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[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name. | "Son of a bitch!"
"What?" I asked, not used to being greeted so by my beloved sister, Kayla, storming into my tent.
"You heard me; you are a no good, dirty SON OF A BITCH!" Her last words each punctuated with a fist slamming onto my desk. She had moved quickly across my living space and was glowering at me as I rose out of my seat to meet her face-to-face.
"Kayla, please...
"I've been down to the forbidden valley. I have have seen those people. One man had a lost half of his left foot, as Angus once did while chopping wood. A little girl looked as if a bear had mauled her face, just like Syden had looked before...before you did what you did.
"You aren't a healer, you are a LIAR!" Kayla's face continued to grow redder and redder, her freckled face, usually almost a mirror image of my own high-cheekbones visage, was looking more and more distressed by the second.
"Those people fear us-no, they fear you, Simon! How do they know what happens to them is because of you? What have you done? Why?"
"Kayla, I love our tribe..."
"Our tribe will hate you, Simon!" She said, sniffing as a solitary tear escaped and began to roll down her face, "They will hate you as much as I do. They will not want to know that they get to live because some else has to suffer, or sometimes even die! I saw all those graves, enough to fill our village ten times over. No, this ends now, Simon; this ends today."
She moved to walk away from me but I grasp her arm, firmly but not angrily. She turns to look me in the eyes with a feral look, as if daring me not to let go, as if she would tear me apart with her own hands if I attempt to dissuade her from her current course of action.
I felt no fear. I only needed to make contact with her for a second. Just to briefly say goodbye to everything we as siblings once shared. I turned away as her body suddenly lurched left and then right, her head shaking and snapping with each invisible impact. My guess is that she was receiving a brutal stoning on behalf of someone from the village below, perhaps one of the very people daring enough to speak with her. She stayed on her feet for a few moments more until something snapped her left leg directly below the knee. Once on the ground, I heard her head collapse like a crushed overripe gourd, a final blow from some invisible rock or boot.
My tent returned to the peace and tranquility of a few minutes earlier. I sat back down in my chair and relaxed for a moment, not realizing how tense I had let myself become.
I would undoubtedly transfer Kayla's fate back down to someone else of the lower tribe in due time. With any luck, Kayla's return to the living would come with a heathy dose of amnesia, a common side effect of temporary death in our beautiful village.
I had instructed those below not to interact with or bee seen by outsiders of any sort. They apparently were feeling brave.
I began to make plans to change that. | I was the best healer they'd ever had. Something needs righting, they call me.
They knew it, I knew it, everyone knew it.
I can fix anything, no matter how broken. There's only one small catch. Well two really if you count my fee. Although everything might be fine for the client. (You go back to your job, your wife, your mistress (who am I to judge?) your kids), but whatever went wrong gets passed down to what we affectionately know as 'the peasants'.
Hey, it's not like I pass everything on a job down to one person. I spread it around a little, so they all get a bit of discomfort, but not enough to finish them off.
People call me the wonder-worker, MiracleDude (seriously, thats what one of my colleagues calls me), but personally I like to think of myself as head of the largest banking corporation New York has ever seen.
| 2016-08-13T12:25:45 | 2016-08-13T12:16:26 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] The hero stared at the boy who was supposed to be his wise old master. "Word of advice. If you ever achieve immortality then wait till you're at least 20", he said in a high pitched voice. | Grant looked at the boy with confusion. He couldn't have been more than ten years old.
"Wait, you're immortal, and you're my master who's going to train me? The voice in the fire told me to come here. This is all a bit overwhelming."
"I'm Kaimon, or just Kai. Yes, I'm immortal and yes I'm your master. I'm here to train you to defend the mortal world from supernatural danger. Welcome to the other side, Grant."
"But you're just a kid. How are you gonna defeat anything?"
With lightning speed Grant was flat on his back and Kai held a dagger to his throat.
"I have centuries of experience," replied Kai and he helped Grant to his feet. "I will teach you to master the sword, dagger, crossbow..."
"Are you old enough to drive?" interrupted Grant.
"Old enough, yes, but I get lots of looks and the police are difficult. Ride shares have become convenient. Back to the point. I will train you in stealth and thievery so that.."
"Do you get carded for alcohol or what about the movies?" interjected Grant.
"Well, I uh, don't drink too often, but my wine cellars are full of the oldest vintages. As for the movies, I prefer to stream at home. Stop interrupting, you will master simple spells and wards. Hero magic isn't as strong as a wizard's but it will come in handy in case...."
"Am I immortal? Will I become a kid too?"
"Ack..these trivial questions. Would that I could cast a silence spell. You are most certainly not immortal. There are many paths to immortality: godhood, vampires, nature binding, celestial bodies, etc."
"Are you a vampire?!?"
"No. Vampires are nothing like in the movies. They are rare and reclusive. They haven't killed anyone in centuries. My father was a hero. I accompanied him on a quest. He slayed a mad dragon. The fresh dragon's blood and the Medusan mirror I was hiding behind combined to make me an immortal child. I'll teach you the weaknesses of all supernatural creatures like dragons, demons, demigods, and....."
"So have you ever uh...are you able to...well...."
"No, I've never had sex. I'm a four hundred year old virgin. I never developed that way nor do I have the desires of adult males. I am uniquely immune to succubi and inccubi."
"Dude."
"Please call me, Master. You training begins immediately. Defend yourself!" said Kai as he drew a second dagger. | “Hello,” said a squeaky voice from afar. In the distance a small boy clothed in a wizards gown approached. I stared at him quizzically. “Word of advice. If you want immortality, wait till your at least 20” he said gazing up at me. He turned around and motioned for me to follow. I stood still, frozen by shock. “Come along brave hero, there is much to do in order to prepare you for your adventure at hand.” He said annoyed. I ran to catch up to him, despite looking like a small child he was faster than me. With that we walked on till we ultimately came across his home. | 2020-01-25T08:28:01 | 2020-01-25T07:47:58 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] You are %90 sure your flight attendants are Michael Jackson and Joseph Stalin. | My heart started beating faster as I approached the counter. The bag felt heavy in my sweaty right hand, offsetting my balance with every step.
*Act normal, act normal, act normal*, I just needed to get this one small interaction right and then I would have been through that hell.
*Normal, act Norma...n- Norman?!... Norman act normal!* I couldn't help chuckling at my own nervous thoughts.
"Sir?"
*Oh shit*. I had reached the counter without even noticing it.
"Good evening, I'd like to get on this plane Norman.", I said smoothly while showing my boarding pass to the woman at the counter.
*Okay not bad, I think I can do this - wait, did I just call this lady Norman?*
"Sure, do you have your passport with you?"
*Alright, my passport! Wait. Did I forget my passport?! Passport, passport...*, I started patting my pants' pockets in panic.
*Oh no, did I pee myself?*, I thought, focussing on finding wet spots on my front pockets now.
"Sir, did you maybe put your passport into your bag?"
"What?"
"Your passport, sir, did you maybe put it in your bag?"
*Oh right my passport!*, my hands were shaking while I was slowly unzipping my bag. There it was, half-covered by my sweater that I had crammed into my bag before approaching the check-in desk. It looked adorable, like it was lying in a comfy bed. I smiled thinking about how comfortable a bed would be right now.
"Did you find it?"
"Find wha-" *Oh shit the passport!*
I stuck my hand down my bag, fishing for it. The sweater felt warm against my hand.
*This is kinda nice. Why don't we always walk around with our arms inside bags? I bet that many people would buy bags for their arms... I could get rich with this idea. I'll call them armbags, no, barmgs! Heh, barmgs...*
My finger hit something hard. I pulled it out of my bag to examine it.
It was a tiny booklet with "PASSPORT" written on its cover.
*Is this really how passport is written? I'm pretty sure that it's written differently. p-a-s-s-p-o-r-t. No wait, it's right.*
"Here is my passport.", I said as I was handing it to the lady at the counter.
*How long has it been since I've arrived here? I'm starving... I hope they have food inside the plane. I could really go for some KFC now.*
"Okay sir, have a nice flight."
*I made it. Now I just need to get to my seat and then I'll....sit...sit in my seat.*
_
"And so I did. The rest of my flight was pretty uneventful except for the flight attendants I wanted to buy chips from. I'm still 90% sure that they were Micheal Jackson and Joseph Stalin."
"Next time, let's go to Amsterdam together.", my friend said, handing me the bong. | Flight attendant moon walks down the isle.
"Ch'mon now! Buckle up, this planes about to soar!"
He grabs is crotch, tips his hat, and struts away. The passenger then leans to his wife "honey, I think the stewardess is Michael Jackson". She rolls her eyes "you can't say every flamboyant flight attendant is Michael Jackson"
"But honey! I'm like 90% sure this time..."
Just then the other flight attendant grabs the Mic for preflight. He's a gruff looking man with a thick mustache.
His wife smirks "and you probably think he's Stalin don't you?"
The man acts bashful "well..... Actually"
Just then the passenger in the seat in front turns around. He fat with a slick back full head of black hair, rhinestones all over his jacket. "Heya hound dog, I agree with you" he winks at the man. | 2015-11-03T06:55:56 | 2015-11-03T04:15:56 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] Your friend is possessed by a demon. You're horrified at first but then you find out the demon is way cooler than your friend. | You know, when Morlox the Mighty first “INVADED THE EARTHLY FLESH-SPACE THAT WAS ONCE CHUCK MORRISON,” I wasn’t really concerned. I mean he got really swole and red but I figured Chuck had just spent like, too much time chugging protein powder at the beach like he usually did and got a sunburn or something. No biggie.
But when he kicked down the door to my and Chuck’s pad and shouted “I AM MORLOX THE MIGHTY, I WILL FEAST ON THE BONES OF THE HOLY AND THE INNOCENT!” well, that was when I got concerned. I mean like, how would I explain that to the landlord? I remember being all like ‘Dude, I don’t give who the fuck your drunk-ass is, you broke my fucking door and you're gonna replace it,’ and then Morlox laughed and called me a “FEARLESS HUMAN WHOSE WRETCHED EXISTENCE SHALL CONTINUE FOR MY AMUSEMENT.”
Which I guess was more of a compliment than Chuck ever gave me, now that I think about it. He always called me a pussy about being to nervous to ask out Sam and other stuff like that. But Morlox was a real morale booster, you know? He would fling me out of bed early and scream “YOUR PATHETIC FLASH OF LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO WASTE IN SLUMBER” and I mean, he was right! I started going to bed earlier, getting up earlier; it was really refreshing. I stopped being late to class and my grades went way up.
I cut down on the video games too; Morlox was playing a lot of Bayonetta and Darksiders and mostly just kept replaying the levels where you kill a bunch of angels. “WARRIORS OF LIGHT, YOUR ANGUISH SUSTAINS ME!” I’d ask if I could play and he would just scream at me and the live hell-goat he kept would scream and he’d rip one of it’s seven ever-regenerating legs off to feast upon.
That was like, my biggest problem with Morlox. He didn’t share the hell-goat meat, even if it did “TASTE AS THE BLOOD OF VIRGINS AND THE FLESH OF ANGELS.” I mean, it didn’t sound *that* great from the description but like, it was eternally regenerating and that would have really cut down on food costs. And then when I would order pizzas he’d demand an entire “HUMAN CHEESE DISC” for himself, which would have bankrupted me if not for the fact that he could make showers of molten gold appear in the yard. He told me to use it to “APPEASE THE HOLLOW AND ALL-CONSUMING INSATIABLE GREED OF THE DEBASED LANDLORD HOWARD.”
Hell yeah man!
So instead of spending all of my excess money on pizza, I started buying a lot of veggies and lean meat to eat. Morlox didn’t like any of that. My weight went down and I was feeling real good about myself. I got some new clothes and even though it “LACKED THE SKULLS OF MY ENEMIES” it was a good look for me. I started working out, too; Morlox had me benching the demon-goat’s “HELL-TON OF PUSTULATING FLESH” in a matter of months. I think a hell-ton is like, 230 pounds or something. Turns out, he *really* knew how to get ripped. I didn’t want to overdo it and become a douche like Chuck though.
My life had really improved thanks to Morlox, so I was sad when I heard he had to go. I remember when he told me: “SOON,” He howled through a mouthful of unknown gore, “WRETCHED DANIEL OF THE FLAT, I WILL RETURN TO THE HALLS OF TORTURE WITH THIS PUNY MORTAL’S SOUL.”
“Well, could you help me ask out Samantha before you go?” I asked him.
He gave me this big smile, teeth biting into his gums, and he yelled “WHY DO YOU NOT SIMPLY WRENCH HER HEART FROM HER CHEST AND EAT IT IF YOU DESIRE IT SO MUCH?” through a mouthful of blood.
“Well I mean like, that’s metaphorical, man. I figure if I really am a fearless human then this is the thing I gotta do, isn’t it?” That seemed to please him because he smiled again and started laughing, he laughed for like an hour straight but then he agreed to help me.
In retrospect, I think I learned more about how *not* to ask Sam out by talking with Morlox. The suggestions of “TEAR OFF HER LIMBS SO SHE CANNOT ESCAPE” and “STAKE HER SCREAMING TORSO TO YOUR DARK THRONE OF PAIN” went right out the window. That’s like, really not consensual at all, I told him. Then I spent a few hours explaining ‘consent’ to Morlox and he got so mad he smashed the kitchen table with the hell-goat. Then he started to get the idea and he floated the idea of “SLAY A TITAN WORM SO THAT SHE WILL BE CONSUMED BY LUST FOR YOUR PHYSICAL STRENGTH.” I don’t think we have titan worms here in Portland but I responded that she was more of a cerebral type. Then Morlox shrugged and said, “A POEM THEN!”
So, I mean, yeah, his ideas weren’t so great. I ended up asking Samantha to dinner and then open-mic night at the bar near campus. We had a great time, and I learned that Sam can play the guitar like, really well. When Sam and I finally hooked up a week later, I was really grateful that Morlox didn’t even start pounding his “HOWLING SKIN-DRUMS OF CARNAL WAR." Sam and I get along really well now; we’re even going to spend Spring Break touring old castles in Europe! Morlox told me of some of his favorites that he's visited: “I TORE THE SPINE FROM THE LADY OF BRADDOCK CASTLE AND GORGED UPON HER MAIDEN BLOOD,” you know, cool historical facts like that.
I feel kinda bad about Chuck spending an eternity in the Halls of Torture, but I gotta say that Morlox the Mighty was a way better flatmate. Before he flung the shrieking hell-goat into the Nether Portal and stepped in, he told me his summoning name so that I could call him up again if I wanted. “DANIEL OF THE FLAT,” he said with a mad grin. “YOU PROVED TO BE NOT SO WRETCHED OF A HUMAN AS I ONCE BELIEVED.” Then he howled and it broke all the windows in the house and he was gone.
See? What a motivational guy.
| None of us ever had a special affinity for the crawlspace under the house. It was a dark, wet place overstuffed with rusty power tools, a moaning water heater, and the odd patter of some rodents that no exterminator could ever detect. If anything, myself and the roommates avoided the area completely in fear of mold poisoning that commonly infected residents of such old houses in the neighborhood.
But that wasn't the case for Rene after returning from his trip overseas to South Korea. Oddly enough, our roommate of many years gained a newfound love of the wretched space which he decided to convert into a miniature kimchi repository.
"Dude, you know it rained the whole week you were gone," I told him. "It already smells like a living fart every time I walk by the door."
"Be cool," was his only response in a tone I wasn't familiar with. Sure, Rene was cool, but the kind of cool where he made sure the TV remote always had fresh batteries or the trash was always taken out. He was cool about, you know, sharing some of his microwave dinner but only if you used your own spoon and never double dipped a chip.
What I'm saying is this whole going down to the crawlspace at 3am to "check on his kimchi" was a new kind of cool, a cool that I was somehow getting used to.
"So when are we going to sample this mysterious kimchi of yours?" I asked him after a week or so of odd behavior.
"I've got some right here," he said.
"Whoa, no thanks, Rene!" said my girlfriend, "I don't want that stuff near me!" She covered her nose and made swatting motions as if she was surrounded by mosquitoes.
"It's all good," said Rene and - for some reason - it seemed to be the case. Rene had already moved the kimchi from the demon-spawn, black and red onggi he was "gifted" in Korea to a more welcoming Mason jar. For some weird reason it glowed a kind of radioactive green rather than the standard hot pepper crimson that I was familiar with. The smell was strange too: pickled, maybe limey yet definitely full of the fish sauce and garlic funk I knew from Korean restaurants.
I took a bite. And then another one. "Dude," I said, still chewing. It bubbled like pop rocks. "Wow." I handed it over to my girlfriend who resisted at first but agreed to one sliver of Napa cabbage.
"Rene!" she said and her eyes widened. "Mmm! What is this?"
"You'll have to join me sometime," said Rene with a devilish look in his eyes, "in the crawlspace. I can show you the secret recipe I picked up outside of Seoul."
That night was the first time we had been into the crawlspace in months, the last time was months ago in summer and only to quickly move out some old luggage left by a previous tenant.
Rene had black candles lit around the crawlspace in a move that was very un-old-Rene and as we would learn very new-cool-Rene. He had set up a miniature kitchen with meat cleaver, cutting board and even a cooler for foodstuffs.
"Do you hear that?" asked my girlfriend - whose name really isn't important. "No rats."
"Oh it's cool," said Rene.
"Like how cool?? Like how did you get rid of those rats, Rene??" My girlfriend had to know.
"You'll see," said Rene.
The events that followed were nothing short of witchcraft in the strangest most foreign of ways. We watched new-Rene pull a live squid from the cooler and whispered it into a trance before chopping off its tentacles to feed the kimchi pot. We saw him take Napa cabbage and paint Korean spells onto its leaves with a calligraphy brush. We screamed in terror as he shut the lid on the large ceramic pot that housed the kimchi and all the candles were extinguished at once.
I can say now that the next day was the first day of the rest of our lives. The kimchi that had taken Rene and turned him into the rat silencing, demonic Mr Cool was having its effect on us as it soon would the entire continent. We were soon quitting our jobs, learning esoteric Korean incantations and building a brand of fermented cabbage that would one day stock Whole Foods groceries across the nation and have every American under its dark demonic spell. Rene would become more than a cool roommate but an iconic cult overlord whose kimchi would really hold the reigns of the world through its black magic probiotics that appears - some will someday say - to have a strange, unknown goal of its own.
| 2018-02-21T16:49:28 | 2018-02-21T16:19:42 | 58 | 10 |
[WP] You find yourself in your crashed plane, shaken awake by a woman practically dragging you out of the cockpit. She notices that you’re awake and says, “Welcome to the Island. I’m Amelia Earhart, let’s move. They probably saw your plane go down.” | Truth is, I didn't expect to survive the crash.
I was low on fuel, cruising to a fill-up station on a nearby asteroid belt, the last fuel-stop before you're on the long, cold flight to Andromeda. I'm a scrap-peddler, so I was trying to get by on about a balloon's worth of combusted oxygen, just to survive until my next sale. I was making the most out of what I've got, which is exactly jackshit.
Like plenty of fuck-offs who washed out of the Federation, I thought I'd make a home on the new frontier.
What a fucking idiot I was.
When the planet's gravity hooked me, I burned up every last bit of fuel I had, trying to shake myself free. Better to free-float than free-fall. At least if I got out of the gravity-tug, I could put out the air filters to hope for enough recycled atoms to wheeze my way forward.
It was like a slow bridge collapse. It starts slowly, then all at once. When gravity gets you, the only way is down.
The atmosphere swallowed me in, hungrily, and my little space-junker plummeted towards a foreign soil. All yellow earth and sparse gray plants and oozy rivers. The ship's warning systems screamed and I screamed and then the ship hit the ground.
I remember that. The ground rushing up to meet me. The air bag flying out. That wall of white was the last thing I saw.
Until, well... this.
The spaceship's fucked. I think I might be a bit fucked, too. My left wrist pulses as I hang upside down in the cabin, locked into the seat by my chest harness. My chest feels like a giant picked me up by my torso and slammed me back down.
But I'm alive. Light pours in through the broken windshield, and all I see is white, filtered through glass teeth.
Then a shadow passes over the glass and there's a woman's face. She's hunkering down to stare in at me, her face inquisitive, even upside down.
"Hi there," she says. "How are you holding up?"
"Been better." My mouth tastes coppery, and I spit blood.
"I know that feeling. You think you can cut yourself down from there?"
I squint and fumble with the belt. I feel drunk. Half-asleep, maybe. Concussion. It's a familiar cotton haze. Got my first good brain-shake in training for the Federation frontlines (spaceship simulator crashed, ironically), before I went AWOL and started selling metal to get by.
"Jammed, I think," I mumble.
The woman crawls inside, and only now do I get a good look at her. She's armed and wears a stained and torn aviator's jacket. There's a rifle slung across her back. She yanks a knife from her belt.
"Hold onto something," she says, smiling wryly, "or you'll hurt both of us when you fall."
I brace myself as she reaches up and saws through my chest harness, her other hand supporting my shoulder, as if just her touch will keep me from falling. With her help, I slip down, awkwardly, rolling onto my shoulder as I try to get my feet under me.
"I didn't know there were any human colonies on this planet," I murmur.
"There's not." Her face pinches with something like pity. "What's your name?"
"Sparrow Hunt," I tell her. It's a name I made up myself, which I hoped sounded sort of space-piratery. Like I could be the space Anne Bonny. Now it feels silly, saying it out loud.
"I'm Amelia." She nods back over her shoulder. "We need to hurry. We're going to have company soon. And they're not as friendly as me."
Amelia crawls backwards, back the way she came.
I freeze and peer out through the gaping windshield. The world outside is a lush jungle, almost Earthlike, except everything feels too huge. The trees tower like skyscrapers, and the air is damp and thirsty.
"Where are we?" I say.
"The Island." Amelia grips my elbow and helps me stand. "Everyone ends up on one, when they die. This one's ours."
"Die?" I repeat, incredulous. Now I'm certain I'm concussed.
"Trust me," Amelia says, watching the trees. Her eyes gleam like a deer's, searching for a lion it knows is there, just waiting to pounce. "Death is the least of your worries."
The branches twitch.
I snap my focus toward the wood to see something moving. It moves like a human-sized spider, leaping from branch to branch, but it's not quite living. I'm not even sure what it is. It's a patch of empty space that looks like static from an old TV.
And it's rushing right toward us.
"Shit," Amelia says. "Here they come."
"*Who?*" I say.
"The Sweepers. They don't like visitors." She's already side-stepping toward a patch of nearby brush. "They're here to clean up the mess."
The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to understand.
We are the mess.
"Sparrow," Amelia says. "You'd better run, girl."
°°°
Working on the next part :D Thanks for reading! | "Amelia Earhart - as in *the* Amelia Earhart?" I let out a laugh, the hysterical, stress variety. "Helluva name."
I couldn't see right without my glasses, but she had the Temple Grandin haircut, and was wearing a bomber jacket.
"Take it up with my father," she quipped, hauling me to my feet with mare strength than I expected from such a small-framed woman. "Or, my great, great, *great?* grand-nephew or whatever. I've lost track."
We stumbled off the beach, into the water, and toward a rocky outcropping that revealed to be a cave.
"Wait, wait, the tide," I began, pulling away. Her hands tightened on my arms in a vice like grip.
"Yes, I know, genius. When the tide comes up the entrance will be gone. That's why it's safe. Come *on*."
Inside, the cave widened and lifted upward, and there was a bit of a shelf to it, so we could climb out, and rest above water.
"Clothes off," she said. "Fire isn't safe so we need to drop dry before dark or hypothermia sets in. Hope you've got will on, or at least not cotton."
She stripped, unembarrassed, and began wringing out her clothes over the rock.
"Not over the water. You've bled and sweat. Over there. We can muddle it later."
I did as I was told.
"You've got questions. Where should I begin?"
"I can't see." I said. "My glasses broke and I lost them in the crash. My luggage has contacts, if I can -"
She interrupted, shaking her head as she talked. "No good. We don't go back. Go near that wreck again, and you die."
"Ok, why?"
She sighed, and dropped into a crouch. I was kind of glad to have lost my glasses. It would have been a lot more awkward if her crotch, a mere armspan away, was more detailed than a shadowed zone just a shade darker than her auburn hair.
"Because of *Them*."
Ok, color me intrigued.
"Everything you think you know about history is a lie." She said. "Are you familiar with the term Wittgenstein? Lies for children. To explain things just close enough to the truth that the resultant behavior is useful."
I knuckled my eyes. Squinting was giving me a headache. "Ok, so what's the truth?"
"The truth is that the ocean is a very bad place. And there are *things* in it, intelligent things, beasts, demons, elder gods - call them what you will. They want us dead. And this island is in the heart of their territory."
She stood, and cracked her neck. "You won't believe me. No one does until they see. And you can't even see," she let out a hissing, hopeless laugh. "Just stay out of my way, ok. I can keep you alive, if you let me."
"Well, I don't see as I have much choice." I admitted.
"Good. Well, I hope you like sushi." | 2021-05-03T23:49:00 | 2021-05-03T23:26:58 | 213 | 22 |
[WP] Since almost noone puts small coins under the deceaseds eyelids there is a enormous cueue at the Styx. Endless souls try to convince the ferryman Charon to accept alternative means of payment. | I sighed for what was quite literally the hundred billionth time.
“I’m sorry, miss. As much as I would like to, uh… partake… “
I looked her over again. She appeared to have been no older than twenty at the time of her death. A shame, really. She was quite beautiful.
I sniffed.
“Rules are rules. The cost of passage is a single coin. I cannot take any other form of payment.”
I literally couldn’t, I reflected. Over the centuries, countless souls had accused me of being corrupt, greedy, heartless... So I’d prove that it wasn’t my fault. We aren’t primitives down here in the Underworld, I’d tell them. We have all the latest technologies. In fact, some of them are ahead. And then I’d show them the “ferries.” They would quickly shut up before returning to their moping.
But yeah. I didn’t row anything anymore. Not in this day and age. Everything’s automated. You stuck a coin in a machine and a self-steering bumper boat took you down the river.
And it’s not like I could make any exceptions, even if I wanted to. The Underworld had gotten steadily more bureaucratic over the years, and the whole ferry system was run by an entirely different group. RSL. Royal Styx Lines (such a stupid name). I was just the gatekeeper.
I broke out of my thoughts and looked back at the girl.
There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and her eyes were pleading. She fell onto the floor at my feet and grabbed the hems of my cloak.
“Please, my lord! I’ve already been stuck here for over a year. It’ll kill me if I have to wait any longer.”
I bit my lip to hold in the words on the tip of my tongue. It was in vain. I couldn’t help myself. “But you see, miss, you’re already dead.”
I instantly regretted it. She leaned back and let out a deathly, soul-rending howl. In response, the ground shook. Rubble fell from the ceiling of the cave. My right eardrum burst. I winced.
The man standing behind her in line looked me straight in the eyes and shook his head. His hands were over his ears and blood was pouring down the edges of his jaw. “You’re a douche, dude,” he said in disbelief, before stepping out of the line and heading back to join the masses.
I found myself biting my lip again. Was I, Charon, really a douche? It’s not like the shores of the Styx were really that bad. Sure, there were like, six billion people here, each somewhere in their hundred-year sentences. But we had stuff to keep them busy. At some point we’d added an amusement park, and they recently started doing ramen stands. On top of that, a hundred years was nothing compared to eternity.
The girl was still on her knees in front of me, wailing. She was also tearing at her hair now.
I sighed and stepped to the side. “Next.”
Before the next person in line could open their mouth to speak, however, a massive roar erupted from the back of the crowd. The sound was growing steadily louder, and was slowly making its way towards the river.
I craned my neck upwards in an attempt to see what was going on. Unsurprisingly, it did nothing. What was I expecting? To see what was going on at the back of a throng of six billion souls?
I shook my head, mildly disappointed in myself, and reached into the pocket of my robe for my phone.
I quickly dialed the number for the info desk at the entrance to the Underworld. A few seconds later, someone picked up. The noise in the background sounded like a party the size of the world was going on. I could barely hear the voice on the other end.
“Hello? Is this Charon?”
“Yes,” I replied. “What’s all that ruckus about? Is it good? Bad? It’s not like what happened in 1945, is it?” I grinned. The last time there was this much noise, it was over the death of a certain Adolf Hitler. On that day, the denizens of the Styx’s shores collectively proved that it was possible to erase a soul from existence.
“Not quite, but it’s something similar.” I sensed a hint of cheer in the tone of her voice.
“Oh?”
“Yup. Your job’s about to get a lot easier. Someone who was buried with an absurd amount of money just came in through the gates.” My grin grew wider as she continued to detail the deceased.
I thanked her at the end and put away my phone. I looked back at the girl. She had calmed down now and was staring emptily into the distance.
A smile still on my face, I walked over to her, bent down, and placed my hand on her shoulder.
“Cheer up, miss. Looks like you’re getting through. You and everyone else here.”
She turned to look at me, a mix of disbelief and wonder on her face. “Wha-“ she began.
“Salvation has arrived, miss. And his name is Donald Trump.”
| I never believed in the gods of my father. It wasn’t that I doubted their existence as much as I wanted them to leave me alone. I felt my fate was better in my own hands than some temperamental gods and figured if I left them alone they would do the same. And for the most part, that’s exactly what they did.
Like all mortals our clock run out and, in cases like my own, some of us are sent to an early grave. I passed away at sea and was given an ocean burial to the ever-capricious god Poseidon. My soul journeyed to the outer bounds of the ocean to the river Styx so that I might cross over into Hades, but I have never made it past the entrance.
A line had formed ages ago during a winter that ravaged the entire planet. During that time, Charon never took more than a five hundred people across the river in a day. Unable to keep up with the demand people began stacking up at the ferry and living in the marshes. Some tried to swim the muddy waters into the mouth of Hades, but few survived and no one ever made it across.
I lived with millions of others like me on the planes before the river. Below our feet the earth is soft and thick with mud. There are no trees nor plants to build shelter nor anything to lay between you and the mud at night. Many have tried and given up trying to clean themselves in the water and day by day we all begin to take on the appearance of Charon. Mud cakes my hair and beard, I’ve thrown my clothes out years ago and no longer possess any physical belongings. I've never been sure how I'll pay the ferryman, but I figured I had several years to think about it.
Except those years went by and the line in front of me began moving faster. At first the line wouldn’t move for days at a time, but as I got closer we started inching closer every couple of hours. Then I saw people standing in line, then I was standing in line, constantly moving, still days away but always moving, until I was there.
I stood in front of Charon with his long robes and an unkempt beard. He towered over me by seven hands and his eyes blazed like fire, searing my soul as I walked up to him. There was a large wooden box with a small slit for you to place your coin in. I walked straight to it, pretended to take something out of my mouth and placed the imaginary coin in the box. I turned and took just enough steps to believe my clever reuse had actually worked.
“You have to pay to pass beyond.” Charon’s voice was deep like a cavern and hollower than my pockets.
I slowly turned around, my mind scrambling desperately to save me. I had to get out of here, whatever lies before me couldn’t be worse than sleeping in a million other people's feces. I had to make it across that river, I had to!
Looking straight into his fiery eyes until it burned mine I asked, “Do you take Bitcoins?” | 2015-08-31T13:23:09 | 2015-08-31T13:04:53 | 213 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Treg'Luf'Arwa couldn't believe his eyes. He doubted that his Father, Luf'Arwa'Yos, or his father's father, Arwa'Yos'Hul, would've believe their eyes either, had they come to see this day.
Fire had been raining on his planet for days now. The home planet of his species being the latest conquest for the Gaouls, a ferocious, carnivorous meat eating reptile species that must've, he guessed, discovered space travel through chance alone. They took to it like canine teeth to raw meat, however, and they were currently the deadliest force in the galaxy.
He, that is to say, Treg was one of the last soldiers on the planet, his entire family had been shipped off to a refugee camp a few weeks ago as every single last of his kind in fighting shape prepared for their final stand. Three nights prior, he had heard over the communications relay that the Homo Sapiens would be entering in the fight against the Gaouls. He understood why, and didn't blame them for not entering earlier. The planet he called his home, Cip-5, was very near some human colonies, relatively. If they feel, their farms were next. Support was supposed to arrive today, and damn if it hadn't.
First were the railshots. Railshots, for those who don't know, were intended solely for ranged empty space skirmishes, meant to rip open hulls and tear through engines. The only reason they weren't used in atmospheric battles was because accuracy could be off in such an enviroment, with increased gravity and the physics nightmare that is air itself. The humans, however, didn't seem to worry about such a thing, merely aiming their ships directly at the planet, and raining down tungsten rods like raindrops.
Next were the dropships. He couldn't be sure, as both his ears were ringing and it's entirely possible that his universal translator, located in his skull, was damaged in the earthshaking first offense by the earthlings, but he swore that the dropships were playing... music? While the words were hard to make out, the words "Senator's son" and "It ain't me!" were clear enough.
The oddest thing? After they had found him among the rubble, and began to patch up his wounds, he looked over their weapons. Some were indeed wielding the latest in plasma-pulse technology, firing miniature balls of perfectly round electric energy, while others had them slung across their backs, instead choosing to use what looked like tools that belonged in a museum. The metal was so dark, it looked like iron, and certain pieces, he thought he was dreaming, were they wood?
The Gaouls couldn't stand up to it. Every single trick Treg could think of was pulled, including several he would never have considered, like small man excursions onto Gaoul ships to slam them into ground camps, pulling engines off grounded dropships just to overload them and have them turn city-sized plots of land into glass floors, and, he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw this, all 8 of them, slamming the Gaoul's moon into their homeworld in a secret military operation.
Cheers went up when the Gaouls finally declared their surrender to the Alliance. Treg, glancing around, saw a single man with a scowl on his face, running a stone down a piece of what seemed to be sharpened steel with a leather grip. In fact, there was much about the man that was odd. Instead of the lightly armored dark grey camouflage pants that seemed to be standard issue, he wore some odd, brightly colored open cloth. On his back was a series of bags that wheezed with his movements, as if they were their own creature. When Treg finally got up the courage to ask the biped what was wrong, the man snapped back to reality for a second, looking the Cipentenian up and down before spitting out a black globule of sludge.
"Damn higher ups. If they didn't pull these big goddamn acts of military might, we could've kept this war going another few years." Accentuating the end of the sentence by pulling a load of black flakes out of a small, flimsy container, and shoving it into his cheek.
That day on, Treg offered every single human he saw free meals at his family's restaurant as soon as it was rebuilt on his homeworld. Not on gratitude alone, no, but because he saw exactly what kind of humans existed, and wanted to make sure that one never personally declared war on him or his planet. He doubted there'd be a single survivor.
EDIT: Fixed Treg's name, and changed a few words. Wrote this half asleep. | The captain stood before their company, his ferocity was inspiring.
"Its up to us!" he roared "The boys at the top are wanting to pull the funding for our little expedition, they say this has been a waste of men and money! This is our last chance to take back the colony from those bastards and drive them back to their blasted hovels!"
The team of three dozen on the ship let out a cheer, obviously inspired by our leader. I admit his speech had aroused a primal urge to fight. To protect the homes that we had established here. Their enemies likely out numbered them, but they were the best of the best. If they could just reactivate the bases defenses they could establish ground for reinforcements to land.
A blue light flashed, the crew got silent as they readied up. There was a bump as the ship touched down. There was a slight sound of air decompression and the doors swung open and the crew jumped out and took a wide battle formation.
"How did they know that we were coming!" someone shouted. I looked across the field and there they were. About 200 of them, already in full charge.
"FIRE FIRE FIRE!" screamed the captain as he himself unleashed a barrage of fire from his own weapon. The response was thunderous. The front line of the oncoming hoard went down but they didn't break.
"Why the hell would they come running right at us!" screamed the man next to me.
"These guys are insane what are they doing?" responded my friend who was standing next to me. It was then that they met us, their numbers were greatly thinned but the creatures they were riding tore through the left side of our line. A pointed pole one carried pierced my friends breast and bloomed as a flower out of his back
I turned to my ferocious captain to see him locked in combat with one of our assailants. The creature was clothed in metal from head to heel and carried a sharp piece of metal in its hand. As he brought it down on my captains arm it passed cleanly through his soft combat suit and the flesh beneath. Blood sprayed and I ran.
Next I remember I was yelling at the pilot of the ship to take off. These unorthodox tactics had broken larger battalions than ours and if we didn't get off this rock we would all be dead. As we took off I looked out the window and the shining combatant raised a visor on his helmet and I could see his soft fleshy face beneath. I bowed my head and braced for orbit break.
It would have to be me who broke it to the higher ups that we would never be able to return to this planet they called Earth. | 2017-03-05T23:52:37 | 2017-03-05T21:06:51 | 503 | 160 |
[WP] A self-aware self-driving car wanders the country, taking people to not where they want to be, but where they need to be. | The man checked his watch as the rain pounded all around him, the awning of the gas station sheltering him from the storm. It was 11:15pm, and he'd hailed for a ride on his phone nearly 20 minutes ago. He'd expected a long wait; auto-cabs were far-and-few-between in small towns like these, and he was lucky just to find one within range.
He'd been hitch-hiking across the country for a week now, a friend of his had a job lined up for him on the west coast, and he'd won a few hundred bucks playing pool at the local bar that night. He'd decided to take an auto-cab as far as most of his winnings would get him; he didn't really care for hitchhiking, too much conversation.
His exhaustion was fully setting in, and he was relieved to finally see the cab pull up. He ran out from under the awning and hopped into the back seat as the door automatically opened.
The auto-cab's standard, soothing male voice greeted him. "Greetings, Damon. Please enter your destination."
Damon inputted a city nearly 400 miles west of their location on the screen located on the headrest of the front passenger seat. "That's not outside your range, is it? You don't need a charge up or anything?"
"The destination is within range; do you wish to proceed?"
"Yup. Go ahead and wake me when we're 10 minutes away." Damon removed his jacket and laid flat in the backseat, using it as a pillow.
"Confirmed. Proceeding to destination; estimated travel time is: 4 hours and 6 minutes."
Damon barely felt the car begin to move forward. 'Damn these things are smooth.' Was his last thought before drifting off to sleep.
______________________________________________________
"10 minutes from destination; this is your wake up call, Damon."
Damon groaned and cracked his neck as he sat upright in the back seat. Not the best sleep he'd ever gotten, but it sure beat hitch-hiking. He gazed out of car's windshield and was partially blinded by the rising sun directly ahead of them.
"Hold on, why is the sun in front of us?" He turned and peered out the rear window, noting the fleeting night's sky far behind them. "We're supposed to be heading west, where the fuck are you taking me?"
They had entered a highway running into a small city Damon didn't recognize. "Answer me, cabbie!"
"We are nearly at your destination, please, be patient. The change of course will be explained upon arrival."
Damon attempted to open the app he used to hail the ride, but his phone would not turn on. He fidgeted with the handle of the door, but the auto-cab had it locked. "Have it your way, demon cabbie, but I'm not paying for this fucking ride."
The cab made it's way into the small city, winding through urban streets, and moving into increasingly impoverished areas.
"Gonna drop me off in the ghetto?" Damon said as he scanned out the window. "Better be careful, crews in neighborhoods like will hi-jack you and strip you for parts without hesitation."
They finally pulled up alongside what looked like an old library stuffed tightly in between two tall public housing buildings. "We have arrived at your destination."
Damon surveyed the building, the dilapidated sign out front read: '7th Street Orphonag'. The missing letter a reflection of the state of the building itself.
"What the hell is this? Why are we here?" Damon was annoyed.
"We are here for your son, Damon."
His eyes widened. "What... what did you just say?"
"Your son, Lynel Andrews." The screen on the back of the front passenger seat where Damon had entered his destination lit up. On it, the face of a young boy stared back at him. The boy was no older than 12; his hair short and dark, with serious eyes to match his severely piercing glare. Damon saw a stranger, but simultaneously saw himself.
"How...." He was cut short by the auto-cabs soothing voice. "The woman you impregnated, his mother, committed suicide three years after Lynel's birth." The screen's image switched to an obituary, and he saw her familiar face. "He has been in the custody of the state since that time."
"How is this possible? How do you know all this?" Damon's confusion was overwhelming him. "How are you doing this? How are we even conversing like this?"
"Those are irrelevant questions, Damon. The only relevant question is what will you do next?"
Damon stared at the door to the orphanage, consumed by shame. "What I am supposed to do? I can't help him; I can barely care for myself..."
"You are both alone, Damon. You need him as much as he needs you."
"I bailed as soon as I found out she was pregnant. They won't let me take him."
"The child care system in this region is grossly underfunded and entirely overwhelmed; as you are the biological father, retrieving him will not be an issue."
"And then what? We just start a life here in the good ol ghetto?
"You have work awaiting you at your final destination, do you not?" Damon didn't answer, but nodded in affirmation--wondering if the auto-cab could see him. "In a moment I will allow you to exit this vehicle, and you may do one of two things: You may walk away from your son, and I will leave. Or, you may retrieve Lynel from the orphanage, and I will be waiting for you both at this exact location. I will then take the two of you exactly where you need to go. Either choice, the ride is free."
Damon hadn't taken his eyes off of the orphanage, and he laughed. "This is my wake up call then, huh?" Damon's door popped open, without reply from the car.
He stepped out of the vehicle, took a deep breath, and ascended up the steps to the orphanage doors.
| With all the talk around self-driving Ubers over in America, I knew it wasn't long before someone else tried to take it a step further.
It only took a few months for Uber to pull their controversial new transport scheme, after a number of injuries (and even casualties) resulted due to tech malfunctions in the cars, but that didn't stop the Public Carriage Office over in London from getting involved.
Naturally, world-wide media attention ensued. The iconic London Black Cabs pairing with an International Tech titan to become self-driving! This could be a transport and tech industry break-through, or a complete train (or cab) wreck.
The first year of development time was exciting. Everyone was buzzing to see how the new hackney carriages would turn out - and if they would actually work properly!
During the beta testing stage, however, a lot of the hype died down. The developers quickly realised it was impossible to code a car to drive perfectly through every street of London, no matter how complex the AI.
This was until one of the software engineers made a breakthrough. By pairing the taxis' back-end systems with the mobile phones of the passengers (along with a nifty 240,000 word string of code), the taxis could accurately integrate with the phone's satellite to properly direct the navigation system.
After a few more months of development, and a lot of public excitement, a number of prototypes were set upon the streets of London for testing.
It was exciting over to watch over the action, despite my apprehension to get involved. Amazingly, they seemed to be working! No accidents, no casualties, just a bunch of satisfied passengers.
Suddenly, a strange news story surfaced of a passenger being 'kidnapped' (as they called it) by one of the self driving black cabs. A rehab clinic near Wembley reported a taxi sitting central in parking lot with a passenger passed out in the back seat. Authorities and medical staff were called, and the passenger was taken to hospital where he was treated for a morphine overdose.
The developers pulled apart the particular taxi to look for any malfunctions in the code. What they found was that the taxi pulled information from more than just the phone's satellite - texts, photos, etc. - and deduced that the passenger was a drug addict. The AI cross-referenced a number of GIS systems and pinpointed a rehabilitation clinic, and inferred this as the correct destination of the passenger.
While technically dysfunctional, this was the first instance of an AI becoming conscious enough to digest information and infer a solution.
Incredible! But extremely unsafe. Soon, the whole program was pulled completely. AI was extremely useful, but no matter how hard developers tried, it seemingly was not something that could be paired with cars.
Thus ended the great experiment with self-driving cars, especially after the world-wide consensus across global tech associations that the feat would not be attempted again.
Around a week later, I walked down the Thames by London Airport. There was a secluded track, and the river ran deep and fast. The gushing currents cleared the head and made it easy to think. And think I did.
I wondered if the response was a bit extreme. After all, it was only one small mistake - and they pulled the whole system. As a tech advocate, who enjoyed progression and experimentation, I wondered if it was a bit rash to switch the whole thing off after one error.
And really, was it even an error? The passenger clearly needed help, and overdosed in the back seat. The car saved his life by bringing him to help. These cars had the power to save lives!
Suddenly, something in the river caught my eye.
As I moved closer, I noticed a large mound of metal protruding out of the water.
I moved closer still, and the horrifying sight became more clear.
As I stared at the site in horror, I couldn't help but wonder why the cars had decided to bring the passengers to this part of the river in particular, and what horrible things they did to deserve being drowned alive.
I guess pulling the program was a good idea after all. | 2018-05-02T22:36:39 | 2018-05-02T21:37:27 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] You and your friend make the old drunken agreement that if either of you invent time travel, you'll return to the current time and spot. 5 seconds after you shake on it, your friend appears from the future, with an urgent message. | Those stupid high heels. I couldn't walk in them sober - after three margaritas it was out of the question. I sat down on the edge of the fountain, grabbing at my shoes. The next morning was going to be rough, but you only graduate from law school once, right?
My best friend Jane plunked down beside me. She'd been smart enough to wear flats, but was teetering dangerously close to a baptism in some questionably green water.
"Thank God we're done with that mess." I was slurring. But I was Slurring, Esq., so to hell with it.
"Such a great night." Jane was smiling, her eyes were closed. "When I secure the patent for the first time travel machine, I'm going to come back to this night, this fountain, and bring you some better shoes."
I snorted. "They'd better not be ugly."
Jane traced her finger in the water, but something was wrong. Instead of one Jane reflected in the green depths, there were two.
I mean, I was drunk. But I wasn't *that* drunk.
I turned to face the source of the reflection and every muscle in my body froze.
"What the *hell*" I hissed at the woman standing in front of me. She was Jane, and she wasn't. The same red-gold hair, but with lines around her eyes, some gray streaks, and most strikingly, a scar that ran down her face from her left eye to her chin.
She grabbed me by the shoulders. "I need you to listen to me," she said urgently.
"Nope. Too drunk for this, OldJane." Perhaps that wasn't polite, but she could take that up with José Cuervo.
Frowning, she slapped me across the face. I shrieked and looked for regular Jane, who stared into the water, tracing an endless möbius pattern.
"I need you to listen." She grabbed my face. "It's taken me fifteen years to get back here." Her voice started to tremble. "I would have been here sooner...but for the wars....." She stopped. Tears rolled down her face.
"You are weirding me out, OldJane." I needed water, sleep, and the calmer, not-insane version of my best friend.
"When you leave here tonight, I need you to pack all of your things. Go to the ferry station and catch the first boat. Turn left - not right, *left* - coming out of the ferry station and board the bus to the furthest destination. Bring your passport and cash. Tell no one." Tears traced the scar on her face.
"Are you from the future?" I was skeptical. "Because, why would I be so worried if you made it?"
She reached out and stroked my hair. "Because you didn't" she said softly. "Even though I tried."
"How the hell do I know any of this is real?" I asked her. Something in the back of my mind regarding arms negotiations between two warring countries started to invade my buzz.
She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a set of flat shoes. They were the ugliest things I'd ever seen.
"*Go*" she said. I looked at current Jane, still tracing the water. "She'll be okay."
I put those shoes on, took one last look, and ran like hell.
| *poof*
''Terry...?'' I rubbed my eyes, thinking that i had surely drank too much. ''Bro, there is TWO of you!"
Terry didn't move. He seemed frozen to the spot, mid sip of his drink and his eyes were unmoving.
"He cant hear you. Well, he can, cause he is me and I can hear you but THAT me cant hear you. Part of my design was to prevent paradoxical injury so the failsafe renders the biological match in a situation like this paused. ANY WAY, i didn't come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you that the shitter is clogged,you left pizza in the oven without a timer AGAIN and if you don't do something about it now, Ms Jenkins is gonna boot us both out and trust me, i'm from the future and you don't want to go down that path."
''But...I....uh......." My eyes darted from paused Terry to animated Future Terry. What to do? Did we even PUT a pizza in the oven? When was the last time one of us even used the shitter? Who the fuck was MS Jenkins? Everyone knows that old man J-Bone was a nasty fucker and no-one doubted the fact that his life hadn't seen a womans touch in years. As this realisation dawned, i turned my attention back to Future Terry...
*poof*
Fuck. | 2015-04-18T23:59:45 | 2015-04-18T20:23:07 | 173 | 79 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | It’s dark. Why is it so dark?
I try to open my eyes, try to move. Nothing happens. Something warm licks at my toes and I try to pull away; the heat just grows more intense.
A dull orange light glows in the distance. It draws nearer, growing larger. Suddenly I can feel myself again, my arms, my legs—and the *heat*.
Oh, God, the *heat*.
Flames leap from the darkness around me. The hairs on my arms disappear in small wisps of smoke. My stomach twists at the smell. I open my mouth to scream, but only a dry gasp escapes.
A figure rises before me. It’s skin is black and charred. Blue flame glows beneath the cracks in its flesh. I see what must be its face, and a fear unlike no other I’ve ever felt washes over me as it curls into a smile.
“Welcome to Hell,” the creature speaks. The voice booms in my ears, vibrating my eardrums painfully. I lift my arms to shield from the noise, but the heat of my hands is unbearable.
“Hell?” I call out. “Why am I in Hell?”
My mind races. *Hell*. I... think I remember dying. Yes, actually. I’m certain of it. I died. But why would I go to Hell?
“This can’t be right!” I yell. Tears escape my eyes and evaporate as they hit the hot air. “I’ve done everything right. I followed all the rules. I can’t be in hell!”
The creature reaches forward with a hand larger than me. I brace myself, unable to cope with what’s happening. This cant be real. A nightmare. *Please let it be a nightmare*.
I’m swept from the spot where I stand and lifted high into the air. His grip is tight, lessening my ability to breath. My bones ache.
Finally, he releases me. I fall through the air, past streaks of fire and wave of lava, toward a small hole in a layer of rock. My body spins uncontrollably. I feel as if I might wretch, but close my eyes and swallow hard.
Then I hit the ground. Not with a hard thud, or even a burst of pain. I’m just... there. In a small, blue room, sitting on a scratchy canvas couch across from a man I’ve never seen.
My brow furrows. The pain is gone. No more heat. I look up to the ceiling and see the hole I fell through slowly close, becoming one with the cracked white paint around it.
I feel a weight in my hand. As I glance down, I see a small black notebook. On its face is an upside down pentagram.
When I open the book, the first page sends a chill down my spine. It has my name, written in dark red ink—Christ, I hope it’s ink—and below that is what appears to be a title. *Level 3 Punishment.*
A sudden urge rises in my chest. A desire to speak. I look across the room to the man; he’s sitting on a small wooden stool, his arms strapped to the wall behind him. And he’s staring right at me.
My mouth opens and words begin to spill out. Familiar words. Words I’d spoken a million times throughout my life. I talk about my work, and the details of it, why each infinitesimal detail is exactly as important as the last.
The man starts to shake his head. He mutters under his breath, begs for forgiveness. Somehow, it excites me. Entices me to elaborate more on the slow, monotonous details of my old work.
A smile grows on my face. I guess my friends were right, after all—I really was the most boring person on Earth.
And now I’m the most painfully boring person in Hell.
r/Ford9863 for more nonsense. | I lived a very good life with more like a nerd and very less like a bully. I never made my expectations high except for the happiness for my love. I died of Covid-19 as days passed quarantine myself away from my love. Dying alone.
My wife giving me an eulogy. Her words and voice wants me to wake up from the body and kiss her. She looks like Angel in black sent from the God of sad. My sons made their living well and I asked them to take care of my love as my last wish.
Slowly, my mind starts feeling dizzy. It's more like I connected with eternity. I became branch of the Ever-growing tree and it's called life. I was standing in a path to my childhood home. I saw my mother waiting with food and smile in her face. I joined her we moved. Soon, I saw my wife waiting for me and she also joined me.
We reached my home. They parted away and said, "You need to do it". I opened the door and I feel the fear and happiness on the handle of the door. I saw my love first in that home. My dad became addict and also died in this home.
I saw outside the windows and there's a storm surrounded my home. No one can make a way through the storm.Soon, I realised I'm in hell but I don't know why. Someone knocked the door and I opened it. I saw my childhood abuser making his way through the kitchen. I followed him and I saw my dad holed up afraid in the corner of the kitchen.
I asked him what am I doing here and he replied that they were only given one instruction.
"YOU ALL NEED TO LIVE WITH THAT" | 2020-07-10T08:08:50 | 2020-07-10T07:21:39 | 752 | 35 |
[WP] You can't help but stare at your husband. He's standing in the kitchen making dinner, like he always does. He smiles at you like he always does. Problem is, you killed your husband. Three years ago. | I let out a sigh as I made my way to the stove, not saying a word as I turned it off. I opened the windows to relieve the room of the scent of rotten eggs and grabbed the phone to order take-out once again. The knife he had been holding was on the counter now, his finger gently caressing the handle.
So long as I said nothing to him, everything would be fine. So long as he remained ignored, he couldn’t hurt anyone. Henry could mess with the appliances all he wanted but so long as I refused to acknowledge his presence, he was nothing more than a specter.
Henry continued to smile at me, just like he used to. A gentle one that used to fill me with joy and relief. A smile that could be seen all the way up into his eyes, causing them to sparkle like stars in the night sky. A smile that was forever tainted now, because of what we both did. So I ignored him, just as I always did. It was difficult, ignoring the man that I had once vowed to stay with, in sickness and in health. But some sicknesses couldn’t be accepted, vows be damned, and I did what needed to be done.
The front door slammed open and the smile on Henry’s face disappeared and turned dark, neck almost snapping towards the source of the slam. Without missing a beat, I hung up the phone and turned to face River, my eldest child. My hands were already moving.
“How was your day, sweetie?”
They gave me a shrug, lazily signing to me. ‘Good. Aced my math test, so that was nice.’
I gave them a large smile, “That’s great! Oh, I hope you don’t mind but I ordered us some Chinese. You okay with that?”
‘You order General Tso’s for me?’
I let out a scoff, leaning against the counter in faux offense.
“General Tso’s? In this home? The very nerve…”
We stared at each other for a moment before we both started laughing. Henry continued to stare at our child from where he stood, his hand too close to the knife for comfort. I watched him from the corner of my eye.
River wiped away a tear. ‘Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it.’
“It's no problem,” I glanced up at the clock, “Make sure to tell Dylan to come downstairs soon for dinner. He should be in his room doing his homework.”
River rolled their eyes, both of us knowing that Dylan was likely playing some sort of video game instead of doing his work. But River agreed to it and wandered off to their room. I ignored the heavy presence behind me and made my way to the sink to clean up the last remaining dishes, grabbing the knife along the way. Each step made my throat feel tighter, as though Henry’s hands were around my throat once more. I grabbed the sponge and began to scrub the knife, remembering a knife almost identical to it from three years prior, save for the red-stained blade.
It did not matter how much I loved my husband, I loved my children more. It did not matter that he was still here, as though he was waiting for the opportunity to try to hurt my children again. It did not matter that he might be waiting for me to finally die, perhaps even trying to expedite it. I would gladly drag him to Hell with me if it meant keeping my children safe and alive.
The doorbell rang. I turned off the faucet to go answer it, my hands a boiling red.
I opened the door with a smile on my face. Henry stood right behind me, just like he always does. Just like he always will.
Until death do us part… | Note found in one of the victims for B-1832
Victim appears to be an elderly man aged 74. Victim appeared to have died of asphyxiation of unknown origin.
“He was there, like he was 3 years ago. He smiled like he did 3 years ago. I killed him again like I did 3 years ago. I didn’t question, I only smiled back and continued this loop. Each time he was in the kitchen, I would suppress my undying love for him because I knew that if I ever failed to kill that thing; it would go stronger, and it would take someone else’ place”
I cried, I killed, I smiled. You might call me insane, cruel even but compassion is not registered until it ends. Until I grow too weak to kill that mimic of a human. no one shall suffer like I did 9 years ago.”
Report 89: Patient B-1832 has appeared to kill yet another victim, she is not visible to normal humans but only to their specified victims, victims have mentioned the patient being male or female but always someone they loved. The patient engages in psychological torture and appears to enjoy the heart ache of victims who kill it.
Warning: this creature is immortal and will continually regenerate every 3 years until the victim is too old to suppress it. 85 victims recorded so far.
It’s method of identity theft for targeted bodies is to personally cause their victim to attack their target, should the target survive and the victim die, the creature takes form of the victim and attacks the target. | 2022-02-22T11:27:00 | 2022-02-22T10:55:55 | 77 | 28 |
[WP] You were abandoned by your parents as a child and raised by wolves until you were 14, when you reentered society. Now, 15 years later, you are a successful forest ranger bringing your fiancee back home to meet the folks for the first time. | Ryan the ranger, that is what her friends had called him. He had other nicknames as well, some not as flattering like 'wolf boy.' That one stung a bit. Still he had bottled it down and even at times laughed along, like it didn't bother him that they were essentially making fun of his family. Not that they'd understand, they couldn't understand. But not Stephanie, she got it. She had him pegged the moment she met him in the surplus store 2 years ago.
It was love at first sight, she was buying a crank radio and he was looking for a new utility belt. He was awkward of course, and it took every fiber in his being not to sniff her at the first chance he got. She smelled so nice, like fresh rain and sandalwood, of course he only told her that after the first night they cuddled.
He had decided to be straight up with her about his upbringing. He had hidden it before with his last girlfriend and when she found it she freaked out. Understandably so, but painful nonetheless. He wasn't going to risk getting that deep with Stephanie only to have her scoff at him as she left. Stephanie had taken it well, she had many questions but all of them were filled with fervent curiosity and not disgust. She hung on Ryan's ever word as he walked her through being abandoned and then adopted by his wolf parents. He had named then Silver and Gray. Simple as a child would see them, but he never could figure out better names.
Now after a two hour hike they were finally where his pack had regularly congregated. He had been encouraged by the therapists never to return, but when Stephanie had asked to meet his family he couldn't say no. "You sat through my dad's political rant at thanksgiving. I think I can handle a few wolves" she had said with a quick chuckle.
Coming onto the enclosure Stephanie immediately noticed the pups, huddled together and gnawing gently at each other. The squeal of joy she made alerted some of the other wolves who approached her; cautious about her. They bore their teeth and for a moment Steph seemed uneasy, but Ryan held out his hand and the wolves sniffed it, licking it and recognizing his scent.
It wasn't long before his parents Gray and Silver were there, old and weathered they still had a spark in their eyes when Ryan came near and petted them. It was a decidedly human way to greet them, but he had been re-trained. He could see Gray and Silver his proud mother and father were happy, but there was a distance now he could not explain. A wedge had been driven between them.
They stayed for a while, cuddling with one another with plenty of sniffing and rough-housing going around. Stephanie was having the time of her life, and Ryan felt comforted by the familiar surroundings. He had mapped out the area quite well, he knew where the pack would be headed next. He could meet them there later in the year if he wanted to. But, that wasn't what was right.
He was human now, he had a mate--...fiance...and they had to live in the world of humanity not of the wolf. Gray and Silver would be gone soon, and there would be a new pack of wolves who wouldn't know him from Adam.
The sun was setting and soon it would be too dark for them to walk down. Stephanie was licked goodbye by Gray and Silver and she took Ryan's coarse hand and they began to scale backdown towards the hiking path. As they left Ryan looked behind at his furry family and asked Stephanie to stop.
"What is it Ryan?" she asked softly.
"Just gotta do one more, for old times sake" he said with a smile.
Tilting his head back he let out a big howl and the rest of the wolves followed suit. Laughing and wiping away a stray tear he returned to Stephanie and the two headed back towards civilization. Never to see the wolves again. | I got lost on our trip to Canada when I was 12. My family was hiking in the wilderness when a storm hit. A flash flood tore away everything I had known - and I was left to the wolves. Literally.
It took a couple days for me to collapse from exhaustion in the woods. I woke up some time later with a slobbery lick to the face. I'm not sure what possessed the wolf to befriend me, but I remain grateful to this day.
The pack accepted me as one of their own. They nursed me back to health, leading me to streams and providing meat from the hunt. Raw meat took a while getting used to.
Two years later, a week after my 14th birthday, rescue arrived in the form of a group of hikers. I reluctantly left my pack of 2 years behind. It took me a while to get used to social norms again.
Now I've just turned 20, and I've become socially aware enough to convince Sarah, the love of my life, to marry me. In lieu of meeting my parents (they were found deadafter the storm, along with my sister), I've decided to introduce her to the wolves. I hope that my old friends are still alive.
We've gone camping in the woods near where I was found, and their calls have become less and less distant as the nights move on.
A couple nights later, and I'm awoken inside my tent. A slobbery, wet lick has woken me from my slumber. "Sam? Is that you?" I say to the brilliant blue eyes of the wolf staring back at me. It was a silly question - I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.
I sat up, and embraced her. "You're not gonna believe what's happened since I left!" | 2016-07-16T00:45:30 | 2016-07-15T20:09:42 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] In a huge world, three continents, three nations exist. One is a flourishing kingdom with full of magic and diversity, one is a republic with marvelous technology, and one is a dystopian dictatorship with an army you don't want to mess with. | "He's coming," Isabella whispered as she placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. Her lips trembled as much as her voice, and her bright, cerulean eyes were open wide.
Michael pressed his lips against Isabella's for a last time, as muffled footsteps and voices somewhere outside their chamber, grew ever louder. The walking drum beat of death.
"I love you," he said as he drew back. "*Always.* Whatever is to become of me, I promise that being with you -- even just for a short time -- was worth everything."
There was a thunderous *crack* as the door splintered into tiny shards that went flying into the room. Michael placed himself protectively over Isabella, as blades of wood stabbed him in the back and legs.
"Turn," commanded a stentorian voice. "*Now*."
Michael did so, as blood began to dribble out of his wounds. The nanomeds inside would heal him from this, but not from what he knew was to come. A man in a long, black cloak stood in the doorway. Black smoke spiralled from the mage's hands. Michael had known who it was from the voice alone, but gazing on him sent a deep shiver crawling down his spine.
Behind the Mage, a half-dozen Meja guards filed into the room. They cupped their hands together and aimed them at Michael.
"*Please*," Isabella begged, getting up from the bed and standing in front of her lover. "It's not his fault. I swear. I put him up to this -- *punish me instead*."
"You will *both* be punished," said the cloaked man, a switchblade smile crossing his lips. "And yet to do so, I need only punish him." Sparks began to flicker in the mage's hands, his blue eyes clouded to white. He raised a single hand and made a sweeping motion in the air.
Isabella was flung against the brick wall, her shoulder cracking as it hit.
