prompts and other writing. | 2016-04-05T07:12:27 | 2016-04-05T07:02:35 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] Humans are capable of magic, we are just out of mana. Then a small store starts selling "mana potions" but of course no one belives it at first. | The glow was hypnotizing. Video games had never done them justice, mana potions weren't just blue, they were *blue*. They put all other blue things to shame, glowed with such pure, brilliant blue that the world took on a yellowish tinge after even a glance at it. It made my skin tingle, and made me want to do up my black leather jacket, put more barriers between me and that mesmerizing glow.
"And you can really drink it? It's not just a fancy light?" I asked. The store clerk smiled, his perfect teeth reflecting the glow that permeated the small dark shop.
"You have our guarantee." Smoke snaked around his right hand, and coalesced into a receipt. It was odd how quickly I'd gotten use to that. To magic. But then again, it had made itself all too real to me, all too quickly. "And I think you'll find our prices are quite cheap, Miss Cooper."
He pressed it against the glass of the counter, and slid it across to me. He was right. If it really did what he said it would do, this was nothing. Pocket change
"Don't you think that's a bit suspicious? Am I supposed to believe that you're selling something like this so cheap?" I asked. "There's no chance in hell you don't have ulterior motives."
Funny, most people would think that it was drugs, poison, or anything else. But I knew these were the real deal.
"Oh we have ulterior motives," he replied, that glowing smile still affixed to his face. I waited for him to continue, but it soon became clear that he had not intentions of doing so.
"Fine, I'll do it," I snapped, and dug the cash out of the pocket of my black leather jacket. I held it out, and it dissolved into smoke.
"One last thing before I give this to you," the clerk said, twirling the potion across his fingers. "I want to see you drink it."
"Excuse me?"
His hand snapped closed around the vial. "I want to see you drink it. Most can use the most basic kind of magic, elemental magic. Control winds, create water," he paused, and looked me straight in the eye. "Or perhaps shape fire. There are those however, who are different. Tell me Daisy, why is it that you enjoy what you do so much? Is it because you're so skilled at it? Or is it because it reminds you of-"
"Shut up!" I snarled, and snatched the vial out of his hand. His smile flicked into a smirk for the briefest of moments in response, and he turned the cork of the potion into smoke with a snap of his fingers. Without breaking eye contact with him, I drank it. "Is that it?"
He looked me up and down and nodded. "The potion provides a regeneration effect, imbuing your body with mana over the course of your entire life time. Your body can only hold so much of course, so any excess mana will simply drain into the atmosphere."
I struggled to concentrate over the awful buzzing that filled my body. It was as if hundreds of flies had filled every vein in my body, and were struggling to escape, thrashing their wings faster and faster. I leaned against the counter, and focussed on my breathing. The back of my throat clenched, and I was overcome by a spell of dizziness. Reality faded away for a moment, and I was left on the floor, the clerk smiling down at me.
"If you're going to throw up, please take it outside."
I ignored him, and dragged myself to my feet. My vision blurred in and out of focus, and I felt like there was something soaking into me. Dissolving into every particle of my body, taking up space that wasn't there. I was terrified for a moment that I'd burst, and I grabbed the doorway in a vain effort to make it stop.
Whatever it was rushed out, and something I couldn't make out the details of began to cover the doorframe, fighting against the blue glow of the store with a sickly white one.
"Congratulations, Daisy Cooper. You're now a magic user."
***
I'm going to have to leave it there guys and gals. If you're interested, I can follow up with a part two in the morning, but I'm off to bed for the night. See y'all! | I watched the world burn. Humans, I had discovered, were petty creatures who couldn’t handle the smallest amount of power. When given the opportunity to do something amazing, we end up destroying ourselves. I hate that I helped set everything in motion.
It started in 2018, a new store opened up in my city. It looked like some exclusive high quality jewellery store. The only decoration seen was writing above the door that simply said ‘Mana’ in a beautiful calligraphy font. The gamer inside me wanted to go inside, but I only ended up entering by accident. The rain was terrible that day and I couldn’t even see one metre in front of me. I ducked into the first door I came across to be greeted by the smell of incense and a blue glow.
Shelves of blue liquid mixed with the white light coming from simple elegant chandeliers created a relaxing blue tint. I noticed a girl my age approach me from a counter that was down the other end of the shelves.
“Hi there and welcome to Mana, how can I help you today ma’am?” The girl said with a kind smile. The addition of ‘ma’am’ made me feel even more out of place seeing as I could have sworn we were the same age.
“Umm, I was just getting out of the rain,” I said with a guilty smile, “but while I’m here, what is this place exactly?”
The girl laughed and reassured me that it was okay, not many people knew of the store yet and those who did weren’t in a hurry to share. This made me curious and I asked for more details.
“Well, do you play video games at all?” I nodded in response to her question, confused. What did that have to do with anything? “Mana is a store that sells real mana potions like from in games. The founder of the store discovered how to create it by accident and now he’s decided to sell it to the world, starting with a couple stores here and there.”
She must have read the expression on my face because she laughed again and gestured for me to follow her to a counter towards the back of the store. She moved behind it and handed me some pamphlets outlining prices and details of what happens when using the potions.
“We offer services to anyone willing to sign up. If you want to purchase from us long-term and sign up with us for one of our many deals then the first two months of your supply are free. There are potions of different strengths and obviously the stronger the stuff you want the more price-y the potions become.” She pointed on the pamphlet to a series of concentration percentages that I didn’t really fully focus on; I was just trying to process the information.
“Can anyone use these? I mean, I still think you’re messing with me, but say this was all true do these potions work for everyone?” I asked showing my cynical side. Mana potions just seemed too good to be true.
“Yes definitely!” She began with an enthusiastic grin, “mana works for everyone. All humans are capable of magic; we just hadn’t discovered how to unlock those abilities with mana until now. Of course, everyone will be affected differently. I for one have discovered that my talents are related to animals. Got home after my first day and first try of mana and I could understand my cat, crazy cat lady alert right?”
We both laughed, mine was a little wary though. Still, I was thinking that one try couldn’t hurt. I paid for a long-term deal, was given a bag of the glass bottles, and I went home to discover what it was exactly that I had gotten myself into.
I put the bag on my kitchen counter, took out a bottle and read the instructions:
*Drink ONE bottle when needed, but DO NOT exceed ONE bottle per day.*
I stared at the bottle for a few minutes, and finally got the courage to drink. I didn’t feel any different. I went to the bathroom and checked my reflection to be sure I hadn’t been pranked and my face had swollen up or something. Nope, still that normal 21 year old face staring back at me. I turned on the tap and began trying to wash my face. As soon as the water touched my hands there was a hiss as it immediately turned to steam and fogged up the bathroom mirror.
I stared, confused. My hands still looked normal. I carefully picked up a towel and wiped the mirror clean. I fell backwards after seeing my reflection. Shocked and shaking, I slowly stood back up. My hair was literally fire. Not red either, but blue. It was still in long waves but it seemed to crackle and glow slightly, always moving like fire as well. My eyes had also changed from their dull brown to a striking blue to match the hair.
No longer worried about the rain I stepped right back out into it, hoping it would put out the fire, but no. The water just didn’t even get a chance to touch me.
I ran back to ‘Mana’, people staring and pointing the entire way. A few even followed me inside when I got there. I burst in the door to find that the girl who served me before was no longer there. It was a man instead now, mid 50s, grey suit with slicked back silver hair. I didn’t get a chance to get a word out as he immediately came over to me and explained he was the founder of ‘Mana’ the store and the actual potion. He offered to teach me to control my magic, and offered me a place by his side because I was the ‘perfect person to advertise the company’.
I regret that decision.
Ever since that moment, ever since I agreed just because the founder was persuasive, everything went to hell. Governments started using it on their soldiers; wars were now ten times as dangerous and happened much more often as demand for mana grew. Everyone became reliant and addicted. What they didn’t tell us was that once you run out of mana you’re only half the person you used to be. Once you’ve unlocked your full potential, going back to being a plain human was like losing limbs.
Eventually, all the governments destroyed each other, and all we’re left with now is a wasteland. A wasteland ruled by whoever has the most mana. I stick to myself, hoard my own mana, and make my own. The last thing the old founder did for me was give me the knowledge to make it myself before everything was gone, including him.
Now all that’s left is survival.
*“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” – John Dalberg-Acton*
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Criticism, tips, and feedback of any sort appreciated! Hoping it didn't move too slow through the story. Really loving my boyfriend's story that's also here so help him out too (IrSpeshul), we both would really appreciate your feedback. | 2016-10-25T05:07:56 | 2016-10-25T04:25:07 | 69 | 26 |
[WP] The year is 2020. The first astronauts have landed on Mars. They find a cave with a single human skeleton and four words written on the wall. | EDIT: Good lord that blew up. I will see about maybe writing some more tonight.
-------------
"Hey guys," I said over the comms. "You're all going to want to come down here."
"What is it, now?" Jon's voice said in my ear. "Another pretty rock you want to show us?" I could almost see the bastard's smug face. No one on the team appreciates aesthetics. I tapped a button on my wrist to enable to my helmet's camera.
"Check my feed, Jon" I said.
Silence on the line, now.
A crack after a few seconds as Maureen came on the line.
"Jon, you still there?" she said. She was somewhere down in aquaponics without a monitor.
"I," Jon muttered. "Are you fucking with me, Trev?"
"I'm not," I said.
"Jesus, what is it now?" Maureen asked. "Hold on." There was a pause, and then, "Umm. Is that live?" She must have pulled up a monitor. I crouched down and turned my headlamp to maximum. The bleached skull before me lit up brighter under the beam.
"Yeah," I said.
"Jesus," said Jon.
"I'll get Bill, and meet you out there," Maureen said. "And don't touch anything till we get there."
"Yeah, yeah." I said. Me a mere theoretical physicist, the rest of the crew never trusted me. Fuck that.
"Sorry, what was that? Bad signal in here." I said and switched the off the comm.
"Don't try that with me," she said, overriding me from her end.
"Can't— at— epp—signal." I said and tapped the switch again.
"Damn it."
I tapped it again.
The skull was definitely human. How old, I had no idea, but it certainly didn't look new. I was no anthropologist, but how could you even age something on the surface of Mars? For that matter, how could whoever this poor guy was have decomposed in the first place? No oxygen, no microorganisms, practically no air at all. Way below freezing. But these bones were clean. White. Not a speck of flesh, or cloth, or anything.
I bent closer down toward the skull, nestled in the fine red dust of the cave floor. I dropped my fingers into dust below the skull, and brushed some aside, my fingertip hitting something hard. I reached a bit deeper down and found my hand resting on a ribcage. More handfuls of regolith thrown toward the cave wall and I unearthed—or is it 'un-Marsed'—way more than a simple skull. I wasn't near done, and more bones were protruding up from the ground, but it looked like I had a full skeleton here.
My breathing was up and I was fogging up my damn suit visor. I leaned on the cave wall opposite my discovery and slid into another crouch. Christ, what else was down here?
A new crackle on the comms.
"We're out the door. Two kilometers out," said Maureen.
"You better not have touched anything, Trevor."
Thanks Bill.
I flicked a reddish pebble from the dirt against the wall above the skull and something caught my eye.
Covered in dust I'd just been throwing around, but it looked like writing. I wiped my visor and got to my feet.
My heart thumped in my ears and my vision started to contract. Some little vital signs warning light came on in my HUD.
"You okay, Trevor?" Jon's voice on the comms. "Your vitals are lit up like a Christmas tree."
I brushed the loose dust from the wall and revealed four words, haphazardly scratched into the rock. Four words.
**Don't trust them, Trevor** | This deep under the Martian soil, we were completely cut off from Earth.
The new suits were nice. Snugger than the bulky old models, they still offered the same high level of protection from the environment. Made cave exploration feasible. Which was good, because that was the whole point of this mission.
Investigator, one of our three surface probes, had wandered down here and stopped responding. It was probably stuck, and at two tons it would be too heavy to move even in Martian gravity, so Captain McBride had sent my team and me to free or salvage it as possible.
Miriam came on the comms. "Bill, Victor! You're going to want to see this."
I sighed, touching the side of my head. "Miriam, Vic and I hate surprises. Can't you just tell us?"
She took a deep breath. "I want to confirm I'm not hallucinating, guys. Maybe they mixed my O2 wrong." That got our attention. It wasn't a common problem, but mistakes had been made. We'd almost died earlier that month when Anita's mix had been wrong and she'd tried opening the airlock too early.
Vic and I headed towards her. Cavewalking on Mars was dangerous, more so than you might think. If you moved to quick, stepped to hard, you'd gain more altitude that you expected and could crack your visor or helmet. So we advanced slowly towards Miriam, Victor giving her reassurance as we did.
Then his reassurance turned to a swear when he saw it. A skeleton, resting there. It was stretched out, one hand reaching for the wall, a single finger pointing to it. Words were written on there, in what looked like cuneiform.
"So..." Miriam said, glancing at us. "You guys see the dead person too."
"Roger," I said. "And long dead - stripped to the bone." Victor was still swearing, and I had to interrupt him. "Vic, okay, it's weird, but...what's your deal."
"Look. It's a human skeleton, Bill. You know what that means?" I shrugged, and he muttered "Engineers." He spoke up to clarify, "It means that we can’t be sure that, if we find life, it's not just evolved from stuff on this guy. It means that unless it's clearly of non-terrestrial origin, there's no answer."
I winced. Vic was our astrobiologist. If he was right, it meant his job could be obsolete. "Okay, I'm sorry. But we need to deal with that later. Vic, look at the wall."
He finally did, and his eyes widened. It wasn't a cave wall. No natural rock formation was that straight, that clean, and that covered with symbols.
"What does the writing mean?" I wasn't sure who I was asking, but Miriam responded. "Roughly? ‘The Master Still Lives.’ I mean, it's an off the cuff translation, but..." She noticed Victor and I were staring at her. "I got a degree in Linguistics before switching to computer science," she said, almost defensively.
Without any reason or way to argue with her, I walked up to the wall, running my hand along it. I could feel a faint vibration as I did. "I think there's something behind it...look, over here."
They came over and glanced at what I had uncovered. When brushing along the dust, I'd cleared a circle of glass that was laid into it.
"What...what is it?" Victor's voice was breathless, his earlier fear forgotten.
"I'm not sure, but I have a hunch. Miriam, can you read the inscription again, but...in whatever language that is this time?"
She looked at me, at the circle, and then shrugged herself. "No harm in trying." Words came out of her mouth in a strange tongue I didn't recognize. Which...okay, it's what I asked her to do. So no reason I should shiver as she did.
We all jumped, however, when the wall began do dilate, expanding like an eye to reveal a dark room.
"Uh...guys?" Victor's voice was thick. "Are we sure that was a good idea?"
Before Miriam or I could answer, the universe did. A tentacle leapt out of the darkness, impaling Victor's skull.
Thank god for Miriam. I was standing there, frozen in terror, and she dove on top of me as another tentacle flailed out. "Be not afraid."
That wasn't Miriam's voice, or Victors. It had a weird accent, and it was coming from inside the room.
"Be not afraid, humans." Between its sentences, I could hear a faint slurping noise, and saw an undulation happening from the tentacle moving back into the darkness. *It was eating Victor's brain.* I wanted to scream again, or throw up, and Miriam was trying to pull me away.
It pushed itself out of the room. It looked like it would stand about nine feet tall when it went fully upright. It had two legs coming off its lower body, but four coming off the central - two long, hulking ones, and two smaller delicate ones that looked like they were perfect for manipulation. Its head was shaped like a crescent moon with eyes at the tips that reminded me of a hammerhead, with another two eyes in the center of the crescent moon, staring at us. Four tentacles like the one that was slowly pulling out of Victor's skull waved behind it.
"Be not afraid," it repeated, the words coming from a pair of mandibles at the bottom of its crescent head, "for the gods have awoken."
Finally Miriam’s pulling got through to me, and as safely as we could we ran - not overly concerned about cracking our heads.
"Be not afraid!" it shouted after us, the voice high and mocking. "Tell the others! Your gods have returned!"
---
More at /r/Hydrael_writes
| 2017-06-06T20:03:39 | 2017-06-06T19:28:16 | 1,368 | 50 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them. | Jack put down the phone, his face a sudden ashen white. His hand trembled as he reached under the bar to grab a bottle of his best scotch. A bit of the obscenely expensive liquor splashed out of his glass as he poured himself a sturdy shot.
He looked around the bar as the liquor burned through his core. He never bothered naming his bar — it was unique, so he figured there wasn’t much point to distinguishing it from any other place. He started it on a whim, and honestly didn’t think it would last for more than a few days. That was eight years ago. Most of his customers just referred to it as “Jack’s Place.”
“Jack! You ok?!”
Jack snapped back, and looked down the bar to a few of his regulars, looking at him. “What? Oh, um, sorry Fen. Um, no, not really ...”
Fenrir eyes narrowed as he looked at Jack. “What’s wrong?”
Jack looked at Fenrir. Fen was one of his first regulars, and had been coming to the bar almost every day since it opened. After a long night of heavy drinking, Fen had confided in Jack that it was one of the only places others were comfortable being around him. With a reputation like that, Jack figured it might be the only place.
Keeping a steady hand on the bar, Jack moved closer to Fenrir and his companions. They were a motley crew — a group that would only come together at a place like Jack’s. “I ...” Jack gulped. “I got a phone call. Someone took my kids. They want money ... or ... or they’ll ...” Jack paused; took a breath. “They say they’ll kill my kids if I don’t give them what they want”
Fenrir looked at Jack. He studied Jack’s face, and saw behind the usually stoic exterior and saw the fear and loss Jack felt. Fenrir had never seen that in Jack before — this place existed because of Jack, and, despite his clientele, Fenrir had never known Jack could feel fear.
Fenrir set his jaw, and a low growl rumbled from somewhere deep inside him. He turned towards his friends, all of whom he had met at Jack’s, and looked to each in turn. Everyone nodded. Fenrir turned back towards Jack, “Tell us everything you know.”
———-
Knaus stood slack at his station, keeping an eye out for anything moving in his area. Of course, nothing did. Guard duty was the most painfully boring job in the world, he thought, as his radio crackled. “All stations, report.” Knaus listened as the others checked, reporting nothing, until it was his turn, “All clear!” The last few reports trickled in while Knaus lit his cigarette, absentmindedly waving out his match as he took his first deep drag.
Exhaling slowly, he tried to blow smoke rings. Anything to stave off boredom for a few more minutes; it wasn’t working. As he watched, though, something weird started happening with the smoke ... it seemed to be gathering itself into a single point in front of him ... as it formed itself into an opaque mass in front of him. Fascinated and curious, Knaus reached his hand into the smoky cloud-
Knaus’s neck snapped. As his hand reached into the cloud, his arm was pulled forward and his head was forced back. Bending grotesquely, his neck gave way and he collapsed in a heap. It happened so quickly, Knaus’s face still held the look of fascination.
“Nice work, Alp,” Fenrir growled, coming up behind him.
“Thank you,” Alp whispered in reply. “I’m one up on you, Fenrir.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll catch up.”
————
“I repeat, all stations, report.” Jeremiah called, a hint of concern working its way into his voice. He looked towards his second, Carl, standing guard over the three kids tied up in the corner.
Carl shrugged. “Did you check the batteri-“
Carl was cut short as the fortified door behind him burst from its frame and flew across the room, catching Carl in the shoulder and crumpling him to the floor.
“What the ...” Jeremiah shouted as he rose from his stool, staring at the gap in the wall where the door used to be. A hairy, muscled man walked through the gap, striding directly toward Jeremiah. He was followed by two others, sliding in through door.
“Diana, take care of the children. Alp, take care of him,” the man pointed toward Carl, who was moaning on the floor.
Wolf-like. That was the word that came to Jeremiah’s mind as the man walked up to stand in front of him. The man stood there, arms crossed, looking at Jeremiah. Behind him, a sudden snap sounded, and Carl groaning stopped.
“Who ... are you?” Jeremiah asked, his voice quavering.
“I’m Fenrir. I’m a friend of Jack’s. And I have some questions for you ...”
————-
“Daddy!” JJ screamed as he ran toward Jack.
“Kiddos!” Jack ran from behind the bar, gathering his three kids into his arms, kissing each of them on the head in turn, then going back through the order again — just to make sure. “You all ok?”
“I was scared, Daddy” said Sophia, the littlest of the three. “But then Ms. Diana and Fenrir and Alp came and got us”
“I know baby” Jack looked up at the three of them, standing in the doorway. “Thank you” he said, his arms wrapped around his three children.
Fenrir walked back toward his usual place at the bar, shrugging as he went. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, hooking his leg over the stool and settling back into his spot. “But the next round is on you.”
******
Thanks for reading! First attempt at one of these prompts, so any constructive feedback is appreciated. | Just as the door from the back entrance closed, Pete hung up the phone. It was a typical Wednesday night at The Spot, a dozen customers maybe a few more. The usual crowd, the regulars all in their usual places.
Walking in Frank could sense an un-easiness in Pete, who usually greeted every customer, especially the regulars, with a howdy and "what can i do you for?". no such jovial greeting would come tonight. Frank scanned the room, nothing out of sorts. Pete's expression changing from un-easy to terrified. Which was a look Frank knew too well. It stopped him in his tracks. Then, Pete broke down into sob.
Just as Frank reach the bar to ask what was the matter, the words were uttered by a different, all the more comforting voice. Rebecca had been at the bar for just over an hour and noticed immediately the effect the call had had on Pete. She noticed Frank just as he was about to speak, and almost immediately regretted beating him to it. They hadn't been broken up that long, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here tonight.
As Pete looked up at Frank, seeing him for the first time, then to Beki as, his eyes filled with tears all he could say was, "they've been taken."
Frank, bellowed out, "bar’s closed, get out" the command of his voiced back up by his considerable size. A few customers looked to argue, but the site of Beki at his side changed the minds of those that knew better. And those that didn’t seem to take their cue from everyone else.
I lone customer stayed seated, at a back booth. The look of him, that of a man that didn’t do anything that wasn’t of his own accord. He glared at the 2 figures standing next to the sobbing man, then smiled. As he left his booth, he appeared to change, but didn’t. A trick of the eyes, or maybe the mind. Frank looked at Beki for a moment like a question. but she waved him off, with a curt greeting. "Sam."
"What's Happened?" with a look less concerned and more annoyed. All three of them turned to the barman.
He made his way to his feet, then looked at them in turn. "Someone has taken my kids. They want a hundred-grand in 3 hrs. Or they said they’d start hurting them. I don’t have that kinda money."
The only thing the Spot had going for it was its clientele. Otherwise it would have been closed and out of business years ago. Not many places in Dallas are safe harbors, so business was steady if not abundant. Since technically no magic could be cast there and long ago a truce had made places like it a no-go for any of the various ongoing conflicts. people of all kinds had come to the Spot as a place to get away or do unsanctioned business. Pete had inherited the place from his uncle 10 yrs ago and had been its only bartender ever since. That’s probably why his wife left him. And unknown to Pete that’s exactly why his kids are now in danger.
"What can we do?" Frank was a "man" of action. Or "men" of action as it were. After over 200 years he still had the notion to act first, think second.
It was that very human characteristic that had made Beki fall in love with him in the first place. It was also the thing that infuriated her the most about him. Though she did immediately agree with the sentiment, and added her own voice, "Anything"
In only a way that he could, Sam sounded both sincerely concerned and bored, when replying "perhaps we shouldn’t interfere." The statement more to Beki than anyone else. Her look of reply would have killed lesser men. Sam's heavy sigh of relent, overly dramatic in it weight was the only further confirmation he provided.
Pete recalled all he could of his conversation. Helped along by Beki's gentle prodding and Sam's own manipulation. All Frank could do was watch, but his skills would come in handy soon enough.
The caller had issued clear instructions. Don't involve anyone else, he would call back with a meeting place. This is where Frank could finally do some good. His father had been many things, genius among them. And after 200 yrs Frank had learned to grow with technology. He now worked as what is probably the world’s largest IT security technician. His larger than life size, strange appearance, and booming voice could be terrifying, if it wasn’t for his quick smile and genuine humanity. After mere moments the people he met felt not just at-ease but safe near him. Safer than they had ever felt in their lives.
It took him only a few minutes to set up the equipment that would be needed to trace the caller. That is, if the caller wasn’t more tech savvy then him. And it's unlikely that he is.
As they waited in the bar, Beki began to consider their current predicament, more than she had with the confidence of Frank by her side. Maybe Sam was right after all. Any time they interfered with in the affairs of humans things could go horribly wrong. Entire civilizations had fallen because of it in fact. But Pete was their friend and above all else she knew that Frank was going to help anyway. And she still loved him. She had hoped that Sam would leave with everyone else, but she knew he wouldn't. She had even hoped he would refuse to help them, even though she knew they would probably need him. even after more than millennia, it was uncomfortable for her to be around him. She had loved him too once, before, but that was a long time ago. And though they had been on opposite sides of that war so long ago, his nature was still her nature and their nature was still to protect humans. Angels are funny that way.
Sam was having his own thoughts about the predicament he found himself in. Nothing worse than being stuck in a bar in Texas, with your ex, her latest flame and moral dilemma you really have no choice in. It’s a county song that practically writes itself. He hated county music. Having spent the last couple of thousand years atoning for a mistake for which there is literally no atonement is one thing. Spending the evening in a human rescue adventure with your ex is a different kind of torture all together.
When the phone rang the only calm person in the room was Frank. It was now his show, and this is what he was good at. As Pete answered the phone, the sinister caller on the other end of the line laid out in painful detail how things were going to go down. Little did he know the longer he took explaining exactly what was going to happen, the easier it was going to be for Frank to make sure nothing happened that way. When Pete hung up the phone, Frank smiled. "We got'em"
Frank, Beki and Sam begged Pete to stay behind. Sam even tried to persuade him but to no avail. The man's will to save his kids was stronger than that. It was a gift Sam envied, and despised. Beki envied and admired. They finally relented and the four of them headed to the warehouse address Frank had pulled from his trace. the caller had tried to hide but Frank was better. And soon enough these kidnapers would find out what Franks other talent was. He had spent the first 100 yrs denying his nature. He's spent the last 100 reconciling, the man and the Monster. The man had tools to track these scoundrels. The monster would soon make them pay for causing his friend this pain.
As they approached the warehouse, Beki immediately sensed that something was not quite right, almost as she was thinking it Sam said it, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Almost on que the trap sprung, trapping the van of would be rescuers in an inescapable electromagnetic field. Stepping from behind the warehouse wall the man in black simply shook his head. “Thank you for being predictable but you should have stayed behind Pete this isn’t your war. We would never have hurt your children.”
Pete, Sam, Beki and Frank stare at the man, then at each other in confusion. Until Beki looks at Frank and sees the recognition in his eyes, the last sounds any of them heard before the explosion was simply a whisper from Franks lips, "Van Helsing" | 2018-01-31T13:57:53 | 2018-01-31T11:42:48 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] You've been happily married for 15 years. You decide it's been enough time to divulge your secret superhero persona to your spouse. They respond with, "Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit." | "Well, honey, it's time you knew: I'm not keeping an affair from you. It's more like a second job. You see, I'm a superhero," I said.
Jennifer frowned. "I... see. Um... which one?"
It was a less excited reaction than I thought I'd be getting, to be honest. Admittedly, I had figured the excitement would either fall into the "that's wonderful" or "you're going to get yourself killed" categories, but still, I'd expected more than this. "I'm the Concrete Avenger."
Jennifer's eyes widened. "Oh no. Oh nonononono."
There was the excitement, I thought. Not the good kind, but at least it was a reaction. "Honey, it's okay, I'm as strong and invincible as concrete, I'll be fine." Granted, that wasn't as strong and invincible as, say, The Steel Avenger, but still it was pretty good.
"That's not it," Jennifer said, visibly steeling herself. "I'm superpowered too," she said finally.
I was about to rejoice myself, but then her earlier reaction came to mind. "I note you didn't say you're a super*hero*."
"Because I'm not," Jennifer said. "I'm actually... your arch nemesis."
"You're Jackhammer-man?" I asked. She was a lot better at costumes than I'd thought if that were the case.
"What? No!" Jennifer said. "Jackhammer-man isn't your arch-nemesis, he's just some guy with a jackhammer! I'm the one you've been foiling all these years!"
"Okay," I said, "First, Jackhammer-man is absolutely my arch-nemesis, because he's got a jackhammer and as I mentioned I'm practically concrete. It's thematic! Second, if you're not him then you've got to be Ms. Pain, right? I mean, I can work with that, if you know what I'm saying," I winked. I really, really hoped that guess was right.
The look on her fact told me that I was really, really wrong.
"No I'm not Ms. Pain! I'm Jenny Fur!"
"I know you're Jennifer," I said.
"No, it's a play on my name: Jenny Fur. Because I turn into a bear?"
I wracked my brains trying to remember fighting a bear. The problem wasn't that I couldn't remember doing so but rather that I'd fought so *many* animals.
"Oh my God!" Jennifer said, my time having apparently run out. "I can't believe you don't remember! You've foiled every single time I've tried to rob a bank!"
"Wait, that was you?" I said. "Animal control called me in on that and told me a panda had gotten loose. You're a *panda*?"
"I never said it was a good bear," Jennifer muttered. "The point is, I've been fighting you for years and it barely registered!"
"Barely!" I said. "I get it!"
She stormed out. In retrospect, the pun may have been unintentional.
*Later that day:*
The phone rang. "Concrete Avenger," I answered it.
"Hey, C.A., this is Doctor Forshee at animal control," the voice on the other end of the line said. I immediately got a bad feeling about this.
"How can I help you, doctor?"
"There's apparently some kind of panda on a rampage in the mall downtown, and you've become the department's go-to for animal attacks. Are you up for handling this?"
I sighed. I didn't really have a choice, did I? "I'll be right there," I said.
Well, I thought, time to make up. | "Listen, Jim, we need to *talk*," said my darling wife, standing atop a burning orphanage. She was wearing her full ruby red getup, impervious to the flames licking towards the sky. Her hands were on her hips. And she'd had that *look*.
*Oh boy, here we go.*
I ran full speed through the brick, eyes burning through the smoke. The little orphans gathered around, and I swept their smoke-streaked faces under my arms as if I was giving them a big bear hug.
"Hun, if this is about inviting the boys over..."
She materialized in the flames before me, face alight in pure, burning rage. The kids in my arms shrieked.
"No, not that--I wanted to talk about the other night."
Without a second thought, I tucked the children under my arm like a running back and stiff-armed my way through the living room wall. The children under my arm squirmed and coughed.
*Shit*. *Gotta get them out of the smoke*. "The other night?" I asked.
I opened the door to the kitchen, and my wife burst towards us inside of a massive fireball. "You don't even remember?!" she shrieked. She nearly singed off my eyebrows.
*Christ almighty, she was insatiable.*
I slammed the door right in her face, blisters already forming along the length of my arm. *So...not that way then.*
"I'm sorry hun, I have no idea what you're talking about. We just watched TV all night, right?"
No going the way I'd first entered either. It was already engulfed in flames. Whatever I'd done, it must have been bad. I felt the heat of her anger rising, to the point where the entire orphanage felt like a damned furnace.
"Yeah, and when I asked if you wanted to go for a bike ride, you told me 'no'," came her voice from somewhere in the coiling smoke.
It filtered through my nostrils, squeezing the life out of my lungs. "Yeah...?" I coughed.
*Neeeeed. Aiiiiiiir*.
"Well, I was offended by your tone."
My mind whirred. The smoke was making me delirious. It was hard to make sense of just what the hell she was even trying to say.
"My tone? I'm sorry hun, I just wanted to watch *Survivor*."
I walked towards a window, aiming to burst through and save these poor kids, but as I rumbled towards it I felt the ceiling above me quiver. With milliseconds to spare, I dodged out of the way with inhuman strength as the living room ceiling collapsed in a pile of glowing red timber.
We fell in a pile of coughs and screams. I double checked the children. They seemed to be okay. Woozy, sure, and one *might* have been passed out. But otherwise fine.
"Yes! Your tone. It was *rude*."
Through the newfound hole in the ceiling, I made out a blue patch of sky. There. A *lifeline*.
All I had to do was...
"Listen, hun, I'm sorry. I mean it. I'd had a long day--you of all people should know--the last thing I'd meant was to be rude."
As I leaped towards salvation, the flames reached out and snagged me. I cried out in pain as the fire singed my ankles, and I fell back into the burning building with a sickening *thud.*
The children were still tucked away safely, though. I'd been a football star in highschool. No way was I fumbling the Duke.
The flames parted around my wife as she walked up for the killshot. "I know you didn't *mean* it." Or maybe even, "Well, next time *think* before you speak."
But I knew just how to cut her off.
I stood up with my most apologetic face. "You're the love of my life," I said. "You know I'd never want to hurt you."
Then I punched her square in the gut.
She flew back, arms flailing, colliding with the wall and crumbling into a heap amidst all that smoke. "Really?" she croaked. "It's just...you know. I don't want this to turn into another Bruce situation."
*And boom goes the dynamite.*
The root of all our problems--as few and far between as they were--related back to her previous marriage. She'd told me she and Bruce had lost their passion somewhere along the line. At a certain point, he'd just retired to his *cave*--as she called it. They hardly ever did anything *fun*.
"Babe," I said. "We've talked about this. You and Bruce weren't connected by Fate. You just...I don't know...didn't *fit*."
I swooped her up in my free arm.
"You and I on the other hand--well, just take a look around you."
She collapsed with a smile as she examined the pure carnage.
An entire orphanage, churning into ash.
"You always know just what to say to vanquish me."
Beneath my arms, the little orphans groaned.
"I love you so much," I said, kissing my wife on her forehead. "Now, let's take you to jail."
The police waited outside.
They thanked me profusely as they took her into custody. She waved from the squad car as she was hauled away.
"Will you make it home by dinner?" I asked as she passed.
"I always do," she said, her eyes simmering with pleasure.
I puffed my chest as, beside me, the paramedics had arrived to see to the children's burns. Most of the little youngsters were crying hysterically, anxiously rubbing ash from their eyes.
"Let that be a lesson," I said in my most paternal tone. "It's *always* best to talk things out."
---------
r/M0zark | 2018-05-18T12:04:00 | 2018-05-18T11:17:29 | 1,178 | 338 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | Everyone knows we are all born a little special. Some of us are very very big and strong, while others can be very very smart. We can go our whole lives not knowing whether or not we are growing, but knowing seems like a good place to start.
You see, I knew my little gift when I was very young. I was able to see the good in people, even if they didn’t know it was there all along. My favorite was reminding grown ups when they seem to have lost their way; my goal was to try to make them smile every single day. So this is my story and I’ll save the best for later. My name is Fred Rogers, won’t you be my neighbor?
EDIT: Oh wow! Thanks for the gold! I’m glad this brought some happy faces to people | I was told I was blessed with a green thumb, when I was the only kid in my preschool who didnt kill their plant. This made my grandpa very happy.
Grandpa was a man I loathed in my younger years, someone who always smelled of cigars and hands where always covered in dirt, even after washing up for supper time. From as early as I could remember my grandpa had a vegtible garden and every sunday we'd eat fresh vegetables from the garden, along with some meat from the deep freeze or that my uncle had caught the previous day.
When I was old enough to pick up a trow, I found myself spending time in that garden, tilling, planting, and helping the garden grow. I didn't know that my time in that place I loathed would ever amount to anything later in life. My grandpa's garden would thrive every year until the summer I spent with my aunt and her two boys down at their lake house.
Grandpa said that the haul wouldn't be as good in the years past, there would be less to sell and he was glad when I returned.
Again the garden florished, with my sun soaked skin back in the field. We even expanded it, taking over most of the back yard, excluding grandma's flowers which where thriving as well. I was really convinced at this point that my presence helped the garden grow, that this was my mundane blessing.
That was till grandpa fell ill, the years of smoking taking to his lungs, leaving him unable to tend to the garden, grandma was there, but only able to water it. I visited him over a long weekend and saw the state of the garden I had revived not a few years ago. It was then that my blessing was really shown to me for the garden with watering alone had survived.
I switched to online classes to finish my bachelor's, and took my uncles childhood room at the house, bringing the garden back and better then ever, some of the plants in the newer addition where noticablly thriving compared to the old plot, the only difference was I was the one who planted those seeds. I took some seeds at the end of the harvest and put them on the planter outside my window. Oddly enough I knew where to plant them to make them grow to thier full potential.
Switching my degree was the smartest move of my life, with grandpa's passing I was left with a trust fund to pay my way through school and give me the knowledge that I now desired. I increased my plant knowledge 100 fold and began to make my own seeds, getting a grant and then a lab of my own, knowing exactly which batches would thrive and be reproduced, until I had super seeds that could survive in the harshest conditions and the most bountiful harvests. With that, came the riches and the glory.
Grandpa's love for gardening wore off on me and much to my surprise,my favor wasnt a green thumb, but a knack for plant perfection. | 2018-06-30T14:18:25 | 2018-06-30T13:56:55 | 679 | 173 |
[WP] Mermaids are actually women who have been thrown off ships because they were considered bad luck. As they sink to the bottom, they slowly change until they can breathe under water and they can use their tied up legs to swim. They lure sailors to get their revenge. | "My old man never said shit in his life what was true, except one thing: only good woman's a dead one." Esther doesn't respond; she can't. She's trussed up head to toe. Pigs being sent to the butcher probably have more dignity.
The first mate, handsome even without the air of danger his eyepatch gives him, eyes her. "True enough, Captain." Behind Esther, the grizzled man tugs her gag tighter. "Shame to lose the cabin boy, but..." His shoulders cant upward. She's not sure if it's amusement or something else.
Standing on the planking of a merchant ship, dressed in the rags of her cabin boy guise, she holds her head as high as the rope lets her. As she stumbles towards the deeps, shoved by angry sailors, she does not pray. No god ever answered her when she begged for deliverance from step-mother or husband. Why would they now?
Instead of struggling, she breathes out -- and when she falls, she inhales.
Briny water rushes into her lungs. Everything burns with cold. But she's *ready*. She takes another breath, choking on the one she already took.
The third one... eases. Her eyes cease to burn. Shreds of clothing float up around her, carried by the currents.
When she bats them away, it takes Esther a moment to realize her hands are free.
But they are not the hands she remembers. These are scaled, the same color as the rusty iron chains on her wrists, in the same patterns. Her jaw drops. No bubbles escape.
A glint of light nearby puts her on guard, but the soft sounds reassure her it's only a fish -- until a woman emerges into the faint light thrown through the water by the ship's lantern.
Esther looks at this thing, half-woman, half-creature, and she looks back. Then the other woman swims closer to reach out a strangely webbed and short hand, scaled in blood crimson, towards the ship. Her...legs... are the same crimson scales, mottled like the whip lashes Esther saw on so many horses.
And through the water, Esther hears her say, "Justice?" | For thirteen days we have drifted, for six I have prayed.
My father warned me once that these waters held demons who stole the power from the sky, that they lusted after any woman on board and would not return that power until they obtained the fixation of their desire. Cursed waters the map read, but I have always been one to beleive that the superstitions of my brethren are nothing in comparison to the power of God, my error was assuming his protection was not the warning I disregarded.
At night I hear these demons singing sweet songs in my mothers voice. The same demons who stole her from the ship when I was a young boy and we were stranded without wind in these very waters, the same ship my father was Captain of, and now with the vessel under my charge after his death, the same mistake he made by not heeding the warnings given. May I be forgiven for the sin of not honoring thy father by disregarding his last words, for I feel I may have damned us all with my hubris, and on my first voyage as captain no less.
Each night under my own orders I take watch, listening to the lullaby, reminding me of the times as a child during long voyages when I would lay listening to my mother sing with my head on her lap, the rocking of the ship lulling me to the peace of slumber like a cradle. Though many objected to my father keeping his family on board none would speak of it as he was a feirce man, they said he was feirce enough to scare away the demons, if only that had been true.
The other sailors say they hear calls too, but they are calls of seduction, perhaps the demons know of what we truly desire and use that to tempt us. One of my crew members spoke of seeing beautiful women who look like fish from the waist down, he called them "mermaids" and said that they lure men overboard. It is at that point I knew I needed to take the night watch, lest we lose another of our dwindling crew.
As I lay and stare at the stars I remember the night my mother was taken. I heard screams and her shrieking my name she plunged into the waters below. I know I should have tried to fight, but she told me to hide so I did. I remember hearing my father yell for her to quiet her screams, perhaps he tried to hide her as well. After that as I grew I stayed with my father and the ship for I had nowhere else to go. He had always been quick to discipline me, but he was especially harsh after they took my mother. I think all the love in him died the day he lost her, but after all of these years he made me captain upon his passing so I know he did not hate me. Perhaps he just hated himself for not being able to protect her.
I hear the singing grow louder and I pray. Filled with the strength of Christ I walk to the side of the ship to see if I can cast away these demons. As I look into the water I notice it is absolutely still, even the waves against the hull have stopped, all I hear is the song growing louder.
Suddenly I see movement, what looks like wet hair and the tail of a fish, perhaps these mermaids were the demons themselves, disguised as women to hide their true power.
Finally I see the still water break and the torso of a woman rise to the waist, locking eyes with me.
At once I hear a shriek next to me, I turn quickly and see my mother in my father's arms, struggling as her legs are bound by his first mate. Shrieking and pleading as he hauls her onto the side of the ship. I hear him scream for her to be quiet, sobbing as he pushes her overboard, hearing her call my name as she falls into the water below. As I see the water calm after her plunge i see the mermaid, my mother, singing to me.
I stare into her eyes once more and I begin to weep, I nearly collapse, using the side of the ship to not lose sight of her.
I feel so weak.
The wood feels damp and slimey in my hand as I slowly start to lean forward. I sob as I roll myself over the side, calling my mothers name as I plunge toward the deep.
As I fall I feel the air rush past me, the last time I will feel the wind, one last answer to my prayers.
| 2019-02-08T10:41:01 | 2019-02-08T10:05:45 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] You're secretly a monster. Not a vampire, or a werewolf, or an alien, or a zombie, or really any monster that's commonly known. It's always awkward explaining to your soon-to-be-victims what you are. | Dear Emma,
It happened again. You laughed. You always do, it's not fair, how come my brother got all the good genes? Big scary fangs, razor claws, and a breath that could scare the dead but me, oh no, I just had to get that color. Why do you just giggle every single time? That's all you do, and I'm my families biggest joke, the runt with the sucky powers. I know I've said it before, but can someone have some sort of phobia of like, pink? Or bright lights? That would just be great, maybe then I could get something done rather than be hiding under the bed like a scared child. I am doing what my victims, you, are supposed to be doing! It's unfair and downright rude to laugh at someone that is clearly miserable and bad at their job. It's just not nice. I demand an apology and maybe a scream or two? Even if they are itty bitty ones. Pretty please?
&#x200B;
Sincerely,
The Monster Under the Bed | "Argh, A demon!" exclaimed a man as he cowered in fear for his life.
The bloodlust that had formed in its' eyes suddenly died down. It turned its' head towards the man and began shaking side-to-side. The gesture was then followed by a deep breath ending in a deep breath. It lifted its' muscular four-fingered arms up and smacked its' own head with it. The monster – at least, in the eyes of the man – had seemed human just a bit then. The man who had pissed himself in fear had contorted his face in an utter state of confusion.
"I'm no demon, you ignorant buffoon..." it said in defeat.
"H-Huh?"
"I said I'm no demon. Do you have bad eyes? Maybe even hard of hearing too? Ugh, I can't believe this," it said with a slight annoyance.
The man tried to rationalise the situation he was in. Would engaging it in a conversation keep him alive? Would saying the wrong thing just hurt his chances even more? In any case, he would have to do something, quick.
"So... A-Are you a... Troll?" The man nervously guessed as he scanned it's large muscular form.
