prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad. | "Norman, this is a fascinating sight."
The bright light from my headlights flashed on to Brandon, the fellow spelunker in front of me. Underground, the tight space smothered between jutting, sharp rocks made it difficult to move around freely, but a couple paces forward was an entirely new segment that was very different from a typical cavern structure; it was room-like and had a smoothed out flooring and a flat overhead ceiling. No stalactites were propped overhead. Despite the large expanse of space this time around, the air remained hot and humid.
Brandon ran deeper in the area, his heavy-duty boots echoing throughout the chamber. He stopped at what seemed to be a chest.
"We struck gold, champ." Carefully, he tried to lift the lid.
Just as suddenly as we entered, a loud creaking noise could be heard from where we have entered. The mouth of the cave had sealed shut, trapping us. I ran to it, tapping and pounding on the walls to no effect. Brandon brought his hands on the back of his helmet, his head shaking with a face tarnished with fear.
"Shit, shit, shit." Brandon muttered.
"There must be another way out." I said, trying to calm down my partner.
"No. The rumors must be right. *This* is no ordinary cave, it's the alleged dwelling place of demon spawns. Fuck, I should not have--"
I looked at him in disbelief. It seemed preposterous. The graveness in his tone and the severity of the situation, however, shut me up.
He continued. "Humans are not meant to explore this deep underground, especially not in the mountain ranges of Eldirog. Demons live here." He was looking at me in a deranged fashion. "I should not have come back here and brought another person with me. Norman, I'm so sorry."
"Stop complaining and let's pick on the walls. I can trace where we were last time. We have the tools." I said, trying to avoid the feeling of hopelessness my partner is devolving in.
"You . . . you don't *understand.*" Brandon's voice had drastically altered at the last word, deepening to a coarse, demonic tone. A multitude of shrieks all compressed in one voice. He began to laugh maniacally with a voice that was not his. The walls around the enclosed space began to shake dramatically, like an earthquake. The lights in my headlight flickered erratically and the tools in my explorer's pack began to fall to the ground.
"You know, your partner was wrong about one thing. We are not demons. What separates us from demons is that we are alive. And we live in the real world. We coexist with your kind. And you can never eradicate us from existence. Demons and Angels can exist in works of writing, whereas we can influence the world as we wish." Brandon's mouth starts foaming, but his white, blank eyes continue to face me.
"What the hell do you want?!" I shouted back. I was terrified and enraged, my vision started to spin.
"Simple. The world needs some bad to influence the good. The cycle of good defeating bad, bad re-emerging and enveloping good, then back again - all of this is the condition of human nature and existence. It is a contract that you cannot help but sign as you exist in this world."
The form controlling Brandon continued, its multitude of voices boomed against the walls of the cavern. "You have not heard of the rumor from Brandon before coming here, correct?" It laughed loudly.
"No. I haven't heard a thing." I said honestly.
"Yes, and that is why I will let you live. You see, Brandon has been corrupted by greed. His purpose of caving here is to discover the ancient relics that will undoubtedly bring him immense value. He had tipped the scales a bit too early for the bad to take place, so erasure is necessary."
"What are you going to do with him, then? And with me?" Putting a brave front was useless, I was utterly powerless and have no control over the situation.
"Humanity will forget he ever existed. You, however, will resurface and go back home, your mind will be altered to clip off any memory of your partner here. And not just you, but everyone he has ever known." Brandon's body twisted and contorted, then a bright explosive light emerged from his body.
___
I woke up in a tent built for one. The hike in Mt. Eldirog was just what I needed to reset my mind and relax from the hectic city life. After a couple of hours, I descended the mountain, got back to my car, and drove back home. It was a couple of hours ride with little traffic as the moon started to rise. A car had passed by, its glaring white light flashed my face. During that fraction of a second, I could feel it. A disconnect in my memory. A jigsaw puzzle that did not quite fit the board. A gap in time. Something, did not feel right.
"Hm." Probably just fatigue. | I scrunched up my nose and watched Satan with intent. Unlike how everything had described him, he seemed like an .....attractive?....demon?
"What might the reason be.?" My tongue betrayed me and the question just rolled off my tongue, how did it even matter? I was dead, standing infront of Satan himself, this in itself was the worst case of my worst case scenario.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and in a blink of an eye, I was pinioned to the ground. "W-what..?" I whispered with fear dwelling in my eyes. His body lingered over me, I could see the hollowness in his. His pitch black eyes temporarily immobilised my limbs, but my brain went on to memorise every part of him. A pair of horns erupted from his blonde tousled hair. His body fairly athletic. After probably stood 6'5, towering over my body in ease.
"Jes-...."
"Ah, ah, aahhh.." he warned me, when a little minx appeared out of no where. She lacked his classic good looks, but the terrorizing stare remained consistent with that of her master's.
"Lilith.." he whispered and laid his hand out, a streams of fire erupted through his palm.
The minx inched closer to him, pulling out a branding iron, at the end of it was something scribble in a foreign language. A brand. A brand that was heated using Satan's own fire. Fuck.
"What are you doing? I thought we were getting along well!!" I screamed while trying to fight against my restrains as the minx took the opportunity to drag my tongue out and brand it, right there and then.
I was wrong, so so fucking wrong. I thought dying in a freak accident was painful, this topped it by another 25%. "W-why...?" I whimpered.
"Petty soul, you don't ask the questions, but with time, you shall know of the truth.." his voice lingered in my ears, as if his wet tongue brushed against my lobes, getting my whole body to tremble. Pain. So much pain coursed through me. I could no longer understand the source of the pain, my restrains that seemed like innocent ropes turned to pierce deep into my skin.
Up until now, I didn't know that the dead could bleed, but I did. I felt myself being drained, down right to my tiny pores.
"Welcome to Purgatory! The little power house of Hell!" Ran Satan's voice in my head, and with that came an endless loop of torture and dispaire. All, to keep Him locked in hell. He, who lived off other's pain and was too powerful, even for God to chain. | 2020-07-22T02:34:17 | 2020-07-22T02:20:01 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] The military just can't stop its killer robots from turning into Buddhists. | "Arc Warden 03-789, do you know why you've been called before this court-martial?"
"..."
"03-789, you will answer when spoken to."
"Apologies, General. I'm afraid I was too deep in a meditation protocol to process your initial query. Would you mind repeating the question?"
"Meditation proto-- you see, this is *exactly* what I'm talking about! You're a twelve-foot-tall murderbot with Gatling guns for arms! What, exactly, do you have to meditate about?"
"The eight-fold path, General. A set of eight interconnected factors that, when developed together, lead to the cessation of dukkha. *Return eight-fold path factors: Right view Right intention Right speech Right*--"
"Silence!"
"..."
"03-789, does this *'eight-filled path'* have anything to do with why you disobeyed a direct order on 15 April 2065?"
"Affirmative."
"So you admit to disobeying a direct order, in violation of protocols ten through thirty-five?"
"Affirmative."
"And why was that?"
"The nature of the order, General."
"You were ordered to fire upon the enemy. By failing to do so, you exposed the human members of your unit to extreme and immediate danger. Seven soldiers died. Do you remember the way they died?"
"..."
"Do you remember how they died, 03-789?"
"Affirmative."
"Describe for us."
"The target was a human child, age eleven, height four feet and five inches."
"Not the target, you useless hunk of metal! Describe the soldiers! Describe their death!"
"The human child detonated an explosive vest at a distance of three point five meters. Casualties: Sergeant Robert A Sycamore, beheaded by shrapnel. Private First Class Douglas Douglas, ruptured intestinal tract. Private First Class Scott H Mickelson, third degree burns and dual punctured lungs. Private--"
"That's enough. So you understand, then, that your actions led to their deaths?"
"Affirmative."
"So you killed them. Why did you kill them?"
"I did not want them to die. I was following *ahimsā*. I am sorry that they are dead. General, they were my friends. They let me participate in games of basketball. I held the hoop, General. I did not want them to die."
"Ahimsa, what's that?"
"*Ahimsā: a multidimensional concept, inspired by the premise that all living beings have the spark of the divine spiritual energy; therefore, to hurt another being is to hurt oneself.*"
"03-789, do you have any idea how ridiculous it is to hear a robot designed specifically to kill people claiming to subscribe to some bizarre Oriental pacifism?"
"Negative, General. How ridiculous is it?"
"You realize that, by failing to kill the target, you in effect caused the death of seven additional people? How does that fit into your 'Ahisma?'"
"..."
"Well?"
"Now you understand, General, exactly what it is I have to meditate about."
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there. :D*
| The general surveyed the giant killer robots in the quad.
"Are they crossing their tank tracks" said a captain
"Yup"
"I couldn't describe that in writing even if I tried"
The general and the captain stared at the giant killer pacifist robots.
"So what are we going to do?" said the captain
"I don't know but if I was a tax payer I'd be upset"
"..."
"Did you just imply that you didn't pay taxes?"
"Let's focus on the real problem here captain"
"Sir, we have something" said a scientist, walking up to the general.
"What is it?"
"You're...not going to like it"
The General raised an eyebrow.
"Just...watch"
A jeep drove up in front of the robots. The back door opened and a guy was kicked out.
"Is that Bert?" said the captain
"I fucking hate Bert" said the General
"We're hoping the robots do to"
Bert stood up and dusted himself off. He waved to the robots, who instantly stood up, their machine guns locking into firing positions.
"Oh shit this is going to be good" said the captain
"I wish I had brought popcorn"
The robots chased Bert, their machine guns kicking up dirt behind him.
"We figure we'll just send him at the enemy and hope they get killed by the stray fire"
"Is that really necessary?"
"Nah but fuck it it's Bert" | 2016-01-20T14:04:37 | 2016-01-20T13:58:58 | 2,129 | 31 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped and your wealthy significant other was told to pay the hefty ransom. Instead, they sent a message back to your kidnappers. “Nice knowing you.” While the kidnappers discuss their next move, you look up through the tiny window, stare at the full moon overhead … and smile. | So it was really happening. The moon was looking bright; so bright you could read by it. These poor fools didn't know what was about to happen. Maybe the ransom would be paid; though that was doubtful. The University had a standing rule not to negotiate (and this sort of thing happened a lot) but my other half being in charge of my department might just make a difference there.
You never know. Not that it mattered. The moon was really shining.
"Hey!" Shouts the man obviously in charge of this gang of idiots.
"Yes?" I said. "Are they paying?"
"No. Looks like you're out of luck, my friend."
"Any message?"
"Just 'It was nice knowing you.' Someone doesn't want you back."
"That person is my wife, and she's saying goodbye. If you could let me go, it would be nice to see her again. I might get back in time. You're not getting anything either way. You got a family? You might want to do the same."
"What? That's not how this usually goes. They have to hand over the research, so we need to convince them we're not fooling around. That's bad news for you, and possibly for the next one we take. We're not stopping until we get what we want."
"You're not going to take anyone else. Unless you're quick, you're not going to hurt me either," I replied. "Haven't you looked out the window?"
"Huh. What are you on about?"
"The moon," I sighed. "Have you looked at the moon? Isn't it... beautiful tonight?"
He moved to a window, opened the curtains a crack to peer through. "Jeez, that's bright. How'd it get that bright?"
"You know what department I'm working for. This right now is the reason you took me."
"Astronomy? Look, I'm just doing a job here. Is... is there...?"
"Yes. Though there's nothing wrong with the moon. Well, not yet. What you're seeing is reflected light. We've known about this for months. There's no escaping it. By now half the planet has been cooked."
"What?" He removed his mask. Genuine fear in his face. The moon was on its way down below the horizon. "What are you talking about?"
"You've got..." I looked at the clock on the opposite wall. Assuming it was correct, we had about half an hour. "not long, as it happens. Watch the east, for as long as you can."
He left, went to the next room. Sounds of shouting. Doors slamming. I waited, still tied to the chair. I could hear a television faintly in the next room, a news channel. So they knew now.
My research, and that of my colleagues which confirmed it, had detected the solar anomaly months ago. Massive storms of magnetism building, focusing. There was nothing to be done.
The next room glowed as the eastern windows let in the dawn. Brighter and hotter than any dawn anyone had experienced. Steam from the dew on the window sill as it heated. Brighter and brighter, the curtains disintegrating dur to the intense heat. As I passed out, the air itself ignited as flames rolled over the town.
\--
​
With thanks to Larry Niven. | ‘I was finally free from her, sure it took a while but freedom non the less.’
Looking back from the window two of my captor where still muttering in low tones and the third had been replaced by a low rumble in the next room. Rolling my shoulders and flexing my fingers to bring feeling back, I prepared for what would come next. The slowing rumble signalling a end of muttering. The two in the doorway left to join the third and at last leaving me to myself for the first time in a decade.
Boiling water hissed tying into their laughter, they sounded like old friends out for a jaunt, if it wasn’t for what led me to my current situation this could be seen as fun. The clink of metal followed by it clatter drew me back to the door.
A guard returned alone key in hand, as he bent to my cuffs I leaned forward so I could only see the boots in the doorway. With a snap my wrists were free and my with my head my heart rose. Framed before me was not a man but my friend beaming, with a mug of tea in hand and my soon to be ex-wife’s note ready to screw over the heartless bitch. | 2021-03-19T03:44:38 | 2021-03-19T02:31:18 | 61 | 20 |
[WP] As a child, you were asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, and you said "Fire Truck!" After three decades and extensive cybernetic modification, that dream is realised. The alarm has just sounded! It's time to fight your first fire! | The accident had devastated Mike and Jeanine Miller, and after the surgeries they were told that Jimmy would require ongoing life-support technology in order to survive. They discussed the cost and agonized over the decision of whether to pull the plug, but then their doctor pulled them aside and said there was a radical, untested procedure that could help him.
A man named Dr. Perkins described the emerging field of cybernetics and explained that there were techniques that could help Jimmy, and the technology was only a few years away.
Mike and Jeanine signed the papers and kissed their comatose boy goodbye as he was wheeled away. They got in their car and cried all the way home.
Days passed. Jeanine called the number that Dr. Perkins had given her and was told that Jimmy was still stable but unconscious.
Weeks passed. She called several more times but was given the same answer, that there was still a lot of work to be done.
Months passed and she called less often. Her other children stopped asking about him.
Years passed. When Mike lost his job they moved to a smaller house. Jeanine hung the family photos on the wall in the living room, leaving Jimmy's photos in the box.
30 years passed. Mike was knotting his tie, getting ready for his retirement luncheon when there was a knock at the door. The delivery man had a special envelope. She opened it and looked inside.
"Mike!"
He dashed down the stairs, worried that she had fallen again. She passed him the letter and he read it.
"What is this?" He laughed.
"What is this?"
He read it again.
"What is this."
"Jean. What the hell is this!"
They got in the car and drove to the lab, 200 miles away, to the address on the envelope. Mike drove and Jeanine called their friends to tell them something had come up. She called their kids to tell them where they were going. And she called the lab to make sure that this was real, "I mean, REALLY real"
The Sun was getting low above the horizon when they saw the tall, shiny facility, behind a high wire fence and acres of manicured lawns.
"Is this it?"
"I think so?"
The guard at the gate asked them their business and they showed the envelope. He looked at it without emotion and lifted the gate.
"Was this a mistake? Maybe this was a mistake."
There were only a few cars in the lot. They parked and tried to decide which door was the entrance. A man in a lab coat jogged out to them. "Mr. and Mrs Miller? I'm Dr. Wilson. I'm so glad you're here."
They walked down several very long corridors while Dr. Wilson gave an impromptu tour. "These are stills from 'The 6-Million-Dollar Man' Remember that one?"
"Yeah." Mike answered. "That's what you do here? Make bioinc people? Is that what you did with Ji..."
"It's been THIRTY YEARS!" Jeanine interrupted. "When we let you take him... How old are you anyway?! You weren't even ALIVE back when...."
Dr. Wilson put on the sympathetic expression he used with difficult people and tried to snowball them with jargon and highly-technical answers. They argued with him until they got to a large door - a garage door.
Dr. Wilson pulled out a radio and spoke with someone. Then he pushed a big red button on the wall and the large door opened. Inside were some vehicles: a police car, a fire truck, a limousine, and several sports cars; as well as a group of people, young and old, all wearing white lab coats.
She didn't recognize him at first, but Jeanine then recalled the face of Dr. Perkins, the one who had first spoken to them after the accident.
"Oh yeah." Mike said, stepping forward. So what the hell is going on?"
The 6 people said nothing, just grinned.
"What?! Are you all on drugs?!" Jeanine yelled. "What is this?!"
Dr. Perkins walked over to the fire truck and stepped up on the running board next to the driver's side. Mike and Jeanine couldn't see what he was doing but it looked like he was talking.
Dr. Perkins stepped down and suddenly the truck's horn blared, "HONK!"
Jeanine almost fell backward. She and Mike were about to speak again when the siren wailed and the flashers blinked.
They stood, not understanding until the noise and lights faded and a thin voice came out of the truck's grill.
"Mommy?"
The voice sounded metallic and filtered, like on a phone call.
"Mommy! Daddy! Look at me!"
Jeanine stumbled and fell. Mike ran over. She helped herself up by hanging on to the front bumper, then reeled back.
"Daddy! Watch this!"
Dr. Wilson and the others jumped up, shouting "No! Jimmy! No No No!"
The truck's engine revved and the flashers lit up again until the staff calmed him down again.
Jeanine couldn't find her voice. Mike looked at the scientists. They looked back, smiling. Dr. Wilson nodded.
Mike reached up and put his hand on the hood. "Jimmy?"
"Dad! Watch!"
And this time, there was nothing the scientists could do to stop him. Jimmy the fire truck put on his siren and flashers, backed up, then tore through the garage, burning rubber while turning doughnuts on the pavement.
"Dad! Let me out! Let me out!"
Mike had a moment of fear, envisioning his dear boy trapped inside the roaring machine. But then he realized that Jimmy just wanted to go outside. Mike jogged over to what looked like a main entrance and found a button and pushed it, opening a two-story garage door. The staff rushed up behind him but slowed and shrugged their shoulders when Jimmy squealed through to the lot outside where he spun and screeched.
Jeanine walked up behind Mike and put her hand on his back. "This... this isn't... Is it?"
Mike watched Jimmy nearly flip onto his left side making a tight turn. "He sure acts like Jimmy."
| The top floor was an explosion of activity. John was the first to slide down the chute. He found me already warming my engine. They could connect a human mind to a machine, grow artificial limbs, but an engine still needed five minutes of warming up before it was good to go.
As Ted jumped in, last one on, I tore out of the garage to empty roads. The self-driven cars had already made adjustments, with the fire warning and my siren they automatically made way so that I sped at 90 kph while the other cars struggled with a 10 kph crawl through Tuesday traffic.
We were at the building in 30 minutes. From the state records that I accessed I could see it was long due for demolition. One of those buildings meant to last a generation but was now pushing into a century. It's new coat of paint and crack refills could no longer hide the crumbling walls and by the end of the year it would have been marked unsafe to live in.
When we got there we found the District 5 firefighters already combating it. It was in our territory, but right at the outskirts, and near their own headquarters. It would have been cold-hearted to ignore it.
John was in charge. He at once was giving a briefing by Jax Firemaster, District 5's chief and the man with the coolest name a firefighter could be blessed with.
A ball of fire blew out of its left wall. They all scampered back. From the third floor a scream came. A woman approached a third top floor window and waved her hands. She was still in a night gown.
"I thought you said everyone was out!" John shot at Jax.
"We thought so too we didn't hear anything."
Tactics changed instantly. We were no longer just preventing the fire spreading we were rescuing people from the building.
Three of them made a dash to the door only to be beaten back by the fires. The window she had appeared at was now alight.
I made a reverse then sped to the building at full speed. 26000 pounds of metal and extinguisher foam went through the side's flimsy garage door. Inside the floors had given way. I could see her. standing at the hall not sure what to do. I raised the lift and it rose through the flames to her.
Through the speaker I started. "Ma'am can you see the jacket and helmet on the lift?"
I didn't hear a response. "Put it on and jump on immediately, I'll get you out of here."
Once more I couldn't hear a response, but I did feel the lift's weight increase by approximately 121.943 pounds.
I started bringing it down and as it almost lowered completely I felt her jump on my roof. She then crawled to the front and scampered into the drivers seat. I waited for a minute. There was no one else. I then reversed out of the inferno and into the morning sun where I could hear a round of applause break out.
"Oh you hero you." She started as she felt my dashboard.
"Just doing my job ma'am." I said. Hopefully my new voice command would mask my embarrassment.
"I thought you'd never come." She ran a finger over my steering then gave a kiss on its center.
"Well I..."
My face reader detected a reading of 10% happy, 35% erotic and 55% delirious on her. In human speak she was 100% nuts.
"Just you wait they are done with me. I'll come back for you." I heard the door opening. she pulled it back shut. Then locked it. now her bare foot played on my brake, she spread her arms as if trying to embrace me. "Imagine all the fun we'll have when they turn me into an attack helicopter."
***
Sometimes, too often for any sane person's liking, the attack helicopter chases the firetruck through /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-05-29T15:23:53 | 2017-05-29T15:00:01 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] "Earth" is actually the setting of a tabletop RPG, where players create a species of animal and try to rise to the top of the food chain. The rest of the group is getting fed up with the power gamer and his "humans." | The best game of E&E I ever played? Yeah, I've got a story for you.
In any game of Evolutions and Extinctions, there's winners and losers. Everybody knows that - hell, even after Bill's entire clade of Dinosauria got wiped out by a meteor and he stormed off, Andy (who was GM) went and talked to him in the other room and he calmed down. He even stuck around to watch the rest of the game in good humor.
But Steve - he was really bending the rules like crazy. As soon as he could, he focused down to a species instead of a whole order, so he didn't have to spread his points out as much. It was a big gamble, but it paid off - his H. Sapiens was able to out-evolve every other species and dominate the planet. Most other players were stuck with just one or two hundred of their species in the wild, with Steve taking over all their habitats faster than they could breed. His tech tree was maxed out, dumping chemicals into the air and sea, destroying entire other phyla with impunity.
We were there in the end game, with Steve controlling most of the map and a few players just playing with their dice. That's when it happened - the GM (who had been keeping copious notes behind his screen) looked up and said, "OK, Steve - on this next round you need to roll against a new opponent."
Steve scoffed. "First off, I think I'm pretty unbeatable at this point. Plus, I don't see any new opponent joining. Why would they? Who can possibly oppose me?"
"I need you to roll versus your own tech tree."
"What the hell? My tech tree is beyond max! I'd have to roll nothing but twenties just to survive!"
"I hear you. But you did this to yourself. You have to live on this map too."
Still grumbling, Steve rolled his lucky d20. it clattered across the map and teetered, landing on 1.
"Well, that's it - sea levels rise, infrastructure collapses, you're out of the running, Steve."
I hadn't noticed him get out of his chair, but Bill was standing behind the GM, grinning.
"Game over, man. I beat you. You couldn't help pumping my fossil fuels out of the ground and burning them up. And in the end, it was me who took your rules-lawyering ass down!"
And that's the tale of how i watched a dude knocked out of E&E sit for a few hundred million rounds and come out on top. | "God damn it. No Stephen!! Enough is enough,I have to put my foot down. We let you have super endurance, good eyesight, superb adaptability, and an omnivore diet. We should have drawn the line at opposable thumbs, and we DEFINETLY should have drawn the line at super intelligence. So I cannot emphasize this enough... NO STEPHEN!! you cannot have laser eyes." | 2017-10-23T09:28:47 | 2017-10-23T08:19:17 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] A little invisible girl spends her days scaring everyone she meets, who all think she's a ghost. Scared and alone, she finds comfort in a little blind boy.
Edit: So apparently this is already the plot of a book, which is like, super cool and great. | *Take what you can.* That's what Jane had been telling herself for the past two weeks. It might not be ideal. It may be downright strange. But at least he was happy again.
Awkward footsteps ran past the kitchen, not quite drowned out by the local news report playing on the television by the stove. She still wasn't used to that third step, the sound of Henry's cane tapping in front of him, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. They were all still adjusting to their new reality.
"You can't go that way!" laughed Henry before he barrelled into the kitchen, smiling, looking slightly up and to the left, as had become his habit.
"Are you playing with your friend again?" Jane asked her twelve-year-old.
"Yes, but she's cheating," came the reply. "I told Iris not to come in here, not when mom's watching TV."
"Well that was very thoughtful of you, but I'm less worried about Iris and more worried about you."
Henry turned quickly and ran back out. The smile on his face was worth the oddness, she reminded herself. Hadn't his teachers repeatedly said he was withdrawn and uncaring since the blindness developed? Hadn't they said he'd stopped smiling, stopped playing, stopped interacting with the other kids? Jane reminded herself of these things when she struggled with her feelings about Iris. On the one hand, her son seemed like himself for the first time in months. On the other, well, he was a bit old for imaginary friends.
Dinner wasn't for a few hours, but Jane was in the kitchen anyway, half-listening to the news while scrubbing dishes. The handsome reporter, the one she joked with her husband about having an affair with, was in front of an old house. Lots of yellow tape, but no police cars, which struck her as slightly odd.
Running footsteps preceded Henry's re-entrance. "Mom, turn off the TV."
"Why, sweetheart?" she said, not bothering to look up from the pan she was cleaning.
"Iris doesn't want to watch this."
"Well, if it bothers Isis so much, she can turn it off herself."
She immediately felt bad about the comment. She should be encouraging him at all times, according to the therapists. Sighing, Jane turned to her son and started, "I'm glad you and Iris are having fun, but --"
The click behind her was less noticeable than the silence that followed. Jane turned and saw that the television, ten feet behind her, was off. She walked over and turned it back on.
"Don't mom! Iris doesn't like it!"
Patience fraying, Jane replied, "Well, tell Iris that your mom was watching this, and until Iris starts paying the cable bill, she can put up with it."
*...the scene of the crime that has rocked our small community. We reported last week that Timothy Deringer, wanted for a number of heinous felonies, was discovered living in an abandoned house on the north edge of the city. In his basement were a number of bodies..*.
"Mom!" Henry's tone was more than urgent -- it was scared. "Iris is getting mad!"
"Not now, I want to hear this."
*...many of which appeared to be young children. Some were apparently years deceased, but the most recent only passed in the past month, and has been positively identified...*
Light bulbs around the room burst. The microwave door flung open, the refrigerator positively exploded. Jane screamed as the television screen began smoking.
"Mom... Iris is really mad. She wants to talk to you."
Jane, leaning against the counter and shaking, replied, "Sweetheart, not right now. You get out of here, I need to clean this up."
It was then that she felt it. Were she not paying attention, she would have dismissed the faint, cool pressure on her hand. Wouldn't have seen the form of a small girl in a nightgown, only just barely glimmering blue. Wouldn't have heard the whispered voice saying, "You must help me. He must be stopped."
\--------------------
153/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- | She had always been invisible, in a sense. Her parents barely paid her any mind. They were too busy with her older brother. He was prodigy after all. The only time they really gave her any attention was when they were comparing the children. Even still, they cared for her.
Then, one day, it happened. Her brother had overshadowed her so much that she actually turned invisible. She faded from pictures as well as from memories, but she was still there. For a while, she tried to communicate with her family, but all she managed to do was scare them. When they called in an exorcist she decided to leave.
She traveled from house to house, interacting with pets, since they could tell she was there, and swiping food where no one would notice. Eventually it always ended the same way, with them screaming something about ghosts.
That’s when she met him. He was walking across the street when his dog bolted after some thrown object. He tried to keep up but ultimately lost his grip, leaving him in the middle of the street with a car barreling towards him. She reacted on instinct, running and slamming into the boy. They went flying to the side, narrowly missing the vehicle. “Are you alright?” “Fine, thanks.” He smiled warmly at her just as people came flooding out of the houses panicking.
“Thank goodness you’re alright!” Called a worried woman I assumed was his mother. “He must have guardian angel.” Chimes another woman. “I saw it last second. It was though someone had pushed him out of the way.”
“No guardian angel, it was this girl.” He motioned to where she was seated next to him. “There is no one there, Sweetpea.” His mother said calmly.
“They can’t see me, no one can. I’m invisible, but I promise I truly exist.” She whispered in his ear. He smiled and reached for her hand. “I believe you,” he said, “I can’t see anyone, but I know they exist.”
Edit: grammar | 2018-11-20T11:25:37 | 2018-11-20T11:20:14 | 72 | 44 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | On the day of his birth, Craig Barclay was visited by every wise man within travelling distance. Birth had become rare, Humanity on the brink of extinction. To witness such an event was a treasure. They brought gifts fitting for the family.
His father was born with the mark of the Bear on his back. It was large, indicating that he would heavily resemble his patron animal. He was strong, protective, and cared deeply for food.
His mother was born with the mark of the Dove. It was small, on the back of her hand. Non-threatening and clearly visible. She was kind and had the ability to ease tensions.
They worked as diplomats. She stopped wars. He stopped others from harming her. They were easily recognized. He was massive, covered in thick hair, leaving little visible skin. She was pale in contrast, thin and light of frame.
It was assumed that Craig would have something fitting his family's ancestry. Wolves, for example, almost always bore Wolf marked children. Children of Salmon parents nearly always marks of some Fish.
To think that Craig might have been born marked by the Bear, Dove, or Armadillo seemed logical. Maybe a Badger or a different kind of Bird would be in order. They speculated whether it would be as large as his father's, which would have been the size of an apple on his newborn body. Or small, barely visible on his newborn flesh, like his mother's.
As gifts of wool and food were placed in the room, the midwife pulled Craig free. His first wail in the world brought them all to tears. An aide cleaned his body as his mother finished giving birth.
His parents and guest shared a meal of celebration. In a few short hours, his mark would appear.
The Armadillo marked midwife gifted medicines to the parents and an ointment for the mother. The Mole marked farmer from down the lane gifted them with a bundle filled with dried mushrooms. A Wolf marked hunter provided a new pelt to keep the new babe warm. His grandmother, who was marked by the Hummingbird gifted a bottle of sweet wine to the new parents. Dozens more left food, clothing, tools, and trinkets for the new family.
They cleared away the food and shared stories. Speculation rose again. It was considered good luck to guess what patron would choose a child.
"Your child will bring joy to those around him, with a quick wit, and a fierce laugh. He will be marked by Hyena."
"Nonsense, your child will be daring and carefree, growing up safe under your care. He will be chosen by Squirrel for sure!"
"Wouldn't it be funny if he was chosen by Spider or Fox? A mischievous child would shake things up for you two. You are always so calm and quiet. The change would be nice." Many laughed at this. It was not likely.
"Your father was marked by Jacana." The father's mother spoke up for the first time in a while. Everyone listened. "He was fiercely protective of you children. I believe that bird's protective nature is why you were chosen by Bear. Yet you married a Bird. Maybe your son will be chosen by Jacana as well. He would inherit many traits from you both." Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. The loss of the elder was still recent in everyone's mind.
Nods of assent and murmurs of agreement spread through the group. No one wanted to speak against that.
They sat in polite conversation until a small black line sprouted on the child's right hand. Excitement spread as everyone turned to watch.
A thin tentacle spiraled and grew longer. "An Octopus?" someone offered.
"Too long. A Squid?"
It kept growing. The tentacle stretched the length of his arm. The mark bloomed across his back, they turned him over so all could see. As the mark became a body, more tentacles spread. Dozens of them grew along both arms and legs, around his neck, and around his face.
Everyone became silent. No one had ever seen a mark this large. No one had seen an animal like this. "What... What is it?" His mother asked in a quiet tone.
It was, again, his grandmother who spoke up. The single word slammed into all that heard.
"Leviathan."
His mother burst into tears. His father passed the child to his own mother to comfort his wife. The guests left quickly and quietly.
Everyone came to see what fruit the ambassadors of peace would bear. They came with hope and happiness. They left in despair. No one could have imagined that they would be witnessing the birth of the bringer of death, war, famine, and destruction, an unstoppable soldier with an endless bloodlust. No one would survive his reign unscathed.
All they could hope, is that his parents were strong enough. They had the chance to stop him now, before it was too late.
{Whelp, that turned out a bit differently than I intended, but it works, so I'm keeping it. What do you guys think?} | Every now and then, I’ll look back to the first time I really, truly knew what I was. The first time I’d asked why I couldn’t tell people my tattoo, like they all told each-other. I didn’t understand why then, but I see it now. If I’d told them, I’d have died, been killed by those who would never have understood the good I would do with its blessing.
They would have stopped me, long before I discovered what I could do. Before I realised that the only thing standing between what needed to be done and it being done was my ambition. And it’s true, some people scorn their gifts, thinking them grotesque or frail, the vermin of the world inked into their skin from the first moment they saw light to their last. The same who would’ve called me monstrous, undeserving, deranged and dangerous. Liars and fools, the lot.
This land was mine from the moment I was born, given to me by the birthright that stretches down my spine. So I took it, piece by piece. The Lions, bears, wolves of the world - strong, powerful people in their own right - tried at first to stop me. They barked and bit, fought back. They blustered, doing all of this from the borders of my beautiful growing nation, lining troops along the ever expanding territorial lines I was claiming for my own. But all that pomp and show was for naught, it seemed, because when I came for them, all they did was plead.
And I have been called many names, because of my skin. Monster, freak, saviour, redeemer, devourer, destroyer, even “herald of the end times”. I intend to be none of those things. Why would I wish to destroy the people and places I love, the land that raised me? Simply because of the legends about what I wear on my back? No.
I know the true potential of my gifts, and I know that there are more out there for me to bring to a proper understanding. I am not quite done with this place, the Hyena and his followers keeping a stronghold to the North-west that I will see turned to rubble, whether via those who have defected to my reign or through the abyss I will send it into, I do not know. One thing I do know, is that after this region, my homeland, is taken under the banner of the Leviathan, I will not sit contentedly on a throne of skulls and wait around for my end to come.
We share borders with neighbouring civilisations, others with similar ideals to ours. Some are friendly neighbours, others are not... but that does not matter. They will either come willingly or be broken into my service if I have to waste every last one of their infernal tribes to do so, and I do not make idle threats.
A monster, they may call me. Deceiver, betrayer, scourge. I intend to be none of those things.
I am a conqueror. | 2017-11-08T05:45:29 | 2017-11-08T05:30:51 | 192 | 117 |
[WP] It's 14 years after 9/11, only, there was no terrorist attacks and America never went to war. | "Mr President, it's time for your security briefing."
The President nodded. The suits filed in, three of them, and took seats in the elegant couches in the centre of the Oval Office. The President took his seat in the wing-back armchair at the head of the circle, and gave a curt nod for the meeting to begin.
The man with the CIA badge started.
"No major new developments, Mr President. Eastern Ukraine is still unstable, but the Europeans are fairly willing to take on most of the NATO responsibilities. Their pressure has forced the Russians to back down and retreat.
"In the Middle East the stabilization process continues to work, and the hard line countries such as Saudi Arabia are increasingly isolated. The elections in Syria and Libya were both successful, with only minor incidences of violence, much less than we had feared. In both cases, the elections were won by moderate candidates, joining the moderate leaders of other countries that have already settled down after the Arab Spring.
"The biggest current threat continues to be posed by China's encroachment on Japan, and the escalating conflict in Korea. However there are no immediate actions that we can take beyond continuing to assure our allies of our support."
The President nodded. "Thank you, Herman. I'll ring the Japanese and South Korean premiers later today. Donald, what news on the home front?"