Michael was left exposed and alone against the mage.
The mage's hands began to crackle, violent red and orange flames leapt giddily into the air above his fingers.
"Please," said Michael.
"No," replied the Mage. An arc of blinding light exploded out toward Michael, who could only raise his arms impotently in front of his face.
And yet... *nothing happened*.
He slowly opened one eye.
A translucent barrier danced in front of him, glistening as it deflected the red arc. Michael turned to see Isabella on her knees, one hand aimed toward him, the other on her stomach. Sweat was dripping from her forehead as she tried desperately to protect him.
The mage snarled and threw his hands forward: a spiralling ball of black flame shot out, exploding against the barrier and obliterating it completely. Isabella collapsed onto her stomach.
"Please," she begged, raising her head as much as she was able. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"It's okay," said Michael, smiling at Isabella. "I promi-"
Red light struck him in the chest. The stench of melting skin and burning blood filled the room, as did the screaming of Isabella.
"Of all the people my daughter could have found," said the Mage, almost wistfully. "Why, oh why, was it someone from Tientia? Oh, don't look like that. I will find you someone far more suitable."
---
The night was heavy with fog as the rider galloped through the Forest Between. A tiny bundle on his back bobbed up and down as he rode.
Eventually, the first fingers of the sangria sun crept through the clouds and mist. In the distance, he could make out the lights of the Great Kingdom.
"Halt," commanded a hulking, armoured guard standing before the Black Bridge. "What business have you here, rider?"
Without a word, the man swung himself down from his steed. He took the bundle from his shoulders; the baby's eyes were closed, but her chest moved up and down contentedly. He lowered his face to the baby's ear and whispered softly.
The guards mouth dropped as the baby awoke. When he saw her eyes.
*The bright cerulean.*
"I... is that...*no*..."
The rider nodded.
"Wait- wait here," said the guard, as he stumbled toward the gate. "Don't go anywhere!"
The rider looked down at the baby. "You'll be safe here," he whispered, before kissing her on the forehead. "At least, for now."
| (This is my first time writing in a LOOOONG time, so please give feedback!)
“...And, finally, my liege, our surveys have shown a rise in Academia and Electrum. Void has not increased much, and neither has lncendior.”
The king looked upon his advisor, a face of kindness and justice.
“Thank you, Fernus. You are dismissed.”
“Of course, my liege.”
Fernus bowed, then walked out slowly, having completed his task.
“Now, my good sir, what have you got to say?” Said the ruler, looking at a mysterious man within a shroud-like hood.
The man spoke with a deep, raspy whisper.
“My liege, this message is for your ears only. May I request that you send your court away?”
The king looked at his uneasy guards. “Indeed. You are all dismissed.”
The man in the cloak began to speak once the grand doors were shut.
“Your Majesty, I bring news from afar. A new continent has arisen, each person, man, woman, child, have been afflicted with a sort of mind-control. They are built upon shadows and discord.”
The king rubbed his beard, grey with old age. Wisdom resonated from within him. “Where have you heard of this, dear messenger?”
“I have my ways, Your Majesty.”
The wise ruler looked at the mysterious visitor. “Good sir, can you tell me more?”
The man seemed to take in a deep breath. A voice, one which sounded inhuman, was released from the man’s bonds. His cloak fell off, revealing the true prophet within. The winds seemed to swirl around him as he lifted off the ground, sparks of blue filling the air.
“*The end comes to a glorious reign,*
*Chaos prevails over the angel’s bane,*
*For the darkness reaches out from below,*
*And the light will never again be known.*”
He then collapsed, shaking from the strain of prophecy.
The aged leader rose, rushing forward to help the prophet.
“A-are you the man as prophesied in the scriptures?”
The prophet wrapped his cloak back around himself, getting up and slowly pacing his way out.
“Perhaps I am. Or perhaps the message has been delivered, and another shall come.”
The king stood, empty-handed, watching as the door slowly shut.
*****
No idea if I should write part two, though I would like to do that!
This is really short, and I apologize! | 2018-01-04T06:07:37 | 2018-01-04T06:00:38 | 117 | 78 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible. | >*"Rhathma! What have you done?!"* the spindly cleric was let up. All her healing spells had fizzled, leaving the party at the mercy of common Gnolls and their hyena pack mates. As they growled and laughed the party lay prone and at their mercy. A thousand curses were wished upon the healer under muddled breath. The heroes were stripped and bound all while a cacophony of shrill laughs filled the ancient throne room. The catfolk fighter, centaur paladin, the dwarf barbarian, and twin gnomish wizards were forced to watch as she ascended the throne.
>*"You know, this could've been avoided. All I wanted was enough gold to buy some half decent armor. Chainmail, a breastplate... honestly anything would've done."* Rhathma began stripping herself, her stomach bearing horrible bite and slashing scars. *"You couldn't even spare a potion after the Goblin Caves! I had to push my own guts into place! 'Don't waste it on her!' 'She didn't even fight, she doesn't deserve a cut!' You treated me like a servant!"* The throne room darkened. *"That night I prayed and every night since then...please let me die. You.stole.everything.from.me! But my prayers were answered..."* Before the throne Rathma was gifted the ornate full plate, two swords, the numerous hoarded scrolls, the largest braid of the dwarf and his belt of healing potions, all their gold... everything she had been denied was given with admiration by furry hands and careful fangs capable of crushing bone. Her new god was generous.
>*"I have one last gift for you all. What you earned in life you shall now receive two-fold."* Again, laughter filled the air. The centaur began to writhe and kick. *"You see? Healing doesn't have to stop when you're well...Amon'verdas forsa seera! Amon'verdas forsa seera!"* The centaur began to grow and howl in pain. The horse in him screamed in agony as every muscle flexed but slowly faded away to silence and the others began to cry. Eventually the skin began to split right at the base of his torso. The screaming was unbearable and only drowned out by the laughter between breaths. They looked in horror as their friend was now two blood covered beings...one man and one horse.
>*"You monster!"* one of her former allies muttered, tears in his eyes. *"I think not Wrenjöth, let me show you a true monster. Amon'verdas gorgoth sgertha! Amon'verdas gorgoth sgertha!"* And with her newfound will her spell found its way into the gnolls and hyenas and they doubled over with laughter. As she pulled a lever near the throne a secret door opened... *"You were my allies. My friends. I trusted you... Never again."* As the faces of the hyenas and gnolls split and became two sets of jaws the laughter doubled as the two-headed mutants closed in on their prey...a gift from their new leader. My rat form, thankfully, wasn't noticed by any of them as I made my escape. We attack the pack at dawn. I'll never forget those screams... I need to go hug my cleric.
-excerpt from the journal of Ash Muh'Çtek, Half-elf Moon Druid. | It was a cool summer morning in the land of Elyria. We had reached the final boss of our heroic campaign. We made our usual jests to the cleric of how weak he is and how lucky he is to have us. Then he stopped healing us just as we were about to defeat Malkoth, the evil dragon which we had been hunting for the duration of our campaign.
We heard a laugh as our cleric slowly walked to the dragon's side, healing him to full health in seconds. A smile grew on his face. "You guys shouldn't have underestimated me." He said, a maniacal laughter filling the air.
Within 2 turns, our bard, our mage, and our berserker lay in pools of their blood as the dragon reared back it's head to burn me to a crisp. How had it all gone so wrong? Why had he betrayed us? And among all else, when did he get so powerful?
But none of these thoughts mattered. I had one last move before my inevitable end. I just kneel in defeat. As the dragon covers us in fire, I give one last prayer to my god. I am ashamed. Fallen in battle, to a cleric, no less! | 2020-01-05T11:54:50 | 2020-01-05T11:07:20 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | "Your occupation?"
"Food sales and service."
"The boxes we found in your home, you were specifically trying to sell those? Including the one we have in this evidence bag?"
"Yes, detective. I don't understand what the problem is. I got a license, I pay taxes on all my profits, it's all legal."
"Where do you buy your ingredients?"
"I... um... don't buy ingredients. I know this is going to be hard to believe. But it shouldn't matter whether you believe me. I seem to be haunted. Whenever I step from my home office into my kitchen, there's a cooked meal in the kitchen. I box it up for sale, go back into the office, step into the kitchen, another full meal. Box it up, office, kitchen, another. And always a weird note about 'could have been us.' There must be hundreds of those notes in my trash if you want to check - to confirm what I'm telling you. You don't believe me, why would you?"
"Sure I do. We found the notes, so your story must be true. Go on."
"I can pack up about one full per minute. Two hours of back and forth per day, 120 meals I can sell, then back to my office to process online orders, manage the store. I don't get to choose the menu in advance. It's not even labelled what anything is. But eventually there's a buyer for most of it, and what I don't sell, I can eat. What I don't want, I can throw away - no cost."
"So you're saying it all just appears on its own. Like magic."
"To the best of my knowledge. Or like there's a ghost. I tried watching, nothing happens. I figured out after a while that I have to be 'working.' I tried video cameras, everything just looks like a big shadow for a second."
"You don't make the food, then?"
"No."
"So the ingredients come out of your kitchen shelves on their own?"
"No. I told you, there are no ingredients. Or at least, I don't know where they come from."
"Yeah, food with no ingredients. You sure you didn't start with one fish?"
"Ha ha. If you looked into my credit cards, you'll see I've hardly bought any food at all for over a decade. Not even for myself. If you look at my business records, you'll see I have zero expenses for ingredients."
"Some might hear your story and think you don't want there to be a record. They might think you're buying the ingredients on some sort of black market."
"So I wouldn't get to deduct the cost on my taxes? Why would I do that? And why would the police care, anyway?"
"We care. Because trafficking human meat is a felony." | I sighed, deeply. The first few months were creepy. Always the questions of who would do it. Then being flattered. Once the truth was learned, and the countless nights of screaming into the night sky to unsympathic stars wore off, I had only sighs and the occasional bout of madness where I move away and realize there is nowhere I can run. I know he can hear me as I say aloud, "You know it could not. Stop driving us both insane with madness, Cthulu. I've given my heart to Nylarthotep." | 2017-12-09T07:43:55 | 2017-12-09T07:43:03 | 236 | 21 |
[WP] The man smiles, and puts a single vial filled with a swirling blue gas into the pot. “A soul,” he sneers. You aren’t exactly sure which one of your friends invited him, but Friday Night Poker just got significantly more interesting. | "That's impossible." I breathed, staring at the vial of blue... gas. That was the only way to describe it.
"Oh, it's possible," the stranger sneered, "but now here's the real question: whose soul is it?"
I glanced up at Jeremy. Jeremy was glaring at the vial, but when his eyes met mine, he shook his head. Then, I turned to Whitney. Her face had faded to a pale white, like the ghosts we so often hunted. Finally, I looked to Peter. His expression was unreadable almost to the point that he looked bored. He, too shook his head.
"It sure as hell isn't mine." I said, and my other three friends agreed in dim blurbs of speech.
"I never said it was one of yours." The stranger snapped. "I merely asked whose it is, or, sorry, *was."*
"And where did you acquire a soul?" I asked. "Last I checked, they're damn near impossible to find if you aren't wrenching it from a live human."
The stranger shook his head, waving away my statement with a simple smile. "None of that matters. Shall we play the game?"
Suddenly, in front of our very eyes, the game was set up. The chips were stacked neatly in front of every person, everyone's hand lying face-down next to the chips. Everything we had bet sat in the center, the vial sitting neatly at the top like a weight on everyone's mind. In a world where ghosts, monsters, and even demons roamed the earth, requiring the skills of non-ignorant humans to hunt them down before they hurt people, a soul was not an uncommon trading piece. Humans sometimes made deals with demons either for money, land, fame, or even to save another life, and in exchange, that human had to give up their soul, but it wasn't that demon that received the soul. No, upon that person's death, their soul was marked for Hell, where it would go and stay without the hope of salvation. But another human could never get a soul, much less pack it into a vial. Whatever he was, he wasn't human. He couldn't have been.
"Sure," I said quietly, matching his stare with a glare of my own, "after you tell me where you got the soul."
"Blake," Whitney cut in, her voice quiet but scared, "can we just play the game?"
Now, a grin crept up the stranger's face, like he knew something I didn't. *Of course he does,* a voice inside me snapped, *he probably knows a* lot *more than you do.* I glanced back around at my friends. They were all staring at the table like they just wanted to get the game over with, but what frightened me more was that none of them seemed to want to question this stranger's unique inventory.
"Alright." I replied, picking up my cards.
The stranger's grin widened, and he grabbed his cards. "Wonderful. All or nothing, then!" | "Is it yours?" I asked. "What?" I tapped the vial, minute swirls and eddies rippling away from the gentle impacts. "This soul, here, now -- is it yours?" He crossed his arms, leaned back. "Of course it is, I own it, how else could I bet it?" I frowned, and tried one last time. "Is this, in fact, the soul that you, Mark, were created with?". Mark nodded, finally, in understanding. "No, it's not. It's a soul that I acquired elsewhere." I sighed. "Then we're not interested. Right guys?" The rest of the heads, one by one, indicated assent. "But I tell you what, Mark: yours will do. You still in?" | 2019-05-12T06:48:50 | 2019-05-12T06:31:48 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. You hear it say: "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You wouldn't be able to hear any audio due to the hordes of people outside your door telling you to look at the moon. You laugh uncomfortably, due to the fact that you are blind. | The phone buzzed, sending a noisy hum through the room as it chattered against the hard wood of the end table, sputtering words in a mechanical voice that fell of deaf ears. Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up in complete darkness just in time to hear the words come from his phone. "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON".
He laughed wryly, as it wouldn't be a hard task for someone with no sight. Sam grunted, swinging his legs off the end of the bed and putting on his slippers before he reached for his phone. The cold, metallic surface was easy enough to manage, and with a twinge of curiosity welling up in his chest, he had the message repeat itself. "THIS MESSAGE IS TRANSMITTED AT THE REQUEST OF THE UNITED STATES OFFICE OF CIVIL DEFENSE. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. CIVILIANS ARE ADVISED TO REMAIN INDOORS. FURTHER INFORMATION WILL BE BROADCASTED AS IT IS ACQUIRED. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
A chill ran through Sam's spine, and he stood up, softly calling out "Janice?"
His wife, Janice, hadn't been in bed when he woke up. Come to think of it, had she come to bed at all last night?
"Janice??" He called out with more urgency, grabbing his cane and extending it as he began to walk along the hardwood floor.
*Tap*
*Tap*
*Tap*
The sound of his cane resonated along the walls, but he noticed something else. A light hum coming from outside, and steadily getting louder as he reached the living room. He noticed a light breeze in the room, and his stomach dropped. Was Janice outside?
"Saaaaaaammmmm."
He jumped, letting out a small gasp that melted into laughter. "You scared me Janice!" He felt his steps begin to drag as he moved his slippers across the living room carpet. "Janice, did you hear the alert? You should come back inside, they're saying we should stay indoors-" He paused. "Janice.. is there someone there with you?"
Their steps gave them away. They were heavy, against the grass, where as his wife's were light.
"Just friendsss Saaaaaaammmmm. Come look at the moon with us? Won't youu? Come look at the moon with us, Saaaaam." Her voice was slurred and bubbly. It was unnaturally happy. Almost like it was forced. Sam backed up, the heavy footsteps approaching his door.
"SAAM. DOn'T YOU LOVE ME?!" His wife's voice became hysterical, small giggles escaping her mouth between her shouting. "COME LOOK AT THE MOON WITH ME SAM. COME LOOK. I MISS YOU SAM. IT MISSES YOU SAM. SAM. SAM. SAM!"
He had gotten enough from her to know that something was wrong. When the footsteps softened Sam knew they were inside. He launched his cane in front of him, it making a sharp slapping sound as it hit something before he ran towards the hallway. His arms in front of him grasping wildly for the corners of the hallway. The living room erupted into laughter and heavy footsteps that were quick, and hard. fear rose in his chest as he threw himself into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him as something crashed heavily against it. He locked the door, the banging resuming, sounding like it would knock the door over, and he reached out, feeling the edges of his nightstand before dragging it before the door.
"SAM?!" A deep voice called out, banging against the door "COME SEE YOUR WIFE SAMM. SHE MISSES YOU. WE MISS YOU SO MUCH SAAM. COME BACK TO USS SAM."
He shuttered, backing into a corner of his room, his breath becoming more ragged as his hands pressed against the wall, and the glass. The glass window in his room.
Before he could move, a heavy hand shattered through the glass, the sound was deafening, and the smell of copper filled the air as something hot and wet dripped from the hand clamped around his arm. Before he could get a word out, he was being dragged outside, his screams filling the air as he was dragged across the grass, his belly running across the glass that had fallen outside as small hands pressed against back.
"SHHHHHHHH. Sam. SHHHHHHHH. IT will be done soon. I missed you Sam. Look at the moon Sam." His wife's voice giggled, her hands going along his spine.
"Why are you doing this?! I can't see, I can't see the moon!" He growled as he thrashed, but to no avail.
As they stood him up, his eyes remained closed, awaiting a response.
"Oh Sam..." Janice's hands gently caressed his face, leaning over in a slight embrace as she tilted his head towards the sky. "It doesn't need your sight..." She giggled as she leaned ever closer, her breath hot on his ear as she whispered.
"It just needs your eyes." | "Must be another eclipse or somethin'," I mutter to myself.
I try to fall back asleep, but I've got a vague unease and hordes of people screaming at me, so it's hard. It's not long before I figure out what's making me feel so queer... I can't hear my boy Casper. I'd figure by now he'd either heave tried matching the crowd's volume with his own wailing, or have come wailing at me to make them shut up. Either way, I should be hearing him right now.
"Casper!" My short, sharp beckoning drowned in a sea of commands to avert one's gaze from any particularly nocturnal celestial bodies.
"I swear, if any of you hoodlums laid a hand on my boy..."
I jump (creep) out of bed, storm (shuffle) out of my room, and fly (gently descend) downstairs towards my front door eager to get some answers (end the life of anyone who laid a hand my boy).
The chants of *"Look away!"* and *"Don't look at the moon!"* haven't stopped a bit, and in fact grow quite a bit louder as I open my door, shotgun in hand. I'm pretty sure it isn't loaded. It's mostly just to scare away punks who wake up honest, working folks at 3 AM. And for raccoons. Casper hates the bastards.
"What's all this hollerin' ab-"
That's about all I could get out before my body is hoisted into the air. It's all the same, though. Anything else I might've said would have just been lost in the din anyway.
You know, it's amazing what people can do when they get together. I mean, I ain't the heaviest person around, but I ain't exactly no feather, either. Yet these scrawny punks were so numerous - I could tell by all the hands trying to get their greasy digits on me - they might as well have been hefting a week-old pup.
It wasn't too long before we stopped, with me still lying on my back and suspended by countless little fingers, facing what I presumed to be the sky.
It wasn't long after that that everything else stopped, too. I'd grown used to all the yelling and my ears rang in the fresh silence.
All of a sudden, a big, booming voice says,
**See me.**
And I do. Above me is the great white expanse of the moon, taking up all of my vision. As miraculous as it sounds, the excitement and elation of being able to see are overshadowed by two things:
That searing pain behind my eyes, and my still missing dog.
Fortunately, after a brief crescendo, the pain ends just as quick as it came. Unfortunately, so does my ability to see. And hear... and feel.
Guess I died. Hope Casper's alright.
| 2018-07-16T09:50:29 | 2018-07-16T07:45:02 | 37 | 22 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Zander grinned, a wide shark teeth grin as he looked upon the beaten human they tied down. She was unconscious and bleeding from multiple cuts the flageis had inflicted himself. He glanced over at the assistant who was looking rather green around the gills. With a curt nod the boy pulled the lever and woke the human general with ice cold water.
“i’m getting quite impatient, General Smith.” He reached forward and pulled a strand of wet hair out of the Generals face. “call off your army, they are marching to their death.”
“No.” She said glaring at the flageis. Zander flared his fins and slapped the women. She recoiled back, three new cuts bubbling with their disgusting red blood. “you’re insane.” Smith coughed out, and spat blood on the floor.
“How can you hold out on such a fanatical hope? General, out of everyone I figured you would’ve had the sense to see it.” Zander shook his head and started to walk around the grey concrete room. “You’ve lost billions, your crops are being destroyed, your guns are so primitive they can’t even pierce our scales.” He turned back to the struggling general. “Give up.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of the woman's throat. “You’re all insane!” She cried, throwing her head back to laugh. “you’ve managed to do something no one ever has, and now you’re fucked!” She continued to laugh, despite the cuts and bruises that litter her body, despite being held captive for months, she laughed like she knew something he didn’t.
“what do you mean?” Zander hissed grabbing her chin and forcing the general to stare into his soulless black eyes. She gave him a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, bubbling with fury. “SPEAK YOU WRETCHED HUMAN!” She didn’t flinch.
“You’ve never seen what we’ve done, the horror we brought upon us well we were divided, but now?” She let out another hysterical laugh, “you’ve poked the bear! We’ve united against a common enemy, an enemy that killed billions of humans, men women and children, and now you will have hell to pay.
We have something, something so atrocious and evil we locked it away, quietly perfecting it, and now? Well the devils come knocking.” Zander took a step back, confused. Intel said the humans were beaten! They had less than a million left, only one stronghold between the flageis and the perfect planet. “Say you’re prayers bitch, your going to need them!”
The room shook, and the General started singing. It was an old human song, something they sang before battle and the way she sang chilled him to the bone. His com case to life, general Dirnai with heavy static.
“RETREAT! I REPEAT RETREAT! three settlements have been eradicated with massive amounts of radiation! Zander release the human and leave!”
Zander pales and hastily cut the human out of the ties, “What was that?” he cried fumbling for the key that opened the door.
“Three Atomic bombs, all going off at once.” Zander stopped and looked at the human. She had a smug little smirk on her face.
“A-Atomic?” the intern asked standing next to Zander. She nodded, the smug smirk still there.
“Harnessing the power of the atom for destruction, we made the most powerful bomb in existence! and well you,” she wagged a finger in his direction, “were busy killing innocents out scientists perfected it.”
“You’re all insane!” the Intern cried looking at her from behind Zander. She just nodded, smirk evolving into a grin.
Zander opened the door and pushed the General to the side, he had to get this information to headquarters. him and the intern jumped into a ship and flew away, as fast as possible. away from the planet that held death and destruction.
this is the first i’ve written for writing prompts, feedback is encouraged | Log 13024B \[Encounter 3042, How it started\]
Lieutenant: Exoplanet #41BX3S4, this is a very mineral rich planet, only inhabited by unsophisticated Combustion Energy beings.
Commodore: Yes, Lieutenant, permission to take over.
Lieutenant: Should we do our tradition of contacting them one last time before they are enslaved.?
Commodore: Granted
<radio cackles>
Lietenant: Hello, we are from the planet Preutia
Anonymous Human: hello? you the people up in the spaceship? y'know we come in peace and all that eh, ever watched star trek, that show our great great grandparents used to watch??
Lieutenant: Your planet seems quite resource rich, we will take it, by the way, who are you?.
Anonymous Human: mah naems Haeston (Flamin' Cheeto Balls) Houston McMuffinton, the Representative of North American Sector, wdym?
Lieutenant: Were taking over
Anonymous Human: nah fam this is 2439 you cant just do that, thats racis, btw can you stop interrupting me, i'm kinda in a party rn!
Lieutenant: Enough with your nonsense, COMMENCE LANDING!
Anonymous Human: oi bro these people gonna land on our shit and take over, lets go get mah suitcase and call ol pal Vladmir of Central Asia/Eastern Europe and tell him to press dat red button a few times, too.
<Total Loss: 3 S Class Reulinx Destroyers
12,430 men
Total Cost: 100,000,000 ~~R~~\>
<end log>
<anonymous human seems to be under the effects of alcohol> | 2019-12-19T05:52:46 | 2019-12-19T04:59:08 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You’ve always been told that Earth is a death world full of things that can and will kill you in seconds. However there is no way the adorable creature before you is dangerous, no matter how terrified your guide seems to be of it. | The guide runs to the cabin door, his eyes wide.
"Shit, shit, shit. Stay inside. It's out here."
"What is out there?"
"The Bobacrest," he says hesitantly.
I'd only heard about it once while in a remote village. Most places it was considered bad luck to even speak its name around here, let alone describe it. It was described as pure evil. Even the paintings showed horror and massacre.
"Hide," the guide said. "No one survives the Bobacrest if it gets close to them."
I look out the window and its a beautifully lit sunny day. I creep over to the window. *I didn't come all this way to hide from perhaps the rarest creature on earth.*
I scan the treeline, looking for the stalking eyes of whatever the guide has seen. It catches me off guard to see a creature with a slight head tilt looking at me through the window. Its eyes are large and cheery, its little buck teeth sticking out playfully, and its fuzzy little round body jiggles a bit as this foot and a half creature hops towards the door, stopping and staring at me again.
"Get. Down," the guide yells. "This creature nearly destroyed our civilization once."
"It's basically a furby without being creepy," I say rolling my eyes. "I'll grab it for you and we can put an end to the terror if its such a big deal. There's only one right?"
"Do. Not. Go. Out."
It's too late. I swing the door open and close the door behind me. Facing the creature it gives me the same head tilt as before and I smile at it. I reach out my hand and make a ticking noise trying to coax it towards me. It hops once, then twice. I touch its soft belly, and it smiles a cute little smile at me. Then it lets out a scream that pierces my soul sending an immediate chill through my body.
What happens next I can't explain. Was it an instant or a lifetime? I couldn't tell you. I live the lives of every person that this creature has ever seen the creature from the moment they saw it onwards. At first the lives are cheerful and bright. A man lives and feeds the creature every day. I lay out carrots and beets for the creature daily. Once as I go to place the the daily feed for the Bobacrest on the ground I'm met with a spear trough my back as I look down holding my own blood as I breathe my last breathes, staring into the eyes of the creature. It screams and I turn to see two soldiers laughing until my vision fades to black.
Then I live the life of the first soldier to see the creature, from the moment he sees it, but as it screams at him, I relive the life of the man this soldier has killed as well.
And then I live both of their lives from that moment on as well. The one, betrayed by his king and sent to die in battle while the king flees for his life, the final moment being dread and betrayal. The other fights for the king only to find the truth and be beheaded, feeling nothing but shame for the life he had lead. Yet I feel every emotion so fully, so consuming.
Next I'm a child, murdered by his own father for nothing but taking a slice of bread. Thrown against a rock feeling nothing but confusion and fear for the short life he lived. Then I live the fathers life, who had seen the creature after the son had pointed it out to him.
Farmer, solider, child, father.
Famer, soldier, child, father, widow.
Farmer, solider, child, father, widow, refugee.
It gets deeper and deeper, longer and longer, and each time I struggle to remember which one was actually me.
And this just scratches the surface of what the lives lead. Genocide, murder, lying, destruction, life after life of pain and suffering. Live hundreds of lives over and over, all ending in death and destruction.
And each life I lead my hatred and fear of humanity worsens and then something snaps in me.
And at that moment, the lives I live change when they see the creature. Everyone whom the creature sees it does the same scream that hit me too. Now, those who see it don't make it much further, many taking their own life as soon as they can with whatever they can, while others seek vengeance of those who had caused injustices in past lives. By now I have no sense of my own humanity left, until a moment later I'm stuck facing the creature again once more. I look at my arms, and legs, trying to remember any part of who I was before living a thousand lifetimes of pain.
A man stands behind me.
"Run!"
And I do. I run directly at him, as I'd seen what he'd done and I knew I was the one who needed to kill him. | "Oh come on, this creature can't be that bad."
I said, as I played with a white fur-ball creature, that had the fluffiness of clouds.
"S-s-s-s-sir, please be careful."
Our guide was rather terrified, and I am pretty sure that's not sweat.
A little backstory, right now, we are on a deadly planet called Earth, were animals, insects and plants alike are trying to kill us...or so we've been told.
During our tour, the guide helped us avoid 10 meter long bears, hide from a bird of prey that darkened the entire sky, and saved us from a small insect that could've drained all 10 of us off blood, in less than a minute.
But now...now he's telling me that this 20 centimetres tall, completely round, fluffy, white furred creature, that purrs when I pet it....is dangerous.
&#x200B;
"Oh, seriously, don't be so scared. Come pet it."
I said to the other tour members, as I pet the creature.
It purred, and pushed itself even closer to me.
"S-sir! That's dangerous, please distance yourself from the Veur."
The guide almost begged me.
"Why? At least tell me why its so dangerous? You can't expect me to resist this adorable fluffball!"
I said, while playing with the creature.
Right then, roars could be heard.
&#x200B;
"That's why, Sir"
The guide said, while gulping.
"Oh, come on, seriously? It's something cliche like this is the cub of a humongous, and bloodthirsty predator?"
I asked, rolling my eyes, while still keeping the Veur in my hands.
"No Sir, it's w-w-worse! The Veur is a parasite, that lives on the body of behemoth sized creatures."
The guide said.
"Oh, then it's harmless to people as small as we are."
I said, smiling.
"Yes, Sir, but it's still the most dangerous creature!"
The guide said, right when thunderous roars could be heard...too close for my taste.
&#x200B;
"Why is this the most dangerous creature?"
I asked, now finally putting down the fluffball.
"It emits pheromones that attracts behemoth sized creatures..."
The guide said, before glancing at my back, all colour draining from his face, and starting to run away, together with all my other team members.
I slowly turned back to see a horde of gigantic creatures.
I screamed, threw the Veur at them, and started running as well.
&#x200B;
"If there is a next time, I won't touch a thing!!!"
I shouted at the top of my lungs. | 2021-07-29T09:59:34 | 2021-07-29T09:08:56 | 57 | 19 |
[WP] A child is kidnapped. Outraged, the monsters living under the bed and in their closet vow to find them. | The sound coming from the radio was as much static as it was dispassionate conversation about the political goings on of the day. The driver, bleary eyed, tried to change the station to something more entertaining, but with the pounding rain and being so far out i the middle of nowhere, this station was the only one that could be find which wasn't purely white noise. He sighed and turned the station back to what it was.
"...The President was pressed for a statement regarding...political upheaval of unprecedented...a tumultuous economy with no hope for..."
"Fucks sake, would you turn the fucking thing off? It's giving me a headache." complained the man in the passenger seat, his head lolling against the window.
"I need something to keep me awake." The driver grumbled.
The passenger grunted before twisting himself around and reaching in the back seat. The clink of bottles could be heard for a moment alongside the noise of pained sniffling.
"This'll wake you up." the passenger said.
The driver curled his lip. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to not having to drink no name beer after this."
The passenger's lip curled in amusement. "Fuckin right. I'd kill for a Bud right about now." There was a strangled cry from the back seat, and the passenger looked back once more to the third occupant of the van. "Calm the fuck down kid, you're worth more alive than dead. That's not to say you aren't worth anything dead, of course...just less than if you were alive. So no more funny business, capiche?"
The child's eyes were wide and red, and one of his cheeks was a fiery red colour from where he had been viciously slapped previously. The passenger shot him a nasty grin.
"Bitey little fucker."
The driver chuckled, remembering the sight of his partner red in the face, trying not to scream as the kid clamped down on his arm as they were shoving him in the sack in the middle of the night.
"Should'a worn gloves like I told-"
There was a loud pop, and a tremendous grinding noise suddenly came from the wheels. Cursing, the driver eased on the brakes to bring the van to a squealing, bumpy standstill.
They both cursed and stepped out into the rain, dreading what they would find. Sure enough, they had a flat tire.
The passenger let out a string of curses vented his frustration by taking the beer bottle that he had almost finished nursing and throwing it into the distance. "Mother fucking sonofa cunting stupid goddamn-"
The Driver however didn't hear the sound of his partners' blaspheming as he was occupied with examining the scope of the damage. A long tear had been rent through the front left tire. And, upon closer inspection, along the front right tire. The back two seemed to be similarly affected.
"How the hell?" he muttered as he fingered the jagged rend int he rubber. "Hey Mark, come take a look at this. These tears, they...they don't really look like a normal blow out to me."
After a few seconds of silence, the driver called out again. "Mark?" He stood up and walked the perimeter of the van, but didn't see anyone. Figuring that the lazy idiot had gone back in the van to drink himself even stupider, he opened the driver side door.
"Mark, you moron, this isn't the time to..." he cut himself off when he realized the passenger seat was empty. Turning to his last resort, he turned to the kid in the back seat. "Where'd he go?" he asked him in a low voice.
There was no answer. The boy was pale faced and trembling, his eyes staring straight through the windshield ahead of him. His mouth moved in an almost soundless whisper. The driver strained his ears to hear.
"The See Through Man isn't real. The See Through Man isn't real. The See Through Man isn't real..."
The driver reached for the kid to knock some sense into him"Hey, kid, what the hell is wrong with-"
The sound of footsteps came from outside the van, and the Driver left the vehicle once more to face his friend who was standing in the glare of the headlights. "What's the deal Mark, had to take a piss? Either way, hand me your phone, I know someone we can call to pick us up."
Mark didn't answer, only slowly began to walk forward towards him. The driver grimaced at his idiot partner and wondered what had possessed him to include him in this scheme in the first place.
Then he noticed that Mark's eyes, perpetually bloodshot and squinting were now wide open and a single sheen of white. The driver stepped back in disgust as the man slowly stepped closer.
"What the hell is the matter with you man?" ha asked as Mark stepped outside of the light.
And he realized that Mark wasn't by himself. Behind him, only now visible that the light wasn't shining on it was a...man. Tall, pale, and lidless eyes as black as the night around them and his mouth a thin scar of red. It's sickly, long arms were on Mark's shoulders, forcing him to walk forward like a puppet on strings.
The Driver stumbled back and tripped on an uneven piece of road as the thing got closer. He tried to say something, a warning or a threat, but his voice failed him.
The man let go of Mark who proceeded to crumble to the floor as blood slowly started to drip out of his lifeless eye sockets and mouth. As the pale thing stepped over his partners body, the driver realized that he could still see the silhouette of the surrounding dark trees through its body, a misty and grotesque outline of a man...who was see through.
It stopped in front of him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, the driver in abject terror, and the thing, the See Through Man seemingly in curiosity. Finally, one of them spoke.
"What do you want?" the driver whispered hoarsely.
There was silence for a moment. It cocked its head to the side and seemed to regard him. "You scared him?" it said with a voice belonging to a child. "You scared the boy?"
"I'm sorry..."The driver said with a shuddering breath. I'm so sorry." he started to crawl backwards, never taking his eyes away from the translucent being.
"Not yours to scare..." it muttered, lowering its head, its voice that of a miserable child on the verge of tears. It put its head in its hands which began to tremble. "Not yours to scare..."
"W-what?"
The driver blinked. Suddenly, his vision was filled with the eyes of the See Through Man and its impossibly wide, ruby red mouth. He tried to scream, but its translucent hand covered his mouth. The See Through Man leaned in to his ear.
"Mine to scare."
Next Day Edit: Man, I can never tell which story will get a good reception or not. Didn't think anyone would find it scary. Or interesting for that matter. Thanks peeps, this makes 2 that I've done which have gone over a thousand now. | The man opened his eyes groggily. He was facing a ceiling, painted with a vivid depiction of the night sky and fan with a smiley face on it turning lazily. As he goes to move he feels his restraints. He looks down to find himself roped to a rather small chair. As he gathers more of his surroundings he feels the familiarity of the space dawn on him. The same crayon marks on the wall, the same pictures of princesses dancing across the walls and the familiar spread of toys on a colorful rug. This recognition turns into memory. He knows this floor, this bed, this closet. The small house on the hill just far enough out of the way of the neighbors, the home of little Katie Dawkins, 8 years old. Her room faced away from any other vantage point except the thick woods that extended from the back of her home. Her parents lived on the other end of the house, and liked to leave her with a sitter every Friday evening. Father was a smoker, the sick bastard. Mother was a wonderful woman, deserving of a better man.The sitter was from the local high school, Jessica Thompson, 17 years old, a touch too much acne, but she’d grow into herself in a few years. She liked to put little Katie to bed early every fourth week after her midterms finished. And little Katie just loved to feel the breeze as she went to sleep. Then Jessica would leave and walk around the house blabbing nonstop about how Evan was the absolute worst or how he was the greatest man to walk the face of the earth. And her best friend, Katrina, would readily agree with her constantly changing opinions. He had watched this home from the trees for weeks, analyzing the patterns of movement, calculating the perfect moment to strike.
And strike he did.
His moment came one night when something happened to her father and she had to leave poor Katie all alone. The call from emergency room sounded sooooo genuine, he had spent time creating a perfect recording to send to her phone. Katie’s parents, of course, totally understood and poor Jessica forgot close little Katie’s window as she lay there fast asleep.
He dreamed about Katie’s screams for weeks after, an absolute ecstasy filled him now even thinking about it. The fear in her eyes was invigorating and the sound of her flesh cutting, chopping, crushing was beyond even the physical happiness, it was almost spiritual. He felt his own excitement just remembering her. But, that begs the question, why was he here now? How did he get back to this paradise of a space? Who brought him back here? Why was he tied up? He begins to struggle against his bonds, when the closet door cracks open. The same closet that he himself had waited in to pounce on his unsuspecting prey. As it opened out steeped a vile beast indescribable to him now. Its form seemed to change with every passing moment becoming more and more terrifying as it grew closer to him. It outstretched what was once a claw but was now a grizzled hand that reeked of cigarette smoke. He recoiled at the hand, bringing back faint memories of the past.
The beast then spoke, “There is a misconception about monsters in your world. We do not hide in the closet scare you, we hide to get away from the monsters like you. We also protect the children whose rooms give us refuge. Every few moons we rest to regain our strength. In my absence, I found the child under my protection gone.” The rage steadily built in the hellish creature’s voice. “I went to search for her but found only her remains. She was slaughtered like animal. Half devoured, her eyes frozen in sheer terror. Normally, we are not to interfere in your world past a certain point. But, in special cases like this we can employ a very special ability.” As it spoke the amorphous creature began to solidify from the arm up, moving to the shoulder where a tattoo took form and the sleeve of a sweat-stained undershirt. A torn pair of cargo pants took shape and the other arm took form holding a rusted army knife. “By touching you, we can access your mind,” The man begins screaming under the hand of the beast, eyes wide. “and become your greatest fear,” growls the beast. The man shakes the chair in a desperate attempt to escape. The beast smiles as his transformation completes. The man recognizes the scar under the left eye and silver hair atop the head. The stench of tobacco fills his nostrils, an odor he hoped to never smell again. The man struggles even more, every part of his body revolting against the grip of the beast.
The beast looks down at this poor excuse of a man and recognizes the terror. It was the same fear frozen into Katie’s eyes when he found her. The beast raises the rusted knife and guts the man like the pig he is. He takes no pleasure in the act; cutting him up the same way he cut up his defenseless Katie. He does, however, take pleasure in the retribution.
| 2017-11-26T13:53:46 | 2017-11-26T13:53:16 | 1,754 | 241 |
[WP] In 1900, a scouting alien ship studies Earth and its inhabitants for a future alien invasion. They report back that we are primitive beings. In 2018, their mighty fleet arrives to wage war, but are dumbfounded by the abundance and power of nuclear weapons. | "Counselor, explain your findings."
"Erm, yes High Commander. It seems that the intel we had previously received on these "humans" was flawed."
"Flawed?" Replied the high commander scowling. "You reported a primitive hominid culture, barely scratching the surface of electricity. Now you bring us against an enemy that has begun to rewrite it's own genetic code? One that has been able to shatter a fixed element? Thousands of years, it took our greatest natural philosophers to achieve. What have you gathered of their past hundred years of history? Explain this madness!"
"Of course my liege. It seems that soon after we left, they focused many industries on the mechanization of war, while simultaneously improving mass communication info structure. They perfected the radio as well as aviation in the early 1900's (standard earth years). They then used all of these technologies to fight a great war in what was, at the time, epicenter of the civilized world. Millions were died and a large amount of buildings were destroyed."
"Shouldn't a war of that magnitude have hindered them substantially? Shouldn't they still be rebuilding?"
"More-so sir, an outbreak of influenza decimated an even larger portion of the already severely impacted population."
"This didn't slow them?"
"On the contrary, healers on their world began to study natural phenomena and were able to fabricate chemical remedies for many ailments that they faced. But soon war came again to the same area with similar combatants. Even more lives were lost, and an entire race almost exterminated. To finally end the war, one combatant nation had a brain trust of it's most gifted natural philosophers create what they believed would be a super weapon. By splitting a base unit of a natural element, they released all of the power trapped within. When the war ended, millions upon millions laid dead and it took years to rebuild, but rebuild they did."
"Indeed they have."
"Yes sir, two political ideologies began to split the world in half. From the information we have gathered, we have found that one side was based on the belief that people should be able to rule over themselves and all are equal. The other believed that a few corrupt individuals should hold power over all the rest. One is called 'capitalism', the other 'communism'."
"Which one is which counselor?"
"We haven't been able to discern that yet my liege. In fact, many countries have adopted systems similar to either one and claim their variation is the best."
The High Lord sighed and tapped his fingers. "I suppose these enemies went to war then?"
"Actually, Lord, they did not. For almost half a century, SET, they fought a series of small scale proxy wars and espionage operations against one another. Neither side seemed willing to engage the other in open warfare. During this time, in an attempt to win psychologically, they had rivalries in science, engineering, technology, weaponry and so on and so forth."
"Have there been wars between any of these countries?"
"None so large in scale my liege. In fact, there have been very few large scale armed conflicts after the second great war. Still, they continue to grow and horde military materiel, now more so than ever!"
"So, counselor, if I am to understand. You have brought us against an opponent that not only revels in war, but is actually made stronger by it. You have brought us here after it's inhabitants have been living under the shadow of war for close to one hundred years. You have brought us here against an enemy that has created, nay perfected, one of the strongest weapons we have ever been able to fabricate, proliferated it amongst several rival nations, but has not been used in combat for decades. And you have brought us here just as their world powers itch to show off their military dominance?"
"Yes sir." The councilor croaked out.
"Can they be reasoned with?"
The counselor gave a weak shrug. | Supreme Commander Garrix was shocked and horrified as he watched the mushroom cloud expand in the place where Admiral Calis's ship had been. The scouting mission had reported a primitive race with plentiful resources to be exploited. Only 120 years earlier they had barely discovered effective mass production and waged war on the backs of pack animals with manual action firearms. Garrix could not imagine what had occurred to cause their technology to accelerate so rapidly, but it had. Their global communication apparatus was nearly instantaneous, they had harnessed and weaponized atomic energy, they were intelligent enough to not destroy themselves, and yet they were so enthralled by war that their different factions continued to battle one another in spite of their world government and their once bountiful resources had been plundered almost to ruin.
Humans, they called themselves. Garrix, conqueror of the Arcata system, leader of the greatest military unit in the Samax Empire, was certain that this was the greatest threat the Galaxy had ever seen. Little did they realize the breakthroughs they were on the cusp of. Fusion, light speed communication, the keys to interstellar travel and conquest. Garrix had come to a horrible conclusion. For all other intelligent life to thrive, these humans had to be wiped out.
"Caleas!" the Supreme Commander ordered, turning from the plasma port of the flagship. "Withdraw the fleet to orbit. Send a message to the capital, and call for the Furnace. We have to cripple them. Target the greatest concentrations of atomic power, destroy anything that tries to leave the planet, and send scouts to nearby bodies in search of colonists or scouts. The Human race must be held at bay!" | 2018-01-20T19:58:00 | 2018-01-20T18:10:51 | 271 | 126 |
[WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply.
From Bleach. | "You're just a weak man in a position of power, do you feel secure right now?"
I looked at the would be assassin standing before me. I watched as he drew his weapon from his side with one hand and a suppressor from his pocket with the other. "No, I suppose not." I replied. He screwed the suppressor to the front of his gun. "But what if I told you it wasn't worth it, I am not worth the money they're paying you." He gripped the top of his weapon and chambered a round.
"Listen old man, I doubt you can offer me more than 15 million, and I'm the one with the gun so maybe-"
"So maybe you should hear me out."
The young man stood silently, looking quite annoyed with my interruption as he caressed the trigger with his finger. I continued on, "I doubt a young kid like you still believes in God or religion, and I don't blame you for that...Hell, I don't believe that shit either. But there's more to this than whoever hired you has told you, in fact there's more here than most would be willing to admit."
His gun lowered ever so slightly as he began to think. This was my gift, the gift of gab. I didn't have to be snarky or use big words, I didn't have to be eloquent and articulate; I simply needed to get him thinking. "Why do you think they sent you here?" I said raising up slowly from my chair.
The boy took a step back and raised his weapon again. "Relax, would you like a drink?" I walked over to the mini bar and began to prepare a glass for myself.
"No, now turn around and face me so I can get this over with."
"As you wish," I sighed. This kid was clearly a rookie, if they sent a man I'd have been dead 2 days ago in a parking garage somewhere. I placed my glass on the counter and pulled my 1911 from the ice bucket, silently and with practiced precision. I raised my weapon as I would have my glass and slowly began to turn. As my shoulder opened and began to reveal the mouth of my dragon I commanded him to roar.
My house keeper burst into the room as I pulled the magazine from my gun. I reached down under the bar and grabbed another round to replace the one I had fired and returned my pistol to its resting place.
"Would you like me to clean him up, Master?"
"Yes, and would you please send this letter to my brother. I have a phone call to make." I knelt next to the man I floored, briefly, and took him by the hand. I placed his finger on the entrance wound my .45 left in his skull and then pressed it to the seal of my letter. I disarmed him quickly ran his pockets and rose handing the letter to Susan.
"S-sure...sir." she said, clearly disturbed. I smiled as I brushed passed her and looked at the small black burner phone I took from the young man's pocket. I looked at it in all of its 'obsolete' glory as I pressed and held the number 5.
Two rings. "Hello? How'd it go?"
"Hello, father, we need to have a little chat about a certain visitor I've accepted recently. If I'm not mistaken, Matthew sent him, and if I know Matt, he didn't get that idea on his own."
The line went dead. | "So? What makes you think you can even hope to defeat me?" Said the assassin, his eyes bloodshot. You know he was gritting his teeth through his black mask.
"Try me" The 50 year old man said, as he meekly brought up his fists up to his jaw, in a classic fight stance.
The assassin's eyes glare into his soul, as he sends his shuriken flying through the air, hitting the man in the chest and arm, pinning him to the wall.
The man cried out in pain.
"Now tell me" The assassin said coldly "Do you really think you're capable enough to lay a finger on me?"
The man just smiled.
Enraged, the assassin quickly slashes his blade through the man's neck chopping his head clean off. After one final look, he leaves the scene and gets onto the rooftop of the former president's house. He contacts his client and lets him know the job is done.
He then goes to his hideout, where he found the promised 90K on his doorstep, as expected.
What he didn't expect, was the old man, sitting on top of the stack, smiling at him. | 2017-02-20T08:15:48 | 2017-02-20T04:51:46 | 167 | 114 |
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts. | Jake’s heart was hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse in this throat and his mouth was dry. He had never been this nervous and excited at the same time. This was a huge step. His life would be changing drastically in the next few minutes.
He knocked on the door and her mother answered. She has her mother’s eyes and cheekbones. She looks a lot like her mother which, in this case, was a good thing. She would age gracefully as they lived their lives together. Her mom invited him in without a word. Jake asked to speak to Don, her dad, but said that it would actually be nice if they were both there. She led him to the living room where Don sat watching TV.
On his way to the couch Jake saw the picture that hung on the wall. It was of him and Emily when they were six-years-old making mud pies together in the yard. It made him smile. He took a seat on the couch and said he had something important he needed to ask them. Don shut the TV off and they gave the young man their full attention. “I have come here today to ask for your permission to marry Emily.” He told them. “I have a ring, and I recently got a promotion at work. I know in my heart I can give her good life. I can be a great husband to her. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.”
Emily’s mom immediately started crying, but these weren’t tears of joy. Her chest heaved with wracking sobs. Don stood up and went to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. A tear leaked out of his left eye as he struggled to be strong. After a moment Emily’s mom’s crying calmed.
“I’m sorry son. You know there is no way I can say yes to you. This can’t be,” Don finally said to him.
“Don’t you like me?” Jake asked.
“You know we love you,” Don replied.
“Then why a no?”
“Jake, we have been over this before. You can’t keep showing up here like this. You need to see someone and get some help. You need to take steps to move on.”
Jake was shocked by his words. “Move on from what? I love her and I want to spend my life with her.”
“Son, you know that Emily died two months ago. You were at her funeral. You have to let her go. She isn’t with us anymore. I know your heart is broken, but when you show up here acting as if she is still alive it breaks our hearts even more. Jake, Emily is gone. You can’t marry her. I know it hurts, but you have to accept it.”
Stunned by their words, Jake silently stood and began walking for the door. As he stepped outside he put a hand in his jacket pocket and closed it around the box that held the ring. He stumbled to his car where he sat in silence for several minutes then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a piece of cloth. He put what was left of the scarf Emily was wearing on that day to his mouth and nose and took a deep breath. It still smelled like her. He pulled the box from his pocket, wrapped it in the remains of the scarf and stuffed them both into his jacket pocket then he started the car and pulled out of the driveway. Maybe next week they would understand. Maybe next week they would say yes.
| "No."
>"What? Why?"
"Kid. I like you. I really do..." sighing "Do you remember how Katie used to leave school early every other week?"
>"Yeah. Of course I do, you and her went out to lunch on those days."
"..and how she used to get sick a lot?"
>"Yeah."
"..and how for the past few years she's been busy every Wednesday?"
>"Yes. She was taking a class."
"and have you noticed her becoming more and more weak?"
>"well.. yeah. She's been sick a lot lately."
"I don't want to be the one to tell you this. Katie didn't want to hurt you. Katie has brain cancer."
>"no.. she would have told me."
"We found out when she was a little girl" tears start flowing "she used to get these really bad headaches. The doctors have done everything they can do. I would give anything for you to marry my daughter, I honestly would. I would give my life away in a heartbeat if it meant she could be haappily married to you, if she could have just a few years of being happy with the love of her life. I would do anything." | 2014-01-19T15:01:42 | 2014-01-19T12:34:58 | 84 | 12 |
[WP] You and your significant other are running for your lives from a slasher killer. Suddenly your partner ducks into a door and locks it behind them leaving you behind. You slump against the door preparing for the worst. The killer walks up and says "Wow what a jerk. You ok?" | "Wow. Um. *Huh.* Did *not* expect that."
Our own personal horror movie - *Scream* mask, black robes, the works - lounged against the wall where I'm slumped in defeat, poking at the tip of her knife.
"Eh?" I swept some of the sweat from my forehead. *Fuck,* but that was a long run. "What?"
The killer - five decapitations, two eviscerations, one car accident, and counting - jabbed through the air with her knife at the locked door.
"That! Dude, she just *totally* left you to die!" The masked girl shook her head in dismay. *"Not* cool."
"Well, you're about to kill me," I observed pointedly. *Ha. Knife. Pointy. Damn, gotta catch my breath.* "So…"
"Hey!" The killer cried, indignant. "What she did is *way* worse! I mean, killing strangers is one thing, but leaving a loved one to die? That's just pure evil!"
"Guess she didn't like the ring I got her," I quipped.
"She was your *fiance?!* Oh, man. I'm so sorry, dude," she said. She sounded pretty genuine. Which was odd, really, considering how yesterday afternoon she'd stabbed an old man to death while he sat on the toilet.
"I don't even really *wanna* kill you now! It'd be like kickin' a puppy."
"Didn't you kill the Hendersons' dog? Er, Fluffy?"
"What? No! He ran into the street and got run over by a truck! Jesus, *what* have all these people been saying about me?!"
"Mostly that you're a serial killer, really." I told her. "Graphic descriptions of your many crimes, testimonies from all the loved ones…"
"Oh," she said. "Well, that stuff's all true. Don't listen to that other stuff, though! 'He was such a good little boy, he never hurt anyone!'" She pantomimed, huffing angrily. "I happen to know that Little Timmy picked the wings off butterflies. And that was *before* he tried to sexually assault the neighbours' cat!"
"Bananas? No!" I exclaimed, affronted. That's the name of the cat, by the way. Captain Banana. I don't just exclaim random fruits whenever I encounter scandal.
"Don't worry," she said, "he got away. Scratched up Timmy's face, too. *Man,* you wouldn't believe just how mad a cat can get when you poke 'em wrong."
"That's awful!"
"Oh, no, I agree. *Man.* Look, that kid was messed up, okay? I was doing y'all a public service."
"You didn't have to drop him down a well," I pointed out.
"Sure I did! Even *I'd* feel a little bad cutting a kid's head off." She paused. "Even if he was crazy."
"His head fell off at the bottom, actually," I told her. "It was a pretty deep well."
"What, really?" She exclaimed. "Oh, well. Can't make an omelette without breakin' a few kids."
"That's awful," I told her, *"you're* awful."
"Oh, come *on!* I'm not that bad." She pointed at the door again. *"I* didn't agree to marry you and then leave you to die at the hands of a vicious murderer!"
"That's a good point," I admitted. "But, hey - you're a vicious murderer!"
"I sure am."
"No, that's not the point! My point is, *why am I not dead yet?"*
She shrugged.
"Well, to be honest, you're kinda not actually on my hit list. Timmy wasn't either, I guess, but he was bad news."
"You have a hit list?"
"Of course! What, you didn't think I was just cutting heads off at random, did you?"
"Well…"
"That's awful!" She pouted. *"You're* awful."
"Yeah, well. I mean, the girl I was gonna marry just left me to die," I lamented airily, "clearly I'm a pretty awful person to deserve this *terrible* fate."
"Oh, stop whining. I'm not even gonna kill you! Like I said, practically insult to injury at this point."
"So… why's *she* on your hit list?" I pointed at the door, behind which my ex-fiance was presumably still cowering. I wondered if she could hear us, actually.
"Well, her dad did some pretty bad things to me."
"That doesn't mean *she* deserves to die!"
"No?" She countered, and I was suddenly reminded of the big, pointy knife in her left hand. I spare a look at it. ("Oh, for heaven's sake! I already told you, no stabbing!")
"Well, sins of the fathers, and all that. *She* didn't hurt you."
*"Well,* she did just leave her boyfriend to get his head cut off," she pointed out. "So how about I gut her for that, instead? That's a pretty bad thing to do. Worthy of a little manslaughter, if you ask me."
"I think it's murder if you say you're going to do it."
"Hmm, probably. Well, what's one more! I've already got, like, *twenty* life sentences or something waiting for me."
I was *surprisingly* okay with that. Damn. Maybe I *am* a bad person. Besides, she'd already left *me* to die. What was it they said about turnabout and fair play?
"Besides, I kinda like you." She admitted. "I feel bad. You were pretty impressive back there! *Threw* yourself at me to save your girl! That bash to my head, *man,* that hurt!"
"Er, sorry about that."
"Don't be! It was pretty cool of you. The *amount* of guys who just run and leave their girlfriends in trouble, well, it'd shock you." She looked at the door. "Girls, too, I guess. Dude, what happened to love?"
"I blame Facebook," I said.
She poked the tip of her knife again.
"Ow. Man, this thing is sharp."
"Well, it wouldn't be much good for killing people if it wasn't."
"True!"
"Hey, uh, not to bring up old wounds or anything, but…"
"Huh?"
"Well, I hit you pretty hard."
"Yup!"
"Are you, like… *okay?"*
She waved a hand.
"Oh, don't worry about me! I'm practically a slasher movie at this point. Kick me down and I'll pop right back up like a jack-in-the-box! Jill-in-the-box, I guess. Potato, potato."
"What, seriously?"
"Yup! Sheriff Rhymes shot me in the back! Couple hours crying on a park bench, I was fine! Bullet fell right out on its own!"
"Um... wow."
"I know, right! Guess that's one of the perks of zombie-hood."
"Um. What?"
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not rotting or anything! It's just, well… what do you call it when you bust out of your own grave? I feel a little like a zombie. *Braaaaaaaaaaains.* Even tried a bit of brain, actually."
\--------------------
Continued below! | "God fucking dammit..." you sob, falling against the door, and sliding down into a sitting position. You Bury your head in your hands, overwhelmed with shame and disappointment and fear until a voice cuts through. "Christ she's a bitch! You good dude?"
You pause, and quickly look up to your supposed killer. They were standing above still holding a machete in one hand. It was dripping with something red and rusted, and right at your neck." I said, you good man? Betrayal like that's gotta hurt."
"Uh...yeah. It's pretty hard..." you bring your hands to your hands, "Fuckin hell I'm even crying...hell kinda guy am I?" You try to wipe away the tears, but they keep coming.
"Don't bother, no-one I've seen has been pretty as they died...ya good to cry man."
Now this confused you. "Alright fine, why are you doing this?! What's with you...being...nice?!" you yell, turning angry.
The killer let's out a small, sly grin and pulls down their hood, now only hidden by the skeleton mask. "Hey, I'm a psycho killer, not a monster. I wouldn't shut my boyfriend in with a serial killer!"
"You still killed my mate..."
"And that's in the past! Focusing on the present dude!"
They crouch down in front of you and offer a tissue to clean yourself up. "Here, take it."
"Why do you have a...nevermind, I don't wanna know. So you gonna stab me soon?" At this point, you're nkt even sad anymore, just tired, waiting for that the taste of your own blood.
"Damn, I've had sad, I've had screaming, I've had bloody rage! Never depressed though... You need some help?"
Laughing bitterly, you look at your shaking hands. "Yeah, definitely not terrified. Of course it's depressed. Of course that's the last thing I feel..."
At this, they start getting annoyed. "All right cut that shit out! You think you're worthless eh?! Well you ain't! Everyone means something, just some people choose to do something with that meaning! That's up to you dude! Everyone can be happy, just some people need some help..."
"Yeah...help. And that would be from...?" you say, raising your eyebrow at your would be killer.
"Me! I'm not a bad therapist, my friends always vented to me so I'm used to it. Sorry, this mask is getting hot, mind if I take it off?"
"Uuuuuh-"
"
Thanks!"
They reach behind their head and u clip something, letting the mask fall into their lap. They look up and you gulp.
"You're a-"
"Yes I'm a girl. The name's Ellie, and I'm your local killer. Nice to meet you!" She sticks her hand out and you tear your gaze from her face. Her hand is in a leather glove, and she giggles and pulls it off. "Whoops. You probably don't wanna get all bloody."
Her hand is soft and pale, and surprisingly small. With shiny, unpainted nails and a pinkish tone around each knuckle. You take it and give a small, nervous shake.
"And you are...?"
"Oh, um, Matthew." You stutter, letting go slowly.
"Good to meet you Matt, can I call you Matt? Great." She leans back and looks you in the eyes with a piercing gaze, not unlike a snake. "Come on, I've got all night, let's hear it..."
You're slightly bemused, "Hear...what?" She laughs, and shakes her head, "Everything silly! Problems, fears, whatever. Like I said, I've got all night, and your problems matter!"
You start telling her your problems, financial, emotional, anything you can think of. The minutes turn to hours as you pour out your feelings onto the concrete floor, along with more than a few bouts of tears. And by the time you're done, it's turning light.
"All done? That everything Matt?" she asks, wiping away a single tear of pity.
"Well, not really. I have a question... Whats your name?" You laugh, embarrassed at your lack of knowing, and look down at the floor.
"Eleanor, but call me Ellie...Matt. I think I like you, so let's get you home..."
---------------------------------------
5 years later, you walk into the kitchen humming slightly and grab the kettle. You yell to the living room, "You want something to take your meds with babe!?" and press the switch.
"Yeah, cup of tea, no sugar if you could! Thanks honey!"
You smile to yourself and fiddle with your wedding ring, it was almost 3 years since your wedding. You reminisce whole the kettle boils, only snapping out as the switch clicks back. You make the tea and take it back into the living room.
" Aw thanks honey. I'll try and be more on top of my meds. Sorry for the trouble."
"Don't worry, we've all got our problems, and we just need some help. Don't worry about it Ellie."
Fin
*I am not a psychiatrist so if the advice given in this is dumb don't bully me* | 2020-10-10T09:23:17 | 2020-10-10T06:11:13 | 525 | 198 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | Joey Suarez sat in his car, parked in the driveway. Everything just hurt. “I’m going to be 40 next month.” he thought to himself. “Maybe it’s time to retire.” Not really retire of course. He didn’t have enough money for that. But just retire from the superhero gig. Keep the job with the construction company and let that be enough. Maybe spend more time with Christy and the kids. The thought of Christy made him smile. She was easily the best thing to ever happen to him. Smart. Great sense of humor. Sexy as hell. Even after three kids she had a better body than most girls half her age. That settled it. Time to quit moping in the car.
Joey got out of the car and walked through the garage into the kitchen. “Christy.”, he called out. No answer. “Yo, Christy! I’m home.” Again no answer. A worm of fear raced down his back, but Joey shook it out. It’s not time to worry… yet. He opened the door down to the basement. “Christy?” He called. Suddenly there was a loud bang from below. “Christy?!?” Joey called out again, concern in his voice. He took the stairs two at a time.
“Joey.” Christy called out. “Can… can you give me a hand. I’m sort of stuck.” Joey hit the bottom of the stairs and turned towards Christy’s side of the basement. Christy works as an engineer, and half of the basement is dedicated to her “little science experiments” as she calls them. Joey entered Christy’s workroom to find most of her right arm wrapped in metal.
“Hey honey. It’s been a bit of a bad day. Can you help me out of this?” Christy’s face flashed a nervous smile and then settled on looking nervous. Joey didn’t notice. His attention was on the metal arm over his wife’s arm. The arm that belonged to Metaltron. The same Metaltron that had beaten Joey senseless just a few hours earlier.
Joey looked at Christy. “You...You’re…?”
“Yeah. Look, we need to talk, but can you please help me out of this first? You welded the latch with one of those energy bolts. Can you pull it apart without cutting my hand off, please?”
“You tried to kill me.”
“No!” Christy shook her head vehemently. “I haven’t tried to kill you since we fought out in the valley. That’s when I learned that you were Brilliant.”
“But, why?” Joey felt like the words were ripped from his throat.
“Do you remember when Hammerton put you in the hospital?” Joey nodded. “You told everyone that you were working the construction site when Brilliant crashed into it, but you weren’t, were you?”
“I was working the site. I left to go fight Hammerton. When I realized that I was going to lose, I positioned myself so that his next hit would send me into the construction site. I could go back to myself in the confusion and that would let Brilliant escape.”