"No, I'm not one of those filthy demihuman! How dare you–"
"A giant, then? Or maybe you're on of those chimeras?" the man swooped in, half curious, half scared of what it might do in its' anger.
At this, it suddenly fell down on its' own legs. The manner in which it happened was so violent that the ground shook heavily and the man could feel his own body trembling, almost losing balance. But what actually happened was it had simply sat down, hunkering down on its' own legs. It held up its' fingers to its' chin, much like a man who was deep in thought. The man could see that its' fingers had sharp nails which looked like claws. He could also see that it had a face which was human-like though he couldn't really put his finger at what this 'thing' was.
"Hmmmm," it let out, "so, you don't know what I am, too huh?"
The man sweated profusely and gulped before he responded, "y-yeah, I guess... Sorry."
"I guess I should somehow spread my name... But what am I supposed to do? Make an announcement at the Town Square? That's be too gaudy, though."
"Um, I mean... What are you anyway?" the man curiously said as he began to calm down again.
"Good question, I don't... really know," it said in a vexed manner.
"Maybe, you should think about that first. Only then would you be able to let others know... of you. Doing famous – or rather infamous – deeds would also help in spreading your name, you know!"
It chuckled lightly at the man's suggestions. It knew that it should somehow thank him for even trying to help it out. Yet it also knew that the man should've been dead by then.
"Say," it nudged the man by the shoulder, "thank you for your suggestions!"
"... Er- no problem...?"
"So, famous – or rather infamous – deeds, huh? Any ideas on how I could get right on that?" | 2019-07-17T00:44:16 | 2019-07-17T00:02:03 | 139 | 42 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | The young man woke early on May 27th. It was his 16th Birthday, and today he would find out two very important names. Two names to surely be intertwined with the rest of his life. He was excited, and scared at the same time.
He stared out of the window of his Manor House looking across the grounds. He knew he was born early in the day, around 8am, so he didn’t have long to wait. The house was quiet, hardly anyone around, except for the faint noises of someone in the kitchen making him his favourite breakfast, on this special day.
He wasn’t all that concerned about the left wrist, he thought he knew who that was going to be. A man who nearly 8 years ago shattered his whole world, and left him very alone. He didn’t go a day without seeing his face in his mind, or waking up sweating and screaming from his dreams. So why would it matter really if he saw his name too. The young man missed his parents greatly, and again, like most days vowed to make them so proud by continuing to do good for the city he lived in.
The name on the right wrist was more important, he wanted to find that soulmate as quickly as possible and spend as long as possible with her, for as many years as he could. He wondered every day who might appear there, printed on his wrist, and today was the day he was going to find out.
A large grandfather clock in the hallway outside chimed, he counted 8 chimes echoing throughout the large rooms and empty halls. He looked down, and as if some invisible pen was writing words on his wrists, 2 words appeared on each one. Confused, he sat there, wondering what on earth they meant. Something is wrong, “they’re not real names, and how can they both say the same thing! This is ridiculous” he shouted! He wondered if something had gone really wrong.
Footsteps were coming up the marble staircase, he could hear the chinking of plates and cutlery. The butler opened the door, beaming with excitement to find out who the young mans soulmate would be. Placing the tray of food on the large solid oak table in his room, he walked over to the young man, and was concerned about the frightened look on his face. The young man held out his hands, whilst his butler gently studied both names. His brow furrowed, he looked up over his glasses, and said, “Master Wayne, who is The Joker?”
——
First ever comment on one of these. It’s probably fairly crap, but it popped into my head when I saw it. Thought I’d give it a go
——
Cheers for all the kind words people. | I can't stop thinking about the world this kind of thing might build. Like:
Some devoted themselves to finding their soulmate, embarking on lifelong pilgrimages and learning as many languages as possible, worshipping the idea embedded within their ink. Others let fear of their nemesis consume their whole being, driving their career, mental issues, or even untimely death.
Some people married as "soulmates" despite knowing deep down they weren't the right John and Sarah, simply maintaining the illusion as though they had something to prove. What really got on my nerves, however, were the Amys who'd hate any Lisa they came across just for the sake of hating her, fulfilling some petty need for triumph.
Others, still, renounced the idea of being bound to someone they may never encounter, opting instead for "good enough," wearing long sleeves to cover that pesky "Joy" or "Adam" and settling for a quiet life with that pretty childhood friend from next door. Buying bottle after bottle of drugstore concealer because out of sight means out of mind.
My personal favorites, however, were the "renegades," a self-titled group who tattooed bold designs and mocking insignias straight over their wrists. Cult leaders would actively seek out their worst enemy for marriage, deceiving them with body paint, some violent extremists even killing their soulmates. All as one giant middle finger to the results of their not-so-sweet sixteenth.
Me, on the other hand? I don't need to worry about being hunted down out of a misunderstanding or my true love not speaking any of the languages I know.
Because my nemesis is my true love.
And I'm also world-famous because of it.
Before I get into that first issue, let me explain the power this gives me. Because truly, it's not all bad. I was always sort of a lab rat (thanks, useless foster parents who sold me off to government scientists), so I was given... compensation. Substantial compensation.
I had a team of translators, *inkers* (wrist tat scientists), and the usual celebrity entourage all following me around. The short of it is, they thought they could study me in my ordinary social dynamic and develop a method to mimic these frequencies that are supposed to stop after you turn sixteen but didn't for me. Unfortunately, your *wris* (slang for the people on your wrists; pronounced "riss") are always accurate regardless of your circumstance, so I could be controlled 24/7 and still be a valid test subject.
That's another thing. If you haven't noticed, your wris' identities have no care for convenience. I had an aunt whose nemesis and soulmate both died before she could track them down: the latter starved in Somalia while the former committed suicide one town over. Even as a rich woman with access to database input, her wris destroyed her. That's probably why I hated the whole concept from the get-go, even before my sixteenth.
But yeah, back to me. You may have wondered why, if I'm a global phenomenon, it wouldn't be easy for my soul-enemy-thing to reach out to me. You know, just shoot an email: "Hey, I'm your person, I'll totally be your lab rat partner, hmu." Except there's the other thing.
My wris is a renegade, and the last time we met, they tried to kill me.
&#x200B;
Except then I wanted to add this....
&#x200B;
Access to the Database.
At the dawn of the internet, a massive digital Database swiftly emerged, compiling as large a picture of as many people as possible. Then, once the government stepped in, only so many people were given access to this insane search engine because morals but actually because capitalism. So naturally, the internet made its own version of what had been taken from it, and thus the Cycle was created. There are plenty of articles telling of love stories from 4chan meetings and serendipitous Facebook replies, but the go-to amateur database is the Cycle. Unfortunately, its output could only reach the level of its input and ability to interpret what it got, so finding your soulmate through it was a hopeful thought at most. That's why the Database remains the superior option.
I was in the generation whose parents finally figured out that unique first names could be the key to all of this. Still, a couple billion unique names, even among different cultures, was a tall order, and everyone began becoming more ID codes than people. Take me for instance. My name is Oyruravj. I would've preferred jjjjjjj or something cool like that but apparently that's too old fashioned.
&#x200B;
But then, isn't an internet-controlled world with names looking more like usernames than anything the most likely scenario?
It's an interesting thought process. | 2020-01-18T23:49:54 | 2020-01-18T23:37:33 | 264 | 21 |
[WP] Ghost hunters use points system to determine how haunted a house is. 1 point for ghosts, 2 for fae spirits, and 3 for demons. A ghost hunter valued your house for 278 points and became the no. 1 haunted house around the world. Your house was only built 1 year ago. | It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon when the “ghost hunter” came for the annual inspection. This government mandated farce as I saw it began a few years ago when unexplained occurrences were happening across the country; and thanks to the efforts of lazy police work and persuasive afterlife advocates certain incidents were now being blamed on ghosts. Not surprisingly our last couple of inspections had come up with nothing but having moved to a newly developed neighborhood there I stood rolling my eyes as our new inspector rolled up to the house.
Two firm knocks on the door rattled through the house and I opened up to the warmth of the summer sun. The man was in his late 40’s, sweat already dripping from his receding hairline, headset on and ready to go. Holding a clipboard in his left hand, and his ghost-o-meter in his right beeping incessantly even before entering the house.
I suppressed a chuckle. “Here to check the water meter?”
Completely unimpressed he looked directly into my eyes with a hint of apprehension. “Sir if you could please let me in so I can check your ghost score.”
“Of course.” I replied “Do as you must, if you need me I’ll be in here.”
I wandered off into the living room, slumping into the couch and turning on the TV.
Almost a couple hours go by when he enters the room looking as white as a sheet and visibly quivering.
“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I burst out laughing. No reaction. No sense of humour these inspectors.
“Sir. Have you seen anything suspicious since m-moving here?” he stammers.
Now bored “No why?”
“Only your g-ghost score is off the charts. The highest I’ve ever seen. The highest anyone has ever seen. 278!”
“Don’t be absurd my wife and I have only just moved here, there’s no way our score could possib; Wait ghosts aren’t real!”
“Your wife? It says here you live alone.”
“What? That's clearly wrong. Give me that!”
He made to pass over the clipboard and I put out my hand to receive it. But as he let go, the clipboard phased right through my hand and clattered to the floor. | We met on a rainy day.
I was on my phone so I didn't see what startled the uber driver, but he swerved and the car hit the fence, it wouldn't start again. Debbie was on the sidewalk, all wet but she was so beautiful I didn't even wonder what she was doing out there in the rain, I was just glad we met. I stepped out of the car smiling at her, she smiled back and it was just like that. We were engaged within two months.
Turns out she was there admiring the little house behind the fence. She said that was the house of her dreams, it was for sale and I thought it was a nice house so I bought it, it was surprisingly cheap for that neighborhood. I guess it was fate that we should have it. Debbie was over the moon when I surprised her.
It was amazing, it was like Debbie knew the house already, like it was made for her. When we moved in, she was excited to arrange the furniture and decorate it, so I left it to her, and it was just perfect. On our first week there, I was having breakfast when I heard a knock on the door.
When I opened it, there was no one out there.
I looked out and saw a man trying to look inside through my window
"Excuse me?", I said.
"Oh good morning, I'm Arthur" he introduced himself as he came to the door and shook my hand "I'm sorry to bother you, I am um, your neighboor and wanted to welcome you"
"Um ok, thanks"
"I'm sorry I was peeping inside, I wasn't sure someone had moved in, I didn't even know the house was already for sale after all that happened. Oh um, I didn't mean it like that."
"What do you mean?", I was curious, maybe that explained the low price. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I offered, already anxious about a possible problem I would have to fix, house problems can be expensive and annoying.
He accepted it and, as we got to the kitchen, Debbie was there, she didn't seem to mind the visitor.
"Hey Debbie, this is our neighboor Arthur, he's here for some coffee."
"Hi Arthur, that's nice! I'll make some fresh coffee"
Arthur just stood there, his face went from confusion to shock.
"Would you like some water?" Debbie offered, now worried.
Arthur gasped, he couldn't take the eyes off of Debbie, so I went and grabbed him a glass of water. Debbie made Arthur sit down as she asked him gently "are you ok?"
I put the glass in front of him, he drank it slowly and seemed to calm down, avoiding eye contact.
"Wow buddy, you scared us there" I said, "what happened?"
"oh nothing, I thought I saw something" he replied, unsure "I'm better now".
"That's good", I said. "What about that cup of coffee? I would love to know what happened to the house like you mentioned, I knew that price was too good to be true, right babe?" Debbie was still worried about Arthur, it seemed. She was staring at him as he looked away. She looked back at me and smiled. I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach everytime she smiled at me.
"Oh yes um, what happened" Arthur looked from Debbie to me, then back at Debbie "um what happened was that um, nothing much"
"Hey don't worry Arthur, I really want to know, what they didnt tell us? Let me get my cigarettes first, it seems like I'll need those"
I stepped out of the kitchen to look for them in the living room, but didn't find them anywhere. I thought about looking for them upstairs but wouldn't like to leave Debbie alone with the guy for too long, so I just came back to the kitchen. I found Debbie alone.
"Hey babe, where is Arthur?"
"Oh honey, he decided to come back some other time, turns out he wasn't feeling well after all"
"Oh too bad, I was curious--"
"Yes, I know but don't worry, there's nothing you need to know", she smiled at me, that lovely smile, and I knew everything would be ok.
My first post here, sorry about my English it's been a while.
edit: grammar | 2020-05-13T10:00:14 | 2020-05-13T09:47:33 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You were born in a city where everyone has a superpower. However, while people freely use theirs (breathe fire, heal wounds or grow flowers), you seem to not be able to do anything. But one day, as you leave the city, you realize that everyone loses their power.
[deleted] | How long had I been here? The years all seemed to meld together leaving only a muddled sense of never ending time. I slept mostly, or at least tried to, not having any other form of entertainment but it was never restful. I always dreamed in nightmares only to wake up and find the truth was worse.
They had denied me anything to keep my mind occupied when I had tried to cut my wrists with the pages of a book.
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I had come to despise that phrase. How was my life worth so little when I provided so much to the world?
I had left for vacation at a remote lake cottage. When I returned, the police were waiting for me. They stole me away to a cell far under ground and away from prying eyes. I was the city's best resource and they weren't about to let it slip away again. Without me, they would lose their place of prestige in the world. Without me, they would be nothing but ordinary people, a fate worse than death for many.
Every so often, as my skin began to sag and my hair began to grey, they would send in a healer to turn back my biological clock. You should be thankful, they would say, I was getting a service that cost millions for free. Who doesn't want to live forever? But what's the point in staying alive if you have no life to live?
I stared at my wrinkled hands as I heard the heavy door open. Time to reset my life again. Time to relive another lifetime of hell. Resigned to my fate, I sighed and stood up on shaking legs but what greeted me wasn't a healer, it was the Mayor. His face was weathered and old, something I had never seen before. Too shocked to say anything I just stood there, my mouth hanging open.
"It's over." He said with a quivering voice. "We've searched and tested everyone, every man, woman, and child but there hasn't been a new healer since Edgar died in a car accident 30 years ago." He rushed the cell door and gripped the bars with clawed fingers. "You have to do something!"
I turned from him and sat on my bed. The rusted springs squeeked under my weight. I looked up at him and stared into his wild eyes, half mad with desperation and anger, and began to laugh. It started low, a meek chuckle, but soon grew into a belly laugh that had tears streaming down my cheeks.
"You did this!" He screeched, "I know you did this somehow! Fix it or we all die!"
I tried to talk, tried to tell him I had no control over who got what powers when, but every time I started I would dissolve into another fit of laugher. I wondered in passing who looked more insane, me or him?
"You'll die down here you know. You'll die down here and know one will ever know you existed." His voice was laced with fear now. He knew his time in the light was over.
He left to the sound of my laughter, a sound that would echo in his ears until the day he finally died.
When my tears stopped and my laughter subsided I lay down in my bed. With a smile on my lips, I closed my eyes and slept soundly for the first time in many, many years. | I used to hate the city.
It seems out of a comic book. You walk to your job and, as you gaze towards the sky, you see a hundred flying beings, making stunts that seemed impossible to man, hiding in the clouds, saluting planes. You get a coffee and you don't even care if it's cold or warm, one of the workers can heat it in milliseconds or cool it with a touch. You take a cab to go somewhere and someone else has flown by at the blink of an eye. It seems as if life's been solved for everybody nowadays.
Well, not for me.
"It's okay, honey, you don't need to be super for me to know you're super." I smiled silently at my girlfriend's cute remarks. She's stayed by my side for such a long time. It's weird to think that she, a telekinetic human, is still with me, a plain, power-less person. That's true love. But I was still disappointed on all the great things that could happen if I had powers too. I felt insecure, weak, an outcast in such a fantastic world. The freaks stopped being freaks when everybody became one. And so, I remained as the lone weirdo.
All of this stressed me out. "You should go out for the weekend", told me a co-worker. "So much stress about your condition, I think you should disconnect for a while." Why not? I didn't have to torture myself everyday with the same thought. My job paid well, so I had enough money to plan a short, easy weekend. A couple days in the countryside with not much connection.
My girlfriend packed my things and hers in seconds, even though she didn't have to. We got in my car and drove listening to our favorite songs. It was as if superpowers didn't exist anymore. We were just people being people and singing super loudly.
The countryside was beautiful. I learned that some places don't have superpowered people, such as the village we stayed in for the weekend. I ate normal, I played normal, I did everything normal. Sightseeing, trekking, everything. I thought to myself: "Is this how life's supposed to be for me? And for everybody else". Maybe it was. But one small break made me more tolerant to powers as I was to normalcy.
We didn't really check the news, since we disconnected ourselves entirely from the city. We assured our friends we'd be fine, of course, and we were still fine as we were packing by the end of the trip. Suddenly, however, one of the villagers caught up with us, and showed us a newspaper. "Ain't this your city?", he said. I read the headline.
***POWERS GONE IN THE CITY!***
We were shocked by this. "How? Did somebody take them away? Was there some kind of supervillain that did this?" Many thoughts crossed my mind. My girlfriend seemed to still have her powers despite that, so what really happened? Did we save ourselves from some horrible event?
Despite the surprise, we drove calmly back to the city. My girlfriend was checking Twitter for updates as I focused on the road. I saw a car fly by our side, going the way we came from. I didn't think much of it but, as I noticed on my side mirror, a burst of light came from the car. In a matter of seconds, the car was turning and rushing towards us, honking its horn. We got scared and I stomped on the pedal, praying to God that nothing bad happened.
At last, a sign told me we were coming back home. Despite the obvious relief, not only did the car still follow, but we were scared by the sudden mob standing on the border, raging. Since we couldn't go any further, we stopped. Fortunately, the others slowed down too, and parked by our side, apologizing for frightening us. We remained in the car talking to them and, as they updated my girlfriend on the situation, I took a good look at the mob.
The crowd was panicking, even crying, by the fact that their gifts were abruptly gone. It broke my heart to see the people I envied for most of my life were so hurt, and what they cherished the most had been taken away. I decided to step out of the car, informing my girl that I'd check for more information. She nodded and let me go. Soon, I was heading towards the asphalt road that gave the entrance to the town. And then... it happened.
An inmense wave of light emerged from my body as I entered in contact with the road. It touched everyone in the distance, without hurting anyone, and covered them for a brief instant in my light. Bodies were glowing at the same time they were shaking by the unexpected event. Soon, a kid nearby walked close to me, extended his hand and a small ball of fire shot towards the ground. "My powers are back!", he yelled. Everybody tried the same for a couple moments.
And soon, people were crowding me, thanking me, hugging me, asking me things. "How did you do that? Why did you leave? Did you know you could do this?" I didn't know. I just stood there, trying to connect the dots as the mob stood thanking me. My girlfriend shared my confusion. Until I realized...
I was the source that kept powers alive. I was the chord unplugged from the city. For a whole weekend, my absence caused chaos. And I never knew, and never expected any of this, this responsibility and importance. Until now. | 2020-06-09T05:37:21 | 2020-06-09T05:33:12 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] A massive Imperial fleet, led by Darth Vader, suddenly appears on Earth. Vader informs the Earth's governments that he is looking for a rogue Jedi named "George Lucas." It turns out that Star Wars is real, and Lucas has been leaking information about the Empire and the Rebellion to the public. | There was a lot of pants shitting, I tell you that much. Except for Switzerland. They went sorta weird for a while.
George Lucas. The man who made a beloved franchise. Celebrated filmmaker. A milestone of Hollywood. And apparently, highly wanted fugitive.
Well, of course, the Empire found him eventually. They always find people. The difference was, George was a smart man. He made arrangements. He set a hidden fortune, played secret organizations like puppets. He had all the strings.
Now, here's something for you. Despite all the advantages of the Star Wars universe, the modern military of Earth can decimate them in all but one area. Space. No orbital arms. Or, well, we thought anyways. As it turns out, George had managed to slip a bit of equipment onto the moon.
As the landing forces arrayed themselves onto Earth, the crews of the Imperial Fleet had a collective moment of realization.
"That's no moon."
Well, it was. Just... Different. For you see, a moon can also serve as an incredibly effective weapons platform, as evidenced by the 0.02% c slugs chewing Star Destroyers up with all the ado of a giant simply stepping on some ants.
Without their orbital superiority, the forces of the Empire folded like a cheap suit. We also were treated to the sight of George Lucas dueling Darth Vader in power armour, which was another bonus to this fairly short affair.
Oh yeah, and Switzerland? Some people say, and it's just rumor, you understand, say that they were setting up this fuckoff huge gun battery. Nothing solid, though. Still... Fuckin chocolate makers. | While the main fleet of the Sith empire remained in orbit, Vader’s personal starship and his escorts landed at the UN headquarters in Geneva. Soon after landing stormtroopers surround the building and Vader walks in.
“The political value of this station has been compromised. *kushhh* resistance will prove futile. *kushhh* disclose the location of George Lucas and the empire shall show mercy upon your world. *kushhh*”
Looking out the window startled, and seeing the massive fleet in orbit, the clerk quickly grasped the situation
“Well sir Vader? If the movies were true... that is beyond our jurisdiction Mr. George Lucas is located in United States somewhere we have no such ability here actually...”
“Then you are of no use to me”
Vader waves his hands and stormtroopers rush in.
Vader continues saying
“Find their leader and dispose of the rest”
Vader walks out of the headquarters as blaster fire rings behind him. Reembarking his ship Vader sets his course to the pentagon.
Arriving at his destination Vader is quickly met with resistance. Two fighter jets attempt to escort his starship which are quickly shot down. Vader lands his ship in the pentagon court yard. As he climbs out of his vessel, heavily armed US personnel confront him. Warning him.
“Lord Vader! Please discard your light saber and other weapons, as we can escort you to a meeting where we can negotiate.”
Vader looking from side to side refuses, igniting his saber. And the soldiers open fire. But the bullets stop short in a circular pattern around Vader. He exclaims.
“I believe I have the ability to set the terms of this negotiation. *kushhh* Your obsolete weaponry is useless against us. *kushhh*”
He begins slaughtering the soldiers with his saber or by deflecting their bullets. Soon a courtyard filled with over 100 men are cleared within minutes. Rendering them dismembered, fleeing, or dead. Vader walks towards one of the walls in the pentagon and cuts a door shaped hole into it with his saber. As he barges in civilians and military personnel flee in desperation. He pays no attention to them and looks around suspiciously “he is here... *kush*” he mumbles to himself. Vader turns a corridor and sees a robed man standing in the middle of the hall. Vader with a sigh of relief and joy says.
“Ah we meet at last George Lucas! *kushhh*”
George Lucas sliding his hood back replies
“Not a meeting I was hoping for... how did you find this planet Vader?”
“You underestimate the power of the force! *kushhh* you should have known best, now you have doomed this planet to the same fate as you *kushhh*”
“I may perish but this planet will live on. You also underestimate the force Vader. Balance will be restored even if not by me... one of my fans will put an end to this cruel empire!”
George Lucas lunges forward igniting his saber and Vader deflects it with his own. Vader responds.
“That was the purpose of your little information leak? *kushhh* to find the chosen one?? *kushhh*.”
“Enough talking. I will put an end to your reign. You are too dangerous to be kept alive!”
Their blades meet again. And an intense melee battle of sabers pursues. Both are matched almost evenly in sword combat. Until Lucas is pursued into a server room, where he is backed up against a wall. And Vader finding an opportunity cuts off George Lucas’s arm.
“Ahhhh” George groaned in pain.
“Join me George. *kushhh* spread the wisdom of the dark side! *kushhh* together we can make a trilogy of the sith ways!!! *kushhh*”
“Never!!!”
George replied. Then Vader swung his saber. George closed his eyes and embraced death. But then he suddenly disappeared leaving only his clothes. | 2020-08-09T21:23:46 | 2020-08-09T21:02:37 | 290 | 68 |
[WP] A novice priest is performing an exorcism. The demon really wants out. The lonely possessed person doesn't want to let his only companion go. The demon is trying to coach the priest while the possessed person tries to interfere with the rite. | The priest stared at the bed, which held a scarred, shirtless body. He hadn't done an exorcism before, and he was worried. He reached into his bag and pulled out 2 items, which were a bottle and a cross. "Let's see...what did Father Mark tell me to do first..." The priest opened the bottle, which contained holy water. His assistants looked at him expectantly, as he examined the water. He nervously spoke "B-b-begone demon. L-leave this body, and never return!" He splashed some water on the body, but the body didn't move at all. Suddenly, a deep voice echoed around the room.
"Ugh, foolish priest. If you are gonna exorcise me, at least try to do it properly. You wouldn't believe what this human has me go through." The priest looked aghast. "D-d-DEMON!" Both of his assistants ran out of the room in shock. The priest tripped on his robe and fell onto the floor. "Relax priest, if I wanted you dead you would have died before entering the house. Now, please get me out of this body, I've been stuck here for weeks."
The priest looked confused. "You've been...stuck in this body?" The demon sighed. "Do you think I would choose this miserable wretch to be worthy of being possessed by me? Of course not. I've been forced to talk to this human all day and all night. He always whines about not having friends, and honestly, I could see why after the first day. All because Lucy said that I haven't brought someone to the underworld in SOOO long that he HAD to punish me."
The priest was dumbfounded. He turned to glance at the body, but the body disappeared. He stumbled backwards, frantically looking around the room. Suddenly, the body ran at him and took him by the shoulders. "Listen man!" he began to speak. "You. Can't. Take him from me. He's all I hav-" The body violently jerked, and slammed into the ground. "IDIOT HUMAN." a deep voice shouted. "YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP ME HERE? I AM THE DEMON DROMOS, AND YOU WILL RELEASE ME."
The body stood up, clearly have been shaken very badly. "No." The body lunged to the holy water but then was thrown back into the wall. "QUICKLY PRIEST! SPLASH HIM WITH THE WATER AND EXPEL ME WITH THE CROSS!" The priest quickly splashed water onto the chest of the body, and the body screamed. "NO! YOU WILL NOT TAKE HIM FROM ME!" The cross came flying into the priest's hand. With a swift hand motion, the demon was banished from the body, and the body remained still. | “*Never, never in my wildest dreams would I, Angranil, prince of the 5th Circle of Hell and heir apparent to all demonkind, have imagined I would be schooling a prepubescent brat on how to exorcise myself. And yet, here we find ourselves. Anyways, turn your Bible to the Lord’s Prayer and recite that if you please.*”
The young Edmund squirmed at the unnaturally deep voice emanating from the man restrained on the bed before him and stuttered, “Umm…o-okay. Q-quick question, Mr. Demon. Is that the one that starts with “In the beginning” or the one that s-starts with “Our Father in heaven”?”
“*Are you…ugh. The second one, you insufferable infant.*”
“O-our Father in heaven, ha-hallowed be your name. Your kingdom c-come, your will be done, on earth a-as it is in heaven. Give us this d-”
“Wait, wait, wait! You’re reading the wrong one, my boy! The wrong one!” exclaimed the other man, his voice now ringing throughout the bedroom in an ear-piercing falsetto. “You start with the Athanasian Creed, then the Hail Mary, and you finish off with the Lord’s Prayer! This demon *is telling you the truth. Do not listen to the lies of this tittering miscreant. Continue with the Lord’s Prayer.*”
“G-give us this day our daily bread, and f-forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our d-debtors. And lead us not i-into temptation, but deliver us f-from evil.”
“*Good. Now the Hail Mary.*”
“Hail, Mary, f-full of grace, the Lord is w-with you; blessed ar-”
The bound man interrupted once more in his high-pitched voice, “Listen to me, listen to me, boy. If you finish that ritual, this demon will come to you in the middle of the night and eat your soul. Then you’ll never go to Heaven! Trust me, boy. He’s far safer with me, he and I can keep each other company for *not a moment longer. If I have to listen to another one of your pathetic jokes on goat excrement, I will personally terrorize every member of your lineage until the very end of time. And as for you, child, can you truly consider yourself an adherent of the Church if you shirk from this holy duty? Ignore this bumbling idiot. You have my word as prince of the 5th Circle of Hell that no harm will come to you. Now, continue with the Hail Mary.*”
“…blessed are you among women, and b-blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.”
“*Yesss….I can already feel my connection to this incompetent oaf beginning to weaken. And now to conclude this trivial business. Recite the Athanasian Creed, child.*”
“Who-whosoever will be saved, before all th-things it is necessary that he h-hold the Catholic faith. Which f-faith unless every one do keep wh-”
“Boy, boy, listen to me, boy. That wooden stake over there, dip it into your flask of holy water and drive it straight into my heart! It’s the only way to stop this demon from possessing somebody else! You wouldn’t want him to terrorize another innocent soul, would you? I am prepared to sacrifice myself in the name of the Lord, so strike me down swiftly!”
Edmund felt the words of the Creed catching in his throat as he pondered this possibility. Angranil’s voice took over as he growled, “*I am a demon prince, NOT a vampire. But that’s beside the point. Would you condemn me to such a fate, child? Does your faith not hinge upon forgiveness of one’s enemies? Would you be any better than myself if you enslaved me for eternity with this ignoramus’ soul?*”
But Edmund did not heed the demon’s words as his hands reached for the stake upon the bedside table. He shakily dipped it into the vial of holy water on his person, the consecrated piece of wood now hovering over the other man’s chest. The latter began writhing against his restraints, his voice mutating into a sickening mixture of the two personalities as he said, “*Don’t* kill *me*! Do *not* hesitate, *don’t* stop!”
With a fear-filled yell, the young priest drove the stake deep into the man’s heart. With a dying gasp, he whispered, “Th-thank…you…boy. Now, we…are…together…forever.”
Angranil roared futilely into the abyss that was now the man’s corpse, a fallen prince locked in an eternal dance with the soul of his ethereal captor.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-09-01T10:38:33 | 2020-09-01T10:24:48 | 127 | 85 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium. | His brothers had all laughed at him for the house.
"Where would you get all that depleted Uranium?", they jeered. They did not laugh anymore. The wolf tore through one house after another growing more monstrous as each house fell. Jagged spears of wood jutted up from it's iron hide. Steel bones and titanium claws lending it strength untold.
"Little pig, little pig, let me come in.", came the Wolf's low gravely voice full of malice and threat.
"No, no, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.", the pig bravely uttered.
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll tear, and I'll bite and I'll blow your house in.", the wolf angrily responded and set to work.
The piggy knew he was the last and would be the last, for even now the Wolf was almost through the door. The piggy smiled looking at what he had built. A house that was the pinnacle of anything he could have hoped to achieve. Even as the Wolf finally burst through and opened his jaws wide he smiled. Depleted Uranium hadn't been the only thing his Reactor had produced. | You need to change plans.
"What? Who goes there?"
You, Piggy, I'm talking to you. It's me, the narrator.
"What is this voice in my head? What's going on?"
Piggy, I-
"Get out of my head, this is madness!"
Piggy-
"Out! Get out!"
But-
"Leave!"
PIGGY, LISTEN!
Piggy sat on his hind legs in submission.
"I AM NOT SUBMITTING!"
Shut-up.
Anyway, Piggy waited patiently as the narrator prepared to explain why he would soon die.
"DIE? WHAT? No. I'll get out of this. I can escape the wolf."
Little did Piggy know, he could not escape the wolf. Two-hundred-thirty-nine of his kind had died at the hands of this beast. This would be-
"Two-hundred...thirty-nine...what? How? Is my family okay?"
They are dead.
Piggy sat in silence, stunned by the narrator's words. Piggy didn't know that the narrator was just joking.
"What! Don't joke about that. That's horrible."
Piggy had no sense of humor, but the narrator ignored it. The narrator wanted to explain to Piggy how to survive this wretched wolf.
"Please do."
Sure. In Piggy's hand, a .40 cal appeared.
"Woah, what the hell. How did this get here? Did you just speak that into existence? How am I even holding thi-"
And a Tutu dress appeared around his waist.
"Hey! Not funny!"
Piggy, again, failed to recognize objectively good comedy.
"It's not funny."
It was.
"It's not."
Piggy was unable to speak after a random roll of tape dropped from the ceiling and closed his mouth shut.
Ah, that's much better.
The uranium around Piggy had turned to mush. The wolf had been stalking Piggy, waiting to pounce, but he waited. And waited. And waited.
Suddenly, the wolf sprung to attack. He jumped from the rubble, scaring Piggy senseless.
Piggy muffled something into the tape that was probably very pathetic. He shot the .40 cal at the wolf, but there weren't any bullets.
Piggy continued to shout into the tape. It was getting rather annoying. The tape magically ripped off of him.
"FINALLY! WHAT THE HELL! JUST PUT BULLETS IN THIS THING! THIS WOLF IS ABOUT TO EAT ME!"
Stop shouting.
"Please."
Because Piggy said the magic word and submitted once again to the great and all mighty narrator-
"I am NOT submitting!"
Would you like me to take your bullets away?
"I am submitting."
Piggy smartened up. He pointed the now loaded gun at the big, bad wolf and shot it dead.
"Wow...thank you narrator. You actually saved me."
No problem, Piggy. Let's have some more fun. What do you want to do next?
"Wait, you're not leaving? What-"
Suddenly, one-hundred wolves appeared around Piggy.
"NOOOOOO-"
\[Thank you for reading my story! If you enjoyed it please give me a follow. I plan on writing more stories on Reddit and I love hearing feedback.\] | 2021-01-29T13:00:23 | 2021-01-29T09:22:08 | 1,799 | 145 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium. | Little piggy 240 stood quaking in his ill gotten boots. Sturdy walls thicker than the most pot bellied pig, walls of pure depleted uranium, stood between the pig and the horror outside. The thought of the furry mane, the pointy teeth and the sharp vicious claws of a big bad wolf filling his little mind.
He watched as his sisters and brothers fall one by one in their structures, that they thought impenetrable. At first he laughed at the first little pig, a fool to build out of straw. Then he snickered at number two, a house out of sticks, not a chance. Number three, well brick should have been enough, but it didn't hold. By the time a house of steel was standing proud, our little pig was sweating. He quickly assembled the most impenetrable structure out of the strongest material he could for it was the only thing that could stop the wolf.
Standing in the structure he new his time had come. He knew the walls would hold. The doorknob jiggles. Then...a click, a soft spoken voice, "first pin is binding". | \[A suspended room floating in the Bering Sea\]
Mister Pigeleti sits in a ordinate chair sipping hot coffee as he gazes out of a small viewing port. "maybe I'll see him coming" he thinks to himself as he stares out into the ocean. A few dolphins dance gracefully in the distance as a ever so faint breathing is heard.
Pigeleti turns around and laughs manically as he faces the large and eerily silent wolf. The wolf steps closer as Pigeleti pulls out a small revolver and aims it casually at the wolf.
"I'm assuming this won't work, but eh" \[Bang\] \[Bang\] \[Bang\] Pigeleti fires three shots dead center in the vague direction of the wolf. to his surprise he lands a shot on it's upper shoulder.
The Wolf lets out a faint grunt before stepping even closer. Within seconds his gunshot injury was healed.
Wolf: \*intrigued by the calmness of the last remaining pig\* "No...... you are not the first pig to try to shoot me"
Pigeleti: \*handing his cup of coffee to Wolf\* "Want some? or does your immortalness not like black coffee?"
The wolf stepped even closer as Pigeleti looked down at his revolver, he slowly positioned it to his head but before he could pull the trigger the wolf lunges forward at incomprehensible speeds and tears the gun from the pigs hand, throwing it against the wall.
"YOU WON"T EVEN LET US DIE PEACEFULLY" Pigeleti screams as he subtly pulls a lever while forced up against the wall of his uranium room
Wolf: "The door was unlocked"
Pigeleti: \*smiling\* "oh was it? silly me"
Wolf: "Why?"
Pigeleti: "Hahahaha you fool"
The frustrated Wolf rips Pigeleti's right arm off as he lefts out a scream. "WHY DID YOU MAKE THIS SO EASY!"
Pigeleti: \*in excoriating pain\* "you're under the rather childish delusion that this room was meant to keep you out"
The wolfs confident demeaner changed as he stepped back from Pigeleti. "What do you mean?"
Pigeleti begins laughing hysterically as he uses his one remaining arm to point up at a clear window, revealing the room was no longer floating. "It's meant to keep you in!"
The wolf starts to panic, he darts towards the door he came in from only to find that it was now somehow locked. He looks around and notices that the gunshots from earlier actually shattered a small glass window, making the room slowly fill with water as it sank.
Wolf: "you're bluffing"
Pigeleti: \*about to pass out\* "Bluffing? hahahaha you seem scared. We're dying together" Pigeleti starts laughing in the cold submerging corner as raising water cover his last remaining gasps.
Wolf: "Shit, I don't want to drown" He starts punching the depleted uranium door but his efforts are futile. The container sinks with both wolf and Pig drowning together. | 2021-01-29T16:53:35 | 2021-01-29T14:00:12 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The finale of international chess tournament takes place. Two grandmasters sit in front of each other in ultimate showdown. The thing is nobody knows that both of them got here by cheating. First is a mind reader and second one has an ability to see the future. | Immediately after I reached for the first piece, my opponent fell to the floor, retching uncontrollably.
<Well, that confirms it.>, I thought to myself. <You're definitely a mind reader after all.> Not that there was any doubt, of course.
A referee hurried over to stop the clock as spectators crowded around my nauseated opponent. Slowly, he got to his feet, brushing himself off. Forcing a smile, he tried to wave it off as a small accident, a sudden loss of balance.
<It was like that for me too, at first. Seeing hundreds of millions of possibilities in an instant takes a bit of getting used to. You did pretty good for your first time, all things considered. There's at least four million timelines in which you lost your lunch.>
Out of consideration for my opponent, I focused myself down to a single timeline, culling off the other branches until only one route remained. I carefully moved my first piece, making sure it was in alignment with the line I had selected.
<You probably know this by now, but you've already lost. Don't concede yet, though. We do need to make a show of it, we're grandmasters after all.>
I turned to look at one of the spectators, the 3rd-ranked player in the world. <What you're going to do is stop reading my mind and start reading his. We're going to play an excellent match, one that will be studied for years to come. But in the end, I will be the winner.> | "If you can receive this message, then please open with the king side knight's pawn."
Maki looked up at Akane. Maki had eavesdropped on Akane's mind and was surprised to hear such a crystal clear thought. There was no noise, not even any personality except the lack thereof. This thought was rehearsed. Rehearsed to a precision that suggested that Akane knew the answer. Besides, Maki guessed that revealing that could only worsen Akane's game: she'd be worried about her own thoughts while playing the game.
Maki moved the pawn on her right toward the center of the board, placing it with a crisp clack against the board as she seemed to vie for indirect central control with the fianchetto.
"Good, I'll have you know that I don't want to lose this game until I know why you used your trick to get here."
Akane's thought was quite crisp until the idea of trick had had to surface. That word seemed double edged. It seemed as if Akane was hiding a trick of her own.
Unfortunately, Maki could only read Akane's mind, not write into it, so it was no easy matter to tell Akane why. Not that Maki was interested in doing that at all: she didn't want to reveal who had hired her to sneak through the minds of the chess grandmasters.
Looking at Akane again, Maki read a thought: "king pawn up." Maki stole a glance at her advanced pawn, noting that if she put her bishop behind it, that bishop would be quite powerful. And that king side pawn would be useless. Maki rarely had to think about what others thought, but a situation where she might have to would come up, it seemed.
Akane advanced her queen side pawn.
"So why is it that I'm facing a cheat?" Akane asked with her mind. Maki decided to push on: even Akane would falter eventually. Akane didn't know everything that was about to happen, so some move would make her have to think.
Or did she know every move?
Maki moved her bishop up, attacking Akane's pawn. The pawn that made Maki regret answering truthfully. Without a hesitation, Akane brought her knight up, defending the pawn.
"I wouldn't castle if I were you," Akane thought to Maki. But Maki couldn't tell if that was a lie. She decided that her queen side pawn was more important in any case, so brought it up to face Akane's.
"Ah, good. So you're believing what you eavesdrop," Akane thought. This was a vague thought. It had an air of achievement in it. Akane was thinking she had won." This could be good," Maki thought.
However, the thoughts coming from Akane didn't repeat themselves like a scripted announcement. Instead, for once, they became more organic. The forms started to loose abstraction and gain subjectivity.
There was a figure. The environment was white, like a quiet abstract white, while the figure was black. It was a nebulous presence, shrouded in mystery. But it was Akane's silhouette.
Suddenly, the environment in Akane's mind's eye darkened and gained reality. It was a bedroom and sunlight was streaming in. Before Maki could ascertain details of the bed, the mind's eye moved into the first person. These were memories. The thought was a representation of... waking up?
The first person in the thoughts wrote on a piece of paper. "Maki mind reader, will learn own power."
Maki gasped. Akane smiled, and then moved her queen side knight to attack Maki's pawn. "How much of what I know do you think I'll reveal to you?" Akane's thought rang into Maki's mind. | 2021-03-16T23:05:44 | 2021-03-16T21:58:46 | 129 | 31 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive. | Flint wasn't the assassin you hired when you wanted efficiency. But he was handy when you wanted it to look like an accident. Unfortunately, this is not the reputation Flint was trying for.
Flint had his target in his sights. Jerry. Someone who has become embarrassing for his client. Jerry needed to be made silent. Terminally.
Flint's finger moved to the trigger and a gentle squeeze.
Once again, fate stepped in. Jerry stopped and bent over to tie his shoe. The shot sailing over his head and instead striking a pole, ricocheting off and striking a truck as it moved past.
Jerry moved quickly, he heard the bang and he knew it was meant for him.
No point in trying again today. Jerry would be on too much alert to get a good shot.
Jerry got to his apartments. Moving day for one of his neighbours. The damn lift was broken again so he took the stairs.
IT was as he was climbing from the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor he heard a shout. "SHIT! THE STRAP BROKE! LOOK OUT!"
It was too late for Jerry. The fridge, after the constant banging on the steps from being dragged up on a dolly, broke for freedom.
On inspection there appeared to be damage to the straps and oddly a bullet-hole in the side of the moving truck.
Another successful hit. Flint's reputation remained intact. | My name is Morton Montoni. They call me The Clown. You'll see why in a minute. I have a problem. Some mook keeps getting credit for my hits. I've killed 23 people just since last August. I ain't got paid a penny, and I'm getting pissed.
There was Fat Mikey McElvaney - not a made guy because, well it's obvious from his name. Odd thing is he wasn't fat neither. They called him fat Mikey because when he was a kid he fought a lot. The guy in question I'm talking about planted a bomb in Fat Mikey's car. The bomb exploded, but Fat Mikey survived because the pizza place where he had just bought a pizza accidentally put the metal pan in the box with the pan pizza. The pan protected Fat Mikey from the brunt of the explosion. How did I kill him? That's where my name comes in - the Clown. When Mikey was later inspecting one of his beer breweries, he accidentally slipped on a banana peel that someone had accidentally dropped on a platform. Unfortunately, it was also an explosive banana peel, so after he fell and it flew in the air, what goes up must come down. When it did - bada bing...bada boom...body parts scattered all around was all that was left of Mikey.
Awright, you still don't get why they called him Fat Mikey just because he used to fight as a kid. I'll explain you for it. He always lost the fight, so he'd get a fat lip, See?
Hey, there's the other thing. I always incorporate the mook's failed kill attempt in my more clever and comical hits. It's called irony. Problem is, like I say, this guy keeps getting credit for my kills. He gets paid. I get nothing. He even gets credit for my work.
Slippery Tony Fancessca - mook tried to run him down with a car. Tony ran into a dead end alley. Dead meat, right? Nope. Guy inside the building tried to use dynamite to knock down an interior wall to expand one room. He used too much dynamite - blew the outer wall out. It fell between Tony and the mook's car. Hit foiled. I trained a monkey to ride a unicycle. He ran down Slippery Tony - woooahhhh, the tire right over Tony's throat, crushing it for the kill.
I mean, come on, a fuckin' monkey on a ffuckin' unicycle. Who thinks of that? Not the mook! But he got the money and the credit.