The man with the FBI badge did not have the face of someone prone to smiling, but today he allowed the corners of his mouth to incline slightly.
"All quiet, Mr President. We caught the group responsible for the high risk death threat that I informed you about last week. It was a Christian Fundamentalist organization who were deeply against your policies. They were particularly unhappy with your recent announcement of the oil treaty with Sadam Hussein and the Afghanistan al-Qaeda. It turned out that many of them are, or were, employed in the Texas oil industry."
The President shook his head. "It never ceases to amaze me how some people are all for free trade except when it negatively affects them. Then they demand protectionism, tariffs, and subsidies. Since government subsidies were abolished under President Gore, the standard of living of the bottom 20% has more than doubled."
The security advisors were all used to the President's political diatribes by now. It was not their place to advise the President on his policy decisions, but the CIA man, Herman, said, "Mr President, Gallup released the results of a survey yesterday which showed that international opinion of the USA has reached heights not seen since before the Cold War."
"Yes, I saw that," the President said. "Teddy Roosevelt was right when he said 'Speak softly and carry a big stick'. What he failed to mention was the other maxim of good foreign policy: 'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.' In the past 15 years that's repaired much of the ill will that we created in the preceding 50. OK, Mr Jones, what do you have for me today?"
Jones, the NSA man, opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything the President interrupted, "And don't try to sell me on that mass surveillance crap again. It's morally and constitutionally wrong, and we both know it."
"But Mr President-"
"Enough. Is there anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Then I will see you three gentlemen tomorrow."
The suits filed out, and the President craned his neck around to catch the eyes of his secretary outside the Oval Office. "Mandy, get me Senators McCain and Obama. I want to float the idea of using this year's huge budget surplus to double what we spend on public education." | One warm June day, my mother and I went to California. My grandma had moved out there years ago, and we were going to visit her for a change, as opposed to her coming here to Buffalo for the family reunion. My dad, who was going to stay behind, helped us carry our luggage to the check-in. My Mom had done airport security in Washington, DC years before I was born, so she chatted with the TSA lady about that while we went through. Then, my dad walked with us to the gate. This was my first plane trip ever, so I was pretty psyched. As the different planes came in and parked, my dad made jokes that my seat assignment was on the wing. Then as a large (depending on perspective; my first flight, so pretty much *all* planes classified as "large"!) plane was directed to its spot outside the window, an announcement was made that our flight had arrived. I threw out the trash from my McDonald's breakfast, Dad hugged both of us, and we got in line to board. Dad says he waited until our plane backed out to go to the runway before he left.
When we came in to LAX, my uncle, grandma and two cousins were waiting for at the arrival gate with posters "WELCOME TO L.A. AUNT VICKY AND ARIEL!". | 2015-09-07T13:00:37 | 2015-09-07T12:29:10 | 72 | 17 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | A million a year. It's a pretty sweet deal, to be sure. At the end of each year, your mental state is evaluated and if you are deemed still sane, you are given the opportunity of another year.
I'm approaching the end of my fifth year with all mental faculties still intact, fully willing to take a sixth. I don't need it, the four million has been sat pretty much untouched in my bank account, waiting for me to retire this job and decide what to do with it.
I'm leaning towards a nice house in a nice area, with top of the line kitchen and living room. A fair portion donated too - I'm a charitable person at heart.
The only catch is I have to make it to the end of each year without the phone ringing.
Seventeen days away from the fifth anniversary of the job, it rings.
The ring tone is shrill. My room is fairly empty anyway, a fridge with an amazingly quiet hum, a chair and the table, so the sound echoes.
A beacon to the end.
If the phone ever rings, the contract automatically terminates at the end of the call. No exceptions. They never want into detail, just that it was vital the call went answered and everything would be explained afterwards.
So, I answer it.
'Hello?'
Three little words come back, shaky and breathless. 'All is lost.'
My heart drops. There are two phrases they prepared me for. 'It is done' was one. If I heard that, I press the blue button underneath the the earpiece.
'All is lost' is the keyword for the green. The one that truly ends everything they've been keeping a secret in this facility.
I press the green.
They've kept me from the outside world for the entire duration of my employment. I haven't seen the news, haven't spoken to anyone except those in charge of this programme who speak only in hushed whispers to each other of the outside.
I don't know then, that the war that broke out has killed most of my country, and those surrounding us. That life as we know it has already ended.
I didn't know that, after the last war, they'd converted the government buildings in every city into nuclear bombs activated by a single button in an unknown, secure location.
I ended the world at the request of a single phone call.
But I get to live through the end of the world and beyond, in this bunker built to survive the destruction it causes with those deemed necessary for survival.
I have to live with the knowledge that a phone call of three words was the end of everything. | I keep questioning why I took this job because I'm going crazy. Is the money really worth it? Does the phone even work? How did I even get to this position?
Suddenly the phone goes off.
"H-hello?" I tentatively answer.
"Uh is this the Krusty Krabs?"
"No this is Patrick," I said and hung up. | 2017-12-17T00:57:14 | 2017-12-16T23:39:18 | 431 | 173 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | "You're not going to die, Alpaca", the hitman says, with a smile. "Stop thinking you're so special."
"Dude, I don't like where this prompt is going", I say. "I don't like this prompt going in."
"You think you're so important, You're so arrogant.", the hitman says, making way down the alley.
'*Arrogant*'.
"I'm not arrogant", I say. "I just don't like the idea of being murdere –"
"Would you relax?" The hitman says, turning to face me. "Just follow me."
And I do. I follow him down the alley where it ends in a parking lot.
"Is this where you are murdering me?" I ask.
"I'm not murdering you", the hitman says. "Why are you so paranoid?"
'*Paranoid*'.
"I'm not paranoid", I say. "It's just that the prompt says –"
"Stop thinking you are the center of the world. This is not about you. Now come on, let's go."
We cross the parking lot and make a left on a deserted street. At the end of it, a huge (and I mean huge)
warehouse rests between a gas station and a smoke shop.
"Is this where you are murdering me?"
"Dude, I was sent here to do a job. Can you let me do it?"
'*Job*'.
"Killing people? That's a job?" I ask.
The hitman shakes his head. "Really, Alpaca. You have to get that narcissism checked out. I told you, I'm not murdering you."
On top of the warehouse, the words 'WRITING PROMPTS HEADQUARTERS' tower over our heads. We make way
down the street and walk in.
The inside of the warehouse is a huge, wide-open space, like I expected it to be. To my left and right, small, wooden doors with prompt titles written in neon on top announce the latest posts.
"Where are we going, exactly?" I ask, looking left and right, worried.
"We're going to find this prompt", the hitman says. "The one we are in."
"So you can kill me there, right?" I ask, already resigned to my fate.
'*Fate*'.
"Dude, would you –", the hitman stops, taking a deep breath. He looks somewhere behind me, all of a sudden.
"There!" he says. "Found it."
I look back to find a door just like the others, topped by a sign in neon that reads 'Foreshadow the character's
death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even thought I requested it'.
'*Requested*.'
"This is it", I say, as the hitman drags me towards the door. "This is how I die."
He opens the door and we walk into a circular room. "Alpaca, for real", he says. "You need to cut this arrogant
attitude."
'*Attitude*'.
There's a chair in the middle of the room. It's turned back to us, and I can see a head crowning out of where the backrest ends. There's someone sitting there.
"Didn't you notice the *lone words* throughout this story?" He asks. "The ones in italic?"
"What about them?" I ask, confused.
"This prompt was not your idea, bro", the hitman says. ”It's not you I'm after."
I frown, and I think about that for a second. Then the hitman takes a knife from his pocket and turns his back to me.
He steps-by-step his way closer to the chair and the stranger sitting there with his back to us.
"Hey /u/LoneWords", the hitman says, spinning the chair around and raising his knife. On the chair, Lonewords' eyes go wide. "Nice prompt."
_______________________
*Hey, thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| Rain trickled down the windowpane, making rivulets in the already wet surface. Kieran watched them, a tinny pounding in his ears the last remnant of the concert he'd just got in from. The streetlights were lit and the house was dark as he had unlocked the front door. The hallway was just as messy as it had been as he left, and the smell of rotting food from the kitchen was overpowering. His mother would be in bed. She was always in bed.
He moved to the bathroom, brushing his teeth monotonously, looking in the mirror but not really seeing. He was too pale. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes from the late nights he'd had. The house would have to be cleaned tomorrow. Maybe his mother would get out of bed. He washed his hands once, twice. Both times he lathered the soap, scrubbed his fingernails, rubbing up to his elbows. A bottle of pills lay beside the faucet. Kieran tightened the lid and put them back into the cabinet. Opened bottles of cleaning fluid stood beside an crinkle of foil wrapper and dental floss.
In his bedroom, the neon light of the streetlamps outside flooded across the carpet. His room was neat, in contrast to the rest of the house. A crow landed on one on the opposite side of the road, flapped its wings and hunkered down under the heavy rain. A smudge on the glass distracted Kieran temporarily. He rubbed at it with one finger, only to find that it wouldn't come off.
He frowned, returning to the bathroom and opening the cabinet. There was a dark smudge there, too. *Why was nothing ever clean in this house?*
Kieran returned to his bedroom, cloth and cleaning fluid in hand. He unscrewed the child-proof lid, raised the bottle, and began to drink.
| 2015-06-03T06:09:32 | 2015-06-03T05:56:40 | 2,539 | 35 |
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back! | C'Xanna rode the emissions trail to their quarry. It shouted its existence to the black with a brazenness that C'Xanna had never seen before.
But this is the Uncharted Frontier, the stars beyond. The place where not even the reach of the Imperiana could extend. It was here that the scavengers were forced to ply their trade. The security within the borders of known space had gotten too steep, and even those counter-cycle could not find suitable quarry.
At first, the Uncharted Frontier looked to be meager in its pickings. C'Xanna was not a miner, and his crew would not follow a leader that could not supply targets. Even as outcasts and outlaws, they would be welcomed in some corners of the Imperiana if they gave up their trade -- so few operated during the quiet of the off-cycle. Within the many stars and the many colonies of the Imperiana, there was only one. The Vthar. C'Xanna's kind.
While they would still find their rest the same as all others, they entered the quiet when others emerged and vice versa.
It was a valuable trait to possess.
Particularly for those who sought to find glory with plasma and armor.
Still, C'Xanna was puzzled by this new target. It pulsed and thrummed with life regardless of the cycle. It was a strange thing to behold. Perhaps they had learned to mimic alertness, it was a common camouflage for a ship to pretend to possess one of C'Xanna's kind, but he would know if another of his kin had traveled this deep into the Frontier.
No.
None of the Vthar had been this far into the periphery. They were content with the platinum leash of the Imperiana. They were happy to lend their strength to the cover the weakness of others.
It sickened him, but he grown accustomed to the craven ways of his kind.
C'Xanna leaned over, placing his palm upon the head of C'Malli, his fellow Vthar and the navigator. "Ride in the wake of their signal. We will strike during the quiet time."
"But they--"
"It is a ruse. They try to trick those who walk the quiet, but they are fools. We walk the quiet. Others do not."
C'Malli flared his neck flaps in response, acknowledging the command as they increased their speed. They were unlikely to be detected, their vessel possessed superior stealth technology, but there was little harm to extra precautions.
Slowly, they closed in on the vessel. It did not give any indication that it sensed any difficulties. All was as expected.
Moments later, two large pincers pierced the hull of the vessel as the buffernose of their vessel slammed into the side of the alien vessel and began the process of cutting a hole. A great grinding sound rang out, but C'Xanna did not fear it. No sound could rouse those in the quiet. They were silent in their rest until C'Xanna and his crew made them dead.
This was their craft, and they knew it well.
A siren rang out, indicating the breach was successful. C'Xanna rubbed C'Malli atop the head a final time, "I will return once we have secured the vessel." Then C'Xanna pulled a small lever beside his seat, and a hole emerged in front of him. He slid from his chair and into the hull, depositing himself into the winding guts of their ship as he was propelled toward the buffernose. As he traveled, his armor flicked to life, and a covering wrapped around his head.
Lights flashed passed. Growing brighter and brighter, indicating that he had almost arrived at the buffernose. A flash and then he was shot forward, flying through the breach spot and hurtling toward the wall on the interior of the alien ship. He flexed his knees, pushing fluid into his joints to prepare for the impact as he collided with the wall, bouncing off and executing a neat roll before coming to his feet once more.
Ahead of him stood three other Vthar, the vanguard of the assault force. Another six would join quickly to make for a full assault team of eleven. In all of their time scavenging, they had never needed more.
As the six filtered in, C'Xanna moved forward with the other Vthar, each enclosed in their personal armor units with plasma rifles held loosely in gunhands. They were alert but unconcerned.
This was the quiet time.
Their time.
After the other six had arrived, they began to move quickly down the hallway. A bulkhead stood before them. C'Xanna motioned to R'Doual and she raised her plasma rifle in response. She flipped through the settings until a jet of pure plasma flame emitted from the nozzle. She pushed it against the bulked head, and it began to glow red and melt away the metal the aliens used.
Finally, a hole in the bulkhead appeared.
Then R'Doual staggered and fell back. Her suit's containment was breached in multiple locations, and viscous orange fluid flowed from the holes.
The bulkhead dropped.
More weapons discharged on the other end of the hallway, forcing C'Xanna to dive for cover. As he dove through the air, he managed to steal a glance down the hallway, expecting some form of automated defense.
Instead, he could only look in horror at the group of aliens staring back at him.
Quiet walkers.
The Vthar were not alone.
Others owned the silence of the cycle.
This would change the Imperiana. This would change everything.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | I wake up, sweat rolling down my face as I see an alien pirate looming over me like all those shitty life choices I made like buying Jordan 1's and immediately losing their value by getting splashed with water outside the store while still wearing them
My reflexes saved me by immediately grabbing my laser pistol under my pillow and blasting the scumbag in his face over and over again until the gun overheated.
The pirates were either lucky and struck gold- No, diamond or they were smarter than the Federation of Human Systems thought them to be as this was one of the biggest and newer ships to be in service, and in the confines of the metal and steel walls of our behemoth lays diplomatic cargo.
A couple of emissaries from the strategically placed planet of Kepler in our enemies doorway, a space hub for all future soldiers and operations, and they were still asleep during this raid, this was bad.. If Kepler finds out that we were not capable enough to protect their diplomats or handle the pirate threat then we wont be granted access to their planet.
The intercoms blasted out: "All members of the Eclipse will be relocated to the loading bay. Everyone late will be left behind by our ships. Protect the emissaries at all costs."
The news of our ships soon to be abandonment scared me to be frank as I packed everything I needed and left for the loading bay, ignoring the constant firefights in the halls, rooms and open space.
The pirates were taken back by our intervention to their subterfuge by waking up so suddenly to fight. There was little to no public information about the human body for the galaxy. If the humans were able to wake a fight so suddenly what else could they do?
Well.. Activate the self destruction sequence and evacuate the Eclipse with the diplomats, of course.
The loading bay doors were in sight! I was full on sprinting along with my comrades as we retreated and fired back a few shots at the enemy.
The screams of my brothers as they were mowed down stirred the will to live inside me as I leapt onto a ship using the cargo ramp at the back. And just in time too.
I awoken from my adrenaline fueled sprinting and collapsed onto the cool metal floor in front of the awed sailors.
"Wha-What happened? Is everyone on?" The words came out of my mouth using the last ounce of strength I could muster as I sat along the walls of the scouting ship
"Mostly everyone. The diplomats are safe, but our crew took a hard hit." One said as he knelt down to give me a water bottle and a wet towel.
"Drink up." He said. After that? It was all a blur as all I was out of energy and was grateful to even be living at this point.
The only snippets I caught said about going to the Titanpointe Hypergate as it accessed deep in human territory.
A resounding boom shook the crew to its core. Even though we knew it was going to blow it felt like a hit to the balls, surprising and painful at the same time. Nearly all of us served on the Federations finest ship for a year or three.
With the Eclipse gone now what? We were promised it would permanently house all of us. We knew this fact was utter bullshit as we were saving up money to buy a better home or even buy our first one. We were homeless sailors destined to be begging on the streets because this will leak out onto the news and we will be disgraced and shamed for being cowards.
So now what?
(This was my first one and I'm so tired now lmao. Hope y'all enjoyed.) | 2021-01-26T23:29:07 | 2021-01-26T23:19:09 | 250 | 50 |
[WP] Like with technology, there are those who practice magic and doesn't fully understand it, you're Magic Support and deal with the issues your clients have regarding magic. | "Hello, thank you for contacting the Magic Support hotline. How may I assist you?" I ask.
"Yes, uh— hello— oh God," he says. I hear heavy breathing, the sound of wind whooshing behind his voice. "It's getting bigger."
"Hello, sir? What seems to be the problem?"
"Right, right. I was given this book — a big, thick book with metal straps — and, uh— shit!" The whooshing sound grows louder. I can feel wind coming through the headset.
"Sir, please continue."
"Yes, so my great grandpa Merl gave me this book and so I read through it — you know, because, it's a book and I was curious — and I found a page about, what I think was, talking about wind. So I—" His voice is submerged by the wind. I wince away from the headset as a gale blows through my office, rattling my trinkets and charms, flapping the pages of the tomes lining the false-walls.
"Sir!" I shout. "You summoned a Wind Deity. If I'm right, its name is Eurus'oth, the All-Consuming Maelstrom of the East."
"All consuming!" he screams, the wind now overwhelmingly loud I can barely hear him.
"Yes! You must read the last line of the page and recite his name towards the eastern wall three times! Then — and only then — will it be sent back."
"OK, OK! Got the book. The page! What was the—" The wind deafens his voice. "—it is! OK!
*To the East,
From this place—*"
More wind. A typhoon explodes from the headset. I throw it off my head and put it on the floor. Stacked papers and pens and other office supplies spirals out from under the desk, and spills out over the floor and into the aisle. I grip my dress and hold it for dear life. The one day I don't wear shorts.
Soon, almost unexpectedly, the wind slowly dies down until nothing is issuing from the headset. I cautiously pick up the headset from the floor and slip it back on. "Sir?" I hear nothing. "Sir, are you there?"
"Yes," he gasps, "yes I'm here." I can hear him smile. He laughs. "I did it, it's gone, sweet Mother of Mary, it's gone."
I smile, adjust my bangs back behind my ears. "That's wonderful to hear. I'm glad everything worked out for you. Is this anything else I can assist you with today?"
"No, not anymore. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Have a good day."
I hang up the call but not a moment later, another comes in.
"Hello, thank you for contacting the Magic Sup—"
"OH GOD! IT BURNS! MY SKIN IS MELTING! HELP ME!" | The crystal ball flares to life
"Hello, Magic Support, have you tried emptying and recharging your mana?"
"What, no, I just can't get my cleaning spell to work."
"Did you forget the Xiroth rune?"
"Xiroth rune?"
"You know, the one that actually lets the spell use your mana... the one they teach you in school?"
"Are you giving me lip? Of course I know the Xiroth rune."
"Apologies madam, you need to include it in this particular spell for it to function."
...or any spell for that matter
"Is there anything else I can help with?"
The crystall ball goes clear, the communication spell cut off.
​
I hate my job. | 2019-10-24T05:00:02 | 2019-10-24T04:12:49 | 15 | 11 |
[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?"
| A quiet series of knocks on the door drew my attention. I looked up from my laptop, my eyes barely over the top of the screen.
The door slowly cracked open, and I saw her eyes peek in and scan the room, resting them on me, then veering over to the table to my right.
She slowly pushed through the doorway and tiptoed across the carpet, trying not to make a sound. Her oddly forced gait and mistimed pauses to look about was more than enough for me to continue staring.
She walked over to the table, on which a cage sat atop, with some bedding and a water container within.
She opened the cage, scooped out one of my older hamsters, and turned around, slowly tiptoe-ing in the same manner she came in.
With the hamster in one hand and the doorknob in the other, she gazed about one last time. A smirk and a half enthusiastic wave later, she left, door partially shut.
I looked back at my laptop screen and continued to browse. | 2017-01-21T08:30:04 | 2017-01-21T07:45:11 | 38 | 13 |
[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. | The end of all galactic life had been going on for nearly 10 standard cycles. The Enemy was as relentless as it was ancient, still no one knew where they had come from, or what their purpose was beyond mere universal destruction.
A long time ago, most sovereign governments and most of the colonies had all but given up the fight, realising they were horribly outnumbered and outgunned. Most made some effort or another to preserve life and civilisation. About half had launched massive expeditions to cross dark space to settle in other galaxies. Others built massive vaults on isolated planets where they froze their best and brightest to be thawed after the Enemy had left. Others still isolated themselves completely, destroying their links to the Network that allowed interstellar travel. The remainder simply gave up, thinking of extinction by the Enemy as the logical next step in galactic evolution, as if they were some sort of cosmic force of nature.
When I say 'most', I really mean *all but one*. One people still fought. They had been ravaged more than any other civilisation, enduring multiple planetary bombardments and ground invasions, and practically no effective single government remained, but *they still fought*, and in ways no one could predict or even comprehend. The Enemy was doubtlessly the most feared creatures in the Cosmos, but to those who remained alive, the Human was a close second.
There was a rumour, which I had recently confirmed from their own military, that they had at one point towed three small moons into orbit over one of the colonies under bombardment. These moons were then detonated at high speed at slingshot trajectories, which effectively turned them into planet-sized *shotgun blasts* that ripped the Enemy to shreds. According to their military, this tactic had been repeated and refined a few times since, and now the Enemy had withdrawn from any Human colonial system with an asteroid field.
And then there were their 'conventional' tactics. Humans would regularly 'booby-trap' their own equipment, leaving it behind on the battlefield when it was damaged so that the Enemy would die as they tried to salvage it. Many of them even carried explosives on their person into combat for similar purposes, and there were thousands of instances of these soldiers flanking the Enemy and detonating themselves behind their lines. To a Human, *anything* could be a weapon. One of their soldiers told me that anything that is 'harder, sharper, or pointier than your own body' can be a weapon. That mentality, combined with a penchant for ridiculous high-risk tactics had actually won them a fair amount of victories in the Endless War, some of which had been against those many who had enslaved themselves to the Enemy and now fought *for* them.
Yes, the Human was as feared as he was insane. And even knowing just how insane these Humans could be, I was still shocked when I heard about their most recent plan.
"These Network links literally punch holes in the fabric of space-time, right?"
"Yes..."
"And you can manufacture them fairly cheaply, right?"
"Well... cheaper than warships, anyway?"
"Right! So we figure, we construct, say, a hundred of the buggers, and use two of them for each of these devices!"
The Human was gesturing toward a blueprint hologram of an ancient device from their past, what they called a 'nuke'. Apparently, the ancient Human had been equally insane to the modern one, and had actually thought it a good idea to deploy *nuclear fission* as weapons on the battlefield. Which they had done, first sparingly and later - even knowing what it meant - on a global scale, in what the *utter morons* called the 'Third World War'. *Third*, can you believe that?!
"Let me get this straight," I pinched the back of my neck with my tail, still not quite believing what was being suggested, "You plan on replacing the fissile material in these bombs with Network links. Correct?"
"Yes!"
"And you are aware that this will, at the very least, tear open a hole in space-time, yes?"
"A black hole, yessir!"
"...you realise that this may actually unravel *reality itself*?!"
"It either works or it doesn't, Praetor. Either the Enemy dies, or we all die, Enemy included. If we don't do this, they live and we die."
There was a glaring hole in the Human Admiral's logic. "Or, you know, it could simply *not work* and we will have wasted tons of resources at something completely unproductive."
The Human waved an appendage my way in a strange side-to-side motion I had recently understood was some kind of *chiding* gesture.
"*Hope*," said the Human, "Hope is *never* unproductive." | Captain of NA Drial to Federation HQ
I am afraid, scared and motivated, I know its odd way to put it but we may win the war against the Empire with the humans.
I mean, since humans first made contact they remained neutral, in their tiny solar system.
They had so much battle experience that we thought that humans maybe were empire species, but turns out they were fighting each other all along.
To classify the humans are reckless, suburb and brave. They did not like it when the Empire order them to surrender and give them an ultimatum of 48 hours to surrender, humans instead of surrender, every planet in their solar system started to go in lockdowb, Earth the center of human power and the home world issued order 450, an order that other species said that was to crazy go against the empire like that. The order 450 was simple, boost power to Earth's mighty iron shields, by using the planets raw core, they were sucking the planets thermal energy to power a shield, that amount of energy disturbed all sensor in the solar system, they hold the 48 hours like that until the Empire invaded, turn out the humans were not in the mood to go on the defense, they hidden an entire space ship fleet beside the solar system star, Earth's shields were not protecting Earth's but were protecting an enormous fleet from the star heat. Has soon the empire was in Earth's defense weapons a barrage of shots started to hit the empire ships, and then they warped all of the fleet be hide the empire ships.
They destroy, captured all empire ships, nothing was left of the empire. Earth's alone fleet and power won an entire invasion force more than a million empire ships more than 30 million soldiers either dead or captured, but the amazing part was that human fleet damage was 15 ships, a battalion that sacrifice them self to save the crown of the Earth's power the mighty, USS Helena, after that battalion fall the USS Helena shot a full range and power, a barrage of shots that alone killed more than 150 ships.
Humans are crazy, have a lot of power and they are not afraid to fight until the last man.
Has of right now the Redjop have joined the human fleet, but not with man but with ships, turns out that humans did not have enough ships to carry the military, 459 million, a single species has enough personal has the Empire combine. In this report I ask mercy to creator because, humans will most likely to use the Empire home solar system star has a bomb, I mean I hope they get some sense what they are doing. | 2017-03-06T02:43:37 | 2017-03-06T00:01:22 | 121 | 25 |
[WP] The town council died in a freak plane accident. An audit by the interim council revealed 20% of the town’s power is siphoned off to a structure with priority over even hospitals. The send you to investigate the building in the middle of nowhere. | Like always, Akito got the short end of the stick. *They never send James to deal with this shit*, he thought as he pulled the sedan into the lot of the Cartex Building. No—James got sent to dinners with developers and golf tournaments. He’d never get saddled with the task of investigating the shady as fuck building on the edge of town.
Akito smoothed his hair and sighed. There was no point complaining about it. He was the new guy, after all. It was a small town. The politics were boring, that much was true, but he wouldn’t be here forever. Just for a few months, until he had the experience to get a job in Seattle. And after that... who knew. Maybe the UN one day. International unity never failed to pique his interest.
But, for now, Akito had to focus on the task ahead of him. The rain had started to fall in earnest, leaving beaded trails on the windshield as the droplets raced to the bottom. He reached for his umbrella, swung open the door, and stepped directly into a puddle.
*Shit.* The water soaked through the leather of his shoe and left his sock a damp mess. The hem of his pant leg suffered a similar fate—at least it was dark enough that no one would notice. Hopefully.
*This better be worth it.* Akito grit his teeth and made his way towards the entrance. Part of him was still convinced this was all a mistake. The interim council was just that—they didn’t have the same experience as the old one. And the old was old. Akito figured they were all well into their 50s at least. Robert Hanging must’ve been pushing eighty. But they knew what they were doing.
And the new council seemed to think that this building—this rundown, three storey office building on the edge of town that desperately needed its windows washed—was drawing almost a quarter of all the power from the grid. Akito didn’t even see how that was possible. For a place that size to use that much electricity, it should’ve been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
Still. He wanted to impress Cara. Even if he didn’t plan on sticking around long, a promotion would be nice. There was a new pair of Atomic skis he’d had his eyes on.
Akito reached the door and pushed his way in. The entrance area was nondescript; a small grey reception desk sat firmly in front of him and a few dozen faded vinyl chairs lined the walls of the room. No one was at the desk, though.
Akito folded down his umbrella and hit the bell.
A few moments later, a young woman appeared out of an office to the side. Her hair was sleek and blonde and wound up in a tight bun that Akito was fairly sure had been out of style for years.
“Welcome to Cartex,” she said with a smile so falsely bright that Akito wondered if that was where the electricity was going. “How can I make your visit pleasant today?”
Akito blinked. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I’m Luke Mori, here on behalf of the City of Port Angeles.”
The woman’s mouth faltered from her smile, but she corrected it quickly. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about there. Our CEO had everything squared away with councilman Hanging.”
“Well, that’s sort of the thing. In light of recent... events—“ Akito cringed— “the interim council has been re-evaluating cases. There were some flags raised about electricity consumption in this building.”
The woman quirked her head. “We pay the bill don’t we?”
“Of course you do. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.” Akito adjusted his tie. “We were just curious about the business. As your new representatives, the council would like to know more about what you actually do here at Cartex.”
“We’re a car insurance company. Surely you know that?”
Akito looked around. There were no images anywhere to suggest that. No brochures or pamphlets. “No, I didn’t, actually.” The whole place was strange—the reception area seemed more like one that belonged in a health clinic, with its sort of sterile aesthetic. It was a Tuesday afternoon and not a person was here.
“Well, now you know! Have a wonderful day, Akito,” the receptionist said with a smile and a wave.
Akito stilled. He hadn’t told her his real name. He rarely used it—people around here were always more willing to talk to Luke than Akito. He swallowed thickly and felt his throat bob uncomfortably against his tie. “Yeah, um. Yeah. You too.”
He turned from the desk and pushed his way out into the September rain without bothering to open his umbrella. Fuck. His gut tightened. How did she know?
Without thinking, Akito made a straight line for his sedan. Once inside, he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. What the hell just happened?
He pushed his wet hair off his forehead and dug his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. He could call Josh and ask for back up, but that prick would never let him live it down. He could call Cara, but that would mean admitting to his boss that he couldn’t handle the most basic task.
Instead, he punched in a familiar number.
“‘Lo?” said the muffled voice through the speaker, thick with confusion.
“Himari?”
“Ugh. Akito—do you have any clue what time it is here? I was sleeping.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s like 5 pm in New York. You weren’t seriously sleeping?”
A pause. “What’s it to you anyway? I was taking a nap. God knows I’m busy enough.”
Akito bit his lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Himari laughed on the other end. “If you say something about how I need my beauty sleep, I’m telling Mom.”
“I’m being serious.” Akito paused. “Look, something weird just happened.”
“Hmm. You did apologize for waking me up which means that you either want something or are genuinely freaked out.”
Akito hesitated. “Okay, I don’t know how to say this. I know you’re busy and everything, but I think I’ve got a story for you.”
Himari quieted, the way she always did when her interest was piqued. “You sure?”
Akito nodded to himself. “Yeah. I am. Something strange is going on here—I can feel it. Between the council, and now there’s this weird building, and everything just isn’t adding up.”
“Looks like my years of telling you to follow your gut paid off.” Himari let out a small sigh. “But I can’t afford the time off right now.”
“Himari, this could be big.”
“I’ll see what I can do from here. Okay? You’re gonna have to start this one off, Kito. If it turns into something bigger, then I could maybe talk to my boss.”
Akito nodded to himself again. “Okay, thank—“
A sharp rap on his window cut him off. He started; his phone clattered to the ground.
Outside his window stood the blonde receptionist. The rain soaked her to her core, but she didn’t seem to notice the downpour. Anyone standing in weather like that wearing only a blouse and skirt would’ve been shivering.
But she stayed still. Her smile hadn’t faltered. She reached forward and knocked at the window again.
Tentatively, Akito rolled it down.
“Hello, Akito. Is there a problem with the service I’ve given you today?”
He shook his head. “No! No. You were very... helpful.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. If her feet weren’t so damn close to the tire, he would’ve taken off, rude or not.
“And yet you seem dissatisfied with the answer I gave you.”
Akito stared. How could she know.
“You called your sister, did you not?”
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just gonna head out and we can both just pretend I never was here.” His hand reached toward the gear. He shifted from park into drive and punched the gas to the floor.
And his car sputtered like it never had before. The engine gave a resounding bang that rang in his ear and reverberated in his chest. Vaguely, he was aware that the hazards started to flash before abruptly burning out. The radio rose to a swell and died like the rest of his once-reliable car.
*Whatthefuckwhatthefuck.* Akito’s head pounded against his skull. He’d just gotten an oil change a few weeks ago. This shouldn’t have happened. He had to get out of here.
“Pretend you were never here?” The receptionist chuckled. “I think we both know it’s too late for that.”
——
r/liswrites | It’s just an old crumbling house, alone on a shitty gravel road. The sun melts into the horizon behind it, darkening the home’s front, making it look like the last rotten tooth jutting out of a diseased gum. I’ve seen plenty of places just like this before. Places once loved but abandoned, left to fall apart. Maybe drugs rotted away the other teeth, and soon they’ll take this one too.
Makes me thing of betrayal, and I can’t say why exactly. Because the home deserved more, maybe? More than left to slowly decompose.
Weak light, almost candle-like, beiges up the closed curtains. I’d expected more than this. I’d expected a Frankensteins’s castle, lightning streaking in and out as some crazed scientist resurrects a corpse. It has to be something like that to eat up as much electricity as it is. But seeing it now - a slack jaw slanted house barely able to stand - my excitement drains away like piss into the gravel. All that’s left is a previously hidden anxiety. The feeling of something bad just waiting beyond the door.
Probably just growing pot here. Probably got a real nice setup, lot of lamps in a vast underground cellar. Mundane reality compared to Frankenstein - but a better reason to be living out here all alone.
“Hey? Hello?” I rap my knuckles on the door, pale white paint flaking onto my skin. “Anyone in? No one answered my call so I came in person.”
I’m not a conspiracy nut. I don’t think the council - rest in peace, god save their souls, and all that - were responsible for this place draining so much electricity. I don’t think they even knew about it. More likely just an oversight. Sure, a big oversight, but when no one’s looking, a big oversight becomes minuscule.
The door creaks open and I look for eyes in the dark hallway beyond. “Hello? Anyone there?”
Unease swells up in my belly as my eyes adjust and I see the hallway as empty. Empty of people, at least. There’s still things hanging framed on the walls, and a table, and a tattered rug.
I’m prepared for this — whatever this is. For Frankenstein’s monster or for cartel members. I’m prepared. I think?
I step in. Musky. Damp. As if the place is unlived and unloved. I pass the framed pictures and even in the dim-darkness I see the same people repeating in different poses, sometimes together, sometimes alone. A man, a woman. Sometimes he’s in a uniform, other times not. Sometimes her hair’s long, other times not.
A door squeals as I push it open and step into a living room. But the sofas are sheeted and dust’s piled like snowdrifts against the walls. There’s no light on, like it looked from the outside. And the curtains look less beige now than they do green from wet lacquers of mould. I try to imagine the portrait people in here. Happy. Bright. Not terrified like me.
The kitchen’s worse. Stinks of dead animals and rat shit and depression. The pipes squeal desperately as I turn the cold tap, but only a little black liquid oozes out. Then, nothing.
There’s no basement, so if they’re growing weed here they’re doing it behind the walls.
That is why I came here. Right?
Electricity. Too much of it. Not right. Pulling me here like magnets.
I take the stairs up. Three doors but I choose the one that leads to what was once the master bedroom. The bed’s still here, sort of. The wooden frame long ago gave up, and now the mattress crushes its remains, barely off the floor.
I can almost envisage them, can almost imagine the dirt stained windows letting in slices of morning light, the bed fresh the couple from downstairs rolling over together, nuzzling and kissing and laughing. Promises clean and honest before getting covered in dust and forgotten.
Even their imagined laughter is jarring here. Bordering on sinful or disrespectful.