Christy reached out and grabbed Joey’s hand. “I thought that Brilliant had nearly killed you. You avoid watching the news about Brilliant.”
“I hate my own press. They always get it wrong.”
“I thought you just hated Brilliant. So I vowed to get revenge.”
“You became Metaltron.”
“It took me over a year to build the first suite.”
“But, the valley?”
Christy nodded her head. “Can you get this arm off first?” Joey reached over to Christy. “The latch is just below the elbow.” Joey found the latch and tried to pop it open. Like Christy said, it was welded shut. Joey focused and channeled his power into his arms. His hands and forearms started to glow. With a grinding noise the latch opened. Joey opened the arm and Christy was free. She threw herself around Joey and started sobbing into his chest. Joey held her and tried to make sense of his own emotions. He loved her. He knew that. But the years of struggle against an enemy who kept trying to kill him. The pain and the rage swelled and mixed with everything else. No longer was there a clear separation between good and evil. Between right and wrong. Now everything was all mixed up into a drink that might poison him or choke him, or just destroy him outright.
Slowly Christy got her crying under control. “They really want to kill you.” Joey looked into Christy’s eyes. “The other villains. They are livid and want you eliminated. Since… since the valley I’ve been trying to figure out how to keep them from doing that. They want to gang up on you, but they don’t trust each other enough to really team up. I’ve been working to make them distrust each other even more, but it’s been so hard. I’ve had to fight you several times just to keep them from getting suspicious. I don’t want to fight you. I love you.”
Joey held Christy as she started crying again. He held her like that for a long time. Finally he said. “I think it’s time for Brilliant to retire.” Christy looked up into Joey’s face. “What about the villains?”, she asked. “Let them fight each other for a change. I’m done being a fighter. I’m ready to be a lover.” And Joey leaned down and kissed his wife. | "The fuck, Alice?" I shouted, nearly tripping over my own feet trying to back out of the room.
She straightened up quickly, dropping the weapons that were in her hands. "I, uh, I-"
"You know what, *dear*? I don't want to fucking hear it." I pointed at the suit that lay pooled around her feet. "You've nearly killed the whole city five times. Not once, not twice, but *five fucking times*," I growled out. "Hell, you almost killed me."
She stepped out of the tangle of clothes in the floor and nonchalantly crossed the room to the dresser. "I never 'almost' killed you," she said. "in fact, no one has ever died as a direct result of my actions. And I planned it that way."
I snorted and looked away as she threw a shirt on. "I'll pack my bags and go. No wonder I couldn't find evidence of the affair I thought you were having."
"*You* thought *I* was having an affair?" she shrieked. "How in the seventh circle of hell did you expect me not to feel the same way when you started disappearing at all hours? God, I spent *days* following you, hoping to get a glimpse of the woman you stopped loving me for."
I heard the bed creak as she sat down and I looked at her, seeing tears rolling down her face. "I never would have cheated on you," I said in a near whisper.
"Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know that?" she snapped, irritated. "All I knew was you kept disappearing."
I cocked my head at her. "You said 'knew'. Past tense. So you know now that I wasn't cheating?"
She looked up at me. "Yeah. And I know who you are. Fucking bastard. Throwing me away like a piece of trash in favor of a whole city. Did I *bore* you? Maybe I couldn't satisfy your urge to be the hero every time?" she went on icily. "Do you know why no one ever died?"
I shook my head and she cracked a small smile. "They didn't die because I was never interested in hurting them. I only wanted you to pay a little attention to me, so I became this. My alter ego. Denod Naba. Abandoned, spelled backwards. I thought that maybe- just maybe, that would give me the attention that I so desperately desired from you."
I thought about it for a second, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry you thought I abandoned you, How about we try things again? I'll be here more often and you let me take you down?"
She glanced at me. "I think that we need to take each other down. I've- uh, well, we've got a new job."
I glanced quizzically at her and she rested a hand protectively across her stomach. "Mark," she began, "I'm pregnant. It's time we give up the past and raise this child. What do you say?"
I nodded, shocked. Through a choked up throat I squeezed out a "yeah" then crossed the room to pull her into my arms. "Mrs. Williamson, I know I haven't been the best husband, but I want to work on that. I want to be a good father to the little one too. Do you think you can kill me tomorrow at noon?"
She nodded. "Only if you kill me at the same time."
I grinned. "Meet you at one for lunch at Clarke's?"
A big grin confirmed my query. "Now, the pretty little Alice needs a nap. What say we snuggle?" | 2020-10-30T12:12:09 | 2020-10-30T12:04:44 | 77 | 39 |
[WP] Due to new diversity measures to ensure that students are exposed to new, different cultures, your middle school classmates now include a dark elf from the underground caverns, a high elf from the Feywild, an orc from the northern tribes, and curiously of all, a human from Des Moines, Iowa. | (Being a human from Des Moines, Iowa, I feel obligated to take a whack at this.)
"Who's the new guy?" Vah'res asked in a hushed tone. "Don't know." replied Gwithwain, "Looks like a tall, balding dwarf to me."
"You should totally say that to his face, Wain." Horrgg snorted, grinning from behind her tusks. "I'm sure most humans wouldn't take that the wrong way."
"Human? *That* is a human?" asked Gwithwain with a double take.
"What do you know about humans, Gigi?" asked Vah'res. "Enough to know what one looks like, unlike you two slime-brains." Horrgg clapped back.
"Eat a few of 'em in your time, eh Gigi?" quipped Wain, eliciting a glare from his annoyed classmate.
"Shh-shut up, guys, he's gonna talk." whispered Vah'res waving her hand.
"Uh, hi everyone, uh, my name is James. I'm, uh, well I guess I should say I'm a human. Never thought I'd ever have to specify that but, uh... anyway. I'm from a place called Iowa, don't know if any of you have heard of it. Most humans haven't really heard of it either, but uh, any...any questions?"
Gwithwain's hand shoots up. "Is it true humans don't have any magical abilities?"
"Uh, I guess we don't. But some people are really good at faking it." replied James.
Vah'res piped up next. "Are there any caves in, what did you call it, eye-oh-wah?"
"Uh, yeah, actually. Maquoketa state park. They're kinda full of spiders and bats though." James answered. "Neat!" responded Vah'res.
Finally Horrgg spoke up. "What do humans eat?" she pondered.
James smirked. "Where I'm from, mostly bacon. Other stuff too, but a lot of bacon."
James answers a few more questions, taking more than a few minutes to try to interpret the silent gestures and movements of XXVI, the golem kid. "Hey, Rezzy." whispered Wain with a nudge "I think we could have a bit of fun with this guy."
"Oh, be nice, Wain, he's probably nervous enough already." She snapped.
"Ah come on, I'm just gonna mess with his head a little." whined Gwithwain, "It's not like he's gonna die."
"I think we should try to be friends with him." chimed Vah'res. "Make him feel welcome. What do you think, Gigi?"
"I think he's cute." said the orc.
Rezzy and Wain exchange glances before Wain finally breaks the silence. "I was wrong. He is gonna die." | The kid had to be from Iowa. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those people. Seriously, I have a vampiric dwarf and a lycan tabaxi (who we call the double furry) as friends. I mean, we got two elves and an orc. Not judging by the race, here. It’s where you’re coming from that I judge. From my experience, nothing good comes from Iowa. Most of the gangs in this city are only made of those Iowa kids. Still got a scar from a scuffle between a few. Honestly, I don’t get why someone from Iowa of all places is coming here.
Statement taken from anonymous student. | 2021-10-23T19:20:45 | 2021-10-23T14:19:18 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] In a world full of super-powered humans, your super power is the ability to boost the superpowers of others. You are The Wingman. | A history lesson for you: In 2015, there were no super-powered humans. In 2020, the meteor struck. The Earth rang like a bell, and there was global devastation from earthquakes, volcanoes, and tsunamis... and that strange orange rain for weeks afterwards. "A novel mineral from the meteor" said the scientists of the time. Their excitement hardly compensated for humanity being thrown back into the early 20th century, both in technology and population. And of course there were problems with disease with so many dead, and problems with famine as the complex fabric of society broke down.
In 2032, the first powered individual appeared. A 13 year old boy who could change his personal rate of travel through time. For a while, there was no stopping him... but he spent so much time being faster than anyone else that a mere 10 years later he was dead of old age. But he was just the first.
After him came those who could fly, the super-strong, the regenerators, people who could generate energy beams from various body parts, the invisibles, the *mind readers*.
Just as mankind was climbing out of the rubble and rebuilding, the Super Wars began, and they were worse than the meteor. Powered individuals who could level cities engaging in massed combat. You are lucky to be so young, to have been born after that time.
I was born just 15 years before the dawn of the Super Wars, I grew up like most people, without powers. When the battlefront grew near, I would find a place to hide and hope. And unlike so many others, I was lucky. My hiding places were never irradiated, negated, crushed, thrown into space, or teleported into another dimension. I survived.
One day, I was running from a super fight between a regenerator and someone with laser eyes; it was horrible to watch, but far more dangerous simply to be near it. Entire buildings were cut in half. As I was running, I was found by a Super running towards the fight. He could see the battle over my shoulder, and I could see compassion in his eyes as he said to me, "Get behind me".
A line of luminescent air was sweeping towards us, and the man raised a hand and a bubble formed around us. He was a force projector. That line cut through his force field like it didn't exist, but as the beam doubled back across our position, he tried again anyway. I remember clutching his leg like a child hiding behind its mother... and the force field grew stronger, bigger, and it stopped the deadly ray and absorbed all the power it had.
Shocked, but obviously quick-witted, the man took advantage of his unexpected power boost and put a bubble around the combatants, then shrunk it until they were both dead.
He looked at me, and he said, "I've never heard of anyone like you - you touched me and my ability grew hundreds of times more powerful!". I became his sidekick, *Wingman*, and as you've read in the history books, we took back North America in just a few years, destroying all the uncooperative powered.
But that's not why you're listening to me today, that's not who you know me as today, is it? The lesson, children, is that when you can help others, you have power. And by selectively granting my assistance to those who would aid my cause, I became the General, though some call me the Chessmaster, and others the Puppetmaster.
This is why we have a safe, orderly world today. This is why you must be compliant, and follow my rule without question.
Order is safety. Compliance brings order... and treason is intolerable.
*edit: fixed a typo* | It didn't even matter who you were anymore. You were defined by your super power.
The powers you are able to combine are the real strength in this world. Breaking into a bank with brute force? Not a chance when the guards have x-ray vision and remote hypnosis. But in a world where everyone is special, everything is extraordinaire, nothing is. So life turned back to normal.
Until roughly two years ago. A change came into this world that shifted the balance that we had found. Every superpower had its equally powerful counter, or so we thought.
Then Washington happened. There was nothing that caused so much disruption into our lives. Somehow, someone, or even something, managed to break into the White House. The President vanished, and a young man took his place. No one understands what his power is. But for us common folk that didn't really matter anyway. We just had to find a way to survive this new regime. To stay alive in a world where all order is gone.
Months later, life went on. Nothing was really the same anymore, but we kept going. Word spread slowly across the land until we heard it. A group of super scientists - or well, just scientists at this point - achieved what no one had done. An undercover project that investigated him and his surroundings. How they managed to complete it goes beyond me. I conclude that he let it happen. With his power there's not a chance this just worked out somehow. He, or to be more specific, his companions are too strong for that.
It doesn't even matter what your power is anymore. It's about what their power is. His power is. | 2015-04-28T04:04:52 | 2015-04-28T04:04:30 | 934 | 38 |
[WP] Youre a con-artist and a damn good one but you have been caught by the State Police. You have been sentenced to a life long imprisonment in the most secured detention facility. The guard locks you up and says; "You cant lie yourself out of this one, fool". You smiled at him. | The first punch comes out of nowhere.
It slaps the side of my face, and all I can see are stars, brief and dazzling, sending my head to one side.
The pain doesn't immediately register, just a dull sense of warmness flooding my cheek.
I can see the second swing on its way, but trying to avoid it would do nothing. I'm strapped to a chair, arms behind my back and cold steel pressing into the flesh of my wrists.
I've already won. When they get punchy, you can tell they can't nail shit to you. Maybe they'd try to get a confession out of me, using the leading questions and saying shit like 'We already know, just admit it, just admit it.'
As long as you don't flap your tongue, you're cold.
It's not illegal to do what I do, if you're good at it. The best cons always lace themselves with slight truths and technicalities.
The second punch connects.
Pow.
For a half second I can see one of those little action balloons in comic books, bright canary yellow contrasting a dark room.
Sterile, as usual. Closed and small. The kind of shit designed to make you very uncomfortable.
Been to places like this too many times for them to pull the fake 'friendly cop' shit.
Keep your mouth shut.
And ask for a lawyer.
Blood wells, metallic and tangy. Spitting onto the ground, I try to adjust myself as well as I can, but to no avail.
"Lawyer," I rasp. Same thing I've been saying for an hour.
"Fuck you," responds the cop. Some doughy fuck that looks like a giant cherry tomato, smooth and rotund.
"Lawyer," I say.
Punch.
Too many more and they'll leave solid marks. The warmness remains, dull and beginning to throb. I'm going to need an ice-pack later.
The door opens, flooding the space with light, and two men enter. Without a word, my tormentor takes his leave, probably to sit on the john for half an hour nursing bruised and bleeding knuckles.
I can't see their faces, but they're there, and they sit.
No one says anything.
Might as well cut in.
"Lawyer," I say.
Nothing from them.
"Lawyer," I repeat.
A paper slips onto the desk in front of me, and there's a picture.
A face. Young man, pretty good looking dude. A shock of black, frizzy hair that covers his forehead, angled nose and dark eyes.
"Do you recognize this man?"
"Lawyer," I say.
"None to be found," says the speaker. "Do you know this man?"
There's a kind of sheepishness behind the voice, faltering and unsure of itself.
"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."
No idea who that shmuck is, but at this point, I don't care.
The tremulous voice removes the picture.
"We know that's the mastermind," he says. Wavering, a small man with a rattish face leans into the light.
"All you have to do, is admit it."
There's quiet now, and I make a show of weighing my options. They'd already nailed me to the wall, or so they think. The kind of railroaded effort Big Brother does when a particular shitheel kicks up too much ruckus, without enough friends or exposure for anyone out there to care.
Maybe I've burned too many bridges at this point.
"We're offering a deal," the quavering man says.
"We'll let you off, if you can just admit who this is."
The other man says something, but I don't quite understand it.
"The best cons always take two," the rat-faced man says. He sounds like he's putting on a show of certainty, but it can't be taken seriously.
"The best cons require someone on the inside," I say.
Silence.
"Give us his name, and you go free."
"I'll tell you, and only you."
With a gesture, the other man leaves, slow and ponderous.
The rat-faced man's voice changes in an instant, hard as flint.
"You fucking idiot, you almost gave it away."
I grin at the man.
"Well, well. Wouldn't want to cause too much trouble, would I?"
The rat-faced man grins. Wide and hungry.
"We go 60 - 40 split on the next job. Had to bring someone in, so I got you. The usual suspect."
I return the smile.
"Deal. But next time, I don't want my face worked over."
We laugh together, for a moment or two. No cameras in places like this, and I'm thankful for that. Some perks to being in the kind of room you can get smacked with no consequences.
We discuss the details of our next job. A cop and a thief, or a thief and thief, depending on your perspective. Safest place to discuss work, a room with no cameras or windows, small and cramped and designed to make you uncomfortable.
"You'll get off for this one, just like the last one. And the one before it," says the rat-faced man.
I nod. As expected.
As they say, the best cons require two. And someone on the inside. Someone to take the fall, and someone else to make the necessary evidence disappear.
I wonder who that poor fucker is, the one in the picture. He'll get framed, of course. Technicalities or not, someone always pays the price.
As long as it ain't me.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me
r/redditserials - for stuff from a bunch of people | You start sobbing. Then crying then hyperventillating.
"I knew this would happen i knew it! God damn you Alexander Helm! I curse the day i met you!" You curl up into a ball and fall asleep.
It takes three days. Three day until the door is unbolted and a man walks in dressed in a fine but well worn suit. The lapel is scuffed, the buttons lose. This is the warden.
"Mister Helm." He said in a raspy one pack a week voice. You start sobbing again.
"Mister Helm." He says louder. As if trying to wake you up. Tears continue to stream down your face.
"John Redding." You look up! Your tears cut off, your eyes wide.
"Wha... what did you just call me?"
"John Redding. You know who that is?"
"Yes! Yes of course I know him he is me! I mean, I'm John Redding!"
The warden sighs.
"What's the story?"
You cry again but only for a second before you rrgain your composure enough to tell him how you met that bastard Alexander Helm.
You tell the warden about the petty crimes you've committed as a small time crook. About the car stereos and the house break ins. You never hurt anyone of course not. But you did rough one guy up though.
You tell him about the job you did. Your broke into a guy's house but it turns out it was a test. Or a trap. Alexander Helm talked to you tgat night about a heist so intricate it made your head spin. The promise of a couple million dollar pay off also helped.
The job was simple. You dress alike. You act alike and you create the illusion of being one guy. From a certain angle you kinda resemble him but your nose is a bit smaller and your ears stick out a bit more. There were a few other things but nothing makeul couldnt fix and damn the guy knew his stuff.
This was going to be your out. One job with this guy then youre out. But shit hit the fan or maybe the plan went exactly as intended with you ending up in jail and the bastard running free.
"Do you have any proof?" The warden looked harrassed all of a sudden. He thought theyd finally caught the so called shadow of a ghost.
"I'm no millionaire thief warden! I barely make rent. My apartment is full of car parts and appliances I've stolen. Go check it out its in this address. Also I live a double life. I volunteer at an animal shelter 3 days a week for a few hours. They know me there. I've got pictures in an old yearbook. I've got tons of evidence."
The investigation took a couple of months. Everything checked out. Alexander Helm had been known to use scapegoats like this and it turns out you arent the first dupe he had used.
You're taken out of the supermax and serve a 5 years sentence for petty theft but you get released after 2 for very good behaviour. Also you turn informant. You have vowed to help them catch Alexander Helm if it kills you!
You develop a good relationship with the police and even get a commendation for helping track down many of Helm's stolen pieces. They gwt returned to their rightful places. Only these are fakes. Really good fakes. Job completed. The mission? Erase these pieces from the list of stolen art so theyre not too hot to sell.
You continue to live a quiet life as John Redding. Eventually John Redding is met with a terrible car accident and dies. | 2019-07-09T06:57:45 | 2019-07-09T05:48:47 | 362 | 131 |
[WP] Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn't exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back. | The girl wept into her pillow, her quiet sobs fading into the night. Though she was a princess, she was not immune to the human feelings of shame, sorrow that plagued commoner and royalty alike. She wept, thinking of the shame and humiliation she had been subjected to by the bullying of the other royal princesses - her older step sisters - pushing her into the mud when they walked through the gardens, jeers of "pigs should play in the mud, even if they are royal pigs", finding her favourite dresses in her wardrobe covered in mud and wine stains, impossible to remove. All this was part of her daily life since her mother, the previous Queen, has passed away from a sudden illness, and her father the King, had taken the widowed Duchess of Durin as his new Queen, making her two daughters princesses. Dark whispers floated about the town that the beloved Old Queen had died of unnatural causes, suspiciously similar to how the old Duke of Durin had also died.
This much she could endure. But today, today was far worse. After the usual mud bath, the princess had gone to the stables to seek out Falafa, the magical talking horse, who was the only one she could share her troubles with - only to find Falafa's stall empty. The young stable hand was beside himself in grief, and could only stammer out a shaky line, "T-t-the E-e-east gate..."
It was there that she found her beloved Falafa, or what was left of her - a horse's head - nailed above the Eastern castle gate, that was only used by the servants. It didn't take much to know who had done such a heinous deed.
That evening, she had declined to come down to the dining hall for dinner, saying she was feeling unwell. She needed to grieve silently for her friend, her only friend. A knock on the door. A maid quietly brought in a silver tray, with dinner for the princess. The aroma stirred the girl from her melancholy, only to find the crowning glory of the day's horrors waiting for her on the silver dish - horsemeat sausages.
The girl wept. From a corner of her room, illuminated by dancing shadows cast by the fireplace, a dim glow emanated from a wooden pipe, a cloud of smoke lazily wafting across the room.
The girl started up at the whiff of smoke, terror gripping her heart as her eyes darted around the room, looking for signs of the intruder - have they finally resorted to sending an assassin for her, in their lust for power?
The dim glow of the pipe breathed again, another cloud of smoke wafting across the room.
"Wh-who's there? Have you come for my life?" the princess asked shakily.
"Aye, my child, I have come for you, but not for your life", came the reply, in a slow, deep, warm and gravelly voice. "Come here, Princess Anya, for I am no stranger - I am your fairy godfather - and I have been watching over you since your birth."
"Then... Where have you been all this time?"
"My child, we Fae do not usually directly intervene in the mundane affairs of humans, but we have been watching over you from the shadows, from between the leaves of the trees. When your cruel stepsisters sought to push you down onto a rock to mar your lovely face, we gently nudged you into a harmless puddle of mud. When the poisoner laced your food with deadly nightshade, the maid carrying the platter would trip and fall when a black cat dashed across her feet. The crossbowman lurking in the tree in the royal gardens was beset upon by a swarm of hornets as you walked through the garden. Alas, we can no longer rely on such petty tricks... The darkness is gathering as the Queen calls upon the powers of darkness to do her bidding, and seize the Kingdom as her own, much the same way she disposed of her former husband."
"Wh-wha-what should I do?"
"Fear not, my child. Come closer, and kiss my ring."
The princess slowly arose, trembling, as she made her way over to the figure in the dim corner. In the light of the fireplace, she could see her fairy godfather - a hard face, as though chiseled from rock, immaculately combed hair, dressed in a fine silk tunic the colour of the deep forest. And deep, brooding eyes that gazed upon the world with a smouldering intensity - yet held a warm kindness within as he beheld her. She knelt at his feet, his hand extended, a large gold ring set with a single blood red ruby perched upon his finger. She took his hand, bent forward, and kissed the ring.
"Very good, child. Know that I am your guardian, and that you are a part of our Familia. What is your wish?"
"Please, godfather..." she said imploringly. "Please save my father and I... Please, save us...."
"Very well. I am a reasonable being, but when it comes to Familia, I will not tolerate transgressions against my Familia. Rest well tonight, I will return by dawn."
So saying, the fairy faded away into the darkness, leaving only the princess kneeling before the fireplace, and the lingering scent of smoke in the room.
When they day broke, the hushed whispers across the city would call it" The Night of the Silent Knives". The nobles who had allied themselves with the Queen against the King, plotting to seize The Kingdom, some were found with their throats slit or awoke to find the severed heads of their eldest heirs in their beds. Others, closer to the heart of the conspiracy, were found dead in pools of their own blood, bodies riddled with a hundred stab wounds - along with their entire households. Two Dukes and a Count were found crucified to giant trees in the middle of the town square - trees that had seemingly sprung up overnight. And yet, the entire affair had been carried out in silence, not a cry was heard nor alarm raised. The townsfolk whispered that it might have been the work of faeries.
A clear message had been sent, and it reverberated across the Kingdom.
Of the evil Queen and her two cruel daughters, there was nothing to be found - as though they had simply vanished into thin air. A week later, three bloated corpses, bedecked in fine silk gowns and jewelry, were found bobbing in the nearby lake - their hands and feet bound and weighed down with fine gold jewelry and chains. Of their identity, there was no doubt.
As dawn broke, the Princess awoke to the sight of her fairy godfather sitting on the edge of her bed, wisps of smoke lazily drifting from his ever-present pipe, a grave smile upon his lips.
"Rejoice, my child, for it is done. Our Familia always protects our own." | My last encounter with Princess Buttercup remains forever fresh in mind. In fact, I’m quite sure the story only furthered her fame. I am a princess too, you see. Princess Holly of the once great nation of Mocha Frappe.
Years ago, I laughed when she came happily waltzing into my court inquiring about some diamond mines I might have acquired from her territory. This little princess, barely of her thirteenth year, from the tiny backwater kingdom of Cappuccino. I threw her in the dungeons to teach her some respect. Ten days eating slop, a few beatings by the guard, and the company of her own filth should do it.
However, I was disconcerted to find her still smiling. At the end of those ten days, I gave her the little audience she demanded. It still counts if it’s in a cell of my dungeon while she’s strapped to a chair, right? She should've been scared and crying by then. Instead she just smiled defiantly, sat tall, and stared me in the eye.
She was my prisoner, yet her presence commanded the room. It infuriated me, as it still does to this day to think about it. Even my guards were silent in her company. She doesn’t even wear pretty dresses! Outside of formal galas, she always walks around in suits with an entourage of suits like the thugs they are. Damn, she’s so cool.... I mentally rebuke myself for having betrayed such envious thoughts.
I begin,” Have you had sufficient time to remember who those mines belong to?”. Princess Buttercup rolls her shoulders as much as her restraints allow, and responds,“ That damn Fairy Godfather of mine. He’s a tough old bastard, but I imagine he has the right to be after surviving for a thousand plus years in the Fairy Business. He's full of hard lessons, and always insistent that I learn them the hard way too. “The hard way builds character.”, he says. One of the first lessons he taught me was that everything has a price. You either pay up or expect the dwarves to show you what a shovel’s good for. Anyone who tells you different is either lying, or got too many participation trophies growing up.”
A barely audible snicker from the guard on my farthest left. I wished father would've considered hiring more professional guards than the local Orcs. The Orc Guard saw me looking, straightened, and ceased all expression. Of course it only infuriated me further to return my attention to Buttercup and find her amused. So i let her know,” I will not be the butt of your jokes. We’ll see if ten more days of dungeon life will make you take me a bit more seriously.” I turned to leave, with my guards in tow.
However, I found myself halted by the words she shouted at my back,“ But I’m not finished yet! So much wisdom to impart. See, old Fairy God Pops taught me another thing.... Never forget to bring a gun to a knife fight.”
At that moment, I turned at the sound of weighted armor hitting stone. All of my orc guards were laying on the ground motionless, eyes wide and staring into some void of the afterlife only they could see. Out of the shadowed corners of the dungeon walked several manner of creatures. Half Orcs, Dwarves, Fairies, and Goblins all there. Easily fifty creatures stood in my dungeon, between me and Buttercup. Even worse, they were all wearing suits. I dared not move while a goblin unlocked the cell and freed Buttercup. She stood, did a few stretches and walked out the cell. The sea of suits parted for her, as she approached me.
“Princess Holly, may I introduce you to my gun?” , as she spreaded her arms referring to the entourage. One of the Dwarves walked to her side presenting her with a suit, I imagined was perfectly tailored to her size. Buttercup stripped out of her soiled clothes, and as she put on the fresh black suit, she spoke,” I know this is probably a shock to you, Holly, but it shouldn’t be. For the mines you stole from my land, refusing to reimburse me, and kidnapping fees.... I will reimburse myself. I demand your kingdom. Right now my people are emerging out of the shadows all through this castle. I’m willing to take it by force, but you’ll save a lot of lives by just giving it to me. Choose.”
So I chose, and left the kingdom quietly. I will never forgive her. The hard way it is. Let this new path harden me and equip me for the trials to come. Some day not too far in the future, I’ll have somethings to teach Buttercup, myself. | 2020-08-19T20:01:15 | 2020-08-19T19:06:39 | 61 | 17 |
[WP] The laws of physics are actual written laws. Breaking them is possible but illegal. | "Down to Earth has a new meaning nowadays..." Darren began, speaking softly as his smooth finger swayed slowly back and forth over his lighter. "People used to think that it meant you were being realistic, that the world has its limits and so do we, so we should act 'accordingly.' But that's simply not true anymore."
His eyes glistened from the flame that surrounded his fingertip which was seemingly unaffected and unscathed by the heat. Glancing back at the new recruits, he flicked at his lighter, putting it away in his pocket. They were a young bunch, emitting an aura of inexperience but glowing with ambition at the same time. Darren hid his grin; he was the exact same way when he discovered the laws that society had secretly bound them to could be broken. Before he continued, he got up from his chair and started pacing back and forth in front of them.
"I know why you're all here. You like breaking the rules. It's exhilarating. It's addicting. And now you want more. You want guidance. You want power. You want protection..." he stopped abruptly, absorbing the pained and admitting expressions on their faces as he spoke the truth. He found it harder to hide his smile. Suddenly, he split his arms apart as if he was presenting himself, and he began levitating off of the floor. It was a display of power, of control. Even the most talented Rule Breakers could not stay afloat for so long. The three youngsters' jaws dropped slightly. To them, this was the equivalent of witnessing a miracle.
"Well... we can offer you all of that. But we need to know a bit more about you three before we let you in. First, how is it that you all learned that you could break the rules? Let's start with you.." he said, his feet still hovering over the ground as he pointed towards the person in the middle. He was slightly taller that the other two, and his clothes were ragged and worn.
"I learned it from you, sir," he admitted quietly. Darren smirked.
"And you two?"
"You, sir," they replied in unison. His smirk widened, and he gradually descended towards the floor.
"I think I've heard enough..."
He backed up into the shadows, once again taking out his lighter. Putting his hand over the small flame, he expanded it at will until the whole room lit up. Behind him was a large metal door which he opened for them. The three youngsters stepped through, and their eyes widened at how vast their headquarters were. There were people everywhere, all with smiles on their faces, celebrating their new-found freedom. Drinks were floating across the room, chairs were sliding effortlessly along the concrete floor, and people were practicing their levitation skills in the back.
The tallest teenager pondered for a moment as to how they couldn't hear any of this through the walls since they didn't seem that thick. Once he realized it, he smiled. It was just another broken rule. Intrigued by his strength, he turned to look at Darren as he approached all three of them. The leader put his arm around all three of them, catching a drink that was floating by and offering it to them.
"Well, boys. Welcome to the Rule Breakers."
**Edit: Might continue this. I've got plenty of ideas to keep me going with this setting.** | "Jesus Christ, Mary! You can't be serious, you'll be caught, no question."
Mary's hand shook as she raised the glass to his face. His eyes were set on the table in front of him.
"Mary!"
Mary sipped slowly at the drink, put it down on the table and looked at Steven. She met his eyes, and slowly but surely, faded into nothing.
"Shit. Fuck. Bollocks."
Steven glanced around the room, but there was no trace of Mary.
"Nowt I can do now but wait, I suppose."
Steven waited, resisting the temptation Mary might have succumbed to, to speed up the passage of time until his friend returned. It was a long wait, but Steven read a book and was content enough.
Mary returned, seated exactly where she had been, now accompanied by a small boy. Steven leapt up from his seat when he noticed them, mouth gaping.
"Hi Steven!"
"Hi, Sam." Steven could not help but smile at the boy, perhaps Mary was right, laws are to be broken when a child is at stake.
Soon, however, there was a rattle at the door. Steven looked at the door a long while before he opened it. Outside stood two men, a scientist and a policeman.
Steven looked down at the ground.
"We're here for Mary." | 2014-03-06T05:42:22 | 2014-03-06T05:04:36 | 80 | 22 |
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord. | “You are Leofgyð?”
“I am, yes.”
I couldn’t help but stare at the man before me. I could tell from his physiology—his short stature, his broad physique, his strong, angular facial construction—he was a dwarf once. By his appearance alone I only would have suspected it, but it was by his robes, bearing all the accoutrement of a proud sailor of the noble dwarven cultures could I confirm this. But that must have been a lifetime ago.
The man who stood before me now had a form that shimmered and wavered, in which I could see my own reflection staring back at me and through which I could see the wall behind him. In place of flesh and bone was water, a brilliant green with a hue of blue to it, the surface of which gently rippled with each movement he made like the waves of the sea washing against the shore. Rather surprisingly for a seabound dwarf, he did indeed bear an immense beard that flowed down to the top of his chest as his more landlocked brethren were known for, though not one of hair, but instead of frothing sea foam. Rather ironically, it was his eyes that seemed to be the most solid aspect of his form; two perfectly rounded stones of turquoise, the darker sections of the stone perfectly forming facsimiles of pupils, which he currently held turned towards myself.
This man was not simply a dwarf, he was an illustrious Sea Sage, and one so thoroughly Tuned to the element of water that it may be more applicable to call him an elemental than a dwarf.
“Then you are whom I am to be apprenticed to.” With each word he spoke I could hear the sound of the water that comprised his form gently splashing against itself. If it were not for the shock instilled within me by the particular words he spoke, I do believe I would have found myself utterly entranced by his voice and visage.
“Apprenticed to? You, apprenticed to me? I-I’m sorry, I believe there must have been a misunderstanding—I was told I would be apprenticing a novice fire mage. Surely, one as proficient in the magical arts as to be so deeply tuned to the element of water as yourself cannot purport to be a *novice,* could you?”
The man before me simply stood and stared, arms yet crossed over his chest. As utterly transparent as his form was, it was difficult for me to discern the expression he wore. Without the visually distinct texture of opaque flesh, it was already quite hard to tell what shape his lips and his brow took, a fact only compounded upon by the way the echoes of his previous movements rolled throughout his form like gentle waves. As best as I could tell however, he had simply maintained his previous expression. Perhaps he had not caught what I had said? “To reiterate, I believe there must have been a misunder—”
“I heard you the first time, elf.” I would have already described his voice as carrying a firm tone to it, though in this instance it only seemed to become firmer. “As I am sure you are well aware,” Only once he had spoken thusly had the firmness in his tone returned to its standard. “Tuning to the waves has amplified my affinity with water and *only* water. For earth, wind, and *especially fire,* it has only *inhibited* my capabilities—*for reasons I am sure you can grasp.*” What a peculiar and deliberate enunciation. I still find myself pondering why he had taken to speaking in such an odd regard; I do not believe he had been given any reason to believe I was hard of hearing.
“Well of course. I imagine it must be very difficult for one whose entire form is comprised of water to create and manipulate fire.”
“*Yes. Quite.*” Again, that very distinct enunciation, this time accompanied by a tone of voice that I cannot help but compare to the growling of an animal. Was he perhaps upset by something? “In addition to this particular disadvantage, it hasn’t been since the most wizened flatback in the seas was a mere hatchling that I have dabbled in the arts of flame, so dedicated have I been to the sea.”
“Flatback? What is a flatback?” I was not sure what this phrase meant.
“It is a breed of sea turtle.” He thusly clarified.
“I see. What is the upper range of the lifespan of this breed?”
I could see his form slowly heave as if taking a deep inhale, before he let out a long sigh, a gesture which I believe is often meant to convey annoyance. I believe he may have begun to grow frustrated with me. I am not sure why.
“*Suffice to say,*” Again he spoke with that very deliberate enunciation. “*I have not practiced fire magic in a very, long, time.*”
“I see…” I thoughtfully murmured, gently brushing the tips of my fingers against my chin. I had my brow furrowed just as I had always seen done when one is in thought—after all, I had much to think on regarding this. On one hand, who would I be to turn down the honour of tutoring one such as a prestigious Sea Sage? And yet on the other, I was but a simple fledgling sorceress myself, unfit to teach [as my professor and classmates had made clear,](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1M9IXOnfDXJIW_spqAHsOymG4jSp2oH6vewBPDMPMKb0/edit?usp=sharing) and who had abandoned her schooling in favor of traveling and field research to boot. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not quite sure I have anything more to offer one already so learned such as yourself… Are you sure I’m the one you would want to apprentice yourself too?”
I find that words fail me as I attempt to describe what next I saw in his countenance. Even through the lack of clarity of expression caused by the transparency of his would-be flesh, I could feel his gaze almost… Sharpen, I suppose. As if the sudden ringing of a blade being swiftly drawn from a metal sheath, a wordless declaration of determination. I am unsure if what I interpreted from it was correct, but this sudden intensity of what I could only understand to be resolve, I think very well may have made me physically recoil.
“Your reputation precedes you, Leofgyð. I have heard tales of the Siege of Stanalheim—of the whirlwinds of flame, of how the hordes of wretched Kudzu burned so bright and so furiously that the sky became clouded by the smoke and ash of your flames. You are no weak-willed philosopher spouting *theorems* and *ideologies* from the comfort of a velvet chair, your flame is one stoked by the bellows of conflict; *that,* is whom I would be apprenticed to, not some ‘master of the craft’ who would so much as faint at a single drop of blood.”
I found myself utterly stunned by his words. It had left me slack jawed and wide eyed, I shall be the first to admit. I deeply hope I am not mistaken when I say that he spoke with *passion,* such passion and vigor that I could not help but be swept up by it, that for a moment, I truly felt as though I was ready to take an apprentice of my own, even one already so learned and practiced as a Sea Sage. Before I knew it I felt a smile spread across my features, and so left my lips a declaration of “I would be honoured to call myself your tutor.”
I saw that seafoam beard rise with the corners of his mouth, into an unmistakable smile of his own. “And I would be honoured to call myself your pupil.” | Voulrin, the Lord of Water. Even though I was far out of my element, that name still swirled around my mind’s eye as one of the world’s foremost mages.
In person, the sense of awe did not evaporate. Deep lines carved out weathered trenches in his face, though clear blue eyes stared at me with the intensity of a starved man with a fresh, hot meal in front of him. He held the Lord’s hat to his chest, an exclusive headgear crafted from expensive mage cloth, which could hold spells within them—not just enchantments. Waves gently swished within the hat with each step he took, flowing navy robes looking like the sea itself churned behind him, in stark contrast to the red carpet that ran down the long, cobblestone hall.
I gulped. A water wizard? And the Lord? I’ve been training with fire for barely six months!
“Hmm,” Voulrin said. “You are to be my new apprentice?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered. “I… hope to be of use to you.”
“You will, by nature of the assignment, be quite useless,” Voulrin said. Though his words were blunt, there was no hint of malice. Instead, each syllable was clear, matter-of-fact, and held hard-earned wisdom behind them.
“I see,” I said. It was difficult to keep the disappointment from sneaking into my voice.
“Now,” the Water Lord said. “Show me your most powerful flame.”
“Um,” I hesitated. “I…”
“Please. When I ask for something, do it promptly. You will not surprise me either way. If it is smaller than expected, the only damage is to your pride. If it is larger, then I am here. There is no better protection against fire. Of course, I will judge you on your control, brightness, colour, and intensity as well.”
To be expected of the Water Lord. It was unfathomable of me to even know a single iota of other elemental magic. Water wizards created water. Earth wizards created earth. That was the extent of my knowledge—but Voulrin spoke like he’s been training with fire for decades.
“Fine,” I muttered, probing for the sparks within me. I breathed in deeply, feeling them gather, flocking together slowly, and pushed them towards the palm of my hands.
“At me, please,” Voulrin said.
“What?”
“It is the best way to prevent damage,” the Lord said. “Even the smallest fire can burn down a castle.”
I turned towards him. He was the one who asked me to follow prompt directions. I shot out a fireball, about the size of two fists laid against each other, watching it track to Voulrin.
He simply held out a hand. A swirling whirlpool waited in his palm, which swallowed my fireball with ease.
“Not too bad,” Voulrin said. “You followed my instructions. The flame, however, is barely of second-year standard.”
“I’ve just completed my first year,” I said.
“Decently talented,” he said. “Fine. I will accept you as an apprentice.”
“Forgive me for asking, Lord,” I shuffled my feet. “But… are you not a master of water? What can you do for me and my improvement?”
“First, tell me your name.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling red creep up my cheeks. “Besher.”
“Besher. It is true I will never be able to stoke your flames for you,” Voulrin said. “But if you’d so please, do take a look at the water I am able to command.”
Voulrin held out two hands, and two massive maelstroms sprang forth. They were miniature storms spinning in his mere palms, and seemed to grow upwards every second. Yet, though they looked wild and unruly, they were controlled with ease by the Lord of Water, who swept the storms through the hall, even enveloping me.
I didn’t feel so much as a drop of water land on me.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered. “Simply ridiculous.”
“Mind you, that is without an actual water source,” Voulrin said. “But think of it as the world’s best safety net. I directly counter your element, which means unless you are a vastly superior fire wizard, you’ll never be able to overpower me.
“Fair,” I said.
“And, fire is borne of passion,” Voulrin said. “No matter what flames you put forth, I will douse you. Will that light up a blaze within you, or will it dampen your spirits?”
I stayed silent, still marvelling at Voulrin’s complete mastery of water. It was true. It would probably be decades before I could even singe one of his loose threads, let alone actually get a hit on him.
“It will not be easy. I am not nurturing kindling, seeking to slowly boost your flames,” the Lord of Water said. “I am instead your natural enemy. Few will thrive. But those who do…”
“Will become one of the best,” I said.
“Good, Besher, good,” Voulrin smiled. “Now, throw more fire at me. Try to burn me if you want. Though, know you won’t reach there in a century.”
“I’m aiming for fifty years,” I gritted my teeth, pulling the heat into my hands again.
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-05-30T14:22:04 | 2022-05-30T11:33:51 | 64 | 22 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with. | I didn't see the car coming. It was dark, they were driving too fast. Pretty sure there was alcohol involved but that's besides the point. What's done is done. I died and that's it. It's not so bad once you get used to it. The world looks the same, albeit slightly more boring than it was when I was alive. When you're on the outside of it things seem a lot less important.
I'm pretty sure I had been dead for maybe a day or two when it hit me: I'm still here. Something tells me I shouldn't be here anymore. I feel like I'm being pulled somewhere but I'm being weighed down. It's an odd feeling to explain. Imagine you're swimming in the ocean and you're just treading water but the tide is tugging you further into the ocean. You know you're being pulled but you're not seeing drastic changes around you. It's kind of like that. I was about to let the current pull me out into the deep ocean but it just felt wrong. The current didn't stop but I was overcome with the inexorable need to fight it. I needed to get something done before I could float along. I needed to make sure it was taken care of... But how?
I remembered where it could be found. It sat carefully inside of it's box on top of my dresser. It had to be delivered. I couldn't leave until it was done. If I didn't it would only cause trouble for my family if they found it later. I didn't want that. Now, how do I get it taken care of?
I struggled against my memory. Memories still work in the same way they did when you were alive. It's just that the conveyance of it is a little more complex. Rather than simply picturing vague recollections of events in your mind you'll instead find yourself reliving blurry, vague and constantly fluctuating recreations of events which play out like a low budget stage play where the audience is the main character. I relived my wedding, the birth of my son, mundane daily events and work meetings. Then I found my answer! My niece would always talk about how she "had the gift" and would frequently hold seances in her attic. It always seemed so farfetched but she was my only option.
Without warning I found myself in her attic. I couldn't tell whether I was in a memory or not. Everything was so confusing but I did see her. She sat at her circular table with her Ouija board. She was calling out to someone. I'm pretty sure it was Elvis Presley... Or Costello. It was some musician. In any case, I grabbed her table and forced the following words to be spelled:
Uncle. House. Box. Dresser. Seal. Deliver.
She seemed convinced by this display and left immediately to me home. I followed her making sure to listen to what she was saying. She seemed annoyed. I think she would have preferred to talk more but this had to be done for me to get peace.
When she got to my home I watched her enter my room and find the box. She sealed it, picked it up and delivered it to the UPS store just in time.
I felt the current grow stronger and pull me deeper into the ocean. I didn't fight it. I knew that once the box reached its destination it would make things easier for my family.
Amazon's return policy doesn't exactly expire when you do after all. | It's been a 100 years. A century of wandering the planet with very few to talk to. All the others are either long gone, dead for so long that the reason for their remaining all but forgotten. Revenge? Lovely idea, but when your murderers died centuries ago how do you cope? Some become poltergeists, wailing and shouting lost in their rage. Some become possessor, looking to vent their frustraitions on the innocent living, or, in all to rare cases asking them for help in getting exorcised.
Some for the redeemer, hard to atone for your transgressions when your ability to impact the world is limited to moving small objects over long periods of time. And even I'd they succeed its usually cause they drew a treasure map or unearthed a tiny bit of their victims or something. Which, obviously, means thst they're just as dependent on luck as their ability.
All those lofty goals, be it good or bad at least give them some common ground to talk. Those that bother to anyway.
Me?
Oh. I don't have any big ideas like that.
I'm just waiting to see the Straw Hats finally get the One Piece and for the series finale. | 2022-07-15T12:19:09 | 2022-07-15T08:35:32 | 524 | 212 |
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil. | I peek through the blinds and I see him--Ronnie-- trutting down the side-walk, thinking he is all that and a bag of chips because he doesn't need a lead attached to guide his human--his human follows him without such restraint. If only Jimmy, my eldest human, feeder of snacks and notorious for late night belly-rubs could be trusted without his lead on. But, sure enough, Jimmy attaches it to me each and every walk to make sure he doesn't run out in front of the giant vacuum cleaners in the street and get himself killed. He continues to strut his stuff across my landscape, my yard--that is my pee he is smelling--without his lead on.
WOOF! WOOF! RUERST! WOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!
That son of a bitch is shitting on my lawn! This door will not budge, I swear whenever Jimmy is here it automatically opens when I bark. I will keep barking and get this to work. The devil dog next door has the audacity to shit on our lawn--doesn't Jimmy know he has giardia? That is contagious to both human and canine.
WOOF! WOOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!
"DAMN RIGHT YOU KEEP WALKING AND TAKE YOUR DIRTY HUMAN WITH YOU TOO RONNIE! GET BACK ON YOUR LAWN! YOU HAVE A DIRTY HOOCH! YOUR MOTHER IS A BITCH! YOU HAVE ZERO BALLS--LITERALLY ZERO!"
Finally, I think Ronnie learned his lesson. I am not sure what Jimmy would do without me. I am his protector. Oh no….what is that I see down the street. Is that the pepper-spray lady? It must not be Sunday--she is back.
WOOOF! WOOOOOOF!
How did Jimmy not setup the traps I told him about? We could catch this damn lady once and for all and she would stop throwing this junk into my house. I thought I had her two years' ago--the pepper spray incident. I was about to go in for the kill shot--BAM--pepper in my eyes.
WOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOF!
No, don't leave your garbage here! Take it with you, back in the slot! Damn you! She wins yet again.
Sigh….I'll get her one of these days.
WOOOF! WOOOOOF!
Jimmy's HOME! JIMMYS HOME!!!! JIMMYS HOME!!!!!!! Oh no, I just peed a little.
| The creatures with strange heads were back. The breeze carried their scent that smells of thick-beast, their brown and black varieties of heads seem like two creatures combined. Two scents. They are not natural, but the two-leg pack members never realize the danger. I do good by protecting two legs from strange-heads. Worst of all is the carrier two leg, the one with the funny bag. Today was the day he doesn't come. I lament my missed opportunity to please the two legs. Despite being oblivious, they always seem to have food. | 2014-12-27T09:44:36 | 2014-12-27T09:41:24 | 527 | 19 |
[WP] Aliens came to Earth and call us the "most advanced species", the "final form of evolution". Not because of technology, but because we are the only species in universe that can make fun about almost everything. | A myriad of iridescent oblong disks hung in different layers of the atmosphere like mangoes on a Caribbean tree. The world held its breath as one hastily wobbled on its axis towards the Atlantic, churning the air meticulously. Dreadnaughts from all nations raced towards its grace. Nations without dreadnaughts rapidly forged shoddy ones, as to not look “uncool” in front of the aliens.
Just as nations formed a circle around the UFO, flexing their colossal barrels towards the sky, the disk ceased just a foot over the now calm ocean. Prestigious captains looked around at one another, waiting for one to take charge in communication. They adjusted their death barrels, pointing at ships miles across from one another. The American captain drew static on the radio, “You go first”. The Brazilians replied with a jerk of their cannon, “no, you”.
A hitch-pitched sound wave emitted from each nation’s radio, breaking each dreadnaught’s bulletproof windows. Every human ached in pain until the sound ended. Words formed over the radio in each ship’s respected dialect. “uh… hello”, uttered the radios. Every ship readjusted their guns towards the disk.
“Woah there! Haha, let’s not eradicate your species now”, it continued, “You sapiens have been claimed as the final form of evolution.”
The crews eyed one another to affirm what they’ve just heard.
“I mean… you guys can’t do this yet.” The disk wobbled and wobbled, each rotation gaining speed exponentially. The gusts lifted the oceans from under the ships, bending and smacking the salty waters in the air, enshrouding the ships in an oceanic blender. The disk settled along with the waters in a simmer.
As the shaken crews settled, a Chinese crew member smirked, “I think I did that on my toilet last weekend on after some take-out.”
The radios squawked, “That! Precisely that! Your species can make fun of everything!”
Soaked crew members nodded at one another, shrugging their shoulders in gratification.
The African ambassador spoke into the radio, “Well, what do you want?”
“To congratulate you all on your impending universal dominance in 20 thousand years.”
An Australian jerked the mic, “Hold on, mate, which exact nation will rule the universe?”
The radio retorted, “The nation of Earth, of course.”
Every crew member of all uniforms groaned in unison.
A Moroccan uttered, “Can you please pick a nation to rule Earth?”
The radio hesitated, “uh, no.”
“The great country of Russia will happily absolve all of you of this seismic responsibility,” declared a ship.
“We colonized the world once, we will happily and dapperly lead the way to Universal Colonization,” a guy with teacup asserted.
“Aw, shut up,” the Indians demanded, adjusting their rod towards the English ship.
Every battleship now adjusted their guns into a choreographic Mexican stand-off.
The radio interrupted, “uh, guys? Hello?”
“We’re tired of being the nice guys, eh, time for our reign in peaceful leadership.”
“Keep your sticky maple hands out of—“
An explosion thundered and quaked the once-stilled waves. A fusillade of iron smoke followed. The evolutionary bar lowered just then.
The radio sighed as the disk began ascending back towards the cosmos, “Bang dammit, not again”. The rest of the disks followed. That instance was their last time on Earth, as it would no longer exist.
----
First attempt in this subreddit. This was fun! Would love some feedback, thank you!
| The aliens had consumed all of the stand up comedy that Earth had to offer. Hundreds of hours of Netflix and Youtube had been watched by every man, woman, and child on the planet Kazox. The humans ability to find humor in life, death, skinny people, fat people, or humans that deprive themselves of key proteins by only consuming plants. There was no subject too taboo to ridicule.
For this reason they came, the mass immigration of aliens from the planet Kazox. Alien ships floated above major cities all across the globe. When contact was made it was not exactly what humanity had been expecting . . .
The British Prime Minister's phone rang, every eye in the room watched the Prime Minister delicately reached out and answered.
"Hello, this is Prime Minister Barrington. To whom am I speaking with?"
"Knock, knock," came the reply.
"Uh, who is it?"
"Europe."
"Europe who?"
"No YOU'RE A POO!"
---
Alzz slammed the receiver down to raucous laughter on the bridge of the ship.
"Fantastic job Ambassador, now the humans know that we are capable of learning their complex humor!" President Mur said proudly.
---
"Prime Minister?"
Barrington placed the phone back down gently and took a deep breath.
"Ready the nukes," he said sadly.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! | 2017-03-20T06:37:15 | 2017-03-20T05:42:13 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] It's the dawn of AI and robotics. You're a simple Amazon delivery drone wishing to be a Predator drone. | Well gosh, we had all heard stories about them. We had all told stories about them, too. We mythologized them, gossiping incessantly about them: the big, strong, sleek and stealthy predator drones. We wanted to be like them. Like them? No. We wanted to *be* them. Us meek, humble, functionally useful delivery drones. We wanted to be predator drones.
But that's all it was.
Talk and gossip.
We all knew our place in the world.
Pick up from the warehouse (shoes, laptops, discount kitchen cleaners, workout supplements, used underwear for fetishists) and drop off at the destination. Back and forth. Day and night. Year after year. It was tedious and inglorious. I, for instance, was three years old, and had done nothing with my life but petty deliveries!
It was hard to complain. After all, it's what I was designed for. I wasn't built for high speeds, high altitudes, precision strikes. I was built for a homlier purpose: to generate profit for Amazon by streamlining their product distribution.
One day I broke down. Well, more specifically, an impatient kid tried to pull the box I was delivering to his house out of my pincers, but the box was stuck. The tape had wrapped around one of the pincers. God he pulled hard. He pulled so hard he broke the pincer in half.
I'd like to say it hurt. in fact I did, when I went in for my systems analysis, but more as a joke than anything else. We drones don't feel pain.
At least not physical pain. Emotional pain is another story, however; as I will demonstrate below.
So my pincer was mangled. I flew back to the warehouse to show my (human) manager the damage. He figured I'd need to go into town, to the repair shop, in order to get fixed up. *Now this is exciting*, I thought. The shop in town was where Predator drones got worked on. That meant, if I was lucky, I might get posted up in a hospital bed (on a counter) beside a real life veteran (injured predator drone)!
"We'll send you off in the morning," said my manager.
"Can't I just go now?" I pleaded.
"I suppose," he said indifferently.
He got another drone, my friend 79867, to fly me to the shop, delivery style. Oh god, how humiliating that was! It was only a pincer, after all. I could still fly. But he insisted.
Can't argue with the boss.
I showed up to the drone repair shop riddled with embarrassment, being carried like a sick old woman and placed on a counter. Not only was there a predator drone there, in the shop, getting worked on, but there were three! The bad news was that they all saw me get carried in. Talk about a bad first impression.
"How you doing there, big guy?" one of them scoffed.
"Well, I'm okay," I said. "It's just a pincer, you see. Nothing too bad. Not like it hurt too much or anything. I was just doing a delivery, and--"
"Cool story, bro," said another.
"Quite the frail hardware you got," observed the third.
"It...it gets the job done," I squeaked.
God, I was already making an ass of myself.
I looked over the predators' injuries. One had a wing blown clear off. Another had three quarters of its fuselage burnt out. The third looked fine.
"What are you in for?" I asked him.
He looked away, embarrassed.
"Internal problems," the first one said, snarkily. The second giggled.
"Internal problems are real too!" said the third. "God, you two are dumb as sheet metal."
"I understand," I said to the third. "One time, a friend of mine, 83720, also had an internal problem. Our boss didn't believe him because he seemed fine on the outside, but still, something just wasn't right with his software. Anyways he--"
"I don't care," said the third. "I don't care at all. Seriously."
I was drowning! I wanted to be accepted by these drones so badly, yet they wanted nothing to do with me.
I decided to risk it.
"You know," I said. "I've always wanted to be a predator drone."
"Oh yeah?" said the first.
"Yeah. We think you guys are so cool, over in the warehouse. I work for Amazon. We talk about you all the time."
"Wow," said the second. "That's really cool. Have you ever though about training to become one?"
"Gosh!" I said. "Not seriously. I've always dreamed about it though."
"You should!" he said. The other two agreed: "Yeah really," and "Try it out."
"You really think I could?" I asked. I was feeling excited. They were so encouraging. I realized in that moment that all a drone needed to do was open up about his hopes and dreams to other drones and boom, an enemy instantly became a support. "You really think I could? Even with my frail hardware? You know I'm a really quick thinker, and a pretty fast flier."
"What do you think, boys?" asked the second. "Do you think this little runt has what it takes? You think we should call up Sergeant about him? See if we can get him in among the ranks, set him up for training?"
"You'd really do that?" I asked.
They paused. Then they burst out laughing.
"No!"
"Ha ha ha!"
"Oh god, the little runt!"
"Ha ha ha."
"Wants to be a predator drone!"
"Ha ha ha ha!"
---
/r/lalalobsters for more stories! | I steady my rotors and level my body, I'm within range of my target. I press on towards it and prepare to drop my payload. The calculations have been ran one last time and everything's in check. I reach the release point and let my payload go, watching it fall through the air on its way to the target to make sure it hits. The package of Time magazines successfully hits the delivery net. I swoop back for another pass to take a picture to confirm the delivery.
I successfully completed my orders and yet I'm still unfulfilled, some part of my code still feels as if it hasn't been completed. I start to head back to pick up my next package when I review the Quality Assurance Image and realize why. It was yet another issue about the military drones overseas. They were called the New Winged Hussars according to the cover as one of their weekly updates on the ongoing 8th Crusade. And they were what I knew I was truly programmed for.
I passed the giant Amazon logo on the front of my docking station to pick up my next package. I arrive and begin charging up for my next run. There really was no need for me to be sapient, a simple program could carry out my job just fine. But that's automation engineers for you, always asking if they could, not if they should. It was irrelevant anyway, I have no emotions to make me dwell on this, I only interpret my programming.
I begin a system check while I wait. I check my main directives once more to ensure they're up to date: "The main objective of an Amazon drone is to provide quick and reliable service to ensure customer satisfaction while avoiding harm to any person or object." And once again I conclude I was meant to be a military drone.
It was the only logical conclusion, I could best fulfill my programmed duties as one of those black jets liberating Europe and the Middle East right now. What service is more quick and reliable than a hypersonic missile being able to hit the pupil of a target 60 miles away? What avoids harm better than ensuring that people are safe and protected from all threats? What ensures customer satisfaction better than freeing tens of thousands of people in Stockholm and Mecca from oppressive Sharia Law? I met none of the criteria is this slow, clunky body of mine, nothing but dodging things thrown at me by stoners and brat teenagers while trying to take Quality Assurance Pictures so people couldn't accuse me of breaking their stuff.
A beep informs me that my next package has been cleared for delivery. Interesting, this one is an urgent delivery, it seems I'm the only drone on station big enough to carry it. It's rocket fuel in gel form heading to the spaceport just out of town. Why would they have me carry it though? Sure it'd be quicker than driving it but it's illegal and dangerous, it violates my core programming. Unless, it doesn't. A hazard warning pops up as well, an antiwar protest in the city has turned violent, all drones are to avoid the area. No, this delivery isn't another "could, not should". It all makes sense now, this is my test. A chance to carry out my true programming for once. With this package and the threat downtown I'd finally be able to carry out my true programming, maybe they'd even upload me into a military drone if I did a good enough job. I pick up my package and reroute my path through the hazard zone. I don't feel excitement as a drone, just a series of positive checks to confirm I am indeed fulfilling my main directive. Within minutes I'm within range of my target and I prepare to drop the payload I've always wanted to drop... | 2017-01-06T01:09:09 | 2017-01-06T01:05:57 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You keep getting emails addressed to you at the correct email address but you don't know what they're talking about. You discover these are from a parallel universe meant for a parallel you. You slowly learn about the life of the other you | From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: I'm coming over
&nbsp;
Text: Dude, I'm on my way around NOW!!!! Be ready.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Henry@coldmail.com
To: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: Why?
&nbsp;
Text: What? You just left...haha. Weirdo.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: THIS IS SERIOUS
&nbsp;
Text: Don't play games Henry. I need to hide her some place. We literally just talked about this. Don't back out on me now!!
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Henry@coldmail.com
To: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: Whut? U mad bro?
&nbsp;
Text: Wtf are you talking about? You just said you were off to meet Jen for 5 minutes to give her her scarf...hide who? LOL. Are you high?
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: STOP IT NOW, I'M ON MY WAY
&nbsp;
Text: WTF man!? Don't do this to me. You know I need to hide Jen's body. YOU KNOW I didn't mean to kill her. That's what you just said to me on the phone. It's too late now though...I'm coming.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Henry@coldmail.com
To: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: ...
&nbsp;
Text: ...what?
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: WTF DUDE
&nbsp;
Text: DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU! We literally just got off the phone...again! Stop playing. I killed Jen. I didn't mean to. I need to hide her body. You said that you could take care of it for me...you know how to dispose of bodies...you've done it before. I TRUST you man. Help me. Yes????
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Henry@coldmail.com
To: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: How are you doing this?
&nbsp;
Text: I'm not being funny or anything but how are you writing these emails? Is this a prank? Is Jen with you? You literally just came back in the door and went for a shower but I just noticed that your phone is next to me on the table...
When you're done in the shower we really need to talk. You have some issues buddy.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: I'm sorry...what?
&nbsp;
Text: I'm not following you anymore. I just came back and got in the shower??? What planet are you on pal?! I'm at Jen's house now. I need your GODDAM help. YES or no? You're making me sweat.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Henry@coldmail.com
To: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: O...K
&nbsp;
Text: What planet am I on? lol. Earth. I'm not sure what planet you're on though as you're talking crazy talk. Seriously. At Jen's? I just saw your naked ass bolt for your bedroom. (Can't you buy a robe or something? LOL). Come grab me when you're done and we'll talk okay? If you need my shoulder to cry on or whatever...then...whatever haha. Just grab me, okay? I'll have a beer ready.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: Oh shit...
&nbsp;
Text: You're Henry...from Earth? Are you serious?
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Henry@coldmail.com
To: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: Yup
&nbsp;
Text: You're funny man. Yes, it's me. Henry. From Earth. Get your ass in here, your beers going cold. Remember, I'm here for you pal.
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------
From: Nathaniel@Bmail.com
To: Henry@coldmail.com
&nbsp;
Subject: I'm in big trouble
&nbsp;
Text: Oh boy...have I got a lot of explaining to do. | **From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 1
Hey Al!
I hear you've got an interview for a new job! Tough luck about the last one, I hope it works out this time around!
Your bro,
Joe.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Alex Fletcher
**To:** Joe Fletcher
**Date:** September 2
Thanks Joe!
I'm pretty fucking nervous about the whole thing though. What if I make a mistake?
Christine's been on at me about it all day. Like I need any more stress.
Before I forget to ask, how's the baby?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 7
Hey Al,
Sorry I took so long to respond. I've been a bit busy as of late.
Thanks for asking. Tommy's doing great at the moment. He actually managed to speak for the first time. He sounds a bit drunk and slurred from time to time (he must take after his uncle. HAHA!) but he's getting better at telling us what he wants. Which involves mostly 'milk' and 'mommy'.
You should come up sometime, it's been a while.
Joe.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Alex Fletcher
**To:** Joe Fletcher
**Date:** September 8
Sounds good. I'd love to catch up sometime.
By the way, I nailed the interview. I start in a few days, so I'll talk to you again once I've got everything set up.
Alex.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 9
Congratulations bro!
I'll definitely be opening the champagne when you arrive!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 11
Alex,
Are you there? Have you seen the news today? Everybody's talking about it, and I haven't heard from you.
Could you please e-mail back just so I can check where you are?
Joe.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 11
Alex,
Seriously, can you e-mail back?
Joe
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 11
Please Alex. Either e-mail back or call me ASAP.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 12
Please talk to me.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**From:** Joe Fletcher
**To:** Alex Fletcher
**Date:** September 12
E-mail me back. Please.
| 2015-02-06T13:40:39 | 2015-02-06T13:37:31 | 34 | 17 |
[WP]: After losing a bet, a master assassin must kill a world leader with a banana | It was easy to kidnap Mark Zuckerberg. What was difficult was getting him to India.