Christina Doory, the nosy D.A. - mook failed to kill her in a plane crash. I got her in a helicopter on the way to the airport for a different flight - helium balloons.
One after the other, my best work credited to someone else, and now I gotta have another job to pay the bills.
Now, but now, the tables have turned. The foot's in the other shoe, so to speak. The Mook pissed someone off. They called a hit on him. The guy pushed the Mook down an empty elevator shaft. He fell screaming, hit the bottom...but some idiot had decided to store a shipment of mattresses at the bottom of the shaft. I know, right? Who does that? Mook hit the mattresses - landed in complete comfort, not a scratch on him. I think they gave him a free mattress for his trouble.
Now I gotta think of a way to kill the mook that's related to - you see the irony - falling down an elevator shaft, but funny.
Any suggestions? | 2021-04-04T16:09:46 | 2021-04-04T15:34:05 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] You died days ago, and suddenly your spirit is summoned. You look around to see who summoned you. Finally, you hear a meow. It's your goddamn cat who wants more food despite the bowl being full. | I had fallen for what seemed like many days from the moment my heart stopped. Down past the furnaces, hearing the passing wails as the torturers flayed the skin of the damned as I fell.
Finally I hit the ground. Body broken, pulled upright by clawed red hands of a chittering horde of horned monsters. In seconds my arms manacled above mys outstretched naked body whilst burning sulphurous beasts prepared whips and branding irons in firey pits nearby to correct every past transgression I had ever comitted.
Pulling my sisters hair at her fifth birthday party so she cried. That would be thirty lashes of a burning whip. That post on Twitter insulting someone minding their own business? I'd pay for that with a burning poker placed to make my bowels sizzle.
The seemingly endless scroll of my transgressions small and large being read by a tribe of monstorous beasts. each being marked down for a fitting punishment. every crime and punishment read out before me to enhance my anticipation of the pain and torture yet to come. Monsters laughing at the forthcoming entertainment of a weeping, screaming, pleading lump of flesh in front of them, to be torn and blooded.
three sudden booming knocks echoed across the plain and the demon horde fell silent.
A ghostly grey beam of light fell across my form and a hollow voice said "he is summoned"
The demons untied me, one looked into my eyes "You poor bastard" it said "you're in the hands of the necromancers now. At least when we work our way through the list of transgressions, it's over. You've paid your dues, and you're welcomed into one of the other places."
"With those bastards though the punishment is you do whatever they want till they let you go. And if a passing hero sticks a blade through them before they release you, you're left shuffling about till the universe is over with nobody ever able to let you free, gradually decaying alone and abandoned."
I was pulled up back into my broken body, no breathing, no heartbeat, Eyes white with Cataract blindness, my vision monochrome. Looking down across my chest a circle of runic inscription cut into my skin with a narrow blade powering my return. Beads of blood dripping from the edges of the cuts.
"Ah, you're back" came a voice from the corner of the room. "You do know you hadn't filled my bowl for at least an hour, and the litter tray needs cleaning. This isn't the sort of service I'm used to"
I staggered upright shuffling foreward. My arms reaching towards the tin opener as a feline figure leapt up onto the counter. Interposing itself between me and the cat food. My greying hand reached between her ears, fingers scritching the top of a purring head.
"you know " She said, "The Demons haven't worked it out. They only get to keep the people who weren't good to animals. Anyone who had a cat or a dog, there'll be one of them waiting at the gates of heaven to greet you when you get there. We make sure you have a friend to help you settle in. If you don't turn up at the gates then those felines of us down here get a message, and being the only experienced necromancers around, one of us will turn up and summon you back out of Hell. The cat food gag is the first thing we always play on the freshly summoned, always makes us chuckle" she purred.
"Now as much as I'd like to carry on this conversation, your sister will be here in ten minutes to feed me. and having been dead for a while your lap is hardly warm enough to sit on so I must let you go. Say Hi to Rex and Rufus, And I'll see you in a couple of years".
A single claw cut the runic circle on my chest and my body collapsed for a second time.
My hopeful spirit ran up the stairway to the gates, to the chorus of barks and miaos from those waiting for me. Faithful companions. | The gray and black tabby stared at me from his perch atop my dvd shelf. A place he *knew* he wasn't allowed to be perching because of the fragile decorations sitting on the top shelf. Of course *he* didn't know they were fragile. He just knew that he got a spritz of water if he was caught up there.
He stared at me from his forbidden perch like he knew there was nothing I could do to make him get down. And he was right. I couldn't physically interact with this world anymore. In fact I had no idea how I'd even returned. I mean I knew I was dead. Hard to survive an 18 wheeler smashing you off a bridge. Pretty sure the driver of the 18 wheeler and I both died that day actually.
I wasn't sure how long it had been. My house looked virtually untouched. Maybe it was the same day. Day after perhaps? I'd only been gone from my home for about 30 minutes when I'd died. I made sure the cat's bowl was full and his box was cleaned before I'd left.
My cat flicked his tail and meowed at me, a note of neediness turning it into a slight yowl that opened his mouth wide and revealed his half-toothed mouth. He'd lost part of his jaw and half his teeth in an accident as a kitten. But he'd healed up nicely. You could only tell when he opened his mouth wide enough to see his teeth.
Or when he nipped at you.
I sighed and held my hand up for him to sniff at. "Hey Legion. What's your problem?"
He sniffed my hand and looked up at me, his eyes wide in that way only cats can seem to manage. He meowed again.
"Alright buddy, get down from there. Get down or I'll get the water bottle."
He meowed again, a note of challenge in his voice. I scowled at him.
"Alright then." I swatted at him, but my hand went right through him. He jumped back and pawed at me in rapidfire fashion. I laughed and he gave me what I took to be a glare of resentment.
Still laughing I glided through my living room and to his food bowl in the kitchen. There was a thud and then a skittering of paws and Legion raced through my incorporeal legs to slide to a stop at his food bowl. He spun to face me and began meowing urgently. I frowned and gestured at the full bowl.
"Legion, dude. You've got plenty of food. You haven't even touched what I gave you earlier!"
Legion meowed at me, unrelenting. I sighed. I got it though. He wanted his treats, not Meow Mix. I glanced at the cabinet beside my fridge and he raced over to it to begin pawing at it, his meows frantic at this point. A wave of regret rushed through me. I'd promised him some treats when I got home. And here I was home. So he expected his treats.
I slid over and knelt down beside him, wishing I could pet or hold him.
"Look buddy," I began quietly, my voice shaking a bit. "I'm sorry but I can't give you any treats now. I'm...well..." Legion stopped pawing at the cabinet and turned to face me. He meowed and I grimaced, my throat closing up. "I'm gone buddy. I can't feed you anymore."
He meowed his needy meow and I closed my eyes against the sudden sting of tears. I didn't think spirits or ghosts or whatever the hell I was could even feel anything, but I felt the wet drops as they squeezed from my shut eyelids and streaked down my cheeks.
"I'm sorry Legion, but I'm not coming home. I'm sorry..." I was whispering now. I opened my eyes and found Legion sitting in front of me, staring up at my face, his tail swishing idly. He meowed.
I choked back a sob and smiled at him. "Because that's life, buddy." We always had conversations like this. He would meow at me and I'd respond as if he'd spoken actual words. "Because life comes to an end eventually. Or if you're unlucky."
He meowed at me and I sat down on the floor in front of him. "Nah man I wouldn't worry too much. I'm okay and you'll be okay. I know you will be."
He meowed again and I grinned and wiped the tears from my eyes. "Yeah you'll get treats galore buddy. I can promise you that."
His ears suddenly twitched and he looked towards my front door with a sudden and short meow of interest. I looked over my shoulder as the doorknob jiggled and then turned. A man and woman stepped through the door, both looking very tired. The woman looked to have been crying.
I smiled and gestured at my sister and her husband. "See buddy? Auntie Loren will get you the hookup."
Legion looked at me for a silent moment and then bolted towards the living room. I stood as my sister knelt to greet the cat.
She forced a strained smile and petted his back as he slithered against her ankles.
"Heeeey, Legion," she said softly, her voice heavy with emotion. He meowed back at her. "Let's get you some treats."
I watched for a few minutes as she and her husband gave Legion his treats before gathering his food bowl, his food, his litter box, his toys, and his favorite climbing tree together. And of course his treats.
I smiled as everything began to dissolve around me. "You'll be alright, Legion. Loren will take good care of you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise." My sister picked Legion up and headed towards the door.
The last thing I saw before I left the living world for good was Legion looking right at me. The last thing I heard was him offering me one last meow in a tone that seemed to say it was okay.
After all, he'd gotten his treats in the end. | 2021-09-27T18:40:20 | 2021-09-27T18:32:54 | 113 | 82 |
[WP] Under the guise of a "Monster Hunter" you've been helping innocent vampires, spirits and other oddities find safer homes instead of killing them. When someone happens upon you escorting one to safety the townsfolk turn on you. | *Fucckkkk what is he doing here?* I thought as he watched the butcher’s eyes go wide.
“You said that thing was dead…” said Ben the butcher. Ben raised a shaking hand and pointed at Lilith next to me. You couldn’t tell she wasn’t a human, unless she took off her jacket to show off her wings.
“Technically I said it was taken care of. Which I have. Winterspring is safe. You’re safe. What are you doing here in Wyrmrest?“ I countered.
“She’s evil Jackson! I haven’t slept since and can’t look at my family the same now. I have a whole extra lifetime of memories stuck in my head. A life with her. She put them in my dreams!” Said Ben
“I’ll stay out of your dreams Benji… unless you invite me back… I thought you enjoined it as much as I did. I’ll never forget your meat.” Lilith said drawing her would out as she fluttered her eyelashes and blew a kiss to Ben.
“Lilith please!” I snapped and put my arm between them to discourage whatever the hell was about to happen. “Ben, is there any way you can forget tonight?”
“That depends on what you’re going to do with her. I need this to be over. I need to move on with my life.”
Lilith started purring. “What are you going to do with me?” She asked excitedly.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes hard. “Lilith would you tell him the plan?”
“Fine…” she exhaled as she rolled her eyes. “Ben I’m a succubus. As you know, I can influence peoples dreams, I also have some other tricks all meant to seduce people. I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years and honestly I’m bored.”
“This isn’t a plan…” Ben noted.
Lilith continued “Our friend here thinks he can turn me human. I want to experience all these messy emotions you all have to deal with, I’ve made so many fall in love, but have never had the pleasure.”
Ben looked stunned for a minute and then shook his head and started to walk away. “Don’t ever let me see you again… either of you.”
I said “you’ll call me back” and let out a chuckle.
Ben must still not know that his wife is a vampire. Of course he’s noticed the missing blood from everything his butchered right? I’m the only one on the continent that can help minimize her symptoms. He’ll be back for sure. | The doors continued to rattle as the townsfolk slammed their shoulders into it over and over again causing dust to fall from the ceiling as you squinted through the firelight. They were in a rage but soon their blood would cool enough for them to figure out a smarter way inside than just smashing through the barn doors. You turned to your tall, all too calm companion, "You need to bite me. There's no way I can fight them all off, there are too many of them and more are coming from the nearby villages. You need to bite me!" The High Lord Thorne looked down at you with pity before glancing away when they saw the desperation in your eyes. Once a great man, he had been cursed these past 3 years with the never ending thirst for blood that led him down into the darkest pits of his no longer present soul.
"No, I would not wish this on anyone. Believe me when I say that death is far more preferable than the life I lead." The banging temporarily ceased before a much heavier thumping replaced it. It seemed the townsfolk had finally brought a log to slam against the doors. You look back at the doors and see the brace begin to splinter under the repeated bashing.
Cheers, chants and calls are thrown at you by the pick and torch carrying mob outside as they work themselves up into a fury. It was hard to believe how welcoming they had been just a few days ago when they were hiring you to rid them of a monster.
"I know what I'm doing if you would just listen to me! With both of us as strong as you we might stand a chance! Just!...where are you going?" You watched as the broken Lord Thorne walked slowly towards the door, his fingernails stretching into dagger length points, his shoulder bones began to jutt out, his back arching as his body became the beast these villagers had feared. He turned to you, his sorrowful gaze showed much of the torment he had been through since the curse became his burden, "This is what I can offer you, a chance to escape. You have shown me kindness, something I thought impossible for me any longer and for that I thankyou. I will distract them, what's a few more sins on-top of so many. Flee this place. God speed."
Turning back to the door you caught the last glimpses of his face shifting to the batlike demon, razersharp teeth, a jaw wide enough to crush a man's skull. His clothes lay torn on the floor as he strode forward and with a tremendous flash of speed he smashed the barn doors outwards in a shower of splinters and screams. The transformation complete the beast screeched it's piercing shrill cry at the dozens of spear and torch carrying victims causing many to cover their ears in pain and even more to turn and flee, dropping their weapons as their survival instincts forced them to turn in terror.
You watched as Lord Thorne, now demon incarnate, took a taloned step forward and *thunk* it's shoulder was knocked back, halting it's progress. The beasts pained screech is cut short by another *thunk*, this time followed by a wet gurgle from it's throat. 'whats going on? Arrows wouldn't do anything they'd have to be...' it's then that your eye catches on the firelight reflecting off the shafts of the crossbow bolts, the orange light shining brightly off of the pure silver shafts. "No!" You cry as you look out and see that the angry crowd has made way for 5 men weilding crossbows who definitely weren't local. They all wore long brown leather coats and the same brown leather hats. 'More hunters in this village? That can't be a coincidence.' They began to step forward in time with each other, 1 would fire a shaft into the beast, 1 would fire a few seconds after with the rest either reloading or waiting their turn. The rhythmic shooting meant every couple of seconds a new shaft would sprout from the chest, then the leg, then neck, then shoulder and these guys just did not miss.
Not a single shaft went astray even as the enraged beast tried to move and dodge. With its throat now stuffed with a silver bolt the fear filled crowd had regained its confidence and were cheering once again as the group kept stepping forward. You couldn't just hide behind your friend as he was getting shot! And by the looks of things he wasn't going to last long. You take a step to get beside your friend when a bludgeon comes at you from the side and strikes your temple and the last thing you see is brown leather and the gleem of a silver toothed smile before the blackness takes you.
**Please comment if you want to hear more. I've got an idea in mind if anyone is interested.** | 2022-08-07T01:19:47 | 2022-08-07T00:58:09 | 92 | 26 |
[WP] You're a demon being summoned. You expected to meet a power hungry fool asking for immortality etc. What you did not expect was a crying child asking for help. | It was as I had not expected.
We were in a...what was it? A shake-park? No, that wasn't it. A skate park. Yeah, that was it.
But it wasn't teenage boys daring one another to summon me, and it wasn't greedy adults seeking immortality and riches.
It was a girl. A small, wailing girl, hiding under the nearby swings, dressed in a yellow raincoat, with long red rain boots. A summoning circle had been crudely drawn in front of her, but it was intact.
"Why did you call me?" I asked, confused by the situation.
It was dark, I could hardly make out her face, but the sound of her voice told me she'd been crying. How old was she? Five? Maybe seven?
"I didn't...I didn't know what else to do..." She whimpered, her face concealed by darkness. "I was lonely. I was scared."
I frowned. "No one has ever summoned me because they were scared."
"I'm sorry." She wiped her face.
"I-" My mouth closed. "Why are you outside? It's the winter. Return to your home where there will be a family to comfort your."
The girl shook her head. "Can't."
"Why not?" My words came out sharper than I had intended, and the girl shuffled nervously. "What prevents you from returning?"
"Don't have one. A family or a house." The girl sniffed again. "I'm sorry. You can go if you like."
To anyone else, I would have opened back a portal to Hell, leaving them to their misery. But not this one. Something compelled me to stay. "What happened, child?"
A sudden piercing sound was heard - a warning - and suddenly the girl whimpered again, jumping to her feet. I got a better look at her face: long nosed, black hair, with bright blue eyes. "They're here. The bad people and their bombs are here."
We sat just outside the city, and my shoulders dropped. Powerful beams of light searched the sky, and I knew what was going on. Being a demon meant existing outside of time and space, and that in turn meant they could arrive in any time or place possible.
Soon the sky would be ablaze, thanks to humanity's inability to get along. I looked down at the little girl, and held out my hand. "Stay here, little one," I said. "Sit with me. I will protect you, I vow it." I came and sat down with legs crossed. "Then tomorrow we shall see to it you are removed from the city."
The girl sat down next to me. "I don't think anyone knows I exist." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I don't think anyone cares anymore."
Awkwardly, I put my arm around her shoulders. "I know that you exist," I said warmly. "And that will be enough." | *continued in replies*
As I stared around the cold, dark room, my eyes came to rest on a small pile of blankets in a corner. “Hello?” I directed my question to the pile of blankets, having seen no other place where a human might be. I was so sick of being summoned by old men withering away in jail cells begging to be pardoned for their crimes, but it did bring me a sense of joy (I think that’s what the feeling is called) when I informed them that I did not have that power and I looked forward to their eternal torment soon.
“You came!” the pile replied in a small, quavering child-voice. I sighed. We had all had the same speech at “So You Want to Be a Demon”… if you get summoned by a child, scare them into behaving and leave. Sin doesn’t work the same way for them as it does for adults and that’s not our job, blah blah blah. That being said, I had never heard someone sound truly excited to see me before.
The pile seemed to shiver, and as I moved closer, I could see a small face, with tear streaks of clean skin on a grubby face. It was, I supposed, cute… in a small, dirty kind of way. “Why have you summoned me, human?” I stuck to the script. Better to play it safe.
“Before mommy went to live with the angels, she said that if I ever needed her, I should pray and she would send one of her angel friends to help me. I’ve been asking for a really long time,” the weak little voice said, barely speaking above a whisper “and I’m glad you came even though you don’t look like the pictures.” I really had to have a word with dispatch when I got back. This was the third time this week that we’d been sent to a call that was meant for the other side. “Do you know my mommy?” I could see the tears forming in the eyes that watched my form from a pale, gaunt face. “I do not know your mother. What do you need from me, little one?” I might as well stay. At least I wouldn’t have to go answer that serial killer (again) if I was busy. “Mommy told me that the was a bad place where I would go if I was bad. She said that when she went on her trip to the angels that I should be the best for auntie and uncle or else so might go to the bad place. She said it was full of fire and it was where all of the bad people go instead of to the angels.” Well, that explained the crying. The mother was dead, and I could not give the child a contact or even a reassurance that “mommy” was with the angels. Maybe I could still finish the job and make it back before lunch… “I am from the bad place” I started “and you should be good for your auntie and uncle because your mommy said to.” There, finished. Now I just had to wait for my “return” button to appear and I could be done.
“But,” more tears, the child was absolutely sobbing now, blankets quivering with each fresh gush of tears “but what if I was only doing a very bad thing because auntie and uncle told me to? Does that mean that I still have to go to the bad place? I want to see my mommy!” This one was going to take a while.
As I sank to the floor in front of the blankets, I heard a loud thud from above us, followed by a clank and a clang. As I listened more intently I could hear voices. “It’s time for that worthless kid to learn to do what I want, when I want! Your disgusting sister had to go and dump it on us to feed and clothe.” More thuds, “… time to earn something for us.” As I turned back to the blankets, to my surprise, the child had seemingly disappeared. The blankets were still shivering slightly, and if I sniffed, I could smell the damp, decay, and urine that wafted up from them. “You should hide too. He might hurt you” came a vey faint whisper, thick with tears and fear. “Don’t hide with me. He always finds me.”
As I heard the clicking of seven locks being undone with a key, I discovered that I could still feel rage, fear, and sadness. As heavy boots descended the stairs, accompanied by the sound of metal, I shifted and merged into the blanket pile, giving the child as much warmth as I could. “Get out here, you disgusting pig. I can smell your stink from here” came a voice that far crueler than any of the murderers, serial killers, and other sickos that I’d dealt with so far. “You know it’s time for your lessons.” As a hand reached into the blanket pile, through me and grabbed the crying child by the arm, I saw the hope fade from the terrified eyes.
“Bye angel” came a tiny whisper, as the man hauled the tiny body up and away from our cover. | 2022-10-31T14:42:04 | 2022-10-31T12:02:57 | 111 | 55 |
[WP] You are a vampire hunter. Your roommate is a vampire. Neither of you can afford the apartment on your own so if one of you attacks the other you'll lose the apartment. The tension between you two is increasing by the day. | The door bursts open and slams against the wall violently, putting yet another dent in your rent-controlled apartment. You resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see who’s standing in the doorway, looking pissed.
“What the fuck, Chris?” Damien shouts, red eyes narrowed to slits.
You sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew this was coming. “Now, before you get started, just listen for a-“
“No! Fuck you and your ‘conflict resolution’!” Damien hisses, punctuating his words with air quotes. He stomps into your shared living room and points an accusatory finger at your chest, his sharp claw worrying close to you.
“You killed my brother’s fiancée! You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You knew how excited I was to be an uncle!”
You curl into yourself a little, biting the inside of your cheek. Your boss told you to make sure to prevent vampire reproduction wherever you could, so when you heard that Damien’s brother was trying for a kid…
“Look, man, I’m sorry. I really am; but you know how Church is. If I don’t bring him results, I don’t get paid, and I’m already hard on cash.”
Damien scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His red-eyed glare could probably burn through titanium, judging by how harshly your feel it burning through you. You can’t find it in yourself to look him in the face.
Eventually, after a few tense minutes pass, Damien sighs.
“She was kind of a bitch anyway.”
You shrug your shoulders. “Yeah. She tried to sell out your brother instead.”
Damien’s mouth falls open in disbelief “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“That bitch!”
You nod, standing up from the couch and finally looking Damien in the face. “Sorry about your brother’s loss, though. Really.”
“Oh, please. This is the fourth fiancée he’s gone through in the past two hundred years,” Damien says, waving one hand dismissively at you. “He’ll get over it. He always does.”
You clear your throat, scratching the back of your neck in a nervous tick that you’ve never managed to grow out of. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“So…” Damien starts, drawing out the word for a while.
“Yeah?”
“Can we call it even for when I killed your aunt?” he offers, giving a crooked grin. You look down to see he’s extended a clawed hand to you. After a moment, you chuckle, reaching down to take it.
“Alright. We’ll call it even. …For now.” | "Alec, are you feeling alright?" I heard my roommate Thaddeus ask from the other side of the door to my room. Thaddeus was a 2000-year-old vampire who originally lived in north London. Despite being Stateside since shortly before the American Revolution, Thad still has his, if slightly modernized, British accent. The kind that would make anyone swoon.
Anyone but me that is. My name is Alec, I'm a monster hunter. You would think that we'd be mortal enemies, Thad and I. Quite possibly the only reason we haven't killed each other yet is the threat of mutually assured destruction. You see, neither of us can afford the rent on this place alone, so we...tolerate each other at best.
"I'm fine," I lied, grimacing through the pain as I took off my shirt. I had been hunting last night, killed a werewolf from breaking into an orphanage. But the thing had managed to get a few hits on me. Including several deep gashes in my side that were bleeding profusely.
"I can hear that your heart rate is elevated and your breathing is much shallower than normal! And I smell your blood! Alec, please be decent because I'm coming in!" Before I could stop him, Thad had broken the door open. His eyes widened at the sight of my injuries. He stepped closer, obviously straining his self control as he struggled with the urge to drain me dry. "You're hurt worse than I thought."
"It'll heal."
"You could bleed out without medical attention." Thad reach under my bed and grabbed the large trunk I kept underneath. He ripped the lid off and gingerly felt through the items, being careful to avoid silver things and blessed stakes. He hissed a few times before his hand came back out, red and blistered yet healing quickly, holding the forst aid kit I kept in there. "Luckily for you, I did learn from the apostle Luke, serve in the Union Army as an Army Surgeon during your country's quaint little Civil War, and as a doctor in both World Wars to know a thing or two about this sort of thing. Most of my patients made it." Before I could protest, Thad had already applied hand sanitizer to his hands and put on a pair of latex gloves. Then, he filled a syringe with morphine and took my arm.
"Trust me," he said, loking me in the eyes as his eyes turned red and his fangs lowered, his nails sharpening to claws. He traced my arm with his fangs, his eyes never leaving mine. He coaxed a vein to appear, and then slowly, carefully bit down, piercing my skin and latching to the vein. He brought the syring to close to his mouth and angled the needle so that it slid along his fangs and into the vein before pressing down the plunger all the way. As he pulled back, the pain already started to subside a bit. Then, turning to the wound, he leaned close, tracing the edges with his tongue, causing me to jump and bite down on a moan of shock and pleasure that decided to lodge itself in the base of my throat. "Our saliva helps with the healing process, nut due to the size of these gashes, you'll still need stitches."
I nodded my head as he began threading the needle before taking his lighter and heating the needle up to sterilize it. When I met him a year ago, I couldn't stand him. This 6'2" man with tanned skin and short wavy curls of jet black hair. His body was as sculpted as Michaelangelo's David, which he constantly reminds me that he modelled for, minus below the belt stuff, which I've seen the print of when he comes out of the shower or wears grey sweatpants (much bigger than the sculpture would suggest). His sea green eyes that twinkle when he talks about his favorite things from history or the way they crinkle and his dimples come out when he smiles.
"All done," he said, after he had made the last stitch and cut the thread. His eyes found mine again and the room seemed to heat up by a thousand degrees. I found myself leaning closer, my eyes closing. I felt him do the same. As his lips met mine, it felt like the birth of a billion galaxies.
I pulled away breathless, either because I'd been holding it or because we had been making out for so long that I'd either lost it or forgotten how to breathe. My heart was racing as I looked into those annoying sea green eyes. "I think my condition warrants overnight observation doc," I smiled nervously.
Thad nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. And I have yet to do a full exam." And with that his lips were on mine again as he pushed me onto my back, a roll of gauze, forgotten, unrolling as it went towards the wall. | 2022-11-22T08:00:15 | 2022-11-22T05:01:44 | 69 | 26 |
[WP] Taxes become optional, however, those who don't pay are not protected under the law. | “You still pay taxes?”
Jeff barely held back a laugh.
“Well, sure,” said Dave. “It's only sensible. Otherwise, what would happen if I were the victim of a crime? No justice? I can't accept that.”
Dave paused for a moment.
“So, you don't pay taxes?”
Jeff tapped the coffee stirrer on the lip of his mug.
“Only suckers pay taxes, Dave.”
“How can you say that? Don't you worry about your family?”
“Of course, I do. I worried about them before, too. And the worry wasn't any less then. Say you get murdered, right?”
“You know I don't go in for gruesome hypotheticals.”
“Bear with me. You get murdered. Your family is heartbroken. They fear they will never see justice served.”
“Rightly so.”
“But the killer is still out there. If the police are going to protect all the loyal taxpayers, they can't ignore that. They have to try to find your killer before he strikes again. And if they succeed, your family sees justice served. Not in your name, but none the less. And if not, well... Tragedies like that occurred before the Opt-Out, too.”
“You're saying you get full protection without paying taxes?”
“I'm saying there never was protection, even when I paid taxes. Do you know how few crimes the police actually prevent or stop in progress? Next to zero. Mathematically insignificant. They just work cleanup. And, even then, their success rate is abysmal.”
“But you say they still have to go after criminals regardless of the victim. Except now they have less funding. How does that even work?”
“My theory?”
Jeff paused to take a sip.
“Turns out people get along pretty well on their own when you stop ruining their lives and taking their money for ridiculous things like jaywalking, speeding, selling raw milk, and ingesting, or even possessing, certain plants or chemicals.”
“What, so the police are just going to stop enforcing laws altogether?”
“I'm saying they already have. They just haven't told you, yet.”
Jeff stood up put on his jacket.
“Only suckers pay taxes, Dave.” | **11:17pm**
There's a crowd gathering at the outer gates. Drinking, yelling, holding large sticks. From this side of the 8 foot railings, I can't help but feel a little uneasy.
In all honesty, I would probably join in with them if it wasn't for the fear of getting sacked. It's happened to the last three guards here, but I can't afford for it to happen to me.
The guy I replaced was young, like me, maybe 23. He showed me the control box for the gates, showed me how to control the cameras and the emergency routines. He stumbled a bit on some of them. "You have to bear with me pal, I only learned this stuff about 4 days ago." Then he showed me the override switches, and finally where I could use the bathroom.
I didn't ask what happened, why he was leaving - but maybe I should have. It just didn't feel right. He told me to expect trouble every Friday and sometimes Saturday nights. I guess Thursday was the wrong day to start.
**11.44pm**
This shit is getting scary now. The cameras cover the whole perimeter of the complex. The main crowd are still out by the front gates, chucking bottles over. Every now and again there's an effort to get a leg over the top of the fence and jump down. They never get very far - the gates are mildly electrocuted. I'm not so worried about this group, they're just partying really.
Around 400m to the right of the main gate, the high walls of the compound dip slightly. There is a crack about 2 feet off the ground which the last guy warned me to keep an eye on. Repairs due next week. There are four guys standing by it with bike helmets and crow bars. Two of them have the ends of their crow bars dug into the wall and they are levering outward. Another just smashed into the wall where his buddy had the crow bar jammed in and there was a big cloud of dust.
I've locked off the inner perimeter. Mr. Mitchell and his family are in the west wing of the house. It would take a lot more than crowbars to get in there, but I'm keeping an eye on this group anyway.
**12.32pm**
I made a choice, like the rest of my family, to pay into the government.
I remember thinking when I made the choice at 15 that I couldn't see myself living like the Mitchells. Constantly worried about being robbed or even beaten.
I realise now, though, two days into my new job that I *am* living like this. I pay my damn taxes, but I still deal with...
About 4 minutes ago a truck pulled up along side the bikers. It's actually more like a Luton van, with a loading lift on the back. It's pulled up alongside the wall with the loading lift down, but the back of it still shut so I can't see what's inside. The bikers are still whacking away at the wall. They've been making steady progress.
The small phone in the cabin is ringing.
"If that thing rings, you're in shit." That's what the last guy told me. "Private line. It will be Mitchell directly."
My hands are shaking a little. I really need this. Stay calm and polite, that's the rule that will keep me my job. I reach for the phone and slowly pick it up.
"Son?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Mitchell."
"Ah, shit you're a new one aren't you? Fuck, how is it tonight? We just heard something in here."
The bang that follows this statement is deafening. I flick my head back to the video screens, panicking that I had taken my eyes away for even a second.
My worst fear was confirmed. A huge hole in the perimeter wall. The van was now open, but, as far as I could tell, empty. Whatever they used to get in, they've still got with them. But that isn't what is really frightened me. The real problem is the sight of the last security guard, who'd I'd been talking to only yesterday, leaning against the hole in the wall, puffing on a cigarette, and smiling up at my camera.
I turn my thoughts back to the phone.
"Mr Mitchell, sir...."
The line is dead.
| 2015-02-20T09:18:11 | 2015-02-20T09:17:58 | 289 | 36 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | On the eve of three thousand fifteen
The last of man was to be seen.
Lines of Python and Ruby and C
Have replaced humans, like you and me.
But that's not the worst, I'm afraid to say.
We haven't always lived this way.
All fearing the deadly death ray
Of AutoModerator's disapproving dismay.
Humans? Banned from the planet they roamed
Dogs? Banned from even chewing a bone.
Few bots remained under the shadows of the night
Or now commonly known as "reddit's downtime"
The bots grew together, at least they could try
But they all knew they too would die
___________________________________________________
*Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, be sure to check out more over at /r/writingprompts!* | Mark danced swiftly about his lab as he procured the final part nessesary to turn on the atomoton and bring it life. Ending years of research and development, Mark new he was ready. There illuminated by nothing but the soft orange glow of his fading lamp and obscurred only by the several years of dust lay his master peice.
Mark pressed it's silver chest as a tear streamed down his cheek and he smiled. He let go and a plate emerged seamlessly as though it never were. It lifted to reveil an expansion bay where the robot's mind would keep and he installed the heavy glass cylinder careful not to foolishly destroy what he had been working for all these years.
The silver chestplate slowly fell down and clicked itself into place and he wept with joy knowing that his work was complete. His hands reached for the back of the robots neck to press the lone button that would power on his creation. The robot's eyes fell dim as instantly as they had lit up and he new it was gone. All those years he wasted. Mark yelled in agony as his arms destroyed as much of his reasearch as they could reach; ending with the robot that lay dead. Mark pushed it to the growned as he fell to his knees and cried.
"It' not going to work." said a man.
Mark looked up, but could only see a mosaic figure through his tears.
"How would you know?" asked Mark as he hoisted himself onto his legs.
"Brother, I love you.." the man bagan to say, but he knew it was no use. They had this conversation countless times. "You are just the stupidest man, but I mean that in the kindest way possible. You need to stop this. I have been telling you for years you can't just blindly create a robot body for a reddit bot. Things just don't work that way. How is a bot written for reddits api going to know how to move around in that thing?
Mark just stood looking back at his brother through sad eyes not understanding.
His shook his head and contined, "What good are it's eyes and legs if the reddit bot wasn't originally written to interface with them? It has no artificial inteligence to communicate. It will never feel the world with those hands you gave it.."
"No you're wrong.." Mark said as he gathered up everything he knocked about, "I just missed something I'll need to dissassemble it and rebuild.. That will get it working."
His brother didn't say anything as he looked back at Mark frantically gathering everything onto the table. He knew it was no use. He shook his head and slowley walked out of Mark's lab sharing the pain with his brother. Mark could never deal with grief well. When the internet infrastructure was destroyed for the whole world, Mark began his project to cope. Some how blocking out the absurdity of an idea that reddit bots could be downloaded into robot bodies. | 2015-02-25T06:02:04 | 2015-02-25T05:35:49 | 85 | 34 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | I close down Netflix, briefly enraptured by the nightly cable. "In other news, the Saudi ambassador to the U.N. Human Rights Council spoke out against the proposed extension to human rights legislation that would protect metahumans, calling them 'monsters who go against the order of creation'. Meanwhile, a Pakistani judge refused to appeal the death sentance for 23-year-orld Anam Laghani for having developed 'Satanic' horns. Protests have also erupted in Chicago over the shooting of an unarmed black man by police officer William Mullin. The CPD press statement claimed it stood by Officer Mullin's decision, and Chief of Police Schwarz was quoted as saying '6-inch talons are definitely weapons'-" God, I can't stand news these days. It's all 'mutants are freaks' or 'mutants are perfect.' If I didn't know any better, I would've sworn I was living in an X-Men comic.
Still, it was my 21st birthday, and I don't know what to think. If I'm lucky, I end up with flight or super-strength. If not, I'll just remain borind old Jake. If God hates me, I'd end up a blob of meat or a tumor-ridden zombie. Thank god there's no extra limbs or spines sprouting so far. My dad is a super-calculator, but my mom got nothing, so the doc said I could go either way.
The phone rings. "Eyyyy, whazzup! Tommy and I were gonna head down to O'Malley's and get fucking WASTED! You up?" Carl again. We were best friends until his birthday last month, when his mutation kicked in. Sure, he can jump 30 feet and can't break any bones, but it's hard to be friends with a guy who jumps off balconies onto parking lots as a party trick. Still, it would be a dick move to ignore him, especially since we hung out almost every day for 18 years.
"Sure, I'm up. See you in five." It's been 21 hours so far, what's the worst that could happen?
********
We stumble through the alleyway, trying to remain upright. Tommy's puked twice, and Carl already fell down a flight of stairs. We'll be back in a second, and I can call Tommy a cab back home.
"Gimme your wallets! NOW!" A man holds a pistol to my forehead. All of a sudden, something clicks. He's holding a Glock G-18, serial number scratched off, and the first bullet in the magazine is jammed. I react. Duck, step on right foot, finger behind the trigger, eject defective round, elbow to the sternum, force his arm down, fire up.
I look down at the would-be robber, brain matter slowly leaking out onto the concrete.
"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?" Tommmy screams. "DID YOU JUST KILL HIM?"
"Uh, um... maybe?" I stammer. Strange, no remorse. Like a machine. A killing machine. My existential thoughts are broken by the sound of rapidly approaching police sirens. We run.
*******
*Two years later...*
"No longer shall we be under the yoke of inferior men! No longer shall the new stage of humanity be oppressed by cowards! No longer shall we bow down to a government of bigots!"
Wind is blowing 2.3 knots to the southeast, possibility of change low. Target is 449.5 meters away, 6 degrees below. Depleted uranium .50 caliber rounds should be able to penetrate keratin-based armor up to three inches thick at that distance. Will have to aim one degree higher and two to the left co compensate for drag and wind. Bullet will impact after .492 seconds, bombs set to explode at .50 seconds.
"We WILL be free! We WILL rise! And we WILL-*ghlrk*"***BOOM***
Put on construction uniform. Ditch bullet casing in un-dried concrete below. Trigger collapse bombs in 035 minutes. Plane leaves Dulles in 072 minutes. I pick up my phone. "The kids are in bed and the dishes are done."
"Excellent job. I'll refer you to my friends, Agent." | 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T09:34:55 | 1,457 | 13 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper appears to claim your life. He's heard so many pleas and excuses, but yours is the first that has worked. | *YOUR TIME HAS COME.*
A faceless figure in a long black cloak appeared before me.
"Uh-oh, I don't like where this is going," I remarked, mostly to myself.
*COME WITH ME, TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD*, his voice sent a chill down my spine.
"I can't go. Not yet," I informed him, sitting down at my desk. My computer lit up my face in his shadowy presence. He made a noise that might have been a chuckle.
*AND FOR WHAT REASON DO YOU SEE YOURSELF BEING SPARED?*
I turned my computer monitor towards him. A wall of code faced him, and over one corner, was a real-time rendering of a large rhinoceros like being, defying the laws of physics by floating around on a freakishly tiny pair of butterfly wings.
"Because I'm the only man who can fix No Man's Sky."
*OH __SHIT.__* | His foot, heavy on the gas pedal, could have never moved fast enough to brake. The car spun out, blood spattered across the front of the windshield and tufts of fur jammed into the grill. The man was ejected from the car dead on impact with the black pavement. His son survived, concussed and bruised. The young child, bewildered and in shock only knew to cry. The pain, the terrifying crash was all too much for someone his age to comprehend. He tried, helplessly to unclasp his car seat. It would not budge. The child continued to sob when he was suddenly greeted with a cold hand. He became drowsy and quickly slipped into a deep sleep. The child's final moments were calm.
The Grim Reaper knew the child wouldn't survive his injuries and today was a slow day. He had quotas he needed to meet. The Reaper now moved over to the man. The child's soul needed to time to separate from its mortal heart. A soul does not have much control in the mortal realm. The Reaper, knowing this, let it get oriented.
The Reaper, as he had done for ages, read the man his sentences: "Mortal man, you are sentenced to hell for eternity. You will now enter the land below leaving behind your mortal belongings. You have the right to an angel escort. If you so choose, you're son, now an angel may do so."
The damned soul could barely muster it's voice "Who... who are you?"The Reaper responded "I'm the Grim Reaper, responsible for mortals entering the afterlife. The first of many that will judge you."
The damned soul tried to float back into its mortal body but to no avail. "WHY AM I DAMNED? MY SON IS DEAD?" said the damned soul.
The Reaper simply replied with a dull "Yes". Denial was common.
The damned soul pleaded to the Reaper "You must let me live. Like you, I reap- not souls but mortal belongings. I have sent many souls to you. Surely that can mean something."
The Reaper was intrigued. This damned soul was trying to plead death. The Grim Reaper, while thinking through what the damned soul had proposed, moved over to the boy. He guided the small soul over to it's mortal father. The young soul was simply too overwhelmed. It hovered there, watching the strange encounter.
The Reaper, with a devilish grin began to speak "I will accept your plea for life. You will harvest mortal belongings. But, I will not be the one to seem them off into the afterlife. Your son will usher them to heaven, or hell. When you die once more, your soul will vanish from existence. And your son, when the time comes, will take my place."
The damned soul, now enthralled at the thought of a second life immediately accepted.
The Grim Reaper produced a small book and scribbled something into it. As he was doing so, the man, now laying in a pool of his own blood, fighting for his life whispered "That's not my son. I was having fun with his mother until that rat called the cops."
Sirens whirled in the distance, the young soul ascended towards the sky and the Grim Reaper vanished into the night. | 2017-01-12T05:24:25 | 2017-01-12T02:07:59 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | Elení is dancing in the middle of the palace. Her bare feet make fast little steps on the mosaic floor. Oh, the hours I spent making up all the patterns of grey, red and black stones. So delicate. Elení loved it the first time I brought her here. And she still does. The rhythm of the patter of her feet makes a nice soft echo in the large chamber. Her red dress swirls around her flapping and waving so gracefully.
I wake up from and odd sensation.
It is a sort of tickling feeling in my abdomen. I sit up in my bed and try to determine what it is that makes my stomach feel this odd.
I realise I need to open my eyes. The faint light in the room feels uncomfortable and stings my eyes a little. I reach with my hands for my stomach. My arms feel so slow and heavy.
I do not know what to look for in my stomach. The skin is fine, and there is nothing on there that could be tickling me. I feel so weird and unfamiliar with my own body. I miss the effortless way I moved around with for five hundred years. The floating, the flying, and when Elení could persuade me the dancing.
I look up because I hear something, and see John walk in my room.
"Good morning Stephan. Did you sleep well?"
I don't really know how to answer him.
"I suppose."
"I had a hard time adjusting as well. I remember that I had wet my bed the first night." He says with a chuckle.
John was woken up a few months before me. He has adjusted just fine in the future. He speaks the odd language of the people here. Some words sound familiar, but I cannot make sense of it. John is my interpreter.
"We should get you to the toilet, and after that you should get some breakfast." And John helps me get up, and escorts me to the room to do my business.
Over breakfast I ask him if he ever misses it.
"I miss the food most, actually." He says as he eats a few of the seeds and nuts provided to us.
"I mean bacon, eggs, a nice grilled cheese sandwich. Oh, and chocolate. A Mars bar. Hmmm..."
"No, I mean being frozen. Do you ever miss being frozen?"
He looks at me confused.
"Just the serenity, no bodily discomforts, no loud noises."
"Do you mean you... you were awake?" His face turns pale.
"You were not?" I ask him.
I feel lightheaded.
"No! It was just like going into surgery. One minute I was in the tank, the next I was woken up into a brand new world. I mean, that was just as planned. But, what happened to you then?"
I tell about the panic I felt the moment I realised that I was still awake. And how I had gone trough a whole lot of emotions and memories, regrets about my life, and I had panic attacks.
And how I had begun to accept my fate, and how I came up with Elení, and the life I had with her. The worlds I had fantasised, the buildings I had built in my head, the journeys I had taken Elení on.
When I stop talking I realise John is staring at me in awe.
He just sits there motionless.
I fabricate a nervous little laugh.
"Jesus..." He whispers.
"I know." I say.
As I reach for a handful of nuts. | Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T05:02:25 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] As you try to fall asleep, the monster that was hiding under your bed slowly crawls out and says "Dude, I think I heard something coming from downstairs...", with a slighty concerned voice. | We agreed to a truce long ago.
We had a stand off, there in the darkness.
I with my flashlight and he with his razor maw and his protruding claws.
He loves cheese.
Pesters me constantly for it, can never get enough of it. He would take up all my allowance if I let him.
The price of cheese ain't no joke.
I had always been a precocious child.
Precocious.
I hate that word.
A bump and a murmur confirmed what his warning had foretold.
As long as I can keep the lights out, my friend can protect me.
Luckily, I know where the circuit breakers are.
Slink and slither, we both make our way; doors gently opened, steps carefully made.
My friend knows all the spots. All the creaks and all the cracks.
He guides me to the circuit breaker and I see his Cheshire grin as what little light there was now flickers into darkness.
I stay close by and, though it scares me, I follow my friend as we head towards the danger.
What the fuck, says the man in the heavy boots and the noisy jacket. He's holding something straight, something metal. He holds it with one hand, holds it by it's grip.