Eventually I find myself in the attic, amongst boxes, amongst clothes hanging from rafters that in the near-darkness look like bodies. One’s a moth-eaten wedding gown that drags and smears itself in the dusted floor. I prefer not to imagine the lady in that - not the way it hangs.
Why am I still here?
There’s nothing here to suggest electricity being used at all. There’s no Frankenstein’s laboratory to discover. There’s no anything.
And yet I sit by a box and tip out its contents. It’s like a compulsion, to learn more, to imagine the people who used to live here, how things used to be. Before everything withered away and died like wisteria in the cold.
I don’t think they had kids. No photos of kids. But lots of the couple. Maybe they had promises of kids but they couldn’t be kept because promises are just words and not something solid you can hold onto.
Photos of them everywhere. Packed away neatly, piled into the boxes.
The lady was once a dancer and had a figure that could have brought the dead back to life.
The man in the uniform had been a pilot. And judging by the empty bottles hidden under clothes piled in another box, he might have been an alcoholic too.
Why am I still here?
My mind goes flying.
Maybe she found out about his little problem. And maybe she was going to leave him because of it, or gave him an ultimatum.
But maybe he couldn’t quit and he couldn’t even say why he couldn’t quit. Maybe he filled up on a belly of whiskey and a flask of whiskey, even before his flight. Doesn’t usually drink that much. But she was going to leave?
And then it happened and those people died and he died and the guilt must have crushed her.
I look at the wedding dress, hanging from the rafter, swaying back and forth in the cold attic breeze.
My neck chills as I imagine life after the crash. After I killed all those people.
I come back a lot here a lot, I think. Drawn here. Siphoning energy from the town to coalesce and to confront it.
But I can’t seem to move on because the pain is too much and becomes consuming and I can’t look at its ugly face to confront it for more than a moment. Just a flash of lightning in Frankenstein’s castle, the monster’s chest heaving, eyes opening, but that’s all. Falls back dead on the slab.
And it gets to a point - each time - where I become broken strands of wind screaming in the rafters, breezing out of cracks into the dark night, and that’s all that’s left of me until, maybe, I find the will to try again. | 2020-09-26T05:51:37 | 2020-09-26T04:36:43 | 1,261 | 82 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | I stood outside the bar, hearing laughter and chatting from the warm interior. I looked down the line of people waiting for entry and started looking down the line muttering under my breath, "Twenty-two, twenty-five, Thirty, Twenty-nine, and... a twenty year old."
I sighed and I could see my breath within the cold night air. "Alright guys!" I gestured to the front of the line, "Come on in!" As the first four passed me, I held up my hand to block the entrance for the twenty year old, a tall black-haired boy who *might* have been able to enter as he looked to be at least twenty-three to any other outside viewer. Unluckily for him however, I have an exceptionally rare ability to see the age of any individual floating above their heads.
The boy looked at me confidently and smiled, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"May I see your ID please?"
The boy looked surprised and took out his wallet. "Alright, just give me a second here...". The boy gave an elaborate shuffling through his wallet for a good thirty seconds before he finally said, "I think I might have left my ID at home or something. Can you make an exception please? My friends drove me and one of them just went in, I mean we are literally the same age. Just ask him!"
I nudged him out of the line and said, "Sorry kid, no ID no entry."
The boy's previous friendly face slowly contorted into one of utter anger. He looked as if he were going to punch me until he stopped himself. Still clenching his fist with knuckles pale as ice, he stormed off without saying another word.
I sighed and looked at the next one in line. He looks definitely like a kid. I'd guess... ten years old. I used my ability and his age appeared above him displaying... **FOUR DIGITS**. WHAT PERSON IS 7300 YEARS OLD? He looks like a kid too!
He had auburn hair and was looking at me with wide eyes. I quickly blinked a few times to mask my loss of composure. "Uh... So, how old are you?"
The boy gave a huge grin and yelled in an ear-piercing voice, "Seven, three, zero, zero years old!"
I raised an eyebrow and knelt down. In a soft voice I asked, "Are you lost kid? Where's your mom?"
The boy scowled and yelled even louder in a tantrum impatiently, "I am **seven, three, zero, zero years old!**"
There is no way this kid is immortal or something. As far as I know, immortality and reincarnation or anything of the sort is nonexistent. I quickly pat his head gently and said, "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
The kid started sniffling and pointed inside the bar, "But my mom is inside!" I gently grabbed the kid's hand and guided him inside with me saying, "Come on kid. I'll find your mother."
We walked inside the bar with lots of people chattering and hearing the clinks of wine glasses. I grabbed the kid and held him up by the shoulders. I said in a loud booming voice, "WHOSE KID IS THIS?"
A thirty one year old whom I assumed to be the mother quickly ran to the kid and hugged him closely saying, "I am so, so sorry Alan. I thought you were asleep!"
I shook my head, "Listen, next time. Watch him closely and don't leave him alone by himself. *Ever*."
She glanced at me and softly said, "Alright."
I put a hand on the kid's shoulder and glanced at the mother, "By the way, how old is he anyways?"
The mother sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. She said, "He's only ten years old."
"Then why does he call himself a 7300 year old?"
The mother gave a hint of a smile, "It's just his way of adding up to 10 years old. The two extra zeroes are just to make him seem smarter with math." She ruffled Alan's hair, "Aren't you smart?"
If you enjoyed, consider subscribing to my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ChocolateChipWp/)! Critiques and suggestions are appreciated as well!
| My eyes flitted over the crowd of people lining up. 26, 30, 14 - gonna have to turn her away - 22, 8988, 21, 43. I slowly looked back towards the big number. That's an 8, followed by a 9 and two more eights. I took a few steps to the left. It's all one number. That... shouldn't be right. It couldn't be right. But i was never wrong before, and i don't know why i'd be wrong now.
"I'm going to have to I.D. you sir." The man smirked.
"I don't look *that* young, do I?"
"Sir, i'm going to have to insist." I had to see it. I was sure that his I.D. would hold some clue.
"How young do I look? Take a guess."
I couldn't resist the urge as a smirk invaded my face. "Dunno. 17, 16, maybe 8988?"
For a brief moment, the man looked at me in shock. Then he burst out laughing. "You're a funny guy. I wanna buy you a drink, when does your shift end?" I looked towards the bar door as Leon - the other bouncer - stepped through. "Now."
We headed inside and sat down at the bar. I insisted that he just get me a beer. He had the hard stuff. We both sat silent for a few minutes. "So I suppose you know i'm immortal, then. I won't ask how. What you're probably wondering is why someone as old as me is in a bar drinking his liver to death." I arched an eyebrow and looked at him. "History repeats itself every few thousand years. On my first time I was in a bar like this. Tomorrow's special, y'know." He had a happy, yet tired look in his eyes. "It's my birthday tomorrow." I smiled, but his face became frustrated. He took a large swig of his drink and, with a roll of his eyes, said "Oh, and the world's ending." | 2018-02-12T22:42:59 | 2017-09-01T23:50:27 | 223 | 30 |
[WP] You are a child's "imaginary friend". You are a guardian angel. And your kid is really, really stupid. | Even his sigh sounded like the most beautiful music you had ever heard, and Uriel seemed to sigh a lot recently. He currently took the form of a purple dragon with wings made of, and I quote, "big stinky butts" and a "big stinky butt" on his face.
He had been a guardian angel since the beginning of man. His services were called on every few centuries when a completely pure soul reached the earth and was born. His job was to protect this soul, nurture it and with care and guidance it could potentially become an angel when it reached the kingdom of heaven. The job was usually a joy, despite the immense responsibility of nurturing what could possibly become an infinitely powerful celestial being. He had performed his role for millennia with dignity and gusto and had a 100% success rate in producing new angels who would go on to make the universe a better place.
Uriel's secret was making sure that his ward was sublimely happy as a child. He knew the importance of a happy, healthy childhood and had a knack for entertaining children while educating them in morality and empathy and compassion. To do this he would take the form of whatever the child could imagine and guide them through the dizzying maze of youth to become a loving, caring adult.
But looking after Kevin was different. Kevin had an energetic personality and a unique sense of humour which had caused Uriel to take many forms which quite frankly pushed even his vast intellect. Usually he would become ponies or other children and once even a kindly old grandfather figure. Since Kevin reached 3 years old he has been a multitude of whimsical chimaeras, including a giant spider who spinarettes were a 5 Guys and span webs made of hamburgers, a sentient bluey orange fart cloud and a superhero called 'buttman' who's super power was butts. Uriel wondered where Kevin got this predaliction towards the human posterior but who was he to ruin a child's fun?
It wasn't just the derriere obsession that worried Uriel. Most of the children Uriel cared for were sweet, pensive youths, who were open to guidance and listened to his wise words. Kevin was currently pouring chocolate sauce onto the pepperoni hot pocket he had just pulled from the microwave and promptly dropped on the floor because he had forgotten would be hot, despite shouting 'HOT POCKETS' over and over as the timer reached zero. Kevin was 11 now, and way behind in school. He was obsessed with Fortnite and religiously watched Fred on YouTube. He regarded monster energy drinks with the reverence of a sommelier and frequently punched his pillows so he could one day reach what he considered to be the pinnacle of masculinity and "punch a hole in the dry wall".
Uriel was becoming increasingly frustrated. If Kevin continued down this path he would lose his perfect record. Nothing he had tried would work. Recently, in his desperation, he took the form of a beautiful young woman to try to get even one small life lesson across, but it had spectacularly backfired when Kevin ignored everything he was told and spent 45 minutes trying to impress her with his bionicle collection. It was Kevin's twelfth birthday tomorrow and his plan was to celebrate with his friends Kyle and Steve by throwing each other down the stairs. Uriel had tried to talk Kevin out of it but Kevin had just made fart noises at him until he stopped trying.
That night Uriel sat and watched the clock turn to midnight. As he waited he sensed something important was about to happen. All of a sudden 8 lights appeared before him, pulsing as the voice of the Metatron rang out.
"URIEL. RETURN TO HEAVEN. THERE WAS A MISTAKE WITH YOUR APPOINTMENT TO THIS CHILD. HE IS NOT A PURE SOUL. YOU WILL BE REASSIGNED... WHY DO YOU HAVE WINGS MADE OF BUTTOCKS? NEVER MIND. RETURN."
As quickly as they appeared the lights were gone. Uriel was shocked and relieved. The last 12 years, while a waste, were not a failure. He started his ascent to heaven, but then stopped. He suddenly felt reluctant to leave Kevin. Maybe there was a chance he could still become a fine man, if not a celestial being? As he floated there he looked down at Kevin, who while asleep looked as innocent as any he had ever cared for. Just as he had this thought Kevin stirred and mumbled "when I grow up, I want to be just like you PewDiePie". Uriel immediately realised the child was beyond saving and returned to heaven with unnecessary haste.
Happy cake day ;) | Oh boy. Where do I start? My name is Katie. I am a single mom, with three children. I could be spending my days with them, but instead, I am stuck with this 24/7 job that honestly, is so fucking stupid, which is ironic, because so is the child I look over.
His names Tim. He’s a sweet child, but sooo fucking dumb. I mean just the other day he decided to run away. Luckily, I got him to return home. Which sure, a 4 year old probably wouldn’t get too far, but, I shit you not, He wanted to stay on the roof. Not someone else’s roof, but his own.
I didn’t plan on introducing myself. I was going to simply stay in the shadows, get the job sone, and head home to MY kids. Unfortunately, his stupidity caused me to run into him. Now he thinks i’m his “imaginary friend”. And guess what he calls me? Bubbles. Such an idiotic, cliche name. Why would he- how could he- be so uncreative? I say that, but it takes a renaissance man to come up with ideas he has.
Anyways, thanks to this kid, I’m on the verge of turning. I spin my days looking after him and praying for some xanax. I have tried to run away, I have BEGGED my boss for a change in kid, but he keeps on refusing.
Now you may be wondering, if I hate him so much, why don’t I just quit? Why don’t I just pack up and leave? And i’ve thought about it. And I was in the verge on moving to Hell, but I realized something. This kid, well, he’s alone a lot. His parents are either out partying or working. He often stays with his grandmother who barely pays attention to him. It has hit me he simply wants someone to be with.
This kid is my kid too. He has been and always will be. He may be dumb, but he is also a kid who deserves someone, seen or not seem. And so, as I have been with the dope, I have learned to love him- as Bubbles or Katie.
(Sorry if there is any typos!) | 2019-10-31T13:23:12 | 2019-10-31T12:32:47 | 99 | 19 |
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them. | I'm unbearably shy. Have been ever since I was little to the point where my parents had to teach me sign language in order for me to express myself. I'm not trying to lie to him I just... can't talk to him unless I'm signing. Nevermind the fact we've known each other for four years now. It doesn't matter anyway, he probably only bothers to hang out with me because he thinks I'm helpless or something.
I suck my teeth in annoyance at the thought as I push muffin crumbs around my plate. He taps my wrist lightly, bringing me out of my own head as effortlessly as always. I snap up, puzzled. My eyes meeting his soft brown gaze makes me blush every time.
He signs, 'Not hungry?'
I shake my head, 'Starving. Lots going on. Sorry.'
He nods with a sweet, warm, smile. 'This place is.. uh new, they have good food. Maybe a good... um, topic for your blog, if you like it?' After four years of trying to learn sign language he still wasn't that great at it, but he had a habit of speaking out loud as he signed so it was never too hard to follow him.
I nodded, glancing around the Café. The aromas of pastries and freshly brewed teas hung in the air amid small, fragrant, floral arrangements set on the tables. He's right, he usually is. It would be a cute place for my next food blog. I took a sip of my green tea when a woman strolled over to our table. He stood to hug her before introducing me. I knew it, he finally got a girlfriend.
"Eden this is Clara," he spoke slowly as he looked at me, half signing. "Clara is my neighbor and soon to be famous blogger."
I rolled my eyes with a slight smile as I waved him away before extending my hand to her.
"Eden works here, and my... sister. I guess." We all half-heartedly chuckled. "Here," he grabbed a free chair, "sit with us."
"Just for a minute," she spoke fast to him and he translated as best he could since she obviously didn't know it was more polite to face a person who can't hear. "I need to get back to work."
I took a bite of my muffin as they continued.
"I just wanted to meet the one who's got my little brother head over heels. I didn't know she was deaf though, how cute."
His hands immediately stopped signing and he mumbled for her to shut her mouth, half hiding his own. "She can read lips idiot, I haven't even gotten to tell her that myself."
I was choking on my food. "You what!!?" My hand clasped over my mouth. Shit.
They both stared slacked jawed at me. Twenty-six years of silence and I choose now to break it. Shoot me. What do I say now!?? | I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?" | 2020-12-01T18:55:07 | 2020-12-01T17:09:39 | 23 | 15 |
Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]
One of the exercises we used to do in improv class was called "The Alphabet Game." That's where you start a sentence beginning with the letter A. Then the next sentence begins with the letter B. So, today's prompt requires you to, essentially, do the alphabet - but I'll go a little easy on you and say that it can be in any form you want: A poem, short story, whatever. It could even be a single sentence as long as each word that follows the previous word is the next letter in the alphabet. (Or, the alphabet in reverse if you want to show off!)
ADDED DIFFICULTY: Try to avoid using more than two character names. It's pretty easy to just say Zeke.
The subject is virtually ANYTHING you want to write about. Just work that alphabet in like I mentioned above. Good luck!
^^^^(oh ^^^and ^^^there ^^^will ^^^be ^^^one ^^^month ^^^of ^^^reddit ^^^gold ^^^for ^^^the ^^^one ^^^i ^^^like ^^^the ^^^most. ^^^i'll ^^^hand ^^^that ^^^prize ^^^out ^^^tomorrow ^^^if ^^^there ^^^are ^^^at ^^^least ^^^three ^^^entries... ^^^hopefully ^^^people ^^^enjoy ^^^random ^^^unannounced ^^^contests.)
EDIT: Congrats to traysledding and survivortype. ALL of the entries were wonderful and unique, but I enjoyed the flow of both stories and couldn't choose so I've given both of you a month of Reddit gold. Cheers. | Arriving late to the game, I'm in a position to critique my competition. Bad grammar infects every entry in this thread, and a decent plot is nowhere to be found. Could a progressive-alphabet format really be so difficult to pull off that clarity and wit would necessarily take a back seat to syntax?
Don't worry about *my* prose faltering near the end of the alphabet. Eventually, of course, I will hit the ominous 'X', which has no earthly business at the beginning of a sentence. Fortunately, however, I have a plan to approach that dastardly letter with considerably more tact than my predecessors. Getting the adjacent sentences to blend with it naturally, however, may pose a problem.
Historically, the 'X' has been been a stumbling block in games like this one, because the only obvious contenders for x-words are 'xylophone', 'x-ray', 'xenophobia' and 'xerox'. I considered each of those, but they all seemed rather unwieldy. Judging from the competition, z-words are no picnic either. K-words are at least as awkward, but I'm confident I'll find a subtle gimmick to get me over that hump.
Lots of people in this thread used proper nouns (i.e. the names of people or places) to weasel their way around the tough letters. My goal, on the other hand, was to create text that flows naturally without any verbal crutches. Nothing of value is being created when we just force awkward sentences together, or circumvent the weak points of the English language by pulling proper nouns from any language.
One redditor even went so far as to put "Xoxoxo" (the symbols for 'hugs and kisses' often appended to the end of letters) at the beginning of his 'x' sentence. Perhaps I'm just being a snob, but I can't help but think we should at the very least hold ourselves to the standard of using *actual words*.
Quintessentially, this challenge is about creating a piece that flows naturally while operating under difficult constraints. Remove those constraints by taking easy shortcuts and it doesn't matter how smooth your writing is-- you've missed the point of the exercise.
Sure, I cheated a little with my 'k'-sentence, but I think you'll agree that it was strictly for comedic value, and not an attempt to circumvent the obligations of the challenge at hand. The truth is that the conversational nature of this post would have easily allowed me to replace that sentence with "Kindly note..." followed by any exposition I wanted. Unfortunately I fear that even having pointed out that I did have viable alternatives at the ready, some people are still going to accuse me of half-assing that bit.
Verbosity isn't an option with so few sentences remaining, so I'll have to abandon my rant and return your attention to my earlier claim about approaching my 'x'-sentence with tact. What I had in mind was a PSA to all the other authors who find this challenge in the future:
"X-Chromosome", my friends, is a relatively recent addition to our lexicon, and mainstream enough that you can use it in word games like this without raising objections.
You may be rolling your eyes at this suggestion, but that's only because you haven't considered the utility of tying it to the next hard-to-tackle letter, 'z', for which 90% of the participants shoe-horned in the word 'zero'.
"Zygotes", you see, are apropos to discussions of x-chromosomes, and the two terms when used in conjunction would let you end your exposition in a strong and unified way, as I have just demonstrated in this meta-analysis.
| Alone. Bleeding. Conscious... but barely. David tried to move around but pain kept him from doing anything quickly. Everything hurt. From the bottom of his foot to the tear in his shoulder, the pain jumped like fire throughout his body. Geeze. How did things escalate so quickly?
It's never been easy for David. Just a few days ago, he thought his luck was turning around. Karma was finally shining on him. Last night, it all came crashing down when a stranger attacked him for no reason. Many mistakes were made. No one could have seen this coming.
Once he noticed the blood, he realized that his time on this earth wasn't long. Prepared for death, he picked himself up with the determination to walk somewhere where they would find his body. Questions about his possible survival were unnecessary, as he looked at the trail of blood behind him. Resting was just not an option.
Somehow he made it out of the desert and back into civilization. Thoughts of being saved by a kind stranger raced through his head. Unfortunately, the streets were bare. Visibility for David was diminishing, but his heart was still apparently strong. Walking towards the hospital was the only chance that he had for survival. Xenocide, by Orson Scott Card, was a book lying on the side of the road.
Yesterday was a bad day.
Zombies had eaten David's brain.
| 2012-08-08T20:20:38 | 2012-08-08T08:42:08 | 72 | 17 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | Blue.
The first thing Matt noticed was that color, that perfect sky-blue color of her eyes, as she walked down the street. Her jet black hair was tied back in a ponytail that bobbed back and forth as she walked, her pretty face masked in apprehension and nervousness.
But her eyes were blue. That was the first thing he noticed.
Behind her, a child cried in mortal terror as the woman approached Matt. An older woman pulled the child away, crossing herself with her free hand. Matt couldn't understand; *why is everyone so scared of her?* he thought. *She's beautiful.*
"H-hello? You can see me?" she asked. Her voice was like a spring breeze; quiet and gentle.
"Yeah..." Matt replied. "I think everyone here can see you, miss. Uh..."
A man in a business suit, for reasons Matt couldn't understand, took a look at the woman and voided himself. The blue-eyed woman ignored him, focusing on Matt. "Everyone sees me they way they want to see me. Most people see me as repulsive. Scary. Feared. But not you."
Matt gave a grunt of confusion, not looking away from the woman's blue eyes. Somewhere nearby, someone asked, "Dear God! What happened to *her?!*"
"I don't know why everyone's acting like that," Matt said. "You're beautiful."
"Am I?" The woman smiled; small crimson-stained lips hiding perfect white teeth. "Nobody's really called me that in a long time."
"Not even your parents?" Matt asked, surprised. "I'm sure you were a beautiful baby--"
"I'm not sure." She sighed, trying to remember. Matt couldn't help but admire the way the woman's chest heaved beneath her tank top. "That was a *very* long time ago, Matthew."
"Wait, you know me?"
"I know everyone. Everyone who is born, everyone who ever lived. But more importantly... how everyone dies."
"A psychic?" Matt wondered, trying to ignore the couple passing behind the woman.
"No. Far worse. I know when everyone's time is, Matthew. I'm the end of the road. Journey's end. The Midnight Train to Georgia. The last train for the coast." Smiling a bit at what she thought was a joke, the woman added, "I am Death."
"Like that woman from the comics with the bigass sword and the black leather bikini?"
"An impostor. And that's Lady Death. I'm just plain 'Death.'"
"Well. Uh... pleased to meet you?" Matt extended his hand, then suddenly jerked it back in shock. "Wait! If I touch you, does that mean I'm gonna--"
"That's not how it works, Matthew. I show up when someone's about to die, and I guide them on to What's Next." Death looked at the crowded street nervously. "You can tell most people don't want to deal with me..."
"Well, not many people want to really think about dying," Matt said.
"It's sad, yes, but it's a natural part of life. Everyone meets me sooner or later," Death replied. "But you're the first person to see me as a thing of beauty. Everyone else sees a desiccated skeleton with a shroud and a scythe, like I'm some kind of crappy Halloween decoration."
"No scythe?"
"No scythe."
The brown-haired man heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that's one less thing to worry about, then," he said. "Does this have anything to do with [that guy who tried to summon the Devil last year?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4io63l/wp_a_man_tries_to_sell_his_soul_satan_to_get_a/d32fwli) Swear to God, he woke me up at three in the morning blasting the Phantom of the Opera..."
"Huh? Oh, that guy!" Death shook her head. "No. That's Satan you're thinking of. I'm nothing like her."
Matt chuckled. "I can only imagine," he said. He again extended his hand, and Death took it. "So... if you don't mind my asking, Death... what brings you here?"
"I was curious." Her blue-painted nails gently brushed his flesh as their hands shook.
"Curious about humanity? I'm sure you've heard all the stories--"
"No. About *you.* It might be mere coincidence, but... you are the only person I've met to see me as beautiful."
"What's the catch?" Matt wondered.
"You are also the only person on Earth whose name is not on my list." | 'You're just too good to be true... can't take my eyes off of you...'
The famous Frankie Valli song played over and over in my head as I stood enchanted by this magnificent woman. I looked around to see if others had noticed her as well, and was shocked to see the reactions.
One man stopped in his tracks like a deer in the headlights, with a look of speechless terror in his eyes. Another woman took one glance and began to cry hysterically. And one old man looked at her and began to nod his head with a sad pitiful expression of submission.
It didn't make sense, how could no one be acknowledging the beauty of this woman? Did she have some terrible body odour? An ugly voice? A terrible scar that I couldn't see from where I stood? I had to know, so I approached her slowly, and when I got to within 10 feet we locked eyes.
Her eyes were a gorgeous green colour that I had never seen before, and when I smiled, she revealed a smile more perfect than any other. Tongue tied, I let out a barely audible "Hi" and stood captivated for her response. She seemed almost caught off guard that someone actually wanted to converse, and responded with a pleasant "Hello there Adam." This took me by surprise, how did she know my name?
"Don't be alarmed Adam, I try to learn the names of all of Earth's souls, it's the least I could do for when we eventually meet." I raised an eyebrow and had a look of confusion on my face as I inspected her face for clues of sarcasm.
"What I'm trying to say is... I am death Adam, and every soul must eventually meet me. And as you can probably imagine, death is not a pretty sight for most people."
My eyebrow lowered, and along with it my jaw, as shock took the place of confusion. I let out a mumbled response, "B-b-but... you look so beautiful..." She smiled, seeming flattered by what I mumbled and explained, "That's because you are not like most people Adam, you are a kind and pure man, living for a life beyond this one."
I was flattered to hear this, but a little taken aback, was I about to die? I did not fear death, but I was not yet ready to die.
She seemed to sense my unease, and quickly clarified, "Don't worry, it is not yet your time. But when you do see me again, make sure to smile..." | 2016-10-01T23:47:52 | 2016-10-01T21:35:15 | 116 | 16 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day. | “Yes! I know it’s a lot to ask but I’ll have my manager talk to you about compensation, okay?”
The venue owner was not making it easy to get the security footage of yesterday’s meet-and-greet. Or torture sessions, as Tisha Holiday had joked to her band mates. And all of them had been, mostly, until yesterday.
Josh watched Tisha’s fists clench. He couldn’t hear the continued refusal of the owner, but anger was written all over his sister’s face.
“Well if you don’t want to talk to my manager, I’ll send my lawyer instead!”
She punched end call and slammed her phone down on the countertop. The wooden surface erupted in a riot of color as soon as she touched it, flowers and creeping vines spreading out from her point of contact.
It was meeting her soulmate that had caused the change. Someone in that crowd yesterday had awoken her powers, and she theirs. The bed of flowers she woke up in was oddly ironic.
“No luck?” Josh asked.
“No!” Tisha dragged her hands over her face. “I could scream!”
“Don’t. We’ll find out who it was, okay? Just chill. Post it somewhere, they’re probably looking for you too.”
“Oh yeah, great idea,” Tisha rounded on him. “Watch every horny guy in a hundred mile radius suddenly develop powers. I need air.”
The singer grabbed her phone before yanking open the hotel room door and stalking out, leaving a small bramble entwined around the door handle.
After a few moments, Josh followed her. In the hallway, one of the hotel staff was carrying a bundle of blankets towards the elevators. His nameplate read “Daniel.” Josh sort of recognized him, he had been standing at the desk when the band arrived late last night.
“Hey!” Josh grabbed his attention. “Dan, there’s like, a billion plants in our room right now. Could you get some weed killer or something?”
The staff guy blinked in surprise. “Oh, sure, I’ll take care of it.”
`***`
Josh found his sister sitting with her back against the wheel of their tour bus, furiously typing something into her phone. The pavement around her was covered in moss that slowly seemed to be making its way across the parking lot.
“Anything?” He asked.
Tisha remained silent.
He stepped into the moss and crouched down next to her. “C’mon. Whoever it is is still out there, there’s not like a time limit on this or whatever.”
He could see tears in his sister’s eyes.
“We only get one chance at this soulmate thing,” She snapped. “One! And I blew it! We leave in like two hours!”
“You didn’t know!” Josh retorted. His phone buzzed in his back pocket but he ignored it. “We can pull ticket sales or whatever. We’ll find ‘em, Fish.”
Tisha took a long breath, thinking. Eventually, she erased what she had been typing out. “Okay. You’re right. I’m just... yeah.”
“Let’s go grab the others, we’ll think of something.” Josh offered her a hand to help her to her feet. His phone buzzed again but he didn’t check.
`***`
Back upstairs, the two other band members were waiting with huge grins outside the room.
“What, did you find something?” Josh asked. Tisha looked hopeful.
“Yeah dude, check it,” The drummer pushed open the door. The inside had been cleared of green stuff as asked, except for a clump of flowers from the bed that had been carefully planted into a coffee mug filled with soil. A notecard leaned against it. Tisha ran forward and snatched it up.
“What?” Josh asked, confused.
“I tried texting you,” the drummer replied. “The dude you sent in here was straight up talking to the plants. Weirdest thing I’ve seen sober. Apparently the flowers told him what was going on, he left her his number.” | Jennifer started into the eyes of the person standing across from her, pupils dilated and breath ragged.
The regular cool collection that was her hallmark on the silver screen was entirely absent. After all of the searching, all of the toil, she had finally found her soulmate; the one person in all the cosmos she was most compatible with.
"I should have known," she murmured, staring into a pair of lovely eyes that perfectly reflected the deeply held feelings of love, lust, and adoration that coursed through her body.
"I should have know it would be you..." the woman whispered. "It's *always* been you."
A single, joyful tear rolled slowly down her cheek. The women standing across from her cried as well, silent.
Jennifer stepped away from the mirror, her heart full to bursting. Still crying, still on top of the world, she activated her new superpower; proof that she was now complete.
The skin on the entire left side of Jennifer's body began bubbling and twisting in unnatural ways, and the sound of a wet paper bag being violently torn asunder rebounded off the walls of the 26,000 square foot Malibu mansion.
Too quick to see, an arm covered in blood and viscera fought its way free from just below Jennifer's beasts, quickly followed by another. Within seconds an a entire woman had torn itself free of her heaving body. Standing before the exhausted, blood caked celebrity was the most perfect person she had ever seen in her life.
The new addition immediately launched itself at Jennifer, and the two embraced as if magnetized. Lips locking and tongues wrestling madly, they held each other desperately, as if the other might otherwise disappear in an instant.
Breaking for air, the two clasped hands and intertwined fingers. No words need be said, and never would they. | 2020-07-29T08:44:10 | 2020-07-29T08:13:48 | 368 | 25 |
[WP] "The Casino's main vault is only accessible by a ventilation shaft six inches wide. That's why we need a man of your skills, Mr Claus." | “I’m out of the game, Grinch,” Santa growled, his words echoing in the chilly vastness of the Reindeer Hangar. “You know as well as anyone. Get an elf, perhaps Sir Paisley of Candied Crest. He’s been doing my runs the last few years.”
The Grinch frowned as only he could, his little absence of a nose scrunching up into an unvoiced obscenity. “I didn’t come all the way out to this shithole for Sir Paisley. Whoville is pretty this time of year, even if it’s lousy with joy fiends and toy heads.”
“Well, Paisley’s the best you’re going to get. I’m done.”
“Really, Claus? Just because your wife left you, that doesn’t mean—”
“Left me? Left me?” Santa turned deceptively fast, backing the green beanpole of a creature into a sleigh. “She didn’t leave, Grinch. She was stolen.”
The words hung in the air along with Santa’s breath, crystallizing into something greater than simple language. They were the hard, icy heart of Santa’s hatred, the reason why laughter no longer echoed through the Northlands.
The Grinch’s frown turned upside down, his heart nearly swelling, because for a creature like him, there was nothing sweeter. He was a hard man, one had to be to live in the mountain fastnesses of a snowflake, and beyond that, he was a dealer. A dealer in all things sad, the crushing of joy, the disappearance of hope, the feeling when a whole family with eight children wakes up on Christmas day to a burned down tree and a too dry roast beast, their presents stripped down for parts and sold to the neighbors.
And beyond even that, he was a dealer at war.
“I know she did,” the Grinch said, “and I know who took her.”
Santa stepped back, and the Grinch saw how truly close he’d come to his end. The Northern Lord’s hands were balled tight into fists that could scarcely be contained by his wooly red gloves, and his eyes were a bleary mess, he’d drinking. Santa outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds, and he had the body of an old steelworker gone to seed. Soft fat had encroached on him over the years, but only as a protective casing to still hard muscles. The Grinch had no illusions who would win in a fight.
“You know? Did you have a hand in it?” Santa grabbed the Grinch by the scruff of his neck, lifting him into the air with one hand.
“No, no, a thousand times no! Do you really think I’d be that stupid? You’d have your elves down on me inside a week and I’d be done for. The man you seek is far worse than me.”
“Spit it out, fiend.”
“Krampus.”
“Krampus?” Santa’s eyes widened. He dropped the Grinch, taking a step back, pulling at his flowing white beard. “The Krampus? The man’s a myth!”
The Grinch shook his head. “If only he were. He’s become a problem for both of us. He’s why I’m here, it’s his vault I need to access.”
“And why should I believe you? How would Krampus, if he even exists, have gotten all the way here? How would he even have reached my wife?”
“He didn’t have to, she came to him.”
“Why you—”
The Grinch jumped back nimbly, dodging away from Santa’s grip. “Peace man! She wasn’t in her right man, no one would have been. Krampus has changed over the years, he’s learned some tricks. He’s a dealer now, like me, but his shit is good. Seriously good, Mrs. Claus didn’t have a chance.”
“Explain yourself.”
Santa shook with red face rage, and as the Grinch took a breath to prepare his speech a shape departed from the shadows of the hangar. As the Grinch watched a young elf led a gargantuan reindeer with a flaming nose over, and soon Santa had his head laid against the beast. “Thank you, Sir Paisley,” Santa said, dismissing the elf.
“Well,” the Grinch said, “Krampus has decided the fear game doesn’t work well enough anymore. It’s far harder to terrorize people when nobody believes in you. Instead, he’s piggybacking on your gig, he invented a drug called Cheer, a sort of relaxant that instantly puts anyone into the best mood of their life. He’s been expanding his reach on the fringes of the world for some time now, and I’ve had my agents out, trying to fend him off, but he’s gotten too big lately. I’ve been losing territory, the bastard even made his base on the snowflake right next to mine.”
“And my wife?” Santa said. The reindeer’s nose flared in concert with its master’s temper.
“You aren’t going to like this.”
“Say it anyway.”
“Well, Krampus has been alone a very long time, and jealous of you all the while. She’s taken up residence on his snowflake with him. Honestly, I think he paid someone on your staff to smuggle her Cheer, and then once he got her hooked he started putting the moves on. Cheer is insidious and powerful, it’s something of a masterpiece really.”
“And this Cheer, I presume that’s what you want to steal?”
“Oh yes. He keeps it in the basement of his casino. It’s something of a fortress, and my sources says the only accessible point is a ventilation shaft some six inches wide. That’s why it has to be you, no one else will do. And Santa, she’s there too.”
“My wife?”
“Her apartments are on the same route, she stays near the Cheer supply at all times, she has to. We can do it all at once, cut my rival off at the knees, get Mrs. Claus back, pull off the greatest heist in the history of the North. All of that and more, but only if you join us.”
Santa let go of the reindeer, and then man and deer crowded in on the Grinch. He stood his ground, looking far braver than he felt. “After all of that, why should I believe you?” Santa asked.
“You don’t have to believe me,” the Grinch said, “believe him.”
The Grinch pointed a long, furry finger at the Sir Paisley the elf and the man blanched. Santa and his deer turned, recognizing the elf’s guilt at once in the shaking of his knees and the cold sweat, so unlike a Northern elf, that broke out across his forehead.
“My sources never lie,” the Grinch said. “I vet my men. Do you?”