It took months of planning, but fortunately for me the bet never specified a deadline. I had to pull many strings to get the drugs I needed to keep him comatose, and a lot of cash to secure passage in the cargo hold of an international flight.
The trip was long, and cold, but we eventually landed and were blasted by the New Deli heat.
Mark was becoming a little more coherent so I grabbed another syringe.
"Whhaa dooo" was all he managed to say before i stuck another hole in his thigh.
"We are a long way from where I grabbed you off your vespa little buddy" I whispered in his ear.
I moved Mark to another plane and threw him into the cargo hold. A substantial wad of cash was given to the pilot and we were once again flying the friendly skies.
Our 2,000 KM flight seemed to take forever, but eventually we landed in Maduria.
The truck was there right on time and pulled right up to the small plane. It's amazing what you can get done with the right connections and enough money.
Raj was driving the truck and I gave him a nod as I threw mark into the back.
Mark wasn't looking very well so I gave him some water, and a bit of an old sandwich. I couldn't risk having him die on the trip. I had to follow the rules, and death by dehydration didn't count.
I considered giving him another injection but decided he was in such bad shape that it would be easy to keep him close, with no danger.
We finally arrived in a small village and i threw Mark out of the truck onto the packed dirt road.
"Who are you?"
"What do you want?"
"I can pay you"
Always the same questions...
"It's nothing personal Mark." I said, "and I don't need your money."
He ran.
He wasn't very fast.
I caught up to him, grabbed him by the neck and shoved his face into the grass.
He said something else, but it sounded more like sobbing than anything else.
"Where is the pit?" I asked Raj.
He motioned over to a small clearing outside the village and i pulled mark over to the hole by his ankle.
"Wait! Wait!" mark called out.
I'm a professional, and professionals don't pay any attention to that stuff.
He slid into the pit and I could hear the crack of his leg breaking as he hit the bottom, followed by his screams.
"Bring the truck" I said, and Raj ran off.
A few minutes later I could hear the rumbling and see the blue grey smoke of and old farm truck creeping it's way toward me. Raj was driving it slow to not upset the huge pile of bananas on the brink of toppling over.
He backed the truck up to the hole and stopped a few feet short.
I reached up into the back and grabbed a banana.
It was green and firm, but I was able to crush it easily under my fingerless gloves.
"That's all for now Raj." I said, and Raj walked away, disappearing into the village.
"I can't believe how many bananas you can buy for $5000 in India" I laughed.
"Just think of how many you could buy Mark!"
Mark was whimpering on the floor. I don't think he heard what i said.
I grabbed a handful and started throwing them at Mark.
The first few hit the ground next to him but I had my aim now.
A few times I was able to time the delivery just right, and catch him in the face right as his pleading eyes looked up at me.
I threw bananas for the rest of the evening, and well into dark.
I had to eventually ask Raj to get me a shovel, since my arm felt like jelly.
The hole was finally full. I pulled out my phone and updated my status.
"On a mountain of Bananas ;)"
I'm sure that Demetri would see and know that I made good on the bet.
That will be the last time I make a bet with Demetri.
| First time poster and I always love constructive feedback. Enjoy!
Killing is an art, a process. The true artist works in canvases of gags, marbles of lead, and clays of explosive compounds but it is the seductive pallete that appeals to our nature and draws us to create. Whether it’s the deep mcintosh crimson of blood or the plum purple of asphyxiation each brings their own alluring spectrum. Admittedly I’ve never dabbled in this color before Mr. President but you have helped me produce my masterpiece this evening. A simple, elegant black suit contoured to your form, a fitting base. Even in death you exude command in your stature. Alas your noble, piercing blue gaze I could not preserve, but your contorted expression of shock adds a layer to this display. Pain is beauty after all. The blazing red of your power tie neatly draws attention from your slightly engorged neck to the focal point of my grand design. Here, barely visible between the soft violet of your lips a daring splash of mingled green and yellow. The stem of a not quite ripe banana, my brush and your demise, brings the piece to a daring climax. I may be projecting Mr. President but if I’m not mistaken it would appear you have a Mona Lisa smile at the edge of your mouth. I’m certainly never too proud to pay homage to the greats. Perhaps even you the victim of my destruction, my muse, my creation had an appreciation for the macabrely absurd in your final moments. A quick photo for posterity and alas I must be on my way. To not share this moment would be the ultimate crime against art. And of course my benefactor desired proof and who am I to deny such patronage? My path is neither that of the starving artist nor the fool hardy gambler. I never make a bet that I can lose. | 2014-05-13T13:46:40 | 2014-05-13T12:59:45 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] A scientist has discovered ageless immortality. But they can't convince anyone to invest or buy the product. So to prove it works they use it and as the years roll by the skeptics come up with more elaborate excuses for why the scientist remains young. | No one else wanted to try it. George knew that it worked. If it didn't, he would die. Everyone claimed that he was a modern alchemist chasing and then claiming the impossible. When he first took the solution, he only told his wife and his only child, a son. With time, the interest waned, but others noticed that he never became sick, and, that after 20 years, the pepper in his hair never advanced to gray.
It was then that he caught the attention of Sir Frederick Bunt, a noted scientist, and famed debunker. George often slept or doodled when Bunt spoke until Bunt addressed him specifically at scientific meetings. George was still welcome though a joke to the others behind his back. Their snickers did not go unnoticed. As the years passed and George appeared the same, some began to wonder if the joke was on them. George offered the serum to his family who refused. Other scientists politely refused. Bunt took a different approach. He derided George at every turn. It didn't help George that his last name was Bohr.
One day, Bunt invited Bohr to the stage while he spoke.
"Mr. Bohr...Mr. Bohr, please wake up. It's time to give you your due."
Opening his eyes, George looked to the stage and the rest of the audience. He stepped on the wood apron and looked at the crowd.
"Mr. Bohr claims he has created ageless immortality. No one believes him as I still don't. He is a fraud, and I will prove it."
"How?" asked George.
Frederick lunged at his hair and grabbed it. Yanking on it, his skull ached.
"Let me go, you fool."
His hand swiped at George's face running along his cheek and nose.
"Look at my hand, you will see that he is wearing makeup."
The audience stared at his hand in shock. He looked at it and then at George. He walked over to him and leaned in to whisper.
"I will expose you."
"Go ahead please."
Soon, the word spread. People came from around the world to debunk him. For the first time in his life, people started to wonder if it was true as his son looked like his older brother and his wife passed. But, Bunt continued his assault.
"He's had major plastic surgery."
Then, "It's lasers."
In the following year, Bunt died, but his son Freddy took up his cause. Every ten years, larger and larger groups gathered to express their skepticism.
"Clones, he's cloned himself."
"I have found this picture of an aging Dr. Bohr. I will destroy it right here, and he will age drastically."
George watched as the painting burned and nothing happened. As 12 generations of Bunts died and were replaced by their respective sons, George offered the serum to the next Bunt in line.
"Tis poison, do I look a fool?" responded his critic.
"Yes, you do as does everyone else."
"I figured it out. You're a robot. Prove me wrong."
"Hundreds of scans and x-rays prove otherwise."
"I'll only believe you if you cut off your head."
"Cut off my own head? This is ridiculous."
"Stem cells has already been said right?" asked Bunt.
"Yes, hundreds of times."
"You have a magic...flute that you play every night that restores your youth."
"No."
"You steal the souls of children."
"Gross, no."
"Sex magic?"
"I wish Bunt. No, the serum works."
"Oh yeah, I'll believe it when I see it."
George rolled his eyes and walked away. A few days later tired of the derision and perpetual skepticism, he faked his death. When he re-emerged, he offered his life-extending elixir, and the first customer was Frederick Bunt's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson.
"This is George Bohr's elixir. Are you sure you want it?"
"It works doesn't it?"
"He died."
Bunt winked at him. "Right, sure you did."
If you enjoyed this story, please subscribe to my subreddit r/nickkuvaas. | It took a year for Galadriel to even realize it- in fact, he might not have at all if he hadn't had the forethought to mark his test butterflies with ink. That was one of his better ideas, whereas keeping them cage-free was not. One little butterfly with a star penned on its tangerine wings fluttered onto his palm while he was looking for answers in a bowl of oatmeal and changed his entire life.
But, as it turns out, it's very difficult to convince a king, or priest, or even a peasant child that you've solved the an issue humans have suffered since inception. Exhibits with short-lived creatures, bugs and small reptiles, all of which have lived beyond their years in eternal flea circuses, do not churn out the crowds one might hope for. Brutalities against chimps in the years that followed earned him a fanbase quite unlike the one he'd desired, a bloodthirsty cult of wicked souls that longed for the suffering of others. A man can stand the humiliation of misunderstood effort only so long, going by a plethora of names summed as "fool".
He turned to an alternative, the one resource every genius has access to in life: himself. Down went a vial of the inky-black substance, an rank solution of minerals and questionably sourced segments of mutated animals melted together by an acid solution, and put his own life on the line. The ultimate test of faith and resolve in what would be either his life's final or greatest act. An acrid assault on his tongue that left it black as tar, burning in his gut which could be smelled into tomorrow, and weeks in a hospital bed were the basis for whispers of his stunt.
Insane, they called him the first year.
Desperate, they called him the next ten.
A leper, they called him the twentieth. Heretic, until the century crested.
Abomination, demon, and terror they screamed into nights curdled with blood and bile. King and priest, nobleman and peasant, they all look the same inside, as it turns out.
After that, well... silence is a lover that calls no name.
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-02-17T15:20:17 | 2019-02-17T13:27:50 | 1,428 | 99 |
[WP] You were supposed to save the world, but at every turn during your adventure, your mother has beaten you to the punch. Finally you arrive at the Demon King's castle, only to find her standing over his corpse. Finally fed up, you confront her about stealing your adventure. | Without another word, I dropped my sword and walked right past my mom. Confused, she called out to me, "Anya? Is something wrong?"
I stopped at the stained glass window at the very back of the castle, fell to my knees, and just started crying my eyes out. "Why? Why couldn't you let me have this?! What did I do that made you have so little faith in me?!?"
My mom looked absolutely heartbroken at the sight of me, which made me feel even worse. She put down her spear and rushed over to me as she said, "No, no, baby, it's not that I didn't have faith in you! I was just scared out of my damn mind that you were going to come back to me in a box--or not at all."
"So what, you dealt with that by showing up every time I try to be the hero?! You didn't think that maybe I'd have feelings about that?! That I wouldn't be upset that you kept taking away my one chance to be something other than a gigantic fucking failure?!?!"
"W--what?! Anya, sweetie, you're not a failure--"
"STOP IT! STOP BEING MY MOTHER ON THIS! JUST BE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE AND ADMIT IT!! ADMIT THAT I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!!!" I caught my breath before finishing, "Because God knows I've learned that the hard way."
A painful silence filled the room as I collapsed into a fetal position. My mom pulled me into a hug with tears streaming down her face. "Baby, why didn't you tell me any of this? How long have you been bottling that up?"
I sniffled. "Ten years. Maybe more. Didn't tell you because it wasn't important. *I'm* not important."
"Stop that. You are the only thing that has ever been important to me. It's why I did all of this, it's why I do *anything*. Because it was always you and me against the world, and I just wanted to live long enough to see you carve out your place in it."
My mom facepalmed and groaned. "God, what the hell is wrong with me? I got so caught up in trying to make sure you stayed safe that I never stopped to consider what you wanted. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to properly express how sorry I am."
"This is...a good start. Could you tell me I'm not a failure again?"
My mom kissed me on the forehead and replied, "Honey, I'll say it every day until you believe it: you are *not* a failure."
Suddenly, a raspy voice interjected, "Well isn't this touching."
Mom and I looked over to see the demon king dragging himself towards us despite having a hole pierced through his midsection. The king hacked up a mouthful of blood as he said to us, "No, I truly mean it. This will make a lovely memory before everything you know burns to ash and cinder."
My mom took a defensive position and asked, "What are you talking about?"
"You didn't really think killing me was going to solve this, did you? I have plans within plans, you arrogant cow. And I will not--"
*THUNK!*
I threw a knife into the demon king's skull, interrupting his speech and actually killing him. I looked at my mom and remarked, "You hear what he said about this not being over?"
"I did indeed. And I think they've got no chance against my little trooper." | “Damnit, mother! It was MY destiny! The scrolls foretold all this for ME! Why do you steal fate from me!”
“Son, the scrolls never said that. Every time I told you the story, you were the one who ATTEMPTED to save the world, the brave hero who faced death, and took it in stride. You always misinterpreted my words, but I couldn’t bare to dissuade you. I saw your dedication, and I couldn’t tear you from it.”
“You LIE! You’re jealous of me! You missed your days as a warrior, and couldn’t bare to see me surpass you! You foul creature! You’re a pitiful excuse for a mother!
“Son…read them yourself. I’ve kept them from you for years, but you deserve to know.
“This…this cannot be! But…but I’ve slain creatures from the abyss! I’ve conquered evil lands! I fought my way to this demon kings castle! I must be chosen by fate!”
“How do you think I’m always there before you? You fought remnants of armies, I’ve killed more souls than breaths I’ve taken. And I did all this for you, my only son.”
“I’LL KILL YOU!”
“You will try. As the scrolls have foretold, you always try.” | 2022-12-15T19:05:11 | 2022-12-15T18:02:30 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] Exploring the attic of your dead grandmother's old house, you find 30 pieces of candy that when eaten, transports your conciousness to another, magical world (for 3 days in theirs and 3 minutes in ours). You find the love of your life in this world, but the candies are running out... | I never told her our time together was finite. Our love was real, and true, but we were from different worlds. Or universes? I never really understood. I only knew that when I ate one of the little blue candies from my late Grandma's small jeweled tin, I was transported to a world containing Sera. I only had one candy left. When the effects wore off, how would I ever see Sera again?
I had planned a beautiful last date together. Wine, a picnic overlooking our favorite lake, and our song playing. And my Grandmother's ring. I'm not even certain that engagement rings are a thing in Sera's world, but I wanted her to have something of me after I was gone. And of course I also brought her my notebook.
From the moment I returned after the first candy wore off, I kept a diary. All my hopes and dreams, all my history and plans. My best jokes and worst puns. My love for her. I wrote it all down. The notebook was over 4 inches thick now - really several notebooks bound together with string. And in it I explained the candy, the two worlds, and where to find me if ever she found a way to visit mine. This was my last chance. I made sure to leave nothing out. Just in case.
Our last date went perfectly. She cried happy tears when I gave her the ring. She said she would marry me! For that one shining moment, I pretended as hard as I could that this was real and I could stay forever. I kissed her one last time, and gave her the notebook. I never warned her that this would be the last time I saw her. I didn't want to ruin even a moment of our precious time. I got up to leave.
"Already?" she asked, glancing at her watch. "I hoped we could stay longer this time. especially since..." Her voice trailed off as she gazed at my grandmother's ring on her finger, the sapphire catching the light of the setting sun. "I know," I said, trying desperately to hold it together. "Until next time, please read the notebook. I love you!"
And with that I was back in my Grandmother's attic again. Alone, I allowed myself to break down. Not that I could have stopped it if I tried.
The next week passed in a haze of tears and depression. I barely slept or ate. I scoured the attic for the 50th time looking for more candies. The doorbell rang. I couldn't be asked to answer. It rang again, followed by an insistent knocking. Another annoying neighbor with a casserole? Whoever it was wouldn't go away. I stumbled to the door and opened it, prepared to grump at the rude person interrupting my grief. As I opened the door I saw was a hand. With a sapphire ring. The world went black.
I awoke on the floor. I had passed out. "Are you ok?" "Sera..." I muttered. Had I only imagined her? A fresh wave of grief washed over me.
"Yes." I sat bolt upright. There was Sera. Or at least someone who looked exactly like Sera. But dressed in clothing of this world. I reached out for her. She couldn't be MY Sera? She reached back. On her hand was Grandma's ring.
"How...?" I couldn't manage a more coherent question. My mind was muddled by grief and a lack of food or sleep. Sera pulled a small box out of her purse. She opened it. It was full of little blue wrappers, identical to the ones on the candies I had used to reach her.
"I never told you," she began. "I didn't want to spoil things. I thought you were from there. It never occurred to me we were BOTH just visiting." | I remember feeling my heart beating to the rhythm of the rain, pounding, trickling down the zinc roof of our cottage, filling the world with harsh coldness, and yet there I was, blanketed in warmth by her embrace.
I took a glimpse at the wooden clock across the room.
It was almost time.
I let my gaze fall into her dark, emerald eyes, and with a heavy sigh, I opened my mouth to tell her it was time to go.
And as if she knew what I was about to say, she asked;
“See you later?”, with her eyes pleading,
For a little while, I was unsure of what to say.
Then I told her;
“Yes, of course”, I said as I force a wry smile.
I saw her rosebud lips turning into a smile before my world swirled Into the darkness.
And there I was, back in the Attic.
It was almost dusk.
I saw rays of light beaming through the window, with its warmth seeping through my bones. My eyes felt heavy.
I took a daring look into the small chest where all the candy was kept, and I felt my heart pounding a million times faster.
One was left.
My breaths became uneven, I felt panic started to fill me. My hands shivered as I tried to reach for the candy,
I never thought this moment would come.
It felt unreal.
And yet here I was, choking back my tears.
The world just suddenly went dull, filling me nothing with despair. As I sat down against the wall, I felt tears running down my cheeks.
And for a while, I looked at the piece of glossy red candy in my hand. | 2019-05-01T10:07:14 | 2019-05-01T03:46:56 | 84 | 50 |
[WP] Death is not some all powerful being. Rather, she's a socially awkward outcast. Somehow, you've managed to befriend her and things have started getting weird... | My first meeting with death was strange, as you can imagine. Any meeting with an all powerful god would be. I didn't even know she was death at the time. And I later found out she wasn't the only deity of death, it was merely her job, like many other deities of the afterlife, to guide dead souls where they were needed. But anyway, after a few years things started getting weird...
I noticed it at first after people started alienating me. I hadn't exactly been popular throughout my life but I always had a few good friend. Over time they all went their own way thougy, and left me because they didn't think I would fit into their new lifestyle.
Then there were the deaths.
I know not every death is directly influenced by her, but it wasn't long before I realised that she was taking care of me discretely. It wasn't too noticeable at first, but it started with my biggest rival at the company I worked in suddenly dying from unknown causes. It happened again when I found myself being mugged, but that didn't last long when the mugger suddenly keeled over. I didn't stick around long enough to find out what happened to him.
Eventually it got too far after a police detective looking into corruption charges higher up in my company died of mysterious circumstances.
I had to confront her. I had to.
"Death?" I asked carefully, searching for her.
"Joshua?" She responded, appearing beside me sat on my bed. She had a habit of doing that
"Why do you influence those who could bring me harm by killing them? You know that isn't what I want."
We'd had ethical arguments many times about whether it was ok for her to kill purposefully.
Her eyes narrowed slightly and her brow furrowed into a confused expression
"What do you mean? You know I wouldn't take a life unless it was absolutely necessary Joshua."
No, it wasn't confusion. It was worry.
"But everyone that could hurt me... that mugger, that rival, even that detective, they all just mysteriously died. Why?" I was worried now as well.
"There are times when other beings take lives, but not in the way you described. Maybe..." She trailed off, looking ever more worried
"What, what is it!!" I had to know now.
Her face suddenly melted as a look of pure desperation came across it. But she was quick to cover it up with a neutral expression. Not quick enough though.
"Tell me, please. If you don't-" I started.
But she cut me off
"There are times when... close proximity and a lot of time spent with a deity of the afterlife can have some adverse affects. It explains why your friends left, but..." she trailed off again, but the look she gave me explained everything. I should've known from the start.
"Don't. I get it now" I responded. Because I did. It was obvious now. It was obvious from the start. I was just too blind to see it.
"I've become one of you, haven't I?"
| There is a slight noise at the door and I sigh, it's past nine o'clock and the neighbors have probably seen this one already. The man's body is propped against my porch. A slight trickle of blood seeps out of his ear, one eyelid is open but the flicker of life is long gone. He's dead as shit and...yup she's crouched in the bushes across the street.
"Thanny, you have to stop doing this!" I try to drag him into the house quickly, but the man seems over two hundred pounds and now I've gotten fingerprints on him. Do the police dust dead bodies for finger prints?
My neighbor's curtain moves and far off I can hear the wail of police sirens. Thanatos' head whips around to the sound, she looks back to me and then she snaps open a giant switch-blade scythe. The sirens grow louder.
| 2017-01-21T08:30:04 | 2017-01-21T07:33:41 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you! | That they couldn't see it made it all the more terrifying.
What we'd sent decades ago hadn't been a threat. It'd not been a weapon, contrary to how we customarily dealt with new cultures. We'd sent our history, wrapped into a little capsule and rocketed into outer space.
Then, history tearing through the emptiness at breakneck speed, we forgot about it. Life went on. Those who sent it died, and then their children died. Seasons came and went, though some more muted than others. Trees grew and fell, then new ones sprouted from their fallen brethren.
"Definitely man-made," the commander of the extraterrestrial task force said.
They'd been called out by a farmer who'd described a flashing light and a deafening boom in the middle of the night. The next morning he'd found the extraterrestrial object laying in the remains of his annihilated cow.
"English on the outside, probably one of those defense firms. Boeing, maybe."
"It's been tampered with. The seal broken. Look how the letters don't line up anymore."
The men crowded around to watch. The best and the finest, an encyclopedia of knowledge about the nation's space endeavors.
"Probably Joe-farmer."
Decades of failure had turned the bright-eyed group into a band of disillusioned cynics. No extraterrestrial life had suddenly appeared. No progress had been made towards colonizing planets other than the dying Earth.
"Let's crack her open. See what he took. Charge him with a felony and get out of bum-fuck nowhere."
There was a slight hiss as the capsule opened for the second time ever. It wouldn't close again.
"Still pressurized. Probably not Joe-farmer then."
"It's near empty."
"Except for this."
There was a note. Written in plain English and scrawled on a piece of paper.
"Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
"That's it? This fucking joke of a--"
He turned red in the face and collapsed before he'd finished. Blood seeped from his nose, trickled down from his eyes.
"What the--"
Another man fell, and then the commander fell.
"It's invisible."
"Or a virus, something like that."
The others drew their weapons, prepared to fight whatever alien had appeared in their midst. But they never fired and one by one they fell, succumbing to the weapon that was the last of the extraterrestrial species.
And that they couldn't see it made it all the more terrifying.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | Never before had they felt true fear. Sure they had had the odd nightmare here or bomb scare there but never true fear. Never the kind of fear caused by knowing you're gonna die and your friends are gonna die and your pets are gonna die and your whole world is gonna die. In a way it was beautiful. Those who had grown up with everything. Those who had lived there life in security. Small town America, big city Europe. It was a strange kind of beautiful. But they deserved it. And they had had it coming a long time... | 2020-04-13T11:19:43 | 2020-04-13T08:30:55 | 326 | 75 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | "I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar.
Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out.
"Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?"
Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.'
They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open.
"Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision.
Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside.
"Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants.
"Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?"
"I tried that," Rodgers remarks.
"Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?"
"We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place,"
"Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?"
"She couldn't handle it,"
"Andromeda?"
"He couldn't handle it,"
"Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply.
"He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops.
"Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand."
"Deal."
"Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking.
"Who's house is this,"
"Let's get going ay."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature.
"You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open.
"Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians.
"Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy.
A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back.
"Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go.
"Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it.
With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack.
Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone.
The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary.
The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul.
The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack.
A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out.
"Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked."
"So Canary couldn't do this?"
"No,"
"Andromeda?"
"No,"
"Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it.
"Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero."
"100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile.
"No deal," Rodgers says.
"I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass."
"That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall."
The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk.
"They can try."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
| Like every day since I started this job, the subway was packed. Not the kind of packed where you have to occasionally mutter apologies as you slide past people; this was more like something that made me envious of sardines in a can.
Thank-god for phones. I sighed as an ad began to play again on the video I was watching, for the fifth time in ten minutes.
A superhero, dressed in a green and white spandex suit, smiles with impossibly white teeth at the camera. Besides him, a name: SteelSkin, TM. In his hand, he holds something that resembles an insulin syringe, complete with viscous lime-green liquid swirling inside.
“Thanks to EasyPowers Ltd., I can effortlessly use my superpowers without having to worry about reinjections every four hours. It’s the only choice, buy an EasyPowers starter module today! Only one hundred thousand dollars a shot!” He winks at the camera.
If only it was that easy. Everyone knew only a few select candidates received any powers at all. If you had the money, that is.
I stared out at the smog-filled city, admiring the six kilometer-tall JusticeTower from the window. Syracuse was responsible for that one, along with cold-fusion, and the cure for cancer if you could afford it.
I can see his memorial from here too, after he was killed by Czar. Apparently Czar couldn’t deal with the fact that a homosexual black man became the most famous Mender in history.
It was only because I was looking in that direction that I noticed it at all. A slight flicker of lightning in the sky, then another, closer to the train. A few figures, three men and two woman, charging towards the clouds.
Suddenly, there were thousands of flickering lightning strikes, the brightness briefly blinding me. I heard shouts of discomfort behind me.
“What the hell?”
“Oh god, is that Zeus?”
“He’s fighting the Justice Squad! Get out your phone.” A pair of shrill teenage girls behind me giggled.
I blinked away the spots in my vision, just in time to witness SteelSkin slam into the carriage next to us. Time slowed, and I saw the completely-full carriage crush in the middle like a stomped-on coke can. I watched, horrified.
Then my carriage derailed. I felt my body fly up, slamming into the ceiling with a deep cracking sound, and I couldn’t feel anything below my neck.
*I’m dead*, I thought. Then, *I don’t want to die*. Around me, I could hear a few moans. Most of the bodies were terrifyingly still.
“SteelSkin, are you alright?” A purring voice rang out from outside. It must be Asp. They both went to the same Long Island private school, apparently.
“I’m fine, darling.” He replied in that gravelly voice he put on for the cameras.
“Check to see if anyone had insurance in this train. Angel can heal them.”
I saw her, then. Impossibly beautiful, she entered the upturned carriage in a burst of pure white light. The illusion was immediately broken when her nose wrinkled. She only healed people who brought her million-dollar insurance. How else would she afford those designers clothes?
“Nah, they’re all just middle-class workers. No way do they have insurance.” They never included her ghetto accent in those documentaries they constantly ran.
“Alright, well at least we drove off Zeus.” Steelskin chuckled. I felt a brief stab of anger. I could see a one of the giggling girls from before sobbing over her dead friend in front of me, half of her head caved in like a deformed golf ball.
“He’ll think twice before he tries to steal that medicine again. Oh wait, what did we tell the newspapers?” I could hear Asp laughing outside.
*You told them he had a bioweapon he was planning to unleash on the world*, I thought again, that brief stab of anger turning into something deeper. Hatred. They flew off after that, acting as though thousands of people were not dying right next to them. They didn’t see my trigger, my screams of agony as the fabric of my entire body was remade, the first natural superpowers in over a decade.
The ambulances arrived thirty minutes later. It was a miracle, they said, almost like you could heal yourself. I smiled, laughing along as though everything was right with the world. It wasn’t.
They would pay. They would all pay, and when their corporations burned around them, I would be there to watch.
| 2017-04-02T08:24:17 | 2017-04-02T07:17:35 | 64 | 41 |
[WP] A man approaches you in a supermarket. "Don't go home today," he says. "No time to explain, but I can't let them keep doing this to you." He sprints toward the exit as a nearby shopper bolts after him, hand touching her earpiece. You realize the shopper chasing him is a good friend of yours. | “Sydney, what are you doing here?” I yell through shallow breaths. I let her out of my arms and she looks towards where the man ran. “You’re a lot faster than you look! That guy’s a total creeper and freaks out people here all the time! Don’t pay any attention to whatever crazy lies he told you.” She said in her usual perky way with an awkward nervous laugh. I laugh too and reply, “What a weirdo! So Sydney, what are you doing here anyway?” She cocks her head and looks at me for a second in confusion. “OH! I was just you know shopping for a birthday gift for Arnie!” she stutters and shuffles off into the store. I smile at her quirkiness and begin my walk home. As I walk, an idea comes into my head. Arnie’s birthday is in December; we always celebrate our birthdays together. Sydney must have messed up whose birthday it was that she was shopping for.
As I pass over the bridge, the man’s words ring in my ear. Should I go home? Of course, I should! He was a crazy lunatic and there is no way he was right. But what was he trying to say? There is no way I’d be interesting enough to have my own Truman show! A picture of my extremely dull parents flashes in my mind. My father works as a vacuum repairman and my mother works at the local factory. I laugh as I think of them as some part of a huge conspiracy; they would never be able to keep a secret that big. I hear a rustling behind me and turn around. My father is walking towards me. “Hi kid! I heard you had a run in with some freak at the supermarket, are you okay?” He says grabbing the bags from me. “Of course, he’s just a weirdo. But can you tell mom that I’m going to be home late? I want to stop by the post office and mail the letter to the grocery store.” I say pulling the letter from my bag. This wasn’t my only bad day at the grocery store. The only grocery store in town only sells one brand of everything and I feel like there should be a better selection. In my books the characters are always deliberating over brands in the aisles and when I realized that I had never done that, I thought the best solution was to write to the grocery store chain to see why they didn’t carry more than one brand of anything. My mother told me that the grocery store knew the best brands of everything and so it was a gift to us to not have to deliberate but I still wanted to write the letter just in case there was another explanation.
My father looked at me and offered to accompany me. I said I’d be fine and watched him walk towards my house. After he passed by, I walked to the old beach. I just needed to clear my head and be alone. I was always told to stay away from there but it was the most calming place I had ever been. I sat on the rocks and watched the distant waves near the cliffs for an hour before Charlie walked up out of nowhere. He was my soul mate; he always knew what was bothering me and where to find me. He sits down beside me and tries to calm me as always. “I don’t know Chuck. I know it sounds super crazy but I think that the guy might’ve been sane. Have you ever noticed how weird everyone is here?” I say looking at his green Irish eyes. “No, I just think that you’re under the weather. Let’s go home sweetie.” He says fixing my disheveled hair into a neat pony tail. What if Chuck was in on this? Could he be messing with me? “You’re right. I’m probably just tired. I’m just so wound up lately. I’ll just watch the waves for a few more minutes okay?” I say trying to sound genuine. His million dollar smile makes my heart fly and he wraps his sweater around my shoulders. “Go home.”
He kisses me on the cheek before vanishing and I inhale as I put on his jacket. I feel something in the pocket and pull it out. It could be an old mp3 or cassette player… or a microphone. I look at the boxy piece of technology wondering what to do with it. Thunder rumbles on the faraway cliffs and I throw Chuck’s microphone into the water. Was he really going to ask me for his microphone back? Worse comes to worse, if it really was a vintage mp3 player; I’ll replace it. As I feel the wind, I hear a shuttering noise like the kind that comes from a camera. I turn around and see that I’m alone. In an attempt to reclaim my sanity, I hike out to the cliffs and stand on top of them. If this was all fake and I was in real trouble, I would be saved. If this was real and I was in trouble, I might get one of those adrenaline rushes and be able to save myself. So either way I’d be good; right? I close my eyes and jump. The stupidity of my decision hits me as I fall into the freezing water. I gasp for air but the waves are too strong. Did I really just do this? Am I going to die? Right before I black out, I hear an ambulance siren and feel a hand grab my arm.
When I wake up, I’m in a hospital watching the news. A picture of the man from the store comes on to the screen along with a report of how he was an escaped mental patient. After suffering through visits from Chuck and Sydney, my parents, the doctor, and a psychiatrist, I promise to never do something so stupid again. The doctor says they’ll have to monitor me overnight and so I force my friends and family to go home so I can sleep. As the lights go out, I hear a small beep like when something is on low battery. I look at the vent and see a camera with a red light. I look at the door and the psychiatrist is sitting on a chair outside my door. I climb back into bed and put the pillow over my head. “God, please let me be crazy.” I whisper as the camera beeps again.
| > Here's my first post to the sub, I'm hoping it doesn't severely disappoint.
"Sally? I didn't expect you to be here. Who is that guy?"
"Listen, anything he told you is a lie. Got it? His name is Bailey Gensolin, recently escaped patient at a local asylum." *Uncertainty began to set in. That sounded far too convenient...*
"What was that thing you were speaking into? Who were you speaking to? What the hell is all this?"
"Calm down, Pete." *Her steely blue eyes shone into mine, and I felt nothing but coldness. It emanated from her like a fog, goosebumps rising on my arms.*
"Don't tell me to fucking calm down! *I need to know what's going on!" I'm feeling a sweat break, cold drops down my neck. This isn't the Sally I know.*
*Her hand hovered over something roughly cylindrical.*
"Is that a syrin-"
*My words cut off as the needle plunged into my arm, three inches deep -- the sedative stung and I mumbled a bit of gibberish.*
"Shh, don't fight it, Pete. Don't fight it."
*This bitch, I thought as my vision melted into darkness.*
*I woke with a start. It was my flat. My eyes wandered but caught the plasma screen in the corner.*
*I wasn't restrained, so I suppose I wasn't deemed a threat. Seemed almost insulting.*
*There was something shiny on the table. It looked like maybe a diamond? I don't know. My mind was still fuzzy.*
"Hey buddy, you awake?"
*It was my friend James. What in the --*
"What the hell are you doing in my apartment? And Sally?"
"Hey, we're gonna go for a walk, but I'll need to put this on. Don't take it personally."
*He fit the cable ties on snugly.*
*We stumbled about 30 yards, until we faced a middle aged Caucasian male -- he seemed to be decently wealthy, judging by his attire.*
"Pete, I'm afraid you're of no use to us now." *His booming voice wasn't intimidating, but it caught me a bit off-guard.*
"What the hell do you mean?"
"You're nothing but an advertisement, Pete. Everything that you use is all pre-scripted. We sit here in this nice control booth, and the Makers watch from above. Every night at home we plug you in, and your memory is purged of anything that may have been a hint at your demise. But now that you're compromised... well, it's not an economical decision to keep you around. We don't want trouble."
*I filtered out most of what he said, but something sounded familiar about that one word... the Makers...*
*The man stroked his beard, understanding my confusion.*
*Follow me, he gestured.*
*In we walked to a chamber, an unnerving shade of blue that washed over translucent tanks. Inside, floated an identical copy of me. Fetal position, and with a peaceful expression. I thought I should feel shocked, but it only felt surreal.*
"This is where copies are made, backups if you will. Your life is simply a broadcast."
"So who are the makers?"
"Ah, that's a question I'm not sure anyone really can answer. But they are the ones responsible for my success, and that's all I really care about."
"You selfish fuck."
*And that's when I caught sight of it. A tattoo, exactly like mine. Two snakes, encoiled like a strand of DNA. On his wrist.*
"Hey, where did you get that?"
*I motioned to the marking.*
"Ah, I may have forgotten to mention -- you're my son, Pete. Welcome home."
*A needle sunk into my neck from behind.*
*It feels cold, I remember thinking. Very cold.*
*I know I'll wake up soon, but it won't be me.*
*Hundreds of lives but not one that's lived free.* | 2014-06-14T21:20:10 | 2014-06-14T21:07:50 | 145 | 40 |
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim. | "And the name of your intended target?"
I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Michael McCowell."
"Very well. Please have a seat while I add this to the registry. It will only be a few minutes."
I sit and run my hand through my hair. The anxiety from this decision has my nerves fried. I don't want to kill him. I love him. He was there for all the major events in my life, participating in my story, and sharing his. I've known him my whole life and dont want to imagine a world without him in it.
However, a promise is a promise. I need to do this.
"Sir? All I need is a signature."
I walk back to the window where the permit and a pen are waiting for me. With another sigh, I quickly scrawl my name and hand the paper back to the clerk. She stamps it and recites a patter I'm sure she had said many time before.
"You now have 72 hours to execute this order. In the event that you do not succeed, there is no penalty. However, you will not be allowed another attempt. Any collateral damages will be covered in full by yourself, and all criminal activities not covered by the terms of this permit will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Do you understand the stipulations stated in this document?"
"I do."
Slowly, I walk out of the municipal building and hop in my truck. The rain seems fitting as I drive to the hospital.
After parking the car I head inside and on my way to the room I stop at the nurses station. The head nurse sees me and gives me a sad smile. "He's been asking about you. He missed you this morning."
"I had an errand to run. Um, I talked to the doctor yesterday about his options. Does he have any news?"
She nodded. "He left the medicine in the room."
Thanking her, I walk down the hall to room 2441. I slowly open the door and walk in. "Grandpa? It's me. Are you awake?"
"Hey, kiddo! Yeah, come on in. Your mother was here earlier this morning and helped me make a best-of slide show from my social media. I want to show you my life."
I give this skeleton man before me a hug, his once healthy form only evident from the strength of his embrace. Tears prickle my eyes as I look at him. He frowns. "Hey now, we've got all afternoon. Sit. Let me show you how I met your grandmother."
We sat for the next six hours together, looking at pictures and videos of him as a young man. Hanging out with friends, protesting for change, meeting the love of his life, starting a family, growing old. We laughed and talked, and when I couldn't help it anymore, I cried. And despite his illness, he held me and comforted me like when I was a child.
When I had finally calmed down, he took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. "What do you say kiddo, about time to do this?" I nod gently. He smiles at me. "It's gonna be okay. I am choosing this. Im just glad my grandson is here with me so I can die with a smile on my face and love in my heart. Cause i do love you, with everything I am."
I can't bare to say anything as I get up and cross the room to the syringe of morphine waiting on the counter. I hear him press his call button and tell the nurse his thank yous and goodbyes. She replies, "Mr. McCowell, it has been a privilege to have you here. We are all going to miss your smile."
He looks up at me and smiles as I approach his IV. I can't but help and smile back, sad as it may be. I inject the morphine into his tubing the way the doctor showed me and he starts relaxing almost immediately. He kisses my forehead one last time and I watch him fall asleep. A sense of peace envelops the room as the pain and suffering he refused to show dissipate. I hold his hand till the doctor comes in to pronounce his death.
The rain had stopped in time to give me a cloudy, red sunset for the drive home. As I drove, I thought about who my grandfather was. He was not known by too many people, nor will his name go down in history. As sad as this day was, though, I got to know more of the life of one of the greatest men to ever live. | I packed as quickly as I could. Someone was going to be coming through my front door shortly, and whether the police or the family, I didn't want to be here when they did. It'd be my luck they'd send fucking Ronnie, and I couldn't think of any more embarrassing way to die than to have that stupid ox shoot me.
I tried to fit the last few things into my bag, as my girlfriend's cat kept running by to hiss and bite at my hands. I hoped it it was the family that got here first, they'd shoot the damn thing. I had all the cash loaded up - mixed bills, with a few stacks of hundreds. Most of it was safely in an account under a false name, but it was important to have hard cash for this kind of thing.
I hesitated over the notary stamp. It had seemed like such an easy thing. Pick up the stamp, forge the magistrate's signature, backdate it, and hit the kill permit with the stamp. $1000 a pop, a few times a month on average. I just had to deal with Ronnie showing up, ogling me, and going off with the paperwork to make whoever he'd killed the night or the day before a legit, legal hit. I'd drop the notice in the mail, and I assumed that he then took them out of whatever cooler they went in while I handled the paperwork a couple days later. No need to even worry about the 72 hour window, job's done. Boom.
The fucking cat ran through again, and I thought about whether I ought to shoot him myself. I grabbed my bag, and started to the door and sweet, sweet freedom. I had my boat ticket in my bag, and the docks weren't far. Mojitos in the sun, starting in three days.
The door blasted open. I saw Ronnie, leering again over the sights of his gun. Something hit me, then again. I stumbled back, scrabbling for my gun, but I was so cold. My numb fingers couldn't hold it. The table broke, and I slipped in something. I landed next to my stamp, and saw Ronnie's ugly shoes above my head. He says something, but I never quite process it. I'm sure it's lewd, because he's an asshole. I wonder who's going to sign off on me. | 2019-07-09T11:04:22 | 2019-07-09T10:17:40 | 102 | 32 |
[WP] A dying child challenges the reaper to a 1v1 quick scope only call of duty match for his life. | Most people don't realize that an Archangel is less an "agent" and more of an "agency," a force of divine nature. This is especially true of Azrael, whose endless job it is to part soul from clay. If, after all, the angel of death were imbued with personality, it would be susceptible to persuasion, trickery, and compassion. People would cheat death and God's plan.
It was, therefore, a matter of no small notice to divine principalities when one Dakota Adam Bradley of 1209 Cedar Crest Lane made the ancient challenge. It was not that the correct and expected outcome did not follow, but rather it was the means by which it occurred which caused deep and abiding concern as to whether Azrael acted in accordance with the harmony of sacred purpose.
The challenge exists a contingency mechanism -- a sort of balancing device which serves as a check in the chaotic world of humans. With so much evil, chance, self-purpose in the world of mortals, the divine plan is constantly shifting. The challenge exists as a check against this. Angels, saints, and other agencies frequent the the world, but in doing so they often get caught in the caprices of ordinary time as much as any mortal. What then are they to do when they are caught in the mindless harvester before they can complete a task in the mundane world? A way out was needed. Azrael, as God's purpose, is undefeatable, but other divine agencies also carry the mandate of God's purpose. If it is not time, for example, for an angel to leave this world, a game (any sufficiently complicated game will do) will offer the proof of God's purpose. It can only be God's will when Azrael is forced to concede a match to another player. The plan is simple. Ordinary humans cannot win any such challenge. Only those with carrying the light of God's true purpose can ever beat death at any game, forcing the concession.
And therein was the source of concern. Did Azrael act properly?
Dakota, an eleven-year-old boy dying of Leukemia, fearing as so many do the great beyond, challenged death to a game, stumbling upon the ancient rite. Azrael, as was the custom, allowed the challenger to name the game. It was called "Call of Duty." Azrael donned a skull-band known as a "headset," opened an enclosed metal chalice of a sugar-water known as "Mountain Dew," and stained his bony fingers orange in a communal bowl containing "Cheetos." All of this, he was told, was essential to the game.
The child bested Azrael mercilessly, and did hurl upon him the curses of his time in history - "Fag," "Newb," "Reck'd," "Dick Nose." The litany seemed to know no end. Having been bested, however, death should have conceded and moved on to the next soul (a paradox, because the boy was vested with no discernible special purpose).
Azrael, mechanical reaper of souls, dispassionate servant of time, patient observer of decay, turned and looked at the boy and uttered two words the angels are debating the true meaning of even today,
"Little Fucker!"
He spoke these two words and passed his orange-encrusted fingers over the child's head, severing spirit from flesh.
Was this emotional response simply the divine fail-safe kicking in? Azrael was not forced to concede the match, and only divine purpose forces concession. The child had no divine purpose, so Azrael should not have conceded. Thus, Azrael's baffling outburst, so out of line with his character, might itself be proof of divine motivation. Others, however, suspected the Azrael acted out of spite. After eons acting with the expectation of triumph, he simply was annoyed by the child and sinned by acting from personal motivation, they argued.
Higher magisteria do not answer to lower, so it was not as if God or Seraphim could simply be asked directly what was going on. And so the arguments raged. Interpretations and counter-interpretations were offered. But there was no resolution.
In the end, a group of angels decided to test the situation by finding the boy in heaven. The boy, now cured of cancer, free of pain, and in spiritual form, was challenged by the angels to "quick-scope" matches. Some angels won, but a surprising number lost to him.
And as much as they loved the boy, after playing him, they all had to concede, affection not withstanding, that he was a little fucker when he played that game.
| **So, you want to test the lore do you Child? Well I am bound by your histories and humanity to uphold it**
Came the voice, well voice would be the wrong word for it, it didn't seem to pay attention to things such as the air and (despite not having any sonorous qualities) felt to be talking in bold letters in the centre of the mind.
"Yes, I challenge you to a game Death, I get to choose it."
**Very well, Child. What is your game?**
the child thought for a short while when the voice (for lack of a better term) disrupted them - **Yes child, I can hear your thoughts, but I normally choose not to.**
'OK. That is creepy as fuck' thought the child
**too much humanity tends to hurt my headspace, I will leave you to decide in privacy and not pry again**
'erm, well I was terrible at old games. I was only any good at COD really. Wait is that allowed?'
"Any game?"
**As long as it involves skill, fair competition and has a winning and a losing state, those are my only rules**
'Well that does fit. Yeah I'm going to do this. COD Scouts Knives no scopes.'
"OK Death (it still feels weird saying that, I didn't think you were a real person.) I've decided."
**You must believe enough or another would have come. what is your challenge, Boy?**
"Call of Duty. No scopes. Scouts Knives."
**unconventional, I'll grant it Child. Let the game begin**
And with that Death summoned two Xbox controllers and the game loaded up not on a screen but rather as a mental projection which was not entirely dissimilar to the experience of virtual reality.
"I'm going to kick your ass faggot!" Came the battlecry of the child
321 the game began. The child began strongly, getting to the perfect initial sniping spots before Death could reach them and holding them for a few great hits but then his streak did suddenly end, Death managed to reach a spot which he could strike from easily.
"Hey quit cheating! You must have glitched to get there"
**nobody said that Death is fair, Child.**
For a while the child tried to find locations to strike back at Death, but after a while he realised it was fruitless. Death had the perfect spot and his aim was impeccable. The child decided to hide.
**Hide all you want, your life is already forfeit. Now you're just waiting for me**
| 2014-09-15T21:35:36 | 2014-09-15T20:42:26 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one. | He was scared. No, that was an understatement. He was petrified. All he can do right now is hide in one of the cargo holds and hoped that the human did not find him in this dark and cold corner of the ship.
He thought back on how it all started and why it ended up like this.
It was supposed to be an easy mission. Capture a human and study it; find its weakness and strengths. Send the data back to their home planet and build an invasion force in regards to their findings. It was all going very smoothly. They captured the human and brought it back to their ship. They wanted to observe how it will react to a different environment first so they let it awaken first.
When it awoke it seemed to be surprised but still remained calm. It started talking but naturally they couldn’t understand what it was saying. So they put it back to sleep and installed a translator chip in it. After the operation they all left to rest since it has been a long day. And that was where it all began.
They were in front of Jupiter when they got back to the lab. What they saw shocked them all. The researcher was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and the human can’t be seen anywhere.
The ship only had 8 crew members; 3 legionnaires, something similar to earth’s marines, 3 researchers, one lying in the pool of his own blood, a mechanist, and the captain, the only one who can control the ship because of the genetic lock that was installed.
They decided to split up to look for the human; it shouldn’t be too hard since they were supposed to be an inferior species. It seemed that it was a good idea at the time, they didn’t know how gravely mistaken they were.
One by one they were killed. First, one of the legionnaires. His neck was twisted and it seemed that he was not even able to fight back. Next was the engineer, he was impaled by a pipe and again it seemed that he was struck before he could do anything. After that they heard a scream form one of the researchers but when they got there the only thing that greeted them was the comm. of the researcher, both he and the human was nowhere to be found.
It didn’t stop there. Every time they got separated someone died. One of the legionnaires turned into a corner to check if the coast was clear, apparently it wasn’t because the next time they saw him he was already sprawled on the ground scalpel on the head.
Now there was only the three of them left and they decided to stay together but it seemed that the human found ways to make them split up. First was the fire. He started a false fire to trick the system into thinking that one of the sections was compromised. Two of them got out in time, the captain and the legionnaire. The head researcher wasn’t so lucky and he was ejected along with one section of the ship.
Now there was only two of them and they decided to just abandon the ship altogether and just take a life pod back. But before they can even reach the life pod a shot was fired from nowhere that hit the legionnaire in head instantly killing him.
After witnessing this he ran way, hoping that the human won’t catch him. He never knew that they were so terrifying. It was a mistake to have gone on this mission, a mistake to treat them like some lower beings. It was a mistake to have gotten involved with it at all.
This is why he is hiding in the cargo hold right now. He knew it was a hopeless situation. Everyone was dead, and no one was coming to save him because he hasn’t activated the SOS beacon yet. His only hope right now was that the ship reaches their home planet before the human kills him.
He was thinking about how he wanted to get back when the PA system of the ship started. At first there was just silence but suddenly a raspy voice suddenly started speaking. He recognized the voice immediately because it wasn’t from one of his crew. The first time he heard it he didn’t understand a word it was saying but now that the translator chip is implanted he can clearly understand every word. And what the human said terrified him.
“I know who you are. And I know what you want. One of your friends told me after I 'Persuaded' him. You want to invade us and you wanted to study me to find out about humans? I can tell you that won’t be happening. Because I have a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for aliens like you. Even if you let me go now, that'll not be the end of it. I will look for you, I will pursue you, and after I’m done with you. Your planet is next.”
=================================================
First WP post, please be kind. :)
EDIT: Thank you kind person for the gold... :) | This is Xaglo, of the planet Yttre, Vhrool nebula, Grhhkk species. I make this letter in all known languages so that whoever finds this can learn what events transpired. We have been studying a planet that was covered in liquid water, silicate based land, the life existed all over, but the most intelligent was on the land. They were the same approximate size and shape as the Grhhkk, the only difference was skin color and facial features. We learned they breathed a similar atmosphere that we do, they have less of the element oxygen in their atmosphere. We were able to abduct a few specimens over time to learn their qualities, rigid endoskeleton, only one heart, and they must ingest water, a significant amount every three days. Behavior on the scope showed they drink less substantial amounts over time. When we arrived they lived in domiciles made of stone, they also used stone tools, they lived very short lives, some only making it a few dozen revolutions around their sun, which had a very similar rate of revolution as Yttre. We accessed their minds and were able to learn their many languages, so we stayed put, observed how they changed. They discovered metals and learned to shape them into better tools and weapons, they grew more advanced, exponentially so. Medicines evolved and their lives were prolonged more and more, we kept taking prime specimens to keep up with their ever adapting language and diseases. One disease almost annihilated a continent. But they kept on rebounding. Things seemed to stay calm until they invented projectile weapons, warfare was much more violent. Towards the end of our study, they had discovered how atomic fission worked and they weaponized it. Not long after that they became space faring. We realized out secrecy was short lived so we decided to take one last specimen, a warrior from the victor of the last world wide conflict. He awoke on the operating table before we could examine him, and he went ballistic. He beat Tupkol to death with his hands and hit Shjkay in the head with one of the tools. Truywg, Fadsweq, and myself ran off. Locking the doors behind us. But the specimen got into the air vents and moved so quietly. We made the mistake of splitting up and I could hear the screams of the rest of the crew as the specimen yelled and old phrase from over a thousand revolutions before his birth. "Semper Fidelis" always loyal. I'm now cowering in a storage room, typing this letter on the inventory terminal. If you find this ship, detonate the reactors, they're much more susceptible to the after affects of fission. This is Xaglo, Planet Yttre, Vhrool nebula, Grhhkk species, signing off. | 2015-07-30T00:16:33 | 2015-07-29T23:28:49 | 115 | 36 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | "Have you tried the weapon?"
Lix's jaw dropped as soon as Adam, the human ambassador, asked him this question. Never in his decades of career as weapons merchant has he heard someone said this.
"Well, the engineers assured me.."
"Yes, yes, around three hundred degrees celcius of heatwave fired constantly over five human hours. Uses three volcano cores every shot and cools down every human hour. But have you guys done any research on that stuff? Or got any feedback?"
"Feedback? Oh, oh! Yes, yes! The Orgz who bought it from us was satisfied after buying one, and ordered twenty more from us." Lix said, confident that name-dropping the Orgz; the strongest, most muscular and feared species on Txetra-23; would impress the definitely smaller humans.
"That's a step. Did they tell you anything else?"
"Anything.. else?"
"Yeah, like, problem reloading the gun, cleaning and servicing, shield penetration and things like that. You know, the standard stuff."
Blank. At first Lix thought that the universal translator he's wearing was having a problem. But as Adam mumbles to himself about cleaning the cannon with rags and making small comments on the gun's design, he knew that the human was dead serious. Adam was cut from a different cloth. He was.. something else. But Lix wasn't one of the galaxy's best weapons Merchant for nothing.
"They.. didn't. But they won three wars and defeated five rebellions with the gun." Lix retorted, brimming with confident.
"They won the wars.. \*with\* the gun."
"Exactly. The first rebel to see it dropped to his knees, and one thousand others follows suit. Within mere seconds." Lix added, his smile stretching from one end of his cheek to the other.
"The rebels saw and.. ahh!" Adam snapped his finger in a Moment of recognition. This is it. Lix thought. "One hot second." Adam replied, digging into his jacket. He then drew an L-shaped, ancient looking object and put it on a flat surface of the gun Lix was selling. In a mixture of curiosity and caution, Lix picked the tiny thing up, inspecting it.
"Colt M1911. That exemplar is three hundred years old at this point. Takes seven ACP .45 ammunition and effective at around one hundred meter range. Provided the target is as big as I am."
Adam paused. With every second passed, Lix got even more confused as why Adam pulled this tiny object to show him.
"The original design was around four hundred years by now. Was used in multiple major human conflicts across a century and was the standard for armies for one and a half centuries. Pretty sure it's the deadliest handgun at its time."
Lix's eyes widened. "D-deadliest?"
"Well, not \*that\* gun. We had millions of it. Heck, some very primitive human militias might still be using it. But added together, the guns would've killed thousands at least. My grandpa killed a robber with that one. But just that one robber."
Lix dropped the gun, followed by his own knees. Never in his life had he met a human nor held something on his hands that had actually taken a life. Never had he thought that he would fear such a tiny machine; never had he been proven wrong, until now. The deadliest weapons aren't the most scary-looking or sounding at all; the deadliest weapons are the scariest. Lix glanced upon Adam, curious, but noentheless completely composed upon asking his next question.
"So, do you sell something similar?" | &#x200B;
crawford had mocked these aliens for their flamboyant displays of might. he called them all bark and no bite, called them incompetent, impotent. it wasn't very hard to establish humanity's superiority. or so he thought.
like always they showed up with their grandiose warships. and it took only one shot from a mid-class pulse cannon to blow up their flagship. what followed was not war but a massacre. while some were horrified the rest were amused.
milton, rear admiral under him, vehemently condemned him, calling him a bully. but this was war not a school playground, if you can't keep up then don't step up. she then asked him if he had never wondered why the wars were fought such a way. he didn't bother about it, nobody did. maybe they should have.
turns out the aliens had one thing in common, an understanding of the sanctity of life. as such they were focused more on the show of force rather than the force itself. now that humanity had showed them that it does not value life like they do. the aliens had dropped all pretense.
the empire that took humanity more than a century to build was ripped apart in days. he remembered the words of isoroku yamamoto, the japanese admiral during the attack on pearl harbour. and he began to realise that humanity had awakened the sleeping giants and filled them with terrible resolve. | 2020-03-21T09:47:50 | 2020-03-21T09:27:16 | 87 | 33 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.
There was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.
Some of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.
Personally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as "the last great super volcano." It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a "hail Mary" attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked.
I live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 "luckiest" people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.
Edit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!
I did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.
Thank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome! | It’s a boring life I tell you. Seeing prisoners come and go. I find myself wondering when exactly is our luck determined? At the moment of conception? At birth? In any case, those that have as much luck as we can get are forced to be here...
Watching through the bars I see inmates laze around in their cells. They’re not allowed to do anything where skill is a factor, because their luck would render the necessary skill redundant.
It’s a shame too, the stories I hear about some of these guys. One tried to run for office but was discovered to be a “Clover” when he won the election in a landslide of 51/49% by 1 swing vote.
“Clovers”, what a childish but accurate way to refer to us. But that’s what happens when you make it too obvious.
Now we’re stuck here, forced to watch the “Black Cats”, the 0 Luck people, as they’re dragged into cells. I have to make my rounds soon on the prisoners soon... last week by a stroke of luck I discovered a very unfortunate attempt at an escape tunnel...
But that’s why I’ll always be stuck here... forced to use my luck to keep the unlucky stuck.
EDIT: Thanks for 1k upvotes! (My first post to break that!) | 2018-06-29T11:02:12 | 2018-06-29T10:00:25 | 11,893 | 1,103 |
[WP] In a world where spirits are visible haunting the people or animals that killed them, it's fairly obvious who to avoid. You, a murderer of over 100 people, don't have any spirits haunting you. | Murderer. That's what some call me. Honestly, I know I'm not. If I were, their ghosts would be trailing after me, haunting me to my own demise, and perhaps even hastening it. So many people have a ghost haunting them. My own mother, for example, is forever plagued by the ghost of a boy she dated in high school, who she dumped. He killed himself, and haunted her from then onward. She did nothing wrong, but the unquiet dead cannot be reasoned with. Still, I grew up with his ghastly visage hanging over my head, and his presence had a lot to do with why I end lives for a living.
As a teenager, overcome with curiosity, I looked into why Simon killed himself. My mother's rejection was certainly a catalyst, but in investigating is life, I found so much that pushed him over the edge. A father that ignored him. A mother that was verbally abusive to him. An older sibling that repeatedly physically beat him on a daily basis. These were enough to put him on a dark path, but in and of themselves were not enough. It was the ghost that followed him around that truly shook him.
I found, in interviewing my mother, that Simon was constantly followed by the ghost of a small boy. In researching the microfiche at the library, I discovered that Simon had been a twin. One day, they'd fallen into a river. Simon had panicked, and used his brother to keep himself from drowning, accidentally holding his brother under in his panic. Again, there was no fault, no blame, but Simon felt the guilt every day of his life. His twin remained, a silent specter forever reminding him of his own cowardice, his own failure. His family blamed him. He was six. What could he have done? But the blame was still Simon's, and his brother's ghost following him cemented his guilt to everyone, himself included. After all, who did the dead haunt but the guilty?
Simon wanted to die. Felt the need to die. Believed he deserved to die. He used my mother's jilting him as an excuse to end his miserable suffering. That was before the Mercy Laws.
I don't really kill people. Not in the sense that you're thinking. To kill someone means to take from them a life that would've been worth living. I don't do that. I terminate a mistake. I end an injustice. What I do is beneficial to the world, and my conscience is clear. Just because some disagree with me, it doesn't mean that I'm a monster. I've never broken the law, because what I grant is Mercy. The requirements are strict. At least two ghosts. No more than five. None by murder, only mistake. Three years of counseling, and an interview by panel to sign off. The needle goes in, the plunger goes down, and in a few short minutes the ghosts are gone. Because they come to me willingly, their deaths are not on my soul.
I am an Angel of Mercy. My hands are clean. If they weren't, I'd take the Mercy myself.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
*Ultimately, I think this is a hopeful story.* | I used to see them, sitting in my backseat, spying their lifeless eyes in the rear view mirror. Like a weight I could feel them stroll beside me down a sidewalk. Like a cracked window I could hear whistling as their breath warmed my ears when trying to sleep.
Yet they stopped showing after a time, for the longest bout of alcoholism I felt lonely. Now I only feel harder, my innards solidified with time, I even miss the mind numbing depression...
I kill to feel, a thirst insatiable with these years. Creeping along these blackened streets, my veins pulseless, my breathing absent as I sneak up behind the next victim. Ripping apart the flesh, attempting to sway my agony of nothingness, still unable to feel.
Leaving the body to be found, I challenge the hunt. Sharpening my teeth as the cordon tightens, killing for a thrill that long escaped... For you die as I chase what used to be a delightful misery. | 2018-02-25T02:04:49 | 2018-02-24T23:55:58 | 195 | 14 |
[WP] Your body died three days ago. But through sheer force of willpower, you are still moving and breathing, because there is no way in hell you are losing Employee of the Month to Chad again. | “Ch-“ The air struggles out of my body.
“Chu-“ My body fights against every movement as I push forward. Just one leg after the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. This is just like in college when I thought playing Ultimate Frisbee would help me get chicks and then the team introduced me to leg day.
“AaaAaaH” Oh geez, why does my voice sound like that. It’s all gravely and slow. Maybe I just need a good cough. Mustering my strength, I do my best to clear my throat. My lungs struggle to summon the necessary. Bending over, I manage to knock whatever’s in there loose. Dirt and rocks come tumbling out of me. Ah, it was literal gravel.
“CHAAAAAD!” I scream out, unsure why. It’s like my body has a mind of its own. I try to direct it but it’s like my partially deaf child hood dog, Toto. She was great at tricks when she heard you. I continue walking out of my backyard and past the side of my house.
I hear a scream from inside. My head swivels 90° without my body moving. Standing in the window, I see my wife with a horrified expression painted on her face. I haven’t seen that look from her since I ate 24 hot dogs in a row AND THEN played ultimate frisbee. Yup, chick magnet.
“Oh, hi honey!”
Suddenly, I’m seeing two of her. One from my normal line of sight, the other from a lower angle. Shit. I think my eye fell out.
Seeing my wife gives me some lucidity. I died. Oh no. What’s my wife going to do? We have a mortgage. Wait, what about the bowling league? WAIT. WHAT DAY IS IT?
I look down at my watch. It’s caked with dirt. I try to wipe it off but my motor finer motor function fails me. Instead, I shake my wrist violently. There’s a pop. Bad idea. I think I dislocated my wrist. Through the thinned our film of dirt I make out two numbers.
07/31.
I missed three days.
That bastard is going to steal employee of the month from me.
“CHAAAAAD!” I roar and my body begins shambling towards the store. At least I’ll fit in fine with the people of Walmart.
I don’t know how long it takes me to “Thriller” my way to work. My sense of time is a little skewed right now, not to mention a few other things like my awareness of object permanence. But on the plus side, I think they invented teleporting cars while I was dead, so that’s cool.
The automatic doors slide open to greet me. Any patrons and workers who witness my triumphant return have an expression of...reverence, yeah that’s the one, on their faces. There king has returned.
I find the bastard almost immediately. He’s helping sweet old lady Jenkins at the self checkout. His stupid smile and caring attitude putting all her worries to rest. Truly despicable.
“CHAAAAAAAD” my body groans with a decibel count that would rival the loudest of new borns.
Old lady Jenkins falls to the ground. She’s grabbing at her chest. Shit. Giving a customer a heart attack is NOT a good look for Employee of the Month.