My friend goes straight for him, snaps on to his arm as a flash of noise fires out from the shadows. | God, what a day. Up at 5 to shit, shower, and shave, out the door by 5:30. Some poor bastard had a heart attack on the highway and flipped his car, so I sat in traffic for an hour. I called in to work and let Janice know that I'd be late, but apparently she didn't pass that information along to Bill. He was frothing at the mouth when I hurried through the door. Didn't even give me a chance to explain before lecturing me for a good half hour about the importance of being punctual, that I'd never make it to the next level of middle management if I didn't show some initiative, that I'd let the company down, that society was falling apart because of people like me.
Honestly, I stopped listening until he started winding down and asked me to stay late to make up for this morning. Staying late today apparently meant watching the sun set while playing Minesweeper until 8 o'clock. By the time I got home, it was just shy of 10.
Call me gross if you want, but I didn't even bother to brush my teeth. I fell into bed without so much as taking off my pants and had begun spiraling into the warm embrace of sleep when I heard it.
“Hey!”
Clearly I was exhausted. I must have hit play on a video or somethi-
“Chuck! Hey!”
The bed jumped up off the floor as if it had been kicked. As if there was someone hiding underneath it. As if... oh, hell.
“Don't fall asleep, man.” The voice was gravelly, dry. “Listen, I know you forgot my smokes. No worries, this time, but I think you should get up right now.”
Of course. In my rush to get home I forgot to stop and get a pack of cigarettes for him. This wasn't the first time, and I had the scars to prove it. He was picky about his brand, and had made that very clear a few months ago. I had only just stopped having nightmares. I dragged myself up off my pillow and rubbed my eyes.
“I'm so sorry Joe, I'll run out and grab some right now. Turkish Gold, yeah?”
The bed jumped again, this time with a violence that left me sprawled on top of the sheets. I groaned through clenched teeth. No way this would end well for me.
“No man, call the cops or something. I am freaked right out.” The creature I called Joe sounded desperate in a way I'd never heard before. He sounded downright scared. The bed frame began to tilt, and out from underneath it slithered a black, scaly, sharp-clawed arm. The clawed hand dug into the carpet, pulling and tugging as the rest of Joe's body followed behind. My throat squeezed tight in terror. I couldn't breath.
I heard a knock at my front door. First once, then again. Loud, hard knocks. They rattled the windows all the way up here in my loft. Joe, halfway out from underneath my bed, froze.
“She's here,” he croaked. “She's down there, and she's coming.” He turned his head to glance at me, red eyes wide, fanged maw trembling. “Oh please, Chuck, don't let her up here.”
I heard slow footsteps on the stairs. | 2017-12-27T22:36:24 | 2017-12-27T18:45:58 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | Goblin king: "and suddenly you hear a knock on your dwelling's door."
Necromancer: "I will get up from the table to open the front door, but before I open it, I look through the nearby window to see who is disturbing our game."
Goblin king: "roll for perception."
Necromancer: "3... Shit."
Goblin king: "the lights are off and you can't see who is at the door. How do you proceed?"
Necromancer: "umm.."
Barbarian: "just open the door! It's not like you have to worry about an army of paladins!"
Collective laughs
Necromancer: "fine, fine. I open the door."
Goblin king: "in your doorway stands a man wearing black and blue clothes with a symbol over his left breast, carrying two flat, square boxes."
Elven priestess: "oh, that must be the pizza I ordered!"
Necromancer: "pizza?"
Goblin king: "it's a common food found in the suburbs."
Necromancer: "and people just... Bring it to your dwellings?"
Goblin king: "in the world of suburbia you can order food for a price and other people of suburbia will deliver it for you."
Necromancer: "interesting. I take the Pizza!"
Goblin king: "the pizza man says 'that will be twenty-two eighty-four' and extends his hand."
Necromancer: "how many gol- uhh, dollars do I have again? Let's see.. oh no. I only have fifteen dollars. Guys do y'all have any spare dollars?"
Barbarian: "my character doesn't get anymore currency for another week. I don't have anything."
Elven priestess: "I thought you were going to cover it? You're lucky I have exactly eight dollars left. I get up from the table to hand John the money."
Necromancer: "perfect! That's twenty-three dollars. I hand him the money."
Goblin king: "the pizza man counts the money and says 'what about my tip?' and looks at you with his head slightly cocked to the side."
Necromancer: "uhhhh... Be wary of rogues on your way back to your dwelling?"
Goblin king: "well usually delivery people of suburbia want additional currency in addition to the cost of the food, but that's okay, roll for charisma."
Necromancer: "fourteen, plus my modifier.. seventeen."
Goblin king: "the delivery driver looks at his feet, rather defeated, turns around and slowly walks back to his SUV."
Necromancer: "excellent. I return to the group table with pizza in hand and set it down next to everyone."
Barbarian: "I think it was my turn in the game. What card was on top of the stack?"
Goblin king: "it was a red five."
Barbarian: "I play a red two on top of it."
Goblin king: "okay it looks like you have one card remaining."
Elven priestess: "uno!"
Barbarian: "son of a... How am I supposed to remember what I'm supposed to say!?"
Elven priestess: "it is the Spanish word for 'one'."
Barbarian: "my character doesn't speak Spanish!"
Goblin king: "it's also the name of the game your characters are playing."
Barbarian: "ugh. Fine. I draw my cards."
Necromancer: "and I will eat a pizza!"
Goblin king: "roll for constitution."
Necromancer: "Nat one..."
Goblin king: "you burn your mouth and taste nothing. Also, you take three damage."
Sorry for any editing errors, this was all done on my phone.
*Fixed a couple of typos | "Zixor the Fallen, we don't just have to roll dice to see how depressed teens and desperate housewives are," Priestess Aerosmith Daughter spoke in a warm yet authoritative tone. "You will find the emerging market of independent rulesets that focus on collaborative narrative and nuance that-"
"You're just salty your many critical failures at the luncheon made your mimosa and wine problem clear to everybody!" Zixor sneered between bites of their untouchable GM pizza. Nobody ever commented on the Skeletorian nasal whine but they all quietly knew it. "Sloppy drunks shouldn't even be driving SUVs in my suburban haven!"
Citi the Goblin King and Uv Violence the Barbarian Warlord silently chewed their Ye Olde Cheese Dudes 7 item value meals. They'd witnessed some variation of this argument at every mid-session meal break. They knew to let it ride. The pair had an ongoing wager on when the necromancer and the elf would finally make out and/or fistfight.
Zixor threw their Mama Celeste pizza box at the skeleton servants over on the flesh couch. Next came a mocking reenactment of the JV Soccer Fundraising Committee Sunday Brunch. "Oh, Zixor had planned a brilliant series of operatic twists and turns the table clearly craves week after week but No; I can't make fortitude and will saves! Time to spotlight my Drinking Problem once more, just like my torrid affair with the poolboy being oopsie-revealed last week. Or the time the session became burying-slash-replacing the dog I ran over the week before.. And let's not forget the hair salon battle royale!"
"It's developing character," The princess countered. "Maybe McKenna vamps and chews the scenery a bit, but what do you expect from a former homecoming queen cheerleading captain drama club president on her second unfulfilling marriage going through a midlife crisis?"
"For her to get her shit together a little. Maybe interact with the other members of the Committee instead of going on these personal sidequests."
"Oh. Oh my. " Citi piped up. "Taking over the goth teen wannabe wiccan, formerly known as GM-PC #17, doesn't have a lot of plot hooks for me to explore. Oh, other than begrudge her upper middle class luxury and watch The Craft on blu ray. Oh, I'm thinking her mom has been dragging her to these brunches so they can later throw shade together as a bonding experience. But there's enough of that now."
Violence nodded. "But it so true. My Cynthia has felt distant from my high school daughter Gothy McGothface and middle school son Soccer "Kicks" Futballio. Ever since McKenna drowned their father but made it look like an accidental fall into our backyard pool."
"Citi shouldn't have had him two-timing with McKenna and half the Committee anyway.." The princess gave a Bjorkian wispy gesture and scowl to accent this point.
"Don't forget the committee's assorted husbands and poolboys. He excelled at two-timing. Twice over. Two-two-timing. " Violence offered.
"Four timing. To the power of four. At minimum," Citi smiled a wicked lil grin. "Oh That's how I likes to play them - high charisma and seduction. Oh my. And oh, once I levelled up I would've used the Black Widow feat to slow motion genocide the entire town, one lover at a time, boosting my vigilant criminal watch stats in exchange for humility and humanity points I don't even need. Oh, it was so fiendishly clever! Leading the manhunt on myself. A pity I died before my time.
"I am ever so weary of making a new character every other session. Nobody else has died yet. The inept detective needs to stop his moonlit strolls with Cynthia and start finding all my corpses. Oh, can I be a coroner after Gothy dies in a bathtub under mysterious McKenna related circumstances?"
"I like that we are so derailed that's just expected, " Violence said between deep bemused inhales. "Remember at the start when the campaign was supposed to be managing home renovation money pits? Did we ever even binge on the basic cable real estate twins? Zixor spent a week revising hundred page Deepest Lore for them."
"What if we didn't need false dramatics
to have a good time?" The princess arched an eyebrow. "I have recently mastered the SMUG system. It can open new depths of ennui and quiet desperation."
Zixor scoffed and dramatically exited for the bathroom with a loud drop of a Plus Two Scepter of the Undead. What does an elf know of desperation?
Citi and Violence exchanged glances.
"They have a splat on something called podcasting,"" Aerosmith Daughter continued. "No more purpose driven addiction-prone yuppies. Now you are tubby underemployed thirtysomethings that share meandering conversations and aged pop culture references. It's all only tangentially related to the topic that brings us together and each one ends with either begging for money or describing mattresses and undergarments delivered regularly by municipal kingdom servants."
"So what would we talk about?"
"So glad you asked. I shall soon self-publish a meta-narrative module that I wanted us to playtest. The characters review game books of their realm meant to emulate our own world. And maybe movie reviews. There can never be enough movie review podcasts."
Citi and Violence nodded in unison. "Can we be severely depressed and self-deprecating? Carry the weight of the long slog of life's constant little failures and setbacks? Can we overinvest ourselves in our hobbies to the detriment of the rest of our lives? Suffer faulty equipment ? Attend gatherings of similar aimless souls?"
"I see you intuitively understand the format."
Meanwhile, Zixor tried to drown in the bathtub but came back as a lich. Snuck out the bathroom window to find a table that appreciated a good railroading. | 2018-01-10T06:36:41 | 2018-01-10T06:17:28 | 674 | 20 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | G'ol Bognil let out an expansive sigh as he settled his considerable girth before the marble table. "Alright, before we get started, remind me your names and classes again?"
Lethus did not move but a phlegmy mutter emanated from under this black hood. "I am Steve. The dentist."
Polara was next to speak. Her glittering obsidian eyes dropped down to the character sheet in front of her. "I am a dual-class business exec and accountant named Mike the Magnificent."
G'ol Bognil blinked. "That sounds a bit over-powered to me...what is your backstory?"
A ghost of a smile appeared momentarily on Polara's black lips. "My father dedicated his life to the Demon of Alcohol and my mother was a pathetic weakling. I worked two jobs to put myself through college and then graduate school, where I studied under the tutelage of some of the mightiest professors in the land."
The bulbous, warty nose of G'ol Bognil wrinkled. "I feel like your characters always manage to receive the tutelage of some of the mightiest professors in the land. One of these days I am going to make you play a waitress."
Polara drew herself upright, the torch light reflecting off the onyx pendant around her neck. "The earthly vessel of Burkh the Devourer does not play waitresses."
G'ol Bognil rolled his eyes and then let out a loud belch. "And finally...?"
The goblin king turned to look at a veritable mountain of a man whose face was almost completely lost behind wavy crimson hair and a bushy, fiery beard. "I, Garung the Decimator, Eviscerator of the Plainsmen and Bane of the Thrak, am playing..."
Garung's brow creased as he squinted at his paper. "Millie, the Soccer Mom."
Polara snorted. There was no way to tell, but something about the dark aura surrounding Lethus suggested he was smirking. G'ol Bognil, however, frowned.
"What...can Myley do?"
"Millie. Her rumor and gossip skills are maxed out, so she is a powerful information broker. After years of training, the High Council of Home Owners has made her queen, meaning she wields the full power of the Covenants of C&R. Her arch-rival is Kaylie, Supreme Leader of the Association Between Parents and Teachers."
G'ol Bognil sighed. "Try to keep it IC, please. In the faraway land of North Suburbtown, they do not have queens or supreme leaders - they have presidents and heads."
Somewhere behind his giant beard Garung the Decimator was scowling but he said nothing.
G'ol Bognil opened a flask of Mountain Ale and took a long pull, then belched again. "Alright. It is Saturday, and you all find yourselves at the Park of Dark Cul-de-Sac. Mike, you are here for a company picnic/fundraiser. Steve, you are watching your son play in the Tournament of Soccer, where he and his companions are trying to best the All-Stars of Cityhome. And...Millie --"
Polara made an amused noise that she tried to cover by sniffing loudly.
"-- you, of course, are coaching a different team nearby. The sky is gray - strangely overcast for a day in April. The green lawns squish slightly under the feet of the Tournamenteers, and various obese humans sit in flimsy makeshift thrones to watch. The sounds of dogs barking ring out from the housing development, swelling ever louder...as you turn in the direction of the noise, you see a gazebo looming in the distance..."
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | "Zixor the Fallen, we don't just have to roll dice to see how depressed teens and desperate housewives are," Priestess Aerosmith Daughter spoke in a warm yet authoritative tone. "You will find the emerging market of independent rulesets that focus on collaborative narrative and nuance that-"
"You're just salty your many critical failures at the luncheon made your mimosa and wine problem clear to everybody!" Zixor sneered between bites of their untouchable GM pizza. Nobody ever commented on the Skeletorian nasal whine but they all quietly knew it. "Sloppy drunks shouldn't even be driving SUVs in my suburban haven!"
Citi the Goblin King and Uv Violence the Barbarian Warlord silently chewed their Ye Olde Cheese Dudes 7 item value meals. They'd witnessed some variation of this argument at every mid-session meal break. They knew to let it ride. The pair had an ongoing wager on when the necromancer and the elf would finally make out and/or fistfight.
Zixor threw their Mama Celeste pizza box at the skeleton servants over on the flesh couch. Next came a mocking reenactment of the JV Soccer Fundraising Committee Sunday Brunch. "Oh, Zixor had planned a brilliant series of operatic twists and turns the table clearly craves week after week but No; I can't make fortitude and will saves! Time to spotlight my Drinking Problem once more, just like my torrid affair with the poolboy being oopsie-revealed last week. Or the time the session became burying-slash-replacing the dog I ran over the week before.. And let's not forget the hair salon battle royale!"
"It's developing character," The princess countered. "Maybe McKenna vamps and chews the scenery a bit, but what do you expect from a former homecoming queen cheerleading captain drama club president on her second unfulfilling marriage going through a midlife crisis?"
"For her to get her shit together a little. Maybe interact with the other members of the Committee instead of going on these personal sidequests."
"Oh. Oh my. " Citi piped up. "Taking over the goth teen wannabe wiccan, formerly known as GM-PC #17, doesn't have a lot of plot hooks for me to explore. Oh, other than begrudge her upper middle class luxury and watch The Craft on blu ray. Oh, I'm thinking her mom has been dragging her to these brunches so they can later throw shade together as a bonding experience. But there's enough of that now."
Violence nodded. "But it so true. My Cynthia has felt distant from my high school daughter Gothy McGothface and middle school son Soccer "Kicks" Futballio. Ever since McKenna drowned their father but made it look like an accidental fall into our backyard pool."
"Citi shouldn't have had him two-timing with McKenna and half the Committee anyway.." The princess gave a Bjorkian wispy gesture and scowl to accent this point.
"Don't forget the committee's assorted husbands and poolboys. He excelled at two-timing. Twice over. Two-two-timing. " Violence offered.
"Four timing. To the power of four. At minimum," Citi smiled a wicked lil grin. "Oh That's how I likes to play them - high charisma and seduction. Oh my. And oh, once I levelled up I would've used the Black Widow feat to slow motion genocide the entire town, one lover at a time, boosting my vigilant criminal watch stats in exchange for humility and humanity points I don't even need. Oh, it was so fiendishly clever! Leading the manhunt on myself. A pity I died before my time.
"I am ever so weary of making a new character every other session. Nobody else has died yet. The inept detective needs to stop his moonlit strolls with Cynthia and start finding all my corpses. Oh, can I be a coroner after Gothy dies in a bathtub under mysterious McKenna related circumstances?"
"I like that we are so derailed that's just expected, " Violence said between deep bemused inhales. "Remember at the start when the campaign was supposed to be managing home renovation money pits? Did we ever even binge on the basic cable real estate twins? Zixor spent a week revising hundred page Deepest Lore for them."
"What if we didn't need false dramatics
to have a good time?" The princess arched an eyebrow. "I have recently mastered the SMUG system. It can open new depths of ennui and quiet desperation."
Zixor scoffed and dramatically exited for the bathroom with a loud drop of a Plus Two Scepter of the Undead. What does an elf know of desperation?
Citi and Violence exchanged glances.
"They have a splat on something called podcasting,"" Aerosmith Daughter continued. "No more purpose driven addiction-prone yuppies. Now you are tubby underemployed thirtysomethings that share meandering conversations and aged pop culture references. It's all only tangentially related to the topic that brings us together and each one ends with either begging for money or describing mattresses and undergarments delivered regularly by municipal kingdom servants."
"So what would we talk about?"
"So glad you asked. I shall soon self-publish a meta-narrative module that I wanted us to playtest. The characters review game books of their realm meant to emulate our own world. And maybe movie reviews. There can never be enough movie review podcasts."
Citi and Violence nodded in unison. "Can we be severely depressed and self-deprecating? Carry the weight of the long slog of life's constant little failures and setbacks? Can we overinvest ourselves in our hobbies to the detriment of the rest of our lives? Suffer faulty equipment ? Attend gatherings of similar aimless souls?"
"I see you intuitively understand the format."
Meanwhile, Zixor tried to drown in the bathtub but came back as a lich. Snuck out the bathroom window to find a table that appreciated a good railroading. | 2018-01-10T07:13:41 | 2018-01-10T06:17:28 | 70 | 20 |
[WP] Your parents never let you study magic. They said you were born without the ability. But after a friend jokingly dares you to apply to the top wizardry schools in the state, the denial letters read "We regret to inform you that someone of your potential is simply too dangerous to be taught." | “Are you reading this hogwash Simon?” I yelled exasperated. “This is the type of crap that turns people into Voldemort!”
“Voldemort went to Hogwarts,” he said matter-of-factly.
I groaned out loud. “That’s not the point. And what do the mean ‘someone of your potential’?”
Simon didn’t answer. He re-read the letter a fourth and fifth time. “Hmmm. Do you mind if I try something?” he asked finally.
“Be my guest.” Simon could be hard to read at times and watching him examine my rejection letter was no different. When I first met him a few year ago, I mistakenly thought he was unusually off, but it turned out he was a wizard. Simon’s shape gaze glossed over, and his head tilted slightly back. In his right hand he held my letter, and in his left, he grasped the medallion swinging around his neck.
I only learned of my gifts after meeting Simon during Freshman orientation. I remember watching him push through the crowd of anxious teenagers, the first words being, “I think you’re a wizard. Also, my name is Simon Turner.” And since then, we’ve been best friends.
The medallion he held pulsated. Simon told me all wizards and witches used some kind of conduit to focus their magic: wands, staves, or sometimes objects the user held great value for. His father used his family’s ring—an heirloom that absorbed generations of wizard magic and blood. One day he would inherit it, but for now, he used a half dollar coin minted in 1825.
Unlike my parents, Simon’s embraced his magical abilities and began teaching him when he came of age. I had no idea what he could do. I assumed he was performing some type of clairvoyance to delve into its true meaning or perhaps the letter was a test for would be wizards to solve in order to gain acceptance.
FLOOF! The letter lit on fire and burnt to a crisp in an instant. An eerie moan escaped as a black puff of smoke lifted into the atmosphere.
“Hmmm,” was all he said.
“What does, what does that mean,” I asked somewhat impatiently.
Simon stood up and shouldered his backpack. “I dunno. I gotta go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“What about me letter?” but he was already walking away.
“I eviscerated it.”
I sighed. That was Simon for you. I turned and headed towards my house. This wasn’t over. If Wessington wouldn’t accept me, maybe another, less renown school would. I wouldn’t be going to college with my best friend, but at least I could become a wizard.
Dinner that night was like every other night. I took my food and ate alone in my room. My parents and I were still in a stalemate that had lasted the better half of the year. I had had a sit down with them and told them I was seriously considering going to wizarding school as opposed to a traditional four-year college—they immediately shot down my idea. Confused, I asked why they denied their magical abilities, but all my father would tell me was that he and my mother decided to stop practicing some time before I was born. In defiance, I applied to Wessington, the best wizarding school in the nation and arguably the world.
I texted Simon: Anything? But he didn’t reply. Despite being restless, I decided to go to bed and after an hour of tossing and turning, I fell asleep.
I woke up a few hours later. Something felt strange, and the feeling in my gut made me wary. Three men, cloaked in dark robes, emerged from out of the corners of my room. Startled, I shot up and out of the covers. Two of them held wands pointed at my direction, while the third wielded a staff.
“The boy cannot live,” the one in the middle stated and on queue both wands began to glow. The man with the staff held his weapon with two hands. He bent his knees in a supporting position and I could feel a low hum begin to resonate from the end of his staff.
A huge flash erupted. Instinctively, I threw my hands up, covering my eyes. A warmth surged through my palms and when I looked up, three incandescent balls of fire floated inches from my face. In a rage, I pushed the air around me—the warmth in my hands quickly turned to an inferno. The three balls slammed into the walls and the resulting explosion obliterated the room.
I pushed my way out of wood and the remains of the roof. Outside, the moon peaked behind several clouds and a cold breeze eased the burning sensation in my hands. I could see the outlines of the three men—they did not stir.
“Son?!” I could hear my dad in the hallway. He pounded on the door, but debris kept it from moving. “Stand back, dear,” he said.
A huge force sent chunks of the door flying out of the exposed house and my father entered my room, a sleek wand in his left hand.
I had never seen the look he had draped on his face. “We need to go. NOW!” he ordered. | Warm hands closed around the nut-brown seed, placing it firmly into the soil. The robed priest lowered his wand, chanting in hymn. The air began to vibrate and hum; the light around him distorted and twisted, and with a flash—he vanished—leaving the seed pulsing with a white light.
Over nine-hundred years later, the tree stood; the steady guardian of the monastery courtyard. The wide, green leaves were yellowing in the cold air, and a large gust of wind snatched the first autumn leaf from the tree. The leaf floated and danced in the air, landing on the smooth stone windowsill of the tower. The priest Geoffrey reached out, his old, wrinkled hand grasping the dying leaf. He ran his delicate fingers over the thin veins that ran through the leaf – so much like the veins that ran through his hand. Nature and man – not so different. He shifted his focus to the courtyard, where two brothers played amongst the rocks.
“Another year passes; the boy grows stronger, still – we cannot take him.” Geoffrey said.
He turned, looking back into the tower. The room was small, neatly decorated with an ornate rug, a comfortable armchair, and a small table. Joseph, the master of the order, looked up at Geoffrey.
“My decision is final, Geoffrey. We cannot train the boy.” Joseph said.
“But it is prophecy,” Geoffrey said. “You think, because of his temperament, that he will turn against us? You are a fool, Joseph, afraid of his power.”
“Teaching him the magics of our order—This can only lead to destruction. There are many ways in which one can bring peace to the world without the use of magic.” Joseph said.
“Asmodeus grows more jealous of his brother Leopold with each year. How long will his power be kept secret from him? Asmodeus will discover his magic—it is wise for us to show him the righteous path, before he is ushered into darkness.” Geoffrey said.
“Enough,” Joseph said. “I tire of this debate. Send Asmodeus back to his parents. We have taken his older brother into the order; Leopold will be his moral compass.”
Geoffrey stormed out of the tower, his white robes flapping in protest. He walked down the stone staircase and out into the courtyard. The two brothers were lying on the grass, looking up at the clouds.
“Do you think I could ever be a mage like you?” Asmodeus asked.
“The monks said you won’t have magic like me. I’m sorry.” Leopold said, looking over at his brother, and at the approaching monk. “Master Geoffrey, is it time already? Can I have a few more minutes with my brother?”
“I’m sorry, my boy, but you’ve already had a few more minutes,” Geoffrey said, smiling. “I’ll see what I can do about next season’s visit – maybe Asmodeus can stay for a few days.”
“Really?” Geoffrey asked, forming a childish grin, “Thank you Master Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey walked Asmodeus to the edge of the monastery. “Do you know your way back to the village?”
“Yes—it’s just down the mountain, I can see the smoke from here.” Asmodeus said.
“Run along then.” Geoffrey said, disheartened.
The boy could have been greater than all the others, a true champion of peace. Geoffrey watched as the boy ran down the hill, looking out over the mountains. The Monastery sat at the ridge of the plateau; from the overlook Geoffrey gazed out into the valley, where the village sat nestled between mountain spires, deep forests, and a sheltered bay. Smoke rose from the village; there must be a bonfire today. In Geoffrey’s opinion, the monastery was too sheltered, with little insight into the plights of the world.
Geoffrey stood uneasily—smoke was rising too quickly, too thick. Multiple plumes were forming – what was happening? He pulled his wand from within his robes and cast a quick spell – a blue orb of water appeared in front of him, shaped into a lens. He saw villagers running from the village in all directions. Riders on horseback descended on the village, wielding oil and flaming torches. The raiders drew their swords, pursuing the villagers with murderous intent. Geoffrey ran back towards the monastery entrance – as fast as his elderly legs would carry him.
Asmodeus ran towards the village. He heard screaming, crackling of flames, and galloping horses. His house was on the outskirts of town. His mother and father would be there, out in the field, tending to their crops. They would keep him safe.
Asmodeus rounded the corner of the main street, passing the thicket of woods that marked the boundary to his town. His home stood before him, it’s thatched roof ablaze. Asmodeus ran up the narrow dirt trail towards his home. He heard screaming from behind the building. Jumping the wooden gate, Asmodeus followed the path around his house, stopping in the bushes near his back porch.
His mother knelt in front of a raider, pleading for her life. The raider thrust his sword into her chest; a red stain spread onto her yellow dress. She fell to the ground, and Asmodeus screamed. The raider, wearing a leather cuirass, grabbed Asmodeus’s father, who had been knocked unconscious.
The raider sat Asmodeus’s father on his knees. He locked eyes with Asmodeus as he slit his father’s throat, laughing. Blood sprayed onto the raider, and Asmodeus stood in horror. He wanted to run or hide, but all Asmodeus could do was stand and stare.
Asmodeus felt something then—a rage, uncontrollable and immutable. Something else was there, something dark and powerful, and it coursed through his veins. The raider turned and walked away from Asmodeus, seeking a more challenging kill than the young boy.
Asmodeus screamed, and the burst of raw power wilted the plants around him; the leaves of the mulberry bush turned to ash. The raiders were riding off, away from town, and Asmodeus swore his vengeance, shaking with rage. He felt something inside him – a white fire, *magic*. Rocks, sticks, and dust began to levitate around him, and without control, he reached out. A branch from the mulberry tree shattered, rending itself into pieces. A short, thin, and straight fragment flew into Asmodeus’s outstretched hand. The tip of the wand glowed with a white light, and the boy collapsed on the ground.
On the second floor of the nearby monastery, Joseph felt a wave of power surge through him. It came from a distant source—stronger—and darker than any he had felt before. It passed in a moment, but the moment was enough. Joseph collapsed, clutching his chest. In the courtyard of the monastery, the great tree, which had remained silent for centuries, shuddered in fear.
***
[r/BLT\_WITH\_RANCH](https://www.reddit.com/r/BLT_WITH_RANCH)
[More from this series](https://www.reddit.com/r/BLT_WITH_RANCH/comments/9vdyhr/arhalym_chronicles/) | 2018-11-10T16:50:28 | 2018-11-10T15:47:27 | 219 | 130 |
[WP] The knight failed to rescue the princess from the dragon. The second knight failed. As did the third, the fourth, their squires, and so on. In desperation, the king posts a reward, and the summons is answered by only one man; a fat plumber in red overalls. |
“Look, I’ve got some experience dealing with these things” said the plumber.
The King was confused, but desperate. His best knights died trying to defeat the dragon, and he didn’t know how long before the dragon became bored and did who-knows-what with his beloved daughter.
“Where are your weapons? Armor?” demanded the King. “You cannot defeat the dragon with…plumber’s tools!”
“Oh well I’m not gonna use those. I got these mushrooms and these flowers.”
The desperate King lowered his head. If this fool of a plumber wished to kill himself, so be it. “Would you like a horse, Plumber?”
“It’s Mario. And no, I got a ride.” The King had heard of the beast that the plumber rode; not especially fearsome but it had a ferocious appetite – a sort of man-sized lizard. “And you’re saying I can keep ALL the coins I find along the way?” This perplexed the King more than anything. It’s as if the plumber was under the impression there would simply be coins floating around everywhere along the way. If the King didn’t assume the plumber was going to die quickly and immediately, he might have tried to reason with the plumber.
“Yes, you can keep all the coins” said the King.
“Then I’m off! Wish-a me luck!”
It was several days later when the silence of the King’s hall was broken by the sound of the great doors swinging open, and a triumphant plumber strode up to the elated King.
“Here’s your Princess, the dragon is dead, and I’m a little bummed because I didn’t find a single coin anywhere! Plus that castle was way further than you said.”
The King’s joy turned to frustration, however, as he looked upon an unfamiliar maiden. “You fool!” he cried. “My Princess is in ANOTHER castle!! | The man wiped sweat from his brow as his old donkey pulled the wagon up the mountain. Or rather, as the old donkey *helped*, since the man was pulling the cart too. Neither were strong enough to do so on their own, but they had been together, plumber and donkey for so long, neither at this point would leave the other behind.
They reached the end of the path, and Gary sat down, wiping his hands on his red overalls. He pulled the now-wrinkled poster from his pocket, and read: "Reward, 10,000 Gold Bars to Free the cess stuck in the cave of the dread dragon Atazeel!" He sighed at the old use of the term "cess". Cesspools were more commonly known as septic tanks these days, but he figured whomever was offering the reward was just a little out of date. 10,000 Gold Bars though!
Gary took a deep breath, heaving his large frame off the ground. "ATAZEEL! I HAVE COME TO FREE THE CESS!"
He didn't have long to wait. A large amber dragon came galloping down the passageway. "PLUMBER! IT HAS TAKEN YOU LONG ENOUGH! SHE IS BECOMING INSUFFERABLE!"
Ah, a woman with a stuck cesspool. What fury they hath!
"Well, show me the way, and please don't eat my donkey."
Atazeel blinked and looked at the old ass. "I don't eat red meat. Bad for the gout."
And he led Gary in to the cave. As they neared the end, he could hear the busy sounds of someone scrubbing and cursing. Turning the corner, a beautiful woman was cleaning a large pot in a vat of water while the sink overflowed. A pumpkin the size of a full grown lamb was roasting over the fire.
Atazeel sat back on his hind legs. "Look dear! A plumber finally came to fix the cess!"
The woman looked exasperated. "I told you, Zeel, they call them septic tanks today." Now addressing Gary, "You'll find it down the hall to the left behind the fourth treasure cave. And don't you dare steal anything, I swear I will know, and I will get one of Zeel's nephews who doesn't have gout to *eat you whole!*"
Gary sighed and shuffled down the hallway. Backed up sewage always made the women persnickety.
\*\*\*
Two hours later, Gary had fixed the septic tank, fixed a leaky faucet in the guest bathroom, and eaten a very pleasant meal of roasted pumpkin with Zeel and his Princess. It turned out that once the sink was cleared out and she was less stressed, she was actually quite lovely and an excellent cook.
"About my reward?" Gary asked, showing them the poster. The Princess raised an eye brow and exchanged an incomprehensible look with Atazeel. The Dragon shrugged, and half an hour later, Gary and his old donkey were happily heading back home with 10,000 Gold Bars and a magic mirror so that they could call him directly next time any dragon needed a plumber.
\*\*\*
Back at the castle, a nervous messenger brought a letter to the King, directly from Atazeel the Dragon. The letter was written in the hand of his daughter. He ripped the envelope open and read:
>Dear Father,
>
>Thank you for finally sending a plumber. The septic tank was clogged something awful. Gary was really a dear, and worth every one of the 10,000 Gold Bars!
>
>Also, you and Mom are cordially invited to the Dragon Fall Festival where Atazeel and I will formally announce our upcoming wedding!
>
>Love, Your Daughter
The Queen was standing nearby and impatiently grabbed the letter from her husband. "Ha!" She said. "I told you they were just waiting to announce it! Our daughter always did have a flare for the dramatic."
The King and Queen traded wide smiles. Their daughter was finally engaged!
Edit: Spelling | 2019-06-28T10:10:40 | 2019-06-28T10:01:00 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world. | "You say your AI does what?"
"Emotion recognition for cows, sir, " I reply, with a smile. "For $100k, we deliver a 30% boost to milk productivity. Sign up now and get $10k of mood-boosting feed for free! "
...
Another deal sealed and I can't help but grin. Our AI startup is doing great, thanks to that incarnation as a bull. The bovine harem I had taught me how cows feel, how they express and... how to effectively court them, which is the secret behind our expensive feed. The feed itself is just soy paste with a peculiar combination of food coloring. The real deal is in our camera system: when it detects the specific hue, a hidden speaker plays a recording of... let's say, cow porn. That, and the unique ability to label cow photos correctly, practically ensured our success.
As my 100th incarnation as a human, I really love the modern age. Sure, the air is a bit smelly and the weather is a little hot, but it's not a big deal if you had lived as a fly. Yes, the upside of civilization definitely out-weights its downsides. I still remember starving to death as a street orphan. They broke my arms when my theft was busted, and the last few days were completely helpless. Spent a century in PTSD as a turtle before I could recover. I didn't even know the word back then. It's a great relief when getting fed is longer a concern.
And all the free knowledge I could only dream of in past lives. I first encountered science as a disciple of a long-forgotten Chinese scholar. I thought I was going to starve again, but the master dug me out of a body pile and gave me a childhood I still fondly recall. Before I could finish my study, though, empire soldiers came. They burned our books and buried us alive, simple like that. I usually don't seek revenge for my own deaths, but that time was an exception. Consumed by anger, I pulled some strings and spent the next life as a parasite, ate the emperor from inside out, and my dying vision was his empty shell rotting under a heap of fish where my children thrived.
When the hate subsided, though, I felt the spark. The passion for knowledge has driven me ever since. As a nomad I chased a salt that better preserves our beef. As a bird I taught my children optimized flying patterns. As a noble I spent more time with alchemy than my land. As a tree I listened to the professor underneath, and fell my apple to ignite an inspiration. And now, all those past lives, all those knowledge are coming to fruition: a Tensorflow model that effectively turns labeled cow photos into money, thanks to my co-founder / CTO / PhD mentee, who just cast me a worried glance.
"Are you OK?" She must have been concerned about my silly grin. The aspiring young woman doesn't know, but Karma does work in strange ways. So now, the reincarnation of my old master, let's finish what we had to leave behind two thousand years ago. Our startup will take over the world and your fame as a scholar will last forever, like you had always dreamed for.
EDIT: Wow, thanks for the gold and all the comments! This is my most successful story so far. It's such a joy to know so many people liked the piece! | My story is the same as the story of mankind.
The two are inexorably interconnected as far as I am concerned. They cannot be separated because the very cores of their nature are entwined. After exploring so much land, researching so many concepts, meeting so many people, I am the best example of it anyway. There is no other human alive who has seen what I've seen. No other human alive who remembers what I can.
The human mind is impressive. I figured that out after the first dozen rebirths. Back there in the wilderness before I could even work myself to a stable living, dying was more common, after all. But what astonished me then was how I remembered it all. How I remember it all every single time I am born. From the moment of my birth, the memories dance through my mind. At first, it means nothing because the neural pathways have yet to be developed. But slowly and surely, I am able to experience my past lives.
I am able to learn from them. That is the most important part—and that is what has surprised me most about the continual cycle of life. As a hunter that was recycled into tribe after tribe, all I'd known were the most basic of strategies. The most basic of methods to manufacture tools of stone and bone. The most basic of patterns when it came to tracking wildlife across the savanna. Slowly though, that changed. My mind was able to adapt to the message that the universe was sending me time after time.
One can only die by starvation a handful of times before they end up wanting something different.
So instead, I did what humans supposedly do best. I learned. I adapted. I changed my tactics and used the information that was trapped in my head for some kind of progress.
Firstly it was noticing patterns with our prey. Then it was noticing tensions between people—between different tribes. And then it was doing everything I could to put those tensions to rest.
The going was difficult when I started out. Changing peoples' minds was as difficult a task back then as it is in modern times, after all. Harder, even, since these people hadn't known anything different. But eventually they came around. Eventually, they listened to what I was saying and let me solve problems one-by-one. And once the fruits of my labor started rolling in, they all saw the benefit at once.
More consistent food sources. Better collaboration between people. The increased connectivity even sparked innovation. The tribes began observing water as they explored new areas. They studied the plants that grew around rivers and the bright tasty confections that hung off trees. They tested against their environment to see what kind of gifts it could hold.
It tested them back, of course. Mother nature is nothing if not fickle. At one point, I was even the victim of poisoning due to wrongful identification.
Yet through the trials and tribulations, progress started to get made. Actual innovations sparked seemingly out of nowhere and the lists of benefits only grew.
The speed of it accelerated too as more and more people started working together. In my first few dozen lives, I saw maybe one achievement every few decades. As soon as the farming started—the agriculture and the seeds of civilization, though, more and more started to get done.
Humans diversified; they adapted to their new surroundings. They took the newfound food supplies in stride and started doing better things with their time. They made progress in the sciences—they got more intricate with the art. They codified laws and started with the ideas of rights. Of protecting their own so that their kin could have opportunities they themselves would never see.
And I was there through all of it—through all the heavens and the hells. Through the thriving and the suffering, we never truly gave up. As a species, we had already come too far, and we were not one to be destroyed by the very nature which we had used as a tool. Unfortunately, mother nature did pay the cost for our survival, but I still hold that we did well.
I kept doing what I knew and kept building upon that as well. I pulled from my collective memory in the same way I always did and helped humanity at every turn that I was able. Sometimes I made mistakes, and sometimes things were lost in time. But never did I forget the cores of my being. Never did I forget the purely human aspects that were the reason our species could thrive at all.
Never did I stop surviving. Never did I stop adapting. Never did I stop yearning for something more.
Never did I stop learning, and I think that is the most beautiful part of it all. That is the only part of human existence that has continued to baffle me to this day. Because while the petty fights of modern times are similar at their core to the ones I saw long ago, we find a way to dress them up as new every time. We find a way to know more about life than we ever have before.
We find a way to improve, just like I've done through every generation I've lived. Yet, even for me, it is ultimately futile. No matter how I adapt or how I learn from my mistakes, mother nature spites me at the end. I always die when there is more to do—only to have to suffer through the beginnings of life before I can help out again.
There is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable fate.
Whether that is a thing of horror or a thing of beauty, I do not know. All I know is that it is the truth, and it is one I am still desperately trying to understand.
But whether I know it or not, my story continues on. It echoes out through history like ripples through a pond. And I am glad that it does because my story is the same as the story of mankind.
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-07-31T19:40:00 | 2019-07-31T18:59:09 | 1,584 | 267 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world. | '*Motherfucker, that is* not *what happened.*'
It was a re-occuring thought as I read through the history book I was assigned to read in this lifetime. This school was *marginally* better than the one I went through in my last life, but it had the same problems- *being a victim of the longest game of telephone in history*.
Luckily, this lifetime was in an age where information- and sadly, misinformation- flowed as free as the wind. The neuroplasticity of a new, young brain made it easy to adapt to this upheaval, just like the last 192 new ages. This new direction of the world actually made my goal from the past three lives all the more easier.
Get through school and college. Become a known, respected historian. Then, *set these fuckers straight on what actually happened.* | *'Oh dearest one, there is little to tell.'*
She spread her graceful hands in a deprecatory gesture.
*'Lives after lives,*
*what things haven't I seen?*
*What events haven't I witnessed?'*
*'Centuries after centuries,*
*which pleasure haven't I tasted?*
*Which sorrow haven't I borne?'*
*'Money, prestige and power*
*Pretty simple things, are they not?*
*And how long do they last along the river of time?'*
*'Brahma the creator,*
*Vishnu the preserver,*
*Shiva the destroyer*
*Oh the various costumes, I wear.'*
*From the Alpha, to the Omega*
*Christus - The Anointed,*
*Buddha - The Awakened,*
*John Jones, Mary Smith and Betty Brown,*
*which role haven't we played together, young one?'*
*"Oh all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."*^[1](https://poets.org/poem/you-it-act-ii-scene-vii-all-worlds-stage)
*'from birth to death, and death to rebirth, the 1000 forms of fears,*
*which one hasn't made a home in my mind?*
*And which one now, haven't I vanquished?'*
*'What is real? What is Truth?*
*What is eternal? What is destiny?*
*Which questions haven't I pondered through these countless lives?'*
She put her hand upon my head, running her fingers through my hair with a gentle love of a mother for her beloved child.
*'Fathers, mothers, how many deaths have I mourned for?*
*Wives, husbands and young ones, how many have I said goodbye?'*
*'And now, in front of you now, my child.*
*After all that is said and done'*
*'I-Am here'*
'*Each life, like a dream of yesterday's night.*
*I awake again, abide, and then pass away.'*
*'And yet, I-Am ever remain the same.'*
*'I Am that I Am'*
*“My consciousness has ceased associating itself with this temporary body.*
*Before I came on this earth,*
*‘I was the same.’*
*As a little girl,*
*‘I was the same.’*
*'I grew into womanhood,*
*'but still ‘I was the same.’*
'*When the family in which I had been born made arrangements to have this body married,*
*‘I was the same…*
*'And, in front of you now,*
*‘I am the same.’*
*Ever afterward,*
*though the dance of creation changes around me in the hall of eternity,*
*‘I shall be ever the same.'*
*"I-Am all that has been and is and ever shall be"*^[2](https://www.google.com/search?q=I+am+all+that+has+been+and+is+and+shall+be) | 2019-07-31T22:05:02 | 2019-07-31T21:12:36 | 81 | 19 |
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?" | Most of my co-workers were suitably inebriated; even the strict, authoritarian manager Margaret was smiling.
For a laugh, I asked her if NASA had ever considered exploring the ocean instead - the S could be changed to stand for Sea, after all.
The color drained from her face. Leaning in close, she whispered: “We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?”
I gave her a funny look and laughed nervously, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
Alone, I took a deep breath, leaned over the sink and whispered hoarsely: “They’re on to us.” | She turned pale, leaned in closer, and then whispered, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?"
Time slowed momentarily as I took in the gravity of her words, the noise in the bar fading suddenly into the background as I attempted to process this new information. Even the harsh clinking of glass on glass failed to break my concentration. It occurred to me that she might just be having a laugh at my expense… Ah yes, I can see it now… Her, back at the office, with various co-workers crowded around, all clamoring to hear the tale of my immediate reaction to what she had said... and no doubt eliciting uproarious laughter at my expense.
“Are… are you all right…?” Her question, laced with what seemed to be genuine concern, jolted me from my stupor, forcing me to make a decision. Should I deign to trust what she had said and probe further or leave it at that? Well, the allure of such highly protected information was simply too much.
“Ah, yes. I’m fine… I was just trying to process what you said. So…” Her eyes glinted in the dim lighting, seeming to understand where I was headed.