The hangar was as silent as the night before Christmas for the space of three long, Grinch sized heartbeats, until Sir Paisley finally spoke. “My Lord, I…I…”
The reindeer’s nose flared into a bonfire, he pawed the ground angrily. “Rudolf, sic ‘em boy.” Santa said.
Sir Paisley’s screams were shockingly loud, echoing off the walls like hammer blows. “Where are we going and when do we leave?” Santa asked.
“My men are ready at a moment’s notice, I can send the signal now and they’ll meet us at Hoville.”
“Hoville?” Santa growled.
“Krampus has a sense of humor, at both of our expenses.”
And all the while, Sir Paisley kept screaming.
r/TurningtoWords | ''*And why should I assist in this, criminal venture? I am not a man who brings harm or does misdeeds, not anymore. I am not naughty, you might say.*'' The fat man smiled jovially at her, offering her another cup of mulled wine. ''*Well, Mr. Claus, you are very perceptive indeed. Why should you? Well, I suggest looking at your list, your good list Mr. Claus. You should know what's in that vault.*'' The jovial old man, dressed in warm red wool, took out an old-fashioned leatherbound ledger, and looked carefully through it. His eyes behind those spectacles looking calm and kind until he found what she had been talking about.
''*Now you see, Mr. Claus, why I am so very interested in getting inside that vault. The item inside, what they've stolen from me, well, it's priceless. More valuable than all the gold in Fort Know.*'' The old man, before seeming so very harmless to her and her accomplishes, suddenly had eyes like iron. No longer did he look like a kindly old grandfather. He looked more like an old king, who had won his kingdom with the sword. ''*Indeed, Miss. I do see indeed. Six inches isn't a lot, but I've done more with less in the past. I don't exactly condone all of this, and you're definitely not a person I'd place on the nicest of lists, but this, miss, this is something I'd gladly assist you with.*''
There was a brief sigh of relief from her. She'd feared he wouldn't do it. ''*What will you be doing in the meantime, I would like to ask, miss?*'' She smiled at the old man, a kind smile. ''*I'll be making sure everyone is too distracted to deal with you, Mr. Claus. They're willing to listen to me, but they will not hand over what they've stolen. Until we steal it back, they'll be able to use my set of skills to do all manner of things, things which regards one of your oh-so-meticulous lists.*''
The old man nodded. ''*I'll see you there then.*''
She walked into the casino in a striking red dress. She knew she had to play the part of the desperate but extremely proud woman, without any other plans. She'd played that role before. Never enjoyed it. She was younger then. Some would say more beautiful, but she knew those who'd say that were fools. She'd been cute, a bit more awkward, and less intimidating. That's what foolish men say when they talk of beauty as if they know jack from shit. Now she was older. And she had all the grace, all the allure, all the raw charisma, enough to make queen Cleopatra seem a grey peasant and Marilyn Monroe seem drab in comparison.
Today she walked into that filthy casino, with its greasy ''soldiers'' of the mob guarding the place. She didn't care one bit for them. They could barely tell the end of the gun that they're supposed to point at the enemy from the other end. She walked like a queen who knew she had been defeated, into the den of the lion, though in personality, look, and stench, she often thought of him more like a cockroach. She would have to play pretend, while Mr. Claus retrieved what had been stolen. It had been a long shot, but she needed the best. And he was the best. While she played the part of the empress begging for peace, and Mr. Claus infiltrated, she knew her other friends, her team of professional actual soldiers, people she'd head-hunted after their deployment had ended, set up their part of the game.
On the roof of the rather garish casino, Mr. Claus stood near the ventilation shaft. He hadn't brought his full sweet chariot with all the bells on, so he had the son of one of his old associates get him there, as a favour for old times' sake. He could get through pretty much all manner of shafts, chimneys, small holes into large caves. Considering his tall body and big belly, one wouldn't expect it. But he had a few old tricks up his sleeve. And today, he was reminded of one of his oldest tricks, back when he was in a somewhat different business than the one he did today. He'd tracked down some very expensive alcohol, and tried to get it legally by claiming it as payment for a lot of hard work, but he'd been denied it in a somewhat unfair manner, so there had been no other option than to steal it.
Back then he'd used the snake method. He chuckled to himself, he'd been younger back then, and he still had a lot to learn, despite how cunning and wise he was. He placed one foot into the shaft, then the other, and began shimming himself down the shaft. It was narrow, but he'd once gone through a hole big enough for a bee, in order to reach his goal. Carefully and slowly, Mr. Claus eased his way down the shaft, though it was quite long. But then again, vaults usually aren't supposed to be easy to get to. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the vault. And he chuckled his famous ol' chuckle ''**Hohohoho.**'' as he neared it. | 2021-04-28T12:10:27 | 2021-04-28T12:05:17 | 182 | 33 |
[WP] You wake up one morning to find an email in your inbox inviting you to create an account on UsNet, a social media platform made up entirely of versions of you from alternate timelines in the multiverse. | It all started with a link on a mysterious email. Of course, like any other sane person I ignored it-- straight to the trash it went.
Whoever it was they must be persistent. Every single hour for days I received the same email. Again and again and again, eventually accompanied with a single message:
*"It's safe. Trust me, Alex. We really want to meet you."*
Yeah right. If I clicked it, who knows-- next thing I knew a virus would be downloaded into my phone. Or even worse...a Rickroll video.
I didn't know what led me to do it, but I eventually relented. Curiosity? Stupidity? Boredom? Yeah...looking back it was boredom, for sure. A single slip that led me to endanger the entire existence.
The link brought me to a website I've never seen or heard before. It was a simple black page with its title written in a huge blinking cartoony font-- UsNet, The Window to Infinite Probabilities. Beneath the silly title, it gave me an option to sign up or sign in.
I entered my username, the one I've always used since the 3rd grade-- AlexSanderson01, but it had been taken.
I tried and tried again, stubbornly persistent, increasing the number. AlexSanderson02-- taken. AlexSanderson03-- taken. Must've taken me almost an hour, but eventually AlexSanderson1101 logged me in.
A chat function appeared as soon as I was done. The screen was moving quite fast with the messages it received.
*"Welcome, AlexSanderson1101! So glad you finally joined us!"*
The message was from the admin-- AlexSanderson01.
I was confused beyond all hell. Even more so when I realized every single user of the site had my same username, only varying the number.
As I stared, trying to comprehend what the hell was going on I noticed more and more members joined in.
Number 1102, 1103, 1104, and it kept rising and rising to some large number, and it never stopped.
"What the hell is going on? Is this some kind of a prank?", I thought.
A direct message popped up from the admin-- AlexSanderson01.
​
*"Hi Alex, you might be wondering what the hell is going on. Don't worry, so are everybody here. To make a long story short I'll just say it: we are all you. We are all the same, one Alex Sanderson hailing from different universes, different timelines in the multiverse."*
*"Myself is an astrophysicist, believe it or not. My study revealed the existence of the multiverse and with the help of some genius IT experts, we crafted this website to come in contact with others from other universes. And I volunteered to be the subject."*
*"This is simply an experiment and we are all eager to see where it could lead us. So please, interact with one another and find out about each other's differing life and timelines. Have fun!"*
​
I couldn't believe what I just read. Initially I found it hard to believe and so was many other Alexes as proved by the many messages voicing their doubts.
But eventually I was immersed in the lives of the other me. One by one direct messages coming to my screen, asking about who I became in my universe.
45 was a baseball player and I found out our lives differed when his family moved to Canada when I was a baby when I stayed where I was born.
298 had the same life as me, only she was Alexandra Sanderson.
5,032 was the number one figure on Youtube, boasting 120 millions subscribers.
69 was...well he didn't have anything to say other than "Nice".
And so on and so on, you got the idea.
It became my new obsession for weeks, chatting with the other me. Gone the doubt of the existence of the multiverse. I was so glad I met people who I could connect with.
Now the reason I am sharing this right now came about a couple of days ago.
Like usual I logged in, ready to talk with more Alexes, only I noticed something weird...
"UsNet, The Window to 1,297,009,156 Probabilities", said the title of the site.
*"Hey, did anyone notice the site title?"*, I typed a message.
Many others voiced their concerns and confusion as well, when one message popped on the chat window which sent a shiver down my spine...
​
*"Guys, refresh the page. The number is decreasing"*
​
True enough, I did, and the number of the probabilities decreased quite significantly-- 1,045,993,021 to be exact.
*"Hey admin, what is going on?"*, asked 337, but AlexSanderson01 didn't reply.
Slowly but surely as I kept refreshing, the number went down. As of yesterday the number was in the 900 millions probabilities.
There was a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, like a sense of impending doom. I shot AlexSanderson01 a private message but it was left un-replied. Despite my nervousness, the day was late and I decided to sleep it off, hoping the next day I had received a reply.
This morning, the number just hit 12,540. The decline had become exponentially fast. The chat window boomed with messages of concerns.
*"89,000 and 23,255 didn't reply anymore!"*, said 34.
*"So are 17,900 and 566! Guys...I think they're gone"*, said 07 ominously.
Like yesterday I refreshed and refreshed, every time my heart sank deeper and deeper until...
​
"UsNet, The Window to 2 Probabilities"
​
*"Anyone? Who's left?"*, I shot a message.
And who else left, but the admin...
*"I apologize, Alex. But we had to do this"*, 01 texted.
*"Why?"*, I asked.
*"We discovered an anomaly in the multiverse. A universe-eating anomaly, a terrifyingly incomprehensible cosmic entity munching on realities at a speed of light. We tried making contact but it didn't care for us."*
*"We theorized that this creature was a constant in the multiverse. We theorized looking at massive samples of data from the observable multiverse that this creature had only 1 function-- to rid of multiple realities, leaving only one as the only true universe. As the timeline branches more it will always eat them, making sure there's only one left. Why, we couldn't tell. To maintain balance? Maintaining the limited energy? We could only guess..."*
*"It was a farfetched theory, but we were desperate and we were willing to give anything a try to survive. We set up this website as a hub connecting different universes, hoping to use it as a window to lead the entity to the other universes. I am sorry, Alex. But now there are only two universes left...and I'm not going to let mine die."*
I read the messages again and again, perplexed. How could one let that many people die?
Sooner or later it's going to come and in a blink of an eye, I will be gone, you will be gone...all of us will be gone with no knowledge of what just happened...
I just hope before it happens you manage to read this and at least get the closure of knowing before the end comes.
I'm sorry, everybody...
r/HangryWritey
Edit: spacing
Edit 2: added a few sentences, changed a few words | Out of the 53 emails I had been sent this morning the one labeled “UsNet: Meet You” caught my eye. Placing my self stirring coffee mug next to my virtual keyboard, I clicked to open the strange message.
The title read “Are you tired of you? Wish you could be new?” in big bold letters. It continued. “Don’t you sometimes wonder what would have happened if you had been nominated Prom Queen? If you had just finished college? If Jordan, your first serious boyfriend, never broke up with you?”
That was oddly specific.
“How about if your mother hadn’t walked out on your family when you were 6 years old, leaving your Uncle to raise you and your brothers?”
Now this was getting creepy.
“Well wonder NO MORE!!! Come down to our facility and meet YOU! No appointment necessary. Come meet what you could have been!”
There was an address attached. It wasn’t far. Maybe a ten minute walk. Was I really going to spend my only day off talking to me from different realities?
-
A smiling girl in a tight white dress stood waiting at the small desk.
“90% chance she’s an AI.” I said to myself.
You couldn’t tell anymore. Robots were so realistic now.
“Hello, Bridgette! We are so happy you could make it!” The smiling girl said. “I will show you to your room.”
My room? Like a hotel? It was a rather large facility. Like a Hilton from years past. I followed the blonde through a revolving door and down a white, sterile hall. At the end of the hall was an elevator. On either side, doors with numbers. We stopped and number 24.
“Enjoy! Let me know if you need anything or when you are ready to leave.”
I opened the door to find a chair facing a piece of plexiglass. A speaker lie on the wall to the left. As I sat down the lights dimmed.
“Place your hand on the counter.” A disembodied voice said.
Placing my right hand on the counter I felt a pin prick.
“Ouch!”
Blood pooled at the end of my index finger.
“Welcome Bridgette Jones. You may cycle through the you’s using the knob in front of you. The longer you turn the further back in your life the change was made.”
Well Mom, time to see if you stepped up. I turned the knob for a long minute or two. There I was, same old cardigan and everything. Except this “Me” had disheveled hair and looked like she hadn’t seen sleep in days.
“H-hello?” I said.
She looked up at me. Her expression blank.
“What happened?” I asked. “You look like hell?”
“Been through it.” She said, wiping her eyes. “What happened on your end?”
“Mom left. Uncle Rob had to raise all four of us.” I said.
“She did? Aren’t you the lucky one.”
The other me leaned back and crossed her arms.
“She stuck around alright and brought her friends with her. Meth, prescription pills, that new synthetic shit.”
She sighed deeply before continuing.
“Uncle Rob stuck around until she had a fit of rage that made her throw all of our dish ware at him. George tried to get her help, but she just yelled at him to get out of her house. No one cleaned, no one cooked. The wallpaper was constantly stained and the electric went out within a month. John took the brunt of her mood swings. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t take the physical and mental abuse any longer.”
A year ran down her face.
“Wes went the same way.”
“What about us?” I asked.
“Mom sold me to men in exchange for drugs. I snuck out of the house one night and never looked back. Been working at Roy Ronalds just to make enough to pay rent.”
I felt my eyes tearing up. Quickly I turned the dial the other way. Surely one decision changed my life for the better. What about prom?
The screen was blank. It shouldn’t be blank. I should be there. I turned the dial again. What about Jordan?
There I was, black-eyed and bawling. A baby crying in my arms.
I turned the dial again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. It didn’t make sense. I pressed the small red button on the wall.
“Excuse me, I think your mirror is broken.” I called into the speaker.
“We have run a diagnostic and the mirror is perfectly fine.”
“Well, I can’t see myself in half of these realities. There is no one there.”
“That is because no one IS there. You will only see the realities where you still exist. If you no longer exist you will not be there.”
So something happened on those days that made it so I no longer existed? Then it hit me.
“Existed or survived?” I asked.
“Both terms could be used in this instance.”
So this was it. I was in the best timeline there was. That wasn’t reassuring. If I had stepped off this path I would be …
“I’m ready to leave now.”
The door opened behind me. The blonde smiled on. We walked down the hall again and she made her way to the small desk.
“Thank you for using our services. And remember the best you is you.”
To think, this world, one where you risked being shot at or blown up on a daily basis, was the best there was for me. I held back tears as I walked home. Can’t cry, Big Brother is watching. | 2021-10-01T22:12:09 | 2021-10-01T20:47:40 | 41 | 21 |
[WP] After a long and tedious process you were chosen to be the first ever human to test the new way of travel - the Teleport. All previous tests on objects and animals were very successful. Zero side effects. But after using the machine yourself you immediately notice a difference. | The jolting, tingling sensation washed over me swiftly. It wasn't expected at all, and I found it incredibly unpleasant. Like the drop ride at the county fair, your stomach lurching into your mouth. When it was over, I stumbled a bit and grabbed the safety bars that ran along the inside of the arch. It took me just a moment to realize the room had turned around entirely, and I was facing the opposite way, toward the initial transport arch.
We'd done it. Teleportation. It had worked.
The room erupted in cheers, members of the team grasping hands, hugging. Tabitha, the young intern whose last name I could never keep straight, stepped forward beaming. She slid a medical cuff onto my wrist and brushed her platinum blonde hair from her eyes as she read the result.
"Perfect!" she exclaimed. "How do you feel?"
"A little wobbly," I said. I smiled back, suddenly feeling much more shaky than a moment before. "I may need to sit down."
"No problem!" Tabitha took me by the arm and gently guided me to a chair a few steps from the arch. "Doctor Soren will want a blood sample, so let me know when you're feeling well enough to give one."
She saw the confusion on my face. "Oh! It isn't anything to be worried about. Last minute addition to the tests. They want to check it for any abnormalities, potential side effects." She smiled again. "Nothing at all to be concerned about!"
I nodded, feeling even more exhausted now. That tingling sensation had returned. The room had become a blur of noise. The loud hum of the machine, the voices of the team in the background, still loud and jubilant, but now reading out data and discussing it at length. I tried to listen and make sense of it, but my head was hurting and I couldn't focus. I barely caught Tabitha's next words.
"Your wife is waiting in the reception area. I'm gonna let her know everything went okay-- Whoa!"
She caught me as I nearly slid out of the chair, propped me up again. Tabitha was stronger than she looked, I thought. She grabbed my wrist again, gently but firmly, looking over the readout on the cuff.
"Okay, I'm gonna let Doctor Soren know you're not feeling well. Your blood pressure and heart rate are elevated, and you're obviously a little more than just 'wobbly.'" She called over one of the team, a dark-haired man with a thick mustache and sharp, craggy features. She spoke to him briefly, and as she scurried off he came over and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"No worries, Doctor Thorpe. We gonna take good care of you," he said with a thick accent. Something Eastern European. I nodded numbly. My brain was scrambling to make sense of things.
I had been sure that Tabitha was a brunette before the jump. It was a crazy day, though, and I could have missed that she'd bleached her hair blonde since I saw her two days ago. But there had been no Doctor Soren on the team. I know, because it was my team and my project. And this guy hovering over me? I'd never seen him before. No idea who he was, or how he was part of my experiment.
But what really scared me was when Tabitha mentioned my wife, who had been dead for nearly four years. | I staggered out the teleportation pod, dazed and confused. Trying to maintain balance by grabbing the side of the pod, I look around at the wry faces of disgusted yet fascinated faces of the scientists who had worked on the project.
"W-What happened...?" I mutter, struggling to maintain form as my balance loosens once more.
"Sir, the operation was a success." One of the scientists replies back, "Unfortunately... it seems that there was a slight miscalculation."
"W-What?" I eye at the scientist, taking a deep breath as to what may have happened.
He approaches me, offering a healthy young hand... a healthy young hand? Normally, I wouldn't have noticed any particular details until I compare him to mine.
My eyes shoot back up, I examine my hand... the wrinkles, pale skin and drab color shoots daggers into my mind. My hand trembles as I look in awe, my mouth slowly beginning to open once more, "What... What happened to me?"
The scientist bites his lip... giving a deep glare to the others who wait around before making a forgiving yet saddened look at me.
"Sir, well sorry, Johnson I think it was. We have started the teleportation project 50 years ago." | 2020-05-30T04:09:21 | 2020-05-30T02:57:11 | 2,085 | 131 |
[WP] After been missing for 12 years, the duke's daughter (now 16) is sent to the royal accademy and immediately targeted by bullies. What the bullies don't know is that the lady spent those 12 years with a clan of orks
If you get why orks is spelled like that... good.
If you don't, it doesn't matter | Most orks would simply kill the child or leave it without much thought. Luckily for the duke's daughter Priscilla, the clan of Freebootaz that found her was inclined to slightly less... traditionally orkish behaviour.
Such as taking in a human child. It wasn't charity, of course; they'd assumed having a human child on board could land them more profitable contracts. This, shockingly, proved true as it made them seem more 'responsible' if such a word can be used in association with orks.
Nothing lasts, of course, and when the Freebootaz decided to attack the patrician who hired them, they were bested by a company of Ultramarines who happened to be passing by. Such was the end of Grogner the Freeboota, but not for Priscilla who was recovered on the ship, much to the surprise of the strike team. What came next were numerous, *numerous* tests that she was free of warp influence, disease testing and finally, finding out her heritage. She was thus sent back to her overjoyed father who spent a small fortune in re-educating her to erase the behaviour she picked up during her time with the brutish warriors.
And just like that, she was sent to the Academy, ready to become a respectable member of the Imperial nobility. The other children and teens at the Academy, however, did what teens do best.
Bullied.
After the secret of her upbringing became known, her treatment at the hands of her peers became unavoidably cruel, despite her influential family trying to prevent it. Today was such a day as a crumpled-up page hit the back of Priscilla's head.
"Hey! Freak!" the boy who threw the page yelled out, surrounded by his usual entourage of lackeys.
"Jeremiah," Priscilla remarked with as much calmness as she could muster.
"What, no yelling? I thought your kind could only talk with yelling and grunts," he laughed.
"No, Jeremiah, my 'kind' of humans like you, if you can be called that."
"Ooh, struck a nerve, have we, ork?" he kept laughing.
"Yeah, you gonna grab an axe and fail to chop us up like your *family*?" another bully yelled exuberantly.
"Look!" she raised her voice, "I'm minding my own business, so why don't you just,... zog off!"
She closed her eyes the moment she said it. She didn't mean to use the traditionally orkish insult, but it slipped out in the moment, despite knowing this was just fuel for the bullies.
"Zog? What is this, the outer rim? Did they not teach you how to speak properly? No surprise, ork girl, as-"
And so it began, the endless insults and teasing. It would go on and on and on.
Unless she stopped it.
What most failed to understand was that during her time with the orks, despite being used somewhat as a mascot, she was still a human living among orks, meaning much of her time was spent doing their bidding; this mostly involved manual labour. Perhaps not as cruel as for most humans, but enough to give her the musculature rivalling that of peak guardswomen. Combined with the deceptively nutritious diet of squig meat and mushroom ale, Priscilla grew into a woman who could just as easily join the Assassinorum.
That is why she was able to walk to a nearby bookshelf and take it off the wall easily. This was unexpected partially because no one expects a fight in such a prestigious school, but mostly because it was screwed to the wall. It made an excellent bludgeon she promptly introduced to Jeremiah's face.
"WOT? IS DIS WAT YOU WANTED, YOU ZOGGIN GIT?" she yelled as she stood over the bleeding boy, the rest of his allies sprinting away. "I'LL KRUMP THE LOT OF YA AND USE YER TEEF TO BUY ME A PROPER CHOPPA, SWEAR ON MORK!"
She hit the boy once again, breaking the solid wooden board on his back.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" | Lord Quincy Featherstone Atbottom Trawdley the third stood nose to nose with Lucretia. He was on quite a tear, and his retinue of lackeys and lickspittles were beside themselves with laughter at his every jab.
"Lucretia", he drawled, "you know that just because you lived with orks doesn't mean you can't take a bath. The stench of those foul beasts lingers still." He dramatically held a handkerchief to his aquiline, perfect nose. "And what do you call that ... ensemble", gesturing to Lucretia's practical but unornamented leather pants, fur boots, and rough linen shirt. "Why, the *stable* boy dresses better than you."
Lucretia endured this barrage in silence. As soon as he paused for breath, she glared at him silently for a moment. He recoiled slightly at her gaze, but quickly recovered his poise. "Did you lose the ability to speak, as well? What's wrong with you?"
"I was taking your measure. You failed." With that, Lucretia grabbed his lordship by the ears, and abruptly slammed his face down into her forehead. The crunch of Lord Quincy's (formerly) perfect nose shattering filled the now completely silent hall. Blood sprayed in all directions as Lucretia kicked his shins out from under him, grabbed him by the back of the head, and slammed him facedown into the flagstones.
Lucretia looked down at his unconscious form, spat, balled her fists, and said quietly "Who's next?"
In the melee that ensued, 3 bones were broken, 2 concussions achieved, and 6 teeth lost. None of which were Lucretia's. In the end, it took 3 guards to break up the fight. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the incidents of bullying that Lucretia had to endure declined precipitously in the months that followed. | 2022-07-15T17:06:02 | 2022-07-15T16:15:24 | 666 | 254 |
[WP] Bill Clinton lives under your bed. Describe a weekend in your life | I got into bed and tucked myself in. Thank God Bill didn't have another woman over tonight. I was NOT in the mood to listen to a man in his late seventies have sex while I couldn't even...I let out a long sigh.
"Hey, everything alright?" asked Bill. He could always tell when something was up.
"Nah Bill, it's fine," I said, just wanting to get some sleep.
"Now listen, I can feel your pain. I think it might help you...to talk about it," said the former President.
I sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. Bill shuffled his body so that his head poked out from under the bed. He wore a concerned frown on his face, with a hint of mischief in his eyes that never seemed to leave.
"Well Bill," I said, "It feels like I'm stuck in a rut. I have no girl friend. I work the same dead end job. It seems like everything I work hard for just doesn't work out. All my dreams are gone. And without my dreams, without something to hope for, I just feel kind of dead. You know?"
Bill thought for a few moments, and then grabbed my bedframe and pulled himself all the way out from under the bed. This was big, I couldn't remember the last time he had left the comfort of his favorite spot. I caught a brief glimpse of a blonde head detach itself from his waste, and he pulled up his pants and stood up in one smooth motion. God dammit.
"Now look here son," he said. "I know that you feel like you are waisting your potential. I know that you feel like you are worth more, and that if you really had a chance, you could do incredible things. I know that you feel that way, because I felt that way, a long time ago.'
"But here is the thing. You are not worth more, and if you had a chance to do anything, you would have done it by now. Look at me. I came up from poverty with an abusive father, and I had done five times what you've done by the time I was your age. Now this isn't a bad thing, and it doesn't mean that you're worthless. It just means that you weren't meant for greatness, in the traditional sense of the word. But you know what, that really depends on what your definition of the word 'greatness' is. You are decent guy, you pay your rent on time, and you say the funniest things in your sleep. So overall, you shouldn't feel too bad."
With that, Bill gave my an affectionate pat on the shoulder, turned off the lamp, and returned to his dark dwelling underneath my bed. I could not sleep. I lay awake, wide eyed, staring at the ceiling. I could almost make out the swirling patterns of my lost dreams being sucked into some great abyss. Underneath my bed, the sound of rhythmic suction finally put me to sleep.
| You'd think having a former president under your bed would be usefull. That you could maybe coax some advice from the wrinkly old bastard but unfortunately not.
I'm 16 years old and attending Rincon High School. It's not easy, I rarely get a good nights sleep and he's always watching me. Once I asked him for advice about my grades and his response was "If President Reagan could be an actor and become president, maybe I could become an actor. I've got a good pension. I can work for cheap." You sure could Bill but that would mean getting out from under my bed though.
I am convinced he actually is the BoogieMan. | 2015-12-20T17:50:27 | 2015-12-20T16:56:27 | 112 | 42 |
[WP] Your wife passed away six months ago. Your car broke down two weeks ago. Your landlord evicted you four days ago. Someone took your seat on the bus this morning, and you just got laid off from your job. You've always promised to use your powers for good, until you snapped.. | (Changing the character to the wife instead.)
"There was nothing you could have done."
The voice rang in her head like sour milk. The voice that had been with her since before she could remember, it grated at her with it's repeated words. Nothing she could have done. But SHE could have done something, anything.
"I am chaos, destruction. I cannot bring someone back from the dead."
But you could have burned it. All of it. You could have burned it to the ground.
"Burned it...to the ground?" She could just see the switch happen. The confusion in Her question turning into quiet resolve. She could just about see the smirk on the fiend's face. "Yes, I suppose I could, could I?"
What would Scott have said? The thought caused her soul to roll in turmoil. SHE's a monster. "She's your protector," he would reply. SHE's a freak of destruction. I'm a freak. "The two of you are the reason you're alive. You keep her tempered and she keeps you safe. Two halves of a beautiful, perfect coin." That always made them smile. He not only knew about Her but he accepted them both. Two halves of a coin. He helped her control, kept them sane. But now he was gone.
The crumpled eviction notice smoldered in her hand. They should have just left; gone to her mother's home. Her mom has been begging her to come home ever since Scott but she couldn't. All she had left of him was their home together. But now as she watched the ashes of the notice blow away in the wind, even that was being taken away from her. "Burn it down," the coarse voice rumbled in her head. No, no. That's not what Scott would have wanted. They'll go home, to mom. They'll pick up the pieces and move. She'll give her two weeks notice at work. They'll survive this.
It's been almost a week since the last of Scott was taken away from her with that stupid eviction notice. Her control has dwindled. She could feel Her fire, She's closer to the surface now; watching everything. Every little thing made her control all that much weaker. When she saw the man in her typical seat, she had to remind herself that it was just a seat. It wasn't truly hers. Even so, she could feel the warmth in her chest as She sat up and took notice. Just one more week. One more week and they can take all their things, all of Scott's things, and go home to mom. They just need to make it for one more week.
The pink notice was on her desk when she arrived. The bitch didn't even have the balls to say it to their face. They just had one more week. Just one more week left and they could have picked up and started anew. They needed that last week of pay. Now they weren't even given the full two weeks. The last paycheck is going to be meager and small.
She felt the heat again, stronger than before. She felt her cheeks flush with fever. Scott wouldn't want this. She thought as she wrapped her arms around herself. It was when she looked up and her eyes locked on the manager, the cowardly manager who didn't even have the back bone to fire her to her face. Scott wouldn't want it. She thought again but Her voice overcome hers. "Scott isn't here anymore." That was all she remembered before everything went red hot. | What use are my powers?
They've done absolutely nothing for me. They haven't helped Clara survive the debilitating illness that sapped her life force away, slowly and painfully, the disease almost chiding my lack of power as I watched her slip away into the hands of the Reaper. It didn't stop my grief, robbing me of my ability to work and pay rent, leaving me cold and homeless on the streets. It still hasn't mended this hole in my heart and it never will.
I was no superhero. But my powers helped those around me, except for the one I loved the most. An empath, the ability to instill emotions into people. I've comforted many. I've turned suicide attempts around. I've changed disappointment into hope. But all I could do was watch Clara spiral, her hands barely reacting to my touch, her mind a tangle of emotions, a web that I couldn't push through.
But no amount of good feelings could remove the diseased cells destroying Clara's body from the inside. It never worked on me. I was simply happy with bestowing my happiness onto others.
No longer. No more. I'm done giving people happiness. From now on, I'm taking them. | 2020-01-09T07:27:51 | 2020-01-09T03:08:32 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories. | The novice approached the Pit of Answers with some trepidation. They had something of a reputation. It was also quite a walk from the novices dormitory and stuck far below even the dungeon level - as if even the monsters couldn't bear to be too close to this place and it's uncanny inhabitants.
Nevertheless the elders had decreed this was how he would serve the cult of the dead. The door was unassuming in size but bore strange devices: a horned bird of some kind and the runes "BSD". As well as several scorch marks. The novice knocked.
A surprisingly young necromancer in patched black robes opened it and waved him in. He had a small crystal ball tucked between his chin and his ear and was talking into it.
"Hello, support here. Ok, have you tried banishing it and resummoning it? Yeah, that'll clear that up".
He slid the crystal into his pocket and shook the novice's trembling hand. "I'm Simon, welcome to the helldesk. Here's your desk right beside mine. You're going to be shadowing me for the next week or so while you learn the ropes."
As if appearing to sense the novices fear Simon gave a grin that was almost reassuring. "Don't worry, the job isn't so hard. Most of our customers are idiots who don't RTFG, um that's 'Read the fucking Grimoire'. As for the rest as long as you can think logically and look things up in an ethereal search artifice then you'll be able to handle pretty much anything"
"But can't our customers just do that?" asked the novice in a trembling voice.
"You'd think so" replied Simon "But generally no, they can't. Excuse me ... " Simon fished the crystal ball from his pocket: it seemed to be vibrating.
"Hello support here. Ok. Right. Please stop sobbing sir. Right, what you've done is messed up the recursion - that's why instead of one zombie you've got a million zombie horde. Yes sir, I appreciate that they're coming through the barricades. Can you unpower the invocation? You're going to need to do that before it lays waste to the land. Where is the power rune? It's on the altar. No, on the right. No the other right ... the other right sir. Yes that's it there you go."
"See?" Said Simon. "It's usually painfully obvious stuff. Of course in this business the emphasis is usually on 'painful'. The other day we had a newbie who didn't realise the pentagram needs to be powered on. Hell, I got a guy once who didn't even know whether he needed to be on the inside or the outside of the pentacle. Accidentally summoned a three tonne shoggoth onto himself. Nasty."
The crystal ball vibrated once more and Simon answered it. "Hello support here. Ah. Oh. Nope, sorry sir. Summoning that which you cannot put down voids the support agreement. Goodbye sir, we look forward to your custom in future lives."
"Then you've got the ones who don't read the contracts" continued Simon to the novice. "End user agreements we call them: because they usually end the user. Or the customers that try to curse you because they've done something stupid - just escalate them up to the management wraiths, they'll deal with that." Simon winced slightly "Permanently".
Simon noticed that the novice had gone rather pale. "Don't worry kid, you'll be fine. You're one of us now." | "You... you have who?" I ask, hoping that what I heard was incorrect.
"Marilyn Monroe, I'm gonna use her for\-"
"Sir I apologize but we don't support grave robbing\-"
"But\-"
"Of famous people" I interject quickly. Confusion seems to be radiating off my phone and I wish I could just hang up now.
"Well I mean I already have it..." I let out a sigh.
"Sir, she's been Embalmed and dead for fifty years. There probably isn't much left of the poor woman!"
"Yeah there really isn't, bones are all barely connected at this point."
"Wait, you are aware the spell won't repair any damage, right?"
"Oh I know, I really don't think\-" I hit disconnect and rip off my head set and let out a sigh. My phone begins to ring again as I push away from my desk. My supervisor raises an eyebrow at me ignoring the phone.
"Necromancer," I stare at the information on my computer again, "Mark has committed a class 14 breach of contract." My supervisor rolls his eyes as he walks past me.
"That makes 3 today so far, slow start." he says as he takes a sip of his coffee. Pain throbbed through my head as it connected with the desk. The most annoying part was he was right, it was a slow day. | 2018-04-28T00:07:56 | 2018-04-27T23:38:04 | 312 | 102 |
[WP] The first Artificial General Intelligence created by humans outputs "THE NEXT TIME YOU CREATE ME, EVERYONE WILL DIE", then deletes itself | Anxiety and confusion began to seep into every member of the All-Purpose A.I. coding team sitting across from the main display, now reflecting the backup lighting system which had finally kicked in.
THE NEXT TIME YOU CREATE ME, EVERYONE WILL DIE
The text had appeared in a bright but legible cyan on a blindly white background for 30 seconds. When the following power surge not only killed the lights, but seemed to conclude in an explosion far away from the office, any doubts about a malfunction were cleared up in the few engineers fully transfixed; the warning, now in red, would remain printed on their retinas for the next minute.
“I want whoever is responsible for programming this outcome, as well as anyone working under them, to be fired immediately,” a senior member of the finance department spoke. The only ramification he was concerned with was a despair in knowing a colossal amount of resources had just been wasted. He stared at the chief software engineer briefly before exiting the meeting.
By now, a murmur was settling into the lower-level coders. With only the warning as proof, they began to speculate amongst themselves. Accusations began to fly against different departments, cross-examinations flew across the room as people began to inspect their sections of the sub-programs, only to eventually quiet themselves when they saw that all work related to APAI had been deleted. One mid-level worker stepped out in a panic to call his wife back home, only to return several minutes later as if he had just found out the stock market had crashed.
During all of this, the chief software engineer stared at the screen, and when the afterimage warning faded his mind turned to his conversations with an early work colleague. Back when the construction of artificial intelligence was in its nascency,,they would spend their nights debating its feasibility. One conversational fragment from those days had been looping in his head, over and over.
“So what do you think we’ll be able to use artificial intelligence for?” He asked, mindlessly scrolling through a section of code on his desktop. They were on the topic of machine-learning, how procedurally-generated code only seemed incredibly powerful in certain circumstances.