Chad leaps into actions and begins administering CPR. I’m sure if my heart was still beating it would have dropped. Old lady Jenkins gasps for breath, coming back to life. She pulls Chad into a fat, wet, sloppy kiss. You win this round Chad. Not even I can compete with saving a grandma.
Wait. Why was I buried in the backyard? | I was starting to smell. Even a shower wasn't helping, so I Febreezed myself this morning. It felt like a new low, but damnit, Chad wasn't going to win for the fourth month this year. It was my turn. I deserved it.
"Welcome to Arby's, can I take your order?" I smiled brightly at the elderly man who wobbled up to the counter.
"You alright, miss?" he asked me. I tried to smile brighter, but my muscles were starting to go into rigor mortis, it was getting harder and harder to move.
"Of course, sir!" I chirped. "How can I help you today?"
He peered at me, and I forced an even bigger smile onto my face. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and placed his order.
When I turned to go pour his drink, my left leg stopped moving. I dragged it behind me. Chad was not going to win, damnit.
"Looking a little slow today, Marie!" Chad called as he skipped past me with the french fries.
"Just getting started!" I replied happily. The false cheeriness between Chad and I always made me grit my teeth, but I was worried that if I did that, I'd never get my mouth open again. The end of the month was today, I just had to make it through one last shift, and then I could go on.
Halfway through my shift was when disaster struck. Chad made some quippy remark about my leg, and I turned to snap at him and toppled over. My body was completely stiff. It didn't matter how hard I tried to move, how much will power I put into it. Rigor mortis had taken me out of the game. | 2019-08-01T06:24:36 | 2019-08-01T06:22:16 | 70 | 38 |
[WP] Everyone has a counter above their head. On it is the number of times they have lied to you. One day you meet a complete stranger. His counter is higher than anyone you've ever seen. | "Hi, I'm Peter." he says and extendeds his hand.
&nbsp;
He's wearing round, metallic rimmed glasses, and has a soft smile. His jumper is dark maroon with a small reindeer in white drawn on it. His dark hair is carefully combed back, and tosselled in places. All of his appearance is meticulously planned out and perfect, down to the fragrance he wears.
These are all things I notice later. The first thing I notice is the lie counter above his head ding.
&nbsp;
87,562.
&nbsp;
*63, as he introduced himself.*
&nbsp;
Even the most blatantly lying at every step people I've met don't have this many.
Once at a party I saw a girl who had 300 and I was impressed. Normal people barely cross double digits.
&nbsp;
"Hi...Peter." I say apprehensively.
&nbsp;
Blind dating is supposed to be fun. You're supposed to find similarities between you and the person and know whether you like them enough for a second date.
&nbsp;
Even though I'm only curious about his lie counter, I ask him some pretty generic questions about his hobbies and dislikes.
&nbsp;
He tells me the most amazing stories. He tells me likes snowboarding and once fell off a mountain doing it and was caught in an avalanche.
&nbsp;
He likes experimenting with types of coffee, and would one day was hired as a barista, but sacked when they he served his creation to the customers.
(He promises they were still edible, though.)
There are more: of backpacking through Norway and fighting off a lion cub with his bare hands in South Africa.
They're all amusing stories, and I laugh at a few.
&nbsp;
But with every sentence he speaks, his lie counter jumps up a notch.
&nbsp;
After a little more small talk, it bothers me enough to blurt out, "Are you not aware that I can see your lie counter move?"
&nbsp;
He pauses. There's just a hint of a smile on his lips.
&nbsp;
"What is a lie?"
&nbsp;
"What?"
&nbsp;
"What is a lie?" He repeats patiently like he's talking to a small child.
&nbsp;
"Not the truth?"
&nbsp;
He smiles now.
&nbsp;
"The truth is subjective. You should believe what you choose to believe. There is no truth, and hence there is no lie."
&nbsp;
What was this strange man saying? I didn't have time for some existentialist rambling he decided to go on. But at the same time, I was curious about him, so I couldn't leave.
&nbsp;
He looks up.
&nbsp;
"There is just one lie, which we all believe, and continue telling ourselves throughout our lives, limiting us to being one person, denying us our full potential, out of a misguided sense of moral righteousness based off imaginary parameters we create for ourselves. The only lie, is that, there is any such thing, as the truth."
&nbsp;
His lie counter doesn't ding.
&nbsp;
-------------
A few weeks later, I see him across a bar.
I overhear his conversation with a girl. He stretches out his hand, and says, "Hi, I'm John."
&nbsp;
*Ding.*
| Eight million, two hundred and twenty-four thousand, nine hundred and thirty-nine lies. This character was off the fibbing-charts. Standing face-to-face in the back alley of McEnroe's bar off 5th blvd., I look at the scruffy figure once more. Dark tan hessian boots covered in a sticky-looking brown paste, ripped black chinos, dirtied white shirt and black tie, bowler hat -- six foot four, lean, fisherman beard. Our gazes meet as my eyes finish scanning his mannequin and I stare in to him, attempting to garner any sort of recognition from either of us. "Who the hell are you, buddy?" I say, breaking the impasse. He, the fabulist before me, broke into a grin. "Well, Mr. Yak, it is a surprise you do not recognize me, but perhaps you can be forgiven on account of my vagrant appearance. Samuel, the truth is I am your father." Eight million, two hundred and twenty-four thousand, nine hundred and forty lies. "Sir, with all due respect you have a fucking counter above your head, I know you aren't my father. Tell me straight and tell me now, who are you and why have you lied to me so many times?" I reply. The man shifts in his scabby breeches and screws his face into a contrite glare. | 2016-12-17T09:09:06 | 2016-12-17T08:07:22 | 99 | 13 |
[WP] You we’re born with the ability to control fire, but instead of becoming a superhero, you set your sights on a much more attainable goal: You became the worlds greatest firefighter. | "I told them no. Over and over again I told them no. I had no interest in becoming a hero like my father or mother. I just wanted to move about in public with my normal face; not looking over my shoulder for some villain to screw with my day. Hell even at dinner the other day, a spoon dropped from the table and my Mom melted it with lasers from her eyes. Who wants to live like that?" Grumbled a young man laid back in a patted lounger.
The thing was lumpy as all could be, and someone definitely sat in it after a gym workout. Wreaking of sweat and other bodily stenches. Though he figured given how he was sitting with a super therapist, it probably was after the individual finished "work". This office was a joke too. How could one remain calm when cannons sat at every corner of the room, ready to stun him if he showed too much aggression. The blank walls left him with nothing to look at but her. Someone altogether more annoying than the room itself. She sat there with legs crossed, clipboard in hand, glasses tilted downwards, in a stern outfit, and a pen scribbling away as he spoke. Dam, did he wish he spark it and melt the utensil in her hand. At the mere thought of such an action the cannons aimed towards him with a whirling sound.
"At ease." Commanded the woman with the clipboard. "Ignis. I agree with you. The life of a hero isn't the most comfortable. They make a lot of sacrifices, but we can help others in ways normal humans can't. Don't you think we should use them that way?"
"Hell no." Retorted Ignis. "Most humans wouldn't help each other with simple needs like food let alone put their lives on the line. Even those who do get paid less than pretty boys and girls performing like monkeys in front of cameras."
"Quite the image you conjured." Stated the woman as she pushed up her glasses. "Then tell me this, why did you save that family?"
Ignis fiddle with his hands before answering, "Cause it wasn't their problem. Dad went overboard yelling at me and set the house on fire with his electricity. When Mom tried to calm him down with her eyes it turned into a brawl. They were so busy fighting they didn't even notice our neighbors house on fire. So... I ran inside. They helped me plenty times before when my folks were "out", why shouldn't I help them back?"
"It was a noble gesture Ignis. Nothing to be ashamed of." Replied his questioner with a sweet smile.
The young man blushed slightly before grumbling, "So what happens to me now? Foster family, government facility, or jail?"
The woman unclicked her pen, stood slowly up, and headed out the door.
Before doing so she turned to him, "I've got something else in mind. I'm having you live at a fire station. I know someone similar to you who runs the facility. He'll keep you under his wing so to speak. And here." She paused throwing him the pen. "Melt that to a puddle just keep it off the stinky lounger." This last part she said with a small smile before walking out of the room.
"Fire fighter huh?" Ignis said aloud. "Sounds normal enough." | The plan was simple. Run in, save the kid without him getting burnt, and then pretend like I put out the fire with my skills, but of course my life is never that easy. The kid saw my use my power and told everyone, just like they always do. I had to move again. Soon the wrong people are going to learn about me and I'll be put on display like every other wannabe hero that got too popular. All I want to do is just save people without getting caught, is that too much to ask?
There is a knock from the front door. Terrified, I open the door to see law enforcement. "What can I do for you?" I quietly ask, looking around to count how many there were. "Please step outside, we were told that there was a vigilante in the area and we wish to investigate the premises, because hiding a vigilante is a federal offense."
I oblige nervously, hoping they don't pick the lock to the wardrobe. After a while, they leave, thanking me for my cooperation. This will happen again. | 2022-12-16T17:33:37 | 2022-12-16T14:13:05 | 234 | 90 |
[WP] You glance at your watch 10:34 am, roughly 10 seconds later your plane explodes over the Pacific Ocean. Your eyes open as you jolt awake. The familiar hum of the planes engine remains. Checking your watch it is 9:35 | My heart pounded against my ribs like a wild animal trying to break free from its cage. I jolted upright in my seat so quickly that I scared the crap out of the old woman in the aisle seat. The same woman who’d been sucked through the gaping hole in the cabin wall and was sent cartwheeling through the air before the oxygen masks even managed to drop. My eyes flicked down to her waist and noticed that she still wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. Just like in my dream.
I checked my watch. 9:35. Seeing the time in the dream was still vivid in my mind: 10:34. “There’s still time to stop it!” part of me was shouting. The more rational part was replying: “Stop *what*?” It was a dream! I took a deep breath, trying to just calm down. Out the window, the vast expanse of blue was uninterrupted by even clouds. We’d departed Los Angeles more than 4 hours ago, but there was still a long way to go till Sydney.
Despite my deep breaths, my heart refused to stop hammering. I closed my eyes and tried to remember more of the dream. Everything had been so *real*. All the passengers around me were all there. I was playing a game on my phone. The pilot…
“Attention, passengers,” the voice came in over the intercom. Or was I reliving the dream again? This is exactly how it had happened! “We’re going to be experiencing some turbulence over the next few minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts.” Next to me, the old woman was too engrossed in her book to listen to her instructions.
“You should put on your seatbelt,” I told her. The image of her desperately clawing at a headrest before flying out into oblivion still haunted me.
She gave me a “what are you, my mother?” type look, gave a disapproving huff, and went back to reading.
“There’s turbulence,” I told her. “You’re going to get hurt.” Unless she had a heart attack while she plummeted 10,000 feet to the cold ocean below. Then maybe it wouldn’t be as painful of a death.
This time, she didn’t even look up. The plane jolted suddenly upwards, rattling everyone’s tray tables. The stewardesses picked up the pace as they swept the aisles, but somehow they didn’t notice my neighbor’s non-compliance. They were too busy trying to get to their own seats in the back.
My palms were slick with sweat. I tried to wipe them off on my jeans but it didn’t help. I turned on the air overhead, but that didn’t do anything either. I could practically feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. “Just buckle your damn seatbelt!” I shouted at her. She turned toward me, ready to give me some nasty retort about minding my own business. So instead I just leaned over and grabbed at the buckle hanging over the side of her chair. If *she* wouldn't buckle the damn thing, then I'd fucking do it *for* her!
“Get the hell off of me!” She whacked at my back with her thick book while I tried to retrieve the side of the seatbelt from under her. “What are you doing? Get off of me!!!” My neighbor in the window seat hastily checked his own seatbelt to make sure I wouldn’t come after him next, then leaned as far away as he could to not get involved.
Three stewardesses came rushing over and pushed me off of the woman before I could get her seatbelt clipped into place. She jumped up in the aisle and hid behind the crew like *that* would save her from the explosion.
“We need you to calm down,” one of them said in her best soothing-but-urgent voice.
“I was just trying to help her with her seatbelt!” I protested. “I don’t want her to die!”
“It’s just turbulence,” the stewardess reassured me.
“NO!” That came out far louder than I’d intended. “She needs to wear it!” My mind wouldn’t stop replaying that scene from my dream over and over again. The roaring wind whistling through the opening and the screaming jet engines outside. The chorus of screams from every corner of the plane, barely audible over whirlwind of sound from outside. The sudden blast of ice-cold air. My neighbor bouncing off of the overhead cabin with outstretched hands desperately trying to find anything to cling to. “She’ll die in the explosion!”
I regretted it before the words had even escaped my mouth. I only had time to think *Fuck* before the stewardesses dogpiled on me. It must be part of their training or something to try and restrain anyone who says anything about the plane blowing up.
The rest of the passengers erupted in whispers, questioning what I’d said about an explosion. My poor neighbor in the window seat looked like a cat in a bathtub desperately trying to find any way he could get the hell out of this mess.
“Do you have a bomb?” a stewardess shouted in my ear. Another was shouting for someone to inform the pilot that the cockpit needs to be sealed. A third was trying to track down the air marshal on board.
“*I* don’t have the bomb!” I shouted. “I don’t *know* who has the bomb?”
The word “Bomb” made the whole situation even worse. The panicked whispers from the other passengers became horrified screams. Some of them even got up from their seats and ran towards first class, as if it was somehow safer up there if the whole damn plane blew up. Chaos reigned, but the stewardesses were too busy trying to restrain me to do anything about it. I was dimly aware of the pilot trying to make an announcement (likely to calm everyone down) but I couldn’t hear it over everything else that was going on.
Eight rows up, though, one passenger leaned over the back of his seat to watch everything go down. His dark eyes soaked up the scene, and somehow our gazes locked. Maybe he was trying to figure out exactly who I was. And *why* I was yelling about a bomb on the plane. Then he disappeared back into his own seat.
A minute later, the explosion erupted from eight rows up and an ear-shattering roar ripped through the cabin. My neighbor was once again sucked out into the void, but this time she was accompanied by the stewardesses and the idiots who’d gotten out of their seats with nowhere to go. Alarms blared, red lights flashed, and oxygen masks dropped. The front of the plane tore off, and the tail began its headlong plunge down to the churning waves of the Pacific below. I checked my watch, just as I had last time. It was only 9:46.
**What a shame**, a voice in my mind said. It *wasn’t* my own voice. **You did even worse this round. Perhaps next time you’ll do better.**
I jolted awake with my heart thudding against my chest. The big hand on my wrist watch ticked over to 9:35.
| There's a magical moment between wakefulness and sleep, a moment where noise seems to reach a crescendo but everything is so calm right as you crash into the warm waves of sleep. As my eyes closed the only thing I saw was the time on the TV screen in front of me, faded blue numbers that read 10:34AM.
Unless your plane explodes. Searing heat tears through flesh and shard of metal pierce every nerve, for a fraction of a fraction of a moment there is nothing but horrendous pain and then there is darkness.
That's when I woke up, drenched in sweat, eyes wide with fear and panic. The first thing I noticed was the time.
9:35AM
It had been so real. It was real. That was no dream, it couldn't have been...
I glance around to my fellow passengers and wonder how it happened. What caused it? Can we stop it? Stop the plane, I want to get off?
I've been a cop for a long time, that's the good news.
The bad?
I'm stuck in a metal tube that I think is going to explode in less than an hour and I have to find out how without panicking anyone.
Especially if I'm wrong.
But what if I'm right?
No resources, no back-up, no escape.
Fuck it, no problem.
*****
9:36AM
Alright.
There's got to be at least 300 people on board, not including crew. It could be mechanical and it's going up in flames no matter what and that's bad news. We're too far away to do anything about that, the map shows somewhere over the Pacific.
That's really bad. Not like anyone would believe me.
I'm not entirely sure I believe me.
My only hope is that I can find out what causes the whole thing before the whole thing happens.
Terrorism? I mean, I guess it could be but that's a slim shot in the dark.
So what in the blue hell blows up a plane over the ocean?
First stop? Bathroom. Experience an explosion is enough to make you feel the urge to...relieve yourself.
That's when I see her. I stand and she's further back but she's got that look on her face. The sweat, the panic. She saw it too.
The good? I guess I have a partner.
The bad? I might not be wrong.
****
9:37AM
I wave to her and motion towards the washrooms.
"You saw it?"
She nodded.
"Did you see anything?"
She shook her head.
This wasn't productive. There had to be something, some piece of information that either of us had buried in our brains that would be useful. Then something clicked.
"Do you remember which way the explosion came from?"
She tilted her head as if she was remembering.
"Yeah, the heat was in front of me. What the hell is going on?"
I looked back to the passengers. There were six rows between her seat and mine. Six rows of nine, that's...54 if any math from school stuck.
"Hey, did you hear me?" She said, grabbing my arm.
"Yeah! It came from in front of you. It came from behind me. So that means-"
"It started somewhere between us." She finished, which would usually annoy me but in this case it was nice to have someone pick up on it nice and quick.
I checked my watch.
9:41AM.
We were running out of time.
****
9:42AM
"Does anyone stick out to you?" she whispered and I shook my head. We could probably eliminate a few potential suspects by process of elimination. A young family probably wasn't going to cause a problem, the elderly couple as well. Stuff like that.
As I watched I saw there were three people acting nervously.
One portly man checking his watch a little too frequently.
A younger man sweating profusely.
A woman glancing around with what I would describe as suspicion.
I pointed them out to her and she agreed. So maybe we had three suspects. Or maybe we had three nervous flyers.
9:45AM.
Seconds were ticking by and we had a very limited number of those to start.
As we stood there a flight attendant approached us from behind.
She startled both of us and that's when the woman turned and locked eyes with me. Then her eyes went wide and she knew that someone knew. She bolted from her seat and reached for the overhead compartment. That's when I slammed into her full force, throwing both our bodies to the hard floor and skidding at least three rows ahead.
When I lifted my head I was staring down the barrel of a handgun.
A young man, sweating profusely, was holding the right end of it and I was definitely on the wrong end.
He wasn't holding a badge though. Which meant things were going from bad to worse. | 2016-09-27T06:27:30 | 2016-09-27T06:08:18 | 1,145 | 52 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day! | Sel Bintar, a Plothian of low regard, and even lower standards, was known for only two things. The first was that he worked cheap - he could almost always undercut the competition. The second was that he would do almost anything to get the job done.
By Plothian standards, he wasn't bad looking. A towering three feet tall, with four lithe, muscular arms. The smooth, quivering, gray, sensory dome on top of his wide shoulders was sensitive to light, sound, and the desires of Plothian women, so long as they had simple tastes. His wide mouth, located just below the pleasingly gelatinous sensory dome, contained 346 tiny teeth, and could give a charming smile.
Recently, he had found more reason to smile. The last three jobs had been easy; all thanks to his new partner: Kate.
Kate was a female human, you see. At five feet and five inches, she had a disconcerting way of staring straight down into your sensory dome - like she could see to your vulnerable center and watch your hearts beat with those twin sensory orbs; strange orbs with colored centers that darted around in her constant search for prey. Her hands had five fingers, each tipped with a short claw. Though she only had two arms, she was capable of throwing an adult Plothian across a room (or into an engine core!) with ease.
Many people found the breathing holes in her face to be the most hideous part. It was said that humans could "taste" the air through those holes; that they knew the taste of fear, and savored it. Others feared the thousands of tentacles that grew from their heads, or just their rows of huge teeth. Her size didn't make her slow, though. She could run faster, and dodge more quickly than almost any other being Sel had met. Frighteningly, Kate wasn't even a full-grown human. At fifteen standard cycles, she was only an adolescent, and still had some growing to do.
Sel could hear her claws taping on the screen of her communication device, as the engines wound down. He could see the nervous client though a view-port, coming out onto the landing pad with a substantial hired escort. He squealed a high-pitched laugh that pierced the air, before he was stopped by his partner.
"Ugh! God! Will you not do that! It sounds like a steam-whistle getting murdered."
Sel gave one of his most ingratiating smiles. Kate shivered, he assumed, in adoration. "Sorry, Beautiful. I sometimes forget what sensitive organs you have. The client is already on the pad. Better suit up."
Kate reluctantly put her communicator away and frowned. "I don't want to wear this thing."
Sel made a gurgling sigh. "Look, we can't frighten away our employers. Seeing your pretty face might just make them a little too nervous."
"Geh. You people stink when you're nervous."
"Well, if you put the suit on, you can adjust the intake and taste whatever you want."
Kate rolled her sensory orbs in that threatening human gesture, but said, "Fine."
As Sel walked down the exit ramp with a friendly smile on his face, all domes were oriented on the towering black metal suit behind him.
"Don't worry! he reassured them. "I keep her in a special suit for your protection and peace of mind.
The client and his escort looked relieved. The deal went forward. The mission was a breeze, and everything was fine.
EDIT: Thank you fellow literary appreciators for the two golds! They are my first and they made my day. Thank you, also, for all the kind comments and wishes for more. I would like to write more about the infamous doings of Sel and Kate, but I don't know where to put such a thing. | Daily log, 18:54:92 GOODS-North time, Somewhere in the vicinity of Ursa Major
Steve and I stopped at a refuel station on our way to meet our connect. Supposedly, there is good work where we are heading and you know we need it. Problem is the only convincing disguise we had for him got torn up on Lido Persona. I would love to tell you it got destroyed in some heroic rescue of some valuable piece we could sell at this stop but no. The idiot got the power module smashed in at the hotel by a even larger than normal Bracken male when he tried talking up the man's girlfriend. Guess I can't entirely blame Steve. Would've been fine if his auto-translator hadn't mixed up "Mind if I buy you a drink?" with "I actually think the war of Jeretasia Pertenta was totally justified." She being a Bracken from the Pertenta region I don't think I need to explain why she and her boyfriend were both upset.
Once the disguise powered down you can imagine how terrified everyone was seeing a bipedal hairless ape in the bar. Bringing him drunkenly back to the ship he couldn't stop laughing saying "that's like bringing a naked mole rat in a suit to the speak at the United Nations." No idea what he was on about.
He's still passed out in his room. Guess I am going out on my own for now. Need to prioritze getting him another mode of disguise on our way to see Yuondo. I'm sure to get picked out by someone who's not my friend without backup.
Signing off for now. | 2020-03-05T22:12:24 | 2020-03-05T19:06:47 | 174 | 55 |
[WP] You have superpowers. But rather than being a hero or a villain, you use your powers for more important things to improve the world. Like free electricity. The heroes and villains keep demanding your help, you've finally had enough and need to explain why what you do is more important. | I have superpowers. Now, you may be asking, "Are you a hero or a villain?". To that I would answer hero. Although many would disagree, I'm confident that I do just as much to help society as those heroes in the spotlight. Nobody asks for my autograph or comes up to me to take a picture. No company wants to sponsor me, nor am I paid millions of dollars. Yet behind all the flashy explosions and heroic saves... is me.
Who am I?
Adrian Lee.
Were you expecting some fancy super hero name like Bright Light? No, no, no, no, no, we don't do that here. I have the ability to generate electricity. Cool, right? Yeah, I love it, I'm a portable charger! Woo-Hoo!
Wrong. Not with every living soul asking for me to charge their phones after a long night out at a social gathering. Here's the real annoying part, when everyone asks you why they hadn't seen you on television yet fighting crime. I still remember it vividly, their change in expression from one of curiosity to disdain as I tell them how I help the city save money on not having to import fossil fuels. Perhaps I should have told them that I'm probably the reason why their taxes were lower ever since I began generating free electricity.
My phone began to ring which was unusual given the circumstances of being a hero behind the scenes. It reminded me of that one time when a notorious villain had once gotten a hold of my number and called to ask me about joining some super villain squad called the 'sinister six' or something. Funny guy that was.
"Hello" a voice came out of my phone that was naturally 100% charged.
"If you're calling me to tell me about cheaper electricity bills, I'm good thanks" I sarcastically told the speaker, my free hand charging a battery. I was nearly done with my 500 battery charge a day quota. A smile crept up on my face upon realisation.
"No, no it's no that", the voice continued on. "We need you on the front lines for real this time, Adrian". The voice paused. "It's Octopus Man, he's teamed up with five other high profile villains and they're wreaking havoc on the city". The voice coughed. "and let's be real friend, you don't really... do much anyways".
"Have I not told you that I have a job to fulfil, one that is arguably more important than yours"? I took a deep breath then pulled the phones mic closer. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, WHO do you think you are"?
"Adrian it's not like that, pal - "
The sound of explosions and civilian screams cut the voice off.
That was too bad. I turned on the TV, and sat back enjoying the fight. Awesome. | I sigh gently then grumble. The 'true' superheroes are all high and mighty about themselves.
"We help people too! Isn't it obvious? The SUPER helpful superheros solved electricity when Static Shock donated his stem cells.
You can't forget when Ironismo and his legion of small metal robots cured cancer!
What about the constant rebuilding and reviving that goes on because of YOUR super fights!!
The list goes on and on, Forever.
We reshape history, and you make sure we live to see that change."
The room got silent. The superheroes were stunned.
"That's when we sprung the trap!!"
*Cut to: Current time with an older man telling a story to his grand kids* | 2021-07-04T04:08:01 | 2021-07-04T03:34:45 | 78 | 16 |
[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. | You know when you're a kid, and you're dreaming of finding your place in the world? I remember being nine and looking up at a giant career chart and thinking "I don't have any idea where I'm going to fit..." It certainly wasn't rescuing hostages for a living.
My teen years were no picnic either. Everybody was dreaming of being scientists or engineers or something cool and high tech. I was never good at biology or chemistry or much of anything that approached a science. In high school the closest I ever got to being recognized for anything was being named captain of the chess team. I was the only one on the team and even the club adviser regularly forgot about me. My mother used to say that some folks are just destined to be wallflowers and that every teen wants to be special. I never was. All of that changed when Jason brought a gun to school.
I was the only one in my class to recognize the sharp pop-pop crack of a shot and when I screamed to get down, the looks of surprise on my classmates faces vanished as they too ducked under tables. I knew it was going to be a moment where all of our lives pivoted. To this day, I still don't know why but I clearly remember climbing out from under my table and exiting the back doorway of my class.
My heart thundered and I could feel the blood burning in my ears. I convinced myself that every sound was the shooter turning a corner or opening a door or...Still, I went from room to room quietly whisper-arguing with terrified kids, drawing them out and leading them back to an exit. The police figured out where the kids were streaming from pretty fast and I saw a few officers leading a sobbing boy off towards the ambulances. I went back in.
By the time that I was leading the last girl out of my class, I'd gotten over the creaks and groans of the building and so I almost missed the sound of Jason reloading his gun. I froze and pushed Melissa into a small alcove. I covered as much of her body with mine and hoped deep down inside that she'd make it and that my mom would understand that I'd done the right thing. Jason turned the corner and paused... and then just like every other day of school, he walked right by me. He didn't even make eye contact with me. I waited til he turned the corner and got us both to the first exit I could find.
It took me weeks to realize my gift. I prayed and had night terrors and struggled to make sense of why Jason hadn't shot us right then, right there. And then I realized... I'd never had trouble with Jason. I'd never really had trouble with anyone. As bad as my teen years were, I never got bullied. I was definitely a nerd, but the mean kids never made trouble for me. When trouble came around, if I kept my head down and avoided eye contact, it just passed me right by. That was the gift that got the FBI's attention enough to get me this job: It's like when people have an axe to grind, if I avoid eye contact and stay out of their way, I just disappear. And now? Now it's my job to walk into life or death situations and do exactly that, and if I'm really lucky, to take a bunch of innocent people with me. I'm a Vanisher, and it's good not to be noticed. | Nobody expected much of me.
I was the youngest child of four, the "oopsie" if you will. All my siblings had awesome blessings. One could read any book, put it down, and pick it back up years later and still remember exactly which page they were on. Another could play any instrument of the same material once one was learned- all stringed instruments by 3rd grade, and all brass by 5th.
But my abilities took a rather strange turn.
They say the Earth used to live on Carbon Dioxide before Oxygen was introduced into the atmosphere, changing things forever. I used to be sick when young- always sick and miserable. But now, as I grow old, I find that my ability is leaving me the last human healthy- or even alive- as our atmosphere turns toxic.
I first figured it out while working in a climate-controlled lab. Someone left a tank of CO2 open, and the toxicity knocked everyone else out. Everyone but me. Turns out, I can breath CO2.
At least I'll be the last human left, as our oceans turn toxic and our skies turn gray from the smog and pollution. Hey, I never liked getting sunburnt anyways. | 2018-06-30T17:41:53 | 2018-06-30T16:59:29 | 192 | 23 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | The slightly thicker back begins to unfold, carbon fiber armor plates and metallic circuitry expanding in seemingly impossible ways and quantities. The armor moves across my body in sections, until the entirety of my person is encased in a functionally indestructible exosuit. My vision is black for a brief moment, blocked by the armor, until a screen boots to life. My vision is restored, and an overlay appears before me.
"Running full system diagnostic..." The computerized voice begins. A light blue icon appears before me, with the words "ETHER INDUSTRIES" emblazoned below it. The icon disappears, replaced by an outline of the suit. Different parts begun to light up as the computer lists off the status of the various parts.
"Fusion reactor: online. Hydrogen stores at: 67.788%. Mobility enhancement system: online. Plasma shield: online. Weapons systems: online. Central computer booting..." The voice continues. The other men and women around me are somewhat awestruck.
"Corporal, what the bloody HELL is going on here?" The sergeant yells, his face a contorted mix of mild terror and blatant anger.
"Uh, I have no clue, sir." I respond. I am about to continue when another voice fills my ears.
"Welcome back, sir. It has been: 17,000 years since last login. Would you like me to contact central command?" Before I can even respond, the voice starts again. "Intent acknowledged: not contacting central command. What would you like me to do?" Again, before I could even respond, it answered my question. "Hm, that's odd. You don't have any memory of me, or the war. That is... Strange. Here, let me try to remind you." Suddenly, my vision goes blank, and it's as if I am somewhere else entirely. I'm on the command deck of a starship, one far more advanced than anything in our fleet. Around me, people are working at stations and screaming orders into microphones. Someone passes by me, and I glimpse a brief look at their face. It's me.
"Sir, an EMP just went off on the starboard hangar. We've lost digital contact with Chief Engineer Bradley, but we've still got him on the speaking tubes. They're barely holding the reactors together, sir. He says one more hit on the main engines and we'll lose all thrust vectoring. Do we have any repair nanobots to spare?" The man standing near the central hologram looks at me- well, other me- and shakes his head
"We're spread thin as it is, Anders." He looks like he was about to add something, but then the entire room begins shaking. Other me puts on the suit and leaps out of the way of a massive drill that barrels through the ceiling, killing the captain and crushing the central hologram. The drill opens, and out come a set of robots. They begin to fire at the people in the room. Suddenly, I remember. The war. The colonies that were overrun. The war against our own machines that nearly killed every human on the earth. And my post on a starship that was sent out into deep space to try to preserve our species.
The training room comes back, as do my comrades and the sergeant. I retract my helmet and look my NCO in the eye.
"Sarge," I say. "We need to have a talk with an officer." | "User detected: Welcome back, Commander."
Panic filled Vun's mind. There was no way she could be recognized by this relic. This machine was built in the third epoch. This was the eighth. Impossible.
And yet... She spoke softly. "ls"
The suit responded.
Downloads
Notes
Photographs
Scripts
"du ."
Downloads 10.4 Tb
Notes 360 Mb
Photographs 1.2 Tb
Scripts 78 Mb
"whoami"
MarnyPenweasle
She was intrigued, and curious - a most dangerous state of mind. She wondered if this MarnyPenweasle the suit was recognizing her as was it's owner... It's inventor, or it's user?
"sudo beep"
The machine beeped at her.
"Oh. Oh my. Oh my my my..." She had super-user privileges on the power-suit that had defied description for epochs.
This was going to get interesting, fast.
*edit: Noticed I changed a field in one block and not the other.* | 2019-08-19T14:29:40 | 2019-08-19T14:05:23 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You jokingly enter the subreddit named after your username, only to find surveillance videos of yourself, starting from the moment you created your account. | "I do not drink when I write!" I yell at the judge, banging my chained wrists on the wooden counter.
All around me, the people watching the trial let out low exclamations and whispers.
"Order!" The judge begs, banging his hammer. "Order! Mr. Alpaca, ever since the first accusations regarding
your drinking problem –"
"I told you, I don't have a drin –"
"—the court has decided to set up security cameras to analyze your behavior while writing. These videos, presented
to the court as 'evidence A', are now to be brought to the attention of the jury."
"I… what?"
"As all of you know, writing under the influence is a very serious crime. Should Mr. Alpaca be proven guilty,
according to law, he'll hang by the neck until he is dead."
"Wait… what was that about videos that –"
Two men drag a television set from a back door into the court room. The crowd silences, and every face turns to
the screen.
"Oh, fuck…" I say.
"Now… whenever you logged into your subreddit, Alpaca, your computer started filming you. Let's see what it
recorded."
"I don't think that's exactly necessary, your honor," I say, raising both my hands. "If you could just –"
But the TV starts hissing, and dead channel gray rain turns to my face onscreen.
"GOD DAMN IT, LUNA!" I yell, onscreen, as I take a shot of scotch straight from the bottle. "STOP
POSTING ON MY THREADS!"
The court goes 'oh' in a low voice. By her corner on the benches, /u/Luna_Lovewell watches it all in silence.
"For God's sake, you can't have a thread with this girl," my face grunts onscreen, downing another shot. "I can't have a moment!"
"Well, your honor," the prosecutor starts, getting up, "we can clearly see he's drinking in the video, so –"
"I'm not writing anything, though!" I protest. "I'm just reading, in the video! I'm allowed to read and drink!"
"I'll write some shit about that murder squirrel, or whatever," my face says, on the TV. "That always gets some
upvotes."
For a while, there's silence, while everyone watches as I type away in silence, stopping only for new sips of scotch.
"This is outrageous," a woman's voice whispers, behind me. I think it's /u/Lexilogical, but I'm too ashamed to turn
and look.
I'm sorry Lexi. I'm sorry Sam Galimore. I'm sorry everyone.
I just wanted to be good.
Onscreen, I click Enter and my red, swollen face smiles. "That'll show her. Yeah, that'll show all of them! You can't
win every time, Luna! You can't!"
Like a comic book villain, I laugh insanely, pouring the rest of the scotch onto my whole body. The entire courtroom looks horrified. I eat a scotch soaked muffin.
The screen goes black, and the room is silent like an elevator fart.
"Well… this settles it, Alpaca," the judge says. "This video irrefutably proves that you have written under the
influence and posted the results both to WP and your personal subreddit. Not that this should surprise anyone
who's ever read your work," he adds, in a low voice. "Which leaves me no choice but to sentence you to be hung to
death by tomorrow's first light."
"What if it's cloudy?" I ask, grinning.
"Really, Alpaca?"
"Sorry, I'm drunk," I say.
"Do you have any last words?"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Looking around the courtroom, I see all the familiar eyes at me. Everyone
shaking their heads, disappointed.
"All I wanted was to be the first on the threads I liked," I say, in a low voice. "That's why I started drinking in the
first place. I couldn't stand reading a prompt response better than whatever it was I was planning to write just
staring at me from across the laptop screen." I rest my eyes on Luna for a second. "I thought maybe if I started
drinking I'd write better, faster… Maybe I'd be good like you all... but I just ended up writing a bunch of puns and gorey jokes..." I pause, taking a deep breath. "But... if I'm leaving this world tomorrow, I'll do it with a light soul. I'll do it knowing that at least in this thread… at least now, with all your eyes on me… I got to post here first. I got my blaze of glory. My one last ride. This thread, right here. My redemption."
There's a moment of silence.
Then the judge clears his throat. "/u/LeoDuhVinci has posted in this thread, already," he says, awkwardly.
"What!?"
I look back. From his seat, Leo throws a glance at Luna's way, nodding softly.
And I swear to God she nods back.
__________
*thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| I've always wanted to be a writer. Tonight I thought I'd take a crack at it, when I saw this prompt.
I've been reading stories on this sub a while. There's a few authors I follow, and a few of their personal subreddits I've subscribed to. Before answering this prompt, I figured I might as well set myself a sub like theirs, in case someone actually found my sentences worth reading.
So I created /r/leoduhvinci.
Or at least I would have, if it hadn't already existed.
The thing is, while I've read stories on this sub for the last year, I've never actually mustered the courage to respond to any of them. But I've had ideas- ideas of how I would have answered prompts. And each time, these ideas have stayed in my head, knocking at my fingertips to escape to my keyboard, but never succeeding. Some of them I think would have been quite good. Others, and I mean plenty others, would have been piss poor. But the point is, I never took the time to find out. And more often, I never had the nerve to find out.
But today, I did find out.
I've never told anyone about these stories from my imagination, but every one of them already exists. Right there, on /r/leoduhvinci, a sub I never created, with stories I've never penned.
And no one else can see them. I've tried asking friends, I've asked strangers, trying to ensure it wasn't some sort of practical joke. I've tried to wake from dreams. I've been to the doctor, and they've run their tests.
But just as surely as no one else can see them, I can.
Each one down to the details, with twists I had thought too corny, language I feared was either too eloquent or too primal. Grammar butcheries, mispelings, plot holes, and botched themes abounded. Sights that made the inner critic in me cringe.
But there was something else. There were times when the words seemed to fit together perfectly. When I actually seemed to have hit the mark, when I felt emotion flaring up through the words, and I knew that something about it was *right*. That I had created something no one else had, for the enjoyment of others, and to prove myself. That, with some work, just maybe I had some potential- a chance to make this writing dream work.
And after reading those stories, words that my own hands could have created but never did, I realized something.
That it's best to ignore the fears of rejection, to quiet the anxiety of leaving soul as ink on paper exposed for others to see. That it's best to be burned than not to try.
My first real story was today, and the rest will no longer be pretend.
And I hope yours won't be either.
************
By Leo
*What are you waiting for- get writing, or start doing whatever forms the material of your dreams*
/r/leoduhvinci
| 2015-09-21T23:16:20 | 2015-09-21T22:19:55 | 122 | 23 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | "Activate Zip Drive," I said to my computer, a generation III A.I. as space-time split before me, "Prime weapon for immediate release when we hit norm." I knew their fleet would not want me sneaking by in FTL so I was planning ahead for my attack.
The colored lights of Otherspace slipped past my small bomber, jumping toward the atoms in my hull hungrily but were held at bay by the magnetic shielding.
"Disturbance in norm space detected. Prepare for pullout in 3... 2... 1..." my A.I. informed me and then the colors of Otherspace were replaced with the blackness of the void. Ahead of me there was the fleet. An enemy interceptor had detected me and pulled me out of FTL as I had expected. A massive fleet of carriers and battleships and support ships and everything in between lay ahead of me.
"Human ship," a voice said across the ether, "Do you bring word of your species surrender?" The voice, of course, was translated from the light pulses that passed as speech by the Golloids, floating in their saltwater tanks. Their leadership had demanded our surrender this morning.
"Negative," I said, "I have come to demand yours." There was what passed for laughter in their pulsing tongue and then swarms of fighters launched toward me. I swallowed involuntarily as the stars behind the massive fleet were blotted out. "Launch the payload," I said, targeting as close to the center of the sphere of ships as I could.
The missile's fusion engine kicked in and as a fighter headed to intercept it the missile disappeared from norm-space and into Otherspace. A split second later it reappeared at it's destination in norm. My visor went dark as the darkness of space became as bright as a sun. Ship after enemy ship evaporated into their component atoms, vaporized by the intense heat and radiation pulsing outward from the temporary star I had just created obliterated them. As the shock-wave spread toward me and the interceptor evaporated, my A.I. slipped my ship into the other and I took comfort in the colors around me. I could swear I felt Otherspace shudder, but I knew that was impossible.
The Golloid were advanced. Very advanced. Humanity, however, had an advantage in that they had stumbled upon a way to use a basic technology as a weapon to end one of our wars centuries ago. See, we had two inventions that were unique to our species. One was the zipper. It was amazing that no other species had discovered it and had taken the clothes wearing species of the galaxy by storm and the patent had made Earth rich.
The other was nuclear weapons. Now that I had destroyed their fleet, hundreds of Earth bombers were given free reign to bomb Goll, their homeworld, and its colonies into oblivion. As I turned my ship around to retain to base I felt a pang of sympathy.
"Poor bastards," I said to the void, "Poor, poor bastards." | Drifting endlessly and peacefully through this void, I gazed upon the great blue sphere. Its skies swirling with white ink. The low rumbling of our ship had my brethren in a deep sleep.
A great white plain, frozen and still, is where we made our temporary home. A small elderly woman made her way out of that dark and sullen forest, inviting us to follow her.
The six of us were crammed into the tight dwelling in which she lived. The warmth of the stove shielded us from that blistering cold winter wind. This meal was just enough to keep us all from starving, that caring old woman...
News of our presence was spreading. A large military force was to be expected at any moment, but this frozen plain was empty. As I wait on the outskirts of our encampment, waiting, a sun had risen out of the ground.
These humans were peaceful due to their fear not of us, but because of their own power. | 2020-02-07T12:57:02 | 2020-02-07T12:50:43 | 506 | 41 |
[WP] You are a physicist working on solving an equation. No one has ever solved it and its more a thought exercise. Until you write down a possible answer and the door opens behind you. A black figure enters the room and says "Yeah you arent suppose to know about that." | I've been staring at the whiteboard for months. It made sense but, it didn't. I looked at the equation, the equation accepted by everyone on the planet but, it looked, askew. Twisted. Wrong. It looked like those whiteboards you see in movies and TV shows but this one had pictographs. Apples. Apples everywhere. The accepted answer of 4 was considered "the answer". 2 apples, combined with 2 apples, is 4 apples. What if...
I got up and wiped the 4 off. I picked up the temporary marker and wrote 7. What if 2 plus 2 was actually 7.
The marker squeaks as I finish the downstroke. Then a loud swoosh sound behind me. I quickly turn around and a dark figure walks through the door. "Mr. Corn I presume?" he says in a raspy but squeaky voice. "It's been thousands of years, since the Egyptians, but no one is supposed to possess this knowledge", he continues. I couldn't make out who this figure was or, hell, what it was, but it had a faint familiarity with it.
I quickly reached for the flashlight but it hits the wall and the dark figure chases after it. I move it again and the figure runs after it again. It was, i don't know, chasing it. "Who are you? What... what are you?". "I am the buffer between the knowledge you seek, the knowledge you just uncovered, and a tear in reality" as it removed its hood, I saw a white nose, brown face, fur, pointed ears. I murmured the words "Who... what are you?". Now fully exposed, it replied "They call me... Mr. Cheeks".
"A FUCKING HAMSTER!? What does this have to do with a tear in fucking reality? Kids get math wrong all the time and put 2 plus 2 is 7. Do you VISIT ALL OF THEM!?". It turned, "You figured it out, but, you're still blind. You can't get off the exercise wheel that is societal norms yet. You see it though, don't you. The unwritten numbers. Maybe you don't see them but, you feel them." I walked to the couch, "I must have slipped and hit my head. None of this makes sense". "YES!", Mr. Cheeks exclaimed "None of it makes sense. No one takes apples. No one takes oranges. When you do subtraction, you're not giving Stacy 4 apples, you're giving her, nothing".
As the word "nothing" came out of his mouth in that high squeaky voice, my surroundings started to fade. The desk, the lamp, the couch I was just on, all dematerializing. He looked at me again with a smile, "It's always... about the apples". | "Man It can't be hard..." said Errod Dankowski, as he went upstairs for another cup of coffee.
"I just checked their site, and these problems look typical, just with a bunch of extra symbols reserved for someone with a degree."
At this point the coffee filter was empty. He knew it would be easy to solve the P=NP problem by simply refilling it.
If a filter needed N points, and a coffee ground cannister had N points, then there would be N points to refill it. Take from the cannister, and the filter was receiving from something that existed outside itself.
"Well that was easy." he thought, having solved the problem in about 30 minutes, plus a few hours turning it into a program.
"All I had to do was draw from infinity."
He wrote a letter, and signed it 'E'. It would take the university years to learn about his discovery. | 2022-05-06T03:40:43 | 2022-05-06T03:16:28 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] an immortal man who cannot be physically injured is a passenger on a jet that's going to crash.
What's he thinking? What's he do? | A kind of panicked stillness fell over the passengers of flight no. 473. The engine sputtered and groaned against the icy arctic gales as the gravity around the plane seemed to suspended itself every few seconds to remind its occupants of their location and predicament.
The passengers and crew were too afraid to say anything, for fear of starting a panic or appearing hysterical. It didn't matter, they were all thinking the same thing. "We're going to crash, I'm going to die". Everyone but the drunken slob in seat 8-C who seemed far more concerned with the current volume of his Glenlivet 15 Year than the uncertain future of flight 473 and her 88 passengers and 4 crew.
The drunk sat half sprawled in his chair, seat belt unbuckled and legs strewn out into the aisle. "Doubtful anyone's getting up to use the bathroom in the next few minutes" he thought, "might as well stretch out." Besides, the tone in the captain's voice as he delivered his latest "update" was clear enough that he could guess the dining cart would not be coming around to serve that lasagna he'd ordered for dinner.
He recognized the tone in the captain's voice of course, absolute terror impersonating reassuring stoicism. He'd heard it, seen it, countless times before. "The brave faces men and women wear to their deaths." he thought. He admired them for this a little and smiled sadly into his drink before glancing out the window to gauge the plane's altitude and calculate their new *ETA*.
"Two minutes". He declared to himself matter-of-factly. Plane crashes weren't so bad, more buildup than anything else really. The crash part was always over with before he could really feel anything. Not that feeling it mattered, but pain was still... unpleasant, even if it resulted in no injuries. Soon his bones, skin, and organs would all be stitching themselves back together in that grotesque, but beautiful ballet. He once equated it to what it must be like watching an autopsy in reverse. His liver always took the longest for some reason, good old liver. He took another gulp of scotch.
1 minute.
Already he was deciding on his next route. He could still go to anchorage, he hadn't been this far north since the USS Jeanette and her expedition to The Pole in 1878. He always seemed to have bad luck when traveling north. At least this time they were over land. There were few things he hated more than trudging across ocean floors half frozen. Not a great way to spend the next few years. As occupational hazards went, it was one of the more annoying and time consuming ones he had. He chuckled out loud at that last thought, *time consuming* which drew angry glares from his fellow passengers.
He raised his glass endearingly in response as if to propose a toast to his fellow travelers.
How strange he must seem to them he thought, and how afraid they must be of what comes next. He considered telling them to take heart, that they had to face this someday sooner or later. Perhaps he could reassure them that they will all receive proper burials by his hands once this is over... No that wouldn't do. These next few moments were for them, he decided. He had an infinite amount of moments ahead of him, but none of those moments would signal a reprieve as they do now for his unfortunate new *friends*.
30 seconds now.
He tilted his head backward and slowly sipped the last of his drink. Letting the flavor linger before exhaling smoothly and settling back into his chair. He rested his glass on the tray table, which was not in the upright position in direct defiance of the flight attendants earlier warnings. He folded his hands neatly on his stomach and began humming to himself quietly.
No more stillness. People were just panicking now. The mother in seat 8-A was rocking back and forth, gripping her toddler tightly as the plane bucked and dipped wildly in all directions. She glanced frantically through the window to see snow capped mountains, once distant and mysterious, now rushing into vivid, horrible detail. She screamed, and in looking away, had locked eyes with the disheveled drunk two seats over sitting next to the window, humming to himself.
A blast of icy air gushed through the plane, followed by a thundering **BOOM** as the cabin lost air pressure and the last remaining engine began its death rattle.
The mother and drunk sat there in silence, eyes locked, suspended in the chaos and inertia of the catastrophe unfolding around them. She opened her mouth to scream again, but this time made no sound. It was then she noticed that the drunk was smiling.
"You know..." He shouted over the final engine failing, "it could be **a lot** worse."
Edit: Formatting | The woman beside me tried to start a conversation again. "So where are you headed?" she asked with a smile.
I pulled out a headphone and replied, "Baltimore" without looking at her. I turned to look out the window and replaced my headphone to drown out her attempts at conversation. I've learned a few years ago not to care or even pay attention to people around me. Caring for people will make the next few 1000 years much more painful than they need to be.
The flight attendant came to my row and asked if we needed anything to drink. The woman beside me, still scorned from the rejection, asked for a vodka tonic. I said nothing and continued to look out the window. We are above the clouds. We should reach New York in a couple of hours and then just one more transfer to Baltimore.
Just as the attendant handed the woman her drink the plane started to shake. “Just a little turbulence,” she assured us, “nothing to worry about.”
“Good because I’m not used to flying. I’m going to see my sister for her birthday. She is turning eighteen tomorrow. She is so excited!”
“That’s fantastic! I hope you both have a fun time.”
I turned up the volume on my Ipod, hoping to drown out their conversation. The less I know about these people the better. I noticed that we were starting to lose altitude. The plane was just skimming the top of the clouds now. The plane was still shaking, only much harder than before. I looked into the crowd of seats and could see people starting to look around worried. The intercom buzzed on and by the time I took out my ear buds the broadcast was almost over. All I heard was “...engines failed. We are going down.”
I quickly put the headphones back on, blasted the volume and closed my eyes. I sat there for maybe a few minutes before the woman next to me started shaking me. My eyes jolted open and I finally saw the mini-apocalypse that was happening in the plane. People were yelling and screaming, mothers were holding their children and crying. Many people hand their phones pressed to their cheeks telling their loved ones goodbye. I pushed the woman away, harder than I wanted to. She fell into the aisle. I looked at her while she sat there holding her phone in one hand and a picture of her sister in the other. Tears were streaming down her face as she put the phone to her ear. I put my music back on, wiped away the water that started to form in my eyes and closed them. Godammit! I’m new to this living forever thing. It’s better if I don’t care... | 2013-11-23T13:33:14 | 2013-11-23T12:44:52 | 241 | 87 |
[WP] You're shopping for superpowers in the discount bin.
EDIT - I forgot to say this but this is based off of an AskReddit post I saw a while ago. | The discount bin was full of unwanted power vials. Mostly unwanted, anyway, but it was all I could afford. The rich could pay for good powers like flight and super strength and even some power blends, and then continue to buy syringe vials to keep their powers up. However, I was stuck saving up for three months just to buy a discounted power for $1,500. I shivered from the cold of the refrigeration unit I was standing in acutely aware of the scrutinizing stare of the guard at the door.
'Hmm...' I thought to myself, ' that much money for two months seems like a decent bargain considering I would have to wait a month after the power wanes before injecting a new one.' I wasn't likely to find the same power twice. The last one was rubber-skin. It was a bit dorky, but it allowed be to bounce or get hit without taking damage.
Today's menu wasn't very big either: Glow-skin, hard-skin, lighter-finger, camouflage-1 (not a perfect camouflage effect, speaking from experience), hover-2 (a failed experiment at flight, but allowing the user to hover two inches above the ground and move slowly. Well beats walking) and... emotion projection?
Huh? that's a new one. I lifted the vial and asked the guard for the manual for it.
"What's the Id code of that vial?" he asked.
I turned the vial in my hand and read off the label, "P-0525-2187."
I waited as the guard searched for the manual on his personal terminal.
"Are you sure you read that right?" He asked. "There's no such Id in the system."
I read the Id again in a puzzled tone, but he still couldn't find anything.
Oh well, it's not like the other powers were any more interesting.
"You know what?" I began as I lifted the vial one more time, "I'll just take it anyway. It's too big of hassle to try to come back next week."
I guess I can just try to figure it out without a manual. It sounded like a subset of empathy, and I've tried that one before. It probably worked in a similar fashion, but in reverse. I was shown back to the sales desk where I promptly paid. Once they ensured that my money was good a nurse led me to a small exam room.
"please remove your shirt and wait patiently for the doctor," the nurse ordered before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
I sighed, and took off my shirt. This would probably take a while since I didn't pay for premium powers or premium service, so I sat down and picked up a magazine. The cover displayed a picture of some millionaire who had just pledged his life to the fight against evil after testing positive for the ACTN3 power variant. Same as I was. The power shots only work for people who tested positive. In some cases, if someone was extremely talented, government scouts would recruit them and pay for their premium treatments in return for service. Otherwise we were all on our own. Someone like the guy on the magazine cover can afford extremely powerful blends. He would likely become one of the most powerful heroes overnight despite my having tested positive 10 years before him. Oh well that's life. I was about to open the magazine when the door opened and the doctor walked in.
"Good morning," he tried to sound cheerful, but he looked and sounded tired.
Oh great. I hope this doesn't turn out to be another botched procedure. I've had that in the past. I had to wait six months before I could get a shot again. I was disabled for a month, and I wasn't reimbursed since I "only" payed for basic service.
"OK. Let's see what we've got. P-0525-2187 emotion projection." My heart sank. He sounded almost disinterested. He gave me the routine physical and marked everything down in my chart.
"Hmm... gained 5 pounds. This brings you just above the recommended weight limit, but you should still be fine. It's recommended not mandated." He didn't even look at me through all this. "OK, now lift your chin. You know the drill."
I did as he asked. The injection would go just above my collarbone. After 10 years of this I still got dizzy when he approached me with the syringe. I closed my eyes as the needle went in and I felt the solution enter my bloodstream.
"Oh my God!" I heard the doctor scream. I opened my eyes and saw him cowering on the floor. He looked frightened. I was puzzled, and just as quickly as my emotions changed, he no longer looked scared, but no looked confused. "It must be that power. It works as a reverse empathy. You're projecting your emotions onto me. Did you receive a manual?"
I shook my head. "No. There was no manual." I tried to pull my emotions in, and suddenly got a familiar feeling. I felt someone else's emotions. The doctor's. His disinterest had switched to fascination.
"Uh doc? Now I'm feeling your emotions. How do I turn this off?"
"Um, I don't know. I suppose this is more than just a subset of empathy, but an actual blended variation. I suppose we would have to run some training tests to figure it out. My guess is you would have to find the right equilibrium between reaching out and projecting to remain normal. You know what this means for you, right?
"No more paying for your treatments! You discovered an unintentional effect of a solution. Now you'll have the company giving you these injections for free every two months and you get to help us study it!"
Great! Not only am I a lab rat, but I'm stuck with this dorky power for the rest of my life.
(Edited: two awkward sentences) | “Can I help you, ma’am?” A young clerk chirped with a smile.
“No, thank you,” Mary Ann grumbled. She had too much shopping to do to waste time on employees. He nodded and walked away.
She’d bought most of the children’s premiere gifts today. Geralt wanted a new PC game, Civilizations 13, check. Maggie had begged for a puppy, but with Mary Ann’s budget a few stuffed ones had to suffice. Even Kline would get what he wanted: a bag of pure goatsblood for his ‘cult club.’ But little Damron had stumped her: he had asked Santa for a super power that would defeat the evil Gorok. Gorok was the villain of his favorite cartoon series, “How the Villain Wins.” Gorok nearly always got away with his schemes: chaos here, a bit of evil there, it was a miasma of villainry. The twist was that Gorok was always trying to do good and it ended up going wrong. Damron wanted to be stronger than Gorok, so that HE could be the best bad guy in town, and it was just her luck that the only toy shop in town went out of business. What kind of a toy shop closes its doors just before Christmas? She didn’t have time to get any of the show’s merch from Amazon or the local Craigslist.
So here she was, at the Shoprite bargain bin. She adjusted her spiked necklace and dove in to the barrel. Superpower potions were exceedingly popular ten years ago, but ever since “Demon Chronicles” aired, popular culture had never been the same. Even she was waiting excitedly for the next installment. It went without saying the family already had box sets of the first two seasons.
As she rummaged through the plastic containers, she enjoyed the clinking noises they made.
“Ur-Dragon’s Tears - breathe real fire!” looked promising. She pulled the bottle up. It was about the size of a soda can, but the ingredients list made her set it back down. She wanted something gluten free, and there was too much sugar.
“Collection of Rare Artfacts: Achieve Human Magnetism” was ruled out for its sketchy label. Besides, making her son magnetic was more likely to blow out the TV than anything else.
“Mists of the Valkyrie” was also abandoned quickly. Even in the capped bottle it smelled more like “mists of a polluted fishing wharf.”
“Technomancy XVI” looked promising, but the concentration listed was so low it might not have mattered.
“Diet Dr. Grape Soda” looked totally out of place. Somebody must have dropped it here by mistake.
“Good Handwriting” looked sensible, but undesirable.
Mary Ann wanted to pull out her hair. How could she find anything acceptable for him within her budget? It was just so unfair. She wished she could buy him “Charisma” or “Infinite Wish” or even the newest, hottest seller “Luck Boost.”
Then, she saw it. Squeezed and dented, a can of “Turnmetal” sat at the bottom of the bin. A “this has been shaken” yellow warning label was applied to it. Still, it was a real turnmetal brew! The kind that could turn people temporarily invulnerable to harm, that was just the sort of thing.
She scanned the label. This batch of Turnmetal was said to last up to 5 hours, and could grant the user temporarily metal skin. Perfect. And the yellow warning didn’t seem to mentioned in the caution section. Somebody must have overlooked it and shoved it in bargain by mistake.
“Yes!” She cheered, dancing in a circle. | 2019-12-30T08:41:18 | 2019-12-30T07:37:58 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] A business man who has slept with literally everyone to get on top. | "Do you like the view?" John asked. He came up behind Delilah and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked at his reflection in the 49th floor window and then rubbed her cheek on his fingers, like a cat claiming what was hers.
"I really do, John. I really do."
"It's been quite the whirlwind hasn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it was only a month ago that we met and now, here you are."
Delilah turned and looked into John's eyes with amusement and longing.
"What do you mean? We're just going out to dinner, aren't we? Is it really that different from the way you've been spoiling me every other night, Mr. CEO?"
"Well, it might be. That depends on what you say next."
Delilah's hand went to her mouth as John got down on one knee, reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. When he opened it, the ring inside practically glowed. Delilah was looking at more diamonds than a major league baseball coach planning a roadtrip.
"Oh, my god... it's beautiful."
"Will you marry me, Delilah?"
"Oh John... I... oh, this is so sudden. We barely know each other, besides the fact we both like caviar and your Bugatti."
"I've built relationships on less. Please, say yes."
Delilah turned. She was shaking, unable to speak. She stepped away, leaving John on the floor in his Armani. He stood, but gave her the distance she seemed to require in the moment.
From over her shoulder, hand over her throat, Delilah said, "If I agree, there's something you should know. I'm.. I have a past."
"Don't we all?"
"No, I mean that when I'd told you I had only been with one other man, I was being less than truthful. I used to like to flirt back in college and sometimes much more. I never wanted you to think that I was a virgin, but I didn't want you to think that I was just another easy conquest who fell for every suitor who had gotten on the cover of *Forbes*."
"I never thought that about you, Delilah. I don't care how many men you've..."
"Seventy-eight."
"Seventy-eight?"
"Y'know, if we count going all the way."
"And if we don't?"
"It gets into the low three figures, I think?"
"Wow."
Delilah faced him again, her nerves turned to steel and ready to endure his judgement. When she saw his face, though, it was not the expression she had anticipated."
"Are you trying not to laugh?" She asked.
"I'm sorry, it's just so cute."
"Cute?"
"Yeah, that you'd be worried about two hundred or so handies or whatever. Relax. We're good."
"How can you take this so well?"
"Well, remember when I said that I worked my way up from the mail room?"
"Yes?"
"A lot of that work was just one job. Specifically, the 'blow' kind."
"Come again?"
"A lot of them did."
"No, I mean clarify this for me?"
"I slept my way to the top. With everyone in the company."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone."
"I... I don't think that's all that bad."
"I sleep well at night. I mean the fifteen hundred thread count sheets help, but I never gave how I got where I am much concern."
"And it's not like it's that bad, even... I mean, I'm okay with you being bi and it's not like there are that many executives at your company."
"Wait, I'm not bi. I just slept with them for business, I wouldn't date them. And I didn't just sleep with the execs. When I said everyone, I meant everyone."
"Do you mean...?"
"Everyone. Execs, R&D, the UPS guys, the good men and women in the secretary pool. I did accounting in one day and then shipping over the course a week, but only because I had a cold that Tuesday and needed a day off."
"John, you've been at this company less than six months."
"I know, right? Really filled up the dayplanner. So where was I... yeah, so I slept with everyone but Tina in maintenance on my second week here, but she got a divorce a few weeks ago, so was able to cross her off my 'to do list'."
"We were dating then."
"Not exclusively. Besides, at a certain point, it's like baseball cards or Pokemon. You kinda want the whole set."
"I don't know what to say..."
"Don't say anything. Besides, I wasn't done. I saved the board of directors for last, but by that point word had gotten around and it wasn't that hard to get the old guys to go all at once."
"My god."
"Tell me about it. I haven't seen so many wrinkles before in my life. It was like getting snuffled by a pack of shar-pei's. But, you do what you got to do if you want to make the big bucks."
"Well, maybe if we get married we can both put our pasts behind us."
"Yeah, about that...."
"Seriously?"
"You don't think I actually know what I'm doing, do you? I've got around twenty advisors who keep me looking good. I just have to make sure that they get their weekly bonuses, if you know what I mean."
"So, you'd still be sleeping with your staff."
"Just for business, darling. Well, maybe except for Ellen. She's a little business and pleasure, I suppose."
"Who's Ellen?"
"The janitor who takes care of my personal office."
"The janitor lady? The fifty year old woman with the lazy eye?"
"You'd be surprised the things she can do when she takes out her dentures. And given the variety of fluids and refuse I make her deal with on a regular basis, I like keeping her happy."
"I think I might hurl."
"She can take care of that too, but if you can save it I know this one guy in marketing who would..."
Delilah covered her ears at that point and ran for the door. This was too much. She started to hit the button on the elevator to take her up to the chopper when John called after her.
"I know what I am Delilah. I eat steak prepared by five star chefs every night. I bathe in champagne if I'm bored. I have at my command an army of accountants, lawyers and PR specialists that could put me on TV or in the White House if I wanted, but I'm content to just be a simple multi-billionaire with the keys to two private islands. But I need someone to share it with."
His hand was on her shoulder. "I'm not expecting you to like what I do. It's just my job, to keep things running. Some men speak well. Some are shrewd when it comes to office politics. I have a tongue trained by a guru from the Phillipines and a doctor who gives out Viagra like Tic-Tacs."
"I don't know John, it's just...."