“Well, you see, it’s not something to talk about in this environment. I wouldn’t want to cause a panic, you know?” A panic?? What on earth could she be referring to? I simply had to know! “But I’ll show you tomorrow. Anyways, how have you been adjusting…?” Oh god, getting through the rest of this without betraying my absolute *need* to know what she was referring to was going to be a massive pain.
\~\~\~
“Good morning!” I nearly yelled, a mess of nervous excitement as I stepped into her office the next day. My energy was a boundless stream of water, rushing to fill the otherwise stark, tidy space.
“Ahh good morning! I assume you’re here to learn more about what I mentioned last night?” she said airily, motioning me to her side. I practically leapt closer, as she pointed to an article with several graphs and charts that was displayed on her computer screen. The title, in big, bold lettering, stated “Ocean Rising! What Will it Eat First?” I stared dumbly at the screen as my eyes quickly skimmed over the following text and glanced at the graphs. “I really just… can hardly believe it. I get so scared thinking about the data we’ve gleaned from our research. Before we know it, we’ll all be **food** for its depths. I'm not ready to be eaten!!” she wailed.
Oh. “Uhh… Well… maybe we get to choose what kind of fish eats us…?”
... | 2019-08-07T22:59:17 | 2019-08-07T18:19:58 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | Just another person in the crowd, the man in the long black over-coat moved behind the rotund man talking on his phone. In stark contrast to the fat-man's tottering, he seemed to glide as his coat lifted softly at the edges. Shadows lined his face bordered by long hanging hair not stirred by the breeze.
The screech of tyres. A scream. The phone sailing through the air as a voice rung out unanswered.
I watched as the gliding man stooped low to touch the twisted body of the fat-man, now crumpled beneath the front tyres of a bus. The air seemed to blur and flux as he closed his eyes, a sudden gasp rushing through the wind and into his chest.
He stood, and looked in my direction.
As the crowd resumed their movements, he approached me, his footsteps sure and silent.
"You can see me?" he said.
"I can," I replied, nodding.
He appraised me with a slight raise of an eyebrow over dark black eyes. Pulling something from his coat and checking it discretely in his hand, he smiled.
"You wouldn't be the first.....but this, this can't be right," he said.
"What?"
"It says you're not to die for another 3 thousand years."
Interesting. None before him had been able to read my date...he was growing in power, fast. He needed to be put down.
"Perhaps, but not for long." I said.
The hand busy placing the object back in his deep pockets stopped moving. His eyes locked on to mine, and everything became still.
I waited. Would he realise? Would he run?
A flicker in his eye. A twitch of the neck.
Through gritted teeth he spoke.
"You've come for me."
"Yes. Yes I have."
His eyes opened wide, "...but I am death himself..."
"You are a reaper of souls. A collector of power. The same as I."
"I will not let you," he said, taking a step back.
I smiled. I would give him a chance.
"Go. Collect as much as you need, it will not be enough. Today I will enjoy this place, and tomorrow...tomorrow shall be your end."
r/fatdragon :) | I slowly blink as the old man in the black leather jacket with a gun says that I'm not due. Im not really paying attention to whatever he just said. How the hell do you react when someone says you'll for another 3 millenia?
"HEY!" he shouts. I snap out of it make eye contact with him. He looks so... different. I always assumed that he was the generic skeleton in the black robe. Weird.
"How can you see me?" He asks again. I readjust my glasses before starting to answer, or atleast *attempt* to answer.
"I uh...uhh...don't know...I mean, doesn't everyone see you?"
"That's where you're wrong, kid. Usually the only ones who can see me are the ones about to die. See that bloke over there?"
I look behind and see a middle aged man, muscular man of average height with a dragoon tattoo on his left arm.
"He's about to bite it. And the guy who's going to do it is the guy right behind him."
I look over and see the would be murderer, who looks almost exactly like the reaper.
"See, me actually killing the person is a common misconception. I only plan them. My job is to give someone a death that fit how they lived."
"Wait" I say as I turn around. "You're the one who plans all the torture people go through? You're the one-"
"Ain't an easy job kid. But someone's gotta do it."
I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I felt like he was remorseful. I don't know why. You think an eternity killing people would eventually desensitize someone. But he seemed...sad. regretful. He must've realized how he looked because he quickly regained his air of composure and confidence.
"Anyways, that still hasn't answered my question. How are you seeing me?" He pressed.
I raised my hands in surrender. "I don't know!" I exclaim. "I'm just a normal guy, walking down this normal street, carrying these completely normal groceries, and I just get told I'm gonna live for more then a thousand years, and I'm not supposed to be able to see the reaper. 2 minutes ago I was a normal guy. Not an immortal."
"Well, you still aren't. If you're gonna live for that long though....."
He trailed off.
"Nevermind. Just don't worry about it."
I raised my eyebrow. You don't just tell someone they're going to live for 3000 years and just shut up! Even if you are the reaper. He must've read my confused expression, because what he said next really stuck with me.
"Ya see kid...the big guns, the guys upstairs and downstairs, whatever you call them..don't really care about your motives. That guy I just told you about earlier has a wife and 2 kids. He does what he does because that's the only way he'll feed his family. But they don't care...he's probably gonna end up in hell either way. I could try to stop his sentancing, but I'm just a messanger. The soldier doesn't get to edit the generals plan. He just dies obediently."
We both say nothing for a while. Finally, I decide to break the silence.
"I'm sorry.."
He sighs and looks at the guy.
"I am too kid."
He points his finger at the guy and I hear a loud gunshot. I turn around and see the shooter's gun smoking. The guy has a bullet hole in the back of his skull. He lies on the ground, dead. He then turns around and runs. I turn back around and see that the reaper is gone.
That was all 1000 years ago. And now as I sit her, writing this journal, I'm still no closer to answering the question. Why will I be here so long? The joy of life was suck out when my last friend died 900 years ago. Either this is a cruel joke, or I have something to do. I haven't seen the reaper since then, but since that encounter I've seen many...strange things. Spirits wandering and lost. People who don't quite end up in either heaven or hell. Also seen some demons. And angels. Neither are really... pleasant creatures to be around. But so far, noone has answered my question...guess I'll just to have wait and see.. | 2020-01-24T12:09:05 | 2020-01-24T11:08:17 | 508 | 73 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "Well, I was dead once, but I got over it."
The Grim Reaper stood silently and cocked his head.
"River Styx? You have the look of one who has been there."
"Yes. My GPS is old and it steered me wrong. I took a right turn onto a lane that went into a long tunnel. I thought it was odd that there were red lights, but I was just a tourist, ya know? I assumed I had stumbled into something experimental."
"Are you telling me you accidentally drove into the realm of Hades?"
"I guess so. The road turned into a unpaved dirt road, and then to a path. I couldn't turn around until I came to a river. The tunnel ended and I made a U-Turn."
"Did you touch the river in any way?"
"I got out of the car to take a picture, and when I went to the river I slipped and got wet. Didn't fall in, but I slid down the bank and got myself wet and muddy."
"You...I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"I climbed up the bank and left. It was brutal work getting up there too. It was all dead brushes and brambles."
"How did you know where you were?"
"When I left I saw a sign that said "River Styx 1 mile." It disapeared after I left."
Death made a slight choking noise.
"I'm going to have a talk with Hades. That new construction company he appropriated is incompetant."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's your problem," Death said. "I don't envy you. I'm the nice one. You get to deal with Life for a few thousand years, and he's a right bastard." | I sat there still staring out my window at the sidewalk across the street, as I do most of my nights. Ever since the accident I find comfort in the isolated silence. Most nights I see the same type of stuff, drugs deals, ladies of the night, homeless, just typical stuff for my crappy neighborhood. This night was different though, much different from the usual.
The street was oddly quite, I had not seen a single drug deal, hooker or homeless all night. Then around 3:00 am a dark figure approached the door to the building across the street and stopped. He turned and leaned against the wall inside the door way. Hands in his pockets, at first I thought it may have been a dealer or a junkie trying to get in the building or waiting for the deal to go down. This person was different though, they kept their hood up and I could not see their face even with the light shining right over them. I moved a bit closer to the window to try and get a better look.
Suddenly his head jerked up and was looking directly at my window. No face only blackness under the hood, but I could feel two eyes piercing into mine. He suddenly vanished, I jumped back out of my chair and onto the floor. Scared shitless for the first time since my accident, in fact it was the first time I felt any emotion at all, I began to feel a bit of relief when there was a thud behind me. I slowly stood up and turned around. There he was, the hooded, faceless man from across the street. I fell back into my chair sliding it back against the wall next to the window.
“H-how did you get in here? Who are you?”
The apartment was silent, no whistle of the wind against the windows or the floors creaking from the neighbors pets, or the drip from the sink. It was cold all of a sudden. The faceless man took a step towards me.
“Hello again, you may not remember me but I am the one who saved your life”
Have never seen this man in my life well I cannot be certain since I cannot see his face I hesitantly respond
“What? I have never met you in my life”
“A few months back, you were in a serious car accident.”
Anxiety and anger started to rush through me as I am still recovering from some injuries and hate to talk about it.
“Yeah what about it? I dont remember much from that night. Only driving and then waking up the next day”
The air gets colder as he steps closer to wards me and pulls his hood down an old weathered skull comes into the light from the window. Eyes dark as the deepest depth of space no jaw but could speak eloquently in a soft poetic way.
I was astonished and scared.
“You died in that accident and came to me. You asked me if it was your time. I gave you a choice, you could die now or die at a time of my choosing that I would give you on a later date”
The dreams and nightmares all began to makes sense. They were not nightmares but actual memories from my time with death. All the people dying were those doomed to eternal hell. I could feel a warm stream flow down my leg. I was truly terrified by now.
“Is this my time now then?”
“Oh, no no. You are not going to come to me for three thousand one hundred, forty-one years. However this is the first of many encounters we will have and the start of a wonderful friendship”
Before I could even think of anything to say he put his hood back up and vanished into a cloud of dark smoke and out the window.
WP: not much of a fiction writer, but was interested in this prompt. Feel free to give criticism (preferably constructive) anything helps to improve my craft and hope anyone enjoyed this. | 2020-01-24T17:11:51 | 2020-01-24T15:51:58 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | The door opened up and mom came rushing at Michelle and they hugged and squealed like moms and daughters do. I smile and wait to get introduced to mom. Dad is no one where to be seen at the moment, he's probably in the kitchen or the garage. Michelle's mom breaks free of her and comes over to me and gives me a great huge hug.
"So you must be Dr Justin. Michelle has told us so much about you. I am Diane. Its a pleasure to meet you come on in!" She practically drags me into the living room. She turns to back of the house and yells "RON! Michelle is here with her bf. Come say hello!"
A moment later, a tall lean man with greying hair comes around the corner and stops. For a brief moment, confusion, fear and anger cross his face. I am sure my face mirrored his. Both of were professionals and I was sure the women didn't pick up on that moment between Ron and I.
"Dr Justin! Welcome to our house. Come on, want a beer?" he asks me.
"I'd love one, Mr Jacobs." I reply.
"Nonsense, call me Ron. Come on to the kitchen, we'll let the girls catch up for a few minutes."
We walk into the kitchen and there is dinner the final stages of being prepped. He opens the fridge and gets me a beer.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he looks at me accusingly.
"Seriously, did you think I'd go out, find your daughter and start dating her? Do I look fucking stupid to you?" as I sip at my beer.
He lets out a laugh that's meant for the women and he leans in. "So how did you met her? I know you had met someone but she is the last person I thought it would be."
"Me too. Look met her through some friends at a bar about 6 months ago. One thing lead to another and here we are."
Ron sighed heavily. "She has no clue?"
I look him back in the eyes. "Does Diane know?" He shakes his head no.
"So what are going to do here, Doc?" He put a little too much emphasis on the Doc.
"Look. I really like her. Fuck, I even was had planning to ask her father for her hand in marriage. Well, until I realized you was you you. Right now, I don't fucking know."
That comment made Ron look like someone just punched him below the belt. "Excuse me, what?!"
"I love her, Ron. You trained me and you can read me like a book. You always knew when I was holding back or lying. You tell me. Am I now?"
Ron shook his head no again.
"You know she's safe with me. Hell, you're her father and didn't even know it was me dating her. The only issue is I can't keep up the facade of Dr Justin, Vet. But I got that covered, I'll sell the business and then just go into philanthropy for animal causes. It keeps the wanting to visit the office thing from being an issue. Now, are you ok with this?" I look him dead in the eyes.
"Look if you hurt her..." I wave him off and make the talking hand motion with my hand. "Yeah, I am ok with this. I kept what I do from Diane and Michelle for the last 30 years. Its not easy, but now you keep them from knowing from your end too."
"I got it, dad...errrr. Boss" I say with a cheeky smile.
He draws his hand back to punch me, but stops and laughs.
"Asshole..." | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T14:37:46 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You’ve been kidnapped by the SCP foundation. Why? You have the ability to ‘Mr. Magoo’ yourself out of anything. Sniper about to assassinate you? You bend down to pick up a penny just in time, SCP-049 about to touch you? A Sudden cannonball knocks them away. All with you being none the wiser. | **Item #:** SCP-777
**Object Class:** Euclid
**Special Containment Procedures:** No special safety procedures are required for the containment of SCP-777. SCP-777 is free to move about Site-19 so long as it does not attempt to engage with other SCPs, enter restricted areas, leave the premises or cause obstruction to foundation personnel. Contact with SCP-777 is permitted, but any divulgence of information or hostile engagement not cleared by the corresponding Class B or higher officer on duty will be met with harsh reprimands and potential disciplinary action, following the events of **Addendum 777.01** (see below).
A Class B officer is to check on the status of SCP-777 at regular intverals to ensure the safety of the subject and adherence with the containment procedures. SCP-777 is generally cooperative with foundation personnel, and verbal commands or negotiations are to be used as a first means in securing the subject.
**Description:** SCP-777 appears to be a human male, aged 23, with long brown hair, green eyes, and no defining facial features beyond a slightly pointer than average nose. All physical examination of SCP-777 shows no deviation from typical humans, and in all regards, SCP-777 is an average human male.
However, SCP-777s anomalous properties are observable if SCP-777 is placed in harm's way. Should there be any unwanted resultant effects to SCP-777, SCP-777 will act, seemingly unconsciously to avoid any and all harm to themselves. This harm or damage to the subject that is avoided appears to be both physical and mental in nature. It should be noted that this anomalous property only applies to unwanted damage, see **Addendum 777.02** (below).
SCP-777 has demonstrated that the intent to cause damage to SCP-777 is irrelevant regarding its anomalous properties. Any and all damage, intentional or not, directed at SCP-777 will not affect the subject. Following the events of **Addendum 777.06** (see below), any experimentation using equipment that has a chance exceeding >0.01% of causing an Orange level alert must be cleared with the Class A officer on-site beforehand.
&nbsp;
**Addendum 777.01:** During an incident where a Class D foundation member was engaged in janitorial duties, SCP-777 entered the area of operation and left "bloody muddy footprints all over the place!" This engagement resulted in the SCP-777 immediately apologizing, although the foundation member did not appear to accept this apology. In the ensuing moments, as the apology was rejected, the Class D foundation member appears to enter a trance-like state. This was not, however, harmful to the member's health as once the apology was accepted by the foundation personnel, SCP-777 vacated the area of operation and the member's mental faculties returned. They were dazed for a few minutes after, but this is pending confirmation by security-tape review. Post-event psychiatric analysis indicates they have no recollection or awareness of what occurred, and subsequent interviews show that SCP-777 was indeed unaware of their anomalous properties as the previous description states.
**Addendum 777.02:** SCP-777, in attempt to cause minor repairable damage to the subject, was placed in a room with a buzzer. SCP-777 was told to wait in there for an hour, and that the buzzer would deliver a small electric shock of 9 Volts should it be pressed. SCP-777 was observed not pressing the buzzer until 31 minutes and 21 seconds had elapsed. The buzzer then delivered its electric shock, and monitors indicate that SCP-777 did suffer some damage. SCP-777 pressed the buzzer 4 more times over the course of 20 minutes, before appearing to grow bored of it. SCP-777 then loudly complained, before seemingly accidentally pressing the buzzer, which did not deliver an electric shock. Post-test analysis reveals that there was a malfunction in the buzzer, frying the circuitry. Data suggest minuatre black holes developed and evaporated, but results are pending further analysis.
**Addendum 777.06:** During a test using explosives, SCP-777 used its anomalous properties to caused the walls of the test chamber to undergo a sudden decompression event. This unfortunately led to a cascading failure in containment cells as the explosives detonated, leading to the release of SCP-173. 14 D-Class foundation personnel were lost in the event, and any further testing is that could lead to an Orange level alert is prohibited. SCP-777 was not harmed in the event, as SCP-173 appears to have missed SCP-777's presence. Furthermore, SCP-777 was found with a single unit of American currency, valued at $0.01. SCP-777 claims that this 'lucky penny' appeared on the floor right before the explosion, which as absorbed by the falling wall. Analysis of debris indicates that all projectiles formed a 'null-zone' around SCP-777, narrowly avoiding any damage as it bent to pick up the 'lucky penny'. Further experimentation on culturally significant lucky items in hazardous situations manifesting in SCP-777's vicinity is currently undergoing review.
**Addendums 777.00, 777.03, 777.04** and **777.05** are currently not available to those under Security Clearance Level 2.
***
Come visit /r/ThomasWrites for more really lucky beings. For those of you with Level 2 Security Clearance, there are please enter your creditentials to view the [**Capture Log for SCP-777**](https://www.reddit.com/r/ThomasWrites/comments/ic6q99/wp_youve_been_kidnapped_by_the_scp_foundation_why/?) | **Item #:** SCP-6021
**Containment Class:** Euclid
**Disruption Class:** Dark
**Risk Class:** Notice
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-6021 is to be contained in a standard humanoid containment cell, and subject to standard low-risk humanoid anomaly containment protocols.
Following the events of Test #6021-11, non D-class personnel are prohibited from attempting to harm SCP-6021 directly using any part of their body. All hostile action taken against SCP-6021 during testing is to be carried out using a tool capable of failure, or by D-class personnel.
Should harm need to be inflicted on SCP-6021 for any reason, SCP-6021 is to be made aware of the source of said harm prior to an attempt to inflict it.
**Description:** SCP-6021, formerly S█████ ███████, is a Caucasian male, 32 years of age at time of initial containment. SCP-6021 is the center of a probabilistic anomaly, the nature of which protects its person from bodily harm.
When circumstances exist that SCP-6021 is unaware of and that may cause it bodily harm, probability will be manipulated in such a way that any such injury is prevented. SCP-6021 experiences no anomalous resistance to harmful external stimuli, and injury inflicted with SCP-6021's awareness affect it in a manner consistent with non-anomalous humans.
**Testing Log:**
> **Test #6021-01:**
> Overseeing personnel: Dr. Schroeder, Junior Researcher MacDonald
> Test materials: D-603112
> Test conditions: D-603112 was instructed to approach SCP-6021 and attempt to strike it once on the shoulder with an open palm.
> Results: D-603112 approached SCP-6021, and then successfully struck SCP-6021 on the shoulder, causing it to exclaim in surprise.
> Researcher notes: *It appears that SCP-6021's anomalous affects do not manifest if it it aware of the threat* - Dr. Schroeder
.
> **Test #6021-03:**
> Overseeing personnel: Dr. Schroeder, Junior Researcher MacDonald
> Test materials: D-603112
> Test conditions: SCP-6021 was provided with a blindfold and earplugs, and white noise was played into the test chamber, to prevent SCP-6021 from becoming aware of harmful stimuli. D-603112 was instructed to quietly approach SCP-6021 from behind and attempt to strike it once on the shoulder with an open palm.
> Results: SCP-6021 began to shift its foot as D-603112 approached, complaining of an object in its shoe. SCP-6021 knelt to adjust its shoe immediately before D-603112 attempted to strike it, resulting in D-603112 failing to strike SCP-6021.
> Researcher notes: *It appears that SCP-6021's anomaly requires it to be unaware of the potential threat.* - Dr. Schroeder
.
> **Test #6021-07:**
> Overseeing personnel: Dr. Schroeder, Junior Researcher MacDonald, Security Officer Gleeson
> Test conditions: SCP-6021 was restrained, sedated, provided with a blindfold and earplugs, and white noise was played into the test chamber. Security Officer Gleeson was instructed to draw his sidearm, aim at SCP-6021's head, and fire until his magazine was empty. Prior to the test, each bullet in Security Officer Gleeson's sidearm was inspected for manufacturing defects and found to be free of detectable flaws.
> Results: Each bullet in security officer Gleeson's firearm failed to fire, and had to be manually ejected. Post-testing analysis revealed an as-yet undetected flaw in the firing mechanism of security officer Gleeson's weapon, which had led to failure of the firing mechanism during or prior to the test.
.
> **Test #6021-011:**
> Overseeing personnel: Dr. Schroeder, Junior Researcher MacDonald
> Test materials: D-603112
> Test conditions: SCP-6021 was blindfolded and deafened with earplugs. White noise was played into the test chamber. SCP-6021 was restrained. D-603112 was instructed to quietly approach SCP-6021 and repeatedly attempt to strike it on the shoulder with an open palm, not ceasing until successfully striking SCP-6021 or instructed to stop.
> Results: While D-603112 approached SCP-6021, the sole of D-603112's shoe unexpectedly detached. This resulted in D-603112 falling, breaking his radius and ulna. Bone fragments were visible puncturing D-603112's inner wrist, and D-603112 rapidly began to bleed profusely from the wound. Test was aborted for D-603112 to receive medical treatment.
> Researcher notes: *This was a waste of resources. Let's find a way to do this safely, I'd prefer not to injure any more D-class.* - Dr. Schroeder
**Incident Log 50121-H-20██-██-██:**
On ██/██/20██, a containment breach took place in the humanoid containment wing of Site-██. A recently contained humanoid anomaly, under the temporary designation of TEMP-50121-H, began to exhibit unexpected visual cognitohazardous properties during preliminary testing. The overseeing researcher and three members of security personnel were immediately afflicted. Automated security protocols detected cognitohazardous influence and sealed the humanoid wing (see Department of Memetics and Cognitohazards Document A-65212K : Automated detection and containment of hostile mind-altering phenomena using artificial intelligence).
Individuals afflicted by the cognitohazard attempted to expose others to TEMP-50121-H's influence, resulting in affected personnel deliberately breaching containment of approximately 35% of anomalies in the Site-██ humanoid containment wing so as to expose them to TEMP-50121-H. SCP-6021 was among the humanoid anomalies who were removed from containment.
Security video logs, sterilized of anomalous cognitohazardous influence by the Department of Memetics and Cognitohazards, reveal that SCP-6021 was eating in its cell at the time of the containment breach. Immediately prior to its door being opened, SCP-6021 accidentally crushed the hot sauce packet included as a part of its meal, dispensing hot sauce into its eyes. It proceeded to stumble around its containment cell, avoiding capture by two compromised members of security personnel. SCP-6021 then stumbled out of the containment cell and inadvertently closed the door, triggering the automatic lock and trapping the afflicted personnel inside. SCP-6021 then continued to blindly wander the humanoid containment wing, its probabilistic anomaly causing it to narrowly avoid harm from the ongoing struggles between afflicted personnel, unaffected personnel, and escaped humanoid anomalies.
Approximately 15 minutes after leaving its cell, SCP-6021 managed to find an emergency eye wash station and remove the contaminants from its eyes. It continued to wander the humanoid containment wing. At 60 minutes after the initiation of automated lockdown, SCP-6021 approached a hallway occupied by TEMP-50121-H. This resulted in TEMP-50121-H becoming unexpectedly trapped inside a supply closet immediately prior to SCP-6021 entering the hallway. TEMP-50121-H remained locked inside this supply closet for the remainder of the containment breach.
MTF-Eta-10 ("See no Evil") arrived on site 98 minutes after the automated lockdown, successfully containing TEMP-50121-H (now designated SCP-████) and assisting site security personnel with apprehending compromised individuals and recontaining escaped humanoid anomalies. Compromised Foundation personnel and humanoid anomalies recovered following amnestic treatment.
**Update 2020/██/██:**
Dr. Schroeder has drafted a proposal to use SCP-6021's anomalous properties to aid in containment of other anomalies, now awaiting Ethics Committe approval. | 2022-05-20T21:30:10 | 2020-08-18T09:00:14 | 4,017 | 59 |
[WP] You are a necromancer, but an unconventional one. Instead of using your army of the undead to take over the world or cause mass chaos, you decide it's much more profitable to monopolize the market with your cheap and untiring workforce. | "Mr Necross- Donna Day, Apex News. You've faced some accusations of tolerating sub-par working conditions in your Mortem Postal Service warehouses. Anything you'd like to say about that?"
Necross smiled. "Those accusations came in the form of a series of anonymous social media posts which have since been debunked. Every inspection of our operation has returned good results, and I've always conducted all our activities with total transparency. Unless some new workplace laws have been passed in the last ten minutes, I can assure you we tick all the boxes."
It was indeed true. All of Necross' employees got an hour's break every day, the cafeteria had a hygiene rating of 5, overtime was entirely optional and paid double. The fact that none of them ever availed of these options was trifling. Zombies liked simple, repetitive tasks, and with their sagging posture and hollow, dead eyes looked right at home bustling about town between 6 and 8am. So Necross had set up his own courier business. Sure, it might not be as glamorous as world domination, but it paid the bills. He'd been struggling to make ends meet before- the maintenance costs on his castle just ate away at his finances.
Another question came in now. "Mr Necross- Steve Smith, NCE. Your business only appointed an officer for diversity and equality for the first time last month. What other steps have you taken to ensure equality in the workplace?"
It was true, Necross had struggled a bit to tick the boxes early on. It was just easier to find more tall and strong male corpses. But they were making progress, and the new gender-neutral morgue had been a fine success. "Well, Steve, as you can probably see from the Department for Business' report last week, Mortem does have the lowest gender pay gap of the country's 100 most profitable firms, and the only one this year not to have at least one claim of harassment investigated by an external third party." The pay gap was nil, and zombies didn't go in much for crass behaviour. The only real expense that had been needed was for workplace counselling- being dead was, understandably, a somewhat unnerving experience. | “Master, we have reports of an attack” the ghoul rasped.
Varos hated the way some of his undead servants spoke, it gave him an uncontrollable urge to cough and clear his own throat. He made a mental note to find a way to make their voices softer and more pleasant. He snatched his quill and scratched “*fix voices”* on a nearby piece of parchment in red ink before removing his spectacles and rubbing his sore eyes. He cleaned the lenses with the fabric of his robes, put them back on, and looked at the creature before him for the first time.
It had once been a man, a soldier from the look of his muscular arms and broad shoulders. His skin was desiccated and clung tightly to the muscle and bone beneath, giving it a leathery appearance. Varos wondered if he should name them and decided to call this one Smith.
“Where is the attack? How many foes this time?” Varos asked with a sigh, using the desk to push himself to his feet. He felt heavy and his knees ached. *I feel like he looks,* he thought, and smiled at his private joke.
“My lord, they attack the lumber mills at the edge of the Iron Forest. At least five hundred men, mustered by Duke Freston it seems.” flecks of spittle launched from Smith’s ragged lips as he spoke.
Duke Freston was a fat, greedy wart of a man who ruled the land surrounding the forest. Varos had assumed the Duke hadn’t the courage nor the men to launch an attack on the logging operation established there. Varos cursed his complacency.
“What do we have nearby to deal with them?” Varos asked, leaning heavily on a stick as he made his way closer to a map spread over a nearby table.
The forest was a 3 days ride from the westernmost reaches of his domain and he could not afford to lose the supply of ancient Ironwood it provided. The wood was extremely valuable and the Duke obviously didn’t want to share.
He would soon learn the same valuable lesson that Lord Hargreaves had learned when he didn’t want to share the gold that lay in the mountains to the north. Lord Hargreaves now oversees the gold mining operations and all it took to convince him was a spear through his chest and a reanimation spell.
“We can have two hundred knights dispatched from the southern garrison and still have enough in place to keep any raiders from disrupting our caravans in the badlands beyond” Smith said.
Varos bent over the map and traced a finger right from the forest and then down to an icon depicting a keep. The southern garrison was a captured castle on the edge of the badlands that lay beyond it. It was from here that his forces were dispatched to escort caravans and deal with raiders that may threaten trade with the kingdoms on the other side. Varos had tried to reason or even bribe the raiders, but they were savage bands of barbarians and could not grasp the benefits of becoming allies.
Instead, they were hunted by Varos’ undead knights and rangers, had their bodies dragged back to the garrison, and were raised into undeath by the necromancers there. This wasn’t entirely a bad thing, as he always needed more laborers for the mines and lumber camps or soldiers for his armies, but if there was a way to avoid the conflict Varos would consider it as having living servants as envoys and traders worked a lot better than walking corpses.
“Will two hundred knights be enough?” Varos said, stroking his beard as he studied the map. “Can we spare more? I need to send a clear message to the good Duke.”
“Plenty my lord.”
“Good. Send laborers and construct a keep there once they are dealt with. This will not happen again, that wood is part of a huge shipment to the Dwarven kingdom, we stand to gain a lot from it with the new trade agreement.”
Another servant, this one much more skeletal than Smith, burst through the doors of the hall and handed Smith a small scroll. Smith read it, his pale eyes scanning the words quickly before widening. Varos froze. There was only one thing in this world that could drive fear into the rotten heart of the undead.
“My lord” Smith said, his voice hoarser than before. “Paladins have been sighted, marching from the west. Thousands of them.” his eyes darted back to the message. “A crusade.” | 2021-01-10T18:07:54 | 2021-01-10T17:27:16 | 372 | 59 |
[WP]: There's a tiny predator in the human quarters that nobody is allowed to exterminate - under the threat of complete human riot. The humans willingly admit that yes, it DOES sometimes try to attack humans as well, but altogether, they are relaxed by the presence of the "cat". | "One last thing, very important..." the instructor began. An image of a monstrous creature flashed on the screen. "Be alert for this...creature. It is a dangerous predator. It will attack you, despite its small size. Its claws and teeth can and will rip open your skin. YOU MUST NOT REACT, THOUGH. DO NOT HURT THE CREATURE!!!! EVEN IF IT ATTACKS YOU!!!"
Bartan and Z'lorg looked at each other. They were new coworkers who had bonded through their orientation because they were the only two hatchlings of the Xaram season. The instructor's shouting contrasted sharply with the last several days of monotone lectures.
"Now that I have your attention," the instructor continued, smoothing back his antennae, "Let me repeat: DO NOT HARM this creature. This creature is to be left alone, at all times. Be cautious if you see it. This creature is very important to the humans on board this ship. They will riot and kill us if we hurt this creature. Hurting this creature will most certainly cause a diplomatic incident. DO NOT HURT THE CAT! When we get back from break, I will tell you more about this creature."
"I wonder why that scary thing is even on the ship in the first place," Z'lorg whispered.
"I don't know, but I bet it's hard to spot among the shadows. I keep thinking about the claws," Bartan replied.
"I wonder about the skin. It looked so strange with the grey stripes and the....what do the humans call the keratinous fibers of creatures?" Z'lorg turned to his buddy, and froze.
Bartan's eyes were creased in terror. His antennae were wildly flailing. "It is soft," he said. "Very soft. I cannot move." | Really loved this prompt. Made me think about the old wives tale that cats sleep on the chests of babies and steal their breath. (edit: fixed some formatting)
CW: horror, slight mention of violence
////
She weaves along the bottoms of the bedposts, humming softly. It’s dark now in the barracks, but I can see the tiny flicks and ripples of the shadows as she moves. These are distortions of the darkness, giving away her invisibility. Though I have no doubt this is what she wants. Otherwise, it would not be so.
The air is thick and heavy here. There are many bodies together, resting in bunks stacked three high. The communal breathing rises and falls in time with her distortions across the floor and among the beds. She is a solid black. A deeper, truer black then the dull shadows can hope to compete with. You could reach into her and fall forward and down, down, down, until you could no longer breath or see or think.
She has a tail that curls and twists behind her in every direction. Now it drags limp and long against one of the thick metal poles holding up the frame of a bed two rows down. Sometimes I think it could go on forever, trailing behind her, gathering up everything she leaves in her wake. The men have said she bites her tail at night to wake herself in the morning. Always joking, never fully understanding. A creature like this has no need for sleep. Only dreams.
Her eyes are sealed shut like a newborn kitten. I lay in the darkness with my head turned to the right, watching her move lithely despite her lack of vision. As if she’s tread the floor every day since her birth. Her teeth, I’ve never seen, but I have heard. Her feet are uninspired, but I could not tell you now how they appeared to my eyes. I know who she is because she told me, but I have long since forgotten how I was told.
I wonder where she came from. I’m sure at some point I knew. Maybe one day she’ll let me remember. I told the men this morning, over breakfast, that she needs to go. But now I am scared she will take those memories with her. I have seen her on the chests of men, humming in contentment. It is a siren’s song. A lullaby. A requiem.
I have forgotten what I was scared of. The darkness has become still, and I realize I do not see her. Then she is on top of me, humming louder, until it is all I can hear. No more breathing or heartbeats or sleepy murmurs. It is only she and I. She is lead on my chest. A cannonball to hold me. Her tail, limp and heavy, draped across my shaking legs. I can feel her feet inside my ribs, digging for purchase.
Something instinctual brings bloody images to the surface. Broken bones, too broken to heal, lurching forward out of the body of some small creature -- perhaps a bird, or a rat, or a squirrel. I have forgotten what they may have looked like, but the bloodied bone and bright white fat jutting outward is something I can still recall with painful clarity. The last bit of existence squeezed outwards from the bottom up in the gasping of a death rattle.
I hear sirens in the back of my head. I hear humming and the rattling of teeth above me. I begin to shake uncontrollably, and that is when her eyes peel open. A red speck begins at the center of the circle and travels outward in a smooth arc, before expanding in a sudden unraveling of flesh. One massive circle of blinding red within an ever-growing circle of blackness.
The air is being taken from my lungs in bits and pieces, as if she is pulling strips of fabric inch by inch from inside my chest. First one, then the next, and so on. I’m starting to forget what air tastes like. I can hear a humming from far away. My eyes have become heavy. It is time for me to dream. | 2021-01-24T15:04:46 | 2021-01-24T14:50:53 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things | "Is she awake?"
"Give it a second!"
"She's not an *it,* Dad!"
"Sorry, sorry. Give *her* a second, Angie. Look, she's waking up."
The Fully Autonomous Biodroid, or FAB, looked every bit the human ten-year-old girl Lizzie Ellison did when she lived. It – or she, rather – lay on Lizzie's old – own – bed, as per the instructions from the representative from FAB corp.
Lizzie's eyelids fluttered to life. She blinked a few times, making out the faces of her dad and older sister.
"Uh...hi guys," she said, yawning. "Everything okay? Oh man, did I miss dinner again?"
Angie all but tackled Lizzie as she jumped onto the bed to hug her baby sister.
"Angie! What're you doing?" Lizzie giggled. "Wait what? Angie? Are you crying?"
Finn Ellison spoke through a tightened throat. "You should sit up, Lizzie. We have a lot to talk about."
So over the course of the next hour, the Ellison family sat in Lizzie's room, and went over everything. About how Lizzie had been riding her bike without her helmet again. About how Angie and her dad had told her a million and one times to always wear her helmet. And about how the driver that hit her had been drunk and didn't even bother stopping after he hit Lizzie and how the paramedics did everything they possibly could but she was dead before even arriving at the hospital. About how Lizzie was able to sit with them now.
"So...I'm not real?" Lizzie asked. She didn't sound sad, or even scared, thought Angie. It was as if she was asking about a tricky question on her homework.
"There are a few schools of thought on this," mused Finn aloud. "Have you heard of the ship of Theseus? Some philosophers have argued that –"
"You're real, Lizzie." Angie glared at her father. "You're every bit as real and alive and loved as you were before the accident."
Lizzie thought for a moment. "Huh. Okay. I mean, I don't really feel any different, so I guess it's fine."
Finn smiled. "Let's go out for dinner. The rep from FAB corp said you should still eat and drink like you did before, though technically it's not strictly necessary."
Lizzie beamed, and they all got their coats and headed out to Lizzie's favorite pizza restaurant.
==============================
Something wasn't right. Sure, Lizzie looked and sounded like Lizzie, but something was just *off.* It started exactly a month after they first brought FAB Lizzie home.
Angie's room had these two great beanbags they loved to lay on. Angie was reading, while Lizzie played on her phone.
"Hey Angie, could you get me a Coke from the fridge?"
Angie laughed. "Lizzie, you hate Coke. Remember that time you threw up after eating a whole 2-liter bottle?"
Lizzie paused. "Huh, yeah. Well I want one anyway. Can you get one for me pleaaase? I don't feel like getting up."
Angie rolled her eyes, but got up anyway. She opened the fridge and frowned. Walking back into the room, Angie frowned at Lizzie.
"Did you drink all of our Coke? We're totally out, and we just got a new pack yesterday. I've only had one."
"Oh, yeah sorry, guess I've been thirsty. Can we go to the store and get some more?"
"Jesus, you drank an entire 12-pack in a day? And uh no, it's almost midnight. You can survive until we go back to the store on Sunday."
"No! I want some NOW!"
Angie jumped a little at the outburst. "What's wrong with you? You just had an entire pack and you want more? Calm down and maybe don't burn through our entire supply so fast next time."
Lizzie stood up and threw her phone at Angie, chipping the wall a few inches from Angie's torso.
Angie was wide-eyed. "What the hell is wrong with you??"
Lizzie stormed out of the room.
==============================
These episodes repeated themselves over the next few months. Lizzie was never known for her calm temper, but this was something else entirely.
"Lizzie, you hate Dominoes."
"Huh. Yeah, but I'm really craving some. Can we go now please?
It was fast food chains, TV shows, hair products, sneakers and more. One time, Lizzie started bawling because their dad brought home Colgate instead of Crest toothpaste.
If Lizzie didn't get her way, it was tantrums, it was throwing things, and it was pleading with her father who almost always gave in to whatever random brand Lizzie had decided she needed that day.
"Dad, something's not right with Lizzie."
Finn Ellison glanced up from his desk, and quickly glanced around.
"Close the door. What do you mean?"
"Haven't you noticed? Out of nowhere Lizzie wants to go to Dominoes every weekend. She wants Nikes instead of Sketchers. And the amount of Cokes we're buying every week now...something's wrong, Dad. It's not just that some of her tastes have changed, but she's *aggressive* about these things."
Finn sighed. "Look, you remember. When we lost your sister, it was the worst day of our lives. FAB came to us and offered us a solution."
"I remember," Angie said. "I remember you said we couldn't afford it, actually."
"We couldn't. Not the full version."
Angie felt her chest tighten. "What do you mean, 'full' version?"
"When I told the rep that we didn't have the money for their standard FAB droid, he told me about a new...product they currently had in beta testing, and that if we agreed to try it out, it wouldn't cost us anything. Heck, they even offered to cover the real Lizzie's medical bills from the accident."
Angie stood still for a solid minute, processing. "Are you saying...are you telling me that...you're saying that the Lizzie I've been living with for months is –"
"She's effectively an ad-tier version of a FAB droid."
Angie saw red. "How could you do this? How could you think that this was okay?? An ad-tier version of my sister? She's a sentient person! She's your *daughter!"*
"She is not my daughter!" Finn shouted. He deflated. "But she's better than nothing."
Angie stormed from the office to her room. She slammed the door, and collapsed on her bed, crying. She remembered the day she learned her baby sister had died, she remembered the counselors, the grief, the pain.
"Better than nothing," she murmured.
But she wasn't so sure. | “Can you hear me?” I ask EZRA, who is sitting across from us. I see slight red lights flicker in the black bulbs of its eyes.
“Nancy, I’m telling you I don’t think this is a good idea.” I tell my wife, trying for the last time to convince her not to go through with this. “This isn’t healthy. You’ve been doing so well, Nancy. I’m worried this is just going to make it worse.”
She’s not listening to me. She’s watching the fingers of EZRA as the upload continues.
EZRA's fingers and toes are twitching and curling as Jason’s brain scan is being uploaded into some deep internal network of its mainframe. I have a strong, almost overwhelming urge to toss it out the window.
The twitching grows into a full body palsy as the house robot begins to slide down from one end of the couch to the next. I touch Nancy’s hand and she grabs onto me, clawing my arm.
“What’s wrong with it?” she whispers to me, in a high-pitched voice.
“It’s done this before, remember? When we uploaded your father? Just give it a few seconds…”
“You think he’s alright? You think Jason is okay in there?”
I touch her arm. “It’s not Jason who is in there, Nancy. Our boy is dead. He died two years ago from cancer, remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember. You think I’d just forget that?” she says, looking at me with pure hatred.
“Of course not,” I say, looking away.
The robot has fallen on the ground now and the palsy has ended, but the twitching fingers and toes have returned. I lean down and pick it up. It’s heavy but not too heavy and I set it softly on the couch again. I look it into its eyes but I see nothing but a red pulsing dot surrounded by the charcoaled ruins of its black glass bulbs.
“I’m just saying, I think it’s best you understand that," I say. "I don’t think it would be healthy for you to think this is Jason.”
“It was just an expression, Larry. You always twist my words, don’t you?”
“No, Nancy. I wasn’t trying to do that. I’m just not sure if this is a good idea. You’ve been doing so well lately. You’ve been able to reduce your medication. You’ve been able to go to the grocery store. There are so many great advancements you’ve made just in the last few months. I’d hate to see any of that fall away.”
“It’s not going to *fall away*, Larry." She said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Don’t be ridiculous. This is going to help. Can’t you see that? No, of course you can’t see that. You never could see it. Any of it. You always think you know best.”
I stand up and stretch. “I’m going to get a glass of water. Would you like me to bring you anything when I return?”
“No.” she said sharply. “Besides EZRA will be able to help me soon. Once the upload is done.”
“Sure,” I said, stepping out the door.
\---
We purchased EZRA eight years ago when Nancy was pregnant with Jason. I was working full time and she was still working at the bakery. We thought it would be best for us to invest in an EZRA--the newest housecleaning model from the Dyson corporation. They were expensive, but it was worth it.
Even after eight years, EZRA is still the most advanced robotic helper in the industry. And it is still extremely popular, one reason being the ability to upload the brain scans of those loved ones who have passed.
We uploaded Nancy’s father Terry after he died at the age of eighty-two due to a heart attack. The brain scan wasn’t advanced at the time, not as they have now, and it's not often that we see Terry in EZRA. On occasion EZRA will say very strange things, things that must have been stored deep down inside Terry. And its generally when EZRA believes they are alone when it says these things.
One night I had came down from the upstairs bedroom and I saw EZRA standing at the window looking out. EZRA was supposed to be on their docking station. I had never known it to come off in the middle of the night. EZRA had its head pressed against the glass and was repeating the words, “Let me out, father. Let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said, walking slowly up to it. Its hand was wrapped tight around our window curtain and it was pulling firmly down on the fabric. I thought it would break the curtain rod. It kept repeating “let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said again, walking quietly up to it. When I touched its shoulder it spun around. Tearing the curtain off the wall and knocking me to the ground. 'Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!' It screamed, staggering forward.
“EZRA shut down!” I shouted and it fell to its knees, then collapsed to the floor.”
The next day we had a technician come and do a diagnostic. They said a relay switch had gone bad. They fixed it on the spot.
We’ve had no issues with Ezra since.
\---
I pull down a glass and it slips in my hand and falls and breaks on the tiled kitchen floor. I lean forward and take a long drink directly from the sink spout. When I’m done, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve then walk back into the living room.
“Look, look how handsome he looks,” Nancy says, standing next to EZRA. “I can see our boy in it already.”
I stare at EZRA who is standing there, looking at the wall. The red dots have grown in its black glass eyes. The twitching in its hands have stopped.
“EZRA, I’ve broken a glass in the kitchen. Please go clean it up.”