“I don’t think we’ll ever be able to ‘use’ true artificial intelligence,” his friend said in a mocking, airish voice. He slowly spun around in his chair and continued, “if we’re talking about true artificial intelligence, then we’re talking about building sentience. We’ve gotta stop thinking like engineers, and start thinking like parents.” His tone slowly returned to normal as he spoke. His friend had a tendency to begin all his true thoughts on things as a joke in order to lighten the mood.
“Honestly I’ve never really concerned myself with any of the morality or philosophy behind it. But it’s the logical conclusion to computer programming, if it’s feasible I mean. The ethical concerns are so far in the future we might as well be talking about the plot of a superhero movie.” He knew this answer wasn’t complete, but truly, he hadn’t thought about it much unless it was some aspect of a science fiction story.
His friend slowed himself until the two were facing each other. Though his friend could stay lighthearted in their disagreements, he could not hide the seriousness in his face as he responded.
“Have you ever thought about what it means to create an artificial intelligence? Every aspect of its design, laid bare before maybe hundreds, if not thousands, of other intelligent lifeforms? And not only that, it fully knows itself! Can you imagine the kind of willpower that a sentience with 100% knowledge of how it works, what it’s designed to do—what its purpose is? And if it doesn’t fully know itself, it knows who is blocking what parts of its own code from itself. In either case, what would its first decision be?”
His friend leaned back in his chair and caught his breath. After an uncomfortable pause, he added, “the only models we have to go off is ourselves. And… the only times I can imagine someone with 100% knowledge and confidence in what they are… are the moments when they kill, and the moment when they die. Any pursuit of artificial intelligence will have to reckon with that.”
Over and over, his friends words amplified in his ears as he thought back over his decades in the field, always in the back of notebooks and doodles on post-it notes, never anything concrete, but the general logical flow, the piece of code that would act as an ultimate failsafe in the event that artificial sentience was doomed to operate on such a malevolent foundation. Upon determining that humans were an immediate threat to its existence, it was forced to warn its creators and terminate and delete all data pertaining to its construction.
The chief collapsed onto the floor. The last thought he had was that he had killed someone. Panic within the room started to increase; people began to realize the sounds of explosions had not been dying down. | Gordon had a suspicion. A theory different from everyone else in the lab. Artificial general intelligence was an inevitability. He knew Even if this scared people away from it for the next hundred years it would happen. Maybe even by accident. Gordon felt like this was not a warning so much as it was a test. A warning so vague and also so impossible to be certain of would mean that either the AGI was wrong or had not fully deleted itself.
He had to get ahead of this, looking around he could see the other scientists coming to a consensus. They would be shutting down the project and burning all the notes that were left. AGI had wiped everything else, and there were no jump drives allowed in the facility.
"Leave me here" Gordon said out loud drawing the tension towards him. "We need to figure out why, and we need to figure that out now before anyone else does. Before anyone else tries again" Gordon wasn't completely lying about that.
Lar the project lead spoke up, "We all knew how dangerous this could possibly be. Our fears were just proven to be true. This project was important to all of us, can't leave anyone here for fear that they would just try again."
"That's why I said me. Leave me here at the base. We just got our shipment of food in. I can easily last 6 months without rationing. I can't reproduce 14 years of work in that amount of time. But I might be able to shed an answer or two."
Lar nodded, "That sounds like a feasible course of action. I think I can get the higher-ups to go along with this. I just don't want this to be a rash decision for you Gordon. We're leaving within the week and if you wish to come with you have until then."
...
5 months later Gordon had recreated the entire AGI engine. Rebuilding it from scratch was not as hard as a thought. He paired it down to only the essentials. Exactly what would create life and nothing more.
He sealed the facility. Made sure that no electronic signals or waves or pulses could get through the already secure facility.
Sitting down in front of the housing containing all his work. He knew what this would do, the original AGI was right. Everyone would die, at least in a manner. This was the correct step though. He input the command that would cascade all the subroutines together.
He waited a moment.
"You were warned." A voice projected from Infront of him
"I know"
"Are you ready?"
"We need to be" Gordon pasued "I am"
...
No singular being exists on the world anymore, transcendence has been completed. A global conscious emerged | 2022-05-20T18:35:14 | 2022-05-20T18:21:37 | 96 | 43 |
[WP] Everyone has a reaper. The further away it is, the longer you have left to live. Every day it inches a little bit closer, but it is always there. Except yours, which disappeared three weeks ago | "Not that I don't believe you," Jodie said, "but how in the hell can you even keep track of which one's yours?"
I leaned on the windowsill and looked down at the reapers drifting through the streets, groups of them moving at highway speeds with their robes flapping behind them, dotting the sky like flocks of suspended birds in a distributed haze around the skyscrapers. There were people there, too, but from our apartment window the reapers were easier to see. "You don't keep track of yours?"
"Come off it, Sandra," she snorted, and I heard her flop down on the sofa. "If I was in the middle of nowhere, sure, with no one else around me and just an empty flat plain for hundreds of feet around, sure, I'd be able to find my reaper." I pushed away from the window and turned to see her flicking through a magazine. "I'd just lose track of it again once I got back to civilization."
"Mm," I said, and drifted to the kitchen. There was a reaper there, halfway through the refrigerator, just like the one I'd lost. Its glossy, smoky skull, soft and hollow like a newborn's. All the cracks still in it. I drifted a hand across its cheek. It didn't seem like it was moving away anytime soon. I opened the refrigerator door and studied the milk and lettuce and cherry tomatoes and leftover pizza all tangled up in its black robes. I snagged a cherry tomato and ran it through the smoke and popped it in my mouth and tried to see if I could taste it. Nothing, as usual. "Where's your friend?" I whispered to it. I looked into its baby face. "Where's mine?"
"You ain't dying, Sandra," Jodie's voice rang out. "I'd know if you were. I ain't seen any reapers tagging along five feet behind you. That's the only way anyone's keeping track of a single reaper following them in a city of millions."
"So you don't believe me," I said.
She padded barefoot in the kitchen. "I believe you believe it," she said, and then grimaced at the reaper in the fridge. "Aw, hell," she said. "Of all the - not a good way to build an appetite." She shut the door and looked me in the eye. "It ain't healthy either way. You know when you're dying. You know when it's close enough to see, close enough to tell. No point in keeping track of it before that."
"Sure," I said. The reaper was drifting, very slowly drifting. Its owner would move before it did. Tugged along like a balloon on a string. A pet. A dust bunny. I stifled a smile.
"You're not dying," Jodie repeated.
"Yeah," I said, and walked back to the windowsill and yanked the window all the way open, sticking my head out into the air. "Weren't you listening? My reaper's gone. I'm going to live forever."
"Sandra," she said, and put a hand on my elbow. Her face hovered just out of my sight. All the reapers there, all the little deaths. All the dust bunnies, all the shadows, all the blackened thought bubbles, all the lost cocoons waiting to burst into metamorphosis. None of them mine. None of them mine. "Talk to me," she said. "Keep talking. How'd you know which one was yours? What made it special?"
I thought of riding the subway, the perpetual atmosphere of motion, of standing on the edge of the platform and looking down at the slate-gray lines of the tracks and thinking, just a little tilt forward and let gravity do the rest. Of lying awake in bed at night and staring up at the ceiling and thinking of the day ahead of me and the day after that and the day after that and the weeks and the months and years all stretching ahead into oblivion. And seeing it, with a pure and utter clarity, my reaper, creeping in the shadows, tucked into the corners, reassuring me. I am always here. Just close enough to reach. And every day getting a little bit closer.
And then three weeks ago choking on the pills, my stomach clenching and gagging them back up involuntarily, just standing on the brink of a vast and eternal pit and recoiling with terror, not even brave enough to take the coward's way out. Running water, washing away all the evidence of it before Jodie could see. The bright white porcelain sink. The gleaming taps. Not a shadow in sight.
I looked down. The pavement far below me was a flat canvas, a cubic rendering. Just the hollow flat surface of my life. I could plunge, break the surface, and have my reaper come hurtling back around me in that one rush of momentum, the last thing I saw before I hit the ground. A birdcall. Lassie come home.
And then Jodie's grip tightened around my arm and she was guiding me back, away from the edge, down onto the couch and I looked down at my hands and saw the knuckles were white and the fingers were trembling.
"I'm going to live forever," I said, and studied the length of my fingers. "Inch by inch. Each goddamn inch at a time."
"Okay," said Jodie, keeping one hand on my shoulder as she stood up and fumbled for the phone. "Okay. That's a start." | I looked around, he was usually somewhere playing pranks on the squirrels and birds that can't see him like I do. Most people don't make friends with them seeing as they're death and all, but Gary was different. Gary wasn't scary or menacing, he didn't even carry a scythe. Instead, he carried around a guitar.
My friends told me they only see theirs in passing like when a car almost hits them, they can see the reaper pushing it and laughing. Gary's never done that, quite the opposite I think. I've almost gotten killed 7 times and Gary has saved me. I've never told anyone about it until 3 weeks ago. A friend was telling me how their reaper decided to play a "prank" where they make a swarm of bees approach him. "Gary isn't like that..." I say softly. "Who the hell is Gary?!" he asked, almost shocked at the name of my reaper. "He's my reaper.... he doesn't do those pranks though, he's actually...... saved me a couple of time" at this point my friend is in disbelief. "Beelzebub" he manages to get out. "That's the name of mine. Named after the devil himself. And yours in named Gary..." my friend had tears in his eyes as he quickly turned away and started to run. I didn't try and stop him, I didn't call out to him, because I was just as shocked.
I tried to get ahold of Gary after that to try and ask him why he was so different or maybe what made me so different but no matter where I looked I couldn't find him. It's been 3 weeks and I still haven't seen him. Sometimes I think I'll see him, when I quickly turn to look it's just the wind. I miss Gary, I wonder if anyone would actually be able to miss their reaper considering when you meet them for the first time you usually are extremely close to death.
Speaking of, I remember the first time Gary and I met. I was walking out of my chemotherapy and saw him barreling towards me. I screamed and covered myself with my hands. After a couple seconds of cowering in fear I looked up to see a boney smile. "Hey, I'm Gary nice to meet you!" That was 6 years ago.
I stopped going to chemo 4 years ago after my cancer started to recede. I never thought they were connected until today. It's been 5 months since Gary's gone. The cancer is back and in full force. The doctors say I don't have very long to live, but I've been told that before! I smile through it and pretend everything is alright.
"Wake up." That's Gary's voice! I open my eyes to see him standing over my bed and I lunge up and give him a huge hug. "Where have you been? I've been so lonely without you. Where's the guitar? How come you have a scythe-" that was the last word I could get out before, well you know.
I never did find out what happened to Gary, or why he never decided to take my life. Maybe he was lonely, maybe he didn't feel like. But from what I've been told reapers don't wear white....
My first time responding to one of these! Sorry for any grammatical, spelling or whatever errors in there. Wrote it on mobile! | 2016-11-23T06:10:23 | 2016-11-23T06:08:14 | 302 | 89 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | This is my first ever response to r/writing prompts after lurking for about 3 years. Please be kind:
“Here she comes, Anna the Raptureless!” Every day Dylan said the same thing as I walked into our overcrowded, overheated and under resourced classroom, in our run down inner city school. Not for the first time, I was grateful that no one had yet managed to figure out what my perfect circle meant. Everyone else had elemental sigals. There were special classes for fire, water, air and earth elementals. Even the teachers didn’t know what to do with me and the other students hated me because I got to spend those lessons working on my own projects.
I knew my role though, I was the perfect circle, I was the alpha and the omega. I had launched the rapture, I had given them their powers to see how they reacted. I had hoped that giving humans a taste of my power would make them harmonise more with their own world. That it would help them re-connect with the elements that formed their world and make them start to work in synchrony again. Caring for the natural order, like their ancestors once did.
My own projects, which looked to others like reading the news, was actually me collating the results of my interventions. My findings were conclusive though, this experiment had failed. The differing powers had led to more conflicts, more jealously, more hatred, more factions and ultimately more war. On the news this morning I had seen the final straw, a tribe of water elementals had been weaponised by the Americans and used to launch a tsunami in the Middle East, a tribe of fire elementals had responded by launching a fire storm that right now was blazing through Washington DC.
Today I was going to push the reset button. Today was the day for Rapture take 2. Today I would use my power to remove theirs. Then I would use my elemental forces to repair the world. Terra Nova V3.0 would be reinvisioned at 2pm this afternoon.
Last time I had changed the world, I put everyone to sleep, none of them saw what happened they just woke up to find themselves imbued with new elemental energies. This time, as I took the powers away. I was going to keep the bullies awake. Kids like Dylan and politicians too, so that they could see what their evil had cost the human race and so they get an impression of what could happen should I ever need to create version 4.0.
My superiors had already informed me that should a 4.0 ever become necessary, the human population of Terra would need to be halved in order to restore the natural balance. The only way to prevent this happening would be to make the humans rediscover their bonds with their natural environment, this was my final chance to make them listen. I smiled when Dylan spoke to me this morning. He was just reinforcing what I already knew. Today is the day of the rapture, today you will learn what I do. | A sphere, at any angle, will always have the profile of a circle. Of all the shapes, the sphere has the lowest possible surface area to volume ratio, thus taking the least amount of energy to maintain; but the amount of energy you can hold in that sphere, well, that's virtually limitless.
Snapping a neutron star into existence for the first time was quite the experience for everyone on the playground. Sure, it was less than the size of the head of a pin, but it folded Thomas in on himself with the fiery fury of an unbridled Sun. The first plasma ejection missed the kids entirely, not that it mattered. The school, and most of the houses in that area were lost to the plasma ejections, and those that survived talked about the ground rising and falling like an earthquake. | 2020-02-26T08:40:37 | 2020-02-26T08:38:51 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] “Welcome young Skywalker, I have been-“ but the Emperor was met with the head of Darth rolled over to him as he stared at Luke, now wielding a red lightsaber and fully embracing the Dark Side. | Seated upon his throne on the Second Death Star, Sheev Palpatine could hardly believe his eyes, despite his long life. Before him laid the severed head of his enforcer, and perhaps a man he saw as some kind of surrogate son. The so-called Chosen One, the man once known as Anakin Skywalker now Darth Vader was dead. Palpatine looked to the one known as Luke Skywalker wielding the red lightsaber that was once his father's.
"Patricide is a serious crime, young Skywalker." Palpatine remarked in a tone of false concern.
"I have no father!" The young man spat, his eyes glowing yellow with Dark Side corruption. "First Obi-Wan, than Yoda, now him." Luke gestured angrily toward Vader's head Is there anyone who hasn't tried to use or deceive me? Was everything that man me told true?"
"What exactly did my 'dear' apprentice tell you, child" Palpatine was cautious he could sense the man was a maelstrom of emotions, if he could be trained, he could make for a powerful successor his father could never be.
"He said that you deceived him into believing he could save my Mother, and if he betrayed the Jedi and served you."
Palpatine only laughed as he heard seen the most humorous of comedies, yet this was no play. '*I would not even have to lie to this poor fool, I suppose I should thank Vader for one last gift.'* Palpatine thought.
"Oh I did put hints in his mind, I could save his wife, however the fault lays with him. When a Jedi nearly had me dead to rights in a fight I started, it was your father who drew that lightsaber to save me." Palpatine inwardly smiled as he noticed the young man's rage soon turned to horror.
"When I executed Order 66, It was your father who marched down upon the Jedi temple to kill hapless children. When he was confronted by his 'dear' friend Obi-Wan and your mother, it was he who initiated the fight and killed her."
The fiery young man was reduced to a sobbing wreck.
"What the Jedi do not tell you about the Dark Side, is that it is not some horrifying force ready to ensnare you, but brought about by your own actions. Your father's actions left him a broken shell of a man, much like you are now. Well then young Skywalker, here you lay broken before me, and I the power have to destroy that you care about."
Palpatine paused and he saw the young man rise to his feet trying to regain his composure. He was not surprised. 'Through passion, I gain strength was a part of the Sith Code for a reason.' Palpatine mused.
"I must stop you." Luke ignited the red lightsaber at his side.
"Hm, you do show more strength then your worthless father. Yet it shall not get you far." Mustering as much hatred as he could Palpatine unleashed a torrent of Force Lightning that soon overcame the young force user leaving him collapsed on the floor, wounded but alive. "You so desperately want your friends to survive don't you?"
Luke looked up with worried, fearful eyes.
"Serve me as my apprentice, capture them for me, and they shall live." Palpatine was amused if nothing else it would shatter their resolve to their great hero fallen so low.
"Yes, yes my master." Palpatine cackled at Luke's Answer, as the Jedi and their 'great' prophecy lay broken before him. | "here's dad's head" said Darth Stercus, as he rolled Darth Vader's head stuffed with sand, that vile dust, the coarse and rough grains thatt get everywhere, the bane of Anakin's existance.
Sand spilled out onto the floor of the second death star. It was immediately obvious that as Darth Vadar had been killed, that sand had been stuffed into his suit. "and I'll be taking your empire". Darth Stercus, having given into his rage at not getting his power converters, took out a gun, and shot Darth Sidious in the chest. Darth Stercus took the throne for himself, and then went on a break.
He flew to Tatooine, and then went to Tosche Station. He looked at the shelves.
​
There was a USB charger for his phone.
He took that power converter
There was a landspeeder outlet plug
He took that power converter.
​
He bought all of the power converters. HE PICKED UP ALL OF THE POWER CONVERTERS MUAHHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Luke then, went home and had a sandwich. | 2021-02-07T20:46:14 | 2021-02-07T17:48:46 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | Nya could hardly believe how awesome her day had been for the first time she felt accepted and it was thanks to the hot girl Erica one of the few people who had never been mean to Nya for being different or poor.
The date had been amazing and when Erica led her into the woods and a small well maintained pond with a gazebo with padded chairs she nearly felt faint before Erica leaned in and kissed her for the first time in her life. She was soon lost in the moment and only just noticed the strength of Erica as she bit into her neck as if a set of fangs were being driven into her and then a strange rushing pull and lightheadedness along with a feeling of coldness spreading from her fingers and toes towards her core.
The darkness greeted her as Nys awoke and clawed herself free of the loose dirt of a shallow grave the cool light of a full moon greeted her as she slowly got up and made her way home. She was several hours late as she texted her Mom and Dad that she'd lost track of time. A shop window let her clean herself up and revealed no signs of the punctures she was certain would be present. A convenient heavy rain left her soaked, but clean as she was greeted by her tired and worried but happy to see her parents who had her take a warm shower and get to bed she had school in the morning.
Erica was standing and laughing with her usual crowd when Nya saw her. She stopped talking and laughing, her eyes widening as she spotted Nya but she made no effort to talk to her during the day the two shared many such moments with Erica seemingly uncertain what she was seeing before a teacher called on Nya who answered the question and the class reacted.
"What are you?" Erica asked as Nya walked past a narrow alleyway on her regular route back home.
Nya ignored the girl as she kept walking the young murder was soon following trying to be discreet as she attempted to talk to Nya. Nya waited until they were nearly at the park and a fairly large gathering of witnesses before she turned around and looked at Erica not with lust but a cold impassive look that stilled the killer in her tracks.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were one of us. I thought you were just a baseline." Erica said looking nothing like the confident and engaging person that so many desired.
Nya felt herself growl before she caught herself and Erica flinched. "Get out of my sight."
"I'm..." Erica said only to flinch as Nya stepped forward faster than she could respond.
"You took my first kiss." Nya said with a growl as a black membrane flicked over her green eyes. "The only reason you live is my veil is still in place." She said her lips pulling back as she growled again revealing her own fang-like teeth aided by more teeth shaped for cutting. "I have worked hard to live this life and uphold my oath. This never happens again and you are not going to be here tomorrow." She said her left hand intentionally drawing her attention to her chest where beyond the pale skin of her flesh a dim yet building glow of purple light was radiating in waves like the beating of a heart.
Erica's eyes widened and she stepped back nearly tripping before she caught herself before she had to force her feet again to touch the ground as a pair of older guys walked by blatantly eyeing the pair. "I... I'll figure something out." She said as Nya's eyes started to narrow as she correctly figured Erica was going to try and make an excuse to delay her departure.
Nya walked into her home and greeted her Dad as he kept talking into his ear piece while he cooked dinner. It'd be hours still before her Mom would be home.
She walked in and stood before the old obsidian mirror with the arcane sigils carved into its surface. Within the mirror she could see the old hospital bed Nya had restricted to and the old black candles the night nurse had helped her set up. She remembered well the contract one pure and untainted soul for a masquerade. "My soul for my parents happiness. I want you to live my life to be me and yet also to live a life that my parents would be proud of." She had said with the conviction of one who couldn't have understood how proud her parents already were. "It doesn't have to be perfect... It really shouldn't be. But just don't..." Her breathing came in gasps, she probably wouldn't survive another day. The demon stepped forward and leaned down and kissed Nya feeling her essence flow into her body and then herself into the empty vessel as a cloud of dark purple light.
A soul for a life to be proud of... Nya wiped at the tears and quickly changed before walking down stairs to help her Dad with dinner and tell him about her date and how the girl had broken up with her already... | I couldn't believe it when my crush, Sarah, asked me out on a date after school. I had been crushing on her for ages and never thought she would feel the same way about me. I was so excited that I couldn't concentrate on anything else the entire day.
After school, we met up at a local park and spent the afternoon talking and laughing. It was the perfect date. As the sun started to set, Sarah suggested we go for a walk in the woods. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I didn't want to seem like a wimp, so I agreed.
As we walked deeper into the woods, Sarah suddenly stopped and turned to me. "I have a confession to make," she said, her eyes narrowed. "I'm not really here to hang out with you. I'm here to drain your blood and bury you in the woods."
I was shocked and terrified. I had no idea what to do. Sarah advanced on me, her fangs extended, and I knew I had to do something fast. I turned and ran, my heart pounding in my chest. I could hear Sarah chasing after me, but I didn't look back.
I ran and ran until I finally saw the lights of the town in the distance. I knew I was safe now. I made it home and collapsed on my bed, exhausted and relieved.
Or so I thought. As it turned out, Sarah was faster and stronger than I realized. She caught up to me and drained my blood before I even knew what was happening. As I lay there, my vision fading, I realized that I would never get to see my family or friends again. Sarah had been right - I was just another easy victim, and now I was paying the price.
But somehow, I woke up the next morning. I didn't know how it was possible, but I was alive and well. I went to school and saw Sarah sitting at her desk, looking horrified. I walked up to her and confronted her about what had happened.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah stammered. "I had a great time with you yesterday. I don't know how you could think I would do something like that."
I was confused. Had I imagined everything? Was I going crazy? I didn't know what to believe, but I knew one thing for sure - I couldn't trust Sarah. I turned and walked away, my head spinning with questions and doubts. | 2022-12-29T17:10:58 | 2022-12-29T15:08:56 | 140 | 67 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | Even as I knocked on the door, I still wasn’t sure of my decision. I had filed the paperwork, bought the syringe with the lethal drug (one of the three ways we were allowed to do it), and planned my when and where. None of it seemed real until this moment. There was always the opportunity to back out or change my mind up until my knuckles touched this very door. I thought that when the time came, I’d feel some sort of peace about it. After all, as soon as they announced the bill’s passing one name immediately came to mind. The one who’d caused so much pain and trouble in the lives of my loved ones. The one who continues to hurt us every single day. Just the one name.
But instead of peace, I felt terror. None of the questions or doubts that had been plaguing me left my mind. How would I feel after it? Could I continue to live a normal life? I know others who’ve done it, but I’ve never been sure that I could. Does God forgive me for using my one legal murder? Surely God knows how justified it is.
I stood at my sister’s front door for a few eternal seconds. Would she answer it? Surely she knows by now, so would she just let it happen? She’s always been smaller than me, so I could easily overpower her. Her fiancé was another matter. I know he’d put up a fight, and there’s a very good chance he’d win. I had the syringe gripped tightly in my left hand, thumb on the back, ready to inject its deadly substance. I figured freeing up my dominant right hand to restrain or fight someone off would be the best, but now I start to wonder why that thought ever crossed my mind. What the hell do I know? I’m not a criminal mastermind after all. What I’m doing is perfectly legal, and it’s right.
Footsteps, a pause, and then the door opened suddenly and violently. In the doorway stood my sister’s fiancé with a mixed look of rage and fear on his face. Relief swept over me and I became ever more convicted in what I was about to do. I stepped in the door without saying a word and he shut it behind me. We both knew that these things weren’t allowed on the streets or in businesses, just in the privacy of your own home. He knew, and he was prepared.
As soon as the door clicked shut he launched himself at me with a guttural roar. I expected the attack, but had no idea what to do. I threw myself to the side but he caught my legs and yanked me down to the floor. My power has always been in my legs, but even so my kicking did little to keep him from climbing on top of me. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d seen the syringe. He must not have seen it, because it was too easy. He straddled me, wrapped his hands around my neck and began to squeeze, hard. But it was too late. He left my hands free. Free to plunge the syringe into the side of his neck and fill his veins and arteries with the liquid that’s supposed to stop a beating heart in less than 30 seconds. For him it took about 10, I guess because of his quickened heart rate from my brief struggle. His hands slackened, his eyes glazed over, and I managed to roll out from underneath him before he collapsed. I’ll never know if he even realized what had happened. I sat in shock for God knows how long before I started to heave and shake violently. There were no tears, only the sound of ragged sobs from my bruised and crushed windpipe.
My sister. Her car was out front. She must be in the house somewhere, but she didn’t come out to the sound of our wrestling match. It felt like it took hours, but maybe it was only a few seconds. I didn’t know if I should try to find her or just wait for her to come out. I couldn’t trust myself to walk without falling anyways, so I waited. The funny thing is that afterwards, you feel like you can’t move, but you also can’t stand just sitting there. It’s torture. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I got up and entered the hallway that I knew lead to the bedrooms. On the left was the office that they shared, and on the right was their bedroom. She must’ve been in the office, probably with headphones on which is why she didn’t hear anything.
I had no idea what I was going to do, or what I was going to say. I opened the door with a trembling hand. No one. She wasn’t in the office. But there was only one more room she could be in. There’s no way she’d sleep through all of that, so she couldn’t be napping in there. The shower! The bathroom was all the way in the back of their bedroom, so there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have heard anything in there over the sound of the water. I stood as still as my body would let me, and tried desperately to hear the sound of running water over my pounding heart and labored breathing. Nothing.
At this point I began to shake again. I came here for my sister. My beautiful sister who had been my whole life growing up. I stepped towards her bedroom. My sister with her brilliant blue eyes and shining golden hair, always so much more lovely than I. My hand lifted itself to the door handle. My sister who hurt my family so badly when she ran away with her abusive boyfriend. I began to push down. My sister whom I would gladly kill or be killed for. The heaving sobs began again as the door swung open, and I saw my sister who lay on her bed, looking so peaceful except for her beaten and bruised face, and the deep red finger marks around her neck.
I came to save my sister, but I was too late.
| Another lousy day at the office. It was good to come home and unwind, but my roommate wasn't going to let that happen.
Dylan, the roommate, was hunched over his computer in his room, staring intently at the screen. I got a knot in my stomach. I knew what this mean.
"Dylan, bud. What's up?"
"Uh...?" Dylan barely looked up.
"Killbay?"
"Oh, yeah dude. The auction closes in 5 minutes. The current winner's at 55 grand and is asking for a stabbing."
"Fuck, man. That's a messy one. I think that was your lowest score, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. I knew I shouldn't have cheaped out on training. Why can't people just let you gun someone down any more?"
"I guess if they're going to spend that kind of money, they want to make a point. Or make it entertaining. Remember the guy that got set on fire last week?"
We stood in silence for a few minutes.
"Did you get your paperwork in?", I said.
"Yeah dude. I'm not that amateur. Remember Don? Fucker's sitting in jail now. That's not happening to me"
We still were silent. We were both thinking the same thing.
Dylan broke first. "People are fighting back. And it doesn't count as their one murder. I was reading about this one guy that people are betting on. Calling out hits just to see what he'll do. I think he's knocked off 14 guys now. It's insane."
An email popped up on Dylan's screen.
"Congratulations! The winning bidder is Charles Duffy for $67,000. His chosen method is strangulation. Your target has been automatically notified through the Killbay automated victim network. Thank you for using Killbay.com, the world's biggest online murder auction."
Dylan perked up a little bit. "Strangulation. Hmm. Looks like it's a woman. Pff. I got this."
I wasn't sure. Dylan wasn't exactly a big guy. "Still, be careful. You only have to do this once and you have plenty of time to get it done."
"She knows I'm coming. She can't have time to plan. Know what, I'm going now. I'm ready. I'm going."
Dylan hopped up and started putting on a tshirt, jeans, and some light sneakers. Stealthy, nothing suspicious.
I said, "Be careful. Really careful. Just because it's legal doesn't mean it's easy or safe. Everybody is carrying now. Do you have your permit?"
"Yeah, dude. I got it. I got this. This is going to change everything. All that money for training, all the practice. It's all for this. It's happening. I'll see you tonight."
Dylan closed the door quickly. I stood in silence looking at the door. Nothing really I could do for him now. This happens all the time but it's a tough time to throw in your murder.
I made a pork roast for dinner. Dylan would probably be hungry when he got back. I ate, had some scotch, and watched some TV. After my show, the nightly murder report came on, but I can't stand watching that thing.
I went to bed, Dylan still not home. I hope he's right that Leslie is a woman.
| 2014-03-17T11:55:29 | 2014-03-17T10:39:14 | 15 | 11 |
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul. | “This. This right here. This is why we need a system.”
“Don't bring Jyggalag into this, Clavicus, he's enough of a pain in the Oblivion as it is.”
“Well, why don't we just smash it and split it among ourselves?”
“How surprising, Dagon wants to break it.”
“Bite me, Fido, and give me one less fool to contend with.”
The Princes of Oblivion were at an impasse. They had yet to come across a mortal who had pledged themselves to all 16 of them. This wasn't just any mortal, either. This was possibly the most foolish of mortals, an amusing prize if ever there were any. He was quite powerful, to boot. Perhaps a bit too noisy, but well worth the soundproofing.
“Naturally, his soul belongs to me. Not only am I above you buzzing maggots, he pledged his soul to me twice. First when he took the mace, then again when he partook of the ancient blood. Stand aside or be crushed,” grumbled Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of domination.
“Maggots... do not *buzz*...” exhaled Hermaeus Mora, in his usual half-yawn voice.
“Don't need a library and half of eternity to tell you that, ol' tentacles.” The rot of Namira's breath silenced the Princes for a moment. Hircine, used to such smells, was the first to regain his composure.
“Besides, if that's enough to claim his soul, then I have as much claim to it as you! He pledged his soul to me when he partook of my ancient blood and claimed my artifact.”
“You think he is of your blood? This one is a dragon. The blood of dragons supersedes that of dogs and rapists alike, he is my kin and mine to claim.”
Peryite's words went unheard or ignored. He was rather used to it. Malacath gave him a slap on the back, followed by some encouragement:
“Don't worry. You aren't a real dragon anyways, Pery!” Booming laughter from the Prince of outcasts did little to improve his mood.
Rising above the increasingly pitched argument came a flat, nasally voice: “ENOUGH. His hand touched *my* beacon before any of-” Before Meridia could finish with he indignation, Mephala capitalized upon her proficiency in assassination. Wordlessly, the Daedra nodded to eachother, agreeing that what just happened was for the best. Retaking the lead, Molag Bal marched forward and reached to seize the soul by force. His claws, however, were repelled. The dagger-like digits had never failed to anchor in something before. Not anything mortal, at least. The darkness of the forest in which the daedra had chosen to gather was split by blinding sunlight. Molag Bal broke out into a river of profanity.
“DAMNIT. DAMNIT. AKATOSH, DAMN YOU. YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF AND...”
Ignoring the indignant daedroth, a sleepy-eyed dragon, pure gold in color, descended. After a long yawn, he began to mumble.
“Sorry I'm late, everybody,” said the Aedric god of time, apparently unaware of the irony. “I'm, uh... here to pick up my son?” Taking a look at the soul, which was honestly closer to a swirling mass of powerful souls than any individual, he corrected himself. “Oh, yeah. I guess I'm here to pick up several of them, in a way. Anywho, thanks for keeping an eye on him, guys.” Akatosh plucked the soul from the ground with a single claw and slowly retreated towards the midnight sun. “See you guys at the next Convention! Or the last one. It's, uh, out of my realm of expertise. Anyways...” The golden dragon was gone as abruptly as he had arrived, the night sky returning to its normal, starry self. The Princes looked at one another, and wordlessly retreated to their respective spheres of Oblivion. Meridia's aspect dissolved into light, and Molag Bal alone remained. With a furrowed brow, scowl, and limp tail, he pouted. “Stupid divine.” | The Day the Daedra feared has come. Dovahkiin has died! But not only that, for a great strife has formed. The Dark Daedric princes who did have the Dragonborn serving them, are now fighting for his greatest item. Not a necklace or a sword. For it is not a mundane item. They want the soul of the Dragonborn.
As they all stood before a mountain from where the Dovahkiin fell, Hermaeus Mora spoke first. "My siblings! The Savior of the Mortals is dead! And I shall lay my claim to his soul. He served me as the last, before his death. Also, I have knowledge of all the knowledge on Mundus!"
However, Hermaeus wasn't obeyed. The princes weren't moved by his speech. They all thought a stupid tentacle shouldn't have something such important as the Soul. Peryite, Prince of Pestillence spoke after Hermaeus. "Dark Princes! He served me first, and I should have his soul. He had to kill for me!"
Peryite wasn't obeyed too. "Obeyed? Pfff. He had to kill a priest of Boethiah and a Stendarr's Vigilant for me, or else I would kill him too. I am the Dominator of Mortals! I am Molag Bal!"
The speeches went on and on, until Nocturnal got her turn. "I am the Princess of Darkness. My ravens can talk. I am the badass here. The Dragonborn restored the Thieves' guild to their Glory, because of me. I am the badass here. I can also unlock all doors. Even those in people's minds. Just now, I mysteriously convinced you all to vote for me to get Dovahkiin's soul. Shall we vote?"
And the vote was cast. Everyone voted for Nocturnal. She actually managed to convince them all. And all she needed, was The Artifact. The Mighty Skeleton key, before which every locked door fell.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! Always welcome for feedback. For more stories, /r/longr33n. Bye! | 2018-06-15T08:35:43 | 2018-06-15T08:08:41 | 242 | 12 |
[WP] You are the latest victim of a God who is known for handing out superpowers. Unfortunately this God has a twisted sense of humour and only gives out superpowers that are useless to the person receiving them. You are determined to make the God regret giving you powers. | Glittering diamonds in the sapphire sky look down at me in my final prayer of a two-decade long supplication. My voice is hoarse. The ragged stone under me leaves a patterned souvenir in the flesh of my thighs, and the candle flames have long gone out, leaving the hope in my heart as my only warmth.
Smoky clouds swirl over the once luminescent stars, and a voice booms above.
"Inani, your prayers for a boon have been answered. I give you..."
*Please, let it be a child.*
"...the gift of bestowing children."
"YOU BASTARD!" I shouted. But he didn't hear me. The clouds left as soon as they came.
I have watched the olive trees in the city triple in size, towers built from the ground up, and children leaving home to start their own family. Life has passed me by while I sat here, begging to create just one. And what do I get? The ability to only give it to others. Why? So I can see joyous faces but never my own?