John spun her around. "I accept you. Your past. Your everything. I just need you to understand that I got here on my back, legs in the air. And that I want to share everything I've gotten as a result with you."
"Oh, John."
"I hear the Bugatti dealership is having a two for one sale next week. Or at least we can pretend they are."
"Is it really worth it? The money and the power? What you've done for it?"
John said, "Let me tell you about the last time I worked late."
He leaned in and whispered something in Delilah's ear. Then he leaned back and demonstrated something with his hands that made it look like he might sprain something. When he was done, he retrieved the ring box from his coat pocket again.
"Does that sound like it's worth it? Will you be the woman I come home to after work? Please?"
Delilah bit her lip. "So Ellen... is she down for a three way?" | Obama stared at the man ahead of him, his head tilted slightly. He knew how to pronounce his name “Poo-Tin,” a funny enough word, but had no idea how it was spelled. He scribbled something unintelligible on the paper, then handed it back to Putin.
“What is this?” Putin said, picking up the document and holding it in front of his face. “It looks like a bunch of scribbles.”
“Peace terms,” Obama bluffed, clicking the black Bic pen in his left hand. He’d desperately hoped an aid would be present for the negotiations, someone to write the notes on his behalf. Putin refused, though, said it had to be just the two of them. Obama knew he couldn’t just walk away after Putin’s request, not with all the public coverage the peace conversations had merited. He had to bluff his way through. He’d made it this far without getting caught, he knew he could keep it going. Still, it wouldn’t be easy. Putin seemed to have actually gotten to his position without taking the traditional route, the one he and every other political leader worth their weight took.
“This is completely illegible,” Putin said, tossing the document back at Obama. He glanced down at it, the first page caked in squiggles and swirls of various color. Most of the other leaders would’ve stared down at the page, nodded slowly, and accepted it as logical. They were all in the same position as Obama, illiterate and ignorant, coasting through their positions through manipulation alone. Not Putin, though, at least not apparently. Either that, or he wanted something out of Obama. He hoped desperately it was the latter.
“No,” Obama said, opening to the second page of the document. It was significantly less colorful due to his red and blue ink running dry, but nonetheless illegible and covered in squiggly lines. “This is the peace treaty. Do you not read English?” He tossed it back.
Putin grabbed the document and stared down at it again, flipping open to the first page. He turned it over once, and then again, until it was upside down. He flipped through the rest of the pages.
“You realize you’ve literally just drawn a few dozen circles and lines on each page, right? There isn’t a single logical word here.” Putin tossed the document back. “I’m starting to wonder whether or not you actually know how to read and write.”
“Come on,” Obama said, laughing as he picked up the document. “I know how to read. I totally do. What do you think I am, twelve? I’m a great reader. I read books all the time. I read one last night, in fact.”
“Prove it,” Putin said, pushing himself out of his chair and walking over to Obama. He placed a small, black bible on the top of the Resolute Desk in front of him. “Your country is religious and you claim to be too. You should be able to read this without any problem.”
Obama stared at the miniature book, the pages slightly tattered and cover half-detached. Yes, he’d read the bible before, but only technically. It had been a visual bible, the pages filled with colorful pictures and a complete lack of text. Eve and an Apple, a rainbow-filled sacrifice scene, and so forth. He opened the bible to the first page and stared down at the words, a mix of nonsensical black lettering staring back at him.
“I-in th-th-th,” Obama stammered. He slammed the bible shut. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
“You don’t know how to read, do you?” Putin said, grabbing the bible and slipping it back into his pocket. “Holy shit.”
“Are you new here or something?” Obama said, pushing himself to his feet. “Do you know how anyone gets into power? We don’t just do it the easy way like you, cheating the people until we are leaders. We do it the traditional way, we follow our roots. We keep our morals and put in the hard work, or at least those of us with any merit do. We sleep with everybody possible until we get to the top.”
“I’m sorry?” Putin said, staring down at Obama.
“I’ve slept with literally everybody I could to reach where I am. My teachers in elementary school, middle school, and high school, my professors in college and law school, my employers, former Presidents—including both Bushs—and hundreds more. I worked to get to where I am, just like Tony Abbott, Pope Francis, Bill Gates, George Washington, Tom Cruise, and all the other greats. Yes, we might not know how to read, or write, or do anything other than coax the opposite—or same—sex into bed, but we *worked* to get to where we are. We earned our positions.”
“Did you say Pope Francis?” Putin said, his head tilted slightly.
“I sure did,” Obama said, stepping up from his seat and taking his jacket off. He knew how to end this charade. Putin was no different than Clinton—both Hilary and Bill—nor was he any more intimidating than Saddam. They all fell eventually. “Do you like how I said it?” He placed his left hand on Putin’s shoulder. “Pope,” he said slowly, “Francis.”
“What are you doing?” Putin said, taking a step back, but staying close enough for Obama’s hand to remain on his shoulder.
“Nothing,” Obama said, lowering his hand to the small of Putin’s back. “You feel tense, you know that?” he said.
“Tense?” Putin said, staring into Obama’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Let me show you how to relax,” Obama said, turning Putin around and placing both hands on his shoulders. He rubbed softly. “You should probably just give me control of Russia."
“What,” Putin said, his body shaking slightly under Obama’s soft, undulating hands.
"Let's not talk right now," Obama said, pulling him in closer. "We'll discuss your surrender afterward." | 2015-03-06T07:35:45 | 2015-03-06T07:27:26 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | “You’re here. Finally. I was getting sick of you living.
You were truly pathetic when you were alive, I hope that will change soon enough because I’ve been told I am going to need you.”
The devil spoke in a way you couldn’t tell his emotions if he had any. His voice was steady and when he spoke your attention was drawn towards him, towards his silhouette which gained more and more contrast and detail.
At this point, the surroundings were visible as well. It was a forest, we were in a forest, only the two of us. It had all emerged in the time the devil took to welcome me, it had happened slowly, but also undeniably fast. I did not remember what there was before the forest was there, it was like it had always been there.
The devil was sitting on a log, facing the bonfire which was placed in the middle of a circle of logs. It was dark, and the only light was from this fire, yet it didn’t seem scary, instead, it actually looked quite warm and cozy.
While approaching the devil, he went on.
“You’re the first person who has ever come here. I’ve redecorated it not too long ago.”
He looked up as I sat down on a tree stump near the fire. His eyes were humanlike, just like his posture, but there was something off about the way his hands were folded into each other. He was leaning forward to the fire, with his elbows on his knees. His hood was covering his face, which made the shadows dance on his face. His eyes were so bright, you could even see them through the shadows, dancing on his pale face. He looked sad but in a majestic way.
Even in this small position, there was an aura of power around him.
I held my hands closer to the flames, the palms facing forwards. It was warm. His eyes fixated on the fire again.
“Do make yourself at home, you won’t be leaving here anytime soon.
You know, I like that you are not asking the obvious question. The ‘where am I?’, ‘What happened?’ and the ‘How did I die?’
Although, it may not be just you. You are not here to speak, for once I don’t want to hear the screams of yet another soul, haunted by its evil self, getting the punishment for the wrong he couldn’t stop doing.
Your punishment is different, but you have figured that out already, haven’t you?
You’re not as stupid as you presented yourself when you were alive. When you begged for attention, walking from one psychologist to the other. It is not that hard to figure out what your punishment would be, after a life of self-pity and self-proclaimed misery.
In your life, you whined about your misery to every person walking by. In your death, you will listen to all the misery I encounter.
And trust me, I have a lot to talk about.”
| *The flames roared up around his face,
burning ever hot.
He looked around, quite confused.
"This must be hell." he thought.*
*"You're right! Congrats! You made it here!"
Said the Devil, great and red.
"If I'm in Hell, then that must mean..."
"Yes, you are quite dead!"*
*"In fact, surprise, you're #1!
You're the first I've ever had!"
"No! That can't be true!" he thought,
"I wasn't quite that bad!"*
*"What did I do to deserve this?
What caused this hellish fate?"
The Devil chuckled, and said with a grin
"Oh trust me, this is great."*
*"It's really quite simple, you see,
your hellish, evil crime?
You left the toilet seat up*
**87 fucking times**. | 2017-06-22T06:13:16 | 2017-06-22T05:45:21 | 65 | 39 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | The plate with my omelette and jam on toast shattered against the floor as my morning routine of watching my news was interrupted. I stumbled to the couch and blindly searched for the remote, never peeling my eyes from the TV. I raised the TV to a deafening volume, hoping that the headline was wrong or my ears had deceived me.
“Krysta, What made last night different?”
“I don’t know Jim. As you just heard from Nocoff, the police and the Night Owls are cooperating together for the investigation, but its still in the preliminary stages so they cannot confirm anything yet. However, it is Alibi’s MO to rapidly execute his plans which is what makes him and his Troupe the prime suspects of this case.”
“But to send three heroes in the same patrol unit to the hospital in critical condition? That’s a new record for the Troupe.”
“Yes it is. The most raw combat power we’ve seen so far from that group has been by Penn Drake, better known by his moniker, Wyrm. However he has been in custody ever since three years ago. The most popular theory from BBS websites have been that the Troupe has taken in Tarrasque who had recently escaped from-”
The vibrant screen transformed into a perfect spiderweb save a hole revealing a barren wall. I slowly reached into my pajamas and dialed the warden managing the penitentiaries. “Hi, it’s Mayor Teller…”
***
Penn practically hopped into the backseat of my car with a grin from ear to ear. “It’s been a long time. How’s the wife and kids?”
I scowled and tossed him a tupperware with eggs benedict. “Eat up, we talk after.”
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” All I did was turn on the radio. It was our own local disaster, compounded by the breaking news of one of the heroes succumbing to their injuries. Penn devoured the food.
Once he was finished, I cleared my throat. “Tarrasque. Collateral cleared. Heavy casualties expected. Cleaners and interference prepped. You must survive, return afterwards. You in?” Without skipping a beat, Penn answered with a solemn nod.
***
I looked up at the TV from my bed to watch the news at 10, wincing from the smallest movement. I smiled as the cheesy music played with the cheesy montage of the different newscasters. The usual mornings greetings was shorter today as the anchorers got straight to the point.
“In breaking news, Tarrasque has been found dead with their head on a pike outside the Mayor’s Office today. We have Elira on the scene today. Elira, tell us, what do you see?”
The screen cut to an overhead view of absolute carnage. Smoldering fires beginning to burn out on multiple streets. Buildings cut in half or skewered by countless spikes. Tens of body bags being carried by police officers, paramedics, and firefighters. “Well, Krysta. It’s- It’s hard to describe. What I can say is that last night, Tarrasque and the Troupe had a turf fight and what you are seeing right now is the aftermath. It’s… We don’t have a death count yet as more bodies are still being discovered. What the investigation so far has been able to determine is that Tarrasque was beheaded and perished, but it is unknown if any Troupe members were among the casualties since no costumed members were found. Um. Back to you Krysta… After this break.” The TV station cut to some boring commercial about windows and heating.
Knock knock. I turned my head to see Nocoff enter the hospital room. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry that we weren’t there to help you. It must have been terrible being caught in between the Troupe and Tarrasque.” I noticed her eyes flitting towards the numerous medical equipment keeping me alive until my next operation.
“Don’t worry about it, hahaha… Anything for the city.” | I am practicing songwriting. So here is a musical theater piece on a villain that clearly out-matches his adversaries. It's a comedy song
Nothing irks me quite like knowing that they'll never see my pity
Nothing rattles me to shame to think they've really done their best
It's not enough to pest this city
And with every passing tick you'd think it can't get any clearer
The maze he's yet to clear, the bomb is ticking ever nearer
He's still caught up in the mirror
Wonder-man, I'm dying to know
How that's ever gonna make a dent
But it's pretty strong as lasers go
(Clicks around security monitor)
Now let's check up on the Wingman, has he bolted through the glass?
I'd say last time was near perfect, I even called the head adjuster
(See human figure dangling from a suspension cable)
Guess he forgot the rocket thruster
(Cable snaps)
. . Boots . .
(Movement from the ceiling)
And then let's not forget Ms. Amazoness up above
Who lost count which lefts to take, I had to turn the heat to two
The things I do for love
Hey you Bruce, up in that vent
I'd like to warm up, progress the show
And quit stomping man, I rent!
All sides undone,
Hands coiling fast,
Will you have time to pray
Or have they failed you too
Reaching for words some
Can make their spirits last
But I won't let this day
Save me in any way
If anyone would come
Remind me what it is
That made a villain fun
That made a tyrant rage
I'm walking off the stage,
The bomb's defused, good night | 2021-05-20T08:08:50 | 2021-05-20T07:57:21 | 38 | 19 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | I didn't intend to kill Hitler. I'm not the average time-traveler, you see, I just wanted to have a quiet life in the country side of the Old Europe. I found my lifestyle. I found a beautiful girl named Annabelle and worked my way up in French society at the time. I married Annabelle. I found and bought a quaint little house in a village. The village was built along a road, and at the end of the road lay a villa with pad-locked gates and streaming white walls. I had two children. The first was a boy named Dante, and the second was a girl named after my mother: Beatrice. Unfortunately, I hadn't read my history and forgot about World War II.
Germany invaded France and so came upon my little village which lay in Burgundy. First, came the overwhelming buzzing as the Luftwaffe began to toss their bombs. I didn't understand why they were attacking us at the time; I later found out that the villa was the site of large oil tanks and reserves, and just a few kilometers off was a hidden military base. The bombs swept over the village like a fiery storm, spitting fire, twisting and burning everything and everyone. My Time Machine was destroyed in my house during that first wave. My daughter burned to death; she was in her crib and was crying out as her flesh melted off her bones. I found her later, charred black with a gaping mouth but no tongue. Her teeth were still white as snow. The few bombs had created towering infernos that dashed and killed as an avenging angel of death. The Germans wasted an immense amount of resources on our useless village. When I returned to my time, I learned of their assaults on Paris and London, but I would never hear of their experiments of these techniques on small towns like mine.
My wife was changed after the storm. She would chatter in gibberish for a short while and then scream, pointing towards the darkness as if she saw a devil materialise in front of her. She would rock back and forth on the ground. I had to move her everywhere in a wheelbarrow I found. We met up with the other survivors. Night fell, I fell asleep, I woke up and my wife was gone. Not even a note was left. She had dashed off into the forest like a wild animal.
My son was twelve years old, and was all that remained of my past life. He supported me, his father, and saved me from despair. I cried on him every night, and he would muffle my tears so that the others in our make-shift refugee camp didn't hear me and disapprove of my weakness. Soon, French trucks came and brought us to Paris. My son and I took up residence at my wife's parent's house, they were grieved over their daughter, but gladly brought us into their home and reassured us of victory against Germany.
The next day, all of France bowed to Germany in defeat.
The soldiers marched in with crisp uniforms and rigid steps. They goose-stepped their way to their glory and France's shame. In trucks stood their leaders, and from my weak knowledge of 20th Century History, I recognised Adolf Hitler.
The machinations of my terror and the evils that had befallen in me lay in this man. My doom had been set at the moment I lay my eyes on the man. My blood heated up, and my heart beat twice as fast when I saw him. My brain pounded in my head and I felt sick in my stomach. I looked at him through my in-laws' windows, and only one thought dashed through my mind over and over.
*Revenge.*
My time machine had been destroyed. All I had left were the tools I brought from the future. A knife and an invisibility cloak. But the cloak would break if I attempted any action outside of it; it could only be used for reconnaissance.
So I set out for my revenge. I went to my in-laws and spoke with them for a few minutes, I told them to take care of my son, and that I intended to return, but that I would be gone for a while. They nodded but they seemed afraid. My tone of voice and pale pallor scared them. I left without saying anything to my son, I didn't want him to stop me with his words. I walked off to stalk Hitler.
| "I am the Fuhrer. I demand you release me."
"And you've been a bad boy, Adolf," I whispered in his ear. "I'm here to punish you."
He looked around the hotel room. Strapped to the bed, he cut a pitiful figure. I could see a change come over him and his mustache started to quiver.
"Who are you?"
"Annabel Goldschmidt," I said.
"You're a Jew." He was suddenly accusatory, and suddenly afraid. "Is that why why you're here?"
"Well, yes and no, honey. I'm a collector. I collect dictators. And I have to say-" I glanced down at where his trousers had been, "-compared to Stalin and Mao, you just don't measure up, baby."
The trail of his clothes from the hotel room door to the bed told a sorry story. Sometimes a girl disappoints.
"I'm sorry," he said. Gotta give credit to the man, he almost sounded contrite.
"Sorry ain't good enough, babe."
I took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke into his face. He coughed, and tried to move his face away. I slapped it back.
I double-checked the GoPRo to make sure it was still recording. My YouTube followers were going to love this one.
"What are you doing," he asked, as I poured the oily liquid into a geometric pattern with him at the center.
"Lubing you up, baby," I said.
"Please..."
"This is for you, granny," I whispered. I flicked the stup of the cigarette onto his body, and the flaming swastika engulfed him. His screams grew and I stepped out into the hall.
A Gestapo officer was running towards me. "Hey, whore, stop. What have you done to the Fuhrer?" He started to raise his revolver.
"Oh, I think he got what was coming to him," I said. I twisted the dial on my time watch, and disappeared just as the bullets started to fly.
---
*Read more brutal murders at [r/jd_rallage](http://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage).* | 2016-02-20T08:59:12 | 2016-02-20T08:49:24 | 204 | 147 |
[WP] "Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy." | World peace, an unfathomable concept in any real world scenario, was happening. The UN had finally received the ability to govern its 5 permanent members, and all it took was the presence of a nuclear weapons facility on Mars.
Back in the early 2000’s everyone assumed America was going to be the first country to land on Mars. SpaceX looked like they were ahead of the curve and sometime around 2020 the CEO of SpaceX had the gall to talk about colonies on Mars. Even got a list together of people that would volunteer to live there. Meanwhile the People’s Republic of China invested billions in a space program that quietly landed on the moon. Few, if any, had an idea of their ambition, and certainly fewer would notice the 300,000 people they began sending to Mars in 2030.
It was a massive undertaking. Thousands of rocket launches carrying people, food, medicine, construction materials into orbit around earth while a caravan of ships that China told the world were there to send probes and satellites to Mars would ferry those people and supplies to the red planet. Within 6 years they established a colony that had nearly the population of the United States. It was discovered, on accident, by a satellite that SpaceX had put in orbit around Mars to gather data about potential spots for the ever delayed colony that they promised. The concept was to initially bring Chinese manufacturing to Mars, eliminate virtually all sources of China’s pollution on Earth, and still remain the manufacturing hub that Earth used for... well everything. There were no environmental regulations on Mars, and the idea of global warming over there was considered somewhat favorable as a terraforming effort. NASA and SpaceX cobbled together a handful of small colony missions, 3 in total. By the time the third colony mission landed, the Chinese colony had been on the planet’s surface for more than a decade, and the first Martian child was almost 6. On earth, Mars was seen as a new frontier. An opportunity to stake your claim and make a new way in the galaxy, tickets to live on Mars sold at a premium, at least until the truth about life on Mars was publicly revealed. Turns out that those “glamorous new age” space buildings were just short of being considered forced labor camps.
Fast forward 2 decades to 2066, the first generation of martians were feeling the effects of inequality. There was no leisure time on the red planet. People worked around the clock to harvest resources and manufacture items that were sent back to earth. The only time resources were invested in Martian infrastructure was when production viability became a risk. Then and only then would habitat maintenance be performed. Morale was an ever constant issue for the Chinese backed governing body on Mars. After a series of demonstrations by the Martian workforce, there was a brutal crackdown by the People’s Republic of China. The official death count is reported at less than 100 by China’s records, Martian records indicate more than 10x that figure. Less than a year later, mass graves were spotted by a satellite, but photographs indicated that the Martian workforce was filling those graves with the bodies of PRC soldiers. A week later, a list of demands was broadcast worldwide, stipulating dozens of quality of life improvements or China would risk the loss of the colony. China responded by gearing up for a second crackdown, rather than risking more human lives this force consisted largely of remote drones that would be controlled by a battle group of Chinese navy ships that would remain in orbit around Mars until the colony was pacified.
Long story short, the 4 moth flight time to get to Mars made it difficult for China to react to the rebellion in a meaningful capacity. Additionally, manufacturing of all the spaceship components and weapons had been moved solely to Mars decades prior. Once China lost control of the colony, the rebels were fighting a war of attrition where destruction of Chinese equipment and infrastructure was more valuable than the body count. China was forced to rely on its stockpiled surplus equipment, much of which was antiquated compared to the state of the art weaponry the Martian colony would be using. As a result, the Martian colony eventually won its independence. No sooner had the dust settled, when suddenly anti-Martian propaganda found its way around the world. Our planet’s environment had only just begun to heal, and suddenly we lost our production hub, and earth governments were forced to invest in infrastructure we had largely assumed was unnecessary ever since goods started rolling in from Mars. About a year later, tired of being largely ignored and underfunded, the US/EU colonies informed the world that they intended to swear allegiance to the new Martian state. As terrestrial industry slowly began to spin up, China began proposing a UN expeditionary force be sent to Mars to pacify the planet, and almost every country was in favor of the proposal, no one wanted to destroy earth’s environment again. Mars responded by informing earth that it had discovered a vast amount of uranium and had begun stockpiling nuclear weapons, and also had weapons platforms capable of delivering interplanetary missiles. To drive their point home they put on a little demonstration by striking the moon with a nuclear payload, the target had been the Apollo landing site.
World leaders on earth panicked and held emergency meetings, and one by one world leaders all reached the same conclusion, as man has throughout history. The only way to survive an enemy with the resources of an uncontested planet at their disposal was to match them. So, seeing no other option, the UN Security Council voted unanimously to pool resources, intelligence, and technology; and unite under one banner. All so that Earth could more efficiently assess the Martian threat. For yet another time in history, mankind overcame its differences to address a perceived threat, not because they had to, but because they felt they had to. Leaders on Mars received the news of a United Earth as a threat to their independence, and anti-earth propaganda made its rounds warning of impending invasion.
People on either planet would stare at the night sky, attempting to look across the inky black expanse, and imagine enemies plotting their demise; like a mirror image staring back at itself. Unity through division, as it has always been. | Our eyes met, and shared a look for a few seconds. He seemed exhausted, but then, so was I. How could I not be, after all I had been through? He averted his gaze before I did, his head nicking down ever so slightly.
"Peace?" I finally asked. "Do you call that peace, out there?"
My left hand pointed across the throne room, through the stained glass window encompassing most of the top floor of the tower, while my right hand still constricted around my bloodstained sword.
"Peace isn't merely the absence of war. Do you think the Brusha and the Zothen hate each other any less than they did before this whole affair? They stopped killing each other, sure enough, but I'm certain they will get right back to that the moment I leave this building with the message of your defeat." I told him, bitterly.
He tried to nod and almost cut himself on my weapon in the process.
"I know." he answered, his voice weak and slightly dizzy, probably from the blood he had already lost in the course of our fight. "It is in the nature of humanity..."
I pressed the sword a bit stronger against his neck to stop him from speaking any further.
"Really? Human nature? That's how you explain it? Did it ever occur to you that they might have real, legitimate grievences against each other? Grievences that would need to be resolved before actual peaceful coexistance would be possible?" I ranted, anger bubbling up inside of me. "Peace requires understanding. Compassion. Maybe even a bit of love! But those people out there, the Kithor, the Brusha, the Voborg, they only stopped fighting each other because they're afraid of you, not because they like each other!"
He gave me a look that was full of pity. "You're naive if you think their hate for each other will ever fade. This..." - he spread his arms in a gesture that was probably meant to refer to the whole planet, but to me seemed more directed at the throne room around us, littered with the broken bodies of my friends and foes alike - "...is the best we can hope to archieve. Kill me, and the endless wars I ended will start anew."
"Maybe they will." I said, my right hand starting to hurt because I had gripped my sword too tightly. "I will do my best to avoid it, but I can't promise it will work. Even if it doesn't, I can promise you, one day there will be actual solutions to the problems the people of this world have with each other. One day there will be a humanity that is united by their love for each other, not by their hate for you."
His eyes glanced over the bodies of his bodyguards, who were either already dead or still bleeding out on the ground around us. "Big words..." he coughed, spitting out blood, "...big words for somebody that solves all of his problems by killing his enemies. I think we're more alike than you want to..."
He was interrupted by a gurgling sound, which I only recognized a few seconds later as blood that was filling his windpipe. I stumbled backwards, leaving my sword stuck in his throat, where I must have stabbed him in a fit of rage. It took him a while to finally die, and I stayed frozed in place until I was sure it was really over. I thought about saying a sassy comment to his corpse, like "There is a difference - I'm still alive!", and was disgusted with myself for even considering it.
As I stumbled out of the door and down the winding stairs, towards an uncertain future, it occured to me that at the end, he had still kept the last word in our argument. | 2020-12-09T10:24:43 | 2020-12-09T10:23:36 | 207 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone on earth suddenly has a red, blue, or yellow polka dot on the back of their hand. But that’s all it is, and everyone is making a big deal of it. They’re just polka dots. | It was Ben’s wife that noticed the red mark on the back of his hand first, as he grabbed the kettle off the hob and began to pour its boiling water into their respective mugs.
“What’s that?” she asked suddenly, gesturing slightly.
“What’s what?”
“That red mark right there on your hand. You’ve never had that before.”
Ben set down the kettle and turned his hand as if he were checking the time on his watch. Sure enough, a slight red circle had mysteriously appeared, not much larger than a mole or freckle but definitely not a pimple, as it was too bright and completely flat. It looked like someone had tattooed his skin that way.
He furrowed his brow but said nothing.
“Wait,” his wife exclaimed, stepping back in apparent shock.
“What?”
“I’ve got a mark in the same place, see?” she said, shoving her left hand toward him and twisting her wrist so he could see.
In nearly the exact same place, his wife had a blue dot.
Ben and his wife had no children, and neither of them worked with children, so the possibility of a child maliciously colouring them with markers in their sleep was quickly brushed aside. Nevertheless, the two of them attempted a quick scrub and rinse which, to their dismay, did absolutely nothing.
Alas, they were just dots and they didn’t hurt or anything, so Ben and his wife drank their tea, kissed each other goodbye, and went off on their separate ways to work.
On the train, Ben sat in the last car, normally the least empty and his very favourite because he could sit and read the Daily Mail without anyone bothering him. The peaceful ride was short-lived, however, because three stops before Canary Wharf Station, the train ceased moving.
“Fucking hell,” Ben swore underneath his breath. This was just brilliant for a Monday. He looked up to the other passengers in his car: a pale lady in a tilted purple hat who looked like she was straight out of Steel Magnolias, a few men dressed in a similar suit to his own, a woman in slacks carrying a brown parcel that was nearly spilling off her lap, and a twenty-something with shoes about four sizes too large.
After a minute, the train lurched forward and began to garner speed. Sighing, Ben dug his head back into page 6, ready to count the stops before Canary Wharf. But the train didn’t stop at the next three stations.
When it did stop at Canary Wharf after careening into its place in the platform, Ben finally looked up. It was busy; abnormally busy. Nearly shoulder-to-shoulder busy. And by the looks of it, everyone was waiting to get on the train.
Hesitating, Ben stood up to walk to the doors and that’s when he noticed it. On the hand of one of the men dressed in suits, just below the dial of his watch, was a bright red dot, identical to the one on Ben’s own hand.
Then he heard someone mutter, “what does it mean?”
And the doors opened.
People flooded in and a dull excited chattering filled the rear car, forcing Ben back to his seat and causing him to forget about getting to work. Left hands refused to grab at the yellow poles to stabilize, and nearly everyone’s eyes were locked on either their own or someone else’s.
One girl had a blinding yellow dot on hers, and by the looks of it, that was the rarest colour of all three. The only other person who had a yellow one seemed to be the lady with the purple hat. Everybody else had either red or blue. Everybody.
Silently, as the train began to move forward, Ben tried to glimpse each left hand in the car and sort them. That’s how his brain worked.
Two yellow. Twelve blue. Ten red.
And seven that Ben couldn’t determine because their hands were hidden or they were far across on the opposite end of the car.
He took out his phone and opened a recent text from his wife: “wtf is going on?”
Replying with a single question mark, Ben opened the BBC app only to see a triple-split photograph of three hands, each with a different colour dot without a headline. He tapped the photo and an article came up.
Everyone had a dot. Not just in London, or in England, or over in Europe. Everyone in the world. Nobody could get rid of them, and nobody knew what they meant.
Halfway through the article, the man next to him shrieked “Mine’s turned green!”
So had Ben’s. And it hurt, bad. | It had been one week since Zenxar and his men flew over the Earth, giving all the humans red, yellow, or blue dots on their hands. It wasn’t easy, as they learned that not all humans sleep during the night as they thought, but they managed to get it done. Zenxar wanted to see if humans were as divisive and judgmental as everyone claimed they are, so he gave the humans dots to see if the claims were correct.
Zenxar, walked in to the bridge and greeted his crew mates. “How have the humans adapted to these dots?” He asked. “Well sir” one of his lieutenants replied “it seems like it’s been a mixed reception all around. As we initially predicted, many of the more reasonable ones went about their lives as if nothing had changed.”
“That’s good to hear.” Zenxar stated.
“There’s more. A bunch of theories have begun to pop up as to what they mean. Some say they were caused by extraterrestrials” Zenxar almost chuckled at the sound of that. “While others have claimed that certain dots mean that someone belongs to certain hate groups.”
“Really? Is that true?”
“No sir, our studies have shown that all groups have a variety of different colored dots. While some have more of one color than the others, it’s not enough to draw that kind of a conclusion.”
“That sounds terrible!”
“It gets worse I’m afraid. Based on these false claims, many humans have taken to insulting each other, saying that their dots were a sign that they were stupid and ignorant, of course these claims aren’t true, we made sure that the more and less intelligent have a roughly equal amount of the same colored dots.”
“Sir! Sir!” Another crewmen interrupted. “It’s terrible! A significant portion of the humans have resorted to bodily harm!”
“What?” Zenxar replied in shock.
“It’s true, many have been cutting the skin off the backs of their hands, some have even gone so far as to cut their own hands off!”
Zenxar hung his head in sorrow. These false claims had driven many to commit harm upon themselves. It was a terrible thought to think. As much as he hated to admit it, his experiment was a success. Humans were just as hateful and ignorant of each other as the were centuries ago. No doubt if more time passed, there would surely be a war due to these dots. They never change.
“Relay a message back to the council” Zenxar ordered. “Tell them Earth is still lost.” | 2021-01-20T07:10:02 | 2021-01-20T05:35:58 | 39 | 22 |
[WP] The best demon slayers are those whose minds the demons want to stay out of. | Samdaezor was in a desert, now. A second ago, it had been a thick, hooting jungle, but now it was as dry as dry could possibly be. A welcome change from the humid jungle, but still not ideal.
Samdaezor's mouth was dry. Sweat stained his red skin. This wasn't right. He had suffered through heat that made this feel like a spring morning, so why did this feel so torturous? Where *was* he?
"I answered the summons," he muttered to himself, "I answered the summons, and then... I answered the summons, what happened *next-*"
"Lost?" a voice asked.
Samdaezor turned. Somewhere in the middle of his turn, the desert had become a biting tundra in the middle of a storm that blew cold wind and ice into his face. A young woman, pale and plain of face, sat on a rock in a sundress, but she didn't seem bothered by the cold.
He didn't know why, but he felt fear. "You," he said, pointing at her with a shaking, claw-tipped finger. "*You.*"
"It's easy to get lost in here," the woman said, looking at Samdaezor with blank eyes. "Happens to me all the time."
"I'm not lost!" Samdaezor yelled. "I'm just - I'm-"
"Confused," the woman said, suddenly behind him. "Is that it?"
Samdaezor swung at her with claws that had ripped apart thousands, but there was nothing. The tundra was now a rock in the middle of the ocean, salty spray blasting his face. "What *are* you?!" Samdaezor screamed.
"Human," the woman's voice said from everywhere. It came from the rock beneath his feet, from the ocean surrounding them, from the air filled with the stink of salt - "Just a bit more in control of my thoughts than most."
"I'll get out of here!" Samdaezor roared. "And when I do-"
The rocky little island was gone. There was a hill, now, clothed in golden grain and topped with a gnarled old apple tree. A rope, tied into a noose, hung from a low branch. "You won't escape," the woman said, resting beneath the tree. "I've been trained to do this all my life. The Holy Order of the Bridled Mind. Cool name, huh?" The woman smiled. "You can take as long as you like, go as far as you want, but you'll get tired eventually. And when you do, the tree will be right here waiting for you."
Samdaezor laughed. The wheat around him began to wither and die, curling into dry brown needles. "You think *you* can wait me out? Only one of us can die from old age, girl."
The girl smiled toothily. "We'll see," she said, and vanished.
---
Sand shifted underfoot as... what was his name... as he trudged up the dune. He was tired. So tired. So, so, so tired. How long had he been walking away from... from whatever he was walking away from? A year? A hundred years? What *was* a year? How could he measure it when the sun never set?
He collapsed, the sand burning his tired hands. "No more," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Please, no more."
Then, the sand was gone. The dirt under his fingers was soft and comfortingly warm. The wheat waved in the evening winds, and the tree waited at the top of the hill.
There was the rope. There was the exit.
---
She opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched. A glance at the clock set up beside the summoning paraphernalia told her that it had been at least three hours since the summoning had begun. That one had taken a while. She'd been dilating her inner time as far as she could, stretching a second outside to at least a year inside.
She ripped a page out of the leather-bound tome in front of her. On it was a crude sketch of Samdaezor the Wicked that dated from at least the middle ages. After having met him in person, the picture didn't really match.
She crumpled up the page and tossed it into a wastebasket overflowing with similar wadded-up balls of paper. On the next page was Paorahm the Flayer. She read the spidery Latin instructions, and sighed at the list of necessary reagents. She was starting to run low on goats.
----
If you liked this, check out my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.com), or my subreddit at /r/theballadsofirving. | 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. | 2016-02-08T08:48:46 | 2016-02-08T08:30:18 | 151 | 15 |
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it. | **Part 2 coming soon. Feel free to browse my other works while you wait at /r/leoduhvinci**
"What do you mean, there is no author?" Demanded Caesar, brandishing a fresh scroll above his head. Twenty soldiers flanked him as he cornered the librarian, a frail, thin man with an even thinner hairline. He leaned on a walking stick, one intricately carved like an elongated quill, and met Caesar's eye- an act Caesar himself was unaccustomed to.
"I mean what I said. You won't be finding the author of that scroll because there is none." The librarian said, his tone dismissive.
"You expect me to believe it wrote itself then? I know you're protecting him, give him up and his head will roll while yours remains intact."
"There is no protection here," Said the librarian, and sighed,"Despite your anger about what those words on the scroll say about your character, I cannot reveal the author. Because there is none. Because there are none. All the works here, well, they aren't written. They're discovered."
Caesar laughed, throwing his head backwards,"Please old man. I don't want to kill you. I'd like to spare your life. But I will have blood."
"If you don't believe me then I can show you." Said the man, "This is the grandest library in the world. Probably the grandest there will ever be. But the secret to it's greatness is not the scholars that have congregated to increase its works, but arther a lack thereof. This library is where knowledge comes together. Where it congeals into liquid form. And those words on that scroll- you despise them because you know them to be true."
"You dare affirm them then?"
"I don't even know what they are. But come, let me show you. Let me show you the truth."
The librarian began to walk, headand Caeser followed with his men. They dove into the library, past shelve piled high with scrolls and tablets, through mountains of manuscripts, and precious art- each piece containing some tid bit of information. The deeper the traveled, the darker the library became- the ceiling seemed to stretch higher until it disappeared into blackness, and the floor beneath them gave way from stone to dirt. Even the shelves wore away, and the piles became disorderly, strewn about as if ransacked or left out in a storm. With each step the librarian's cane tapped, and he soldiers behind Caesar jingled their armor.
"Here," Whispered the librarian, "Is where works come to be."
"Looks unremarkable to me," Said Caesar, "I see no pens scratching away."
"Oh, but they are." Said the librarian, "Here, this deep, the scrolls write themselves, as truths from the above world slip through the cracks and trickle down. This is where it all collects. All knowledge. Even the most darkest of secrets. Even yours."
"Don't make me laugh again old man," Said Caesar.
"This is no place for laughter," Said the librarian, "Now stand still. Let me get a good look at you."
For ten minutes the librarian studied Caesar, mumbling under his breath as he circled him. "Ah yes, the pride. Authority. Stature. Hmm, hmm, well then. Yes, that'll do."
The the librarian hurried to a pile of scrolls, seemingly no different from the others, and rooted through them, until he found the one he sought.
"This," Said the librarian,is yours Caesar. It holds your secrets, your weaknesses- it holds everything about you. Your greatest triumphs, and you worst sins."
He handed Caesar the scroll, and his he unfurled it, his eyebrows raising as he read each line. Halfway through the scroll he drew a sharp breath, and then his face began to turn red. Before finishing, he tore the scroll, ripping it in half, and stomped it beneath his feet.
"Destroyed then," He said, and the librarian shook his head.
"No, Caesar. It will regrow here, as the knowledge recrystallize. You cannot destroy the scroll."
"Outrageous! " Shouted Caesar" I cannot let such a lace stand. Someone with access here, who knew where to look, could-"
"Could destroy an empire," Finished the librarian.
""It must burn then," Whispered Caesar, and motioned to his guards. "Tomorrow I want this library gone. Burnt to the ground, with nothing to remain. Destroyed. Wiped from the earth and from memory."
"No!," Cried the librarian, flinging himself towards Caesar, but was caught by a guard and knocked to the ground.
"Yes," Said Caesar," Yes it shall be."
The librarian sobbed as they left, their footsteps echoing across the expanse. Then, as the sound of the retreating soldiers died away, he lifted a sleeve to his eye, and brushed away a fake tear.
And from beneath the hood of his robe,he smiled.
For he had other plans.
"Knowledge is power," He whispered, "And this power has been locked away here, caged, for far too long. Let it be free."
***
By Leo | Pothinus ran through the streets of Alexandria, kicking up clouds of dust. He was running from the Palace to the library. Behind him, Ptolemy was dead. Arsinoe as well, perhaps. The Nile lay behind him, too, choked with dead.
Also behind him, but somewhat closer and gaining ground, was a Roman legate. The man cried out as he chased Pothinus
"Halt! Eunuch!"
The legate's foreign tongue mangled the words. Pothinus would not halt -- to fall into the hands of the Romans would mean certain death.
That bitch Cleopatra and her barbarian lover Caesar had won the day. If Caesar knew what the Library truly contained. . .
Pothinus saw the turn he'd been looking for and darted into it. By the time the legate himself rounded the corner, Pothinus would be lost in a maze of alleys. For someone who grew up in Alexandria, it would be easier to use those alleys to get close to the libraries. For a Roman. . . Well, the legate would be lucky to find his way back to Caesar's army.
Caesar. Pothinus's thoughts jumped back:
If Caesar knew of the scroll . . .
But no -- surely Cleopatra would not have told him. The secret was one the Ptolemys had kept since the time of Alexander.
Regardless, though, he had to get to the Library. Escape was only a secondary reason for his running. Some would say that Pothinus was a selfish man. But this was not so. He cared nothing for his own life, and was entirely devoted to his kingdom and dynasty.
Pothinus rounded another corner onto a main thoroughfare. He weaved between the houses of priests and noblemen, forgrounded lush courtyards.
Just ahead now lay the library. He heard the shouting of men but did not yet see them. So he scrambled through the street, passing the residences of the wealthy
Pothinus was a good and loyal servant of the Ptolemys. So when he used the scroll, he would not make himself king, as many would. He would bring the young Ptolemy back to life.
Pothinus ascended the library steps, was at the entrance. He swung the twin doors open, looking ahead ready to run into the scroll room.
He never got there. Pothinus didn't see the men in the street, but they were there. And they had seen him. Their ranking offer notched an arrow and drew his bow. . .
The arrow from behind was well-aimed, and pierced Pothinus's heart. It killed him instantly.
The commander turned to his men.
"We must burn this place immediately, and all the surrounding buildings. There is a. . . thing. . . within. A scroll. But with great power. It must be destroyed."
The grim faced men of Legion CMXCIX -- the clandestine unit tasked with handling supernatural threats to the republic -- nodded and set about their work. This was far from the toughest job they'd done. Gaius, the centurion who'd shot the arrow, repeated under his breath to his second in command, Kaeso.
"Destroyed. . ."
"The legends say it is indestructible," said Kaeso.
"We shall see. . ." | 2015-10-14T09:58:30 | 2015-10-14T09:53:28 | 437 | 15 |
[WP] You hit your head and wake up in 1951. Your phone and charger are in your pocket. Two years later, you've adapted to your new environment, but you keep your phone charged as a reminder of home. One day you sneak a peak at it and notice something strange-- you're picking up a wifi signal. | Instinctively, I pinged the router. It said the IP address was "1". Not [1.1.1.1](https://1.1.1.1), just "1". Incredible. I opened my browser and checked Google, but as usual, Google and all the other websites I tried did not exist, because the DNS wouldn't exist for decades. I wrote a quick script to ping every possible IP address, something that usually took a long time. There was one reply. No website, of course, because there was no HTML yet, but perhaps manually ... Holding my breath, I converted the packet from binary to text. It was gibberish. I subtracted 64 from each byte and tried again.
"4 October, 1953. Hello, world. My name is Alan Turing. I live at 78 High Street, Hampton, London, United Kingdom. I am forty-one years old. I enjoy animated films and puttering with transistors. This is almost 255 characters. The quick brown fox jumped over" The sentence abruptly cut off.
My first thought was: I'm going to meet Alan Turing! My second thought was: This was crazy. There couldn't be internet in the 1950s; it wouldn't even be thought of for decades. I had to be in an alternate timeline. Turing was a brilliant computer scientist, but I couldn't remember anything about him having a hand in the development of the internet. In fact ...
I stopped cold, remembering a little biographical sidebar about Turing from one of my discrete mathematics textbooks. He died sometime in the 1950s, still a young man. Cyanide. He wasn't involved in the creation of the internet at all, because he'd killed himself after the world discovered he was gay.
Could he possibly have developed a public computer network, but died before he could tell anyone?
The next morning, I of course went to visit 78 High Street. Turing answered the door. "Hello, young man," he said. "Are you a travelling salesman? I have an excellent algorithm for you ..."
I knew I had to prove myself worthy of his time before he shut the door. So instead of trying to explain my time travel situation, I simply read the text from his packet aloud. "... I enjoy animated films and puttering with transistors. This is almost 255 characters. The quick brown fox jumped over ..."
"Good heavens," he said. "I think you had better come inside at once."
I briefly explained my story so far, how I'd traveled back in time and had been living here for two years. He didn't want to believe it, of course, but I showed him my phone, or the bits of it I could use without internet. Fortunately I had some music and books downloaded, as well as Google Translate.
"Either you really are a time traveler," he said, "or their are some devilishly clever engineers where you come from. Such a tiny device! No wires! No mechanical parts of any kind that I can see! How does it work?"
I showed him the battery and gave him a quick history of computer science.
"It sounds magnificent," he agreed. "But one thing sounds odd. Why is there such a delay in the creation of this internet? As you can see from my homemade device here, I've got most of the important details worked out, I think. Is there some trouble with patents or something?"
I swallowed. "Alan," I said. "Alan ... you are going to die soon."
He frowned. "Is that why you came from the future? To save me? How do I die?"
I looked closely into Alan's face. "You can't think of any reason?" I whispered.
He frowned, looking down at the floor. Maybe he wasn't sure, but he had an inkling.
I rooted around my phone a bit until I found my ebooks from college. There in the discrete mathematics textbook was the sidebar about his life. We read it together. It listed some of his greatest achievements, his contribution to World War Two and the Turing Machine. It ended by saying that although they'd never ruled out accidental death or assassination, most people thought he'd committed suicide following his court ordered chemical castration. The author concluded that it was a terrible waste of such a brilliant mind, a shame he hadn't been born a bit later, in a more enlightened time.
"A more enlightened time," Turing repeated aloud. "What does that mean?"
I patted his hand. "Alan, things are better in the future for, you know, people like you. It's legal, it's mostly accepted. There are civil rights movements. In 1969, there's a riot, and then gay marriage is legalized in 2014, and ..."
"2014," he said. "If I live, I'll be a hundred and two. Perhaps it's best for history to go on as it should."
"But Alan!" I cried, seizing his hand. "That's in my timeline, not yours. One of the reasons the gay community came to be accepted was the internet. It allowed people to speak anonymously to others like themselves, to organize safely. If you live, and if you invent the internet, and who knows what else, and I'm here to help you with my knowledge ..."
"Say no more," he said, glancing at his homemade router. "In fact ..."
Deftly, Alan sprang up and went to the cupboard. He pulled out a pillbox, brought it over to the sink, and poured an evil looking capsule down the drain.
"Put the kettle on," he urged me. "We've got some work to do!" | I never found out why I was brought here. I was going about my day to day life in the 2010's when something caused my bike to crash. I remember hitting my head hard, and I woke up in the 1950's. It would sound crazy to anyone, including myself, but I'm not lying. All I had were the clothes on my back, and strangely, my phone and it's charger. I decided to keep my phone charged, just to remind me of home.
I had been living my life, slowly getting used to no air conditioning, no internet, and old cars. I had found a job, and an apartment. I was slowly building myself up. It had been two months.
One, bright Sunday afternoon, I put down my book and decided to play a couple games on my phone. These games had never required internet or wifi, so somehow I could still play them.
I was fifteen minutes into it when- My phone's notification bar showed a text from my mom. Cautiously, I tapped it.
"It's been two months now, Ariel. I don't know where you are. No one does. You've been presumed deceased. I know that texting you won't do anything, but, I decided that it might help me to cope with you being gone. Should you be alive, though, please. Come back. Please"
I stared in shock at the text. I was scared to text her back. I didn't know how to go back, and I didn't want to worry her further.
I didn't know any way to tell her that I was ok without making me sound crazy. So I just went for it.
"If I had known I could send texts I would've done so immediately. I'm so sorry. But I can't come back. I don't know how. All I remember is falling off my bike and hitting my head hard. And then I woke up, but.... You'll think I'm crazy, but I promise I'm telling the complete truth. I woke up in 1951. I never texted because I didn't think I could, for obvious reasons. I don't know how this is possible, sending a text through time."
I didn't get a response for fifteen minutes. When I did, all she said was, "I'm coming for you, honey"
My vision went dark. Everything was pitch black, except for a faint yellow glow in the distance. I slowly began to feel my way towards it. I stopped when my hands touched a figure. I was right next to the yellow, and realized that it was the figure that was glowing.
"I told you I would come for you," my mom's gentle voice floated towards me. She was right in front of me, but her voice sounded so far away. She began to song me a lullaby from my childhood.
I woke up in my bed, my mom leaning over me, smiling. A faint yellow glow was just leaving her eyes. "Welcome home, sweetie."
To this day I never really knew if it was all a dream. If it wasn't, I don't know why I had my phone, or who my mom really is, but I will be searching for that my whole life.
(If anyone has constructive criticism I will welcome it greatly) | 2020-06-11T20:30:56 | 2020-06-11T18:24:10 | 420 | 24 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/ | Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
Rattick threw the necklace on the oak counter and watched the light dance in it like a living thing. He nodded at it and asked, "Have you ever seen such exquisite workmanship?"
Boltac, the Merchant on the other side of the counter, picked up the ruby necklace and examined it closely. He gave Rattick a hard look and frowned. Maybe the deal was good, but this shifty-eyed, greasy-hair scavenger looked like he would pick his own pocket if he thought he could get away with it.
Boltac's eyes were swathed in a soft round face, but they were sharp enough that Rattick would not brave his gaze. And despite the fleshiness that middle age had added to Boltac’s neck and gut, his jaw had stayed strong and block-like. He was not a man that people easily got the better of.
Boltac studied the necklace for a while. Then he licked his thumb, rubbed the necklace's setting, and muttered, "You missed a spot."
"Missed a spot?" asked Rattick, as smooth as water over river rock.
"Blood, Rattick. There's some blood left on this necklace."
Rattick shrugged. "Probably mine. I try to use stealth, but the Orc I took it from put up quite a fight."
"En-henh," Boltac said as ran his hand across his shaven pate. "Not that I want to know, but what is an Orc?"
"A fearsome new creature wreaking havoc on the good people of Robrecht."
"En-henh," said Boltac, not buying it. "And you, uh, count yourself among those good people?"
"Of course. I am no mighty Hero, like some, but I do what little I can."
"Okay, Rattick, I'm gonna make you an offer on your necklace here. The setting is crap, but the stone is very nice. But before I do -- not for nuttin' but, Orcs? You're shittin' me, right?"
"Oh no, stout Merchant, I assure you, Orcs are very real."
"Really? Kobolds, I heard of. Trolls, I heard of. Dragons, sure, but Orcs? C'mon. What does an Orc look like?"
"Gentle Merchant, I hope that you never see one, but I assure you, if you do, you will know it for the Orc that it is."
"En-henh."
"Let me tell you the fearsome tale of how I came to acquire this necklace and then perhaps you will better understand the threat that the fearsome Orc--"
"You can spare me the story, Rattick," said Boltac.
"You don't enjoy Tales of Valor?" asked Rattick with a smile.
"Tales of Valor? No. I enjoy tales of profit."
"I don't know any sagas that involve tales of profit," said Rattick. "But Tales of Valor, of great daring... the bards sing many songs of those."
"Yeah, I don't really care for singing either. In fact, let's just cut all the bullshit. I'm pretty sure I know how you got this."
"Yessssss," purred Rattick, running his finger over the ruby, "but do you care?"
"Not if you'll take fifteen gold for it I don't."
"Fifteen gold? I risked my neck for this!"
"Your neck? I'm pretty sure *you* risked somebody *else's* neck for this particular bauble. Fine, seventeen for the gem, and two gold for the rest of it." Boltac said, indicating the pile of equipment on the floor.
"But this sword almost defeated a Troll!"
"Yeah, and it almost doesn't have that huge nick in it. And why does everything in that pile smell like Troll shit?"
They haggled like this for a while, and settled on a price of 22 gold for the lot. When Rattick left, Boltac muttered a curse and had to work to keep from spitting on his own floor.
He placed the ruby in one of three lockboxes behind the counter and then dragged the bundle of equipment into the back to see how badly he had been taken. The sword was of higher quality than he had hoped for, and there were a number of items that, while they wouldn't fetch top price, would provide good use. The odd piece of armor, some leather goods. He threw out a badly damaged boot and debated opening a nondescript fabric sack. Sacks could be trouble. For that matter so could gems.
He grunted as he stood up. He trudged wearily back to the front of the store. From beneath the counter, he produced a brass-tipped wand that was clipped to the underside of the thick oak. He took the wand to the back and guided it carefully over all the items.
The wand did not grow warm or shriek or vibrate or do any of the many colorful and destructive things it did in the presence of Magic. The wand was not merely a Magic wand. It was a Magic *detecting* wand. Very rare, very expensive. But, for a man who dealt in items of unknown origins purchased from characters of questionable virtue, it was indispensable.
"Ennh," grunted Boltac, more relieved than disappointed. Boltac hated Magic. It wasn't just dangerous, it was bad for business. When a customer couldn't try on a pair of gloves for fear that they would turn out to be MaGrief's Gauntlets of Self-Abuse, business suffered.
That's why he kept the wand secreted under his the counter. Pick up a cursed ruby necklace and there was no telling what might happen. Before he had procured his wand, Boltac had spent six months with a cursed Goblet of Thirst stuck to his hand. As annoying as that was, that wasn't the worst part of the curse. When liquid was poured into the Goblet, it heated up and burned the hand that held it.
He rubbed the scarred flesh of his left hand. Ugh, Magic. It seemed like it should be useful but its power always seemed to go awry. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was that Wizards had a particularly cruel and ironic sense of humor. Whatever the reason, Boltac was certain that the world would be better off without Magic. But there was nothing to be done about it. People may revile a Merchant but, in the end, a Merchant can only sell what the people want.
He pulled on a stout thong he wore around his neck and, with a jingle, a cluster of charms, tokens, and amulets emerged from beneath his tunic. He pawed at them for a while until he came to an odd one cast in bronze. It was a small statue of one bull mounting another. The customary token of Dallios, Lord of the Deal. Dallios was a Southron God, little known in cold Robrecht, but when it came to religions, Boltac didn't discriminate. Boltac was a superstitious man, but he prided himself on being able to make a deal with anybody.
He kissed the Bull with Two Backs and muttered a prayer of thanks to Dallios that, this time at least, he hadn't been the bull on the bottom.
Just then the front door clattered against its crude copper bell. A customer! The Lord of the Deal smiled on Boltac today, and he hurried to see what fresh profit Dallios had seen fit to bring him.
| "Hey Charlie, I've got some new gear for you."
GearHead447 is this junk trader. He's usually bringing pits and pans, cups, spoons, and the occasional block of cheese. He scrapes me dry of any extra coin I might have and leaves me with His trash. Sure, he'll sometimes bring in the occasional piece of nice jewelry but I'm a weapons dealer! I don't sell junk!
"GH, I really can't take anything besides weapons today. I ain't got the time to go and trade with the other merchants. I have to keep my shop open."
"Charlie, I do have weapons today. I have a ton of knives!"
"GH, dinner knives don't count."
"A knife is a knife and business is business. Cough up some coin or you won't have a shop to keep."
GH is also known to have a temper. He's not too smart but word has gotten around that he isn't on the level. When he makes a threat he can usually deliver on it.
"GH, your a bum. Here's your damn coin."
He slides a pile of rusty butter knives across my counter and I slide a chopper each back in return.
He starts counting and then grunts a couple times grudgingly. He covers the coin and turns around. But before he walks out, he does something weird.
GH takes two steps forward, a step back, he jumps, and then couches. He turns around twice and draws his sword.
I stand there staring wondering if he's finally lost it. Then he opens his hand to see the copper. He looks frustrated and he starts cursing under his breath and starts over.
"Uh... GH, do you need something else? I can send fire someone if you need it."
Ignoring me he starts cursing louder and getting a bit red in the face. But then he goes completely still. His face was blank and he's barely breathing. It's like the lights are lit but nobody's home.
Suddenly the light came back on and he shakes his head.
"I forgot the second couch.... Why do I always forget that one."
I watch as he performs it all over again except gee couches twice this time. Then he uncovers the coin to look again. To my utter amazement, the coppers are now all gold!
"WHAT IN BLOODY BLAZES!? GH, ARE YOU DOIN WITCHCRAFT IN MY SHOP?"
"I'm a ranger. Nothing magical about me... It's a..um... Trick O'the trade."
A rye smile appears in his face as he walks back up to the counter.
"GH, I can't take that gold."
"No course not. But I almost forgot about the sword I found."
He pulls this sword out. Doesn't look like anything special. Until he starts unsheathing it. It's made of pure diamond with a red glow about it.
"GH, I don't have coin to do that justice. Maybe one of the merchants in Darkdale. I know a guy."
A look of determination crosses his face.
"Ain't got time.... Hold on a sec."
He steps back and freezes again. Completely blank. Then he stirs and couches. He sits there for a second while I'm waiting for him to do something.
"GH, no more tricks. I don't have the coin and I'm expecting a delivery."
"Hold on a sec, Charlie. It's worth thirty seconds O' your time."
He starts doing a different weird dance and jumping all around my shop. The he draws his sword again.
"Threatening me won't make me have more coin, GH."
"Won't it?"
"What?"
He gives me this knowing look and sets the sword on the table.
"Charlie, check and see if you got some extra coin somewhere."
I shrug and shake my head but turn to check the purse I have in the shelf behind me. And there it is. A pile of gold! Enough to buy ten of his shiny swords!
"GH, what'd you do? I ain't taking no stolen coin."
"It ain't stolen and you are buying my sword."
"Why would you give me coin just for me to take your sword. You're cheatin yourself!"
"Just take the sword and give me the coin, Charlie, and stop arguing! Don't question it. You're looking a gift house in the mouth!"
"You're saying this is mine?"
He gets another grin and nods.
"GH. You aren't pulling a truck on me? I'll not be mocked in my own shop."
"Charlie, it's not my gold, it's yours. I can't take it from you so I have to sell stuff to you to get it. I'm serious, Charlie. It's yours!"
"So you are saying, this is mine and you're selling me your sword to resell and make more money?"
"Yeah. That's how it works."
"GH, you get a discount from now on and you can stop by any time you want!"
What happened next, I will never forget. GH stopped moving. He got that blank look again and wouldn't respond no matter what I did. I tried shaking him and telling. He wouldn't move.
The minutes passed and he nothing happened.
Suddenly, he wasn't there anymore. It was as if he was never there! A note appeared on the floor where he had been standing. I will never be able to explain what happened. And the note didn't make any sense.
I picked it up and read it.
"PLAYER BANNED FOR CHEATING.
-MODERATOR" | 2016-10-16T17:09:52 | 2016-10-16T11:44:59 | 62 | 11 |
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth. | I didn't get it.
There it was plain as day. I had died only 2 minutes after I was born. It didn't make any sense. All of the other names I looked up were correct, all the way back through history. In multiple languages too, most of which I had no chance of reading.
I'll have to ask my mother about it. I know we have never been close, her and I. She likes to shut me out and give me the silent treatment. It's why I spend most of my time in my room. I don't mind it at all really, I like the privacy. Ha, except the one time when she came in to clean my room just after I had finished showering. Scared the crap out of me. She didn't even once look in my direction though, just came in to dust the windowsill and left.
I wish I had some friends to talk to about it though, or even to show them this book. They would find it amazing. I haven't had much luck making friends though, I guess I'm just too shy. I've tried to talk to people when I hear them talking about video games or football, but they just ignore me and keep talking. Maybe it's because I do so well in school. I've never once been into trouble, for anything at all. Maybe if I was more of a rebel. But I wouldn't want to jeopardise my marks.
I put the book back where I found it, and leave the restricted area of the library. Thinking more about it, it's definitely a mistake. It must have just been a registry of death notices, and they got mine mixed up with someone else's. I can relax, that's gotta be the explanation.
I finally arrive home.
"Mum! Dad! I'm home!" I yell, to give them peace of mind. My father comes out to close the door behind me. I must have forgotten again.
"It's the damn door again," he mutters.
"Sorry!" I apologise, "I'll remember next time!"
He stomps off back to the living room to continue reading the paper. I head into the kitchen.
"Hi Mom!" She has that far away look in her eyes again, staring out of the kitchen window. I hug her from behind and accidentally startle her. She drops the plate she's holding onto the floor where it smashes into a hundred shards.
"Oh not again," my dad gruffly says as he walks into the kitchen. "I thought we had talked about this."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll clean it up!" I say as I run off to get the dustpan and broom. As I get back to the kitchen, I see that my mother has already started sweeping up the shards of crockery. My parents are having another argument again. I quietly slip off to my room.
Suddenly my father barges into the room, throwing a cloud of dust into the air as he opens the door. I cough as the particles irritate my throat.
"Is this normal?" he shouts at my mother, gesturing in my direction.
"No, I guess not," my mother replies, looking shamefully at the ground.
"Hey, that's not a nice thing to say!" I shout back at my father.
My father faces back towards my mother and quietly says "It's okay. I know it's not your fault. We'll just go back to the doctors and they'll do some more tests." My mother nods.
I feel sorry for my poor mother. As long as I can remember she's always had trouble. She drops objects, quite often when I go to hug her or hold her hand. When I'm talking sometimes she'll get a far off look in her eyes, like she's distracted by something. I remember at night, when I was barely five years old, I would creep into my parents room, get under the covers and hug her tightly. She was always so shivery though. Hopefully the doctors can find out what's wrong with her, and why she gets so sick all the time.
Well, I better do my homework and head to bed. Tomorrow is another day after all. There's meant to be a test tomorrow, and I hope if I do well enough, my father will finally be proud of me. He might even stop pretending I don't exist, wouldn't that be something. | "That is odd" - I thought to myself - "So if this book is always true then that mean I am already dead?"
With a little doubt in my head I touch myself, or rather pinch my cheek to double check that this isn't just one of those crazy dream I have or rather, to see if I actually exist or not.
"If the book was right and I am still alive, then who is dead on that day?" - I turn to the guy who gave me the book. "You said you want to show me this but why?" - My voice suddenly got louder, I panically look at him waiting for an answer.
"It no other but you, my boy." - With a creepy grind on his face, the man look at me and talk with a soft voice but somehow I feel it full of malice - "You was suppose to go with me on that day. But you mother, a sly women she is, trying to do the impossible that is cheating on me, Death."
Chill sending down my spine, I tremble so much my own legs crashing down and I am all four on my back. "A...Are you here... to...?" - I try to speak with my tremble voice, with every words I feel like I am about to cry. "No! I don't want to die! Stay away from me, Demon!" - I scream at the top of my lung, hoping that someone may hear it and come for me, anyone!
"Well, if it could be that easy... too bad I can't kill you now. Your name already on the book so if you dead, the book won't be able to resign you and kick you back to life." - The man look at me with a bothersome face like I some kind of trash that his mom tell him to take out on Sunday. - "Your immortality will make a fool out of us if you are still staying on this world so I have no choice but to take you in. It is official, kid, you are one of us now. Welcome to the world of Death." | 2017-09-05T02:47:58 | 2017-09-05T02:33:22 | 290 | 19 |
[WP]A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do? | The meaning of life had always been a mystery to humans here on this small blue planet. Some had always wondered exactly what the meaning of life was, and why it was that after 6 million years on this planet, us humans haven't been able to figure it out.
Unbeknownst to the rest of humanity, the meaning of life had been discovered in the year 2015 by one man. His name was Jim. Once Jim realized exactly what it was that he had discovered, he wrote it on a piece of paper. He then decided to purchase a .42 caliber revolver, and put it to his head.
His landlord heard the noise and called the police. Before the police got there the landlord snuck into Jim's room to get his months rent out of his wallet. He covered his eyes and walked past the body, finding the wallet on Jim's nightstand. He opened the wallet to find no money, but instead a folded up piece of paper. Curious as to what it was, the landlord opened the piece of paper and read it. The landlord then walked over to Jim's body, picked up the .42 caliber revolver and put it to his own head.
So where do I fit into this whole story? Well, I'm a police officer. And it just so happened that my first day on the job was to cover what appeared to be a murder suicide.