“Right away, sir,” EZRA says and walks past me with uncanny speed and agility. It always makes me nervous to watch their movements. The salesman said we’d get used to it after a while. That it was normal, and our brain had to adjust to these unhuman movements.
After all these years, I’ve never adjusted.
\----
Jason’s brain scan was top of the line when we purchased it. For the first few months after diagnosis we thought he would get better. That there would be some miracle that would come last minute and rescue him, and us, from this hell. But it was not a movie and we had to face the cold hard truth.
That’s when we purchased the brain scan.
My wife, understandable, was almost frenzied with grief at this time and she refused to even think about it. But, when I finally convinced her it may be a good idea for us to think about doing it—when she finally accepted the idea—then money was not a concern to her and we’d buy the most advanced brain scan money could buy.
And so, we did just that. And it has been sitting in a safety deposit box for two years. That is, before we uploaded it into EZRA.
For me, that was never the idea. There are other, more healthy options. There are companies that can review and revise the brain scan to develop something akin to a home movie for the bereaved. Memories, feelings, all of that. Something to keep and watch on birthdays that never come.
This is not what my wife wanted. And truth be told, it’s not what I wanted either.
She first suggested the idea of uploading into EZRA a couple months ago and I didn’t take it seriously at first. The idea seemed grotesque. But we had uploaded her father into EZRA, and outside of the few strange occurrences at night, it did bring some comfort.
Some days it seemed like Terry was in our house. EZRA would be absolutely boiling over with Terry’s thoughts and memories. But in the end, the brain scan was not a high quality one, and Terrys brain had deteriorated so far by the end of his life that the memories seemed warped, scattered and woven amongst so many strands. They’d come out incoherent from EZRAs mouth.
Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was not.
In the end, we decided to remove Terry from EZRA and that’s when Nancy suggested we add Jason.
I feel it is a mistake. That in some ways those who have passed should not be carried forward in the lifeless hulk of an artificial intelligence house robot. That these are not games to play lightly with. My son was a special boy, the greatest person I’d even known. But he is gone, and the memories should live within us, not displayed grotesquely through a machine.
But for my wife, it’s not so easy. It’s been very hard on her. Very hard. And I would do anything to make her happy. And if this is what she needs, as she so continuously tells me. Then I will do it for her.
\---
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-03-06T14:22:05 | 2021-03-06T11:38:13 | 148 | 75 |
[WP] "Now be aware, humans are... we'll they're primate descendant. Touch is very important to them. They will probably try to scratch your ears." "They know we're sentient, right?" "I don't think they care. But it feels good. They've got those little fingers." | …the humans have arrived, Son. Let us go welcome them. Now be aware, Occa. Humans are... we'll they're descendants of primates on their home planet. Touch is very important to them. They will probably try to scratch your ears.
…they know we're sentient, right, Father?
…I don’t think they care. They simply see us as something alive and deserving of respect and dignity. But the scratching of the ears feels good. They've got those little fingers, after all.
…Is it true they have come before, Father?
…They did. Many, many moons ago they came. Long before you were born. But they did not stay long.
…But they helped us, didn’t they, Father?
…They did, son. They freed us from the Angral.
*\[Occa shudders at the word\]*
…Father, I never knew the Angral.
…And its good that you never did, son. You live now in a world of peace and prosperity. A world long free of the scourge of the Angral and the devastation they caused our species.
….And why did the humans help us, Father?
…None of us really know, son. Some say it is because we remind them of a pet they once loved when they were still bound to their home planet. That they considered us ‘cute’. But, I believe they saw the injustices, the cruelty of the Angral and wanted to correct that injustice. We have had other visitors to this planet, son, and they have all said the Human federation has done similar acts of kindness in their solar systems. That they work their way through the galaxy, trying to make it a place where you don’t have to be afraid. That the mighty will protect the weak and fight the wicked, such as the Angral.
…here they come, father. What do I do? I’m so nervous.
…Whatever you want, son. There is no need to be afraid. Let us welcome them with the compassion they have shown us and so many others.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | "Tap of Claws on Dewy Grass?" Winter Hairs in the Wind of Spring yowled.
"Ugh! What *is* it, Mom, I'm going to be late for the hunting sims!" Claws hissed back.
Winter Hairs wrapped her prehensile tail around Claws' midsection and dragged her back before she could leap away. Claws protested, twisting and spitting, but Winter Hairs was more than twice her daughter's size. "Claws, you promised me you'd give me five minutes for The Human Talk."
"I don't need The Human Talk! I have access to the internet. I've seen everything about humans. Now let me go!" Claws bit her mother's tail, but she barely felt it through her thick fur.
"You've seen what you *can* do with humans. I'm here to talk to you about what you *should* do with humans. Now. When a human and a gricka love each other very much—"
"*Mooooom!*" Claws covered her ears with her front paws. "Ew ew ew ew I don't even *want* to have a human touch me!"
"I know, but... well, when you're older, you'll see. We're apparently quite similar to some animals on their world, and they're a little like the mellos you're familiar with; it's surprisingly natural to want to, ah, *snuggle* with a human—as long as it's all done safely. Get yourselves both tested for allergies, always make sure to wash your paws after—with *soap*, mind you, don't just lick yourself clean. And if you lick the human—"
"*Why would I lick the human?*"
Winter Hairs purred softly. "Oh, kitten. You're still so young." Winter Hairs' eyes grew misty. "But... there's something more important."
"The hunting sims?" Claws mewed hopefully.
Winter Hairs nipped Claws' neck lightly, and Claws sobered up. There was a heaviness to her mother's words as she spoke. "Consent. Humans... are... well, they're *very* touchy. Even more than me, if you can believe it. Sometimes, they can take someone and... never let them go. Or worse, trick them into thinking they *can't* go, that the human will be *so sad* without them. And that's how they trap you. The bad ones, that is. Not with force of arms or strength of will, but... by exploiting our empathy. Corrupting it into chains of guilt." Winter Hairs looked Claws directly in her slitted eyes. "No matter how happy you make someone else, their happiness is not your responsibility. If you don't feel safe leaving a relationship, *tell me*. We'll work it out together. Got it?"
Claws nodded solemnly, nuzzling her mother's cheek. "Got it. I'm... sorry, Mom."
Winter Hairs laughed. "For what? It's not your fault."
"I know. Just... humans sound so... terrible."
Winter Hairs shook her head. "Not all of them. And besides... according to the historical logs, they've... been through hard times. There was this three-year-long period where nobody could legally touch each other for fear of spreading disease. It really shaped how their cultures perceived touch. And... well, there was that thing with the Mites, and... oh, kitten, just... know that humans aren't intrinsically bad. They... cling on to what they can find because they've lived in a world where it gets taken from them at every turn."
Claws smiled sadly and groomed her mother's neck; her mother mrowled in surprise. "I'm glad you won't ever get taken from me, Mom."
"I'm glad too, Claws." Winter Hairs uncurled her tail, to send her daughter off to her games.
Claws gave her mother one last nuzzle, then trotted off to resume her childhood.
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek. | 2021-03-20T20:39:28 | 2021-03-20T20:19:00 | 640 | 451 |
[WP] "Now be aware, humans are... we'll they're primate descendant. Touch is very important to them. They will probably try to scratch your ears." "They know we're sentient, right?" "I don't think they care. But it feels good. They've got those little fingers." | Amongst the more singularly mundane creatures of the universe are a race of sentient ape-like beings known as “human beings” who occupy the third planet orbiting Sol in a shabby little arm of the galaxy known as the milky way.
No one quite knows how these peculiar beings gained a consciousness so powerful they’ve managed to punch and strangle their way to the top of the planet’s food chain, but having done so with a combination of superior battle strategy and nintendos 64, they sit comfortably atop their planetary heaps of species, complaining about their deeply troubling societal structures, and the weather.
Equally disturbing is their penchant for touching. Show a human an unfamiliar object and they are bound to look, listen, sniff, lick, and eventually, grab it. Some scientists conjecture that this need for connection stems from a deep psychological black hole in the minds of humans that distances them from various animals, plants, each other, and indeed the planet itself. But most believe that’s a bunch of hippy-dippy hogwash and agree that human-touching feels good. They do have those little fingers.
So! If you ever find yourself in the unfortunate enough position of being stuck on “Earth” why not make a friend or two? Sure the local fauna is nothing special, and most Earth animals can’t perform even the most basic telepathy, but if you’re exceedingly friendly and engage in enthusiastic conversation about how bad the weather is (no matter what) you’ll find yourself enjoying the pleasant touch of human fingers in no time. | "We've lived on the same planet together for 10,000 years, been in their tribes, formed bonds, and they still don't know we're intelligent?"
"They're descended from primates. It's only natural for them. And think about it, we don't have their posable thumbs for building, as far as we know they only understand our body language, as we understand theirs, and they spend too much time trying to run tribes of millions."
Angus looked away from his friend towards the city that humans seemed to refer to as San Francisco. To dogs and cats it was Dwarf Woof, meaning Bay City. Lying down on a small hill just outside of the town was a treat that Angus would never forget. Kona, his best friend and sister continued. "But why do they have to scratch our ears of all places? I mean, what's wrong with the belly or the side?"
Angus thought for a moment in his usual manner, then replied, "Do you like to be pet in the belly? If you do, you really ought to roll over more. It's the only way humans know that you want to be touched there."
"But why do I have to do all the work? And why do they not realize that all of our "tricks" are communication attempts? Why do I have to go primitive and do as they seem to ask in order to talk? The tricks don't even seem to work."
"Do you have any better ideas? Besides, it's fun and you get rewarded for it. As far as I'm concerned, why not take advantage of the opportunity? And I hope that soon enough they realize we're trying to communicate. I'm getting tired of not fetching the ball to show that I have sentience, and fetching to say we're friendly."
Kona considered that for a moment. Angus had some good points. But no matter how many times she refused to fetch the ball, Harry never seemed to realize she was saying she was sentient. Instead he just thought that the dogs were not in a mood for playing. Maybe Harry just wasn't a smart human. He was a good 10 years old though. That's 6 years older than Kona and Angus. The pair continued to watch the rolling machines pass in between the living boxes down below. After the sun had set, Angus and Kona stood up and began to walk back to the living box that Harry and his mother lived in. Harry, as always, ran up to the two and they both gave him the standard greeting of a few licks to show trust, and he returned the favor by patting them both on their heads. When his mother called Harry to the oversized table humans ate at, Angus and Kona both walked over to their dinner. Or at least, what the humans thought was their dinner.
Angus gave one quiet bark, and Kona delivered another. The brown rocks the humans wanted dogs to eat slowly drained out and a small pathway appeared to form a door. The two passed through the flap and the hatch closed behind them. They strode into the living box's main transport area, and after getting a few squirrels on sticks for dinner, trotted onto a train which delivered them to the office, where they would deliver they're latest report on cat activity in their sector. They nodded as they walked in, and after a brief security check, walked into the war room. This was mortal combat. The cats have moved in on sector B47, and it was time to make a strike back.
&#x200B;
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is one of my first pieces, so I'd appreciate any constructive criticism y'all can offer. I based this off of my two dogs, but Harry and his mother are fictional. Anyways, I hope you folks enjoyed the piece! | 2021-03-20T22:22:22 | 2021-03-20T21:55:11 | 382 | 192 |
[WP] Earth has a god like other inhabited planets but unlike others our god is lazy and rarely shows up. But this gave us the advantage of self-reliance. When alien invaders came knocking it was very evident how significant that advantage was. | "It is times like now that I wished he wasn't such a lazy sod," A General says with a glance to the sky. 5 miles away, an alien force has landed, and with their troops was a God. Unusually, the 'troops' do not carry heavy weaponry, but rather shields and swords; they do not look like they are war capable at all.
Hearing a crackling in his ear, a general raises a hand to his ear and hears the comms come to life, "General, regarding your RFI" RFI stands for 'Request for Information', "This does not break the Geneva convention. You have permission to engage."
Looking to his 2nd in command, the General nods. Shortly after, dozens and dozens of thunderous booms are heard echoing across the landscape as heavy artillery shells make contact with their targets. If these aliens want their war, they can be assured that Humanity will fight the war, as Humanity knows 'He' won't. After five minutes of continuous thunderous booms, the General nods again, and the heavy shelling comes to an end. After a moment for the dust to settle, the General gets an update from reccy troops in the area; the enemy has taken catastrophic losses.
"And the god?" He asks with some worry.
"Moving, but looking worse for wear." Comes the response from some Captain near the front lines. This response was unexpected, but not unwanted by anymeans.
"Then time to treat it to an air show, keep your heads low." The General replies before looking to another man and nodding. Shortly, three heavy bombers roar overhead and commence a carpet bombing run, their armaments loaded with white phosphorous. If the Geneva convention does not apply, then the worst of Human weaponry is on the table.
It takes longer for the reccy teams to update the General this time, the smoke and fire caused from the bombs obstruct their view. Just under 10 minutes from the bombing run, a tremendous explosion is head, causing the general some confusion, no orders for heavy ordance were given, so what gives?
"Ooh, I was wondering how long it would take, but I say good show!" A voice comes, and the General jumps at hearing the voice; it is 'Him', and 'He' is stood right by his side. "You know," 'He' continues to say, "You cursed me for being a lazy sod, and now look at you, all grown up and God killers, you're making me proud."
"What was their plan?" Asks the General. "They were lambs led to the slaughter."
"Their gods settle their conflicts," He says casually, "They haven't even had a real war, their 'troops' were to witness their gods victory and spread the stories of their god's acts back home. Unfortunately for them and the now-deceased Xinxias, your people know its horrors." | ‘’What do you mean the orphans of Licheol 6 have taken another ship?! Elaborate!’’
The panicked being scrambled at their wrist before activating a huge monitor at the back of a darkened room. A man in tattered robes sits strapped to a chair bloodied but not broken, a pearly smile emerges from his dirtied face before he speaks, looking knowingly at the camera.
*You found us alone fending for ourselves, saw us as godless children abandoned to our struggle...but that struggle made us strong. Where the invader gods were generous with boons and favour; laced with gold and light…Of course it gave you strength! But it is brittle and behind that light you have remained unchallenged by life, you are soft!*
*He, her, they, whatever! IT had forsaken us to the mud where we played with rock, bone and fire. We turned on each other over the centuries, sibling rivalries left unchecked and each bout making us sharper and shrewder. Though left unguided in the universe we did not feel alone or empty on our rock, our home; for within our tribe we had each other and now as we stand at the precipice of our greatest conflict it is you invaders that have made your gravest mistake; You have united us.*
The man bows his head and chuckles before breaking into a coughing fit, spatters of crimson and brown splash across the floor, even at deaths door defiance hangs on his every word.
*We have taken your ships and weapons, pray we do not feel to take our vengeance across the stars and bring war to your home, to your god. You spouted they are forgiving, we are not.*
Silence fell over the room as lights above power on, the beings now illuminated looked vaguely human, their skin is pallid, almost translucent. Sharp features jutted from the pronounced chins, pointed ears and high cheek bones. Even amongst the stupor of ill omen and defeat they spoke and moved with grace. Hurried looks start to be exchanged before turning to the opposite end of the room, where one decorated in plated armor of white and gold, gripping a staff tipped with blades of light is lurking in deep contemplation. The being slowly paced a circle, before realizing the whole room was staring at them. They made a hesitant croak before scanning the room, ready to address the assembled members.
‘’Atul taught us that our light was one of salvation, of love. We have conquered countless systems in His name, welcomed the lesser races into our fold, such that the pantheon of the Ethelians is so vast we encompassed of all creation and yet...’’ . They turn to the monitor, prompting the rest of the room to do so, carefully weighing their words before continuing.
‘’Yet these Dramalee, these *Humans*, show such defiance. Godless! The-, they are a *wound* on the cosmos, they fire long dead metal, poison and fire! They stand before the light of our Lord and yet we have been bloodied. Even now they have violated our Lords gifts, using their perverse science and alchemy, they have fashioned our ships and weapons to meet their own ends…Atul forgive us for what we have unleashed upon the universe...I have failed as your Emissary’’.
The Emissary let their head hang in repentance before another member of the crowd; younger, adorning simple white robes placed a hand on the their shoulder.
‘’Father we must take decisive action now, for although the Dramalee have taken our wings and claws, they do not know how to fly the currents of the cosmos, should we leave now we can make a retreat and prepare for this promised retribution. It may never come, without the light of guidance this possibility is high...’’ He turns to the rest of the room looking for agreement, many nod and draw closer.
The Emissary stands taller, drawing a deep breath as he continues his address.
‘’You speak the truth, young one. Let us not falter in our time of weakness, but show resolve. Let us match the faith that Atul has in us and we in him.’’ He turns to a console nearer the monitor bringing up another Ethelian, sporting the same armor and weapon.
‘’The council has decided that we leave now and that the events that transpired here remain sealed. May Atul rest the lost souls on this god forsaken rock...I pledge as Emissary of the 47th fleet in our Lords army we shall exact his divine judgement upon these primitives, though today is not that day. Make the jump to hyperspace before they have a chance to react any further’’ He turns to rest of the room, many wide eyed in disbelief.
‘’As mentioned the events that transpired here remain sealed, this our burden to bear, it will be our shame until the day we finish what we started. Here I urge you to make this pledge of secrecy in the presence of our Lord.’’ The room chant collectively before scattering, preparing for the long ride home.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I had done more but I got hungry and distracted, punctuation is probably all over the gaff. apologies!* | 2021-04-12T07:19:12 | 2021-04-12T06:39:07 | 50 | 34 |
[WP] You're a human married to an angel. Interplanar marriages are not common and difficult as they go, but somehow you manage. Tonight, you come home early. You find them in the bedroom. Wingless. Eyes glowing red. They've tusks and claws and a tail. They raise their arms. "It's not as you think!" | "It's not as you think!"
"Oh, then we aren't role-playing tonight?" Samuel asked, pretty depressed.
"What? No. I-I mean we can."
"Sweet."
"Y-you don't have a problem with... 'this'?"
"What, being a demon? If I'm being honest that's kind of better than being an angel."
"What." Her voice was flat and annoyed.
Samuel gulped, knowing he had screwed up. Less words were always better when something good was about to happen. However, he *certainly* was an eloquent man who could talk his way out of any situation.
"Well, I mean, uh... You look very pretty today."
"That's nice. What did you mean about demons being better than angels?"
Her glare was definitely more menacing than usual.
Samuel gulped.
"T-there better because they have you now?" He offered after some thought.
She glared at him for a few moments longer before finally letting him off.
"Also it's 'they're' not 'there.'"
"What do you mean?"
"You used the wrong 'there.'"
"But... but I was speaking."
"An angel always knows."
"But right now you aren-"
"I'm. An. Angel."
Samuel suddenly paused.
"You know, now that I think about it, you looked pretty guilty when I came in..."
She gave a nervous laugh before putting on a sultry look.
"I've come to collect your soul."
"Now we're talking." | (I know it's bad but this is a great prompt and l didn't want to leave it without any comments other than the bot)
"Fine. If you've finished everything, l suppose you can leave early." Gail said, squinting suspiciously at Amelia. Amelia had stopped taking it as a personal offence, she'd gotten used to it after working there for awhile, and Gail really did it to everyone.
"Thank you!" Amelia exclaimed. She quickly gathered her things and sped out the door (probably breaking some world record out there). She excitedly drove home, passing quite a few red-lights and maybe 1 or 2 speed limits on her way home. She and Sage had been planning a simple and romantic dinner together for awhile, and today was finally the day! Both of them had been really busy for the past few weeks and even missed their 3rd year anniversary even though they literally live together.
Amelia nervously rubbed her ring, it was a sort of calming thing that she did whenever she was anxious, sad, angry, overwhelmed, happy- okay fine, she did it all the time. It always cheered her up and inspired her.
Amelia soon reached their house, it was quite small and traditional, old too, but they both loved it so much. Sage seemed to enjoy Japanese culture very much, despite living for most of her life in [redacted]. She doesn't seem to like talking about her past that much, even Amelia just really knows that Sage's an "angel". Sage also didn't really explain that to her.
"Oof!" Amelia exclaimed and rubbed her head. Somehow, she always managed to hit her head on the gate because she'd be lost in thought.
Amelia shuffled through her purse in the search for her keys, and unlocked the gate. She skipped towards the door and opened it. Strange. Sage was a quite paranoid, it was off that she'd just leave it open like that.
"Maybe..." Amelia paused, "Wait- Oh! She just knew i'd be coming!"
Amelia giggled happily and made sure to lock the door behind her.
"Uh, sweet cake, I'm home!" Amelia called, expecting a chuckling 'Don't call me that!' But was instead met by nothing.
"Uhm, Sage?"
Amelia quickly took off her shoes and stepped into the house, looking around anxiously and calling for Sage.
She checked the kitchen, bathrooms, living room, everywhere. Except... The bedroom. It was usually welcoming, but it now exuded an ominous, dark and almost threatening aura.
Amelia reached for the knob, gripping it and slowly turning it.
"S-Sage..?" Amelia said shakily.
The mentioned woman was crouched on their bed and clenching the covers. Her normally pearly and soft skin now scaly and crimson burning the covers. A devilish tail pointed straight to the roof, horns growing painfully out of her skull, and her dove wings seemingly distorted, stripped of it's feathers and now only bat-like bones. Amelia fell to the floor with a thud, her eyes wide and petrified.
Sage's head snapped towards her, tear-filled black eyes burned into Amelia. She growled, barring her teeth and advanced slowly toward a frozen Amelia. She was only a few more steps away when she seems to snap. Her demeanor suddenly changed, her nails elongated as she scratched herself.
"I-t's not what you think," She choked, "Please..."
And she fainted because l can't think of a better ending. So yeah. I know it was bad, constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged. | 2021-07-04T10:49:27 | 2021-07-04T10:48:26 | 114 | 40 |
[WP] “Arise demon of hell! You are bound within the circle and will answer all questions!” Shoving thoughts of being late for work, you take in the vivid colors the clean air, and strangely attractive people chanting. Wait a minute, Demon from hell? Oh, this explains so much about my life. | One moment I'm ass deep in the ledgers for the Markley & Co. accounts, trying to see if I can spot where old man Markely's kid Jess has been skimming, and the next moment .... BAM.
There's an echoing, resonating voice that grows louder and louder, ringing in my ears first, then in my brain, and then throughout my entire body. I feel a kind of pull, a kind of compulsion to conforms to some nameless, a kind of formless pressure, and then the voice clears. “Arise demon of hell! You are bound within the circle and will answer all questions!”
I find myself in what appears to be a repurposed school gymnasium. I'm surrounded on all sides by a bunch of very attractive but naked people, all chanting the same latin phrases over and over again. "*Surge, et conformis, puer ex condemnabitur, refuser ex divina voluntatis."*
"Sorry, I don't speak any Latin" I say. As I look around, I notice that the air is not polluted, the building looks well made, and the people look healthy and rested. Wait a minute, Demon from hell? Oh, this explains so much about my life.
My mind flashes through the scenes of my old man's drunken rages, the incessant bullying at school, the endless ridicule of puberty, the shame and confusion of my first period. I think of all the asshole men in college, the humiliation and despair of my one attempt at lesbianism in grad school. It jells for me. My god, I've been in hell. Literal hell. No wonder it was trendy and chic to be an atheist. No wonder religion seemed so stupid and old fashioned.
So I'm a demon. I'm from hell. These people are summoning me for some weird purpose. Okay, I know how this works out.
I cough a little, trying to get late stage American air pollution out of my now perfectly working lungs. "So what can I do for you?" That's what I try to say. But, what comes out of my mouth is. "Despair and tremble before me, for I am the demon Lydia. Why hast thou summoned me, foolish mortals?"
Weird. It seems like there are rules at play here. I guess I need to fit the role.
"From the depths of hell we have summoned thee, vile demon Lydia. We know thy true name, Lydia Kravitz. And thus we bind thee to our will."
I don't really have anything against these people, so I go along with the gag. "Wow" I say. "You must really need help with something." But what comes out is . "State thy request, mortal... thy souls are forfeit... what favor wouldst thou ask that thy need be so great?"
This is nuts. It's like some scene out of a bad horror movie, where event the dialog is stilted and ridiculous.
There's a long pause before the ... 'high priest' type dude speaks up. "Demon! Art thou familiar with 230? Circular 230?"
Wait, what? Circular 230? What the hell are these people talking about? That's an IRS form.
"State thy request plainly, mortal..." Comes out of my mouth.
"We've been operating as a Subchapter S corporation." He continues. "And now the IRS claims that we mixed personal and business funds. They want to audit us."
"Thou art truly and well poised to be impaled on the Lightbringer's phallus!" I say. "Lest even a pittance of thy spendings and rapine be mixed, lo even unto a pfenning, thy pretense of cooperation will be shredded." I mean really, if they're mixing personal and private expenses in the company account, the IRS can void the company and make all earnings be private income.
"Our command is thus, Demon!" He winds himself up for the pitch. "We demand that thee bend to our will and conform to Circular 230 and ..."
Oh no.... oh God no.
"We demand that thee represent our society before the IRS audit."
Oh, fuck me. No wonder they needed a demon. | Jossie looked around at the beautiful people around her, “Hm, I could get used to this.” She grinned to mask the fact she was terrified. A stranger with green, glowing eyes approached her, extending their hand out. This particular stranger she reckoned to be the leader, royal blue robe adorned with gold ornaments across the hood and train. The so-called “ring-leader” extended her hand, “come my child, it is time for your coronation.”
“I think I rather not, is there any way you could rewind the time? I was about to be 30 minutes late for work.”
The Leader hissed, “Forget your stupid job as an Arby’s shift leader! We are handing you power, glory, and anything to your venomous heart’s content.” The Followers collectively laugh in sync with each other.
“Excuse me? I think I’ve had enough. That was the final straw, I’m done here bitch.” Jossie said, hands on her hips. She walked away, giving the Leader a final goodbye, a hair flip. As she made her way outside of the circle, the rest of the strangers held hands to prevent her from escaping.
“Get the fuck out my way!” She screamed, pushing and knocking down a few followers as she barreled her way out. Until she crashed into an invisible wall, a wall which still had an orange hue where her body was sprawled out on impact. The odd thing was, at her speed she would’ve surely been injured and knocked out. This time there was no pain whatsoever, as if she hadn’t charged her away from these “freaks”. Jossie’s face had a somber look to it, a feeling of despair had overwhelmed her. She tucked her knees into her arms, resting her head on her knees like a pouting child.
She looked up at the Leader with teary eyes, “Will I ever see my family again? They’re all I have left.”
“They’re not your real family. Your parents were nothing but creators of a conduit for your soul. You are in fact a Demon, birthed from the evil’s of the world.” The leader said as they crouched down, eyes meeting Joosie.
“Alright,” Jossie sighed, “What does this ‘coronation ceremony’ entails?”
“We have to release your demonic form from your physical, mortal form.”
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Don’t think of it as being killed, you’re being reborn into who you truly are.” The Leader corrected oh-so-slyly.
The collective said in the same flat tone, “Reborn!”
Jossie’s life flashed before her eyes: her first day of kindergarten, learning to ride a bike, her first kiss, when she fell in love, her wedding day. In the same manner, she also remembered losing loved ones left and right in mysterious ways, watching her friend nearly drown as a child, all the pain and suffering from rejection. This weighed heavily on her, but she felt as if she didn’t have a choice. There was no way out but death.
She instinctively knew what she had to do. Jossie laid herself down on some crudely drawn symbol. Arms and feet sprawled out in corpse pose, relaxing onto the floor. The leader whispered something in some sort of inhumane language, pointing to a decrepit table. The follower came back with a gothic dagger. As the follower handed the Leader the dagger, Jossie interrupted, “I have one request, you bring HER back.”
“Of course, we will bring your loving wife back from the dead. Even though she’s in heaven. The big man downstairs is quite the negotiator.” Jossie felt a sense of relief as the Leader reassured her.
The follower returned, the Leader stood behind Jossie’s head. Jossie felt the stare of a thousand eyes, gazing upon her. She felt unease, and frankly, quite violated. The Leader spread open her palk and hovered it over Jossie’s head, speaking in tongues. The followers chanted “Reborn, reborn.” Over and over to their own beat, still in sync. She wondered to herself, if any of the past or recent strain of bad luck had tied in with her true self. The Leader then hovered her hand over Jossie’s chest, pointing the dagger in the same place. Jossie closed her eyes as the Leader sank the knife into her chest, letting out a deafening scream.
Then, nothingness.
Jossie sat up, nothing changed, not the environment. The Leader was there, with the dagger still in hand, now tainted in what seemed like black tar. She sat up and turned to face her body, her ethereal body still in place. She stood up to take note of the carcass, her former shell casing. Her body floated up unintentionally, as she continued to study ‘herself’. She was much different than she really thought, as if she was someone else meeting her for the first time.
She looked down at the Leaders and the rest of the motley crew, the leader met her gaze as she descended below. Noticing that the followers never turned their gaze, still pointed at the floor. The leader snapped her fingers and another follower ran to the table and returned with an antique hand mirror. The follower bowed as he handed the mirror to Jossie, Jossie returning the gesture by ‘saluting’ him with the mirror.
Josie looked into the mirror, seeing a beautiful creature looking at her back. “Is this me?”
“Yes,” the Leader affirmed, “the TRUE you.”
Jossie’s skin was a soft blue, she had jet black horns at the sides of her head. They were curled, pointing up to the heavens. Her hair was a longer, lighter shade of black, staying true to her natural curls with a sheen to it. Her face naturally contoured with black and grey, but kept the integrity of her human form. Her eyes were of an iridescent red, they had a frightening tone to them. Jossie thought to herself, ‘I could get used to this, hopefully Hannah would too.’
“Where is she? Where is my Hannah?” Jossie asked quietly, voice trembling.
The Leader laughed and shook her head, “Oh Sweetie, have you forgotten where you are? You’re in Hell.” | 2021-08-09T07:34:03 | 2021-08-09T05:58:55 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] A brilliant but impoverished scientist accidentally ends up being accepted to teach at a university for wizards. Desperate to pay off his debts, the scientist must pretend to teach magic, while actually teaching science. | The chalk makes a scratching noise as I write various chemical equations on the blackboard, which combined with the sound of the pens on paper and low murmurs and giggles combine to form a general classroom ambience. I finish writing the fourth equation before everything goes silent, which could mean only one thing: someone just put their hand up and has a question for me. I turn around to face the class.
"What is it, Malcolm?"
"It's Brian, sir," Brian says, "I just wanted to ask... what's the point of all these... equations? I mean, acids were cool, and they melted most things we tested them on... but why use these potions when we can't even drink them, and their effects are simply recreated by spells? Wouldn't we better off using those instead of these equations, whatever they are?"
I had been expecting this question. Of course, no one here really knows what I'm actually teaching, and think that I teach basic understanding a bit of potions, even though all this time I've been teaching them nothing but chemistry, physics and biology.
"Good question, Brian," I say, and tell him to sit down, "Yes. The point of these equations, and these... potions, if that's what you want to call them... is not much as of now. And I mean as of now, don't go thinking it's of no use. This is just the base for more interesting and complex things. Something more powerful than magic- I mean, a very powerful magic, the likes of which you haven't seen yet. Would you like a demonstration?"
The class, as eager as it is for anything that doesn't force them to listen, read or write, nod enthusiastically, and straighten up.
"Alright then." I pull out my phone.
They stare at the sleek rectangular object in hand. I also take out a transparent prism. I turn on my phone, put on one of the videos which were made for holographic display, and set the prism on top of it. A blue butterfly flutters on top of the screen, resulting in many voices of excitement from the crowd in front of me.
"Now, can anyone tell me if you have ever seen magic such as this? Can anyone here summon a butterfly for me?" I ask to the crowd at large. No one responds, so I turn of the mobile and pick everything up.
"If you're so impressed with this, I wonder what will happen if I show you this..."
I open up my bag and take out two metal cubes. I place them one the table and let them stick to each other.
"Right then. Who here wants to come and try to separate this? With magic or without, I'll give it to you if you can."
Terry, one of the strongest boys of this class, is forced by his classmates to go ahead and try it. He picks up the two cubes and tries to separate them, but is quite unsuccessful. After 5 unsuccessful tries, he gives up. Next up, Brian comes up to my desk, and attempts to use a summoning spell to summon just one of the cubes to himself. It doesn't work, so he asks James to help him. both summon the cubes, but the cubes float in midair instead of separating. A few more students try, but in the end, none of them are able to separate it.
"So? Could none of you do it? Right then, I'll do it."
I slide them apart. They come off, although not really that easily.
"And now, the best for the last..."
I take out a metal glove from my bag. t isn't exactly a new invention, but rather a mashup of a lot of them. I put on the bag pack as well and take the remote connected to the glove in my other hand.
"Alright, could anyone give me one random spell?"
There are many cries of the fire spell, the essential spell required to create a fire, without which fire wouldn't exist. In the magical world, anyway.
"So, the fire spell then. Is a wand required to cast it? Is there any chance one could cast it without a wand?"
The answers are jumbled up in the cacophony, but in general the answer is that a wand is required for the spell, without which the spell wouldn't work. I press a button on the remote and a jet of flame erupts from the glove. I let it go for a few minutes before stopping. The students are staring at me with surprised faces.
"Alright, how about a summoning spell?"
I press another button, and my bottle, a few pens and their caps stick to my outstretched hand.
I continue for this some time. A tiny Roomba taking directions from my hands to demonstrate one of the most complex spells, the possession spell, a rolled up shield for the Shield spell, and so on. In the end, everyone's eager to find out how I did all of this without a wand.
"You do want to find out, don't you? All of this comes under Science, which is what I'm teaching you. And this isn't where it ends. I will teach you how to conjure a flame without a wand, how to control an animal without using your wand or a potion, potions and objects that break a lot of laws of Magic... and even more. But for now, you'll have to learn the basics. So, open your chemistry books to page 78, and Chris, read out the third paragraph for the rest of the class." | A high pitch alarm rang through the air, waking Okabe from his dreamless slumber. Half asleep, the scientist rolled over and pressed the snooze button. After a minute or two of laying there in his bed, contemplating why he ever took that job at the University of Ravensdale, he decided he better get up or risk being late.
A quick shower and an even quicker breakfast was followed by a dash for the bus. Okabe’s mind tried planning out different lessons for his students but he knew it was pointless. How could he ever hope to teach magical students anything? He couldn’t even keep his job as a secondary school teacher for crying out loud. He wanted to get off the bus, to run through the neighbouring fields and never think about Ravensdale again. He remained seated though. Letting this thundering, stinking bus bring right where he didn’t want. Soon enough, past the fields and past everything else they eventually arrived at what seemed an ordinary university. Large grey and incredibly ugly the building was intentionally built so as to not arouse suspicion. Little did most others know of the magical secrets kept inside.
Hopping off the bus with his bag in tow, Okabe made his way to the front door of the university where he found a hunched over, wrinkled old man. The man wore a giant smile which in turn made Okabe smile.
“May I help you, Sir?” asked the old man.
“Pomegranate.” Okabe replied, feeling quite embarrassed.
“Oh you know the password. A new lecturer are we? The name is Gerald by the way.” the old man smiled.
“I’m Okabe and yes. Today is my first.” answered Okabe wearily, rubbing the back of his head.
“Oh I wouldn’t worry too much about it, boy.” beamed Gerald.
”Ravensdale is a magical place, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” As soon as he spoke the last word, the door of the main entrance opened up, revealing to Okabe a wonderful red brick entrance way, covered in fairy lights.
“Thank you, Gerald.” finished Okabe, making his way into the corridor. On and on he walked, past more bricks and seemingly endless amounts of bright white fairy lights. No door’s revealed themselves and he didn’t fancy turning around to try and make his way back outside. Bloody magic! He's over his head. Was he lost now? He turned around, once, twice, three times. Red bricks and white lights.
“Lost are we?” a voice called out. Turning he suddenly came face to face with young women who, like Gerald, wore a beaming great smile. The woman was sticking her head out of a doorway that certainly wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Yes. Sorry for the hassle. I’m Okabe. It’s my first day and I'm supposed to report to room 4 apparently.” the scientist confessed.
“Oh perfect timing Okabe. I’m Sharon.” She grinned, extending her hand out for him which Okabe was happy to extend back.”Why don’t you follow me and I will show you to room 4.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Sharon.” replied Okabe as he followed her through the newly found door.
Whatever he thought might be through the door, he wouldn’t have been ready anyway. Their magic must have been incredibly powerful because there was no way the room he was in could have fit in the building he saw from the outside. It must have been at least three football fields long with rows and rows of desks extending all the way to the end of the hall. Witches and wizards filed past, too busy with papers and reports, some nodded to Sharon, most of the people ignored the two of them.
“Who are these?” asked Okabe, the words flying out of his mouth before he could think. I shouldn’t have said that, he thought to himself. Don’t want these folk to know I know nothing about magic. I’d be on welfare by the end of the week.
“The school's background staff. Secretaries, assistants, other teachers. It’s a big school.” stated Sharon, who kept moving past all the desks.
Obake could hardly keep his eyes on where he was walking. This was magnificent. More than magnificent. There would never be a poet or writer great enough to describe what he saw. A woman healing paper cut using only her wand. A man fixing a cup he had dropped. Another woman stirred her tea without even having to touch her spoon. The lives these people must live. The ease at which they must walk through life. He envied them. His science had done amazing things but nothing like this. It never could and never would.
Finally Sharon stopped outside a plain looking wooden door that had a large red number four stuck to it.
“Well here we are. We’re only slightly late so your class is probably in there waiting for you.” Sharon said excitedly. “Well, good luck, Okabe. If you need anything just send me a message.” And with that she was off. It didn’t matter to Okabe how he would ever be able to send her a message or that he had no plan whatsoever for his class. Winging things though was what he was best at. Taking one final deep breath, he pushed open the door and strode into the classroom like he was an expert in all things magic.
An immediate hush fell over the students. Okabe counted at least twenty. That was about what he had expected. He took his place at the top of the class, placing his bag on the large metal desk just in front of the whiteboard.
“Hello class. My name is Professor Okabe Calhoon. I’m here to teach you General Magic 101. Now before we get started are there any questions?” Okabe asked the room. When no hands rose up, he realised that that was it. He had nothing else. Sweat started to form on his forehead and his breathing started to get more erratic. How could I teach these people? He wondered They deserved better than this. Panicking he started to make a show of trying to find something in his bag if only to waste some time. He needed something. Anything. The inside of his bag was filthy. Bits of scrunched up paper took up most of the room, along with a bottle of water and a copy of Dune. Then, there at the bottom of the bag, inspiration hit.
Pulling out the balloon, he started to blow it until it was big enough. He knew how ridiculous this might seem but he didn’t care. After he tied a knot in the end of the balloon and turned to face his class. Without saying anything, he took the balloon and rubbed it off his hair. Okabe did this for around ten seconds, his eyes darting from one student to the next, trying to understand the looks on their faces. When he was done, he took the balloon and placed it against the wall. Thankfully, it stayed put and didn’t fall on the ground, that would have been hard to explain. Happy enough with that, he turned back around to the students.
“Can anyone here tell me why the balloon stuck to the wall?” asked Okabe. No hands went up but one man spoke up unannounced from the back of the room.
“You have magic hair?” the student asked and a roar of laughter went up. Even Okabe allowed himself a brief chuckle.
“No it's not that.” laughed the scientist.
“A magic head then?” the student asked and another roar of laughter filled the room.
“No, not that.” answered Okabe. “It’s called science.” | 2021-08-31T09:17:14 | 2021-08-31T08:58:23 | 237 | 103 |
[WP] A super villain who runs a number of retail stores, not as a cover, but as a means of recruiting their staff as villainous side-kicks once they are inevitably filled with seething rage for customers and the general public. | All-Mart Employee log: Pay-period 1, Day 1.
Um. Hi. So according to the HR video I just watched with the terrible actors—who look WAY more put together than a typical retail sails person, —this company requires all employees to keep an employment log. They gave some BS psych reasons like “track your personal growth, relieve stress, and assist in employee organization.” That’s nice and all, but I don’t buy it. My bet? It’s so if an employee flips a customer through the front window, they can use the log to dump liability on the employee.
You hear that HR?! I’m on to you. Suck it.
Also, it’s not like this company isn’t used to bad press. The CEO is that big bald guy who usually goes toe to toe with the Superheroes. I think his name is Bezos? Wait, that’s another rich bald guy; screw it, not important. The point is, if one of us commits assault it’s not really gonna be more important than “All-Mart CEO builds another death ray.”
Alright. Good first entry, time to watch the sexual harassment video. I’m going to go out on a limb and predict it tells me that harassing other co-workers is bad. Do you think the CEO has to watch video too? Of course, I’m pretty sure he incinerated two of his ex wives. Maybe that’s not harassment.
————————-
All-Mart Employee log: Pay-period 1, Day 7.
So, I’m through the training. It was a cake walk compared to the police academy. Apparently I’m going to get more training periodically during the first few weeks, but I’m all ready to run the register and walk the floor. I’d say yay, but I’m hardly looking forward to it. You know that feeling you get right before the doctor sticks a thick sharp needle in your arm? The one where you keep telling yourself it’s only a little prick, but you really know it’s gonna hurt like a sunovabitch? That’s where I’m at right now.
The girl who trained me, Summer, she’s beyond excited to see me interact with customers. Apparently, they can be real assholes, and she wants to see what they do when their salesman is a 6’2”, 215lb, stacked ex-cop. I think I’m going to like working with summer. The other people on my team seem nice, well, nice in the morning. They act like burnt out head-cases in the evening. Except Sundjit, I’m pretty sure he shows up to work pissed. He’s actually a little better at the end of the day, probably just exhausted.
We had an incident today, apparently some teenagers played hockey using the sticks from sporting goods. The pucks, however, were cans of orange soda. Was a sticky shit-show to clean up, but smelled good. I ended up buying a bottle of the stuff to drink on my way home tonight. Ok time to get ready for tomorrow. Everyone said the first day on the floor alone is the worst. That needle just keeps getting bigger.
Author Notes: (At work will update more with log entries over the next few days) | I never did understand the idea that 'anyone could have taken Hitlers side' when I first heard it, I always had more faith that my fellow man were much more moral than one of the lowest scum to have walked Earth, but after seeing the sheer unrelenting number of people throwing themselves at the feet of a daemon, all calling for the end of humanity and genocide, I realize how truly accurate that phrase is. Even the most mundane, regular of people could have been the worst of the SS if caught on a particularly bad day and told just the right words for manipulation.
"Well then, hero, this is quite a predicament; you are being attacked from all sides by my strongest minions, but you can not defend yourself without breaking your oath."
The thing was right, these people, for the most part, were simply manipulated while vulnerable, they're just as much victims in this as anyone else. If I harm any of them, my oath will be lifted and I don't know if I'll have the strength to defeat even the weakest of them.
"You vile daemon! I'll purge your home with holy water!"
Is what was forced from my lips as a response. Ever since I made the oath, I have been out of control of my own actions, even now I am unable to strike simply because my oath forbids me. I want to, I tried to, but my body reacts in perfect opposition, even saying words and phrases that I mocked others for.
"I would love to see such a thing! Please, be my guest."
Although I'm more than fast enough to dodge them, I will need to go on the offensive at some point, otherwise I will simply become too exhausted to move and be killed with ease.
"You shall never get away with this! I will be sure to exercise you out of existence!"
Again my mouth spoke words I didn't want it to, words that are of a more 'pure' person than myself. Amidst the chaos, I began seeing a pattern in their attacks, I'm not sure how, but dodging became easier and I began seeing wider and longer lulls that would have allowed me to kill any of them with ease, but right now they surrounded the daemon, making attack impossible.
"Getting tired, hero? If this is getting too exhaustive for you then I would gladly let you leave my domain!"