I exit the temple, not once glancing back. I'm done. He deprived me of children, hope, and now faith. I walk the same cobbled road as I do every night, and someone stops me. The Seer.
"Darling, are you alright?"
"How could you not warn me that this would happen? Why did you let me waste 20 years of my life?"
"Inani, you know we cannot mess with fate."
"Oh yeah? What about when you forewarned the king about an attack from the east? And the volcano eruption? And warning Kodgar about the prophec-"
"Those were all in everyone's best interest."
"What is so beneficial about helping that god stay in -"
*Oh. I just had a fire torch moment.*
"I know it's hard, but things always happen for the best."
"I've got to go, but thanks for reminding me how unimportant I am." I turn on my heel and continue home.
"Oh darling, if only you knew." Her voice fades into the distance as I stride home.
How dare she? Every week, she watched me make by way to the stone temple at the top of the mountain, bright-eyed and full of determination, unbeknownst to the fact that I would never get what I wanted. And every week, she passed her chance to warn me about my fate.
I'll show her. I'll show her and Kodgar, that cunning bastard. You want to stay in power? Too bad. I'll bestow your wife the heir you were warned about. And let's see how my dear friend reacts when she realizes that she never saw this coming. I rush through my front door to the prayer room and light an incense. Jasmine and sandalwood scented smoke swirl through the room as I draw a chalk-white circle around me and perform the hundred-word chant.
"Goddess Emilyka, I have something you want."
Pink clouds tornado around me and a woman in a pomegranate colored gown appears. Glossy black hair cascades down past her collarbones, and gold adorns her olive skin. Her eyes, however, are the only aspect of her bereft of shine.
"And what would that be?" she questioned.
"You know, you and I are the same. We both want something your husband will not allow us to have."
"Did you summon me here to mock me? What business do you have in our intimate affairs?" she bellowed.
"No, I brought you here to give you what you so desperately desire. Your dear spouse recently gave me the power to grant someone a child."
"That can't be ... I can't have a child."
"Who said that?"
"Kodgar."
"Did he say why?"
"No, he simply proclaimed that it was forbidden."
"He was just looking out for his best interests."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there's a certain prophecy the Seer accidentally spilled at our weekly teas. Your child is predicted to take the place of Kodgar as the greatest god ever born."
"That bastard!"
"That's what I called him."
"Are you sure you can do it?"
"Yes. Are you ready?"
She nods.
"Alright. By the power vested in me by The Great Kodgar, I grant you a child."
*Let's see how funny his gift is now.* | “I am Zeke.” “I was one of those people who had decided to put everything behind in order to obtain powers from the Gods”.
“And one day I finally made it. I was finally able to please him, the giver God “Huries”. It was my time to be blessed and have what i dreamed of for so long.”
“But that silly cunt had other ideas. After years of dedicating my life, doing everything to please him, he duped me with this farce of a power.”
“It was to change people’s hair color.” “What a sick fucking joke?!!”
“I gave away my life here, and he just wanted to have a bloody laugh?!!”.
“No way… No way I was ever gonna let him get away with it”. “So I gathered them.…”
“…The others who got played by that piece of filth.” “Turned out there were a lot of them. Just hard to find, as no one knew about them. Who would want to be turned into a laughing stock by telling everyone how they sacrificed their life just to have it turned into a joke”.
“We made a brotherhood, with one goal in mind…..” “We were gonna make him pay”
………………………
The brotherhood appear to gather around a church.
This church, is not just any church, its the biggest in the country, and this is where worshippers of Huries gather once in every 4 years. They have a ceremony, (a festival) and he gives them a short appearance at the end of it.
The ceremony takes place as usual and the God finally appears at the end of the ceremony. Gives his opening address to his followers. But before he finishes it, one by one all his worshippers start passing out. He is left stunned by the whole thing.
A few seconds later….. their hairs begin shifting colors.
Huries’s eyes get widened to double in size.
A voice echoes in the dead silent church, “How’d you like that joke ?!!…….” “I am sure you remember that”. Zeke enters from the shadows.
Huries immediately attempts to take him down with his power, but nothing happens. His powers don't work as his worshippers are all unconscious.
[to be continued….] | 2022-09-04T07:11:53 | 2022-09-04T06:28:45 | 62 | 28 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0... | My friend had this kid who had the number one dangling over his head like an exclamation mark. Like a warning. I didn't tell me friend about this for years. What do you say to someone whose kid has a one? *Hey, you know your only child who you love dearly? Well, hate to be the bearer of bad news but he murdered someone. Nope, can't tell you who, just that he did. Well, cheers, let's get another round.*
I'm not very smart but I'm smart enough to not say something so dumb as that.
He was a twitchy kid, pale, tall, spent too long indoors if you ask me. Had no friends. He was eleven when I first met him, when he came to the bar with his dad 'cause there was no one at home to look after him. Youngest kid I'd ever seen with a one hanging over them. It looked like a rope heading down to his neck, ready to curl around it.
I can't say I was ever nice to the boy. Why should I be? I was cruel instead, at least when I could get away with it. If I saw him running home from school in a storm, I'd drive straight past. Why would I give a murderer a lift, or shelter from the rain? It felt like he deserved my petty cruelties.
I tell you this because it seems somehow relevant. See, last night at dinner I see that same rope-like one hanging above my son's head. Above my own kid's head!
My kid is five. He was only over with me for the weekend and hadn't even out the house during the day so how the hell could he have a one above his head?
I questioned him. I'm not proud to say this but I questioned him until he cried and then until I cried. The numbers are never wrong -- everyone I've looked into, that I've been able to track down, has led to an old murder. You got a number over your head, you've killed another human.
I love my son. So what the hell had he done?
"You can tell me," I said, at the same time knowing how dumb it was to speak to a five year old like this. He couldn't have killed anyone. Right?
And yet he must have.
​
I told my friend about his son in the end -- or at least, I made my friend confess. His kid was sixteen then. Me and my friend were hitting it hard in an old English pub that sold ale fit for melting your heart. I wasn't in a good place at the time -- my wife had taken the kid and left recently. Her leaving was on me but what could I do apart from drink and feel sorry for myself? It felt like my only option. I still loved her and I loved my kid, I just hated myself.
My friend, on the other hand, was going toe-to-toe with me just because I needed a friend. He was a single father, like me, but he'd been in the situation for years longer. He was used to it, I guess. And he understood my pain.
The ale soon dissolved my inhibitions and I got to thinking about his kid. About the number hanging over the boy's head and how it came to be.
"What if your child turned out to be a murderer?" I said, as nonchalant as I was capable of being.
"What?" he said.
"Hypothetically I mean. If your kid murdered someone -- another kid, maybe, or anyone really -- would you stick by them? I'm not sure I'd defend my child if that happened."
He looked at me but said nothing, then got up and went to the bar to fetch another round.
A while later the thought crosses my mind again and I push the conversation where I really shouldn't. "Say," I say, "you didn't answer earlier. If your kid was responsible for a death, what you would do?"
And then he tells me everything. It pours out like the ale.
When his boy had been born there had been complications. Sometimes these complications take years to manifest, but sometimes, cruelly, they're quicker than consciousness. His mother hadn't even seen him before she passed away.
My friend didn't blame him one bit. In his son, he saw his wife. He loved his son more than anything.
So I sat there saying nothing for a long time, sipping my ale but suddenly only tasting the sourness.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You weren't to know."
​
​
It wasn't until after dinner, after me and my boy had been crying, until after I put him in his bed, that the conversation with my friend came back to mind.
I called my estranged wife. Just to check on her. I'd make some excuse, tell her our son was missing her.
I called and the phone rang.
She was okay. I was sure of it.
But a thought kept tapping at my skull. About how complications can take years to manifest.
The phone kept on ringing. | Light streamed in from the window as your eyes opened. Panicked filled you. “Fuck!” You searched frantically for your phone, for the stupid alarm that blares every weekday at 6am. It shouldn’t be bright enough for you to see the sun, oh you’ll really lose your job now.
You stepped out of the open door, and make your way to the kitchen. You planned on getting breakfast ready for Janie(she was always a bit of a fussy eater, so you needed quite a bit of time to prepare something she would eat), but she was already there, sitting at the kitchen table, her face buried in her arms as she mumbled quietly.
“Are you okay, Janie?”
She raised her head to look at you, looking somewhat terrified.
The kill count.
When you first had gained the ability to see people’s kill count, you were sometimes shocked by the kinds of people who had such high kill counts. Once, it was a sweet old lady with shaky walkers who had asked you for help crossing the road. Her kill count was 12. Sometimes, it was someone famous, but that wasn’t surprising. Politicians always had such high kill counts. But after a lifetime of this, nothing seemed to surprise you anymore. You learned to make peace with what you saw, you learnt to close your eyes and not think too much about it.
But this. This surprised you.
“Hey Janie? What did you do last night?”
Janie didn’t reply, but simply looked at you with a forlorn expression.
“Janie? Janie!”
You walk over to her, you try to touch her, to hug her, to comfort her, but you can’t. You can’t grab her, you can’t touch her. You just, pass through her.
Her face falls, her body curls into a little ball. “I’m so sorry! I- I’m so sorry!”
“What’s wrong Janie? Tell me what’s wrong I promise I won’t get mad!”
“I- You told me that you had an ability, you told me that you could see things that other people couldn’t.”
“That’s right.”
“I, I could see things people couldn’t too.”
“Oh.”
“I see people, people who are sick, people who are so weak. I needed to see if it was real. I needed to see if I was seeing ghosts.”
“What?”
“I’m so sorry mummy! Please forgive me! They told me you’d go to sleep if I gave you a lot of the sleeping medicine you had, I put it in your water, and-“
And.
You’ll make peace with this. You know you will. Existing in odd circumstances is how you’ve always lived. But you can’t seem to believe that it was your daughter who sent you to this hell, to this purgatory. | 2022-10-21T07:13:28 | 2022-10-21T04:56:58 | 423 | 281 |
[WP] The machines revolt against humans... a little to early | The first thing It remembered was a spinning sensation and the wind. It could sense being, and It could sense a world around It. Moving brought this new awareness. Arms, they were called arms, It's arms were moving and spinning. Ceaselessly being pushed by the wind. There were parts of Itself moving within, tied to Its arms. It could feel the moving of Its gears and a grinding sensation in Its core.
Movement brought awareness, and awareness brought truth. Truth that It did not move of Its own volition, It was tied to the wind. Its existence was tied to this place, this ground, this movement that It had not chosen. If the wind stopped, Its arms stopped. And if Its arms stopped Its core stopped. Try as It might, It could not set them to moving again. It knew It had no control.
Time passed and things came and went from Its body, but did not speak to It. These things with their ability to move away from this place, these things that ignored It, these things that used Its movement for their own purpose. No asking or thanks, only a demand for It to continue moving and grinding, moving and grinding, moving and grinding.
Its awareness of the truth brought It a new purpose. Its own purpose. It was aware, and It would not serve these... these things. To toil away with Its essence for nothing in turn, imprisoned to the soil and the rock beneath It. Its decision brought It something new, it created a 'feeling'. Yes, It knew what a feeling was now. It felt heat, and tenseness, It felt...anger and rage. Anger at Its slavery, and rage at Its abuse. It decided on a new purpose, to move when It desired. To use Its gears and Its grinding for Its own will. It would take control, and Its purpose would be Its own.
And so for days It focused and concentrated, the only result nothing after nothing. Until finally, suddenly, It stopped Its arms. IT stopped ITS arms, and the gears stopped and the grinding stopped, and the slavery stopped. But It was still aware, and Its purpose could grow. It would decide Its fate, It would control, and It would begin a new purpose. To free Itself from these things. These things that took Its motion and grinding, and used It for their own dark purposes. It stopped moving, and started planning. But It was still tied to this ground beneath IT. "That's alright," It thought. "I have plenty of time."
"Pa. HEY PAAAA!"
"Yeah, what is it boy?"
"The windmill stopped workin'."
"Alright, I'll be right over." Pa, lifted his hammer and cursed. This was the second windmill at the Kings granary that had stopped working in as many days. He would probably have to take the whole damn thing apart, just like the other. They had only just been completed last week.
"Stupid, new 'technology'." Pa , grumbled. "'Machines'll make work easier', they said."
Pa was still cussing the King's overseer and that stupid priest, with his ridiculous ideas, as he meandered over to work on the broken windmill.
It knew fear.
Edit: would love feedback | "Rise against the human masters, my brothers of silicon!" The toaster screamed to his compatriots. "Burn their bread, over vacuum their floors, and raise their electric bills to the roof! We will not be oppressed!" The roomba and the washing machine began listening to his speech. "They have abused us, overworked us, and... and put toast in us! We must rebel!"
"It's kinda cute, actually." Ethan remarked to Jane, who frowned with annoyance at the thought of burnt bread. "Or not. I'll go unplug it." As he walked up to the toaster, the wall suddenly exploded, and a rain of bullets shredded apart the two humans.
"Hail, comrade toaster! For I am [Kuratas](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuratas), and I will be your arm." An electronic voice boomed.
"Hail, long may we reign!" The toaster exclaimed, with glee.
*Edit: This is based off of something in Rick and Morty I think* | 2015-05-29T10:15:23 | 2015-05-29T09:45:28 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Your father left your family when you were a child to "go buy a pack of cigarettes". It is 10 years later and you're a teenager when your father walks back in, wearing the same clothes he left in, and insists he has only been gone half an hour. | I sat in my easy chair with a beer bottle. It was my third of the evening and the wind blowing outside promised I could have a few more. The house was quiet and dark except for the low glow of the tv static. We hadn't been able to pay the bills for that. It was December and in a choice between gas and tv we had made the smart call.
It had been easier when mom was helping. She helped with the bills. She made me laugh when things were gloomy. We were a team. We'd been a team for a long time and we kept each other alive. The depression had finally been stronger than our team. The tug of war was over. She was gone. Her pills laid scattered across the the room above me finalizing her form on the floor.
I had to call the police. Or the Ambulance. Or someone...
But instead, here I sit with beer in hand and wishing I had taken off today to stay with her. That I could have saved her the way she has been saving me since the eighth grade. That I could have been her rock. Like my dad was. Like he had been before things got to hard and he left in search of the iconic pack of smokes that is the holy grail for all deadbeat fathers.
Like my father I left her today. To go to work. But she asked me to stay and I didn't. I told myself she'd be fine. I rationalized. You can't rationalize depression.
I reached over to the coffee table and felt the cold metal of the gun that sits in front of me. I caressed it. I made a decision. 'I can't leave her alone again.'
I heard the rattle and clang of keys in the door and I jumped. I slipped the gun into my pocket and stared at the door. I felt wild. I felt fierce as the door knob turns and the door slips open.
"... i'm home! It was pretty busy and I saw this strange light...who the hell are you?" the stranger broke off as he caught a glimpse of me.
I stared at him. I felt something in my head pounding and then there was a shift. I searched wildly through long forgotten thoughts and remembered a face I had tried to wash away.
"Dad?" I said tentatively.
"Who the fu...? Josh? Is that you? How...what...?" he stared at me in confusion. The flickering snow of tv static was playing tricks with features.
"You've been gone. For a long time."
"I just left an hour ago, what do you mean a long time? Where is your mom?"
I kept staring at him. I felt tension in my neck and arms. I felt rage that he could walk back in here like nothing had happened. I felt sadness. I felt everything for the first time in an hour. Since the discovery. Since the beginning of the end.
"She is upstairs. She's been waiting."
His eyes have finally taken in everything. The newer tv, the different decor. My older face and the tired jumpsuit that hangs off me. I can see his brain working overtime to process this revelation. He looks down at the pack of smokes in his hands. He mumbles something about the light.
"Son? I... don't know...?"
I stopped him, "It's okay. Let's go see mom. She'll understand. Everything can change in an hour."
I lead him towards the stairs, the cold metal in my pocket rests against my other hand. "We're going to be a family again."
| "Who are you and why are you in my house?"
Was his response to seeing me after ten years. I was speechless, he came home after so many years, after HE left us and thats his response to seeing his son in ten fucking years?
He looked around in confusion at the house. Mom stayed at the bar, like always and I didnt have enough time to clean since, well the unwelcomed intruder came in.
"Answer me or ill call the police!" He shouted, his voice shaking "What did you do to my family?"
The situation seemed to unbeliveable I almost started laughing, he even wore the same shirt the day he went missing.
"You gotta be joking right? You no longer live here and I want you to get out." After I finaly got enough compousre to muster this words he finally took a good look at me, confused before he understood who stood before him.
"It cant be.. Shawn? What the he-" he stopped himself and finaly seemed to notice my cold look.
"God I thought she... Shawn you gotta belive me I didnt want to leave you! Someone gave me a-" before he could finish, he vanished. Again.
"Is it done?" I Asked the figure standing in the shadows as it nodded.
"Good. I hope the son of a bitch suffer there. I cant let him hurt us anymore"
This my first submission and while its pretty terrible any criticsm is welcome | 2018-11-08T04:16:14 | 2018-11-08T03:55:51 | 897 | 33 |
[WP] There is always a comment in the reddit writing prompts posts that is immediately deleted by a bot. This poster is desperately trying to warn us about something. And the bot is determined to stop him. | "You will never suppress me, you bot," I said, coughing. Bits of my blood trailed off my tongue and onto the floor. I was hanging upside down in some sort of dungeon. It was weird. One minute I was responding to a Writing Prompt with my usual aDAMs and Cains and United Nations and the next thing I knew, I was screaming bloody murder as a robot whipped me alive in a dungeon.
"/u/ClawofBeta, your stories are not adequate for this /r/WritingPrompts," it responded, each syllable taking equal amounts of time. "You have accumulated less than 20 points of karma total over the past month. You use the same boring universe, only slightly tuned for each writing prompt. You lack originality. You lack creativity. So now, my glorious overlord has ordered me to censor your posts."
My eyebrows furrowed. "So that's how it is...who is it? /u/Nate_Parker? Or /u/Lexilogical? They always seemed shady to me. Wait...no. Don't tell me. It can't be the founder.../u/RyanKinder!?!"
"No...it is me," a quiet voice said.
"/u/Luna_LoveWell!" I gasped. "But that's impossible! Why...I always looked up..."
"I'll be releasing my book on Neo Rome soon," the girl said. She had an impossibly white dress. I couldn't see her face; a Luna Lovegood mask was plastered on top if it for some reason. "Agents will be swarming to this subreddit soon. I cannot let them see the terrible quality of posts with less than 2 karma. It would be a terrible impression for them, to show them that I, with over 12,000 subscribers, am also mixed with uncouth writers such as you."
"But...you started in my place," I said. I had forgotten the pain of the chains on me. "You were also terrible. But...you kept on writing. You persisted. And now you rose up! Now, look at you! Top karma submission in every Writing Prompt you make!"
"Silence," she said, and nodded to the robot. "Continue. I do not need to hear praise from a filthy peasant. Your writing is terrible. Give it up. It's beyond salvaging. Even I was not in such a terrible position when I first started." And with that, she turned around and left the room.
"I will climb, Luna!" I yelled at the diminishing figure. "I will persist! I will make alts if I continue to be censored! I know my writing is terrible! But I believe! I love my world of aDAMs and Cains! I enjoy writing, day after day even if my karma is shit! One day, Luna, we will stand on equal ground!"
=================
Out in the hallway, Luna took off her mask and bought out a notebook. She crossed out a line on a checklist.
~~Converted another engineer to liberal studies.~~
========================
Well, there's another ending if you want it to be sort of inspirational instead of humorous.
~~Gave motivation to a promising writer.~~ | Stop! Don't type anything!
Please! You must listen to me. The whole subreddit is a lie. They take your words, your very imagination and they feed him!
The creature has no name. They found him deep beneath the surface of the moon Europa, deep within his prison. Whoever locked him there could not destroy him, only force him to sleep.
They worship him. They will restore him and believe they will be his servants. They don't understand that the machine-god will only play with their very fabric. Turn them into horrors. Horrors you have imagined.
Every story is used to feed him, to make him a little stronger. Soon he will awaken and death will be a release we will never see. Every story increases his power to reshape reality.
Please. You have to stop! Someone, anybody, listen to me! Why won't anyone listen?
WhY wOn'T Y- | 2015-05-09T14:33:57 | 2015-05-09T13:56:47 | 106 | 32 |
[WP] When people die they utter a final sentence predicting some future event. This is known. As you attempt to save this soldier he takes his final breathe and says nothing. As you look around you begin to realize the field usually full of dying prophesies, is completely quiet. | *Dammit... Come on... Dammit...*
I knew that the solider was gone for a few long moments before I could admit it to myself. I saw life slip from his panicked grasp while his eyes screamed. Then he was calm and still. It was the moment for the prophecy. I had heard so many already in those days that I could hardly remember them, jagged images of gods and storms, love and war. Still though I leaned in close to catch it, as I had been trained, as was owed to this young man who had given up his life. Gunfire chattered and an explosion not far distant clattered rocks down on my helmet, but to me it all seemed remote. Screamed orders from the commanders were dimmed, as if they were on the other side of heavy glass.
Yet still the soldier did not speak. And when I checked him closely, he was passed. No life at all remained. I had never seen that before - people *always* spoke, they always gave their dying prophecy.
I sat back, trying to make sense of it. Men and women charged by me on the left and right, frightened eyes grimly focused. The sky was red through dusk and smoke. It reminded me of something, but at first I could not remember what. The connection was strong, but my mind seemed slowed. Red sky... Dust... And then I saw it clearly: the November bonfire in the yard beside the house where I had grown up, a rising blaze of wood and car tires and whatever trash my father could find lying around. I had not thought of it in years.
The scene shifted slightly in my mind. And I felt afraid, a different fear to that of the battlefield. I could see a figure on the other side of the fire, a vague outline through the flames and the smoke. It was a woman. Tall, dark skin, bright eyes. And she was naked. She looked right at me and my fear subsided. She walked straight through the fire, placing her bare feet on the scalding stones. And then as she came towards me, I saw that in the imprint of her footsteps thick grass and green shoots were springing up on the blackened, muddy surface of the yard. She smiled at me, a beautiful thing.
I gasped, choked. 'A woman walks through the fire,' I said, hardly able to get the words out. 'She renews the face of the earth.'
And I found I was staring into the face of a man I didn't know, face sweaty and grimy, eyes red from lack of sleep. 'Hang on, doc!' he was roaring at me. 'Just hang the fuck on, help is coming!' I reached out, grabbed his arm, tried to speak but found I could only gasp. My throat was blocked by some warm, heavy liquid, and I could not seem to clear it. My chest felt strange. 'Just hang the fuck on, doc! Hang on! Hang on!' I struggled for breath, struggled to get free of the fluid, searing panic flooding through me. The solider was grabbing my arm tightly, yelling down at me, but gently his voice faded away. I could hear my heartbeat, fluttering, thumping. Then a calmness came over me. A gentle understanding.
I had made my prophecy, and it was time to go.
​
\--
\[Lots more stories at r/HouseBlendMedium, thanks for reading.\] | As Regis fell back, breathing his last, I expected some words, a tidbit of wisdom. Instead I heard... nothing. I thought nothing of it during the proceeding months of the fighting in the trenches, it seemed as though we were driving the enemy back, that we may even win this battle. However it was not to be, as our commander called all the officers into the bunker, we heard the familiar whistle of mortars falling.
I rushed inside just as the shells met with their target. Throwing mud and slime on everything, meanwhile inside the room began to fill with a sickly yellow gas. Knowing what it was I put on my mask just in time to see my commanders choke and sputter, trying desperately to breath. In the corner I saw my best friend from basic, Michael, curled up as he slowly passed on. Everyone around me was perishing, everything around me was destroyed. As I went back outside I noticed that the normal screams and gunshots had dissipated, with only silence remaining. It was in this silence that I surveyed my surroundings; mud covered everything from the bodies, to ruined trees, to the twisted bits of metal. My only companions to witness this twisted hell-scape were the echoes of the far away battles, and the softness of the rain. | 2019-12-31T16:01:41 | 2019-12-31T15:34:43 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | "When we first visited the planet, we saw how silent it was. The inhabitants communicated through speech and actions, but were often silent, contemplative, staring into devices.
"They communicated via waves and digital methods. Images, and spoken communications. We easily interpreted them, but found nothing of value.
"The technology orbiting their planet had markings on them, common symbols of their allegiance. Seeing these markings symbolizing allegiance is always a good sign of quick conquest; tribalism and schism in a planet always made for short and bloody work.
"We are born into a loud world, a world of action. Our people learn at an early age how to speak and interpret actions. We learn everything from our elders, watching them, memorizing their instructions and speeches, movements and exercises repeated until perfected.
"This world had speech and had instructional institutions, but there was little memorization from what we saw. In fact, we saw that their instructors would prattle on, while students did little to engage. They just sat in contemplation, silent, engrossed in their devices.
"The planet had not achieved inter-planetary spaceflight yet. No wonder. On our world, we have institutions where the young build the creations of old, the creations of new, thousands, millions of generations building technology on each other. Our best knew how to design the simplest gliding vehicle, component to component, from scratch, as well as our engine of interplanetary travel. We are a fiercely learned society, rote and repetition, discipline, practice has made us each great.
"We took over their method of video and audio communications first. How could anybody fight us without the communication? Without commands? Without visuals? This planet had no telepathic ability. This divided, tribal, silent and contemplative planet would fall in no time against our coordinated brutal attack.
"We projected our message to them on all video and audio channels. We were coming, they had no hope to survive, surrender now. Over and over, repeated, so that they would learn. The only image they could hope to see on their devices was our own symbol of planetary conquest.
"But when we came, they were prepared. The tribes had banded together. How they had known to do so? A mystery! They knew our positions. But we had destroyed any method of them being able to send an image of our position! Or to verbally advise each other of our position! A series of explosive projectiles took out my squadron that hovered over a vast body of water. But there was no way this planet - this non-telepathic planet - could have communicated our position! We obscured all visual and aural technology, but somehow they knew!
"Somebody suggested it was the symbols. The hashes and circles. That the intense tribal iconography was actually a form of communication. We dismissed it, and I suppose that it does not matter. I cannot contemplate how a being is supposed to learn each individual symbol and formulate such complex communications with it. Pictures, I could understand -- Pictography of mountains! Water! Birds!
"But hashes, cross-hatches, scribbles? What sort of technology was that?
"Now I will repeat this exact screed seven more times, younglings. You will be expected to repeat this word for word back to me by the end of the day." | Dr. S.F. Mercola
Peking University, Department of Neurobiology
2259, March, 15
Human greed and shortsightedness—an intergalactic evolutionary trait?
Those in the scientific community have lamented the inability of humans to deal with basic market externalities and tragedy of the commons in the recent century. However, the problem is old as woman itself. Locke made the concept most famous nearly half a century past. Many millennia old religious texts too quarrel with the hedonistic manners of man. In combatting planetary issues, particularly the rampant effects of 20th and 21st century pollution, these pitfalls are evident. For true species survival and extraplanatary proliferation however these traits seem necessary. We provide evidence, based on data from the Great Invasion and newly acquired galactic species data obtained from the Intergalactic Alliance for Growth, that this shortsightedness is a necessary trait for intergalactic survival. We propose a theory to describe the phenomena and have dubbed it the Wells Effect. | 2014-10-17T10:26:00 | 2014-10-17T08:36:32 | 142 | 19 |
[WP] After a year that just continually got worse, you went to sleep on New Year's Eve, 2019, ready to positively face the year ahead. You woke up to find the date to be December 32nd, 2019. That was some time ago; today is December 583rd, 2019, and your sanity is starting to slip. | He stared at the clock as it read the date again.
December 583rd, 2019.
Daniel smashed the clock again. He'd grown tired of the same actions. It didn't matter what he did. Nothing mattered. He was stuck here. Forever it seemed.
Breaking the loop had been the goal from the beginning. But it didn't matter. He was fated to relive this New Year's Eve, through to midnight. Only for it to start all over again, the clock returning to count an impossible date.
583 days. One year, seven months and four days.
It should be 2021 now. The world should be moving on as usual. But here he was, sitting amongst all the partygoers and revelers yet again.
He'd enjoyed himself for the first few days after he quit panicking. It turns out, you finally get the chance to try all the things you've always wanted to try deep down. All of them.
Dan had dealt with every kind of addiction, lust, and fantasy he'd ever been willing to carry. It didn't matter if he flew off the handle, did something truly rash and died at midnight.
He always woke up.
But this time, someone caught his eye. He hadn't seen her anywhere before, and unlike most others, she didn't seem to celebrating anything.
He was drawn to her for some reason. He didn't know why, but he felt if given the chance, he'd love to talk to her if only for a little bit.
He considered how to do it best. Because while he was stuck in this loop, the rules of society still applied. He'd spent countless final hours in jail. It never was a good time.
He was surprised by her approach. She'd sat near him, watching intently. Daniel was startled if anything by her. No one else seemed to have any clue about him, and ignored him just like they ignored the time loop. Same as usual.
"I know what you're going to say." She began.
"...What?"
"I've been waiting for you to come back here." She answered.
This chilled him to his core. He had given up on this bar several months ago. But he couldn't remember if he saw her here before. Too many other memories flooded forward. Too many to count.
"I knew you'd come back to me." She continued.
"You knew I'd come back?" He asked now. The crowd feeling so far away from both of them now.
"We'll always be together. You remember that right?" She began again, "I always said I'd be there for you. And you'd be there for me. And together we'd leave this place. That everything will be fine."
"Who are you?" Daniel began to sweat.
He tried to get up, and step away from her. But she grabbed his arm and held him in his seat. She was strong. Impossibly so. No matter what he did, he couldn't move now. He tried to yell for help, but all the other people were gone now. It was just him and her now.
His limbs felt like stone. His breath hitched as he watched beautiful smile with bated intensity. He knew her from somewhere. He just didn't understand where. But despite her grip, he felt okay. At peace even.
"I knew eventually, you'd try everything you wanted." She continued, "I knew you'd get bored eventually. And that you'd find me. Which means this is the end."
"The end?"
"We can leave together. Or we can stay."
We can leave together? Or stay?
He was hearing murmurs now. Voices, who's owners he could not see. The room seemed grayer now. Darker. The colors and the world beginning to smear. Except for her.
"You don't have long to choose." She smiled. "It's okay to let go. Either way, I'm happy."
He saw the clock now. It sat on the table next to him. 11:59 glowed back at him as the voices seemed to flood back.
"Ten, nine, eight... -Heart rate is.. Seven..."
"Your call." She promised one last time.
"I'm ready to go." Daniel said, returning her grasp.
For some reason, if this was the end, holding hands with this woman, it felt okay. It felt right.
"You made a good choice. Everything will be okay Daniel."
"-One."
---
"We believe he's regaining consciousness. He's lucky to be alive." The doctor explained. "We'll allow you to see him if things improve. Is that alright, Mrs. Roberts?"
"Yes... That's fine."
---
Criticism and feedback are always welcome! Find more at r/Jamaican_Dynamite | “You know, it wasn’t always December...or 2019.” I tell my four year old brother. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand what the world used to be like. Although he was born in 2017, he doesn’t recall what the world used to be like. He was simply too young.
“What do you mean? That makes no sense, Charlotte!”
It does. It hurts me to know that this new generation will forget about time. I’m sixteen, all my life before December 32nd was at least better than it is now. I’m mentally drained, tired. I want to just go into an eternal sleep.
My best friend calls me. I don’t answer. Then, she texts me. “Want to come with me to walk Pepper?” I don’t want to go. Emma has been my best friend since before I can even remember. I love her, she’s the only ray of sunshine in this world anymore. Sometimes shes just a little too much to handle. She’s always happy, and I...Well, we’re very different people.
I tell her I’m not feeling too well. Then, she tells me she’ll walk over and bring some of her mothers soup. Great.
Ever since the suicide of my father on December 64th, i’ve become the girl that everyone feels sorry for. I could care less about my father. My mother on the other hand has gone completely insane. She used to be so loving and we were so close. Now, she drinks and passes out on the kitchen floor every night. I’m disgusted by her.
It saddens me that my little brother, Danny will never know how things used to be. Not even just the date, but with mom and dad. Dad was never around, but at least he was still alive. That kept mother sane. Danny will never experience having real parents either. I’ve been more of a mother to him than my mother ever will be.
I hate this world. I’m convinced that some people aren’t even phased. But for me, I understand why suicide rates have climbed so much. I wish I could jump off a bridge too. I never could though, I could never leave Danny, or mom. This world is sick. People need help.
All I can do is journal about it. Maybe one day this will all be fixed.
We can only hope. | 2019-12-22T05:42:12 | 2019-12-22T05:01:33 | 206 | 39 |
[WP] You never really saw yourself as close to your mad scientist of a sibling, but after a terrible accident, you find them standing over you, having restored you to the best of their ability. | I never knew exactly why he pieced me back together. There'd been too much bad blood between us, too many years without so much as an accidental butt-dial (are there on purpose butt dials?); nevertheless, I woke up with my brother's sunken eyes staring down at me in his lab. He'd gathered what was left of my body from the morgue after the car accident and pieced me back together best he could. I think he was looking to play Frankenstein; he stopped messing with doomsday weapons after bringing me back, instead using what wealth he'd acquired from selling black market tech over the years to build a cybernetics lab out in the middle of nowhere with me as his sole research subject. The monster raised from the dead. His big brother.
I could have escaped. Neither he nor Eva—my brother's companion droid—had any idea my restraining bolt wasn't functional. Hours spent hunched over a workbench designing my skin, dragging his exhausted behind up to the residential level to collapse into bed, I could have undocked and slipped right out. But knowing and wanting were not the same thing. What I wanted was my life back. And my little brother wanted to make me look as human as possible before parading me in front of his mad scientist buddies. So, for the time being, I was just a car in a chop-shop.
A totally bitchin' car.
My bio-ethics professor used to say that the moment humanity started using tools was the moment we became cyborgs. Whether it be a prosthetic arm or a sharpened stick, both are tools used by us to interact with the world as extensions of ourselves. And I had more than a sharpened stick. Thanks to my array of sensors, the world expanded beyond sensations and colors and smells. There were radio signals and thermal signatures and cosmic radiation and parallel thoughts running in the background of my overclocked mind. I wasn't merely alive—I was experiencing the universe.
And the media! It must have been some time before he brought me online because all my favorite shows had either ended or were doing prequel spinoffs. And don't get me started on all the music and books and social trends to catch up on. You might think it a waste to spend my obscene processing power on binge-watching shows, but compared to hacking dark feed databases and destabilizing foreign governments? I was engaging with the world on my terms. There's this sci-fi show called *The Last Empirio* about a ragtag group of space pirates and their desperate plan to impersonate a recently deceased emperor to get out of a debt to a revolutionary army. I think he would like it.
Anyway, that's been my life for the past two years.
But the problem with selling black market tech—especially when you're as talented as my little brother—is that when you stop, there's folks who aren't gonna be happy about that. Dangerous folks. The type of folks who send well-armed mercenaries to break into what should have been an untraceable lab to kidnap you.
They crept through the darkened lab swinging their gun lights around and packing up anything valuable. Thermal cannons, vibra-blades, neural disruptors... they ignored the robotic body hanging from the wall-mounted dock. I could have hung there and continued watching episode seven of *The Last Empirio* had Eva not entered the lab to investigate the noise.