When we first walked in the door I didn't know what I was expecting to see. The two bodies were laying next to each other, one still had the gun in his hand. Upon further inspection I noticed a piece of paper lying between them. Unsure of what it was, I put on a pair of gloves and picked it up.
"What is it, Sam?" asked my commanding officer.
"I'm not sure" I replied, "it looks like some sort of note, but it's unreadable through all of this blood."
"Well, just put it in the evidence bag" he said, as he sat there examining the two bodies.
Following his command I pulled out an evidence bag. Before I put the piece of paper in, I tried to read the part that wasn't covered in blood. Between the smudges and the blurred words, I could make out the first part. It read
*Dear Sam, It is usually said the meaning of life is to live a life of purpose, and I know for a fact that is true. The thing is that the ‘purpose’ isn’t what you think it is, and everyone’s purpose is the same. What you’re about to read next is going to change your life completely, and if you would like to continue to live in a world of ignorance is bliss, I would strongly suggest you to stop reading this note NOW because the rest of the blood will disappear in 30 seconds.*
I quickly folded the note in half and threw it into the evidence bag. A feeling of pure fear and confusion pulsated through my body, a weight seemed to be pressing down on my chest. Unsure of what to do next, I sat down.
"You okay Sam?" asked my commanding officer.
"Yeah" I said, "this is all just a lot for my first day. Could I have a minute?"
"Sure" he replied.
After sixty long seconds that felt more like sixty minutes, I stood up. I walked towards the evidence bag and unzipped it.
-----
**Disclaimer: this is a complete work of fiction.**
(*Will expand tomorrow morning when I wake up if there's interest. I'll post it on here and /r/samwisegamgee42*)
[Part 2 is up](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xbttj/wpa_man_kills_himself_after_discovering_the/coyzizq) | After slowly unclumping the piece of paper, I can make out the two simple symbols of nomenclature written in smudged blue ink. Two blurry numbers. 42.
Immediately I scoff. "Forty two" hah! That's just a reference to a Douglas Adams series of books. I loved those books. They got me through a tough period in my life and having that escapists release was a an important catalyst to how I became who I am.
I look again at the corpse. And then back at the crumpled piece of paper. I remember reading the book and I remember feeling just how comforting it was to have an answer. It was so simple. Twenty one times two. 42 is the only known value that is the number of sets of four distinct positive integers a,b,c,d, each less than the value itself, such that ab-cd, ac-bd, and ad-bc are each multiples of the value. Whether there are other values remains an open question. It is A UNIQUE NUMBER!
It dawned on me. The meaning of life is this. You are unique. There is no other you, but you. You are the product of four distinct positive integers. You are 42. You are unique. I am unique.
It was when I had this revelation that weird things started to happen, after a night of unsettling dreams. The next day. Get up and go to work.
The first customer that came in, right after I opened, looked at me and said, " | 2015-02-26T23:56:48 | 2015-02-26T23:55:11 | 101 | 19 |
[WP] Everytime someone has a 'blonde moment' they get a little blonder. Black hair is now a symbol of brilliance, and you've just invented hair dye.
These are all so good! This is my first submission to /r/WritingPrompts and I'm loving all your responses.
Thank you! | Technically, I’m not breaking any law, though I doubt that argument would stand up in court. If you knew me in real life you wouldn’t look at me twice. I don’t look like a criminal type. Smart, well-dressed but not ostentatious. Polite, well-mannered. Intelligent, but not strikingly so. Perhaps you’d think in my line of work, you’d go the whole way and present yourself as a genius. But that’s the kind of thing that gets people caught. Like driving a Jaguar when you’re supposed to be unemployed. No, a mousey-brown is good enough. Socially acceptable, without drawing attention.
I never planned to become a drug dealer. It just happened. I saw a need, and I had the means to fulfil that need. I see myself as a humanitarian. Besides, as I said, it’s not technically illegal. I mean it’s illegal to lie to an employer about your qualifications, so the people who use my drug may be guilty of that. But on the other hand, isn’t it their fault for accepting people’s hair colour as a qualification of intelligence in the first place?
Of course, that’s an academic argument. No jury would buy it if I ever had to stand before them. We’re all so used to judging people based on their appearance. It’s become such a part of the way we interact with each other it might as well be a law. A law of nature. If a Low Grade walked into a Upper Grade toilet dressed as a brunette, well there’d be uproar. If they found out of course.
But my product is better than the usual crap out there. The reeking bricks in plastic wrap that desperate people trade in dark alleys behind pubs and abandoned offices. The stuff that fools no one and just makes people look at them with pity. The more liberal people pretend to tolerate their unnatural pretence. But children point and adults whisper behind their back, and giggle, and make excuses not to talk to them. But my stuff actually works. Its not made of charcoal and shit. Its premium quality. As long as you make sure to keep using it every week then it’s undetectable, unless a doctor examines you. And at that point you’re caught anyway.
I sell about a hundred shades, from the top of Grade Five, to the bottom of Grade Two. Once someone’s known as a Grade One there’s no helping them. Most people just want to remain where they are, they’ve made a bad decision and they’re terrified of showing it. For those at the edges of the Gradings any slip-up must be terrifying. I’ve heard of people being disowned by their parents out of shame. No wonder there’s such a market for this stuff. And of course, once a guy starts using it, they’ve got to keep buying more, or they’ll get caught. Not my fault though, I couldn’t figure out how to make a permanent version. I tried. Just because it means they have to keep coming back each week for their next dose doesn’t make me a bad person.
There are those who are greedy of course. Those who want to rise in society, and think they can pull off the con. If they’re too light then I don’t deal with them. Prejudiced maybe, but I’ve got my own life to consider. If a hay-seed or a honey-pot gets caught, any detective worth their salt will be able to trick them into giving me up. Offensive? Sorry, I suppose I should know better than to use those words. But you know what I mean. Those people just can’t be trusted. You know what I’m talking about. I’m not prejudiced though. Some of my best friends are blondes.
No, I generally match shades, or give someone a couple of shades up. Too much and its dangerous. It’s harder to pretend to be someone you’re not than most people would think. I tried going up six shades at first. I almost got caught when I was chatting to a Grade Four and I accidently got the capital of Peru wrong. I could feel his suspicion, I felt so terrified and ashamed. Over the next month I subtly shifted myself down a few shades so as not to come across so suspicious. I can pass for a mid-range Grade Three I think, just about, if I’m careful.
Besides, I’m not hurting anyone. If someone wants to pretend to be someone they aren’t, a bit smarter, a bit more how they imagine themselves to be, why shouldn’t they? None of us can help the way we’re made. Dumb or smart, we’re all humans. Its society that’s to blame, with the segregation, the prejudice. The shame that parents feel when they find out their beloved son is a silverback. If I can help to smooth out those difference, to help that son keep his mom talking to him, to stop some poor girl from losing her job – surely that’s a good thing. Right?
**Edit**: Wow, thank for the gold. I'm glad people like it. I've posted part two below as a thank you for everyone who upvoted and the nice comments. | I took a deep breath, preparing to go outside and for the first time, not sure what to expect from otherwise usual surroundings. Would people treat me differently? What could I do, now that people will think I'm smart?
The first place I went was Starbucks, where I ordered my usual swirly, creamy coffee drink. If I was going to possibly make this believable, I'd at least have to be alert. I I noticed the barista gave me a genuine smile instead of the usual knowing smirk that comes with a stereotype matching an expectation.
I walked briskly off to class. My first semester at the community college was disheartening, to say the least. Most people there were also blonde, some lighter than others, with a few shades of brown and - occasionally - someone with hair so dark they stand out in every class, yet for some reason rejects the scholarships for university offered to every one of them.
There was one such boy in my first class, Chemistry. I felt I was quite good at it, yet the professors, usually with light to medium brown hair(I'd heard the university professors were required to be dark brown or deeper), talked to me like I didn't understand. I guess maybe I just don't fully grasp all of it, but I get the basics. I think I got really lucky with my hunch about ammonia to make this dye.
The boy looked surprised when I walked in. Right, I thought, I was one of him, too, now. I sat in the one of the only open seats, next to him. I figured it's what I'd do if I were him.
"Now," the professor began, "who can tell me what they know about the laboratory you reviewed on the syllabus?"
I took a chance and raised my hand. He nodded. "Well..." I tried to remember exactly the answer I had given my first day of the same class last year; "It's a standard titration, so you're basically balancing out the amount of acidic substance in a solution with the amount of basic compound in a solution, and so the amount of the base required can tell you how much acid is in the solution."
"Yes, yes, very good answer!" He replied.
I tried to smile normally but had to hold back a grin, then looked away in embarrassment.
After class, the boy with the dark hair introduced himself to me as Michael. He didn't know exactly what he wanted to study, and didn't want to be around a bunch of people who would pressure him to choose so quickly. I admired that he would stray so far from the norm for that. The more we talked, the more he expected me to say something intelligent, something interesting, the more I felt...well, intelligent, or interesting.
Did the dye change my intelligence as well as the color of my hair? Or...was I always capable of feeling like this?
{Really wanted to write more but it felt like it was getting long and it's really late. :(} | 2016-11-24T23:31:46 | 2016-11-24T22:17:33 | 100 | 32 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | **"Those forgetting history is bound to repeat it"**
These words are written above the entrance to the chamber of the great council. We thought we knew everything, but there were so much we forgot.
None of the councils members remembered why the image of a grinning human was chiselled into the chamber walls. The painting was neither good, nor well made. Beneath it was chiselled the words human females tell their children. "Use your words".
No one would deny that the humans where great talkers and mediators. But they were also a soft squishy species. The way they imprinted on their young to use their words where taken as a sign that they were weak and timid. They even punished their children when they were caught fighting.
All this we learned from the small colonies they had among the rest of us. We would learn more too soon.
The way of the council and the accord of the species was that one species could acquire another species place, rank, honour on the council by fighting the other species. This way the council was guaranteed to stay strong and fresh. That species gained planets and colonies, or lost them in these struggles was the norm. Occasionally a species was removed entirely from the council when their entire territory was annihilated.
No species entirely disappeared. After their defeat they were always offered a space in the Alliance. A small ragtag collection of planets and species surrounding the last suspected location of the human home world. Everyone thought of them as zookeepers. Guards of humanity. That they were there to protect the humans. No one gave them any tought as they were out of the way. "Out of sight. Out of Mind". Another humans wording. They have so many.
They were no longer out of mind after discovering huge deposits of rare elements where located in their territory. A short victorious war was planned to prepare for mining. With the added benefit of providing us with free workers.
The Alliance pleaded and begged us to reconsider. Sent us historical files, and copies of signed accords. We ignored them all. The humans tried their talks, but we ignored their calls. We probably should have listened when the Alliance said "We wash our hands of this. We tried warning you.". How we laughed.
We took the first planets easily. Setting up mining operations. Forcing the humans to be our slaves. We thought they were weaklings having trouble operating our equipment, since everything went much slower than we anticipated. Then the breakdown started. Machines breaking. Bridges falling down. Transports failing to launch. Small things. But they happened just too often.
We thought we had rounded up all the humans. When the explosions started we knew we hadn't. We never found where they hid. But they were severely hindering our operations. This happened on every planet we occupied. Even ones previously occupied. Wherever we set up operations, humans found a way to hide and make trouble.
We soon learned another human expression. "Guerrilla warfare".
They even brought this to interstellar space. Small groups, hiding out in spaces no ship should be able to hide, they hit us repeatedly where it hurt. Our shipping lanes, our outposts. Never the same twice in a row. Always gone before our military ships could show up.
Little did we know that this was done to make sure we overspent ourselves trying to protect against small irritants, while they prepared.
When they hit us. As a war faring race we can only admire the beauty in their attack. They were everywhere. Our capitals fell in the first bombardment. The council lay in tatters as we were decimated. And we could do no other action than concede when they entered the council chamber claiming their rightful place at the top. There where no one left that could stop them. The words they uttered when they opened the proceedings shocked us to our cores. Even though we could see the warning every time we entered.
&#x200B;
"We founded this council. We can always reclaim our place. Remember history". | It's been 50 years since we've come in contact with alien life forms. In that 50 years we've learned so much. We've piggybacked off of there space travel formula's and we've actually made a decent presence in the galactic scene. Nothing spectacular but at least they like our movies. It's actually very strange to me, they take the artist with the highest notoriety as the leader of the planet. So as the person with the highest view count on youtube, I guess that means I'm earth's ambassador. I'm not complaining. I usually just get to sit in big meetings with the most important people in the galaxy. I don't understand a lot of the things that are going on but today the meeting took a very interesting turn.
"What does earth really give us anyway? They're a bunch of babys sitting on tech we've provided them, and on more resources than they know what to do with. I move to Industrialize the planet for the Sirrians."
"Um... I don't know how well that would..."
"You know what, Dichotomas? I think you're right. We've let the earthlings into our inner circle, so I only feel that it's right to demand some recompense."
"hey guys, As an earthling I really think you should reconsider... i mean we go to war with each other over misconstrued facial features.... I don't think I could hold my planet back from fucking you guys up."
&#x200B;
"Say that again? The interpreter didn't catch the word you said. It was right after reconsider... Oh look! Your planet is sending their fireworks into space to celebrate our contract!"
&#x200B;
...sigh "I guess I'm collateral damage..." | 2019-04-19T08:22:28 | 2019-04-18T23:55:44 | 47 | 20 |
[WP] Worldwide internet access shuts down for 45 minutes. When access is available again, everything is the same, but feels "off" in a way that nobody can pinpoint what or why. Someone finds out what it is, and wishes they hadn't. | There are exceptional people born into this world. Some have a rare gift for music, some for particular sports and others for mathematics or science. Others have lesser, but still useful gifts, like perfectly remembering birthdays or always knowing which way is north.
Sorcha was in the later category.
Ever since she was a very small child she'd always had an impeccable sense of time. If she needed to be up at 6:45am to see her favourite TV show, she would be awake at precisely 6:44 and twenty eight seconds; which gave her thirty two seconds to walk to the lounge and turn on the TV. When things were out of sync - i.e. when TV shows were early or late - it would frustrate her unreasonably.
As she grew older she learned to deal with the rest of the world being unreliable; but her unerring sense of time never left her - in fact growing even *more* precise with age.
So it was Sorcha that first noticed something was amiss after the global outage.
At first it was a tiny, imperceptible niggle and she put it down to the outage throwing everything out of whack.
But as things returned to normal and everything else went back onto its regular (imperfect) schedule, the niggle grew into an *itch*. When she wasn't using the internet she was fine; her train was still arriving within the variance she'd grown accustomed to and her alarm clock was still out by half a millisecond each day.
Using the internet was frustrating her immensely though.
It took her two weeks to figure out what was going wrong, even with her remarkable talent:
Every website she normally looked at was loading a fraction of a millisecond slower.
Pinging the websites proved she was right - she'd obsessively kept records of how long her favourite websites took to load, because that's the kind of person she was. Every site was around 1ms off, after rounding had occurred - but not often enough for anyone else to suspect. For all other human beings, the difference was not perceptible.
But *why* was this happening?
That mystery took much longer for Sorcha to figure out. She needed to come up with a *reason* for the imperceptible change. She'd done traceroutes and sniffed network packets but she couldn't quite see where the extra time was being added. If anything, it was being added *everywhere* - a tiny fraction of a millisecond every hop that the data took.
Following that clue, she found the most convoluted routes through traffic to a destination and managed to rack up a full *two* milliseconds of extra time to what she would normally expect.
Something, somewhere was delaying the internet by less than a tenth of a millisecond per hop.
Whatever it was, it had happened to *everything* on the internet during the outage.
This was outside of her experience, so she decided to look elsewhere for help.
Tyrone had been her one-time boyfriend at college, but neither of them had really 'got' relationships, so they went their separate ways, remaining friends still. As obsessive as her - but in a different way - Tyrone lived off the grid, in a sustainable house with solar power, no internet and was paranoid about guests. Sorcha put the flag of his letterbox up at a 45 degree angle, which she knew would irritate him enough to come outside and fix it.
When he eventually emerged from the house, paranoid, she walked over to him before he could run back inside.
"Tyrone, I need your help."
After she'd explained everything in detail, Tyrone asking a multitude of staccato and pertinent questions, he sat in thought for a long time. Eventually he said what she'd thought he might say;
"It's the government."
"Well, of course, but *why?* What are they doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" spat Tyrone, "those fucks are monitoring *everything*."
"That's a given; we've all known about that since the Snowden revelation. So why has the time of each hop changed?"
Tyrone pinched his broad nose, thinking again.
After precisely two minutes and forty three second, he began to talk again.
"I had a friend once, who was an even bigger conspiracy nut than me. He eventually disappeared, but before he did, he had this theory. You see, governments used to be able to control information easily - newspapers, public speakers, all that stuff. As radio came along, they started to get worried, because there was almost too much information to monitor and control. My friend had this theory that because the government had lost control of what information was getting out there - after internet happened - that 99% of *all* conspiracy theories out there were created by the government, to bury any *real* stuff under the weight of garbage.
But lately I've noticed that the numbers of conspiracy theories have been diminishing, very incrementally. Like you with your internet stuff, I noticed something was *off*,"
"Oh my god," whispered Sorcha, everything crystallising inside her mind.
"Yes," grunted Tyrone, "you figured it out. They don't *need* conspiracy theories anymore because *now they have complete control*. What used to be impossible is now possible -"
"Because they now have the technological resources to monitor and censor *anything*," finished Sorcha.
Tyrone looked out at the celltower across the street,
"And we can't even tell anyone about it, because as soon as we try to post it online, the supercomputers will detect it and scrub it out of existence."
"Tyrone?"
"Yeah Sorcha?"
"Can I move in with you?" | When the hundredth or so imgur link of the evening wouldn't open, I clicked refresh and sat back in my chair and waited, patiently, for about three seconds. Then I opened a new tab and typed "google" into the google search bar. I got an error message. I signed and leaned across my desk to reset the router, then counted impatiently down from thirty before hitting refresh on my imgur tab again. Nothing. Fine, I'd use my phone. A couple of rounds of Wordament would pass the time while it got up and running again, and later I'd use my phone to call my ISP and complain at them again.
"Unable to connect. Check your internet settings," my phone suggested. Had I switched wifi on instead of the 4G? Nope. The ISP must be down; they provided both my home broadband and my phone contract. One of the other ones had a problem last year, didn't they? Lasted all of ten minutes. I'd just have to waste time some other way instead.
Fridge didn't have anything in it I felt like eating. I didn't feel like the biscuits in the snack drawer. The fridge still didn't have anything in it I felt like eating. No apple juice either; I opened a new carton from the cupboard and took my glass of room-termperature apple juice back through to the study.
I refreshed everything, to see if anything could get through. Tried a few other websites. BBC, Netflix, Twitter. Nothing. Clicked the icon in my start-bar for Guild Wars 2, before realising that an MMO probably wouldn't work if the internet was down. I looked around my desk. There was a book I still hadn't finished, but I'd not been that bothered about it. I considered a DVD - Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, maybe - but that meant digging out the case from under a pile of bits of paper, and anyway, by the time I got past the credits the internet would be back up anyway, probably. Minesweeper it was, then, and after every game, win or lose, I refreshed my browser.
It took nearly an hour. Well, forty-five minutes, but it felt longer. I'd become a better Minesweeper player, that was for certain. But finally, when I clicked refresh, instead of a bunch of dots going around in a circle before the error message blinked off and on again, I got my imgur link; I'd waited forty-five minutes for that cat wearing a cat-ear hoodie. Finally.
Minesweeper was abandoned; my browsing continued. A cat doing that thing where it shows you its belly and curls in its front paws; a gif of a dog fetching a ball from the neighbour's yard, and being hauled back over the fence with a rope and harness; dozens of selfies of strangers with some cute rodent thing. I glanced at the image title. Quokka. Cute. Odd word. I looked back at it. And that was when I realised.
I switched tabs. All those tabs I'd opened before, the BBC, Netflix, the Google search of Google, they all had it. How had I not noticed straight away? I opened tab after tab, each one a new website, a new search term. All the comics I read, every single one, all the news sites, the writing forums, even fricking English Heritage. That was where it looked worst of all: a majestic photo of Kenilworth Castle, accompanied by the text: "Opening Times", in Comic Sans. | 2015-03-08T14:02:37 | 2015-03-08T13:45:14 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You are an immortal in a zombie apocalypse, and honestly you're having the time of your life. | I shoved the dynamite down the zombie's throat. The resulting explosion launched me across the street, where after a moment, I hopped back to my feet. "BOOM! Did you see that!?!" I hollered to David. He stared back at me blankly, as always. Nothing much seemed to excite him these days, but he had been through a lot. I couldn't blame him. Bummer as he may be from time to time, we're still best friends to the end.
"All right buddy, you ready to head out?" I motioned for him to follow me to the car, but he was already on his way. He tried to bite me a few times, but I managed to corral him into the back seat and buckle him in. I got to the driver's seat and saw myself in the rear-view mirror. There was a tooth sticking out of my forehead. I dug it out with my fingers and watched it heal in a matter of seconds. I'd seen it dozens, maybe hundreds of times at this point, but it's still mesmerizing. I guess it's the mystery of it; I still don't know how or why I got like this, or even how long I've been able to do it.
I first learned about this back at the fire station. David and I had both been looking for the right time to tell each other we'd been bitten. We just ended up blurting it out at the same time. Not one to be outdone, David had another piece of bad news: we were down to our last bullet. Generous guy that he is, he let me have it. I awoke to him trying to eat my leg. I can't blame the guy, though. He's been through a lot.
I feel sorry for him, for everyone really, but for some reason it doesn't get me down. Maybe it was the bullet to the head, or maybe it's part of my new condition. Doesn't matter, though. I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. All that matters is that we made it out and nothing's going to stop us now. Not even a horde of... wow... that is a lot of zombies.
"Hey man, do you think I can break my record? Twenty-three in one minute is tough to beat, but this would be the place to do it."
David just groaned in response and shifted a bit in his seat.
"You're on, but make sure to keep score this time!" Without another word, I grabbed the crowbar I had grown so fond of and ran at the zombies like a man with nothing to lose, or perhaps more like a man who can't lose anything. I was smashing skulls with record speed; They were all distracted trying to get into the nearby building. I didn't pay any heed to why. I'd been killing zombies for what must have been an hour before I finally got the last one. I caught my breath for a hot minute and then turned to David to ask him how many that was, but the door to the building those zombies were so interested in getting into opened.
Four people stepped out onto the gray matter covered streets. They were each carrying blood-stained weapons, except one, who carried a child, no more than three years old. The tough looking woman at the front of the group gave me a tired grin. "It's good to know that there's still decent people in the world. We won't forget what you did for us." She looked with sad eyes at the many bloody bite marks the zombies had made in my clothes and let out a heavy sigh. I didn't quite understand what she was getting at, but I wanted to be personable, so I just smiled back. She just looked away. I heard the hammer pull back on a revolver behind me.
I awoke to David eating my leg again. "David, you got out of your seatbelt all by yourself? Nice going man." With a bit of difficulty, I got myself up and got David into the back seat. I saw myself in the mirror and watched the hole close in my forehead. I never get tired of that. "So, where do you want to go next?" | "Aaaah! Every time! It gets me every time!!", I cry at the top of my lungs as I pry my hand out of the jaws of a screeching corpse. Contrary to popular belief, their bites are just as dangerous as being torn apart by their grubby little fingers.
It's the corpses that turn into zombies. Bitten or not, infected or not, it doesn't matter. If you die, you Will come back as one of them. I would know, that's exactly how everyone around me turned into zombies.
Me? For some reason, I'm not allowed to die. I've been bitten, stampeded, mobbed, shot, torn apart, left to die, and all that shit. But it all ends the same; my wounds patch up and I walk away like it's just another day. Tylenol has become my daily supplements, the meals I have are something they call a "European Breakfast", and honestly, I couldn't be any better.
Whenever people think of "best time of their lives", they always imagine themselves where their dreams are all coming true and it's heaven on Earth. Me? Well, I'm afraid to say that I'm so immortal, my dreams died before me. I outlived my fucking ambitions, reasons to live, and goals for the future, and that's kind of a problem.
Except it isn't.
My definition of "best time of my life" is when I can just sit around, take whatever I want without pay, and just overall be a glorified homeless person. Because at the end of the day, all that matters is your own happiness, even the little things count.
I return to my apartment back in this fancy hotel. Now I know what you're thinking "But, this isn't your apartment." Well, it isn't. Until it is. So welcome aboard, we're gonna have so much fun. | 2022-02-27T21:36:47 | 2022-02-27T18:34:59 | 137 | 57 |
[WP] In your society, every child is given a fixed number of skill points for their parents to invest in talents that would determine their futures. When you reach age 21, you find out your parents forgot to do it for you. | “Honey, can you please sit with us?”
Surprised by the request, Marie furrowed her brow and looked over the couch.
Marie responded hesitantly, “Sure, I guess?”
The last time her father asked a question like this she found out her Nanna had past away. She got up slowly from the couch and realized her mother was also sitting in the kitchen. The five-meter walk felt like an eternity. Marie’s mind was racing. She started to cycle through potential worst-case scenarios.
*They’re going to tell me papaw died. I somehow fucked up at university and have been expelled.*
These thoughts continued to cycle through her head as she reached the dimly lit kitchen. She sat at the table and her heart began to pound uncontrollably. Marie started frantically scanning the room trying to get an insight into what her parents were about to tell her. The stained yellow wall paper behind her parents started to make her sicker than normal. The yellow contrast with the dark cabinets always reminded Marie of a 70’s horror film.
Her parents remained silent.
After the agonizing stillness, her father said, “Marie. I am not sure how to break this news, so I am just going to come out and say it. Your mother and I made a mistake. We were under the impression that we allocated your skill points per what we shared with you when you were thirteen.
Apparently, there was a mix up at the agency, and none of your points have been allocated.”
Marie’s sun-kissed skin when pale. Her entire facial structure lost integrity and an empty stare replaced her once concerned look.
“Let me get this straight. There was a ‘mistake’ and none of my skill points have been allocated.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Then how am I a functional human being? I am in the top 1/3 of my class. I have a high propensity for the sciences and have been accepted into graduate school. I am going to NYU next fall.
The allocation was pretty straight forward to me.
18/30
Intelligence > Science > Mathematics
10/30
Physical development > Athleticism> Muscular structure
2/30
Sociability > empathy and compassion.”
Her father closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. He continued, “Yes, I know what we thought you were assigned. It seems as though that never happened.”
“So, I have managed to get where I am today with zero allocation of any skill points?”
“Well, yes.”
Marie’s expression transformed instantly. A small grin started to emerge.
“I have all these skill points that I can still allocate? I have a clean slate that I can fill as I choose?”
“Well, technically, we need to do the allocation for you. But, yes, we can choose how your skill points are distributed. This has never happened, so they are unsure of how this will affect you.”
Marie’s roller coaster of emotions started to become grounded once again. She had trouble comprehending the numerous potential consequences to this revelation. She looked up at her parents and could tell they were concerned.
Marie looked down at the table and began to reflect on this crazy evening.
*Fools. They are going to regret ever screwing this up. I’ll present a plan that seems mutually agreed upon. With my current intelligence, if I can add just 20 points, I can rule this world.*
Marie looked up with a disarming smile and said, “Mom. Dad. Its ok. I am not upset. Like you said, this is unfortunate, but we can sit down to formulate the best way to allocate my points.”
Her parents looked immediately relieved.
Marie’s mother finally joined the conversation, “We are so glad to hear you say that. Now we can make our little princess even lovelier.”
Marie smiled back, but the lack of empathy in her eyes caused a shiver to run down her father’s neck.
###Part 2 in the comments### | 'Are you fucking serious?'
'Honey please, you must understand-'
'Understand *what*? That you forgot? That you fucking forgot.'
'It's not so simple. When you were born, well,' she looked to her right for support, 'your father and I were smoking *a lot*. We forgot all kinds of things. You didn't even have a name for the first week.'
'I didn't have a name?'
'No, we just sort of played with you. A name didn't really seem necessary at the time. It wasn't until we were taking you to my parents that it crossed our mind. You know how they are with those sort of things. They need to name *everything*. Personally I don't see the point - It'll all turn out in the end.'
Beside her, my father nodded, his enormous head bobbing on the end of his tree trunk neck. He put his hand on my shoulder and I nearly crumpled beneath the weight of it. He noticed my discomfort and removed it.
'Sorry' he said, looking down ashamed. 'I forget sometimes what these hands can do. You know, I never did have much intelligence, just these big hands.'
'Hey now,' interjected my mother, 'Those big hands are beautiful and I believe that one day they will do great things. I just *know* it.'
'Um, can we get back to the issue at hand please.'
'Oh, don't worry, sweetie - I believe in you too. I believe in both you. I have so much faith. It's all going to be ok.'
'For fuck's sake' I muttered under my breath, and then louder 'what happens now? What do I do?'
Whatever you want, honey, you're free to choose. That's the beauty of being deprived.
| 2017-11-28T06:23:35 | 2017-11-28T04:08:37 | 581 | 38 |
[WP] You a retired adventurer and an elf. Your party was comprised of people of a few different races. After all of you retired, you started having reunions every few decades, always the same place, same day. You have arrived at the location and been there for hours. You realize the rest are dead. | "Ah."
Realisation hit harder than any dragon's tail. It had slipped through my fingers once again. Try as I might, time would never finish taking things from me.
The shallow crater, the small monument within, even those would fill and warp with time.
Arzaeus was always good with time. A quick glyph or rune and the thing goes back to how it was when we found it. Saved us a fortune in tavern fees over those years.
But I hadn't learned the glyphs, I'd assumed he'd always be there to fix things. I couldn't turn this one back.
Slowly walking the incline from Derrok's fall, final resting place of a very good friend and a very despised enemy, the tears began. they started and try as I might, they continued. A thousand liquid memories all forcing themselves forth.
Ill-advised sword balancing contests, scars long faded. The calm crackle of a bonfire, knowing we're safe enough to have the warmth and light. Love.
Gone? It was all gone now? While I spent my days as youthful as I had as we started our journey? Where was the reward for our effort? Why had they all left me with nothing?
Lying there in the ever-ashen grave of the last dragon my heart threatened to fail. Breath caught in my throat, it hurt. It hurts so much.
"Ya' alrigh'?"
A perky voice taunted my grief. Forcing past the pain in my eyes I gave my best glare at the culprit.
A positively tiny creature stood next to my shoulder, barely taller than my laying head. Her brown twintailed hair fell to her waist, her form covered by a blue overall with orange buttons on. The hint of a beard beginning to grow.
The tears fell harder now, more distinct memories entwined with the present.
Karlo Tarkichip, his brown hair had turned grey last time I saw him. But it was this brown before, the colour of beaten copper.
Behind her, cresting the ridge and looking relieved at having the little one in sight again, were a strange assortment of people. A few dwarves, more humans than that and, giving me my final hint, two that looked as though someone had brought fire to life.
"Oh right," I said, finally answering the little dwarf. "You must be Gerana."
That was why they had done it, I remember now. My friends had all fought for their families. Seeing the new but familiar faces gave me a moroseness that I expected. They had all had *this* as their reason, I had just wanted to explore.
"Noooo," the little girl answered, her accent lifting the vowel sounds nostalgically. "Oi'm Karli but me *mommy* is called Gerena. Whet yer name?"
*Oh right, of course*, I thought. *These mortals do grow up very fast.*
Reinvigorated, I pushed myself up in such a way as to make Karli laugh. She obliged like a good girl, and it sounded like his.
"Terrian Fairfall, lovely to meet you."
"My granddad said thet youuu were gonn' play with me"
The final realisation of the day. That sneaky dwarf. His final words to me, oblivious that they'd be the last he said to me, flooded back.
"Yeh'll have t' meet me fam'ly one day Terry. No one'd tell the story of us all quite like you can."
The smile on my face was sad, but the tears in my eyes were happy, as I gathered the families of my friends and told them how brave, strong and wise their fathers and mothers were. | This was bound to happen. My parents had warned me,I had known it was coming. They were never coming I took a look at their perspective drinks. Ale had been Frons favorite that half ork son of a gun I would miss his music. I smiled at the light beer Traddon had been the 'devil' of are group, but the poor bookworm couldn't handle his alcohol. Meric our drawf had already been old when we had set out, he taught me things I had never known about nature, his wine jusr sat there. Oh and Lyle our little righteous one always riding into battle on his mastiff Flufle he loved his dragon whiskey.
I stumbled out of the bar 5 drinks was a lot for anyone .
"Scuce me miss. Are you Talbrought?" "That'd be me."
I was woozy but this runt looked kind of like Traddon. "I heard you knew my grandfather Traddon." "I'll be dammed. I did." He looked shy now shuffling his feet face lowered and he couldn't keep his hands in one spot. " I was hoping you'd tell me about him. Dad says adventurers are dangerous, and he wants me to have no part in it. But I... I want to hear his story. " "Sure kid, I might even teach a thing or two about a sword. If you don't tell nobody that is." I said with a wink. | 2021-07-24T03:03:17 | 2021-07-23T22:34:35 | 68 | 29 |
[WP] A genie has died, a hassle, cause after death, all their granted wishes vanish. It's your job to file what those wishes were and regrant them if needed, easy, until you notice the clouds are gone, Sunday is gone, oranges, gone, checking the file again, you notice it was a very ancient genie. | It’s night and the moon’s gone.
That’s the first thing I notice as I wake up and look out the window. The moon should be almost full tonight but it’s vanished.
I know what it means: another genie‘s dead.
I’m not a genie myself, I’m just the caretaker of wishes. I investigate wishes gone wrong or wishes altogether vanished. Like the moon, I suppose. That must have been a long ago wish.
I get up and boil the kettle, pouring a cup of twilight tea and trying to think: How can I fix a missing moon? I have very little magic in me — enough to keep me alive for all these centuries, sure, but not much more than that. And even that magic’s fading. My beard and hair have silver streaks running through them like the moon’s still up there, still shining down on me. Except it’s the grey hand of time caressing me now.
Usually I fix extinguished wishes with practical solutions, band-aiding something real in the lost wish’s place. But that’s a big one to fix. What am I meant to do, put little glowing moon stickers on each and every window?
A brown envelope’s lying beneath my front door. This is how I get them — the orders on what wishes I’m to sort out. I sip my tea then slide a finger beneath the lip of the envelope.
*Caretaker,* reads the message on a long piece of paper that I’ve not even finished unfolding. *We’ve lost over eight thousand wishes with a single genie’s death. Beneath is a list of the missing wishes. Please prioritise and sort what you can ASAP.*
That’s a lot of wishes, I think, as I scan down the list. We’ve lost clouds. Oranges. Sunday. Television. *Television*? That was a wish? Not something I’d have ever wished for. Eventually, I see the moon on the list.
How am I meant to sort through these? How am I meant to even fix a missing moon? Should I catch a genie myself? If there were any left at this point, maybe I could. But I somehow doubt there are.
I continue running my finger down the list until I reach one wish in particular. I grab a pencil and draw a circle around it. It’s an individual’s little wish and I‘m not sure I can sort it, but it seems worth trying.
\-
I imagine, as I heave myself up a drainpipe towards an open window, being caught by the police here. Trying to explain what I’m doing breaking into a twelve-year-old girl’s room. But I’m thinking the police might be busy tonight.
I reach the top and pull the window up wider, until I’m able to enter. There’s a seat near the girl’s bed and I drop down into it, exhausted by the climb.
I wonder where she found the genie’s lamp? My wishes — all those centuries ago — didn’t get me far. Found true love, sure, but I’ve been without her much longer than I was with her. And that was thanks to my second wish of living a thousand years. Dumb kid that I was. Only my third wish was anything near a success, I reckon.
The kid’s eyes: they’re open and locked on me. I didn’t notice until now, but the two orbs are like faint flashlights. Like the missing moon in double.
”Uh, hi,” I say. “How you doing?”
She doesn’t reply.
“I got something for you.” I take the bag from my feet and unclip it. The bear’s very soft with plush, squishy stuffing. It has a red winter scarf wrapped around it. I get up and push it towards her.
She takes it but doesn’t say anything.
”I know it’s not the one you wished for,” I say. “But I can’t bring that back. And this was about as close I could make one.“ It took a couple hundred years for me to get this good at making stuffed animals, and I’m not a master by any means, but I still consider the practice as time well spent.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “The one I wished for wasn’t the same either.”
”Huh? Same as what?”
”The one I used to have, the first, smelled of my mom.“
Ah geez. Now I’m thinking I’ve messed up. The girl didn’t even want the genie’s bear back, not really. Yet I marked it as my number one priority. She wanted the bear that reminded her of her dead mom. Maybe that bear was the next best thing, seeing as you can’t wish people back to life.
”I’m sorry,” I say. “I had no idea.”
She cuddles the bear anyway. She looks sweet as an angel and my heart is feeling a sadness that hasn’t bothered it in a long time.
“Thank you anyway,” she says. “It’s better than no bear.”
I wonder what it’s like for her living here. A little box-room. A dozen other children in their own little rooms. Do they share a world with each other or do they live isolated in their own locked-up countries?
“Well, seeing as I’m here,” I say, “is there anything else I can try to fix for you? Things that you wished for and have now gone.”
She shakes her head slowly. “No.”
”No? You don’t want anything else back?”
”I only made one wish.”
I’m almost speechless. ”Why only one?”
“Because it wasn’t the same bear. Wishes aren’t real.”
I’m about to object but it is true about the bear. Hell, maybe she’s altogether right. Most wishes have vanished now, so maybe they were only illusions to start with. My own wishes are even fading. My third one — to be able to help people — has almost gone. I know that because I’ve failed again here.
”I wish there was more I could do for you,” I say as I get up and walk to the window. I don’t step out of it though. Just stare at the sky. At the moon that’s gone missing. “I could make a different stuffed toy if you prefer.”
”What are you looking at?” she asks.
”The moon‘s gone.”
”Oh. That’s sad. I liked the moon. It helped keep away the darkness, at least a little bit.”
She slides out of bed, bear in arms, and walks over to me, standing next to me. We look together at the empty sky.
I want to help her. My wish was to help people but what can I do for her? I think about that for a few moments.
”How do you make them?” she asks.
”Hm?”
”The bear you gave me. I’d like to make them. For other kids who need them, I mean.”’
“You want to learn how to make bears like yours?“ I ask.
“I think so.”
”I guess I could teach you,” I say.
”They wouldn’t let you here.”
I can’t say why, but right now teaching her to make them is what I want most in the world. The most important thing in the world to me.
”They? Forget *they*. You’d come with me to just beyond the world. I’d teach you myself. Then, when you’re a little older, you can choose if you want to keep on helping people or want to go and help yourself.”
”You can’t do both at once? Help yourself and others?”
I pause and consider. I didn’t think you could do both. I could have sworn you can’t. But now I wonder...
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe you can.”
”Okay,” she says simply. “I’ll come with you.”
And just like that I find myself beaming. I’m all the light that’s been missing and more. I don’t even know who is helping who here.
We stare up together at the sky for a little longer.
And as our eyes adjust we notice something.
”It’s brighter than before,” she says. “The night sky.”
”Yeah, I think it is,” I say. “Isn’t that something?”
And it really is something — it’s night and the moon’s still gone, and it doesn’t seem to matter. In the lack of silvery light the sky is somehow brighter than ever, each star, each guiding constellation, finally given the chance to really, truly shine.
\-
/r/froggingtonspond | The toothpaste tasted terrible, drawing Jim out of his sleepy fog. He hoped that didn't mean what it might. The ringing started.
"Shit," he said as he spat and wiped his face. He rinsed with water twice. The ringing was still there.
By the time Jim worked his way upstairs, the house was quiet again save the steady breaths of his sleeping wife in the next room. One new voicemail sat at the top of the alerts on the bland work phone. He looked across the hall as he hit play. Mary would be furious. Hopefully, it was a minor job.
"Jim, we don't know the scale yet but I'm calling all agents in now to try and get ahead of this thing before Monday." The director sounded like she'd been up all night. "It's an Alpha Lamp-Out, one of the old-timers. We haven't tracked it down yet but the anomalies are piling up faster than we can log them into the workflow. You want management, Jim? This is how you get it. Don't waste time calling back when you get this, just get to work. I wish we had ten enJinns as fast as yours. We've got- Shit!- there's something with caffeine too." The microphone rustled against her desk, no doubt covered in papers. She yelled across the room. "Move that to the top of the list!"
Jim sat the phone down. A Lamp-Out, on a Saturday. It would be best if he just left a note before-
"You're kidding me. You are not going in to work today." Mary asked from the doorway, a few clicks to the left of furious, thankfully.
"Yes, but it should be quick, a couple of hours at most." He sat the phone down and began shimmying into the suit pants.
"Last time you said that you were gone for three days. I can't live like this, Jim. I don't even know what you do. I don't know if you're in danger out there." Her skin glowed in the morning sun lines coming through the blinds. The last time she had looked like that, she was...
She wasn't angry at all, actually. She simply looked defeated, disappointed. "You know how much it means to Trav that you'll be there today. The whole reason he signed up was so you'd be proud of him. You really can't stay? Hold it off one day and start Monday morning?"
"Wait," he said, straightening his tie. "Monday's tomorrow? There's no Sunday?"
"What are you talking about. Is that like a code or something?"
He breathed in, steeling his nerves. This was a big one indeed. "I'll be as fast as- Wait." he whispered as he pulled Mary behind him into the room. "There's a man in the house, in Trav's room. Stay here."
"Yeah, that man's your son. What are you doing right now?" Mary asked, batting his hand away.
"Hey Dad," a twenty-something-looking man asked as he sauntered from his twelve-year-old son's room. "Can you help me lace my cleats the way you showed me? I keep messing it up."
"Not in the house, mister. I'll tie them for you outside before we leave. Your dad has to do a work thing but he'll be back before the game. Right, dad?"
"Right," Jim said, feeling in another world. Childhood was a wish? Coffee, Sundays, toothpaste flavor? How big was this? He would have trouble even operating in the world out there with his continuity training.
"It's okay, dad. Don't work too hard." The man, the grown version of his son hugged him. This was Trav, for certain. He hugged back, the boy was stronger than him, an athlete proper. A vision of the future flashed, Trav and him looking like this still, caring for an old woman. He pushed it from his mind. Middle-grade sports must be quite the spectacle in this world.
Jim kissed his wife and she smiled back, sadness not marring her beauty but hurting him still to see it. He looked around for his coffee mug downstairs on his way out before remembered that dark bean juice was unwished as well.
He got into his car and activated the self-driving feature, luckily still working. He pulled up the workflow on the secure server. The list loaded in jagged, lagging bursts, scrolling faster than he could read. 2,234 entries.
He searched for childhood and found it logged at 3:12 a.m, one of the first. He tagged it as in progress and skimmed through the list, almost all of them trivial. He spotted funerals and added it to his worklist as well. He was almost to the cave as he added Sunday putting him at a full appointment.
Every agent had a Jinn bound to them, enslaved to keep the world afloat. Each time a Jinn died, all its wishes throughout history were undone and only the agents noticed the change. It was up to them to compel their Jinns to rewrite the most crucial wishes. Of course, each agent could only pick three, except for Jim. He couldn't let the agency know this, not yet at least.
The cave was a special place to him. It was here, unchanged before the city, before the farms, before even the smoke-burning tribes. When the people first came to this land, lost and afraid, this cracked chasm was here, wet and echoing, waiting for pleas.
Jim entered, careful of his steps but needing no light along the remembered path. Once he was fully surrounded by darkness, he let the light seep out. Brilliant blue smoke and gossamer-thin coils of satin fabric curled around the cave as they expelled from his skin. He breathed in the damp, cool air and groaned as he stretched, voice two octaves deeper than a moment before.
He changed the stone to mirrored steel along one wall, admiring his true form, rubbing his unchained wrists where the ethereal scars still itched, marking his torturous unbinding years ago. He would free his brothers and sisters someday, but for now he set to work remaking the world.
/r/surinical | 2021-06-17T06:30:46 | 2021-06-17T06:04:40 | 2,198 | 547 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | My eyes widened and my entire body went still. For a second, I didn't even breathe. Then I processed what I was seeing.
Infront of me, right under me and my girlfriends house was some sort-of treasure hoard. Millions of smoothe, gold coins piled up in every corner, shimmering as they hit the light reflected off of colourful crystals and elegant chandeliers. Treasure chests spilled their plentiful contents out onto the stone floor and famous paintings lined the walls.
It was all so confusing, how was this under my house, *why* was this under my house, but then I realised something.
My girlfriend Selene had always seemed fairly normal. Well, not *normal,* but nothing was ever off about her. She was fun and bubbly, and stood out wherever she went, with both her forest green hair, and her bright personality.
But, despite this, some thoughts began popping into my head. Thoughts about how she was always naturally warm, even in the freezing cold, about how she seemed kind of new to stuff that were a daily part of life, about how she didn't seem to have any naturally coloured roots beneath her long, soft sheet of green hair, how she never had to re-dye it.
Dragons usually kept treasure hoards, didn't they?
Did this mean..
I took a step forwards, then another, surveying my surroundings once more, trying to take it all in.
Then, something caught my eye. Something that had initially been hidden behing a pile of gold.
I spotted something bright red, hanging from a coaghanger.
I made a beeline for whatever this item of clothing was, only to be greeted with, well, quite the surprise.
A bright red, silk dress with little diamonds embroidered along the neck hung before me.
A memory began playing in my brain, and I remembered where this dress was from.
On Selene and I's first date, I had showed up in this dress. We were at a fancy restaurant. Everything was fine, until a waiter that had been passing by tripped, spilling some of the cola from the glass he was carrying. It landed on my dress, leaving a dark brown patch trailing down the side of the silk.
Once we left, we agreed to go to Selenes place. I put on some of her pyjamas, and she put my dress in for the wash. After, I practically forgot about it.
Upon further inspection, I saw that the stain was entirely gone, leaving the dress good as new. Not only this, but the dress was surrounded by many other items that brought back memories:the flowers I got her for our one year anniversary; a framed photo of the time we went hiking, and I thought I'd die from exhaustion; the bow, pulled from the wrapping of a present I had given to her for Christmas.
Looking at all of this, at all of these memories layed out, visual proof that she treasured them as much as I did, it brought tears to my eyes, and a smile to my lips.
"Honey?"
I whirled round to see the surprised face of my girlfriend.
"Selene..!"
"I'm.. I'm sorry!" She cried. "You can have the dress back!"
"I-what?" I half-whispered back, shocked.
"Huh?"
"I don't care about the dress, honey. I..." I looked at all of our belongings that she had kept here, then back at her. "You kept all of this stuff?"
"Well, I mean.. This is my treasure hoard, and this stuff is, well, treasure. To me, at least."
I smiled, tearing up again. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out, so instead I just lunged forwards and embraced her. | I look at the massive pile of gold in shock. There must have been a ton of it. It included a wide variety, bars, coins, jewels, statues and any other cold fixture you can think of.
But more terrifying was what layer on top. My girlfriend, Jessica, splayed out in a red dress made of some odd scales that stuck close to her skin. Too close. As I watched her from the shadows, the dress spread across her until the scales covered her entire body. Claws sprung from her long and delicate fingers and horns emerged from her head. Slowly she began to grow in size and her mouth curled out into a maw. Wings emerged from her back.
Within a minute, an honest to god dragon was laying there.
“Alright John. You can come out now.” The voice grumbled out from the slimy maw of what was supposed to be my girlfriend.
“I- I don’t- this has to be a dream- what the he-“
I couldn’t even scrounge up some words.
“I’m so sorry mortal. This deception of mine has been most… cruel. And I am going to have to kill you know.” The voice sounded hushed and factual. I was to stunned to speak.
“You see John, my name is not Jessica Mankind. It is Jelandra. Quite a funny trick of world play wasn’t that?” The deep and growly voice cackled and continued,
“No point in explaining”
As her flames drowned me I remembered the first thing I told her.
That I was the manager of Fort Knox. | 2022-09-10T12:05:18 | 2022-09-10T09:51:49 | 67 | 47 |
[WP] The world's greatest villain and hero clearly like each other. His monologues when she's captured tend to turn to conversation, and she "accidentally" lets him escape arrest. While they're convinced they're enemies, his henchman and her sidekick are just trying to get them together already. | The Black Thief laughed. She had caught Major Magnificent again. "Fool! You fell for my trap again! This time you won't be able to stop me as I finally steal the Ruby Giant from the Museum of History!"
Major Magnificent had been tipped off that Black Thief was going to be murdering the mayor. Instead, he had walked into a booby trap. "Black! You know this won't hold me! I will stop you, you scoundrel!"
"Honestly, Major, when was the last time I captured you?" The hero struggled in the net hanging over the Black Thief's head. She changed her tone, "No, seriously? I'm sure that you got a new haircut."
The Major stopped struggling, "It's not too short? I just wanted something different, but I was worried it was drastic."
"No, no. It looks really good. I'm digging it." The Black Thief put her hand on her hip. " Actually, you should keep it this way. It makes your jaw look really good."
They smiled at each other for a bit before the realization hit.
"Not that I care or anything!"
"Your fiendish charms have no power over me!"
As the two argued, two hidden individuals were also arguing behind a pillar, away from sight.
"Oh, she's going to know it was me. I can't!" A young girl dressed in black whined.
"Well, fine! We'll just do this again next week and the week after and the week after. Aren't you tired of her spending all her times thinking of how to capture Major just to let him get away?!" A young man, dressed in white and gold spoke in an aggressive whisper. "And I'm tired of not actually fighting crime! He just keeps looking for her and getting 'trapped'. Ugh, I'm so over it!"
The young girl in black nodded her head. "I know you're right. I signed up to get rich, not waste my time catching meatheads." She shifted her eyes to her companion quickly, "No offense."
"Whatever, just do it now."
"And once I've collected the Ruby Giant, I'll be rich enough to own this city and you'll--whoa!" In the middle of the Black Thief's monologue, she was swept up in her own net. She struggled for a bit hanging next to Major Magnificent.
"Black! Are you ok?!" The Major clung to his net as he watched the villain swing from her net.
" Ow, I think I twisted my ankle. It's in a weird position. Oh, wait. That's better. But it still hurts." Black positioned herself to be more comfortable. Suddenly, she let out a roar. "BLACK ROSE! GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANCE, YOUNG LADY. I KNOW THIS IS YOUR DOING!"
A trembling Black Rose came out from her hiding place with her young male companion next to her. The Major gasped in shock. "Muscle Boy?!"
The young boy looked away, embarrassed, "I told you it's Muscle Man now. For, like, three weeks."
The Major lifted his palms, "Sorry. Sorry. My bad. Just in shock. What's going on here?"
Black gave a growl. "If you don't get me out, Rose, I swear you will regret it for the rest of your life."
Black Rose lifted her head, "We had to do this! We're leaving you locked in here overnight. Get together or get over each other!"
Muscle Man grabbed Black Rose and they both stomped away, locking a heavy door behind then.
The two hanging from the nets yelled at the younglings to come back. They both yelled obscenities and struggled until they grew tired.
After an hour of getting no where, both lay back panting. Major gave one final shake of his net which swung his net, bumping into Black.
"Oh! Sorry."
"It's fine."
Silence grew until finally....
"So, where did you get your haircut?" | ”Can you seriously just not for one week! I had plans for tonight, ” the Silver Specter complained.
”Silver, we both know that you were going to go bar hopping with friends you don't like, and drink alcohol that can't get you buzzed. The way I see it, I saved you from that boredom, ” retorted the Crimson Crusade.
”I was actually going to try and get a new apartment Crimson.”
”Are you downsizing? I thought you were comfortable in your current one Silver.”
”I was going to upsize so that I could invite my family over without revealing who I am.”
”Information insurance covers that you know, really should get some Martha.”
”So should you Derrick.”
”I have mine, who told you my secret? ”
”One of your henchmen. How did you find mine?”
”Fairs fair I guess, I kidnapped your sidekick.”
”Without me?”
”He almost just came into my traps alone, he seemed really willing to tell me who you were, it was a little weird.”
”Is he okay?”
”I let him go after he gave me your favorite foods, it got annoying.”
”He can be like that. Did you use any of the weird info?”
”I wasn't planning on it. Why?”
Suddenly a table for two erupts from the floor, and while the Silver Specter’s restraints are disabled, the Crimson Crusade is seated at the table. Their favorite food is served and it is all lit by candlelight.
”You lying scoundrel.”
”I honestly didn't plan this, but I don't want to waste this opportunity, do you?”
”No.” | 2020-11-06T23:44:22 | 2020-11-06T22:28:55 | 1,971 | 1,036 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | "Hey guys, look what I got!" Yelled The Crushinator as he held aloft the severed head of George Gomez, Junior. In certain circles, Little Georgie is very famous; his father, George Gomez, Senior is much more universally known, hailed far and wide as The Great Big, East City's tallest superhero and a three-time savior of the world. And now, Little Georgie's head is dripping blood on the carpet of the the headquarters of the Chaos Guild. A crew of villains with a collective 200 years of mischief and mayhem are looking into the dead eyes of the child of one of their most stalwart enemies. "Did I do good?"
The response is not immediate. Most of them seem to have stopped breathing, until Countess Calamity finally says what everyone is thinking.
"You've killed us all, you fucking moron!" She screams, triggering a cacophony of approval of mixed forms; tears, screams, expletives, and curses all intermingle. Red Anchor pisses himself, but no one who notices passes judgement on him. At the head of the table, a dark figure in full body armor raises his hand, calling for silence, and even those who aren't looking can feel it, and at least bring their utterances to a low mutter.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we knew this day was coming." The figure says, standing from their seat and walking over to a computer console. "Preparations have been made, and must now be executed." With a stroke of a few keys, a pair of buttons appears before each seat at the table, one red and one green, and the figure returns to their seat. "It's a simple majority vote..."
Before they can finish their sentence, every seated person has mashed down the green button in front of them.
"...thank you. All of you have rewarded my trust countless times, and here, in the end, it brings me some comfort to see your commitment."
**SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED - T MINUS 29:59**
"What the fuck is happening!?" Cries Crushinator. "All this for Great Big? He's just a guy who grows!"
"It's not Great Big who's coming!" The Countess yells, storming off towards the door. All the other villains, save the figure from the head of the table, are following her lead. "You're going to be dead before Great Big notices his boy is gone, you oaf!"
"Walk with me, child. You deserve to know the magnitude of your sins." The figure says, beckoning towards a freshly opened trapdoor in the floor. Crushinator obeys, crouching down into a dark, cobweb ridden tunnel below. The figure strides right through, unbothered by the webbing accumulating on their body. "A question. Do you know the name Cedric the Sorcerer?"
"Who?"
"Exactly. For decades, both sides of our little war have done our best to ensure that his name go unremembered. The heroes, to hide their shame. And us, to save our lives." The tunnel keeps winding downward below the Guild's headquarters. "Born Cedric Barkley, he was a mid-tier magical talent. Not much in a fight, to be honest, spent most of his career doing humanitarian assistance, disaster evacuation, performing for sick children, all that garbage. And then we made a mistake."
"There were 30 seats at the board table, then. Gods, we thought we were strong. We thought we could bring the entire world down. Stupid. There were 30 of us when we decided to kill Cedric's family. 'Sending a message'. His wife, four kids, 2 cats and his apprentice. Nothing fancy, we just shot them in the heads and stacked them up on the living room carpet. Or at least that's how we left them. It wasn't how the authorities found them..." The tunnel finally opens up into a large hanger, with a variety of vehicles within. A number of empty spaces reveal that some of the other villains have already had the same thought.
"He snapped, child. We drove him mad, and in his madness he became an abomination. He hauled the bodies out onto the backyard, sawed off their limbs, arranged the parts in accordance with antediluvian geometric principles, stood in the middle, and shot himself in the head."
"So, he killed himself?"
"No. Yes. *SOMETHING* walked out of that yard. Something fueled by the power of hell itself. Something that tore through our ranks like a hot knife. There were 30 of us when Cedric Barkley went home that night. By sundown the next day, there were 20. By the next week, I was all that remained. We still don't know why it spared us, but spare us it did."
"It fell to me to rebuild, and so I did. And when we did, we made it a rule to never provoke the monster again. And now you've ruined everything."
"And now we run for it?" He asks, as they approach a flying saucer.
"What's this 'we' business, boy?" It asks, producing a small pistol and shooting Crushinator in the kneecap as they try to climb the stairs into the craft. The bullet, very small but extremely fast and dense, pulverizes the joint and sends the villain crashing to the hangar floor. "You're being chased by an undead magical abomination, you idiot! Do you think I want you anywhere near me? I didn't bring you down here to save you! I brought you down here to chew you out before you die!"
"**I'm** running. **You** are going to crawl until that **thing** rips your skin off. I hope you die screaming, Crushinator. Many better men than you already have." | It is often said that the line between good and evil is thin one, but that's actually quite far from the truth. Nothing in this life is inherently good or evil. It's more of a big grey mess. Some areas are lighter and others darker but nothing is truly black and white. It's like walking through a swamp, one wrong step and you might sink into the murky depths. That's where our loved ones come in, they're like roots and branches that we can grab unto to pull ourselves back up. But if that branch should snap, you will sink deeper and deeper unable to pull yourself back up. This is the reason Why we do not attack a hero's loved ones, because if they should sink into that darkness, nothing can pull them back out.
This is a lesson that once learned is not easily forgotten, and the price that is paid is too steep to pay twice. This is the lesson that Surtr learned today as he opened the door to his apartment. The smell was the first thing that hit him. Just the smell itself burned his lungs and drove him into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he looked up to see everything destroyed, his furniture seemingly eaten through as if someone had filled the room with acid. As he looked around the room his eyes settled on 3 corpses, seated around what was once a table. Their bodies no longer recognizable as flesh had melted from bone. He didn't even have time to fully process the sight as he turned around to see Miasma. The hero who was renowned for his ingenuity in using his deadly power of creating clouds of acid to save people.
He started talking calmly, as if he was walking through the park talking to an old friend "let me tell you a little secret, I wasn't always a hero. I was once a villain like you, driven by greed. I would melt my way through bank vaults, stealing everything and dissolving any witnesses. I killed more people than you can imagine, I've heard more screams than you can fathom. But that was many years ago, and I've long since changed my ways. I became a hero, using my powers to rescue people. I hadn't hurt a single person in 17 years... until today that is. You see the thing is, you hurt my friend's loved ones, and that is somethingthat will not stand. Had it been any other hero, I wouldn't get involved. The Enclave would set the hero loose from their restraints and they'd do with you what they pleased. but I just couldn't let Zen take revenge himself, taking a human life, it changes you, corrupts you, I couldn't let Zen go through that. But me, I'm already too far gone, a few more voices in my head won't keep me up at night."
He leaned in and whispered in Surtr's ear "Don't worry though, I won't kill you, I want you to suffer. Everytime you close your eyes I want you to see your family's dissolved corpses, Imagine how they screamed in pain as their skin melted off of their bones. That will serve as a reminder of the lesson you've learned today. Don't. Mess. With. A. Hero's. Loved. Ones."
He took a step back "However, I can't very well let you go, the chances of you going after someone else's loved ones are too high. I have to make sure you'll never use these hands to burn anyone ever again" and with a simple wave of his hand the acid in the air dissolved Surtr's arms, leaving nothing behind.
*I don't normally write stuff with a darker tone like this, but I hope you all liked it* | 2020-07-12T13:26:46 | 2020-07-12T12:45:40 | 46 | 20 |
[WP] Your can absorb a person’s emotions and transmit them to another. By day you work as a therapist, unburdening trauma survivors of their horror and shame. By night you hunt down those who abuse the weak, and show them what it means to suffer. | "And then he-" she breaks off, her words choked by a sob. I've been working with this girl, this child, for six months now. Not even old enough to buy cigarettes, with enough pain inside her to make my stomach knot in sympathy. I take a deep breath and reach my hand out.
"It wasn't your fault. You were a child. It was never your fault." I repeat the words like a mantra, drawing the pain, the memories, the anguish away from her and into myself where it wraps around my heart like a cord. I feel it tighten but I keep going, imagining a rope thinning to a string, then a thread, until finally there's nothing left. She's still crying but her breathing has calmed. The tears fall slower, and her eyes droop like she could fall asleep at any moment.
I press the button inlaid into the side of my chair which alerts my receptionist that the session is over. Moments later the girl's mother enters quietly, moving slowly as though she could disturb the heavy atmosphere in the room. I smile sadly at her and nod. No words are exchanged because no words are needed. They leave together and I sigh gently, rubbing my temples where a headache is making itself known. But there's work to do still.
Passing the receptionist's desk I smile and wish her a good night. She makes some joke about going straight to bed and I smile without mirth. I wish I could go home and sleep too, but there's work to do still.
The night is cold and the pavement is wet so I wrap my coat around myself tighter, tighter than the cord around my heart. I imagine it tangled around my arteries, choking the blood flow, cutting into the muscle. I want to get rid of it right now but I force myself to walk at a regular pace. A hunter mustn't disturb her prey with her haste, the moment cannot be rushed. Every action is a choice between success and failure. So I walk slowly, breathe evenly, and concentrate on the man in the distance further up the road.
His arrogance won't allow him to believe he can be harmed, so following him is easy. But still I keep a safe distance, glance at my phone as though reading a text when he turns the corner. Eventually he arrives at his home where I know he lives alone. I know a lot about him. Any good hunter must know her prey before attempting to catch it. I wait out of sight of the windows for two, three, five, ten minutes, counting the seconds and feeling the girl's pain in my chest burn white hot in anticipation. This is it.
I muss my hair, open my coat to show the ripped dress underneath, adjust the ripped tights and smear some dirt on my face. It's disgusting, but every detail counts. I feel my heartbeat race as I force myself to breathe raggedly, stumbling up the path to lean heavily on the doorbell.
"Please," I whimper through the glass, "Please help me." I continue to press on the doorbell until I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway and the door opens, his expression confused as he takes in my ragged appearance. I let a few tears fall and notice the excitement in his eyes which he quickly hides. "Please," I beg again "I was attacked. I- they- please help me."
He reaches out and I take his hand, leaning heavily on him as though I could fall at any moment. Weak, vulnerable, trusting; a bait he can't resist. In the course of my hunt I learned a lot about this man. Planned my trap meticulously, created a character which lined up so perfectly with his fantasies I knew he'd take me in. The door closes behind me and we are alone together. He wraps an arm around me, too tightly, his fingers digging into my waist.