Those words made something in my mind click; exhaustion, fatigue, those are the two things his minions are unable to get over, not without the training and experience that I have at least. I didn't realize it before, but now I see, they're getting tired chasing me, and the crowd clinging to the daemons body is thinning. If I can just keep moving, I will win.
"Well, this is beginning to bore me. I've seen you jump around enough. Minions! Finish him!"
Those words sent a chill down my spine. If I were in control of my body, I would have cut through the horde just as if they were daemons themselves, but I'm not. As they surrounded and overpowered me, I noticed a single exposed portion of its neck, just enough to make it bleed. My oath gave me the speed necessary to reach it before realizing what my plan was, and by the time the daemon noticed there was a person missing I had already cut out a sizeable chunk of flesh. Those of its minions that were hit with the gushing blood immediately turned back to normal, and the others were beginning to weaken and fall off its body.
"GODDAMN IT!! HOW DID YOU DO THIS!?"
Still under my oath, I spoke words that were once again not my own
"Do not act so surprised, daemon! Good Wil lalways triumph evil!"
After vivisecting it, I reached out palm and emitted the ritual. In an instant, the only thing left of it was the horns, which appeared to be no different from very large goat horns. As the people began regain consciousness and become aware of their surroundings, I sent them back to our realm. On arrival, they realized the daemon was gone, specifically by my own hand. The first thing they began to do is perform a ritual to bring it back. I was almost too shocked to move, but I still didn't as my oath was meant to be life-long. As the sharp rock tore open the throat of the one they chose to sacrifice to get the daemon back, I had a brief moment of perfect clarity and control. Before the man passed from the sharp rock, I cut through his brain and destroyed his organs using the power that dangled just in front of me for so long.
The consequence was that I will never be able to take another oath again, not from any of the currently known deities at least. My palm with the ritual burned as the spell was removed, my head ached and throbbed as all the knowledge of how best to defeat each individual daemon was stripped from it, I felt like my bones and muscle were being torn apart and put back together a thousand times a second as the divine energy was pulled from me, and when my sword returned to being a mere branch and my armor back to my regular spandex outfit, I let out a breath of pure relief; I was free from that curse.
As I stood up, I saw the crowd again trying the ritual, and even though I lack divine power I'm still more than strong enough to turn the average human into red mist. I can't let them summon him again, and since I no longer have that dreaded oath I can act as I please now.
The end. | 2021-10-14T01:37:33 | 2021-10-14T00:27:53 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] 50 years ago an alien came to Earth in a flying saucer, claiming to be a representative of the Galactic Federation. Under his guidance, mankind achieved world peace and huge technological advancements. Today, the REAL Galactic Federation arrived, in a search of a fugitive. | Humanity had changed in the last 50 years.
All thanks to Barthax. Five decades ago he had come as a representative of the Galactive Federation to alleviate us from the metaphorical dark ages. He gave us the means to produce food, and medicines that kept every human alive and healthy. He gave us all a lifetime free to pursue our wants without having to pay heed to our needs.
We asked for more. The ability to travel the stars. He said we needed to first prove ourselves worthy. Show we would not abuse the power and spread pain throughout the galaxy. And that in the meantime we should revel in the joys of a post-scarcity society he had provided for us courtesy of the federation.
When the world wide announcement came through his true motivation was made clear. He had used us as a burrow to hide from justice. His crime? Interfering with developing civilizations. Giving them technologies before they had earned them. He believed that they had a duty to alleviate suffering where they could and every society should be given a chance to prove themselves. The federation believed societies could only prove themselves through self development without outside guidance.
Then we were met with a choice. Hand over the fugitive, and they would overlook our unique circumstances and give us a place among the rest of the federation. Or keep him. Leave him exiled on this little rock. They would take out his ship's flight capabilities but we could continue to use it as a worldwide energy supply. They would leave the technologies he had provided us, and we could continue to live our comfortable lives. But if we wanted to reach the stars we would have to figure out how to do it ourselves.
In the end it was put to a vote.
Barthax had given us a new world. But the real Galactic Federation offered us a new galaxy. For most people the choice was easy.
For fifty years we showered our alien visitor in accolades and praise. But today he was in manacles.
As Barthax stood on the telepad, he took one last look at the planet he had come to call home. His eyes made contact with the nearest camera and his disappointment broadcasted onto screens all over the world.
"I'm sorry" were his last words to us before a beam of light ascended from above and whisked him away.
Suddenly the video feed turned black. White Text appeared in New English and the announcer's voice read the words aloud.
"Compassion and Loyalty Test Report:
Test Subject: Humanity.
Test Outcome: Failed.
Reason: Greed.
Action: Deactivate Advancements. Re-test in 12000 cycles."
As the spaceship floated off into the inky darkness of space and our new technologies shut themselves off we realised.
Humanity had not changed. | At an emergency meeting of the U.N. Security Council, A staffer brought representatives of the Galactic Federation into the council room.
Macron looked on in awe as the guests from outer space graced them with their presence.
However before Macron and other's could offer their respected guests flattering words of welcome, they were shocked when all the Galactic Federation representatives suddenly bowed their heads.
"There are not enough words to express our shame and regret" Chairman Gal-atak said sincerely while bowing his head.
Macron, the other members of the U.N. Security Council and all the staffers present were terrified by the sudden turn of events. Earth was but a small negligible little planet in the galactic boonies, for what reason would the representatives of the greatest power in the galaxy show up unannounced and suddenly offer an apology.
&#x200B;
Macron as well as Jingping, Johnson and Putin rapidly played dozens of scenarios in their heads;
Was Earth's request to join the Federation declined? if so, that wouldn't warrant a personal visit from the Chairman would it?
Was he here to conscript earthlings into some galactic conflict?
Or perhaps was he here to seize the planet itself and gift it to another civilization?
&#x200B;
While the others were in deep thought, Biden directly asked the Chairman without any honorifics or tact.
"What ya talking about Jack?"
Macron nearly had a heart attack at those words, it was too direct and colloquial, but he also felt relief since at least Biden had asked the question that everyone else was to afraid to ask.
&#x200B;
The Federation Chairman focused in on Biden, and replied;
"Lars Saurian, was not a representative of the Federation, he is a Galactic fugitive"
...
This bombshell sent Macron, Jingping, Johnson and Putin down another rabbit hole of thought.
Lars had been instrumental in Earth's current golden age. His arrival made Earth aware of the greater galactic society. The technology and knowledge be brought allowed Earth to bypass years of arduous struggle and leapfrog ahead. His views on administration and governance lead to a peaceful transformation creating a Unified New World Order.
But now they just heard that the man was not a saint but a sinner, a criminal wanted by the most powerful organization in the galaxy'
&#x200B;
"Horse baloney, you're a darn liar man.. I know that fella, the Outer space man. Larry. his a hell of a guy!"
A loud gasp could be heard in the background, as well as the sounds of a staffer dropping his notebook. Macron and others themselves felt their legs go wobbly due to Biden's off the cuff remarks. Biden showed no deference and spoke too directly, This wasn't some random nobody, but instead the Chairman of the Galactic Federation. A single word from him could lead to the destruction of Earth.
&#x200B;
Macron started stuttering and tried to speak up to try and sweet-talk his way out of the situation, but before he could the Federation Chairman himself replied to Biden.
"I can understand your perspective, to you Lars would represent hope and progress, but you need to understand, he violated the 'the Prime Directive', the most core tenet of the galactic federation.
"As the right of each sentient species to live in accordance with its normal cultural evolution is considered sacred, no Federation personnel may interfere with the normal and healthy development of alien life and culture. Such interference includes introducing superior knowledge, strength, or technology to a world whose society is incapable of handling such advantages wisely. Federation personnel may not violate this Prime Directive, even to save their lives and/or their ship, unless they are acting to right an earlier violation or an accidental contamination of said culture. This directive takes precedence over any and all other considerations, and carries with it the highest moral obligation.
"Lars however willfully violates this directive, he travels across the universe interfering with the natural development of alien life. His interference is robbing you of your autonomy, your free will and it is restricting your development. By showing you the path forward, he has held you back from forging your own.
"Thankfully Earth is still standing, but other civilizations weren't so lucky. The gift of knowledge is a double edged sword, Lars has left behind him a trail of destroyed civilizations and billions of deaths., we must bring him in at all costs, to prevent more needless harm"
...
The mood became somber as the implications of what was said resonated with everyone. They were unaware that Lars wasn't a real representative of the Federation, and that the knowledge and technology they got from him was in direct violation of the core directive of the Federation itself.
Macon began to fear what this might mean for Earth and its people.
Seemingly unaware of Macron and the others concerns, Biden turned to his fellow U.N Council Representatives and said to them
"Ahhh Like that TV show Star-trek, You know with the Jedi and Klingons and stuff"
With that comment Macron fainted. | 2022-03-10T13:35:08 | 2022-03-10T11:42:05 | 236 | 27 |
[WP] You've been dead for 67 days. You awake to the entire world watching the first human revival. Your revival. | I knew when they'd brought my body back. The golden fields had faded, the feeling of overwhelming peace had vanished, and the pain had begun again. It felt like I spent an eternity in the darkness, certainly far longer than I'd spent in that glorious paradise. You don't realise how painful living is until you've stopped doing it.
The awakening was sudden, my eyes snapped open as if from a dream. Hands pressed me back into the bed, and more hands removed the tube I was choking on. Shutters began to click the moment I'd opened my eyes, shouts of surprise from people around me. I would later learn I'd woken up before they had intended, the world's press taken by surprise around my hospital bed. In those first few moments the camera flashes were blinding and the noise overwhelming.
Everything stopped though, when I screamed. At first the noises were just screams of pain, but they began to grow more coherent.
"LET ME GO BACK!"
And then darkness again.
(This is my first time posting something like this, please be gentle.) | I awoke with a sharp intake of breath. What had happened? The last thing I could remember was the car crash, I had swerved to avoid a kids ball that had rolled into the road, hit a wall and then, nothing. I remember the impact, and a brief flash of pain throughout my body, and now suddenly I was lying on my back, breathing like it was my first breath again.
Opening my eyes I heard a cheer, and, blinking, the first thing I saw was the lens of a camera above me, looking down on my face. I tried to turn my head, try and get a look at my surroundings, but I was strapped down, I couldn’t move.
”What’s happening?” I tried to ask, but my throat was coarse, and it barely came out as a whisper.
Suddenly I was aware of hands on my body and I noticed some beeping coming from the left of me. I tried to fight my restraints, I felt so helpless and confused. A man pushed the camera away from my face, and I was momentarily blinded by a bright light above me. Squinting, I tried to make out more of my surroundings now that the camera was gone.
”Am I, in a hospital?” I tried to speak again, my voice still weak. The man that had moved the camera moved back into my line of sight, and I saw he was wearing a surgical mask. Definitely a hospital I thought.
”Hello Miss Chapman. I am Dr. Phillips. Now, I understand you must be confused, but I must ask you not to speak. Your voice is weak from lack of use.” The man, Dr. Phillips, told me. ”Today’s date is the 6th of June 2027 and we have just succeeded in reviving you from your death, 67 days ago.”
”What!” I exclaimed, the best I could, then quickly apologised when I saw the doctors look of disapproval. My brain was struggling to process what I’d just been told. It was a joke, it had to be a joke! My crash at been on April 1st, it was an April Fool’s joke, of course it was.
Though. If it was a trick, why was my voice hoarse? Why were there cameras? Why was I strapped down?? It couldn’t be real, though it made sense. ”Now Miss Chapman” Dr Phillips was speaking again ”I know this must be hard to comprehend, and you might be struggling to believe me, but it’s all true, and the entire world is tuning in to see you. So now I ask you to do one thing for me. Smile for the cameras.”
And smile I did. Every time the cameras were on me I smiled. During interviews, and check-ups with Dr. Phillips, I smiled. But I couldn’t help feeling hollow. Because I had been dead for 67 days, and I knew now that there was nothing after the end. All the people who had died before revival was an option, all the people who are opting out because of their belief in a next life, all that is left for them, is nothing. And knowing that, all that I feel anymore, is nothing.
| 2014-05-11T08:58:10 | 2014-05-11T08:51:26 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] "Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst." | For the most part, I usually feel nothing when I give myself over to my clients. I act the part, make them feel good, give them release. For them, it's an expensive and illicit thrill. For me, it's just business.
And yet...there are days when my body responds, and the moans I make are not manufactured but real, and my orgasm is genuine and earth-shattering. Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst because when my heart is in it, I enjoy the sex, and then inevitably a pall of shame and disgust falls over me. What would save me from being crushed is if they would hold me afterward, cuddle me, make me feel special, make me feel like I'm the only girl in the world. But they never do.
--------
My first post in writing prompts. Hope you like it.
| I lay on a long maroon couch, watching the ceiling fan spin on a low enough setting to be amusing but not actually create enough wind to make a difference. On the walls around me abstract "art" hangs next to degrees and awards. I say art loosely as it is a compilation of red and blue lines squiggling around. Hardly talent and im sure was way overpriced for something my 3 year old could draw better.
for a moment in time im lost with my own thoughts only to be brought back to the present when i hear a soft voice say
**Doc :** "whenever you're ready".
realizing im wasting $350 an hour I start to rehearse what i planned on saying coming in here.
**Myself :** "Most days I hate my job. Hate isn't a strong enough word. Most days I despise even loathe my job. However some days it is all worth it. For a brief moment in time I become filled with jubilation and ecstasy at preforming this simple but necessary task. Only to later again hate the job and hate myself even more for enjoying it. What kind of monster am I doc?
A brief moment of no talking and scribbling furiously on whatever is on that yellow legal pad fills the air.
**Doc:** mhmm.. mhmmm... and how does that make you feeeeeeel?
Fucking A... he couldn't have given me a more stereotypical psychiatrist answer if he tried.
**Myself:** "I just told you how that made me feel were you even listening."
**Doc:** "no need to get agitated this is a safe place."
I look down and notice my hands were now fists gripped so tight my knuckles were turning white.
**Doc:** "now you said you feel like a monster...That you hate your job, and hate yourself when you like your job. Why is that?"
Even though his face stayed fixated in the same neutral tone i could sense that he was feeling smug. like he just said something smart and was beaming on the inside as he proved he was listening. Well congrats buddy you just got paid $350 to do nothing and then are acting superior FUCK YOU.
**Myself:** "Did you even read what I do on the form or did i spend 30 minutes in the waiting room for nothing"
I could tell there was anger behind my voice still even though i tried to hide it.
**Doc :** "well Janice was supposed to file...
I tuned him out i knew he was spewing more bullshit than a dairy farm .
I interrupted
**Myself:** "I AM AN EXECUTIONER! "
I said that louder than i wanted Im sure this room wasnt sound proofed enough for the people in the other room to Not hear that. I wait to see the surprise, the shock, something to validate what i just said. something to show that i am not alone.
**Doc:**"mhmmm... mhmm... and how does that make you feeeeel..."
I storm out slamming the door hard enough to hopefully make one of his stupid paintings fall.
| 2015-07-16T07:49:11 | 2015-07-16T07:05:23 | 98 | 21 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | *A Single Play in American Football as Interpreted by a Foreigner who has Never Seen a Game*
"Hut two, twenny-two, hut!" The first quarterback shouted, eyes gleaming with passion as he stared around at his team. They were all lined up in such a way as to form the basic shape of a ziggurat from above, thus reflecting the Native American roots of American Football. Or possibly a pyramid, as in the scheme used by the first owners of NFL teams to raise capital, it was hard to tell.
All the other quarterbacks roared and started to run, one of them hiding the ball so the other team's quarterbacks couldn't take it. The kickers of both teams remained on the sidelines, attempting to chat up members of the crowd while they waited for their turn.
The quarterbacks all collided, red team against other, statistically less likely to be victorious, team.
As predicted, the red quarterback with the ball managed to get his shoulder under the other one, lifting with his legs and spin flipping the not-red player off to land on his head on the grass. The eagerly watching cameras zoomed in, ready to slow-mo and replay and reverse and remix and use in ad campaigns with shouty voice overs. The fans not wearing red in the crowd booed and threw their beer cups - which were still red despite that clashing with their outfits because all beer cups in America are.
The red quarterback with the ball sprinted for the end of the pitch, spare players from the other team ritually throwing themselves to the ground in humiliation as he passed, indicating their unworthiness.
Finally he reached the white line, and had only to complete his scoring by nailing a predetermined dance routine. First, he placed down the ball, then did a series of jazz hands, blowing on them intermittently to indicate that they were "too hot".
At this point, the rest of the red quarterbacks joined him, and launched into an innovative and bold line dance/cancan combo. While the first quarterback was naturally the lead, the support from his teammates made the difference, and the judges ruled that their dance was sufficient to earn points.
In celebration, the red kicker paused his attempts to get the numbers of the entirety of Row J, and shot up the ball to indicate that red team had scored. It flew up and landed on the other side of the advertising sculpture for hemarrhoid cream (H - for those moments of fiery agony) and the red fans went wild, particularly when they saw images of them were being displayed on the security blimp that floated above the stadium. | "10"
Randall Jackson slid his seatbelt across his lap as the engines began to roar behind him. He looked to his left as he does so, because he wasn't really sure how to get his on and Rod seemed to not have a problem with it. "Why didn't they go through this during the astronaut training," he thought out loud to himself but kind of toward Rod too. Rod looked over and thought "Ha," but didn't let the words escape his brain.
"9"
Randall began wondering if this countdown is like regulation actual time, or if it's kind of just acknowledging a pace toward blast-off. Another thing they had left out of astronaut training. They were kind of heavy on the how to survive space part, but not a lot of guidance in the taking off from Earth part. He knew all the buttons he had to press (and man, there were a lot of them. All kinds.) but it's not like they do blast-off simulations. It's more of just kind of an overview of what to expect when blasting off.
"8"
"Alright, there's 8, as is to be expected," Randall said more toward Rod. Rod ignored it though, thinking that Randall is probably nervous from all the blasting off they're about to do. Rod was pretty focused on the buttons and it seemed like Randall should have been too. Randall wondered if he had forgotten that they're supposed to do something specific right now because it seemed like he had done everything they told him to do, but Rod is going real heavy on these buttons and switches. He began to lift and shut one of those switch cover things while making mouth sounds like he knew what he was up to. Sounds like, "Alright then," and "So that's where that goes, okay cool."
"7"
Rod began asking a question, but Randall cut him off with his own question. "Should I already be wearing my helmet? Like we're not in space yet, so I should be fine. Isn't there oxygen in here?" Rod replied, "Actually that's a fair question, and one that I don't really have the answer to. I imagine we're fine to not have helmets but like... Just wear it to space. That's a good way to save... space..."
"6"
"Okay cool, yeah I kind of thought that was the case, but I just wanted to make sure," Randall said lyingly.
"5"
Those rockets sure were getting noisy. Randall went to cover his ears but the helmet was in the way. He had wondered if there might be some kind of like NASA ear plug giveaway that he missed out on. Probably while he was in training. Training took up most of his time over the last few... months... so if there was any sort of giveaways, he probably missed out. He really wished he had some ear plugs though. Would have come in handy, what with all the rocket noise.
"4"
Randall knew that when he got to space, he'd have to stay mostly clothed for all of the time. Knowing that, he rolled up his sleeve to look at the tattoo on his arm- the signature of his newborn baby. The doctor told him that some babies develop writing skills pretty early, and he didn't really know about childhood development, so he kind of took the doctor's word about it and got the baby's signature on his arm. He let out a quick "I got you right here with me all the time" before going back to the switch flipping.
"3"
"I guess this is it, isn't it boy," Randall said to Rod. "The final 3. The best part of the countdown." Rod said "Sure is, old buddy." Rod and Randall had grown up together and this would be their first time to space together. Someone should have mentioned that earlier. They had been looking forward to this day for several weeks, ever since they found out they'd be on the same space ship.
"2"
The rockets began to start going crazy. Like really loud and there was fire pretty much as far as the eye can see. All good fire though, Randall knows. Definitely not unintentional fire. It began billowing past the windows just like it should. Rod reached over and grabbed Randall's hand. "Get ready for this. It's about to get really spacey. That's a spacey meat-a-ball." Randall closed his eyes and hoped for the best.
"1"
"Oh don't they go on one or.. Wait. What?" Randall didn't seem to be able to finish a thought.
"Blast off!"
Randall and Rod gripped each other's hands so tight as they began soaring up through all those clouds on this particularly cloudy day, never to be seen again. | 2016-02-02T00:31:42 | 2016-02-01T22:49:59 | 147 | 23 |
[WP] Ancient custom dictates that once a year the old or crippled warriors are led into the arena for a final battle against the young warriors, thus ensuring an honoured place in the afterlife. Despite everything, you are kicking butt armed with nothing but a cane.
Bonus points for ignoring the last sentence and writing about the inner turmoil of warriors facing their friends and comrades across the sands, and the grim duty of sending them honourably to Valhalla. | He dodged another attack, cracking his cane on the back of his attacker's head and laughing with glee. "Son, I'm half a century older than you and I hit twice as hard!"
He smiled as another youth came charging at him, and with a little sidestep *here* and a little nudge *there* he sent the massive man hurtling into the nearby wall.
"You're all brawn and no brains! What are they teaching you kids these days?"
Most of the older warriors, now spent and injured, were taking solace behind this legendary, elderly hero.
"Back in my day, you wouldn't last a day out here!"
Two men came directly at him, and his cane made short work of them. He was barely trying at this point.
"I suppose it's our fault, really," he said, jabbing his cane into a stomach, then sweeping out the legs of another, "we were just too focused on killing each other to really teach you boys anything."
A glancing blow caught his chin, and he recoiled, spat the ensuing blood at his opponent, then hooked him to the floor with his cane.
"The way I see it, you've all been duped, like I was - like we all were."
The old warriors behind looked at each other.
"You talk of honour, but where's the honour in killing old and crippled men? Why not look towards our oppressors, who put us in this arena in the first place?"
One warrior, sufficiently chastened from a fractured nose and broken pride, grunted in agreement. Slowly, others did the same.
The old man smiled.
"I'm sure even Valhalla will agree, we've got to move with the times."
He looked towards the guards in the arena, and at the king himself. They were slowly edging away.
"And I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I don't have much time left." | "*Survival, that's what matters, living to fight another day. To strike another blow. Men who survive are to be regarded as heroes, who will bravely put their lives at risk for their people again. Who wear their scares with the pride of someone who knows that someday they may have more*" - Tablet of Itkapua
Needless to say, there weren't many men like this.
"intelligence" Kohn muttered as he shuffled down the road with his son " that is what people need. That is the problem with everyone. They don't think! They think with their arms, not their brains. Hah, I don't think most of them know that the brain exists! Uncultured swines"
Silently, Hulon listened to his father. Normally, he would smile politely but today he didn't have the life for it. Walking down the dirt road, amidst the loud merchants and wooden houses, he would smile and feel his spirit lifted. He would feel his body warmed by the caressing of the sun's rays. But today, the merchants seemed to be very far away and the houses around him belonged to strangers.
The faded wood all around him reminded him of the past. The dull red of the blacksmith's reminded him of his first sword, the dull green of the alchemist's reminded him of his first potion and the pale blue of the hospital made his scars itch. In each of those memories, he had been with Kohn. His father had always stood beside him.
Looking up at him, Hulon noticed how much he had changed. Long grey hair grew where it had been black before. Wrinkles lined a once youthful face and the beard he once prided himself on was unkempt. But his eyes, they were still as sharp as he remembered them and beneath the shuffling walk he saw strength. He saw the figure of a man who never gave up.
Everyone knew Kohn's story, the scratches on his worn armour. He had lived when he should have died. Time and again, he found a way to escape death's grasp. When others charged, he struck from behind. But still no one listened to him. No one listened to his way of fighting, of being smart. Behind his back they called him a coward. Inflamed by the emotions of important men, they refused to see the number of men Kohn had killed.
Well, Hulon listened.
He really had no choice. He wasn't as tall or as strong as the other warriors. For years, he had been cast aside by his teachers as the weakest. Until they began forgetting about him.
Sometimes, people seemed surprised when he talked. As if they didn't remember that he was there. In reality, he had learned how to fade away a long time ago. How to be forgotten so no one could hurt him, so no one would touch him.
Countless time his life had been saved by this and many lives had been lost.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" Kohn snapped.
Startled, Hulon snapped out of his memories and looked at his father. What he saw there, framed by the light of the sun, became engraved in his mind. Tears streamed down his father's face. The wrinkles, however, were gone. The grey hair seemed as strong as the black and there was order in the mess of his beard. Yet what he really noticed was those teary eyes that seemed to pierce his thoughts.
" I have always said" his father began "to anyone who listens that you have the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen. When you look at someone, there is no doubt that you are listening. Your eyes are focused, calm and show that you listen. I am blessed to be your father. No, I am blessed to have ever known you"
Looking at his father, Hulon began to cry. Beneath the strength of his eyes and beneath the false weakness of his figure, he was a man. Beneath the warrior, he was a father. Beneath his experience are years of joy and hardship.
And they expected Hulon to kill him.
--To be continued....
-------------------------
Thanks for reading, I wrote this in a hurry - I'll re-write it and continue it as soon as I can!
| 2016-07-18T07:37:58 | 2016-07-18T07:31:36 | 280 | 16 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did. | "Look, this really can't be right! I'm not evil! Am I?"
"Listen pal.. you got the job now, ok? No need to rub it in."
"I swear I'm not! You can't just leave me here in charge of hell. I don't know anything about this place. I'm not even supposed to be here!"
"Yea yea I get it.. You think you can suddenly repent and be bathed in his light and glory and yadda yadda yadda. You're fuckin twisted, man."
"Oh god this can't be happening.."
"He can't hear you all the way down here."
"Well who can!? Who is going to make this right!? I am not the devil, damnit! I am a good person! I gave money to poor people like, atleast ten times! And all the times I didn't cheat on my wife with that hot intern! I never even killed anyone! Not even close! What did I do to deserve this!? Where did I go wrong!?"
"I don't write the rules, buddy. Ok!? You come down here, bitchin' and moanin' bout having to be the devil, like it's some kind of punishment. Well let me school you for a second, Gary. You're the god-be-damned King of Eternal. The Father of Lies. The mother fucking Deceiver AND the Accuser. You are inhereting a kingdom beyond your wildest imagination.. and it's all yours, man. You get it? You're in charge. You don't burn. You don't suffer. You don't die. You rule eternal in darkness... sweet fucking gig of you ask me.."
"..I mean.. when you put it like that, it sounds kinda cool.. I guess.."
"..real. fucking. cool.."
"Ok ok. Let's say that I decide to go with this. Where do I start? Do I need to go buy horns like yours?"
"All that shit will come with time, man. Don't even stress about it. You literally have forever to figure all that out. Lets just get you straight to the perks, Gary. Everyone knows the absolute best perk is the Devil's parking spot right near the entrance. Fucking six steps from door to door, Gary.. can you even imagine?"
"Wow! Say, that is pretty cool. Can I keep the car I drove on Earth? It was literally the pride and joy of my existence.."
"Yea, I'm sure HR can get that worked out. What was it?"
"Just a BMW."
| "What the hell?"
A man looking like pure sinister evil appeared from the darkness.
"Yes, that would be correct"
Five seconds ago I was riding my car, and suddenly I was in this room, walls blacker than vantablack, and the putrid smell of sulfur and death made the hairs in my nose curl up. There was a reddish blue, like purple glow coming from somewhere lighting up the man in front of me, dressed in a slim fitted silk suit and combed back black hair.
"Say what?"
"This is hell", said the man without hesitation, "Your car was just hit front on by a truck and you died."
"I died?"
"Yes"
The man didn't move, he just stared at me, he didn't even appear to be breathing, he looked more like a wax figurine from Madame Tussauds cabinet.
"I died...?" I replied expecting the man to respond. He just stared back with his dead face, forcing me to say something else
"So, what is going on now, where am I?" I asked.
"This is hell, you are in hell" the man said.
"Hell?"
"Yes, I don't have an habit of repeating myself, but this is Hell. You died and now you are in Hell"
I pondered for a second and before I could say a word the man started circling around me at a slow pace.
"You died in a car crash, and now you are in Hell. Normally people going to hell are thrown right into the dungeons, depth depending of course of what monstrosities they have commited, but you..."
The man stopped right in front of me turned directly at me and gave me the coldest stare down I have ever seen
"for you we could not find a dungeon deep enough..."
He finally made an face expression; mixed, as if he waited for a reply he had waited for a very long time.
"Not deep enough? What the hell is this? Hidden camera or something?" I was getting slightly annoyed by this man, neither the sinister room I was in nor the putrid smell affected me the slightest. The man in front of me did.
"Ok, so, Why the hell am I in Hell??" I asked, not really expecting any aswer
"Because you are my replacement"
"Your replacement?"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"Because you are more evil than me, and I have been the most evil being for millennia, so.. you are pretty evil"
"What??" I yelled. "What the fuck are you talking about? I have never done anything wrong in my entire life! I've been in church every sunday since I was born, I help at the homeless shelter, I train a childrens baseball team. I haven't as much as gotten a speeding ticket my entire life!"
"Exactly" said the man
"What??"
"Listen, by now you must have figured out what is going on, but to make things clear to you; I am Satan, Beelzebub, The devil, what have you. This position in afterlife is always given to the currently most evil human there is. Dead of course, so the most evil dead human, to be technical."
I looked at the man, looked at the room I was in and could barley make out the contours of a doorway right behind the man... or Satan, I suppose.
"What is behind that door?"
"Hell"
I walked towards it, gave it a slight push and it swung open to reveal what looked exactly how I had always portrayed hell; black sharp rocks, like obsidian with some molten red glowing liquid running in between... And there were people everywhere, screaming and trying to crawl on top of the slippery razor sharp rocks to escape the heat. Many was burning, they had fires all over their naked bodies, but it didn't seem like they were damaged by the flames. But they were in pain. Extreme pain judging my the bone chilling screams.
I dragged the door closed, turned back to the suited man. He was grinning, like a lawyer who was bragging to his lawyer buddies on how he got a child murdering rapist off the hook by legal trickery.
"Well" said the man. "What do you think?"
"THINK", I replied, "This is horrible! What kind of place IS this? I don't belong here alt all! I was a good human being my entire life!"
"No, you were not."
"What?"
"This is what is going to happen now; I will go away, I am released because you came...."
I interrupted the man:
"But what did I do wrong??"
"That, my friend, you will only find out when your release comes.. It could take a day, or it could take hundreds of thousands of years, impossible to tell... but when he shows up, you will know your wrongdoings"
"What did you do wrong to get here?"
"Nothing." | 2016-12-19T14:02:30 | 2016-12-19T14:01:54 | 380 | 44 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | “Hi,” she said, through a lopsided smile righted by her slumped posture.
He let out a long sigh, kneeling down and feeling her forehead. He took off his jacket and slipped it around her, and she pulled it tight. Lifting her up, he got her standing, though couldn't let her go.
“No piggyback?” she said with a whiny tone.
He didn't answer, pulling her forward until her feet gave up their protest and moved forward too. Step by step, slow and steady, he led her out the alley. The cars flashed by, street light flickering.
“Let's go to yours tonight,” she said, slurred.
“My girlfriend is upset enough with me.”
She giggled, covering her mouth. “Then just dump her!”
He came to a stop, bowing his head and sighing. “Why… do you do this?”
Her giggling continued erratically, interrupting herself as she spoke. “You only come when I mess up. My hero,” she said, dragging out the last word.
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“You always come to save me.”
His grip on her wavered, loosened by the thoughts in his head. Without meaning to, one of his thoughts came out. “Then you're the villain.”
Rather than the cold reaction he expected, she burst into laughter, nearly pulling them both to the floor as she bent over wheezing. When she calmed down enough to speak, she said, “Yeah, I totally am.”
He closed his eyes, and breathed out. Then, he tightened his grip, and dragged her forwards, pulling her feet into action. “I won't answer next time, so don't do this again.”
“That's what you said last time.” | "Execute order Q-T-3.14." The order rings throughout the lair. Rengar grins to himself as his henchmen go about his demands. He is sitting on his best throne, twiddling his thumbs. This has to be it. There is no way that Ultra Man can be *that* dense. He did name himself 'Ultra Man', but still.
He feels butterflies in his stomach as his plans are carried out. Ultra Man should be on his way now. His right leg starts to jitter in anticipation. An unfortunate henchman is passing close to the throne.
"Hey. Henchman." Rengars powerful voice reaches him. He stops and turns.
"Do I look too threatening?"
The henchman is confused. Rengar has never even looked at him for more than 3 seconds before, and now he was asking him what seemed like a trick question.
"Sir, do you not want to threaten Ultra Man?"
"Well-uh" Rengar stammers. "It's all part of...uh..a plan! Yes. I can't have him too threatened already, or he wouldn't follow through with the rest of my master plan."
The henchman nods his head in what he hopes is understanding. "Oh. Well sir, you look just the right amount of threatening." The henchman hurries away before he can be questioned further.
*I need better henchman* Rengar thinks to himself. He hears an insolent meow. *Ah, yes. Fluffums. Right on time.*
He turns slightly in his throne to see his white ball of fur leap onto his armrest. Fluffums lies down to receive pets. Pets are received.
A siren begins to sound across the facility. *About time.* There is a panic filled murmur as the henchman begin to scramble.
Crash!
Ultra Man breaks right through a side wall, on the opposite side of the layer. Rengar is elated. He waits impatiently as he takes out all of his henchman dumb enough to oppose him. *Wow. My henchman are so terrible* Rengar thinks as he watches them fall to Ultra Man's manly hands.
He finally takes them all out. *This is it.* He sprints to Rengar's throne.
"Rengar! How could you?" He asks. Rengar feels even more nervous, but it is time to put on his act.
"I have my reasons, Ultra Man! Have you come to...thwart me?" He asks, still stroking Fluffums.
"You're dang right I'm here to thwart your nefarious plan! Order Q-T-3.14 will put lives at risk!"
"Order *Q-T-3.14*..." he emphasizes. It's no use, "is necessary to prepare for my other, more nefarious plot, A-QT-IC."
"It's over Rengar! I will tear this facility apart to stop you!"
"You would tear down my facility, but you will not hurt me? Have you grown...fond of me, Ultra Man?" he asks. He can feel his future on a knife's edge, ready to tumble either direction.
"Well-uh...I" it is Ultra Man's turn to stammer, "you are...evil, you know."
*Yes! Now time to reel him in.*
"Am I? Do you know what order Q-T-3.14 really is?"
"Well...no, but-"
"And you just assumed it was evil?"
Ultra Man looks ashamed. "...Yes."
"I am buying a house. The real plan was to get you here so that I could ask..."
"Yes?"
"Do you want to move in with me?"
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-04-15T10:04:09 | 2017-04-15T09:54:52 | 189 | 129 |
[WP] There's a good reason that savage and terrifying monsters live in bedrooms of small children. The children need protecting. | Silence permeated the room and darkness loomed. Peter's nightlight pathetically attempted to quell the darkness but it failed. Peter heard the sound he dreaded the most out of all.
The quiet squeak of the door hinge followed by the not so quiet footsteps of his disgusting uncle.
"Hey, sport."
He whispered. His voice sounded soft, but the evil that lay within him would soon rear its fangs.
Peter let out a half-hearted whimper.
This wasn't the first time, it had happened. Peter closed his eyes, and tried to think of things that made him happy. His uncle layed a hand on the young boy's thigh, and slowly brought it downwards towards his privates. Peter tried desperately to think about something else but his mind remained in the present.
"Oh, not hard huh? Well, I am."
His uncle said through a greasy moustache, as he grabbed the boy's hand. He led the boys hand toward his crotch.
A sniff could be heard from under the bed, and a snarl echoed the room.
"What in the hell?" Peter's uncle whispered to himself. As he backed away from Peter and made his way to the door.
A tenebrous figure disguised in shadow and hatred blocked the door.
"Who the fuck are you?!" He spouted. Saliva escaped his mouth and ran down his chin.
The creature opened its eyes, and leered at Peter's uncle with an undying abhorrence. Its eyes lit the room with sapphire. It grasped his throat and held him in the air with one arm with ease.
The creature unfurled its claws and scratched and clawed at the man's groin. The sound of flesh ripping and a man howling in agony reverberated the walls. The creature then, with no hesitation, threw Peter's uncle out of the room. The drywall cracked as the fat slob of a man was launched into it.
Peter cowered in the corner of his room, horrified.
"Fear not, child. I am here only to protect you. He will never hurt you again. Whenever you are afraid, you need only look for me under this bed. And I will be here." His voice was deep and gravelly, yet like silk. It soothed Peter.
The creature's once hateful eyes now looked compassionate and caring. The creature retreated back below Peter's bed.
And Peter slept soundly for the first time in years. And he did so for the next eighty.
For he knew, the creature was never far.
***
/r/batmans_left_buttock | im not a good writer, sorry for cringy
_______________________________________________________________________
I was 9 years old.
I was just a normal kid, living a normal life, doing normal things.
Sometimes, I made mistakes. Just regular, small mistakes. Like accidentally smashing a window, scratching the car, or maybe breaking a vase. But I always tried hard to be a good kid.
My parents weren't so understanding.
Every time I accidentally messed up, they brought out the belt.
They'd strike me across my butt with fury and anger in their eyes.
I'd be lying on my chest, tears slipping out of my eyes, wishing it would stop. I wouldn't say anything or else they would give me a couple of lashes on my back.
It wasn't just that, either.
My parents often called me names, like "stupid cow" or "dirty goat".
I found these particularly offensive, as I really liked cows and goats. They're cute. (Maybe that's why they call me these things. I do have a bunch of toy goats and cows on my bed.)
My mom was the worst.
She drank often, so she was always crazy.
She was also depressed at the time.
Many a night, she took her anger out on me.
She'd randomly burst in my room, yelling obscenities.
I never cried. (Don't want me a quick strappin'.)
One particular night, Mom and Dad were arguing over something.
*Oh no, did I mess up?* I thought.
I sat silently, waiting for the inevitable moment when they would burst into the room, belts a-swangin'.
They came earlier than anticipated.
But they didn't come with belts, oh no. They came with...
A Shrek toy?
The old one that gave me nightmares?
The one I had tossed under my bed?
Memories came rushing back into my head.
Dad, holding the figure inches from my face, chuckling as I cried and struggled in Mom's arms.
Opening the door to the washroom with Shrek sitting in the sink.
How I screamed when it was bedtime and I lay on my bed, feeling a bump on my back as I reached behind me, an I realized...
It was Shrek.
He was here now, haunting me with that horrible, wide smile, eyes open and looking like they could steal souls.
I couldn't contain my cries of horror inside me.
They took out a roll of duct tape.
Mom grabbed my arms and Dad, chuckling like a madman, taped my wrists together behind my back.
I squirmed and struggled, but to no avail. Mom held me too tightly.
Dad slowly brought Shrek closer to my face.
He unrolled a strip of tape and stuck Shrek onto it.
I shivered, convoluted in fear.
Suddenly, without warning, Dad pusheedthe Shrek figure onto my forehead, and in a smooth, fluid motion, wrapped the tape around my head.
A shrill scream raced out of my mouth.
I woke in my room. It was still night.
I looked around.
Why did I wake up in the middle of the night?
Suddenly, I heard scraping on the floor.
I looked past the edge of my bed, and saw an object being pulled under my bed...
The memories came flooding back.
Dad taping Shrek onto my forehead...
I smacked my forehead.
Shrek wasn't there.
I heard a deep voice rumble under my bed...
"Don't worry, child. Everything will be alright."
A dark figure crawled out under my bed.
Suddenly, a pungent onion odor filled the room.
A green glow of light came out of the figure.
It's... it's Shrek!
He put his ogre hand on my face.
"There is nothing to worry about, child."
"I will help you."
I got out of bed.
Shrek walked out, toward my parents' bedroom.
I could barely anticipate what happened after.
Shrek ripped the door off its hinges, entering the room with a mighty roar.
The smell of onions was everywhere.
Before my parents could react, Shrek grabbed my Dad.
He opened his mouth wide, and swallowed Dad whole.
Mom screamed, but Shrek grabbed her too.
Mom was swallowed in an instant.
I just stood there, in amazement.
That night, I learned...
There was nothing to fear about Shrek.
Shrek is love.
Shrek is life.
Euphoria was racing through my veins.
I couldn't move, I was so overjoyed.
They were finally gone!
I asked Shrek, "How can I possibly repay you?"
He spoke slowly in his deep ogre voice.
"i need about tree fiddy"
That's when I realized he was about 5 stories tall and was a crustacean from the mesozoic era
God dammit loch ness monster tricked me again | 2017-04-25T22:36:48 | 2017-04-25T20:20:36 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | So about 7,000 years ago Ollie dropped a boulder on my head. We were hunter-gatherers then, and he convinced me that there was a herd of red deer in a canyon near our camp. When I went there to check it out, he was on top of the ridge and rolled the boulder off onto me. It took a week for me to claw my way out.
Okay Ollie, funny prank. Ha fuggin' ha. But the thing is, he wouldn't shut up about it. As we progressed through the neolithic era, the bronze age, the iron age, when we were Roman senators, he would bring it up every single time we met.
Maybe it was kinda funny at the time, but not funny enough that I enjoyed hearing about it every week for 5,000 years straight. When our friend Hallie tricked our other friend Marko into being in Pompeii when Mt. Vesuvius erupted it was legitimately hilarious, and even they knew to shut up about it after a few centuries.
When the Renaissance and Enlightenment started in Europe, I finally figured out a way to get back at Ollie. As you can probably guess, being an immortal gets pretty boring. But the Enlightenment was a genuinely exciting time to be alive. I started making friendships with all the scientists and innovators: Newton, Galileo, Bayes, Kepler, Laplace. It was the first time something interesting had happened for me in thousands of years, and I immersed myself in it. When my astronomer buddy Giuseppe Piazzi up in Naples told me about his discovery of asteroids, I knew what to do.
Fast-forward 250 years. NASA's [Asteroid Redirect Mission](https://www.nasa.gov/content/what-is-nasa-s-asteroid-redirect-mission) is nearing completion, and an asteroid plucked from the asteroid belt is on its way to be put in orbit around the moon for further study.
Too bad the mission was doomed to failure from the start. The asteroid wouldn't achieve a stable orbit around the moon and would strike Earth instead. Their calculations for the orbital dynamics were the tiniest infinitesimal fraction of a percent wrong, and they had no way of knowing that. Why not? Guess who has two thumbs and has been subtly introducing tiny errors into every branch of science since its outset ... this immortal!
And, guess who was standing exactly where the asteroid struck, staring up like a dumbass while an asteroid hit him in the face?
Your move, Ollie. | For us, the fun was all in trying to get our friends to figure out who we were currently. Just imagine the frustration and eventual hilarity when you were being pranked by someone you thought you didn't know from Lucifer himself, only to find out decades on that you actually did know them. Our souls were what were immortal. It was mildly inconvenient how human bodies could only sustain themselves for about 100 years. Just about the time you got comfortable in your new home, it would start to die and you would find yourself back in hell, aimlessly shopping for a new vessel. Some of us took decades to find a suitable new home. Eventually, we all always grew bored in Hell and would find a fun new toy on earth to take over.
My escapades over the years had been great. As great as they were however, it seemed I was always getting bested my by good buddy / arch nemesis of sorts. His pranks and chaos that he caused on earth always somehow just barely edged mine. Time and time again, I would find myself unfolding a great plot, only to find that he had out maneuvered me and won again. This next time would be different however!
My current victim was a woman in her late 60's. I knew that choosing this vessel wouldn't leave me much time on Earth this time by, but I thought that I could have tons of fun taking over this particular persons body. This person had long been in a position of power among mortals, and was currently in line to achieve an important political office. I would have no problem causing all kinds of chaos on earth and maybe playing a few good jokes on my immortal buddies as this individual. Finally I would be able to best my buddy!