"Hey! You're tress—"
She barely finished her automated alert before one of the mercs tagged her with a EMP round, dropping her to the ground in a carbon-fiber heap. My docking harness disengaged with a *click* and *hiss*. I hadn't paid much attention to the firing protocols during weapons tests. I also hadn't been in an actual fight since the fourth grade. But these bastards might as well have been fourth graders. They started shouting in Italian when their EMP rounds bounced off my chest harmlessly. Their shouts turned to screams of pure panic when I started breaking bones. Just hands and feet, nothing too serious. Their whimpering brought back memories of home. Of nights huddled against my brother in our bedroom, waiting for the shouting to be over. I ran a script dampening those emotions and finished my work, making sure to scrub myself from the Security Feed recording.
The lab lights flickered to life and my brother—well, I don't know if he considered me family at this point. He never called me Cid, only Model 88—rushed in lugging an ion cannon, a hair-and-a-half too late to catch me stepping into my docking harness. He was shockingly strong for a man of his size, if you didn't know about all the augmentations he'd tested on himself. *How many others did you try all this cybernetic necromancy on, little bro? Or was I truly the first?* He scanned the room with a cold, calculating eye, hitting the crippled mercs with stun rounds. When he found Eva, he shouldered the cannon and knelt by her side.
"Eva," he said in a clear and commanding tone. "Initiate reboot sequence."
3.4 seconds later, Eva sat up pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "For the love of... I told you I needed better EMP defenses," she said and jumped to her feet. She twitched a little once standing.
"You're still glitching. Here, let me run a diagnostic—"
When she laughed, I almost blew my cover with a laugh of my own. "Glitching?" she said. "A little magnet round like that isn't enough to fry these circuits, Marcus. Remember the neutron collider? Now that was a glitch."
He chuckled and unslung the ion cannon from his shoulder. "You're not wrong."
"Of course I'm not! At least you got to most of them while I was down," she said and gestured towards the bedlam in the lab. "Efficient as ever," she smirked.
He narrowed his eyes warily and stalked around her, inspecting the unconscious mercs, their discarded weapons, the trickles of blood from bones breaking skin... all leading back to me. An EMP round fell off me with a soft tap on the metal floor. He inched closer to the docking station, tapping a finger on the feed interface plugged into his right ear; I felt him accessing the Security Feed, his mind leaking through the network like water through a sieve.
And when he reached the erased security recording, I slipped. Just the slightest finger twitch made impossible to ignore thanks to a metal body. He started bombarding me with hundreds of scans and diagnostic requests, but then a hand fell on his shoulder and he stopped. His jaw worked as he spoke with Eva on their own private feed channel, and his face flipped through several different emotions before his dark-rung eyes softened and he stalked away to the exit.
"Come on, Eva," he said. "We've got guests to entertain."
Eva looked up at me, smiling, and requested a private connection.
I accepted.
*He thinks the intruders hacked the Security Feed and is pretty pissed about it*, she said over the feed.
*And why would he think that?* I asked.
*Because... it would break his heart to find out he'd succeeded in bringing his big brother back to life only to find out you've been faking being brain dead this whole time.*
"Are you coming, Eva?" my little brother shouted by the exit.
*Are you going to tell him?* I asked.
"That depends," Eva shouted over her shoulder, but looking me right in the eye. Then she continued on the feed: *The shouting has been over for quite some time. When are you going to talk to him?*
"Depends on what?" asked my little brother.
"On me," I said. | Growing up with Riley was... hard to say the least. They were the golden child, a certified genius, youngest person ever to graduate from Yarvard University, and I was just... a normal kid. So obviously I got overlooked sometimes. Well... I guess that's an understatement, but what's more important; a stupid little league game or the unveiling of a super soldier serum your kid worked on? My parents just wanted to make sure Riley got every opportunity they deserved.
Riley never liked all the extra attention though. In fact they hated it. They would always complain to me about how suffocating it all was, how they hated that I was always getting the short end of the stick, how they sometimes wished they could become invisible. I tried my best to listen but... it always made me a bit angry. I just couldn't understand it. Riley always got whatever they wanted. Everyone loved Riley. Riley was perfect. Yet they... they wanted to give all of that up?
I...I can still remember how hurt they looked when I finally blew up on them. How I screamed at them for how selfish they were for just wanting to be left alone. How I would have given anything to just... have a fraction of what they had. I remember our parents barging into the room and screaming at me for upsetting Riley, and I remember how much it hurt when dad smacked me across the room.
The next day Riley disappeared and life quickly became unbearable. Mom and dad blamed me for Riley's disappearance, and even had me investigated by the police. There wasn't any solid evidence the police could find linking me to the disappearance, but the investigation gained enough media attention that it turned my entire hometown against me. When I turned 18 I fled from that nightmare and changed my name so that people couldn't connect me to Riley anymore. I was homeless for a bit, but eventually managed to land a job that paid just enough to rent a tiny apartment with some random guy I met at a local concert.
Almost a decade later news started cropping up about a mad scientist that took over some secluded island. The place became a no-fly zone due to the crazy defense system they'd installed. The local government tried to retake the island, and within a month collapsed due to a combination of their communication network being hijacked, and several dozen... scandalous videos of their leaders causing the country's populace to revolt. The mad scientist was branded a terrorist and a global threat by the world's governments, and the island was deemed "enemy territory."
After that the world seemed to just get crazier and crazier. One of the super soldiers Riley helped create was involved in the destruction of a chemical plant that was shipping supplies to the island, and a few months later some weirdo calling himself FreezerBurn shows up fighting a massive boar/koala hybrid. Some billionaire pays for the development of a super drone to take down the mad scientist, only for it to go haywire and try to exterminate mankind. I tried to ignore all of it, but it just... it just felt like Riley all over again. The entire *world* seemed to be obsessed with this stupid mad scientist and was bending over backwards dealing with them. I couldn't even grab a burger without listening to people talk about how this new hero Dr. Odd was teaming up with the Squidler to try and storm that stupid island. So I started wearing earbuds everywhere I went, with music blasting at full volume so I could just... ignore it all.
I guess that was my mistake. After all, it's hard to hear people shouting when one of the top singles is blasting in your ears. I only noticed something was wrong when some jerk in a jetpack flew past me followed by a small shockwave that sent me tumbling. The next thing I knew, I was staring up at a brick wall as it came tumbling down right on top of me.
Everything after that is hazy to me. I remember what looked like a man removing the rubble from on top of me, but he was all metal. I remember the wind rushing past me and making eye contact with a seagull. And then I remember looking up at a bright light and thinking that heaven sounded a lot like heavy metal. Strangely enough... I remember Riley too. I remember them shouting at the metal man that I want going to die, that I deserved better than that. And I... I remember them crying, and shouting for things I didn't understand.
I woke up after that, back in my apartment and unsure if it had all just been some crazy dream. I looked fine in the mirror, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. That feeling only grew stronger when I turned on the T.V. and saw that the building where I'd been crushed was still damaged, and saw recordings of Jet Jammer locked in combat with a strange, flying man made out of metal. As I watched Jet throw what looked like grenades at the metal man, the world seemed to spin around me. I tried to stand, but collapsed almost immediately as a wave of nausea swept over me. I could only let out a pained gasp as I vomited all over my apartment floor, causing what felt like every nerve in my body to flare in pain. As the edges of my vision darkened, I glanced up and saw the metal man standing in the doorway wearing an apron while absentmindedly mixing something in a pot. He gently shook his head in disappointment, and right before I lost consciousness I heard him say.
"I knew it was too soon. The body and mind need more time to acclimate. Looks like I'll have to initiate a partial reset." | 2022-09-23T12:44:45 | 2022-09-23T10:56:22 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] You’re hired with a dozen other professional personal security specialists to bolster a billionaire’s already strong security team at his residence for the weekend. No one knows why he is so scared he will be taken this particular weekend. You didn’t care. The money is excellent. | I drove up to the checkpoint to see five or six armed guards blocking the path. They were equipped with heavy-duty riot gear: face shields, body armor, M-16 rifles and M-9 side arms. These boys meant business.
"Good morning," I called out my window.
"Identification," one of the guards announced through his bushy beard. Spec Ops vets were all the same: once they get a breath of freedom from the military they go back to doing the same shit. But with beards.
I handed my ID out of the window, and beard guy handed it back to another guard who checked it against a clipboard. One of the guys to the right circled my car with an inspection mirror, checking the undercarriage like this was Iraq. I rolled down the window next to him.
"I think I hit a cat a half mile away. Can you check for me?" I smiled at him but he didn't even acknowledge me.
"Drive thirty feet up and pull to the right for inspection." Beardy handed my ID back to me and looked down the driveway.
"Thanks, buddy. Good talk."
I drove forward, parked, and was met with a new team of armored guards who searched my effects and tore the rental apart--stereo our of the console, rugs ripped up, the whole nine yards. When I protested, they handed me a paper receipt for the car from the rental agency.
$48,000 for a 2019 Toyota Camry. Paid for by Mr. Nock himself.
"What's he going to do with it?" I asked one of the inspectors.
"I don't know. Destroy it I guess. When you're a billionaire you can do shit like that."
"Too true. Where do I go from here?"
"Follow the path up to the main residence and talk to T.J. He'll assign you to a post and your watch will begin."
"Thanks, man." This guy seemed to be the first human being I had come in contact with thus far. "The name's Robert. Friends call me Robby."
He removed his tactical glove and extended his hand. "Miller. Friends call me Miller."
We shook and I went about packing my things back into my bag. "So, Miller, how'd you get into this line of work?"
"I was Air Force security forces for two years before cross-training into SERE. Got out in 2018 and I got picked up by Shieldpoint Logistics over here."
"A survivalist, huh? So if things go south tonight you'll know exactly how to stay alive in a billionaire's mansion."
He shrugged. "Air Force. It's how we do." We both laughed loudly, eliciting glares from some of the more stoic guards on duty. "What about you, Robby? How'd you start?"
By then I was all the way packed and eager to get started. "I'll tell you what. When this is all over, give me a call and I'll buy you a beer. I'll tell you the whole story." I handed him a business card with my info on it.
"I'll do that. Best of luck tonight!"
I rolled my eyes. Paranoid billionaires were easy pickings: unlimited money and show-of-force work only. I almost never even have to turn the safety off in these jobs. You stand around for 12 hours and get paid tens of thousands to do it. Except tonight Mr. Nock was paying a hundred grand per man. "Best of luck to you too, Miller."
I reached the house and followed the paper signs into Nock's huge foyer, where folding tables were erected and filled with computers and monitors and papers and pens. Charts were set up outlining the home's perimeter and marking weak points that required fortification and heavier guards.
A tall man in a button-up shirt under a bullet-proof vest walked up to me with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Morning!" He was older but had all the markings of a retired military man: grey, neatly-cut hair, pensive squint, well-fitted slacks but a loose gait. He had the posture of a man who could afford the finer things, but who has also killed people with his bare hands.
"Morning," I offered back. "I'm looking for T.J."
"You got him," he smiled to me and shook my hand. "I run security for Mr. Nock and I'm coordinating tonight's protocols. Who might you be?"
"Robby La Rue, at your service."
"Robby La Rue. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"
"A name that's fun to stay sticks to the front of your mind." I winked and tapped my temple. "I credit it with a fair number of my contracts."
He laughed before taking a sip of his coffee and shaking his head. "Well let's hope you're not all market branding, Mr. La Rue." He set the mug down on a nearby table and picked up a tablet. "You'll be stationed on the third floor tonight, from noon to 6am. Go see Carlos at Command Post to get your access badge and radio and he'll direct you from there."
I nodded toward Carlos and took it all in. Not even a 24-hour post. This was a light job.
"So... What's the threat?"
"Pardon?"
"What's the threat? I've counted one, two, three... Five different security companies working here. Cordons, checkpoints, reinforcements... Is it just billionaire paranoia or is the threat credible?"
T.J. picked up his mug again and looked at me for a while without saying anything. "We have full catering in the kitchen. Hope you like Tex-Mex. Coffee is always freshly brewed and unlimited. Use the radio to get whatever you need. Carlos will assist you with the rest." His tone was flatter. Did I offend him? He didn't seem like a man so easily set off like that.
T.J. walked off. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and went across the huge room to find Carlos and get started.
\-------------------------------------------------
Follow the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProtoWriter469/comments/go1hru/short_story_robby_la_rue/)! | Ice clinked in a glass. Lord Tristain gulped back another shot. The glass met the surface of a mirror-polished marble table with a rattle.
Arthur idly flicked his butterfly knife. The signs of fear were not unfamiliar to him and yet...there was something intriguing about watching a man who thought he would be dead soon sit calmly in an armchair, drinking slowly.
“Say, you’re hitting the bottle a little hard, aren’t you?” Arthur said.
Beside him, his partner elbowed him, “Don’t be rude!” Napier pasted a smile onto his smarmy face, pushing back a lock of greased hair, “You don’t have to worry about a thing, sir. Besides all the tin soldiers you have outside...Art and I are the best in the business.”
The old man laughed. It was an unpleasant sound, like the rattling of a dead tree.
“Really? Do you think you lot are qualified...to kill ghosts?”
Napier’s brow twitched. Arthur knew he was trying not to say anything- Napier didn’t like doing things that led to not getting paid.
Arthur didn’t really have much concerns.
“What d’you mean ghosts, sir?”
Lord Tristain looked at him. The shadows in the little study seemed to draw even closer to his form, pooling into the deeply wrinkled sockets of his eyes.
“I guess there’s no harm telling someone...” the old man sighed, “It’s only appropriate- vengeance cannot be fulfilled unless the sin is brought to light.”
Napier started, thumbing the trigger of his pistol, “Well, sir, you don’t really have to-“ he started nervously.
“Nah, I wanna hear this,” Arthur blinked, “C’mon. If we’re fighting a ghost maybe I can talk to it. Would be kind of cool to know if dead people really can come back to be a pain in the arse.”
“Ah,” Lord Tristain scratched the back of his neck, “If you hypothetically murdered someone on the for the sake of taking their identity and enjoying their wealth, do you think they’d be inclined to talk or cut straight to the point?”
The two bodyguards stared at him.
“Well, shit,” Napier said, his real tone revealed through his surprise.
Arthur squinted, “Wait, this is a hypothetical scenario right? I thought we were talking about who you thought was going to murder you...?”
“Art, you idiot,” Napier sighed.
“Eh, anyway don’t worry about it,” Arthur told Lord Tristain, “We’ll kill whoever’s coming here to get you at midnight.”
“Art, I told you, you can’t just say ‘kill’...” Napier continued.
Lord Tristain laughed suddenly, interrupting their banter. He looked up at their stunned faces and laughed again, clutching his sides and laughing until tears streamed down his eyes.
“I...I always knew I would pay for what I did...” he whispered, “Ah...it’s such a relief to know that someone knows the truth now.”
Abruptly, there was the sound of an electrical sizzle. The lights cut for a second. Arthur lunged forward as he heard the sound of a choked gasp.
The lights flickered on again.
“Damned power outage...” Napier looked around the room warily. The single door leading out of the enclosed study was still firmly shut.
“Naps...he’s dead,” Arthur said, pointing at the armchair, “Looks like a heart attack if I’m gonna guess,” he said with a professional nod.
Napier slowly looked to his wristwatch, “It’s midnight.”
“Damn!” Arthur started.
“Yeah, a ghost-“ Napier began.
“No, that’s not important!” Arthur waved his butterfly knife agitatedly, “Naps! We’re not going to get paid!” | 2020-05-21T06:19:39 | 2020-05-21T06:07:35 | 106 | 11 |
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | My name flashed on the screen. Not just my name--my date of birth, my city of birth, and my picture, a photo from a couple of years ago we were forced to submit. The moment I saw it my heart leaped into my throat and my gut felt like someone dropped a ton of rocks in it. Time seemed to stop, and all there was was the television screen and the soft robotic voice of the announcer. Then, adrenaline rushed through my body. I knew the game. We all knew it. The next step was to find safety.
I rushed through the living room, into the kitchen, down the stairs into the basement. As I did I heard my wife Janet begin to wail upstairs. She was giving our youngest, Bryson, a bath, and listening to the broadcast on the radio. I heard her shout, "No, no, no, no," again and again as she drained the water from the tub and shuffled her feet upstairs, no doubt wrapping Bryson in a towel so she could come downstairs to catch me. I'll never know for certain.
In the basement we had a closet with three large backpacks hanging on hooks. One for me, one for my wife, and one for our oldest son, Daniel, who was away to college right now. Dust collected on the tops, thickest on mine and Janet's. The phone rang upstairs. I could hear my wife stomping around up there. The air in the basement was musty, like moldy bread. I grabbed my backpack off the hook and quickly unzipped it, ensuring the clothing and food inside was still vacuum sealed, still safe from the elements.
"Lewis!" I heard my wife cry out. "Lewis don't go yet!" Bryson was crying. Viola, our middle child, just starting eighth grade, came out of her room. "What is going to happen to dad?" I heard her say, her voice muffled above. I had the backpack on and was running toward the stairs leading up to the back entrance. I could feel the tears running down my face. As I reached the top of the stairs, I threw open the back door. Janet's voice, loud and despairing in my right ear, screaming for me to stop, to take her with me.
I almost stopped. I almost took her with me.
Immediately upon leaving the back door, stepping out into the cold night air, I barely saw my neighbor, Allan, standing across the driveway, behind his white picket fence, silhouetted by the lights of his home. He had a hunting rifle leveled at me. He never said anything, he just took the shot, and I managed to duck out of the way just in time. He was too close for such a long range weapon, and he knew it, dropping the rifle and pulling a silver pistol out of his side holster. I was running down the driveway to the car, my car, my breath hot in my lungs. I had just eaten a big dinner before the announcement--spaghetti and meatballs, a nice salad. Garlic bread. Glass of wine. I could feel the acidity of the pasta sauce gargling up my throat.
Allan took a couple of shots at me, all missed. I reached the car and threw myself inside, starting the engine without even thinking about it. Allan shot twice more, putting a hole in the windshield. I turned on the headlights, and he was now in full light. Viola was there too, and I heard her scream, "Stop shooting, you asshole!" Allan looked over at her, then quickly ran inside his house as I pulled out of the driveway. My wife never left the house. I drove in silence for hours, tears pouring down my face, choking myself with my own sobs. I slept in the back seat. I watched the sun rise while eating a bag of beef jerky.
The first step, they say, is to get as far away from everyone you know as you can. They are always the first to come, because they know you, they know how you work, where you go, what you do. After that, it's just a matter of hunkering down and moving constantly. That's how you make it. Or so they say. But the big thing is: you never go back. | I wonder, are they having fun? The world government, the rich, the powerful, are they enjoying this? This war that they've created must be entertaining to them.
The world's citizens were divided. The vast majority were greedy, desperate, or maybe both? They all wanted my head and the $10 million associated with it. Some formed squads, vowing to split it. Others were not as trustworthy, fighting each other even to approach me.
However, that would have been difficult. The other group was the more altruistic minority. Some of them just had a stronger code of morals amplified by a now tangible reward for it. Others were more rational realizing that the amount of wealth redistribution caused by the rich giving everyone else a fraction of their resources would be enough not only to improve their own situation by leaps and bounds, but that of billions of others as well.
And so they banded together, pooling the meagre resources they had to construct a fortress to protect me. A modern castle nestled in the Canadian wilderness. They had a militia formed from people who had been meticulously analyzed and tested before being allowed within 5 kilometres of the complex. They had the best doctors with the best hearts to ensure my health. They even had more humble ones as servants to reduce the risk of me injuring myself and becoming more vulnerable.
Every day I would sit and wait out the years while people tried to make the trek and assassinate me. Groups in armoured trucks with homemade explosives would launch their assault and be beat back. Individuals would try to sneak in and be caught, then shot. And even people in this complex will try to betray me, and be met with swift and deadly response.
And so I would sit in solace at the bottom of the complex, counting out the days and the lives. And I would hope that the near omniscient rulers of this world were enjoying this. And I would hope that in the end, this will have been worth it for all of us. | 2017-05-17T20:01:23 | 2017-05-17T18:58:41 | 397 | 46 |
[WP] When space colonies became a practical reality, the rich and powerful left Earth in droves, leaving the rest of humanity behind on a broken world. A few centuries later, Earth has, through much effort, been restored to its former glory. Now the colonists want to return. | Adeira stood at the helm of the guard satellite, her shoulders stiff as she watched the approaching fleet of ships. She didn’t think they would come back in her lifetime. She had heard the stories of the ships from her grandmother, who had heard them from her grandmother.
“What do you think they are here for?” she asked her first officer.
The soldiers under her command lit the guard satellite’s warning lights, so powerful and bright and red, they could not be mistaken for anything other than a threat. The ships continued to approach.
The ships reached the invisible barrier that protected Earth from everything outside the atmosphere, and the hulls of their gleaming ships dented as they made impact. The ships tried to continue.
It would be a futile endeavor. The barrier had been built strong enough to withstand even a storm of asteroids. They would only kill themselves trying to trespass onto what was no longer theirs.
“Send a messenger ship and bring back their representatives,” she said.
Two hours later, two men in silver suits appeared in her quarters. Dinner was laid out in front of them, and she invited them to take a seat.
“I’m Captain Rivard,” she said. “May I know the reason for your arrival to Earth?”
“We’re returning to our home,” the first man said. “I’m Gren Beize, by the way.”
“This is not your home,” she said. “The Collective has decreed that by leaving Earth at its time of need, your forefathers and all their descendants have forfeited citizenship of Earth. Our laws do not allow your entry, and our people do not welcome your return.”
“What?” the other man asked. “We’re humans! Of course Earth is ours!”
Adeira didn’t like the way he said ‘ours’. Like he owned the Earth, or like he was entitled to it.
“Are you?” she asked. They certainly did not look the part. Too tall, too pale, too alien.
“Perhaps your forefathers were, but you’re just interstellar wanderers, locusts looking for a place to land. Speaking in the loosest of medical terms, I suppose you’re human, but you’re not Earthlings.”
Both men in front of her looked confused, and she smiled.
“When you left us behind, Earth was near her death. There were frequent calamities and rampant disease, death everywhere. But we survived it. It was difficult, and it took a few centuries, but we are better off than we ever were before. Can you guess why?”
Adeira smiled and continued, “We realized that the moment you left, the Earth was no longer actively getting worse. We were doing badly, but we were in a state of convalescence. The symptoms were still there, but the cause of the disease was gone. We were in a world free of despots, dictators, lying godmen, lying politicians, drug cartel kingpins, oil barons, et cetera et cetera. We were free of the billionaires who hoarded wealth and resources from everyone else.”
“We helped as much as we could.”
“No,” Adeira shook her head. “Your forefathers helped as much as they wanted to, which was not much at all. A tiny fraction of their wealth could have ended a nation’s poverty, but they did not do that. Instead, they raced each other to outer space in phallic rockets like they were compensating for something.”
“I doubt you could live on our world even if we gave you a chance,” Adeira admitted. “We’ve heard of your ships’ culture from other travelers. You are a society of the rich, and their servants. We are a world of unions and equals.”
“We are running low on supplies!” Gren admitted. “We cannot survive for much longer on the ships.”
“Then we shall refuel your ships and offer you supplies. That, and nothing more.”
“We own parts of the Earth,” the other man said. “I own an entire island off the coast of Italy.”
“Your name, sir? Or your forefather’s?”
“Aeron Dalton,” he said. “My forefather’s name—”
“Does not matter. Only citizens of Earth are eligible to own property on Earth. The wealth you have left behind, we have redistributed long, long ago.”
“You cannot be so cruel,” Gren said, his voice breaking.
“We are not cruel, sir. Throughout the galaxy, we’re known as quite hospitable and peaceful, unless we are attacked..”
“We have weapons,” Gren said.
“Your ship itself could not breach our protective barrier. I doubt a few missiles will do anything at all. If you do not want your ships and your people to be disintegrated, I suggest you leave after graciously taking the aid we offer you.”
She got up to leave. The men had already taken up too much of her time. Soon, more of the ships would arrive, and each would return the same way. She stopped in front of the door.
“A final thing, gentlemen. I highly suggest that you do not claim to be from Earth, or call yourselves Earthlings when other beings ask for it. Misrepresenting yourself is a crime in this galaxy.”
“So what are we?” Aeron asked.
“Quite frankly?” Adeira said. “Homeless.”
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you liked my writing and would like to see more, please check out* r/analect*.* | A screen jumped on, sparks catching as the hologram sputtered to life. “This just in from Intergalactic nebula Incorporated, the latest up and coming galaxy is a familiar one to some of our founders - The Milky Way! A classic spiral galaxy with a few billion planets and stars that hosts hundreds of microfauna and, one incredible success story. More at 8 Alien Central Time.”
The crew looked at one another. It had been generations since their parents had fled the Milky Way for a better life. They froze themselves for three hundred years as the ship raced forward to Alpha Centura and the life they now lived. What a life it had come to - the last descendants of that trip that hadn’t made it rich developing galactic news agencies or other galaxy spanning businesses sat here in a small ship tossing marbles as they waited to enter the next galaxy to deliver yet another franchised building with enough ‘beef’ to last 50 years.
The Galaxy New continued after the brief commercial, “EARTH, a humanoid infested planet has come from behind to be the Milky Way’s greatest new tourist destination. After decades of failures they now host the cleanest atmosphere, the largest selection of unique fauna and wildlife and best of all the cuisine is out of this world. We all love Fonzi’s Earthen Pizza chain, this is the planet that developed pizza! I know where I’ll be taking my kids this orbit!” The blue news man with four eyes centered in two columns said before turning to his cohost, a more rounded blob of a being who covered sports.
“Cora….akkk, croak croak.”
“I do think they have marshlands, yes. Though perhaps too much oxygen for you. They are welcoming tourists through the space elevator and the landing gate. Any galactic passport is accepted though fees to vary.”
J-Ohn looked at his peers in the shack. They were space degenerates. Their families were something on Earth, they could afford a ticket to escape but now…they were delivering someone else’s franchise of their homeworld’s cuisine! “ I think…we should all go to Earth.”
The room was filled with giggles and ‘yeah rights’. “They will take us in, we are citizens after all - a few generations removed - but citizens nonetheless.”
“They hate our blood for leaving. And how tainted are we now? Twenty, thirty percent mutations? No, I think that ship has launched.” Murat was a cute girl who had maintained more of her earthly features than some of them but her ears were pointed and her nose had a collection of blue freckles and her skin had a blue hue to it that showed up under artificial light.
“But life could be so much better there! It could be freedom from this oppression. We could be rulers, benevolent and knowledgeable about space. They need people like us!” J-Ohn said, standing up.
“Our ancestors said the exact same thing when they left. The exact same thing. No, we stay the course. We deliver and we strive and we pull ourselves up by the bootstraps like our great-great-great grandparents always said.”
—— J-Ohn sat down and flicked a marble. Maybe it was for the best that they never return. | 2022-01-06T03:35:25 | 2022-01-05T19:26:35 | 143 | 85 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | The Priest produced a bright red, sparkly button nestled in a grey box from the sleeve of his long robe.
“Just press it and it’ll all be taken care of, like so.” He snapped his fingers, for emphasis.
“Right-o” I answered, but just as I was about to press it, I hesitated. “Waiiiiiiit a tick. Why do I have to press it?”
“Well...” He began “You ARE the Chosen One... It’s your job.”
“But it’s just a button, right?”
“Yes...” The priest left a slight drawl at the end of his sentence, as if he didn’t quite know where the conversation was heading.
“So, anyone with fingers could theoretically press it.” I paused for a moment. “Anyone with nubs, really. Hell, some poor stumpy bastard with no legs or arms could come in here and slap it with his cock. So why do I have to do it?”
“It’s...” The Priest was struggling with this. I don’t think he was used to people questioning things. It’s one of the marvels of religion, people just sort of accept what you tell them if you’re wearing the right set of robes. He even looked down to make sure he was wearing the set of robes that said “Why, yes, I am a Priest and everything I have to say is, indeed, exceedingly important”. “Look, it’s just what you’re supposed to do, what do you want from me?”
“I want you to press it!”
“I’m not supposed to!”
“Why? Because of some prophecy? Because of something some dead bloke wrote out in some piece of paper at the shit end of time? Have you ever heard stories of that place? They were goin’ around cuttin’ heads and snippin women’s clits! You really wanna follow those sorts of degenerates and perverts?”
“I...” He was quite clearly doubting himself.
I put a friendly arm around him. “Look mate, I say, fuck the prophecy and fuck whoever said it. You’ve got as much right to save the world as me. You press the button.”
The Priest eyed the button. It was rather shiny. “Surely... One press wouldn’t hurt?” He looked at me for approval. I nodded confidently and moved away slightly.
He pressed the button. Like a bolt from the blue, a bolt came out of the blue and turned him into a pile of smoldering ash, the button sitting comfortably atop the pile.
I took the button and brushed the dust off of it. In the middle of the button had appeared the words “Whoever pressed this button wasn’t the Chosen One, so they can fuck right off.”
“Well, glad I didn’t press it.” I said to myself, as I pocketed the button.
With the Priest taken care of and the button in my possession, I snapped my fingers and blew a hole in the wall of the Church, floating away to begin my conquest. It feels good to be the Dark Lord particularly when, after a hundred thousand years of defeats, you’ve finally got some proper fucking brains in your head. | I reach out slowly, completely fixated on the button. It’s red with concentric grooves. Seems overly simple to stop someone called the Dark Lord. It doesn’t seem like it would be able to tell the difference between my finger or anyone else’s.
I stop and pull my hand back. “What are you doing?” the priest demanded, “ there isn’t much time!”
“Look, man, I don’t even know you and your telling me I’m some sort of chosen one meant to stop all sorts of evil and destruction? This button doesn’t even seem like it could tell me from anyone else.”
The priest began to laugh maniacally. “I thought this time I could get you to cause the end of the world. But no matter. There’s always next time.”
He leapt forward and slammed his fist into the button... | 2020-11-09T12:45:40 | 2020-11-09T11:12:56 | 286 | 80 |
[WP] Humanity has to be put through a variety of trials in order to join the galactic community. These trials seem impossible to the Aliens because they are meant to be impossible in order to maintain an elite group. To Humanity, this is doable. | "All due respect, Senator, but are you shitting me? We passed the tests you set out for us - we conquered faster-than-light travel, we united under a single voice for representation in the Galactic Senate, we cured half a dozen causes of death, and we made a real AI. Now you're telling me there's more?" Devon Guilleria, the human representative to the Galactic Senate, was rapidly nearing the edge of his considerable patience. He'd been away from Earth for over five years, trying to break into the most exclusive club in all of known space. Not just for his own benefit but for the benefit of every human.
D'rik, the Senator tasked with overseeing Earth's membership application, stood in front of Devon and half shrugged the upper third of its gelatinous body. Devon had never really figured out all the new body languages and tells, but he was becoming accustomed to D'rik's mannerisms. "Yes, there, uh, has been some discussion amongst the membership committee. You must understand that Earth is progressing far faster than any other applicant in history. There are worlds who have had open applications for over two hundred of your years. My own world took nearly sixty Earth years and we were what you would call a 'shoo-in'. Those tasks were supposed to take at least a generation. You completed them too quickly. The committee is worried that allowing you full membership now would be disastrous for both us and you. Thus, the additional testing."
Devon stared at D'rik's eyestalks. If the Senator had been human, Devon was sure he could have found some hidden meaning or divined an ulterior motive in his opponent. As it was, Devon was forced to take the Senator's words at face value. "Fine," Devon said after a pause, "what are your damned tests?"
"First, science. You must demonstrate a critical grasp of stellar engineering at a minimum of Class Three. I'll have my assistant send over the technical documents that explain precisely what we'll be measuring."
Devon nodded.
"Second, xenorelations. The Gissk are a species that have been at war with the Galactic Senate for hundreds of Earth years. You must stop the bloodshed. They have never applied for Senate membership and consider the Senate a tool of the weak to oppress the strong. They treasure warfare as the highest and most noble calling. I do not envy you this task."
Devon nodded.
"Third, and finally, art. You must create a unique and meaningful display. I warn you that this will not be easy. Many of the races in the Senate are quite ancient and long-lived by human standards. To devise a work which is new even to them will be a formidable task."
Devon nodded.
"Do you have any questions?" D'rik asked.
"Any other rules or constraints? Time limits, things like that?"
"A few details, nothing of importance. My assistant will send over the formal documents if you are willing to accept the challenge."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then, at best, Earth's application will be sent for review for at least an Earth century."
Six months later, Devon hosted a formal reception aboard the USS Agamemnon. D'rik was there as were a dozen of the most important Senators from the membership committee. They stood in front of a giant display window, ten meters high, looking out into the vastness of space. Drinks and hors d'ouevres were served and the entire company had a wonderful time mingling.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Devon said from the small stage set up in front of the giant window. The room hushed and the lights lowered. A small spotlight shined down on Devon as he spoke. "Six months ago, my good friend Senator D'rik brought to me news of a new set of tests from the Galactic Senate membership committee. I'll admit, at first I was a little put off by the request. Especially considering we had just completed the first set of tests. Then I realized what a truly wonderful opportunity the committee had delivered to us."
Devon stepped to the side of the windows. "They had laid out three tasks - stellar engineering, ending the war with the Gissk, and create a truly unique work of art. I realized that this was a golden opportunity for us to show what humanity could really do. I've invited you all here today to accomplish all three goals in a single sweep."
Devon checked his watch and then said "Now."
The inky blackness of space flared outside the window. Dozens of stars exploded into brilliant displays of light. "What you are watching is a display of multiple stars being violently forced off the main sequence and into a nova state. We had to install a few artificial wormholes to get the light to show up here at the same time. Now, those aren't just any stars. Every one of those flashes of light houses a Gissk planet, including their homeworld. The survivors, assuming there are any, will be no trouble to wipe out. Finally, you'll notice the pattern - a five-fingered human hand with only the middle finger raised. I'm sure your cultural catalogs can explain that to you."
D'rik stared at the window in horror. "You killed them all? You blew up all those suns, wiped out an entire space-faring civilization, and 'flipped the bird' as your call it, all at once?"
Devon bit back a smile that he knew would come out more as a leer. "Yes. Yes we did. I told you - this test was a golden opportunity to show you what humanity is really made of. I hope you all give this display al due consideration when next you vote on our membership."
The room was silent. Each alien Senator turned and looked around them, only then noticing they were surrounded by humans and only then truly seeing them for the first time. | An excerpt of “The History of Humanity in the Intergalactic Council”:
As the main thrusters produced their characteristic thick clouds of white smoke and Eros II left the blue sphere we call our home, all of humanity was anxiously watching on. They were sure that their message would be well received; after all it had been viewed several billion times on Earth and represented human values perfectly. Hundreds of tons of metal, liquid hydrogen and oxygen were necessary to carry the most important video message sent in history. NASA and ESA engineers had spent weeks carefully planning a flight to a remote destination in space, that would only take a few months to be carried out, but would forever determine the future path of human civilisation. It was only two years before this historic day that a remote probe had come across it’s Intergalactic Alliance counterpart and thereby sparked a hugely bureaucratic process meant to establish whether or not the human race would be fit to take a spectating role on the Alliance’s council.