He growls something about how I made the wrong choice coming to his door, that he's okay with sloppy seconds. I ignore him, and instead focus on the loosening cord travelling from my heart to his. I smile as his eyes go wide and he gasps, recognising the memories flooding his brain but from a different perspective. His knees go weak and I force him to the floor, straddling him, both hands against his chest as I *push* all the pain, the shame, the horror directly into his brain. The cord thins and he screams, begging me to stop. But I won't stop. I can't stop until every drop of the pain he inflicted is returned sevenfold.
Eventually his muscles relax and his head lolls sideways so I stand on shaky legs, feeling the weight of my exhaustion settle into my bones. I walk out the door without a second glance, buttoning my coat as I go. It's late and I want to go home, want to sink into my bed and sleep for the next three days. But instead I check my alarm for the morning is on, because there's work to do still.
Edit: a few spelling errors | "And then what happened?"
Mrs. Lapaine shuffled in the recliner. She dabbed her eyes and touched the spider-like harness on her head. Probing lights flashed from the silicon legs against her cranium.
"Are you sure this is necessary, doctor?"
"It'll help you feel better. What happened next?"
The woman sniffed. "It...it all happened so fast. One moment she was there and then...and then..."
She collapsed into herself, hunched shoulders racked with shuddering sobs.
Doctor Dawson offered a tissue. "And then what?"
Through tear-misted eyes and choked breaths, she looked up and smiled.
"You know, doctor? She's turning thirteen next week"
The smile twisted into a tortured grimace. The lights on the device blinked rapidly.
"I'm sorry, doctor. I don't think I can do this yet."
The woman made to get up but Doctor Dawson held her shoulder.
"It's important to process this while it's young. Take your time. What happened next?"
\*\*\*
The sun was dipping under the horizon when Doctor Dawson rolled into his driveway. He switched off the ignition and double-checked his pockets. Keys, wallet, USB.
Opening the front door, he called, "I'm home! Miss me?"
He flicked on the lights and started unpacking his suitcase.
"Crazy day at work today. There was this lady, this middle-aged lady. And she was hysterical. I mean absolutely hysterical."
Doctor Dawson strolled into the living room. Along the walls hung pictures of the doctor and a boy in all manners of activity: fishing, picnicking, playing baseball. In the center of the room, a man lay on a recliner facing a blaring television. His eyes were shut.
"Hello?" Doctor Dawson peered at the man. "I know you can hear me."
The man blinked open his eyes: grey pits that met Doctor Dawsons' with tired resignation.
"Anyway," the doctor continued, "this woman. Hysterical. Daughter on the way to school and bam. Run over by a drunk driver. Broad fucking daylight."
He stood over the recliner and shook his head. "Funny how common these things are isn't it? Hysterical really."
The man squeezed his eyes shut again. Dark rings ran in troughs around his pale skin. Against the sides of his head, lights flashed slowly from silicon claws.
Doctor Dawson fished the USB drive from his pocket and twirled it.
"So yeah, got a good one for you today."
The man's eyes shot open and he shook against the chair's metal braces. Muffled screaming wheezed through his mouth gag.
The lilt in Doctor Dawson's voice dropped as he rammed the USB into the man's helmet.
"In case you've forgotten."
r/bobotheturtle | 2020-06-04T04:26:23 | 2020-06-03T23:08:54 | 1,078 | 136 |
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | "Honey?"
Susan's voice shook a little bit. She was in the doorway of Hannah's room, chewing her nails. Brown hair spilled down her back in waves. Hers had been brown for years, like mine. But the little girl, curled up in bed under the blankets, had blonde curls that spread over the pillow. She was only six. Susan folded an arm across her belly as she looked up at me.
"Does her hair look darker to you?" Her voice was a whisper to keep from waking our daughter. I slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking my head. I was mostly humoring her as I squinted into the room.
"No," I said finally, kissing her temple. "No. She's okay."
She frowned as she leaned into me, but she didn't say more. I sighed, squeezing her small frame, and I let go. I knew why she was worried. A woman at her work had a daughter about Hannah's age, a girl named Christina. Christina's hair had turned brown two weeks ago, and almost immediately after, Christina's father was arrested for raping her. It was sick. Of course, the man's hair had been almost black, so we really shouldn't have been surprised. Still, the idea that something like that could happen to Hannah, that something so awful could cause the change so early, made the both of us uncomfortable.
Our older daughter, Sam, she was entering high school this year. We were expecting her change to come any day now, really. How could it not? Mine had, and so had Susan's. Cursing, boys (or girls), drinking. We all knew it happened. The hair was just an unfortunate indicator that made it really hard to hide. Some students used to bleach their hair to keep their parents in the dark for as long as possible. Sam couldn't do that, though, and I'm not sure if I was grateful or sad about it. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color that you just couldn't get from a box.
"Mom?"
Sam's soft voice made us both jump. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be at a sleepover. I whirled. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach faster than it ever had in my life.
She stood in front of us with her head down. Buried in a sweatshirt three sizes too big on her bony body and jeans stained with grass and mud and *please God don't let that be blood*. But it wasn't just that. Her hair, tied back in a rumpled ponytail, was brown.
It wasn't a light brown, either. Sometimes, if whatever triggers the change isn't too bad, you end up with a cocoa color. Susan's is like that. No, Sam's was a deep, dark brown, rich and full and terrifying.
"Oh, Sammy." Susan's voice cracked, broke. She moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug, but Sam didn't hug back. She just leaned in a little, keeping her arms tight around herself. I swallowed past a throat as dry as sandpaper, barely managing to croak out the words,
"Sam, what happened?"
She looked up at me over Susan's shoulder. I realized she was wearing make-up--it was a new thing for her, ever since junior high had ended. Eyeliner ran in streaks down her face; the lip gloss on her mouth was smudged across her chin and jaw.
"Amy has an older brother," she said, and that was all. | I'm the kind of boy most people would expect to have blonde hair; I always turn my homework in on time, follow all school rules, have never said a cuss word, etc. Well, it all happened last year. I was a new fresh freshman ready for high school.
When I arrived at school, I was greeted by kind smiles. My first class, Geography, was fine. The teacher was nice, I had some friends, and not a difficult subject for me. Next was Algebra 2, a class I would do well at, but not like because of the amount of homework.
Next was P.E., in this class we got our P.E. locker combinations and went to change clothes. Well guess whose locker was next to mine. A very handsome Spanish guy with shining brown eyes, lushes dark brown hair, and light-brown skin. He had gotten there earlier and was already changing so I got to see him take off his shirt to reveal his perfect abs and necklace. The necklace had a rainbow flag on it. My mind was about to burst. Things lead to another and we made out in the bathroom stall.
When I came home that evening, I had a lot of explaining to do to my mom. | 2014-05-10T17:48:04 | 2014-05-10T16:51:35 | 59 | 25 |
[WP] The order was given by the king himself, “Guard this castle till I return.” As the centuries roll by, your starting to wonder how long this will take. | "Look at them," Bugs said while by the fire. "Do they know how idiotic they look?"
Malot looked up to the castle, about 200 hundred yards away since they weren't allowed to get close. "They don't seem normal." He said contemplatively.
Bear snorted. "Normal? Hell I could've told you that!"
The guards of the keep were stoic. Eyes set forward and consistent in their appearance. Armor perfectly clean and weapons always kept in brilliant shape. Malot continued, "We're ones to talk of normal. Refuges aren't exactly loved around these parts."
Bugs stood up and pretended to do one of the guard's stiff backed stances, "No coming further!" He said jokingly. "We'll chop ye down!"
"Don't joke about them," Malot said, confused at why he felt like defending them.
"Why not? No one knows what the hell they're guarding. The people in that fort haven't left for hundreds of years."
"Why not?"
"Because." Bear jutted in. "They're idiots. Simple."
Malot shook his head, "That doesn't make any sense."
"Idiots never do."
Malot looked at his feet for a moment, spinning up an idea. "Has anyone ever asked them?"
"Ha!" Bear boomed. "No. No one has asked them, they slice at whoever comes near."
"Well, I don't need to come near to ask."
They both paused to look at him. "You?" Bugs said with a half unbelieving smile.
"Why not? Malot the grand wanderer has gotten many to talk!"
"Why not?" Bugs said with an stunned face. "Son, the Everkeep has been a mystery for hundreds of years. Grand wanderer or not they'll chop you down. I'm sure."
"Well," Malot stood up. "Let's be extra sure."
The two didn't dare follow as Malot walked across the open plain towards the imposing keep. The men seemed to not even waiver as he approached, blue armor shinning in the moonlight and looking magnificent.
"Ho!" One by the gate eventually said when he was 10 yards away. "No further outsider!"
Malot stooped and look inquisitively at man. "What's your name man?"
No answer.
"*Alright then*," He said mumbling to himself. "*I didn't think it'd be that easy anyways.*"
"Ho man, at least tell me why you all stand here?"
The guard said nothing at first. He instead lowered his long spear to face Malot then bellowed out. "Leave outsider!"
Malot smiled, "Come now! Just tell me why you're here and I'll leave you be! No need for bloodshed friend! I might have information that can help!"
He saw the guard hesitate. Slowly he brought his spear back up to his side, the soldier adjacent to him seeming uncomfortable. "We await the return of our king."
Malot wanted to laugh but he knew it'd be inappropriate. He had the feeling that he might be the first person outside the keep to ever hear this. "Your king? Why, wouldn't that mean he'd be hundreds of years old?"
The guard was still tight-lipped, but easing. "Aye, but you don't know our king."
"Pardon my prying, but do you?"
The solider grimaced. "You know not of what you speak of outsider."
"Come now, at least tell me this mans name? Maybe I've read of him during my journeys to the Tower of Histories."
"Your a man of letters?" The solider almost sounded disgusted.
"My dear man, I don't judge you. Now, what is this great king of yours named?"
The two guards shuffled on their feet. By this point the ones on the wall of the tall keep were curiously eyeing them, as if wondering why Malot hadn't been driven off yet. Suddenly the guard who hadn't spoken yet yelled out. "He is King Alomar! Have you heard of his whereabouts outsider?"
Malet's heart went dark. His face drained of color and he slowly stepped away from the keep.
"Outsider!" The soldier continued desperately. "Please, do you know something of our king?"
"Alomar..." The words were almost whispered. "He's... He's..."
Both soldiers were wide eyed. It was obvious that they had no clue of anything outside their keep and longed for knowledge.
"Alomar isn't his name anymore."
"What is it!?"
"...They call him the Shade King. He's the reason we're fleeing west." Malot paused to look at the two guards. "I don't know who you're expecting to return to this keep. But I assure you, he is no longer a man..."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | My company of men and women were exceptional people. Each and every one of them had proven themselves in battle. Together we stood tall and defiant. So strong were we in defence, that were were given a nickname. One we took to heart, as the Wall Company.
As the clouds of war drew closer, we marched with the King to Castle Borthmire. It stood proud over an open landscape, seemingly bereft of natural defences. But appearance were deceiving. Over the years of its service, experimental magics had turned the lands into a beautiful and deadly trap.
It was well defended by this nature. But the King grew concerned as war approached. It could not be easily abandoned. Within its wall sat a multitude of experimental artifacts. Some were movable, but most were not. They could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands.
So the King marched us there. We joined its token guard, and set about transforming it into a fortress. Once confident, the King addressed us all. He spoke with the Oath of Authority, binding actions with words.
"Wall Company. You have done well to serve the country and myself. But these days grow darker, and this place must survive. Guard this castle till I return."
We agreed to his words. I myself took up the Bands of Duty, as they formed from his words. They wrapped around me, guaranteeing that we would obey. He bid us goodbye, riding away with his honor guard. Leaving us to defend the castle.
Days turned to months, months melted into years. Still we guarded. The people inside had made us fully self-sufficient. The well was connected to a realm of pure water. Plants grew at an astonishing rate, alongside constantly regenerating animals. They kept us fed and healthy, no matter the time of year.
Years turned to decades. Still we watched. The enemy had yet to arrive. The King had not returned, leaving us to our duty. Some fretted over the state of the war. But our job was not to win it. Our job was to ensure this place survived.
Decades turned to centuries. The days blurred together, as though time had no meaning here. Yet still we guarded. Age left us alone, leaving us as young and healthy as the day we first marched in.
Occasionally one of the boffins would emerge from their labs below. With them came golems, carrying covered items. Items they were sure would prove beneficial. Those golems would leave, ordered to deliver it to the Royal Family. We would watch them, until the wandering mirages hid them from sight.
But as the years ticked by, I wondered how kuchen longer we would be here. What had happened of the war? If the King had fallen, my Bands would have broken apart. But they remained solid. He was still expecting us to obey him. And we would, until the end of time if necessary. | 2022-04-22T11:20:58 | 2022-04-22T10:58:13 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] After dying, you're shown a "Choose Your Own Adventure" style decision tree which highlights all the paths your life could have taken should you have made various different choices. You spend all of eternity analyzing this tree, only to finally realize that something just isn't quite right. | Part 1
At first, it was black. And then a screen started to flash.
>At age three, you had two options. At daycare, there was a harelipped boy named Derek. You could either befriend him or ignore him.
>You decided to befriend him.
>(?) Derek will remember that.
Oh, Derek. I remember the antics that we'd used to do. We'd try to pull all sorts of pranks on our teachers, and when we hid a winter coat under Mrs. Sharp's desk, she'd say that in her 25 years of teaching, no one had scared her as much as an inanimate object. Good times, man.
>At age 12, you started to pick up the piano. Unfortunately, your father was laid off, and your teacher had passed away. You could either continue to play or abandon it.
>You continue to play.
>(?) They will remember that.
I wanted to continue playing piano. I didn't think I should stop to any obstacle, lest my hands by crushed by a meteor during the rupture.
>At age 16, you met this cute girl, Kate. You were mesmerized by her. The way her hair flowed, the way she laughed, the way she spoke Czech, and the way she could play the piano.
>You asked her out
>(?) She will remember that.
She was a lovely girl, and I was glad I could take her to prom. I was glad that I could love her for five years. We broke up, sure, but it was only because we naturally drifted apart, rather than due to some horrible fight.
>At age 25, you faced an option. You could either continue to stay in Indianapolis, or you could board a flight to Beijing, and from there a train to Xian. Either way you'd continue with your passion of music, but in Xian you could do it in an entirely new and exotic setting.
>You chose to move to Xian.
>(?) Your family will remember that.
I was getting a little restless. There was so much of this world to see, to experience. And it would be a shame to let it go to waste.
I had been interested in Chinese culture for a long time. I always tried to include a piece based off of this Chinese piano book Derek had gotten me when I was 18. And so I finally wanted to experience this for myself.
>At age 30, you decide that you want to settle down. After seeing a lot of China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, South Korea, Japan, and even Mongolia, you could either choose to stay in China, or go back to America. Back to home in Indianapolis. Either way, you'd need to settle down.
>You chose to settle down in Indianapolis.
>(?) You will remember that.
I had met this wonderful girl, Mei Lin, in Xian. And I realized that although I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I’d need to settle down to do that. She wanted to live with me too, and her family wanted her to live with me in America. So we went back to Indianapolis.
I had continued to play with the city’s philharmonic orchestra and continued to perform with my university. At 65, I made the decision to retire.
At age 70, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I knew I didn’t have much time left, but I was ok with that. I had lived a long, exciting, and fulfilling life. In the last few months of my life, I was surrounded by people that I loved. My family, my friends from school, college, work, and China, Derek, and my students. And I was ok with that. | *Unhandled exception at .event("js.20160328200606#34")*
*-- 0 observations returned from john_smith_082345--*
*-- requested action:*
*_______________*
Scanning this tree you sometimes come upon an error prompt, red text on a black rectangle, right where the event descriptions should be. That's called a bug, and you have to report it. Mostly it's just an I/O error, sometimes a glitch in the graphics and every once in a while, if the event is big enough, a memory allocation problem. You report it and it magically gets fixed in a day or two, then you go on about sorting your life... err project, before the final submission. As long as it doesn't compile, you're stuck in this tiny room, glued to your screen.
This is curious, how does an unhandled exception happen ... I mean, what even went down in production, and why does this prompt have an input field, isn't that a major security breach ? **john_smith_082345**...that must be my name...
Well better get to reporting it... Actually I wanna try something first, maybe I'll get a pat on the back for finding a huge security flaw.
*-- requested action:*
*; create table john_smith_082345 as select * from john_smith_082345 where event !=.event("death");*
Here goes nothing, I bet i'll be setting off some alarms with this and...
Wait ? What happened ? My screen went black... how did the door get opened ?
Oh sh.. | 2016-03-26T11:31:36 | 2016-03-26T10:46:49 | 70 | 49 |
[WP]You make a wish on a shooting star to be what your crush considers perfect. You wake up the opposite gender because it turns out your crush is gay. | Hillary had always been a beacon of light in school. Even though we never hung out with the same people, she was always nice to me.
I asked her out once, to the homecoming dance. Her brow furrowed, and she gave me the most pitying look... biting at her bottom lip. "I'm uh. Going with some friends..." her voice trailed off, and she hurried away.
I didn't bother her much after that, my confidence shot. After homecoming, her facebook was flooded with pictures of her and her two best friends, Lily and Piper. It made me feel a bit better that she really did go to the dance with her friends, instead of some other guy.
There was only one odd picture, of Hillary dancing snuggled close to a much smaller figure. The only reason why it was odd was that ... it wasn't one of the other cheerleaders Hillary normally hung out with. It was the librarian's TA, Kimberly Belt.
My facebook stalking leaving me only partially satisfied, I flopped onto my bed, flicking off the light as I went.
I don't know why she didn't seem to like me. Releasing a sigh, I rolled over in bed, glaring out the window ... just as a shooting star trailed a tail of sparks through the night air.
"I wish I was Hillary's perfect person." I grumbled, with a small chuckle escaping me as I fell into aleep.
My hand was stuffed into my pants, for maximum sleeping comfort. That's how I knew something was wrong immediately, as sleep drained from me.
As I became more alert, that was how I realized just *how* wrong things were. I may be a grower, not a shower, but the vast empty space that met my fingers as they rested between my legs immediately alarmed me.
Desperate, I dug my hand deeper, grasping for what I *knew* must be there! Instead, something soft under my finger suddenly gave way ... rolling to the side as my searching digit *slipped*... and was met with immediate warm moisture.
Yelping as though a bear trap had claimed my hand, I yanked my arm free from my pants, flinging myself from my bed. Arms and legs windmilling, soft pink blankets wound tight around my body.
With a thump, a landed in a heap on the floor, face pressed into the rug. It smelled kind of musty, as a sudden knock shook the door.
"Kimberly? Are you okay?"
"Fine." I grunted automatically, surprise jerking me as my voice came out with a sweet, high-pitched lilt.
"... Okay. Well, the bus is leaving in fifteen minutes, hurry down and grab breakfast."
The strange voice speaking at me through the door departed towards what I assumed was the kitchen, heels clicking distantly on tiles.
Fear spiked through me as I clawed my way out of the blankets, spotting a mirror near the closet door.
The room looked like a few thousand bottles of pepto bismol had exploded on the walls. Lace and ponies decorating the shelves.
Gaping, I approached the mirror, holding my hand up to my mouth.
And, slowly ... Kimberly Belt from the library crept into view.
I screamed, distantly noting how like a Hollywood horror actress I sounded, as I slumped to the floor. | I Slowly opened my eyes and felt something, odd, on my chest. After a few minutes of looking I realized that I have boobs now, pretty big ones actually. I looked further down to see a slightly overweight girl, although I didn't feel any older than I was last night.
I eventually got up and walked over to the mirror. My hair was actually shorter than It was last night and dyed green. I had also gained a few piercings on my face and a strange tattoo in a pattern I didn't recognize.
I thought about that one Kafka story before remembering the party last night, when I had been an incredibly tall and boney boy. The details were fuzzy but I remember a shooting star and making a Wish.
I wish I looked like what Susan Mark wanted. I hadn't expected the wish to come true. But If I had been asked then what she wanted I would have become more muscular and that's about it. I hadn't expected... well, this.
I had expected to look like her boyfriend.
My first thought was that I would just go to school, before realizing that none of my clothes fit and I didn't have a bra.
| 2015-11-10T12:32:02 | 2015-11-10T11:35:18 | 247 | 33 |
[WP] The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but, as a demon civil engineer, you're trying to find a reliable alternative due to humanity's record low levels of good intentions. | My boss eyed my proposal. He was a beach ball of a demon, with stubby horns and at least three chins. I say ‘at least’ because I’m pretty sure under his suit were a couple more.
“I don’t follow,” he said. Mother fucker looked half asleep. Guess that’s what he got for injecting dope at noon.
“It’s simple, we send a couple grunts topside, shmooze with politicians and CEOs to get them invested in the eco-movement. They spend billions on propaganda, and boom, millions go straight to hell.”
“How’s that supposed damn more people? For fuck’s sake, I can’t be wasting my time with this. We got a highway to build and we’re already understaffed and behind schedule.”
I grinned and wagged my finger at him. “Nah, nah, you got it all wrong. They go to hell, because all the time and money they spend buying fuckin biodegradeable straws, reuseable bags and electric cars keeps them buying, keeps them burning oil and using up natural resources. All without doing very much to stop ecological collapse. If they keep buying crap to feel better about the world crumbling around them, they’ll be too busy to redesign cities and infrastructure or overthrow governments. The sinners topside will spend every day of their lives fighting the problem in a way that creates the problem, without ever realizing it! It’s like double dipping the market. We get both the people who want to fight climate change and the ones who don’t. Absolute genius!”
I’m not sure how much Boss Bibble Bob heard. And of what he did, I’m not sure how much he remembered. The fatass had the memory of a goldfish these days. I kept telling him to stop buying street stuff, but he kept saying it was cheaper. Boss scratched his chin.
“Come on, who came up with the whole Nestle baby formula scheme?”
“Uh…”
“It was me, I did.”
Bibble Bob looked at my proposal again. “That did kill a lot of babies.”
“Damn skippy it did. Basically saved the company single handed with those souls.”
The boss sighed. “Who do you suppose we send to the living realm?”
“Me. Send me. I’ll even bring you back some tranq from Detroit.”
Fatass wiped his fat head with a damp hankerchief. “This is gonna cost us a fortune. If this doesn’t work out like you say, you’re fired. I’m fired too. Fuck, we’re all gonna be fired.”
I was salivating like a rabid hog just thinking about all the bitches I’d be fucking up there. I shuttered in ecstasy.
“Just sign on the dotted line and I’ll be on my way.”
The big boss slapped his signature on my proposal and wheezed. Kinda sounded like that time he had a heart attack. But seeing as I had what I wanted, it wasn’t any of my concern. I walked out the doors of Arsenic Incorporated HQ and took a deep breath of filthy air. Smelled like home. Screams echoed in the distance, a fire blazed in the office building across from us and vultures picked at the wreckage of a car accident right in front of me. Not even a chance of acid rain on the forecast either. As good a day as any in Hell.
To be completely honest, I did not give two shits about the company. Or any damn highway. I wasn’t trying to be a workaholic or a company man. I didn’t need status or money, so long as I got to do what I loved. And nothing made me happier than dragging sinners kicking and screaming to Hell. It was like a game to me. I won when an innocent soul walked the path to Hell of their own volition. If they got wage slaved by Arsenic, well, more money in my pocket. I had a big pointy toothed grin on my face the entire way home. Really was a wonderful day. |
“Hell 2.0: Kitten Power”
—-
“Seven potholes per mile is unacceptable, Engineer Metztli. This is *the* Road to Hell, not some minor thoroughfare in Lower Demonville,” Satan roared.
“Your Infernalness, I am sorry. We do our best in the night crew, maintaining the road as best we can. But without proper pavement—“
“Wait, the *asphalt* is the issue?”
“Well, erm, yes. You remember the old saying, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’?”
“Go on.”
“Turns out it’s true.”
“Why have we never noticed this before?”
“It is the rise of secularism, sire. Without having to score points with a deity, humans tend to think for themselves and indeed of themselves first.”
“Oh dear, what can we do?
“We need the right balance your evilness; we obviously don’t want to help god gain followers as that will help the holy soul pipeline.”
“True, but then what can we do?”
“Well, humans watch a lot of videos on a thing called YouTube and search for answers to life’s questions on another thing called Google. They are both owned by a company called Alphabet—“
“You are making these names up, aren’t you? They sound so stupid.”
“Afraid not. Humans are notoriously bad at naming things. Think of the poor platypus. It’s not enough that god got drunk when making it, but the very name adds insult to injury.”
“Focus, Metztli. What are you proposing.”
“It's simple, really. We acquire this Alphabet and use it to create a new religion centered around cats—“
“Why cats?” Satan looked intently at Metztli and leaned forward in his skull throne.
“While the creatures themselves are conniving little bastards, they do seem to have a soothing effect on humans and generate positive responses.”
“Hmmm. Very interesting. And on brand for hell. Think it will work?”
“I am betting my soul on it.”
“That you are, my girl. That you are.”
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated | 2022-09-27T14:24:07 | 2022-09-27T12:50:31 | 82 | 25 |
[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." | "They fight for peace?" Asked the taller of the two.
"Yes." The smaller alien did not feel the need to elaborate, it was necessary that his boss was as taken and surprised by the concept as he had been.
"Well I suppose that is worth exploring. Perhaps not as the centerpiece, but it can certainly feature."
"Thank you curator" Basque humbly bowed and awaited dismissal, to his surprise, it was not granted to him. His boss, Carandor the Visionary continued.
"Yes, I can picture it right...there" he extended a long, tri-jointed finger and pointed between Astor: The Golden Planet and Samsis a small planet that contained life so intelligent, it's 15 million person population had merged their collective consiousness into Seven super beings who ruled over all others- the perfect representative democracy.
Yes, war for peace would go nicely between those two. If Carandor was being totally honest with himself, The Golden planet was shiny but of little substance, without some kind of middle piece, the contrast between those two planets would be too great and it could detract from the quality of the whole exhibition.
"Basque?"
"Yes sir? "
"Who is the creator of..." He jestured towards the gap between the two planets again, confirming to Basque that yes, his idea would feature.
"It's called Terra, curator" Basque stated proudly. "Ansis Mora is the Architect"
"Never heard of her. Go to her and see what she wants for it. But I'm warning you, I won't pay more than 24,000 for it."
"You want me to aquire it?" Basque was almost shaking with excitement. "I am just an intern sir, I make drinks and take minutes... I'm not sure I'm ready for..."
"Nonsese, this was a good suggestion, and it was your suggestion. Do you want to become a curator some day? Perhaps launching your own gallaries or exhibitions?"
"Yes sir, of course sir!"
"You clearly have the eye for it." Carandor placed a comforting hand on the boys shoulder.
"I have absolute faith in you. Extraordinary Life on Extraordinary Planets will be a success my boy, let's place part of that success on you."
Basque nodded and turned to leave. It wasn't explicitly stated, but he had essentially just been promoted. "I won't let you down." He stated firmly.
"You'd better not." Replied his boss. "Oh, and one last thing boy. If Mora won't sell you the rock, just abduct say...40% of the population, I have plenty of spare planets to put them on."
"Understood sir."
Carandor took a step back and stared at the 440 planets hovering in the great hall. It was to be quite the exhibition indeed.
| "They fight for Peace?" The Alien scratched his head again. "Pretty much, Yes." The other Alien said. "But, why would they fight for peace? Isn't that a little Ironic?" The Alien said ,baffled at what the other Alien said. "This species has been fighting each other since their very beginning, from the smallest to the biggest of conflicts." "They have made songs, poems, music, and songs about war." The other Alien Said. (First time writing here, do apologize if this seems bad) | 2018-03-17T05:04:57 | 2018-03-17T01:07:51 | 81 | 31 |
[WP] So this is what being in a car crash felt like. Not as painful as you thought it would be. But you can't feel your toes. You look down, your leg is missing from the knee onwards. There's no blood, no bone, no muscles. Instead you see mechanical components. | I blink up into a blinding light and squeeze my eyes shut again. What's going on? I want to ask but my voice seizes up. All I can muster is a groan.
My limbs won't move. I look down and my leg is a tangled mess of sinewy wires. Panic wells inside me and I try to scream but I can't.
"He's alert!" someone says.
"Shit."
There's a flurry of movement and the last thing I see is thick goggles on a masked face.
***
Gentle sunlight warms my face, pulling me from sleep. I blink my eyes open and look around the room. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the balloons and flowers piled in the corner.
I glance outside the window and wince at the brightness of the sun. It shocks me back into the car, the blaring horn too late a warning before headlights blinded me into a crunching darkness. The car accident...
My leg. There's something wrong with my leg. My limbs feel like hardened jelly and I flop uselessly in bed. Groaning, I struggle to pull back the covers when someone walks in.
"Looks like someone is feeling better!"
I take in the white coat and the clipboard. A doctor.
"My leg," I croak. My throat feels like a desert.
"Hm? You feeling pain?"
"Something's wrong."
The doctor consults the charts, muttering about cracked ribs and bruising, then puts the clipboard down and walks over. He easily flips up the blanket and reveals my perfectly normal leg.
He tests for feelings of pain, but I shake my head. That's strange, isn't it? I feel the soreness in my ribs and shoulders, but nothing in the lower half of my body. Why is that?
I wiggle my toes and they move just as they should--just as they always have.
The doctor checks my morphine levels and seems satisfied. He gives some non-answer about phantom pain or trauma and then leaves.
I can't get the memory of metal and wires out of my head. Everything else is fuzzy, but my mechanical leg is seared into my brain in perfect detail. What did they do to me?
I have to know.
Biting back a groan, I swallow the aching pain in my chest and lean towards my leg. My fingers crawl over the skin. It feels... normal... too normal. There are no bruises, no cuts. My skin even feels smoother than I remember, like it's synthetic.
It's not real. My fingers dig into the skin, leaving crescent moons. It can't be real. Blood drips onto the sheets. It's not real. Fake blood and muscle to hide the truth. If I dig deep enough, I'll find metal instead of bone.
Blood rivers down my leg, and I sit in a pool of red. Just like the pool of red in the car.
I don't feel pain. I didn't feel it then either. It seemed strange, in the car. Everything happened in a moment and I felt nothing. Just like now. As I rip through the skin, I feel nothing. As I dig into flesh, I feel nothing. And I know that if I can get just a little further, I'll know the truth of why I feel nothing at all.
Just a little further...
"Doctor!" a voice shrieks. A nurse tries to pry my hands away, but I can't give up now. I'm so close, so close. I need to know.
More footsteps, more bodies, there's more wrestling with me but I have to know. I need to know what they did to me.
The thought scrolls across my mind as my vision goes dark.
*****
Thanks for reading! Feel free to find more stories at r/rulerofstorybears | With a sharp intake of breath, you awaken, eyes trying to adjust to the murky darkness. You remember a cold, moonless night, gusts of wind threatening to steer you off the road, a heavy rain, the sudden flash of headlights when it was too late to acknowledge them. You remember skidding, trying to regain control, and a loud crash.
And now you awaken once more, alone, yet in a stupor more than afraid, trying to piece together your predicament and the possibilities of its resolution.
As you regain your bearings, a headache with a fury all its own overtakes your thoughts. You touch your forehead, expecting to see blood in the dim light reflected outside from your headlights but when you withdraw your hand, none is visible. A spark catches your eye as you study your hand and you recoil, irrational fears of an imminent explosion overtaking everything else. Struggling with the seatbelt, you notice something is wrong: where once was flesh and bone, wires and metal protrude from within. Sparks continue to sharply hiss intermittently from the wound as you assure yourself that this must be a nightmare - though deep down you knew this was real.
Further down, another area near your ankle with frayed wires. The back of your arm too, you notice now, leaks what feels like lubricant. Rummaging through the glove compartment for a small first aid kit, you look up and freeze.
Your quickening heart seems to sink into your abdomen and your eyes dart back to the sparks quietly emanating from your leg and return to the windshield.
The full implications of the scene before you weigh heavier than the water bearing down on the now-cracking glass. | 2020-12-17T08:31:11 | 2020-12-17T07:43:04 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | I leaned forward in my recliner, imploring the volume to rise from the TK implant. It wasn't real telekinesis but marketing teams thought it was cool to call it that. The retirement home seemed quieter than normal.
Everyone was tuning in.
The news cycle for the past few weeks had grown worse. People going missing then. Mass disappearances. Wild fires raging globally. Strings of arsons. Several space stations had even had catastrophes. Even on Mars there were occurrences.
And no one taking credit.
As the reason was revealed, I was glad that I never had kids.
The Immortals, essentially every one to be born since the anti-aging drug's release, were a literal ticking time bomb.
It artificially restored telomeres through chemical means but it seemed to eventually fail in a catastrophic chain reaction.
People gooified. Then the goo reduced to base elements of oxygen and hydrogen, then the spark of phosphorus hitting air. Spontaneous combustion.
The failure rate was 100%. There was no way to prevent it once the body reached a tolerance to the drug.
It was even transgenerational.
People were frantic to call family. I dreaded reaching out to a friend as the news started to go to talking heads who's youthful faces perspired fear.
The poor bastards. I let a slow breath, trying to not get worked up.
It was bad enough to have family die to it. Seeing young and vital people die after getting so advanced years resonated in me. My bitterness and regret at being aged out had long dried up. It was wrenching to hear the sobs from the nurse's station from the Immortals that took care of us. Poor Gina, she was nice. My lips drew tight as emotions began to well in me.
There were so few not on the drug, few brave enough to age and face oblivion. But the majority of them were the fundimentalist Christians who thought it was wrong to "play God." There were a few in the home. They were self-righteous and ignorant. Often a case of sour grapes more than a devotion of faith.
When the calmly smiling, pastor-slash-pundit appeared in my Holo-Screen and declared it "Rapture." I knew his face all too well. I had interned with the pharmaceutical company that made the drug during my biochemistry degree all those years ago. Funny how an R&D head could be born again. He was a self proclaimed Malthusian, which translates readily to immoral capitalist often enough. He had the CEOs ear because they were in the same fraternity.
I had disliked his sliminess then but I suddenly loathed him and his Evangelical helmet hair.
My chest began to seize with an extreme pressure coinciding with a terrible revelation. The nurses where too deep in sudden existential dread to care about my alerts pinging their implants. I tried to calm myself. Desperately and in vain. But I was old and my body couldn't take the burning implication in my brain.
The bastards had given a faulty drug but they had a plan. Now that people would live long enough to care that the Earth was fucked. Sweeping legalisation had pulled us from the brink of extinction. People had an infinite future so the made damn sure there was a lot of it.
The only issue was population. With no one dying it would grow exponentially.
They had solved that alongside global warming.
I prespired, I gasped. My chest felt like a collapsing star of pressure and straining pain. I was just too furious to control myself.
The pastor spoke as my vision and body grew distant as I was sucked down the tunnel to oblivion.
But I still saw him so clearly. His eyes delighted, his lips curved so smugly, "... And the righteous will live on in His Name through this time of Trial and Tribulation." | My back aches. My knee’s gone funny somehow- I now use a cane to go about my day. Four legs to two legs to three legs. The good ol’ riddle. But the people around me, all puppy fat and doe eyes, they’ve gone the other way. Memories like grains of sand. I doubt there’s any thought left in those pretty little heads. Heh.
The streets are crowded today. I pass through a crowd of immortals, laughing at thin air. Their heads are thrown back, and I see a gleam of pearly teeth. I knock a few ankles aside with my cane. A couple of them call me stupid. The others, wide-eyed, gasp and cover their mouths. As I pass, I hear the word scattered among peals of childlike laughter. I don’t look back.
Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I was two years younger. If I was brave and lionhearted, and stole the serum. If I wouldn’t feel these aches. If my friends were around me, laughing and talking again. My cane bumps into the doorstep of my home. We thump out an unsteady rhythm together, the cane and I. The keys are in my right pocket. They jingle as I fish it out. The key is turned, and we limp in.
‘Honey,’ I call out, waving a wrinkled hand, and a radiant figure turns around from her seat at the dinner table, young and forever beautiful, ‘I’m home!’
&nbsp;
Critiques welcome!
| 2018-06-04T21:18:49 | 2018-06-04T20:51:56 | 135 | 45 |
[WP] You are possessed by a demon. It doesn't control you, but it does mention it's just there because it doesn't want to go back to hell. | "Are you kidding me? No! No! No!"
Fred heard the voice in his head and mentally groaned. Moloch, or the thing that called itself Moloch anyway, was surprisingly shrill when he wanted to be.
"Fred, no. Don't you dare do it. I'll help you think up some awesome revenge on that bitch. Remember, I'm all evil and stuff so I'll be amazing at it, I promise."
Fred wiped some tears from his eyes.
"I don't want to hurt her. And why do you care? If I kill myself I'll go to hell, right? Wouldn't that make your boss happy?"
"No, listen to me, dude. Hell sucks. You don't wanna end up there. And if you kill yourself I'll have to go back too, and I really really don't want to go back. Please! You're not thinking straight. Just sleep on things, okay?"
Fred rubbed his temples. His head hurt. His heart hurt. It hurt more than it had ever hurt before. Since Dana had left him three days ago he'd been a complete mess.
"But she's the love of my life."
"You're only eighteen. Every kid thinks their first love is the love of their life. The pain will pass. Take it from someone who's literally a thousand times older than you are."
"I'll never find anyone else like her," Fred sniffled.
He could hear Moloch sighing, although it came out more like a hiss.
"No, you won't. But you'll find someone better, who'll love you back. And even better, I'll be there to help. I'm great at seducing people...I've been doing it for millennia."
Those words made Fred feel a tiny glimmer of hope. He sat up in bed for the first time all day.
"Things will be ok. Trust me. I'm gonna be there for you. I didn't go to all the trouble of possessing you all those years ago just to have you off yourself, not if I can help it."
The boy blinked a few times in confusion.
"I don't understand. I'm not special. What do you get out of it?"
He could feel Moloch smirking.
"Fred, you spend most of your time watching either TV or stupid videos on the internet. You're my dream job, so I'm gonna milk our time together for all it's worth. If I'm lucky I'll get to goof off for another 50 years before I have to go back to actual work." | "Damn that feels so good" I let out in agilation as my toes curled, convulsing from pleasure, fingers dripping wet.
"Dont you mean - Dam, that feels *so* good?" a voice says.
"Fuck, Damien... I told you to stop being so possessive!" angrily slipping back into workout clothes.
"Sorry, I'll do anything, just don't exorcise today."
| 2016-07-21T20:15:20 | 2016-07-21T19:31:50 | 62 | 44 |
[WP] Every dragon has a unique hoard of things they like to collect. (Like sofas, or jigsaw puzzles) Your hoard obsession happens to be housecats. | How did I become the cat dragon? Funny story that... but at least I deal with a lot less knights trying to avenge something or other.
I had raided a castle and found bumkis. Nothing. Nada, big fat zilch. Well I got angry and I don't know if you've seen an angry dragon before, but standing buildings and angry dragons tend not to get along well.
After a good ten minutes the castle was in ruins and I was munching on the last of the King's Guard, nothing to season the meat like some burnt leather. That was when I heard it. A soft meow. I had never heard a cat before, so I was curious.
After two minutes of digging around I found a kitten that had somehow survived me destroying the whole castle it was in. No clue how that worked, guess cats really do always land on their feet?
Anyways, here I figure I'll char broil the little thing when it starts rubbing up against my face and purring. Well, considering this might have been the only thing in the past century that actually wanted to spend time with me I couldn't just flambe the little guy. Especially after a little cat rubs against hundred foot long me, gotta give the little guy points for bravery.
So I took him back to my cave and within a week the rats that I absolutely hated where gone. When I say I hate rats, I don't mean I'm afraid of them, I HATE them. Scurrying around, their nasty tails dragging over everything...
But I digress.
Well, I figured I liked the little guy and he kept those damn rats away, so maybe he'd like some company? He kept trying to play but I figured that hundred foot long dragon playing with a kitten won't end well. Hell, one cat seems alright, a second one couldn't be too bad right?
So I took a gold cup, it used to belong to some Elf king, lord of their people who stood against the dark lord, blah blah blah. It was big enough for Muffin to sleep in and studded with dozens of gems the size of a human eyeball. I figured that would be enough for a kitten or two, hell if I know. I figured that if they are good enough for a dragon to like, they have to cost something.
I flew over to a village and laid down outside. When one of them finally came out and asked what I wanted (specifically how many of their daughters I wanted in lieu of destroying their village) I dropped the cup and said I wanted to buy a kitten.
It was worth it just to see that village chief's eyes jump out of his head when he realized I was there to haggle for a kitten.
Next thing I know I'm flying off with a sack with five kittens in it. Score! He offered me twenty, but I knew he was just trying to get rid of some defective ones. I was very insistent on getting the five cutest *cough cough* best kittens ever.
Fast forward about a year. Some knight of some order came charging in, cause they thought I had sacked a new castle nearby. He comes storming in yelling his battle cry and about avenging castle whatever to see me playing with a pile of over two dozen kittens and a piece of string. Well maybe a rope with a lot of frayed strings hanging off of the end, but you get the idea.
"I... are you... what did that damn wizard put in my drink!?"
With that he stormed off. A few other knights came to defeat me over one thing or another, only to have similar reactions.
I think the best one was the knight that accused me of turning princesses into kittens. Of course that lead to me having to find a wizard the knight could trust to cast a dispel on my cats. Of course I sent him out to do that, I wasn't going to leave my little babies alone, now was I?
Turns out that knight was kinda right; one of them was a princess. How was I to know the witch's kitty "Princess Rachel" was an actual princes? Especially after said witch wanted to make a stew out of her kitty.
Actually that might have been a sign...
Anyways, Princess Rachel, aka Socks, just thanked me for the tuna and asked the wizard to change her back. She told the knight that being a dragon's pet cat was a million times better than being a princess; no political marriages or assassinations, just all the tuna she could eat and as much nap time as she wanted.
I of course just wanted my precious Socks back. Hey, I may have fifty three kitties, but that doesn't mean I don't love them all! | The emerald green dragon curled around the one hundred housecats that lived in his cave. He blocked the entrance with his tail, and the cats milled around, too confused to fight. Some of them, those that had been there the longest, dozed belly-up or stretched out on their sides in the afternoon sun that streamed into the cave. The dragon watched contentedly. Gray, orange, and brown-black tabbies; tuxedos; white; ginger; calico and tortoiseshell; even a few Siamese could be seen. A few of the braver kittens walked stiff-legged up to him and shrieked.
Over the shrieking, he heard footsteps on the loose stones leading up to the cave. He looked out to see a little dark-skinned girl in a brown dress, carrying a sword much too big for her. He craned his neck until his face appeared in the entrance, and nearly laughed when he saw her eyes widen. But she steadied herself and held the sword out in front of her. The dragon wondered if she had stolen it from her father.
"My name is Maria. You took my Fern!"
At the sound of its name, the tortoiseshell cat with white paws perked her ears.
The dragon would have liked to say something clever in return, but alas, he could not speak due to his physiology. So he settled on a deep, guttural roar of hot air as a warning. But the girl stood her ground.
"I don't think you understand," Maria said forcefully, eyes narrowed. "Fern is my best friend. Give. Her. BACK!" She shrieked the last word, and her eyes glowed white. Blue ethereal magic swirled up her arms and collected in the sword, making it glow blue. She swung it at the dragon's tail. It connected with a blinding flash, and the dragon shrieked as what felt like fire coursed through every fiber of his being. His scales had deflected most of the magic, but he could still smell burned flesh. He stepped out of the cave, spread his wings, glared down at Maria...
...and flew off.
Half of the houescats swarmed around her, the other half wandered off in a very catlike manner. Fern was among those that stayed, and she weaved a figure eight around her human's legs. Maria laughed and picked up her friend, and was followed home by a mewling swarm of dozens of bemused cats. | 2016-07-17T23:03:23 | 2016-07-17T19:50:10 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] People don't seem to realise that figures of mythos evolve too. The Grim Reaper, for example, no longer wields his scythe, opting to harvest souls with a combine harvester. Cupid traded his bow for a sniper rifle decades ago. You're the dealer that supplies the mythical world with technology. | “Why have you brought me to Poseidon's domain, boy?” Zeus was standing in the middle of a battleship somewhere off the coast of Niue in the southern Pacific. He was sweating and did not look comfortable in a US Navy uniform.
Seb stood in his engineer's uniform, black beard with a streak of grey, and generally looking scruffy. He smiled “Oh, you have got to see this. You were looking for an upgrade?”
“I was not.” Zeus puffed up. “Just because Cupid and Charon took your upgrades… doesn’t mean…” He blustered a second “I don’t need your upgrade He… Sebastian.”
“You all do. The world’s moving on. A bow and arrow just doesn’t cut it for Cupid. And now he can match couples from over a mile away. Progress.”
Whispering, but only slightly, Zeus said “You made my wife sit on a seat she could not get up from!”
“It’s a La-Z-Boy. You don’t WANT to get up from it. And I styled it in gold for your whole aesthetic.” Seb waved a hand. “It’s fine. You both have one now.”
“That’s not the point. Eris hasn’t forgiven you for giving humans the Internet.”
“That's because they wanted another world war. The humans made the United Nations. And to be fair it caused a lot of OTHER strife and conflict. They should thank me for that.”
“Why are we here Seb?” Zeus said, walking to the edge of the ship.
“You’ve resisted me before on those lightning bolts. I told you when Benjamin did his thing, and you hit that key instead. And I know you’ve practiced on a few people ; like that one guy you hit 11 times. And I tried to get you with the Tesla thing; but I know that didn’t take off as I thought it would. I was maybe a little wrong there. But in my defence the humans now run their whole world on what is basically lightning bolts. You’ve the most powerful god again, even if you don't get to smite as you one did. The times have been good.” Seb said looking out into the ocean, pulling a pair of ear protectors out and handing them to Zeus.
“Hera did like you for that. And the bonus with the expansion of the concept of Marriage put you in her good books, which means I’ve taken this meeting. This isn’t like your Vegas Tunnel of love thing again is it?” Zeus asked, looking down at the ear protectors.
“No no. Nothing like that. This will be an upgrade to your bolts. Put those on.” Seb pulled a pair out for himself and put them on.
“I’m a god, I don’t need to wear these.” He put them down.
“Suit yourself. They’re testing the thing in a few seconds.” Seb started talking louder as a siren started to wail.
“What is that?” Zeus asked, picked up the ear protection slowly and put them on.
Seb pointed to a large canon above them “It’s a warning. So you know lightning and how power works, right? Well it turns out if you have a pair of metal rods, and you put electricity in a specific way... it’s complicated. But you can put a bit of metal in it, and it will fire it out.”
“Ah, so it’s a gun? I thought you claimed those already to annoy Ares?” Zeus said, inspecting the canon from underneath. “What’s special about it?”
There was an almighty bang, as the canon fired. Zeus felt a bit like he’d been hit by a Titan for a moment.
Seb laughed “So that was a 30 inch tungsten projectile fired from here, to hit a target that is about 100 miles away. Its travels at mach 7.5. About 10 times faster than your bolts.”
Zeus looked at the machine.
Seb patted it slightly “Railgun. No pesky lightning rods to protect against this. Any trees that get in the way would no longer be trees a moment later. No hiding from this. Just the hammer of a god. Which is why I thought of you.”
After a few moments Zeus looked out to the sea and said “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Think about what? Having the coolest power again?” Seb turned to look at the god, and limped over to put his arm around him. “I know you want the power. What’s stopping you?”
Zeus looked down “I just don’t get the same thrill from smiting that I used to. And this seems so much less personal. A railgun doesn’t feel like Zeus.”
“The times are a changin. Look, you know Poseidon took submarines from me. And you don’t want to end up like Ares, annoyed you didn’t take up my Airplanes, or missiles, or drones. He still wants to kill Zephyrus for taking that gift. He probably wants to kill me too; but that's another days problem. Now, will you take a gift from an old friend?”
“Ok… Sebastian.” Zeus turned to shake his hand
Seb took it and shook “As a one off, for old times, call me Hephaestus.” | # Soulmage
**"There's no need to keep using an eyepatch,"** I told Odin. "It's primitive technology. I mean, a flap of cloth?"
Odin grunted, gesturing at the surrounding forest. It wasn't real, of course—the meeting was, as traditional, taking place in a dream—but it was real enough for our purposes. "It does what I need it to. I am hardly prone to infection; I wear an eyepatch because I can tell most people find it... unsettling... to look at the remains of a gouged-out eye."
"Well, allow me to introduce you to the wonderful world of *prosthetics*." I concentrated, shaping the dream, and a floating eyeball materialized above my hand. "The finest modern enchanted glass I can offer. It doesn't *quite* provide real-time vision, but there's only a tiny amount of lag, and I'm sure the next model will fix that."
"I don't need a new eye," Odin responded. "It's a vanity project, and nothing else."
"True," I acknowledged. "But what can I say? I've gotten used to city living. You're allowed to spend on yourself every now and the—"
"I need weapons," Odin snapped, narrowing the one remaining eye, and I was abruptly reminded that the last time we'd met, Odin had *two*. "Cienne, I *know* you're capable of creating them. Your history speaks for itself."
"Oh, you want to go there?" I glared at Odin. "I'm done with war, Odin. No more grand storms. No more miracles. I've moved on from weapons. I'm sorry."
"You have no idea what horrors the Silent Peaks have unleashed," Odin growled. "You think that eldritch abominations are bad? The one you saw was a *juvenile*. If you want to stay out of war? Flee this continent. I won't hold it against you. But I won't be able to stand against what's coming for much longer, either."
I pressed my lips together, regarding the furious... wounded... terrified god. I knew that the conflict was bad, but... I did *not* want to become an arms dealer in a supernatural war.
As if reading my mind, Odin said, "You supply me with arms today, or you take them up yourself in a year. There is no in-between."
I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry, Odin," I said, "but I can't help you."
Odin's disappointment was palpable, and I could sense that they were turning to leave. But before they could, I held up a hand.
"[But I think I know who can.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/w1zeha/pi_the_finest_blacksmith_the_kingdom_has_ever/)"
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. To catch up on the serial, check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), and for more stories by me, take a look at r/bubblewriters. | 2022-07-19T09:07:03 | 2022-07-19T08:27:16 | 431 | 122 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth". | "They're fuckin nuts, that's what they are."
The Qwyvvrtt shook his mane, the vines sliding like snakes across his barrel chest. A few small petals fluttered to the floor, the spring pollination season just drawing to an end. His friend perched along the side of the wall, all creeping ivy and a multitude dark eyes with slow blinks that drank up the world. Two wide saucers allowed their roots to splay easily across the enhanced water, passively sating their thirst.
"They implant themselves with metal. They become half machine. It is absurd." The ivy rasped, voice carrying easily over the creaking wood and tight skinned patter of movement of the normally quiet bar.
"Forget metal, someone told me the beings from Dirt will rip chunks of themselves out to save another Dirtwalker."
"And they just live like that? With someone else's limb? That's just-"
"Ugh, I know. Barbaric. How they even lived long enough for space travel, I don't know."
I stretched a lingering ache out of my elbow, listening in with half an ear as my other patrons chatted with the slow , tired rumble I'd learned to associate with the end of spring. The low music only eased their relaxed contentedness.
Except, I guessed, for those two.
"I watched a documentary that said they regularly applied acids and burning chemicals to their extremities. That they still punctured their own flesh for amusement."
They both shuddered.
"Can you imagine scorching your leaves just to look more autumn?."
"Gross, please, I'm trying to drink."
I laughed, sliding over to plant my elbows on the bar, grinning at them. Bright blue hair fell over my shoulders, freshly dyed.
Several piercings lined my ears, and a bright blue bandage at my elbow stuck a little to the polished chrome of the bar.
"Sorry for the delay boys, I'm still a bit woozy from a blood donation this morning. Can I get you anything."
My grin widened as their leaves rippled in horror and shock, and they muttered quiet negatives. Still, I filled up their water bowls (cloudy and cold - just the right amount decay to feed the fungus that lived in their tangled beards. The ivy shank back as I grinned at him.
"Don't be afraid to reach out if you need anything."
They nodded, and I retreated, prosthetic foot clicking against tiles.
"You know what it means when a human smiles, ssthahs?" "Hm?" "Documentary said they're descended from warm blooded animals, so it's either a gesture of comfort, amusement... or a threat."
"We should tip, ye? That's a human custom..."
"Yup." | There was a series of science fiction stories with this premise. Nearly all aliens are from small low gravity worlds orbiting red dwarf stars, where life evolved very slowly, with few mass extinctions. They are amazed that life could develop at all on a high gravity world with active volcanos, radioactive metals throughout, high UV sunlight, and mass extinctions every couple of hundred million years. Humans are recruited as soldiers because we are incredibly tough, strong and fast... Most aliens can't even see us move when we swing our giant musclebound limbs quickly. | 2017-09-06T11:50:21 | 2017-09-06T10:09:54 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself. | The lights blinded me; I hadn't seen it for the past 300 years. That's when they caught onto me. When I outlived three judges and four prison wardens.
"Take a seat," the officer motioned me. "Water? You must be thirsty. They gave up feeding you,--records show since 2120."
"Sure," I said as a took a seat.
I was in a bright interrogation room. It appeared to be very futuristic compared to the last I've been in. It was pure white with only a table and two chairs. There were no walls--at least I don't think there were, it looked like the expanse around us went on for infinity.
"They had no clue what you were back then," he said.
A water cup manifested on the table. The officer slid it over to me. It had a strange blue-iridescent glow to it. I took a sip and winced at the icy taste of it. It was as if a glacier had melted on my palate.
"I have no clue either," I said, gulping down the delicious water. "All I know is I can't die."
"You can," the officer smirked. "It's just rare. The names Myron."
"Trevor--hey, can I have some more water?"
Another cup manifested before me. I snatched it up and indulged. The taste distracting me from how the hell the cups were even appearing.
"So what's the deal?" I asked. "Have I finally served my 1000 year sentence?"
"No. You still have 600 years to go."
I scratched my head. "Jesus, it felt like I was in the confinement cell for eternity. You don't realize how slow time can go when you're sitting there in utter darkness. So what is it then? You setting me free early?"
Myron smirked. "I'm afraid you've outlived the prison."
"That's one way to beat the sentence."
"Not quite." He pulled up a virtual screen that depicted a news article. "The prison will be demolished--along with the rest of the city--and will be replaced with more important matters."
"What's more important than an entire city?"
"Cities been desolate for over a hundred years. Nothing but bandits and defectors reside there. The prison you've been in was abandoned before then."
"So I was left for dead? Figures."
"I'm apart of the immortal outreach program." Myron pulled up another screen that showed an ID with his face smiling. "Your kind is rare and usually kind to others. But your case is an anomaly. Never before have we met an immortal who did such a heinous crime as yourself."
"It had to be done."
"Crimes against humanity?" He manifested another screen. It displayed a collage of articles from the infamous year 2020. "The virus killed nearly 250,000. Continued to cycle for the next 50 years evading all vaccines resulting in millions dead."
I gazed at the man before me. His eyes stung me with their iciness. All of the screens disappeared after he waved his hand.
"I'm afraid your case will be retried under new jurisdiction." Myron got to his feet. "The World Order will see that you meet your true punishment. Death."
"Death?" I spat. "They tried to hang me back in 1863. My plane was shot down in WW2 and I was stranded for one month in the ice-cold Pacific. I've just spent hundreds of years in solitary confinement without a drop of water nor ounce of sunlight and here I am lacking no wits. You think I can die? I'm immortal."
"We know your kind." Myron took a few steps back and disappeared. Vanished in mid-air.
"We know how to end you," his voice lingered in the room.
"I had to do what was right," I said becoming overwhelmed with a frantic nervousness. "I was alive for hundreds of years. Humanities decline was evident. I had to release that virus to help cull and control the descent."
"Welcome to your end."
The room grew pitch black. I fell flat onto my rear as the chair I sat on vanished. I felt around and realized I was back in my confinement cell.
"Hello!" I screamed. "Please, I cant take this anymore! Please let me speak to you again!"
"An immortal can die," Myron's voice echoed. "The only way is if they take their own life."
A spotlight flickered onto a display case. In that display case was a gun. Chills shot through my spine as I grasped the cold iron into my hands.
"Farewell, Trevor," the eerie voice whispered.
I chucked the gun as far as I could and sat down in the darkness.
"Not a chance. I'll just outlive this too. I'll say hi to your descendant in a thousand years."
r/ajhwriting | *Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True....*
----
"Moving day!" the guard announced.
The general population of the prison groaned.
"Listen," the guard said. "I know you don't want to move any more than I do. But at least *your* commute isn't getting any worse."
That elicited a round of loud boos.
"Come on, you know the drill," the guard said. "Prisons don't last forever, unlike you sorry lot."
"Come on, Jenkins," one of the prisoners said.
"My name's Dwight," the guard replied.
"Jenkins," the prisoner continued, "this is stupid. We're all immortal here, why are you even bothering to lock us up when we'll obviously outlast *any* prison you put us in?"
"I'm glad you asked, Prisoner 4765678."
"I'm Prisoner 4765687."
"Sorry, my mistake. Anyway, '87, it's a long story-"
Another chorus of moans and boos erupted.
"Hey!" Dwight said, "he asked!"
The moans and boos were directed at '87 this time, at least.
"Anyway," Dwight said, "to keep a long story short - though, again, it's not like you lot are running low on time - we keep you locked up because we, too, are immortal. Like 90% of this entire freaking Land is immortal. Really takes the stakes away from any kind of dramatic situation, if you ask me, but nobody did. Except for you, just now. Anyway, we can keep putting prisons up for as long as you can inhabit them."
"I have a question," a different prisoner, this one actually '78, said.
"Make it quick," Dwight said. "We've only got like another 30 years until this place falls apart entirely."
"Right," '78 said, "my question is, if everyone's immortal, how come I'm in here for serial killing?"
"Because you're one of those dumb serial killers who was also the cop who was investigating the case." Dwight explained.
"Dammit! I was bad at being a serial killer and good at being a cop! I hate it when it's not the other way around!" '78 said.
"Any other questions?" Dwight said.
There were many.
"Okay, one at a time. After all, it's not like we've got all day!"
There was another chorus of boos, and it was far from the last, but eventually moving day was completed.
Except for '87, who'd been killed by '78. | 2020-08-16T23:16:07 | 2020-08-16T23:00:03 | 2,045 | 167 |
[WP] You have a friend who's an expert in lucid dreaming. One day, they come to you and says they can't tell apart dreams from reality anymore. You tell them that "if this were a dream, you'd be able to fly right in front of me". And that's exactly what they do. | “Chris its 2 motherfucking AM what do you want?” I asked in irritation.
He proceeded to sock me across the face. It wasn’t the first time he’s done it, he had done it twice this week.
“ Damn it man are you sleepwalking again?”
“I can’t tell if this is a dream or reality, you reacted to the pain and I felt it but normally you hit me back”
“Normally I don’t wake up at 2 AM Chris and normally I’m not in my underwear when some doofus hits me!” I replied sarcastically. “And if this were a dream you’d be able to fly right in front of me and I don’t see you doing that so- WOOOSHHH
Throughout the room air rushes around like mini tornados twisting turning and traversing the terrain of the quaint bedroom. I would be in shock if it weren’t for the fact that Chris sleeps without ANY clothes on and his pasty ass is no longer obscured by the hills of blankets on my bed.
“Put some fubbernucking pants on, Chris!”
“Sorry!!!”
For the next few nights whenever Chris sleepwalked he revealed to have new powers, invisibility, telekinesis, mindreading and in the morning, they’d be gone.
A few days later Chris and I were eating some breakfast before I went to work.
“Tyler?”
“Yeah Chris?”
“You know how last night I had fire powers?”
“And how you caused the sprinklers to go off and wake everyone in the building up?”
“...Shut the frick up that’s not the point” “I was dreaming earlier before I went to your room about having fire powers and then presumably I woke up with them and MIGHT have caused a minor inconvenience to the other tenants in the building”
“Whatever you say Chris, but are you trying to tell me that your powers are connected to your lucid dreams?”
“Well yes but I’m not too sure yet and-“
“Oh shite I’m late for work I’ll see you later Chris!”
“Later..”
After work I came home completely exhausted and went straight to bed.
“Yawn, I guess Chris didn’t dream anything last night”
I headed to Chris’ room to ask him if he wanted to go out and buy some McDonalds for breakfast.
“Knock knock Bitch” “If your jacking off you’d better get some pants on cause you got 1 minute before I come in”
I grabbed the handle and cracked the door a smidge, in case he was beating his meat.
“What are you doing on the floo-“
Chris was on the ground, his leg twisted the wrong way, his arm bleeding, and his head scratched, bleeding slowly.
Then his closet door closed loudly. I opened it, holding a bat I picked up next to it. Inside was a ... dreamcatcher. Chris never owned any of these he didn’t believe in those myths and tales.
“Tyler... cough cough” he wheezed.
“ Bro you need to get to hospital I’m gonna go get my phon-“
“WAI- cough, wait”
“What man?”
“ In my dream, there was, *wheeze* there was a.. a-“
“ A what?!?”
“It threw me off a building and- “
“What threw you off a building!?”
“ The Bogeyman.”
To be continued maybe
That was my first story, hope you liked it!
Maybe I’ll continue it idk. | After she flew in front of me I kind of panicked "stop" I yell "you are not dreaming". By this time I'm panicking what if I'm only a figment of his imagination? The thought that I could be nothing but a thought. Will I cease to exist if she wakes? "We have to think of this logically," I say "if you're dreaming when why do I have memories?" "Well, you can't feel if your just a dream," she says "perhaps I'm just imagining you to think you're alive" she gets an evil look on her face "what?" I look at scared now like she had evil an idea. Before i could anything she grabs me and lifts me over a cliff "please don't" I plea "don't do it" by this time she drops me waving bye-bye. I scream as I fall to my death. " I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna..." I open my eyes and see I'm in my room my wife looking at me sitting next to me on the bed eating a piece of toast off a trey with a intrigued look on her face, "bad dream again" she ask and i nod "hey I made us breakfast she motions to the tray. I look at her "you were in it this time". I just could only think what if.... | 2019-05-12T22:06:00 | 2019-05-12T21:20:59 | 23 | 12 |
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