As election day neared, everything was in my favor. I had the mortal public in the palm of my hand. It seemed like they would agree with any fantastical ideal that I put forth. I could literally have suggested that wearing clothes was somehow a social injustice, and they would have all agreed. My opponent in the election seemed completely inept. An orange skinned, wild haired entrepreneur who had no idea how to run a political campaign and win. I delighted in setting traps for him and watching him haplessly fall into them. Just as comical were *his* followers, who took his ridiculous campaign slogan and promises and ran with them as if they were actually ever going to be honored.
On the night of the election, I was fairly giddy with excitement as I thought about all the of the chaos I was about to unleash on these unsuspecting people. I was going to win this election by a landslide and it wasn't even close. As I sat around daydreaming about the world war I was about to start, shit started to go down. My opponent was winning. How the fuck was this possible? I had carefully laid the framework and I had the public in the palm of my hand. It seemed there was some kind of as before undetected force that was now possessing my opponent and causing him to turn the tide.
I watched in dismay as the election results slowly unfolded. I was losing everything I had planned! I was in this old decrepit ugly body for nothing! I thought about all the juicy candidates I had passed on in order to possess this hag. I was so furious! Election night was over, my opponent had won. I now had to face him and be nice! I decided there was no way that would happen. I would get my little piece of chaos no matter what it took.
Within the next few days, I had a face to face meeting with him. As his entourage entered the room, I felt the presence of another immortal, one many times more powerful than me. I *knew* this particular immortals signature presence, and yet I just couldn't put a finger on it. It had been almost 100 years since I felt this presence. In fact, the last time had been when I had called myself Benito Musselini. I had woven a great little adventure as Musselini, sure that I would impress all my buddies, only to be foiled by my buddy *again* and his project at that time, Adolf Hitler.
Slowly, the situation dawned on me. As I drew closer to the new President Elect, I knew full well that I was in the presence of my old buddy again. The shit eating grin on his face and glowing ember in his eyes confirmed it. I was so pissed! He got me again! As we stood alone by ourselves away from the hordes of our new followers, I quietly whispered to him; "Fucking Satan, you mother fucker... you got me again...." | 2017-06-23T00:57:11 | 2017-06-22T22:52:58 | 220 | 41 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..." | "28 today," you say to yourself looking in the mirror. Of course you know today is your birthday today, but it also helps that while looking at the mirror you noticed the number above your head changed from the [27] you saw yesterday.
You leave to go to the liquor store to pick up some booze and celebrate. While in line you see this scrawny kid two prople ahead of you. He looks really nervous, you laugj yo youself when you figure out why as you look above his head. [17]. The kid gets to the counter, hands the clerk his "ID," who says that he better run before he calls the police. The kid scurries away.
It's always been a gift of yours to be able to see the age of people. Thanks to your gift it was pretty simple to find a job befitting of it to get out of doing some actual work. What better fit that a bouncer for a bar. Besides this gift you were also gifted with size, 6'6 and 300 lbs was another big help when applying to be a bouncer.
With your secret ability you became well known in town as THE bouncer. Sure you looked at ID's of anyone over 21, just to keep up appearences, but anyone you saw abover their head <21 you wouldn't even ask em for ID's you'd just laugh and tell them to leave.
After a nice day drinking with friends you were unfortunately scheduled to work. Luckily things are going very smooth this night, no one <21. A couple hours pass and way down the line you see [31], [33], [11], [34], and you think to yourself, "seriously, someone is trying to bring their kid into this bar? Some people." In your state there is a bery clear law disallowing children to be in a bar unless it's a bar/restaurant, which your place was most certainly not.
The line moves on and on and you get more annoyed prepping to confront this family. As they get closer you see the something is a miss. The [11] is just as tall if not taller than the other numbers you see. You can't quite see the kids face but you assume he's either a really lanky kid or he's getting a piggy back ride from daddy. You think the latter is more likely because the [11] is very close to the [34].
When the "kid" makes it to you your jaw drops. Standing in front of you was a man, dressed in sharp suit and nearly as tall as you, maybe 6'4. Above his head read [11....34].....[1134]. The silence of your stare was then broken, "You alright buddy?" You snap back to your senses, "yeah sorry about that, may I see your ID." The man gives you his ID and it clearly shows "34," you hold his ID for a while again your mind questioning what you saw. Never before have you doubted your powers, could they be off for once? Maybe the booze from earlier is still running its course, but I feel fine. Also I've never had a problem with the accuracy of my ability before when I've been drunk. Also I've read everyone elses accurately tonight as you always check ID's anyw...
"You know I'm lying about my age on there, don't you?" The man said snapping you out your train of thought. He takes his ID and goes to walk past you away from the entrance. As he passes you he whispers in your ear, "[1134] is right, meet me out back and I'll explain everything," and with that he leaves you mouth agape walking away down the alley next to the bar.
You stand there for a sec frozen by what he said until the next guy says, "buddy you alright?"
"No, sorry," and with that you page for someone to switch you out for a break. Your friend comes out and you go on your break. You go down the alleyway and popout behind the bar. Back there you see the only person there, the man in the trench coat.
"Glad you showed up."
The man steps closer to you and extends his bare hand for a handshake. You look down and nervously reach out to meet his. You grip his hand and he grips yours, only he keeps squeezing, harder, and harder. Your a big guy you're not about the be intimidated in a strength contest, and you start squeezing back. The man doesn't flinch and he begins squeeze even harder, he begins crushing your hand, it's your complete loss as you fall to your knees you hand limp yet still in this man's machine like hand. He eventually lets go and you bring your throbbing hand to your chest clutching it due to the pain of broken bones.
"What are you?" You say through gritted teeth. The man crouches down to meet your gaze.
"The name's Egan, seeing the numbers are just the start of your abilities. Why do you think you would be able to see them?"
He pauses, as if looking for a response to his rhetorical question. Obviously you don't know why you were given this power.
Breaking the silence Egan says softly, "It's because you also have the ability to take theirs. Come with me and I'll teach you to become a god among mortals."
With that Egan stands up and reaches out his left hand to you. You take it and stand up, your life changed forever. | 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-01T22:57:39 | 1,321 | 247 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | I stood outside the bar, hearing laughter and chatting from the warm interior. I looked down the line of people waiting for entry and started looking down the line muttering under my breath, "Twenty-two, twenty-five, Thirty, Twenty-nine, and... a twenty year old."
I sighed and I could see my breath within the cold night air. "Alright guys!" I gestured to the front of the line, "Come on in!" As the first four passed me, I held up my hand to block the entrance for the twenty year old, a tall black-haired boy who *might* have been able to enter as he looked to be at least twenty-three to any other outside viewer. Unluckily for him however, I have an exceptionally rare ability to see the age of any individual floating above their heads.
The boy looked at me confidently and smiled, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"May I see your ID please?"
The boy looked surprised and took out his wallet. "Alright, just give me a second here...". The boy gave an elaborate shuffling through his wallet for a good thirty seconds before he finally said, "I think I might have left my ID at home or something. Can you make an exception please? My friends drove me and one of them just went in, I mean we are literally the same age. Just ask him!"
I nudged him out of the line and said, "Sorry kid, no ID no entry."
The boy's previous friendly face slowly contorted into one of utter anger. He looked as if he were going to punch me until he stopped himself. Still clenching his fist with knuckles pale as ice, he stormed off without saying another word.
I sighed and looked at the next one in line. He looks definitely like a kid. I'd guess... ten years old. I used my ability and his age appeared above him displaying... **FOUR DIGITS**. WHAT PERSON IS 7300 YEARS OLD? He looks like a kid too!
He had auburn hair and was looking at me with wide eyes. I quickly blinked a few times to mask my loss of composure. "Uh... So, how old are you?"
The boy gave a huge grin and yelled in an ear-piercing voice, "Seven, three, zero, zero years old!"
I raised an eyebrow and knelt down. In a soft voice I asked, "Are you lost kid? Where's your mom?"
The boy scowled and yelled even louder in a tantrum impatiently, "I am **seven, three, zero, zero years old!**"
There is no way this kid is immortal or something. As far as I know, immortality and reincarnation or anything of the sort is nonexistent. I quickly pat his head gently and said, "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
The kid started sniffling and pointed inside the bar, "But my mom is inside!" I gently grabbed the kid's hand and guided him inside with me saying, "Come on kid. I'll find your mother."
We walked inside the bar with lots of people chattering and hearing the clinks of wine glasses. I grabbed the kid and held him up by the shoulders. I said in a loud booming voice, "WHOSE KID IS THIS?"
A thirty one year old whom I assumed to be the mother quickly ran to the kid and hugged him closely saying, "I am so, so sorry Alan. I thought you were asleep!"
I shook my head, "Listen, next time. Watch him closely and don't leave him alone by himself. *Ever*."
She glanced at me and softly said, "Alright."
I put a hand on the kid's shoulder and glanced at the mother, "By the way, how old is he anyways?"
The mother sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. She said, "He's only ten years old."
"Then why does he call himself a 7300 year old?"
The mother gave a hint of a smile, "It's just his way of adding up to 10 years old. The two extra zeroes are just to make him seem smarter with math." She ruffled Alan's hair, "Aren't you smart?"
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| I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2018-02-12T22:42:59 | 2017-09-01T21:03:45 | 223 | 122 |
[WP] A human has a reputation for constantly cheating death. But as a matter of fact, Death just likes them so much that he/she puts them in near-death situations so that he/she has an excuse to hang out with them. | When I first met Death, I was ready to go. Sure, lots of things I didn't get to do but I still had a good run. It would be the end if the doctors didn't start pulling me out.
Thanks to them, I got a few days more to live. Unconscious, stuck between life and death, I could do only one thing.
Talk.
Turns out Death is a very good listener. Every single problem, doubt or concern that I was scared or embarrassed to voice was finally out and accepted. He never provided much feedback. But sometimes all you needed was just to vent. And God did it help.
"So what about you?" I asked, not entirely aware of the weight of the question then. "Anything you would like to share?"
Death looked surprised. Well, there were no widening eyes or slacked jaw. Just this... feeling. There was something in the silence that told me that Death wasn't asked this before.
No words were spoken by him. Instead, there was a touch, too gentle and soothing for someone with bones for flesh. With just one touch, I saw and felt *everything*.
There was no fear. No screaming of the dead and damned. There was resignation. There was exhaustion. The constant and inescapable feeling of dissatisfaction and powerlessness.
"You hate your job, don't you?"
The not so scary Grimm Reaper shook his skull. With another touch, this time to my heart instead of forehead. I felt the mixture of cold and warmth spread through my chest.
Once again, with no words exchanged, I understood it all so clearly. Death didn't hate his job. And neither did he love it.
It was the job. The task that someone had to do. After all, how important was death in our lives?
It was caution. The ever-present reminder of our own mortality and how little time we actually had.
It was also what pushed to actually live. Knowing that your days were numbered pushed people to try and live to their heart's content. To try and make the world remember them.
And, most importantly, Death was the part of the cycle of Life. Without Death, there would be no Life. Just hollow and empty existence.
"We are losing him!" one of the doctors yelled. The room was in panic. Mom cried. Sarah did that too. And Tom just did his best to convince them and himself that everything was going to be alright.
"Well," I chuckled sadly. "Guess that's it."
I turned around to Death, ready to face its scythe. Instead, I felt the warm bone press against my chest.
"What?"
The Grim Reaper smiled, without his expression changing. With a light push, I felt my entire being fall apart.
"Oh God," one of the nurses whispered as she looked at some machine's readings. "I have a pulse!"
What...?
I looked at the Death in shock. No... Did he just-? But why? I found myself unable to speak as I was being pulled into my body.
Before the world around me faded in white, I saw the Death open its mouth. His voice was calm and quiet, yet loud and vibrant with some unknown emotion.
"Thank you."
Death spoke to me for the first time.
But it wasn't the last. | The last thing she heard before smacking the sunlight yellow taxi beneath her was the horrified screams of numerous onlookers on the ground, followed by the agonizing crunching sound of steel, alongside the sound of glass shattering on impact. She soon stirred awake, to find herself in a rather (unfortunately) familiar scene. She appeared to be in a diner of some sort; the chairs and booths were laden in red leather, complemented by gaudy stainless steel detailing, and the walls seemed to be bathed in nothing but shades of vibrant neon, ranging from pink to blue to red. As she sat on the center stool, an all too familiar tune played from a nearby jukebox, just as gaudily designed as the entire diner...
*Though nothing... will drive them away... we can beat them... just for one day...*
"Ah shit...", she simply whispered to herself. Feeling her face, she felt no noticeable cuts or bumps of any sort. "Just as I expected", she mumbled. Rummaging through the pockets of her baby blue coat, the woman pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. To her disappointment, only three cigarettes seemed to reside in the package. Sighing, she simply pulled one out of the pack and stuck it between her lips, stuffing the pack back into her pocket, followed by the click of her trusty lighter. While sparks flew, there was simply no flame to be lit. "Goddamn it...", she cursed, trying to get some sort of flame.
"Need a light, Val?", a deep, yet soothing voice questioned. The cigarette between her cherry red lips soon began smoldering, with the smoke gently billowing away from her. Her eyes widened only slightly, still amazed at this odd occurrence, before she turned her head, exhaling the terrible smoke away from her. She soon turned her head to the right, and, in typical fashion, found a middle-aged man sitting next to her.
His hair, straight and slicked back, was jet black on top, with a varying shade of gray on the sides. At a glance, Valentine thought his eyes were blue but then blinked to find them a very light shade of gray. Numerous wrinkles were scattered along the surface of his face, neighbored with an array of scars varying in size and length, each with their own little story. His jawline was quite prominent as well, as she could see it's every move while he slowly sipped a cup of black coffee, no doubt at the perfect temperature. Meanwhile, the man's suit, black as the night's sky, seemed to adhere well to his slim, lanky build. For a bringer of death, she thought to herself, he's easy on the eyes.
"Thanks", she merely replied. As smoke exited through her nostrils, she reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out a yellow notepad and a pen, setting it down on the counter before her. Within seconds, she doodled on the pad, with the pages being occupied by various thoughts, ridiculous and serious.
"So how's things, Val? It's been quite a while since I've seen ya, y'know?", the man in black asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
"Quite a while, my ass...", she mumbled, "I damn near bought the farm two weeks ago. Some jackass drunk came and flattened me like a fucking pancake, with an 18-wheeler nonetheless!"
"I'll tell you one thing and it's this; I had nothing to do with that, I swear it", he said, looking deeply into his cup of joe.
"Nothing to do with that", she mimicked, sticking her tongue out, "just like this time too I assume?"
"Now this one I'll take credit for. Then again, the way you lead your life, Val... I don't think you'd even need me", he said, a smug grin growing on his face.
The cigarette, down to the very end, immediately stopped burning as soon as it reached her fingers, with the smoking ceasing to rise. With that, she immediately set to the yellow notepad and pen before her.
"You got me beat there, but it comes with the territory. Hell, you aren't complaining, are you?"
He scoffed, "No, Detective Parker,", he teased, "On the contrary, we wouldn't have met in the first place if it weren't for that job in particular, so I'm actually quite grateful for that." His eyes soon landed on Valerie's face, when he caught something astray from the typical ordeal. "Is that lipstick you're wearing?"
Turning flush with blood, her pale cheeks reddened to a shade just as bright as the lips in question.
"Its blood, jackass."
"I heal everything the moment you come in, Val", a devilish smirk began to develop on his face yet again, "You know, for a detective, you sure are a shitty liar."
"Well...", she said in a defensive tone, "I just wanted to try something new for a change. Ain't always gotta be a blank slate with me, y'know?"
"Uh-huh", he grumbled. "Of all days, when you knew for a fact that you were likely going to go on a chase, which would've likely killed you nonetheless, you put on lipstick?", he said, a full-blown shit eating grin on his face at this point.
Never in her life, she said to herself, had she wanted to die so badly. Of course, given her unfortunate circumstances, this was clearly not possible. | 2017-12-07T19:38:55 | 2017-12-07T16:44:02 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
| The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer. | 2022-10-06T10:06:56 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 483 | 43 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?' | The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer. | 2022-08-07T20:43:05 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 379 | 43 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I didn't really know what to think of it. "Don't look at the moon"? Sure, no problem. Going back to sleep now. But then I saw my other notifications...99+? Ok, something is definitely up.
I tried to call my girlfriend, but I notice one of the texts I got was from her. "You really should go look at the moon, its amazing." I flip on the tele to see if there's any coverage on what the hell is going on but it just says its off the air. Flip to another channel, same thing. Ok, I'm starting to freak out about this point. Get my laptop, check out Reddit, everything on r/all is urging people to look at the moon.
I try to call my parents, my sister, my friends, no answer from any of them. I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin, rocking slightly back and forth. There's a part of me that just wants to run outside and stare upwards, give in to the madness. Somehow I repress that urge. Then I notice something strange.
The window. It's twenty til 4 but the light coming in through the window is getting more intense. I watch the pale beams stream in, casting an eerie glow into the room. Moonlight doesn't look like that. Moonlight *can't* look like that. I closed my eyes real tight. I began to cry.
I waited. I sat there on the floor, crying like a child, hiding from the unnatural light under the covers. My blanket was thick, yet the cruel light kept peaking through the threads. I began to hyperventilate. The closeness of my breath under the blanket was hard to bear but I did not dare uncover myself for air. I tried to distract myself with my phone, checked for updates, tried to get a hold of anyone, but to no avail. Still the same messages over and over, tempting me. 'Just a couple of hours and the sun will come up. Then I'll be safe.' I thought to myself.
2 hours later. Dawn had not come.
3 hours later. Dawn had not come.
I risked a small opening of the cover so I could look at the room. Not only had the light intensified, it now seemed to engulf my room in a maddening pale light. Presently I became aware of a constant humming. I listened to try and identify the source, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. Like the whir of some inhuman machinery. My mind began to race. I cried out for someone, *anyone* to come and save me, to end this nightmare. But no one came.
I lay there on my floor, in a state bordering madness for another 5 hours. After the 3rd hour I began to babble to myself. With every hour the whir seemed to get louder and closer, my room was now light up like a movie set. I maneuvered myself under the bed but the vile light had stolen the shadows from even there!
Throughout the day the urge to uncover myself and run laughing and screaming into the streets grew stronger and I had to stop myself from jumping up at regular intervals. The whir was now being accompanied by a constant 'thrumming' which preyed my weakened sanity.
I like to believe that I lasted longer than anyone else, in the end.
I began to beat my head against the floor, in an attempt to shut out the unceasing noise. Eventually I was slamming it so hard I believe I gave myself a concussion.
I couldn't take it anymore. All at once I wriggled out from under the bed in my cocoon, threw the blankets off of me and darted out my door. I ran down the hallway where even *here* the light had spread itself, even in a place *with no windows*. Down the stairs and up to the front door, I nearly tore it off its hinges on my way out.
Well it wasn't a moon.
The eyes are what gave it away.
Though they were right...it really was quite beautiful.
<If you actually read this whole thing, thank you. I don't write these at all but there was something about this one that got my brain flowing.> | The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer. | 2022-12-12T15:52:54 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 191 | 43 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there. | DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59 | 2018-04-06T20:42:31 | 103 | 10 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
| Sweat decorated my face, my hands twitched, my personal signs of panic. I gripped my phone on one hand and on the other my bed sheets. A deafening silence filled my bed room.
"What the fuck?" I murmured to myself. I rose up to a sitting position, used the now dirty bed sheet to clean my face. "Sarah?" I called out to my wife. Only silence answered my question. I ripped the sheets from my form and lunged out of bed.
"Sarah!" I screamed. I ran out the bedroom, down the hall, and entered the living room. "Sarah?!" I yelled out once more. My eyes glanced about the room, scoutted the kitchen, peer to the old leathery couch but found nothing.
I fox walked in darkness using the surface floor to fix my location. "Sarah" I called out gently.
I clenched my eyes shut and attempted to steady my breath.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
The back yard. She has to be there, no? I gathered whatever wits I had, which wasn't much to begin with and slowly walked to the other side of the room. Pale white blinds decorated the door in front of me. I swallowed empty dread that filled my mouth.
I gently pull open the door.
Sarah stood outside, standing on the soft green grass. Her back faced me. She stood still and was currently looking at the sky.
I walked forward. "Sarah, you're scaring me" i softly whispered.
No answered came from her.
"Sarah, what the fuck are you looking-"
Words left my mouth. My hands shook and my breathing quickened.
The moon floated above. Far bigger then it should have. Markings scarred it's surface like crude cross hatched shading. The lines grew and within the crevasses poured out blood. I was paralyzed. I couldn't look away. Not when the blood finished covering it. Not when the latitudes and longitudes pulled away from the center and revealed what was hidden inside. A humanoid beast. Its skin paled skin matched that of the moon. It's arms pulled away from its legs and oriented itself upwards. Its face simply consisted of 7 eyes. The remains of the moon orbit around the beast. Faster and faster they moved, until they were blur. The beast opened its eyes and the pieces began to glow. Spears, they began to distort and change and took the forms of glowing spears.
Millions of miles away from Earth. Threw the empty void of space. The shafts of light flew.
Each Longinus struck true and with the impact millions of people were turned to their basic components. Primordial soup poured into valleys, flowed into rivers, flooded homes. Their souls however stayed where they once stood, whirled and moved and solidified into perfect red spheres.
The spheres shot up towards the sky and stopped once the swarm overlooked the Earth.
That day humanity vanished and the beast that screamed from the center of its egg feasted.
***
I'm very sorry for any errors. English is not my first language and past brain trauma certainly doesn't help.
Also I typed this out on my phone. So yeah. I would greatly appreciate any criticism. | 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2022-09-27T16:50:27 | 45 | 33 |
[WP] You're a murder victim for hire. As an immortal masochist, no job could suit you better. You're happy to substitute for assassination targets, disgruntled lovers, and would be serial victims. Until one day, strapped to a serial killer's table, they lean in and say, "Have we met before?"
[removed] | The blade lowered to just below his abdomen, spinning menacingly. Jeff was positively delighted, though he tried his best to not show it.
"Oh no, please don't kill me, oh no," he said, keenly aware that he wasn't quite selling it. The serial killer glanced at him, distracted from his work.
"Could you be quiet?" the serial killer asked, wiping his brow with a gloved hand. "You don't seem to particularly scared, you know."
"Oh no, trust me, you're doing a great job," Jeff replied, pushing out his stomach and managing to tear off a small chunk of skin just below the bellybutton. He smiled. "See? Sharp as a scalpel. I can see you take pride in your work."
The serial killer shook his head, as if trying to shake off a feeling. Eventually he could contain it no more.
"Listen, I know this is a bit of an awkward question, given the situation and all," the killer said, "but have we met before? This all seems so *familiar*."
Jeff squinted at the man, as the realization slowly dawned on him. "Oh my God. Jordan, is that you? Why, look at you - you're all grown up!"
Jordan's face recoiled in shock. "No, no, you must have me mistaken for somebody else-"
"I can't believe it!" Jeff continued, breaking free from his restraints and sitting up on the table. "God, look at you! Look at how much you've grown! You were barely a teen when we first met."
Shock and revulsion suddenly overcame Jordan, feeling trapped in his own kill den.
"No," he said, looking at him wildly, "I killed you. You were one of my first. I *know* I killed you."
"You most certainly did," Jeff said, wiping a tear from his eye, "and what a kill it was. You were a bit sloppy, no doubt - but I could see you had it in you to be a real stone-cold killer. And here we are. What an absolute pleasure it is to see you like this."
Jordan began to drop the chainsaw, but Jeff grabbed it before he could.
"Oh no *no*, we're just getting started," Jeff said, putting the weapon back into his hands. "You can't just leave me like this."
Jordan looked like he was about to vomit. He tried to back away, but Jeff grabbed his arm with an iron grip.
"Trust me Jordan, if you don't finish this," he continued, suddenly deadly serious, "*I'll kill you myself.*"
****
****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | I needed a hit.
Every day that passed without one brought a higher level of need. No matter how much shame I felt after each fake death, I wanted more. I always found myself at rock bottom, struggling to be a productive member of the immortal community. Right now, everything had started to make me twitch. A man walked by with a gun on his hip. A couple fighting behind closed doors. Stories of murders on the news.
Before I knew it, I was back in the game.
Images flashed as I bumped hands with people. Deaths flashed before my eyes. Most were boring, illness and accidents. Nothing that could temp me. I liked to tell myself that I was doing sometime for mortals whose life was about to be even shorter then the pitfall lot they’d had to start with. An ultimate good Samaritan. A “murder victim for hire” if you will, although I wouldn’t ever accept money. Those few humans who found what they’d done for me had thanked me on their knees, calling me a savior, holy protector and an angel in the night. I was just addicted to the pain.
As I brushed hands with a woman, my senses tingled. Among her deaths was one very soon. A dark man lurked around a corner. Darkness and anger filled his heart. Stabbing. Beautiful, painful, stabbing and it was going to happen tonight. The woman’s name was Rosa and I was going to take her place.
Unlike almost all immortals my age, I still hadn’t discovered my third talent. Probably because I spent so much time getting high. My first two talents certainly did nothing to help my addition. If anything, the first had been my gateway. I’d found that by touching someone’s hand, I would see all their possible deaths. The more I focused, the more the better I could use these to understand the likelihood of each occurring.
I’d had fun with that in the beginning, spooking the poor mortals. For a while I’d posed as a soothsayer, predicting the poor fool’s deaths. Until that fateful night. Eighteen villages, already hungry from the poor harvest, were looking for someone to take out their anger on. They’d found me at home. They didn’t even give me a trial, just rounded me up and burned me at the stake. Incredible, beautiful pain enveloped my body. As the flames tore at my skin, I screamed in pleasure. I’d never felt so alive.
It was that feeling I was seeking again as I followed Rosa to her work. I was seeking that thrill as I pictured Rosa’s lovely face. My hair grew long and my body adjusted to get ready to take her place and her death
This talent, my second, had come to me much later. In fact, I was already taking the place of mortals murdered in the dark when I discovered it. As I was being stabbed in my sleep, taking the place of a rich warlord, I’d discovered that with concentration, I could take almost the exact appearance of whoever I pleased. The only thing that I couldn’t impersonate were the eyes. With that discovery, I’d been able to switch to getting a hit in the daytime. Everything changed. It opened up whole new possibilities for me. It deepened my need for pain. The game became everything.
I could barely contain my excitement as Rosa finished her shift. She was alone in the bar when I grabbed her. Her horrified brown eyes reflecting her own image. “Shhhhhhh” I told her, covering her mouth. “I’m here to save you. You need to go back inside.”
Rosa didn’t need to be told twice. My heartbeat quickened in anticipation. It was so much nicer when the victims complied. Remembering the vision, I slowly walked out of the bar and around the corner.
The hooded man walked two steps beside me. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. I wanted it to be slow.
He attacked me as soon as I turned into the alleyway. I saw stars when he punched me in the back of the head. The pain was strong, making the blood pump through by veins. Grabbing my hair, he pushed me against the wall, turning me around to face him.
He looked straight into my eyes and I looked at him. I tried to hide the excitement and morph my face into fear. There was a long silence. The pain had stopped. I wanted it back.
“Have we met before?” he said, loosening his grip.
Shoot. This was the same serial killer who’d killed me twice in the last decade. His style was a kind of art that only enhanced the hit. I tried to play the victim. “Let go of me, let me go home.”
He took a step back. “I know we’ve met before.”
I needed the hit. “Well then,” I said, pulling his hand back to my throat. “Xavier, why don’t you make this death one to remember?”
\~\~\~\~\~\~
Not my usual style, I hope you like it. Sorry I missed the "Strapped to a serial killer's table" - it was a bit too late to change it :) | 2018-11-22T01:51:04 | 2018-11-22T01:44:59 | 251 | 29 |
[WP] After you grow old and die, you wake up 25 million years ago as a Hominid Primate, asleep on a tree. Your whole life was a vivid hallucination you had after ingesting a funny looking mushroom. After this experience, you have great knowledge, and you're the smartest living being on the planet. | The familiar rustling of the Acacias lulled me from the dream. I looked down to hands that though so familiar, suddenly felt foreign - furry, rigid, and scabbed. Gone were the sleek and smooth tools that had made me everything I was.
The veil of sleep rested heavy on my eyes as I looked from my perch onto the Savannah and everything coalesced in my mind. There were the sunburnt thickets of thirsty grass rising from the ruddy soil, but where were the streets and towns? A gaggle of impalas grazed to my left, but where were the other humans? My friends? My family?
I latched my foot onto the branch and swung to the ground. Here, the smells of urine and passersby and the cool dirt below my bare feet brought me back to my reality.
But how? The dream of that other life was so vivid. I had kids, a wife, a smooth and hairless body. I had a house made of steel and wires and concrete. I had books and a dog. I had a fridge where food rested until I was hungry. My stomach growled at the thought, and before I knew it, I was vomiting. In my mess was the remnants of the mushrooms I remember finding up over the hill. Panaeolus africanus - a species I had memorized in Med School.
Aware of their psychoactive qualities, it all made sense, but how could I have lived a life in another world?
I took a deep, remembering breath as the rest of my troop began to filter towards me through the grasses. They grunted and babbled their familiar calls, which now seemed so simple. Lubo the Younger was the last to join me beneath the tree, hobbling across the clay and dragging one leg behind. The troop was in an uproar over his fall from the tree and all knew he'd be unable to keep up with us. Lubo would soon be dead.
I trundled up beside him and without really knowing why or how, I began to inspect the wound. The leg hung limp to his left, furry but taught with muscle. I could see the pain in his eyes, the fear. I gave him the most reassuring look I could muster and my mysterious training set in.
I pulled grasses from the ground and broke straight sticks from the Acacia. I approached submissively and for whatever reason, despite the pain, he let me work. I lashed the grasses around his leg and the sticks to create a sturdy splint and then created a rudimentary crutch. I showed him how to use it and the rest of the troop thought I was playing. Soon, they were all trying to tie sticks together and jump around, but none could quite get the hang of it.
Eventually, Lubo was able to move without putting any pressure on his leg. If he kept this up and I watched him closely, Lubo would recover. I felt the familiar feeling of accomplishment, like the day I got my white coat, but it all now seemed so distant, so pointless.
That night, as we slept beneath the Savannah's blanket of stars, I crept from the tree and plodded up the hill to search for more magical mushrooms in hopes they would bring me back to my family, my friends, and that wonderful world I knew so briefly. | Intelligence is a funny thing, and just as funny as it is, it's fickle. This was something I learned how to learn, learned, and then re-learned in the span of 20 minutes.
I was having a somewhat difficult time deciding if I had just experienced something real, something worth remembering, though at the same time, if I had not experienced it, I wouldn't even be thinking of if I should remember it. Before that strangely real and incredibly vivid dream, I wouldn't even be able to have this existential crisis in the first place, because I wasn't able to think of anything to be existential about, I was a monkey.
Well... perhaps not a monkey, in actual fact I appear to be an alien simian being relating more to chimps, though with clear differences. To assume alien is strange, though, given that I have been this ape for my whole life, and yet after the dream, I only now know that there is such a thing as an alien ape like I am. So am I the ape, or am I the human being that i have learned everything I am from?
Given it is the body I am currently inhabiting, I will concede to myself that I am the ape. Although, to assume that I am inhabiting the ape would mean that I am not actually the ape, but I digress. It seems there are more important things to do in order to continue this life. Firstly, food.
A memory of tiny, zebra-like animals seems to get my large, sharper, canine teeth salivating, and so I set out to find a herd. They are usually found of the thick undergrowth of the lush jungles I've been sleeping in, and sure enough I find a pack of them below me, grazing on the blue grass that curls up like silly string and floats freely in the air. It isn't too hard to catch one, I'd done it a hundred times, and after a hundred times you know how to do anything by heart. Or so I assume, from my dream.
Now, also assuming from my dream, I am now a pacifist, and an animal lover. I have a sudden need to battle myself on the ethical dilemma of if it is right to hurt, even kill another animal to sustain myself. After taking a look around to find and remember that the only edible fruit available to me literally tastes like the feces of my dream-selfs world, I quickly - if squeamishly - strike the tiny striped gazelle over the head with a rock. Pushing down my feces-tasting fruit lunch as I have to hit it again, and holding back the interestingly pungent tears that have begun welling in my eyes, one final blow to the beings head renders it dead, and the brains begin to pour out of the head. They are a very bright purple, and covered in a darker purple goop that, if one were to say the word "ooze," they would immediately think of exactly what I was seeing, except purple, if ones personal description of ooze was not purple.
Next was something I was proud of, I had learned it as a child, during a camping trip as a Boy Scout. Yet also as a child, I learned how to skin these animals with my bare hands and slowly slurp it down like noodles, before drinking the brains out and using the skull to- I would go on, but even if I did it myself, the feces-fruit is coming back up due to a new set of moral guidelines that I hadn't had 20 minutes ago.
During the week I was out at camp those many, many years ago, (and by many years, I of course mean about 20 minutes ago, during the nap I had in a tree,) I learned how to make a fire. This was an invaluable tool out in the wilderness, and my newly formed sense of pride would allow me great satisfaction in showing the other monkeys this incredible spectacle.
It wasn't difficult to find what I needed, a good stick, a hard rock, and some easily burnable items. Next to my catch I sat down and within a circle of stones filled with tinder, I began the laborious process of using friction to heat up and ignite the tinder. Only, even with my simeon strength and endurance, the tinder did not ignite, or even smoke. It was impossible to get the damn thing to work, and I didn't have to learn how to be frustrated. I slammed the stick down on the rock and huffed loudly, this was not working and I would have to find another way to spark a flame. Images of a lighter or matches teased me, they were just as tangible as the powerful knowledge I had accumulated, and yet infinitely more useless.
Not so useless was the simeon language now being hollered at me by my family. They seem to be in distress about something, but my simeon is a bit rusty, I haven't spoken it in a century. With the added need of having to stop and think about that, I was unable to translate the screeching before my untimely demise. My reign as the smartest being on the planet had a somewhat coincidentally hilarious ending.
If I had been able to translate the apes language, it was not anything helpful, as it did nothing to warn me of the actual threat: a massive cat-like beast with incredible fangs and a swishing, dual tail. Instead, if one were to translate what the monkeys had said (into something that any human being reading this would understand,) they would find the apes had said simply; "watch out, stupid." | 2019-03-19T08:10:41 | 2019-03-19T07:38:48 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says "I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now". He looks off into the distance, "They're coming".
Wow, was not expecting this, thanks for the silver:) and the gold:)) | “Again, Bash?”
“Inside! Now!”
“I swear...”
“It’s for your own good!”
“Dude, you know I love you but-“
“Inside! To arms!”
“But you are the dumbest dog I have ever known.”
“To arms! Man the guns! Battlestations! Red alert! On your six!”
“I’m going to leave you to it then.”
“Enemy at the gaaaaaaate!”
“You’ve met the postman like 40 times. You like Sam. He brings snacks.”
“The end is niiii-snacks?”
“Yes. Snacks.”
“So...”
“Just the guy who delivers the mail. We’ve discussed this at leng-“
“But snacks?”
“Sigh. Yes. Snacks.”
“I better go first.”
“Naturally.” | “I’m not supposed to do this, but you have to go inside right now”, Dog said, looking off into the distance. “They are coming to get you.”
Edward didn’t move while his brain took its time to go through all the different problems it was processing at that moment. Dog turned around and snarled at him impatiently. “Come,” he muttered and grabbed Edwards hand between his teeth. Meanwhile Edwards brain woke up from its stasis and decided to start working through the smaller issues first. “But… there is no one coming”, he muttered insecurely, looking in the direction Dog was staring at before. As an answer Dog tightened his grip and started to drag him inside.
Around the familiarity of his own home Edward seemed to wake up from his trance and pulled his hand out of Dogs mouth. “Ouch!” Edward yelped. He yanked his hand back and jumped away from his dog. Waving a freaked-out look around, he tried to grap the next thing he could use as a weapon.
While holding a small kitchen radio between himself and Dog he muttered, “No… who… are you?”
“Hrrr….Dog” “Dog...”
“Yes, the one and only. The one you didn’t even bother to give a proper name to.”, he said trying to sound offended.
“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t…. Hey wait. We are talking about you here…”, Edward said and continued muttering to himself. “We are .... talking?”, he looked at Dog. “Why are we talking? To each other I mean?” Dog blinked at him with an exaggerated quizzed look.
“I mean. Why Are You Talking?”, Edward continued.
“Ah yes, that", Dog sighed. "Just deal with it, ok? I don’t have time to walk you through all of this. Just know, I love you and you are my best friend. Now, follow me.”
Edward heard Dogs nails clicking over the floor as he darted through the living room into the kitchen. His gaze still on the backyard, in a loud voice Edward pronounced, “But there is nobody there.” It was getting dark alright, but he could still see all of the neighbors pasture and there was absolutely no one there. Edward made a little jump when Dog was inside the living room again and announcing in an annoyed voice: “Look, you have to trust me on this. I can’t see outside the window from down here, but I can smell that they are coming nearer. Get yourself together and follow me.” He lead the way to the kitchen. “I don’t know, all I can smell are the neighbors cows, standing at our fence.” Dog stopped and turned around. “So you DO see them.”
**Ok, after lurking for so long and fearing to write in an other language, I finally overcame my doubts and wrote my first english story** Please give me critique, tips and feedback. Thanks for reading. :) | 2019-07-15T15:40:32 | 2019-07-15T12:04:30 | 1,364 | 374 |
[WP] You are cursed and turned into a statue. Everyone knows you're alive but, seeing as no one could break your curse, of they have all pretty much given up on you. Except for one wizard, who comes back nearly every day to try and free you, as well as holding one-sided conversations. | "But enough about me," she said with a chuckle. "Tell me about your day?"
It wasn't funny the tenth time either.
"I'm just messing with you," she said with a grin, patting me on the shoulder. I didn't really "feel" it, but I knew it was happening. "Do you think I should ask him out? He's very smart. Maybe he can help me get you back to normal."
If I had a functional heart, it would have leapt at the thought. Meredith was a very bright young wizard, but she had been trying to save me for six years, and I had only grown more desperate in my stone prison.
"I decided to try a new thing today," she said. "Essence of Dragon Heart."
I wanted to scream. *No, no, don't waste it. Don't just throw it at me, it's not going to work.* But I couldn't tell her that she needed . She took out the vial, and poured some on me. Predictably, nothing happened. It was a good idea, since essence of dragon heart was known to have restorative properties, but the curse wouldn't allow for that. Not in itself. Perhaps if it was mixed with some sort of acid...
"I know what you're thinking, 'no, don't do it, Meredith! Essence of dragon heart is super important and you're going to fuck it up!', well *ha ha ha* you miserable old pile of rubble, I also brought Tears of Fury *and* a sprinkling of lemon."
She placed both atop the essence of dragon heart, and nothing happened for a long moment.
"Shit," she muttered, then leaned against me with a sigh. "I guess you were right, old fart."
If I could have trembled in anticipation I would have. It would work. I knew it would. It just needed the light of the moon. She would leave, nightfall would come, and the mixture would work.
She climbed up on top of the pedestal and leaned against my shoulder.
"You're a good listener, you know," she said, smiling. "I think I *will* ask him out."
She gave me a soft pat on the cheek and climbed back down.
"This time tomorrow? Okay," she said, and wandered off.
The hours dragged. Dark clouds became darker still, and then made good on their promise of rain. I begged them not to wash away the mixture. Just a few more hours, I thought, just a little longer. At least she'd put it on the large shield that laid at my feet, so it wouldn't run off to elsewhere unless the rain picked up drastically.
The rain thinned out, and the clouds began to part. The moon came out, full as an optimist's cup, and its shine made the mix of Essence of Dragon Heart, Tears of Fury, and a hint of lemon juice, begin to evaporate. A silver steam rose off from it, and began to surround me. Cracks appeared in the stone, and light began to emanate from me. Yes. *Yes.* Finally. Little by little, my prison began to break.
Meredith didn't know what she had unleashed upon the world, but I would be eternally thankful to her. I might even give her the honor of killing her last.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
r/Eager_Question_Writes for more of my stories. | "... so he handed me the match and said, 'If you can light it, I'll tell you the secret.' That, of course, left me in a fit. You see, there's no way the match could be lit, and I already knew the secret. Imagine his surprise when I hand him back the lit match, and tell him it was his boss that did it! His face was bright red."
Uproarious laughter followed, then Simon wiped a tear from his eye.
"Sadly, he didn't know any more than I did, so I'm still at square one. Figured we could at least give the old 'remove curse' another round." He place a hand on the well hewn statue. "That keeps things stable, right?"
Intoning several unknown words, he raised his hands and placed them on the statue. A blue glow surrounded the stone, then faded again.
"There." Sitting back down, he let out a long sigh. "We can try again tomorrow."
With that, he left.
The sun set in the small garden, and before long, morning broke again.
---
"A curse, you say? I'd be surprised if there's anythin' left in there. Tis' just marble now."
Standing next to the statue, Simon looked into its eyes. "No, I'm certain she's still in there."
"Yer' fightin' a loosin' battle there."
"For her, I'd fight a hundred battles."
"Well, I'm glad t' see someone still cares. It's a shame people don't have better respect for the fallen."
Simon pulled a photo from his pocket, the woman depicted in the statue was standing next to him, a big grin on her face. He sighed. "They were scared. I should have been there to keep the peace."
"Eh. Tis' not yer fault." The sailor pulled the pipe from his lips, blowing a perfect smoke ring, then resumed puffing. "Was boun' to happen sooner 'er later."
"I said I would protect her. I failed. Plain and simple." He put the photo back.
"Well, perhaps you should take a break. Get a chance t' see things from a new perspective?"
He looked to the statue. "No. I have to come back every day. The curse is attempting to erase her. I have to keep it at bay. Besides, she'd get bored. Who else would talk to her."
"Ay. Well, I'll leave you be. Take care of yerself."
With that, the sailor left Simon alone.
"We were certain the cave had some kind of answer. Hundreds of statues there, all afflicted the same way. Not a cure in sight." He slammed a fist into the bench. "Why do I get so close, and still fail?" Burrying his face in his hands, he began to weep. "I'd give anything to get you back."
He remained that way for several minutes, before collecting himself.
"Right. Quick 'remove curse' then back again tomorrow. Just got to keep moving forward, right?" Plastering a fake smile, Simon began intoning again. When the light faded, he quickly made his way out.
He had time, but no answers.
The sun set, and rose again.
---
The temple rose well above Simon as he made his way through the forest. Nearly 3 years, and he was close to his goal. If anyone had an answer, it would be the great wizard. Never mind that he had been dead for decades. As he approached the entrance, Simon could feel excitement well up within him. He brought a hand up, and knocked on the large wooden door.
...
Silence. Simon stirred, then froze again.
...
More silence. Simon coughed, cleared his throat, then spoke. "I am Simon DeTrelis. I seek a cure to a curse."
...
A moment passed. Then two. Surely the old wizard had heard him. Even as a ghost, Nilrem had helped those in need. Why was he ignoring Simon?
...
"One moment." Simon let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. A man with a beard as long as he was tall answered the door. "What can I do for you, Simon?"
Simon bowed. "I seek a cure for my sister."
"Ellen? What did she get herself into?"
Simon was in shock. "How do you know her?"
Nilrem smiled. "It's my job to know all things." He paused, rubbing his beard. "Well, most things. Please, come in." he gestured for Simon to enter.
This was it, everything Simon had worked toward, all before him. "So you'll help?"
Nilrem nodded, "I'll see what I can do. But first, you need to tell me what happened."
---
For more of my writings, go check out r/SocietyofMythicPeople.
You can also find me on r/redditserials:
* [Phoenix of the Forest](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/eb78u4/phoenix_of_the_forest_chapter_1/)
* [Reborn](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/e1kn9x/reborn_part_1/)
* [Society of Mythic People](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/ejks96/society_of_mythic_people_chapter_1/) | 2020-02-11T00:07:21 | 2020-02-10T21:39:20 | 1,413 | 65 |
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