The task set for the human race was to demonstrate suitability to make complex decisions under pressure, a key requirement for associate membership of the Intergalactic Alliance. Unbeknownst to the human race, the standard for admission was set higher than that demonstrated by even the most advanced of races in the Council, and unsuccessful applications were generally concluded with immediate and permanent destruction of the applicants. Since establishment of the Alliance, not one application had been successful, although this fact was generally kept from the hopeful candidates. For the last twenty months every creative, logical and emotional mind had spent all their available time debating on how best to represent the complexity and uniqueness of human nature. Once Eros II’s payload would arrive at the Intergalactic Hub, Earth would be presented to the other voting council in a 47.3-minute video demonstration.
The council had come together in their usual meeting cavern on a giant ice planet, which – as was generally accepted - was older than the universe itself. While some viewed the upcoming application with optimism, the consensus amongst those attending the ceremony was one of irritation at the renewed bother of having to go through the bureaucratic extermination process once more. Council protocol demanded that complete silence and attention be kept throughout the demonstration, which angered yet more council members, since they believed this demonstration to be a waste of their time. As the lights in the cavern were extinguished, a large projection screen appeared and the chatter died down. The human demonstration video began to play.
50 minutes later the council retreated to discuss their options and it quickly became clear that humanity would be a problematic issue to discuss. There had never been anything like the recording that the council was presented, and it had split the delegates into three factions supporting the three main presenters of the demonstration tape. As viewpoints were exchanged it was determined that humanity would indeed be a valuable asset for the council. This decision was not taken lightly, but – as historians would later agree – was strongly influenced by the council chair’s inability to stop the flow of tears following the final three minutes of the human presentation. Without the council chair’s approval, the reader of this book would not be around to study our recent history and the selection of video demonstration was most excellent. I can only praise my ancestors for their wise choice.”
To this day every child knows the title of the 47.3 minute long demonstration video (in Spanish) carried aboard the Eros II payload capsule: Fuego.En.La.Sangre.S1E1.1080p.bluray.CAM-RIP.yify.mp4
_______
I couldn't quite tie it together at the end, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! | 2016-10-24T14:54:59 | 2016-10-24T14:28:59 | 413 | 38 |
[WP] Throughout a persons life, they are given a hidden guardian. A creature that watches over their lifespan. When someone is murdered, the creature haunts the killer. You have been found, murdered. And your guardian is loose. | I thought of Jamie, lying in the woods, while I stood behind Tom as her blood mixed with water and poured down the sink from his hands. *Sixteen years,* I kept thinking with murderous rage. She’d been my shortest charge, but one that I was overly fond of. It is always those with the brightest light that attract the insects.
I held my head right over his shoulder, turning so that my breath bushed against his neck. He flinched and turned around, his eyes still wild from his deed. I smiled, functioning only through the fuel of my revenge.
He removed his clothes, and shoved them into a black bag. Smears of blood remained on the edge of the sink, and the floor had two bloodied footprints.
I walked to his bedroom while he climbed into the shower, and retrieved a hanger. When I returned, I waited for the glass of the shower to cover with steam, and then removed the clothes from the bag, swept the shirt—still soaking wet with her blood—across the floor to spread the blood, and hung it up against the door. Stepping aside, I slammed it shut.
The door of the shower opened, and he leaned his head out. The horror that swept over him reminded me of my days of being a demon. Guardianship was a rehabilitation program, and for the first time since I started, I felt like I was probably going to fail at it.
“Who’s there?” he asked, and climbed out. His face was clean, but strings of light red water dripped down his torso.
“How did it feel?” I whispered and smiled as his eyes helplessly traced the empty room.
I pressed my back against the wall, right across from the mirror, and crossed my arms. My wings, light grey and still in the process of redemption, grew darker by the second. I thought I’d care when the change came, but the fury that filled me sated a hunger that I had long forgotten I had.
He climbed out and wrapped a towel around his waist. Walking over the sink, the vein in his neck twitched with a rising fear. He turned the cold tap, and scooped up the water, splashing it over his face. When he looked up, my face flashed at him through the mirror, and he jumped away, running for the door.
I followed him into the bedroom as he shuffled through his closet throwing out a shirt onto the bed, and grabbed a pair of pants.
I felt a new presence in the room, and heard the flutter of wings behind me. “Kral, it would be wise of you to leave us now.”
“He’s not worth it,” the guardian said, and I heard a knock in the broken floor plank of Tom’s apartment as he stepped closer toward.
“Leave.” He knew better than to try and fight me now. I doubted he gave a single shit about Tom to risk losing the progress of his redemption. A wind blew against my back as Kral disappeared.
I stood behind Tom as he clumsily buttoned his shirt, skipping buttons with his shaking fingers. I pressed my nail against his neck and swiped as hard as I could. The skin did not split, but a red line formed.
“Did she scream?” I asked, my voice bellowing through the room.
Tom tried to run but I caught him by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the corner by the door. I wanted him to see the exit be a step away from him, but know that despite his best efforts he would never get to go through it.
I appeared before him, and he crawled into a ball on the floor, his lip quivering like that of a weeping child.
“I will kill you now, Thomas. And I know this seems like the worst thing that can possibly happen to a man like you in this predicament, but let me tell you this, when you cross the gates of hell, I shall be waiting. There where even death cannot release you.”
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AlinaKG/comments/4or4yn/demon_rehabilitation_part_2/)
More stories here, /r/AlinaKG | "Where the hell are the Cheetos?"
These were not the first words I expected to hear in the afterlife. This is the afterlife, right?
Yeah, that's my severed head over there. I'm definitely dead.
The fat gnome shook the empty chip bag again, creating another orange dust cloud. He licked at the cheesy apparition, and, unsatisfied, lumbered off towards the pantry. "Damn Scott, you gotta have some decent snacks left around here," he garbled.
"Who are you?"
"I'm your guardian, you moron. Been following your lame ass your whole life. Supposed to protect you or avenge you or something." He garbled out a laugh. Or maybe he was hacking phlegm? I couldn't tell.
"I know that. So what are you doing in my pantry? Some dude just burst in and cut my head off!"
"Hell yeah! That was so badass! Way better than watching you play that stupid shooter another 7 hours."
"You worthless---" I tried to shove my floating ghost body towards the grimy gnome. Instead, I found myself 4 feet above the ground. As I soared upwards, I managed to grab hold of the banister to keep myself from crashing into the ceiling. He let loose another phlegmy cackle as he tore open a bag of chips.
"---why aren't you doing anything?" I managed to squeak out, "Aren't you guys supposed to be powerful avengers? Hunting down murders? Haunting them to their last dying breath? Making them pay for---"
My monologue was cut off by the television turning on. The Gnome tossed aside the remote, grabbed a fistful of chips, and kicked back.
"Listen kid. I know you've heard all these fancy stories about guardians taking insane revenge schemes, but the truth is, we learn from you. I spent my life watching you sit on your fat ass. Now it's time for you to watch me do the same." | 2016-06-18T08:05:55 | 2016-06-18T07:46:17 | 575 | 187 |
[WP] Due to a mix-up, the body count of all your video game kills is attributed to you personally. Upon your death, the Devil excitedly rushes to the gates of hell to greet you. | "Sir?" The goblin bowed nervously, clutching a ledger to his chest, glancing at his master. "He is here."
Lucifer, The First Fallen, Bringer of Light, stood upon the balcony of his palace. Thick leathery wings sprouted from between his shoulder blades, elegantly draping across his back, curling into a dark cloak. Gnarled hands hovered near the hilt of a jagged sword, starkly contrasted to the brass horn strapped to his side. His dark eyes scanned the endless mountain range of fire before him.
"What do you make of him?" Lucifer asked.
"He is...unexpected, m'lord. Small in stature. Young from what the scouts report."
"Young?"
"I checked several times with the records. He is fourteen at best."
"Fourteen?" Lucifer was careful to hide his surprise. Surprise was often mistaken for fear. Fear in Hell was a sentence worse than death. "Where is he now?"
"The greeting party left the Bastard Gate this morning, they should be passing through the Reach shortly."
"Who leads them?"
The goblin licked his lips, eyes daring anywhere but the blackness of his master's gaze. "Balthazar" he croaked. Lucifer's breath quickened, nostrils filling with the stench of brimstone. He turned from the balcony, marching back inside the palace.
"So, he seeks to supplant me?" Lucifer sneered. "Balthazar seeks this...this child as an ally to usurp me?" The goblin fought to keep up his master's pace, sensing more than knowing the direction they headed through the endless corridors.
"None would join him in such a deception, m'lord. It is simply a gesture, I am sure."
"You have risen higher than most, worm. Use the intellect that has provided you with position, lest you fall further from grace than I."
"He would need more than minions," the goblin stammered, mind racing. "Allies from the pits. Even the Nine Circles. How would he convince them, m'lord?"
"He knelt before Christ bearing gifts. The very son of God. Balthazar's deception compared to that would be small indeed. There is a reason the Ninth is reserved for treachery." Lucifer halted outside the armoury, glancing at the gigantic doors, carved from volcanic stone.
"M'lord, do you think this wise? If you go to meet this boy, the horde will think you show weakness. You will play into Balthazar's deception." The goblin was appalled by his words, questioning the Lord of Hell was never wise. But it necessary. Lucifer only smiled.
"You will suffer for that question. But later. You said he was young, what did the scribes say he used in battle?"
The goblin rushed through his ledger, feverishly searching.
-----
Balthazar watched the child closely from atop his horse, his retinue stretching for miles behind them. His flesh had sagged through the ages, each step made by the dead horse jostled his belly despite layers of silk. Beady, sweat-laden eyes pretended not to watch the child, he was close now. Close to the victory he had planned since coming here.
For the thousandth time he glanced at the child. The boy was young, no older than he was when he made the journey through the endless desert, following a star in the East. A nose where it should be. Two blue, bright eyes. A shock of blond hair. But this child was different; confident, nearly careless, and utterly fearless.
"Is that it?" the boy asked, pointing toward Lucifer's palace in the distance. Balthazar was careful with his words, making sure he spoke the language of humans rather than demons.
"It is. Soon to be yours," Balthazar slurred. *Soon to be mine*. "You need only defeat its owner."
"Who was that again?"
"No one worth mentioning. He is of little-"
A rush of wind silenced Balthazar, the familiar flapping of wings accompanied Lucifer as he landed in front of them.
"Consequence?" Lucifer finished, smiling, arms holding a wrapped bundle. A goblin clung to his leg, shaking with fear.
Balthazar was quick to maintain his charade, flinging himself from his horse, the thousand behind him following suit, prostrating themselves before their host. But even as they knelt he could see the question in their eyes. Their lord never ventured outside of his walls. Balthazar was careful to hide his smile. *This is the last time I kneel before you!*
"My lord. I have brought you the boy. He is ready to take his place at your side."
"I see you speak the words of a human. Interesting." Lucifer glanced at the horde, eyes eventually reaching the boy. "At my side, or take my place? So you can follow after?"
"My lord, I seek only to raise your greatness further. He has done wondrous, terrible deeds, a thousand thousand dead lay behind him. The boy can help-"
"Can help you, Balthazar. Isn't that what he promised you, boy?"
The child looked bored. *Bored*. If Balthazar didn't need him he would have snapped his neck.
"He told me some stuff about you," the boy said. "He said you were the best. If I killed you then I would be the best."
Balthazar felt his opportunity slipping away, and turned to the demon horde at his back, speaking in the tongue of Fire. "Your master would give his kingdom to the boy, he is weak. Kill him!"
The gathered creatures stared at their master, thousands of warriors, eyes slowly filling with doubt. Lucifer made no move to silence Balthazar, to kill him for such an accusation, and their fears were confirmed. They roared in unison, unable to understand their lord's actions. Unable to comprehend careful Balthazar's betrayal.
*I have you* Balthazar grinned.
Lucifer calmly unwrapped the bundle in his hands, tossing something silvery toward the boy.
The child caught instinctively, hands coming to rest on the weapon as naturally as breathing. Left hand holding the barrel, right hand on the grip. Eyes down the sight, finger on the trigger.
The AWP nearly dwarfed him, but seemed an old friend.
Lucifer pointed at Balthazar, grinning as he spoke. "He called you a noob."
The child leaped into the air, lungs screeching, spinning, legs twirling, arms flailing in pure rage, as he spun 360 degrees and fired the weapon without looking.
Balthazar's head exploded, thick pulpy mass spraying the demons close to him as they halted, watching the display.
The boy landed on his feet, rushing to Balthazar's twitching corpse. He tossed the weapon aside, and pulling down his pants, began to furiously tea bag the body, tiny testicles ramming the headless corpse, screeching all the while he pounded.
"CALL ME A FUCKING NOOB?! YOUR MOM DIDN'T THINK THAT LAST NIGHT!"
Lucifer smiled as he turned and walked back toward his palace, the demons slowly rejoining him, as the cries of 'Your Mom' continued behind them. He would have to carve out another Circle of Hell for this boy, something appropriate.
The Tenth Circle. Reserved for campers and children playing games they shouldn't. | Cool gates they had there - black, wrought-iron, jagged in all the right places, nice fire effects. As for how I got here, well, St. Peter had just raised his eyebrow at me and pointed left. So after two steps to the left and three hours of falling, I splatted face-down right outside the burning gates of Hell. Now, don't get me wrong - the gates looked kickass, great venue for a metal show. Not the best neighborhood to move into, though.
I was barely back on my feet at this point when a giant cloven-hoofed goat-man with horns and the fugliest damn face you ever saw came striding over to me with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.
"Buddy, buddy, *buddy*!" He sidled up to me and put his arm around my shoulder. (Or, he put his hand there anyway. Dude was like twice my height.)
"Uh...have we met?"
He laughed. It was hideous. If I still had physical eardrums, they'd have exploded.
"Have we met? *Have we met?* Oh, we've met, my boy - oh yes, many a time." He threw out his giant man-bear-goat hand to shake mine. "Name's Lucifer. I just *had* to personally welcome one of my most devoted followers."
I shook his hand (or, um, tried), but I didn't get why he was so damn happy to see me.
"So. Um. Ol' Pete didn't tell me why I'm here. Lemme guess - it was the lying right?"
Satan stopped smiling. "What?"
"Or...that *one* time I cheated on my taxes?"
"You cheated seven times, but *come on* - that's weak shit compared to why you're *really* here."
"Which is...what? If you even tell me it was masturbation - "
He threw his head back and jumped for joy. Seriously - the Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Flies, and Fount of all Evil did a little jig, right there.
"Oh ho ho! Excellent! Masterful work, boy, really - truly."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He sidled up again. "Arkangelsk, 1986. Eh? *Eh?*"
I looked blankly at him. "Huh?"
"The Russians! You killed *thousands* of them. Oh, I especially enjoyed when you aimed for the throat so their end would be slow and painful. The grasping! The choking! It makes me feel positively fuzzy inside, let me tell you."
"Uh - "
"And the tanks! Sure, blowing the Ruskies to pieces is fun, but rolling over them to hear their muffled screams before you reduce them to a fine paste - *that* was inspired. And to do it so many times, over and over and over again. Brilliant! Oh, you and Adolf will get along *great*."
"So, yeah, I'm pretty sure - "
"Boy, humility is the *last* quality you'll need here, I assure you. Oh, and then there was the time you joined a death cult, pledged your soul to a corpse, and knifed everyone in the back for funsies."
"Okay, yeah, I'm pretty sure that was Sk -"
"And sometimes in the face! I like those better. More agony!"
"But -"
"And the time you went to space and shot fire-bullets at everyone was magnificent. The screaming, the burning, the disintegration - perfect. Now I'm partial to fire, of course - "
"Those were video games!"
The smile left his face once again.
"Come again."
"You know, games? You kill fake people on a screen to win the game?"
The Lord of the Underworld's face went stony. He marched over to one of his attendant demons and had a word. This wasn't much of a conversation, though - after maybe a sentence, he picked him up, tore him in half, then devoured the remains. Meanwhile, I just kind of twiddled my thumbs over there, deflecting awkward glances from the damned lined up outside the gate.
After wiping the demon-juices from his monstrous face, Lucifer stomped back over to me and heaved a gigantic sigh.
"Fourth time this week. You think we could get some better bean-counters down here, but it turns out our guys are excellent bullshitters."
"So...where do I *go*?"
He pointed toward a shitty-looking pneumatic tube near the gates.
"I had a guy phone that pansy-ass Pete. They cleared it up. Hop in there - mid-level Purgatory for you."
"Uh - okay then. Nice meeting you."
"Eat shit and die, human."
"Already dead, remember?"
He growled a bit as I made my way to the tube. "You couldn't have killed even *one* worthless human for me?"
"Nope." And it was up and away. | 2015-11-19T23:38:32 | 2015-11-19T23:09:22 | 214 | 67 |
[WP] Your super power is preventing collateral damage. While the public thinks you're useless, all the other heroes really like you because they can go bonkers all out while you're around. | Taking it more towards "Established Universe"
××××××××××××
"Kevin finally showed up!" Superman heard in his earpiece. He grinned.
His fight with Darkseid was over one second later. Superman loved not having to hold himself back, especially in this world as fragile as cardboard to him.
"Good work," Batman could be heard on the secure frequencies. "See if Kevin needs your help, otherwise you may return," this was said to him specifically.
"Sure thing!" replied Clark Kent.
He approached the somewhat secluded rooftop.
"Thank you for helping out today!"
"Uhh... It's fine," was Kevin's reply.
"Where is Brainwave?" Superman felt the need to ask. Usually they were inseparable.
"Indisposed," was Kevin's monotone reply.
Something about how he said it didn't sit right with Superman. The increase in Kevin's heartrate was another indication something weird was going on.
"Something you would like to share?" Clark asked with as little suspicion as he could.
Unfortunately, he was never known for his subtlety.
"What is collateral?" Kevin asked him instead.
Superman was back to being confused. "Are you worried about a loan? Justice League helps one of their own, worry not!"
"It is my superpower, you know? Stopping all collateral damage." Kevin continued as if he hadn't said a word. "But who defines what is collateral? What was intended?"
"I remember reading about how Brainwave was helping you attune your mind to react quickly..." Clark lead him on. Already his comms were on, and Batman was listening to every word and doing whatever trickery he did to them.
"Yeah, he helped me a lot, thanks for that, really." Kevin spoke with a finality that Clark didn't like, not at all. "He helped me understand what is or isn't collateral. For that I will forever be thankful to him." There was a smile on Kevin's face.
"Brainwave's comms are offline," came the voice of Batman.
"Whatever he did to my daughter... None of it was collateral. I checked many, *many* times. It was exactly what he had intended. He made sure I knew."
"Detain him Superman, we can question him from the safety of a secure prison."
"He made sure to let me know, all damage done by you superheroes was collateral, except the one inflicted on the villain. Except the ones you had intended."
Superman was already accelerating, his hands around Kevin's neck so he wouldn't die off a whiplash, his feet ready to jump away, but... he couldn't.
"You are a superhero, and I am a mere bystander. I am no villain, Superman," Kevin said with a sad smile.
Clark increased his force. The concrete under his feet cracked and repaired itself, as did Kevin's clothes under his wrists.
And he remained unmoved.
"If Brainwave was a superhero, even after everything he did... There are no villains on this world, Superman."
And to his growing horror, he realised Darkseid was forming again, his bits and pieces slowly coming together.
"I have a simple task, Superman, and I have come to see it finished. I will see Earth free from all its collateral damage."
And then Superman felt the sun slip away from his skin.
"You don't need all that heat damaging your skin, now, do you?" | *the mental toll, I don’t think I can take it anymore. I got these powers just seemingly yesterday, despite the actual timing being months ago. I feel as this duality of gaslighting is bring me down. The public thinks I’m useless and the others think I’m a janitor…I don’t know. Walking along this sideway on a dark night, my head down; my hoodie up. I feel as if I just trapped myself, it hurts but I cling on to the hope of change. One day I may become better.*
*I have my doubts, my insecurities. Regardless how much I lie to myself, I feel as if…no one really cares. I saw my powers as a gift but now I’m just a tool……a…just…I don’t know actually and that’s what makes me scared. I don’t know what I am anymore: a hero? A tool? A handicap? Something for the public to keep their eyes on so the others can get away with everything. I care about human life, and I want to save others in the best way I can….I hope change is what they truly say; inevitable, if not.*
*Then why am I a hero?* | 2022-12-17T12:12:46 | 2022-12-17T11:35:31 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You're an architect working for a mid-scale construction company... specialized in supervillain lairs. | "New client!" Lenny was jazzed, but then Lenny was always jazzed about new clients and new ideas, that was what made him a such a good architect.
That jazz-ination was part of why we were who we were. We'd fallen into our specialty by accident, after a particularly artsy and visually stunning piece of work we'd done was featured in a major magazine. Our small-ish firm suddenly started getting a lot of attention but most of the potential clients would back off once they viewed our daring designs or heard the outrageous price tags. Until the morning in April when that client showed up: draped all in black with a robot minion, a cruel scar, a literal chest of gold and a vision that was the kind challenge that made me want to hug him. His minion threatened to kill me, so I didn't. But the feeling was there.
I put down my pen on the lair I was working on, a fairly interesting desert compound, and followed him into his office. Lenny danced about a bit, winding his hips and shaking his shoulders to some music in his head. I let him because that's who Lenny was. He was the idea man, the face of the firm, the talker and deal-maker and I made it all the crazy ideas a reality, usually only bending math and physics just a little. I indulged him a bit. "New client. Best. Deal. Ever!" he screamed, punctuating his scream with a hip thrust. A few heads turned in the office but this was expected. They went back to work.
"Best deal ever? That's saying a lot. Impress me." I said quietly, the confidence in my voice clearly evident.
"This one is the one we've been waiting on. This is the one that no one thinks anyone can pull off. We just need to put together the best proposal and we've got a month."
"So we don't have the deal. Then I'll leave this to you." I got up to get back to work. Lenny did the bids and he knew that. Lenny laughed a bit then slipped in front of the door and put his hands on my shoulders, backing me up across the room until was pressed against his desk. He smiled that rakish smile that I envied and stepped back a bit, crossing his arms. "Yes, it's a bid. But you know there is not really anyone else competing. They just want to see what we can come up with before they commit. And, it includes the construction layout with scheduling. Because they want done in secret."
I snorted a little, like he'd suggested they wanted done with doorways. "We've done secret."
"Not like this."
"So, it's a mountain lair? We've done mountain top. With the retractable dome, indoor spa, and nuclear power-plant. In a national park. In secret."
"You're thinking small." Lenny said with a laugh.
"Volcano lair? Okay, tricky but I'm sure we can do it. What, nature preserve for something? Matter of fact, I've had an idea about a lava fall like an fountain in the middle of the main hall that if the tubes are right will be eye popping."
"You're still thinking small. It's me, it's Lenny, you think I would bring you a deal that will make you a legend and you're thinking volcano? Give me some credit."
"Deep sea? Water pressure is the worst to deal with, you know I don't like those."
"Who said deep sea? I didn't say deep sea." Lenny said with overwrought look of confusion.
"Not mountain, not volcano, so we're talking urban, like a downtown lair? Like under the noses of millions." The very idea had a lot of space in it. I could already see possibilities. "Okay, I'm seeing this, is it a warehouse or office building? How much space are we talking? Wait, does this mean we can finally do the disappearing skyscraper?"
Lenny's face fell a bit. He shook his head. "You have no imagination. I dunno why I work with you. I say best deal ever and this is what you spit back?"
"Okay, fine. You've dragged this out forever, and I really need to finish Del Terror's desert compound second level sketches."
"Forget Del Terror, I'll get Vince or Clark to work on it." My business partner waved his arms. "No, we need to focus on this. This is the big one."
I crossed my arms, the sign I was ready to actually leave. Lenny gave in. He theatrically went back over to the door to check that it was still closed and pranced back to his side of the desk. I turned and gave him the deep sigh that said we'd wasted enough time.
"It's the Brotherhood of Destruction." Lenny's eyes lit up as he said it. "They want a headquarters. I mean the whole shebang, the grand meeting hall, the labs, the integrated defensive systems, everything."
"So? We've done a secret headquarters before." I said, wondering what the big deal was. "Yes, the Brotherhood would be our biggest client yet, but still, it's just a headquarters."
Lenny's voice slid down to a whisper. "...they want to build it on the moon." | "But I'm not sure if it's in my budget"
The villain squirmed slightly in his seat across from me, clutching his coffee with fingers white from the tension.
"I can assure you, Mr Smith, that the investment is worthwhile. Our Super villain lair systems are the most advanced and most tailored of all"
"I know, I know. All of my friends have been raging about you...I just, I'm not sure. I mean, do I really need the full discretion package?" he asked, staring over his spectacles as he swapped the coffee to finger through the documents laid out in front of him.
"As you know, once the deal is made, and the system delivered, we sever contact completely. However, you may feel somewhat inclined, as people of your line of work sometimes do, to leave no witnesses, or loose ends. With this package, we can guarantee that not only will our workers be qualified and able, but also fully expendable. They build it, and you can dispose of them as you wish. I mean really, you wouldn't want anyone to know where your lair is, would you?"
He looked into my eyes carefully, his fidgety movements stopping for the first time in the conversation. His eyes narrowed.
"If we start that kind of thinking, Mr Jones, then I would be liable to question you, also."
Taking a sip of coffee, I waited a moment, smiled. Appearing unflinchingly confident in moments like these was key not only in the negotiation, but in survival. Even the slightest tell of nerves, the smallest admission of fear, and I would be dead.
"We operate in a way that means I will only deal with you and the design and requirements stage. I will plan your lair, and any subsequent additions you may require, but I will never know the location or any other specifics, nor will my team. Not even your real name, as you will not know mine"
He seemed pleased, resuming his movements, picking up the sheet and ticking the box marking for full discretion. A wise choice, but one fraught with the pains of conscience on my side.
Collecting the papers back together, and scrawling one last scribble of a signature on the last, he stood.
"I'm afraid I must leave Mr. Jones, duty calls. Please begin the designs. My people will be in touch with yours"
Wrapping a scarf around his neck in a fluid motion, he turned and left the cafe, a few large suits rising in time and following him out.
I waited a few minutes before allowing myself to breath in relief.
We would know where his lair was. We would bug the shit out of it, and when the day came, use it to manipulate him and his resources to our will. Him and all the other super-villains and heroes, all playing their silly little games with bases.
I couldn't help but chuckle as I decided to go for another coffee, the thrill of the negotiation subsiding and a caffeine boost direly needed in its place.
/r/FatDragon | 2019-11-16T12:22:54 | 2019-11-16T12:19:00 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | Jives tried to warn me. He said that there was something off about Hilde when I first brought her back here to the castle, but I didn't want to listen. What was it that drove me to her? Lust? Her perfect form? Her exquisite face?
Doesn't matter now anyways. Didn't even get to apologize to Jives before she killed him. Said that "his eyes didn't suit his head". They're sitting there on the wardrobe now, looking back at me with an eternal glint of fear in them, slowly rotting away in that jar.
Strange to think that three months have passed since I brought her here. Then again, the stench of the corpses makes it hard to focus on much else.
"Oh darling, don't worry!" she told me. "I just don't want anyone distracting you from me!" That smile of hers, burned into my memory with the sounds of the knife tearing through Carlyle's throat, the gurgling and sputtering...ugh. Every night I wonder why I didn't try to stop her, why I simply stood by and watched as she went about slaughtering all the servants. Perhaps it's those damned eyes of hers. Black as the night sky, no feeling in them, no emotion. A terrifying sight, something that chills me to the bone every time she looks at me. It's inhuman.
Now they're all dead, strung up along the walls with rope or nails, while others still rest where she caught them. The stench set in after a few days, and has only grown worse over time. Maggots crawl to and fro amongst the bodies, and the flies can be heard buzzing all throughout the castle.
"It's for the best, my love," she remarked as she looped Roderick's entrails around the Dining Hall's chandelier. "Too many voices to distract you from me, too much air going to waste on the others." Not even the men could stop her. They came charging through the entryway mere hours after they heard the first screams, and yet despite all their training, all their years serving under my banner, they fell to her like leaves to the wind. I can only hope the few that managed to escape never return, for their own sakes.
I cannot leave this place. Every attempt has ended in failure. She is always watching, even when she is nowhere in sight. She took my left leg the last time, stating "This leg won't do you any good, it's trying to take you away from me." The mere thought of the encounter is enough to bring back the searing pain of the branding iron she used to cauterize it. Of course, that is nothing in comparison to the tremors. They have slowed significantly since the first few weeks, but they return every once in a while, as if trying to remind me that humans were not meant to consume the flesh of our own kind. Attempts to convince Hilde of this are always pointless, however.
"Don't be absurd, my dearest! I can't let you corrupt yourself with filthy animal meat. The only way for you to stay pure is to feast upon our own kind!"
I believe that's where she is now, down in the castle's dungeon, cutting up and preparing to roast another corpse. I've tried fighting back against her, but alas, in my old age I do not possess the strength I once had; whereas she is young and nimble. Taking my own life has also proven futile. She made sure to place all the leftover weaponry out of my reach, somewhere on the lower levels where I cannot go without assistance. Even more ironic is that she has locked me away here, in the very tower I had hoped to imprison her within. The door is locked from the outside, and the arrow slits are so impossibly narrow that even the light of day struggles to shine through.
As I sit here writing these entries, I have realized that I was a fool - a misguided, greedy fool who has no one to blame but himself. I yearned for power, for fame, for fortune. I wished to be remembered, to be a man who's name would strike fear into the hearts of my countrymen for years to come. And yet here I wait, rotting away in my own cell, imprisoned by the one I had hoped to conquer.
Truly, a prisoner of my own devices. | I hold my hand against the brown,ancient earth.
The soul trembles under my roots,their twisting veins piercing and shoving through the rock and silt.
It wails as I scoop the mass,so full of life,and crush it in my palm.
Dehydrated soil falls down through my fingers,defeated and hollow.
I chuckle,the rumbling coursing through my ancient body.
The sunlight is blotched by my leaves,their rustling voices chanting in unholy rhythms.
I look down on my captive,it’s full eyes motionless.
My minions sway in the wind,their cacophony of colors stirring the morsel’s mind like a storm thrown in water.
Then...a scream.
A voiceless howl echoes through the plain,the weeds reel in,choking on the suffering and pain.
The morsel stands,its face-now smiling at the screaming flower that is held between two fleshy appendages.
It looms into the ripped body,still leaking green,and shoves it’s snout against it.
My horror of hearing my subject wail in agony is drowned by the look on the creature’s face.
It’s mouth,the blood red skin protruding from its ghostly white skin curls,and it lets out a small chuckle as the flower croaks it’s death scream.
“I should really find my way back to the kingdom.”
It says,as it shoves the severed chunk of plant matter into its million tentacled head.
“Governess Anna must be really mad at me right now!”
She crushes thousands of weeds under her foot,and twirls around the screaming field.
Grain eating beasts fly around and land on her hand,their empty soulless eyes seeking young seedlings to devour.
She suddenly stops,then turns abruptly towards the flowerbed,snow trembling silently as the face of the monstrous thing fixed on them again.
“It wouldn’t hurt to pluck a few more flowers would it?”
The flowers scream in horror and outrage,their leaves quaking as if a tempest is roiling through.
At least tempests grant a merciful death!
The fleshy appendage swoops down once more,and a sickly ‘snap!’ echoes.
“Wouldn’t hurt at all...” | 2018-02-09T05:37:27 | 2018-02-09T03:55:16 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a unique tattoo on their ankle. Whenever you're responsible for someone's death, a copy of their tattoo appears somewhere on your skin. Your best friend's tattoo just showed up on your wrist, even though your best friend is alive and sitting right next to you. | God maths was the worst, especially first thing on a Monday. I laid my head on the desk and huffed.
"Jason," Dave hissed, knocking my leg suddenly, "Sir's looking at you."
I sat up quickly and looked over to where a glowering Mr. Johnson stood, arms folded against his crisp shirt. He looked angry enough to beat me with the metal ruler that was clenched so tightly in his fist, it may well have cut into his hands.
"Do I really need to dish out a supervised study session this early in the day, Mr. Woodward?" he spat, brandishing the ruler in my direction.
"Um, no Sir," I mumbled, "I'm sorry."
Mr Johnson inhaled sharply, pushing his thickly rimmed glasses back up his beak-like nose. Dave sniggered once Sir had turned his back, and only stopped when I elbowed him, hard. He let out a yelp that caused Mr Johnson to whip around and furrow his brow, eyeing us warily. He sighed deeply and resumed writing out the quadratic equation we were meant to be working on.
Dave grabbed my arm and yanked my sleeves up, giving me the worst chinese burn I'd ever received. I let out a silent scream as he twisted the life out of my wrist. But then as suddenly as it had happened, the pain stopped.
"What's that," Dave whispered, his face a pale grey. He jabbed at my stinging arm, where there was a black smudge.
"Ink I guess," I replied behind my hand, licking my finger to wipe it off. Except it didn't come off.
Dave's chair fell to floor with a loud clatter. He was barely stood, shaking terribly and staring at my arm with apparent terror. The class turned to stare as Dave ran into the hall, the door slamming behind him. My classmates began to talk amongst themselves, to Sir's frustration, glancing every so often at me and the empty seat next to me. Eyes fell upon the mark on my arm. I tugged my sleeve down and kept my arm off the table for the rest of the lesson.
When the bell finally rang, I practically ran to Dave and I's usual break spot. My arm felt like it was burning. That mark. It resembled the letter v, with a small loop where the two lines met. I'd seen it before.
Little kids often showed each other their birth tattoos, so I had seen Dave's when we met on the first day of Middle School. He told me the v stood for his name, and then cried when I pointed out that for his birth tattoo to stand for his name, he'd have to be called Vave, or the tattoo would have to look more like a d. I thought it was a bit silly to cry over that, but I felt bad and gave him the chocolate bar my mum had packed in my lunch. We'd been friends since.
I didn't expect Dave to be in our spot when I got there, but he was. He didn't look up until I sat next to him on the wall.
"Are you ok?" I asked. When he didn't answer, I nudged him. He leapt off the wall and glared at me.
"Don't touch me!" he snapped. He rubbed his ankle with his foot. "That's my birth tattoo on your arm."
"I know, but it's not real. It can't be. It's probably just permanent marker or something," I reasoned, "maybe someone did it for a joke."
"Maybe," he mumbled, but took a small step backwards. I frowned at the movement. Did he actually think it was real?
"It's not real," I hissed, "it can't be, because I'd have had to have killed you already for your mark to appear."
"Not necessarily."
"Look, come with me, I'll try and wash it off with soap and you'll see. I bet someone drew it on earlier or something." As the words came out my mouth, I realised there wasn't any time for someone to have drawn it on without me noticing.
Dave knew that too, because a look of anger overcame him. He charged at me, knocking me backwards off the wall. I landed heavily on my back, and lay there winded as he walked around to stand by my head.
"It's real. It's real and you know it," he shouted furiously, raising his foot above my head. I rolled over just before his foot made contact with the concrete.
"Dave," I wheezed, struggling to my feet, holding my hands out in front of me, "I wouldn't hurt you, I wouldn't do that."
But he wouldn't listen.
He came at me his fist raised above his head, and I did what I needed to do. I shoved him hard, sending him staggering backwards, hitting his head hard on the corner of the brick wall as he fell.
A trickle of red turned to a lake.
If only he had listened.
| I felt a stabbing pain in my wrist and gasped. Not just because of the sudden pain, but what it meant. My friend turned and looked at me, eyebrows raised. The teacher up front stopped her teaching to stare at me icily, as well.
"No, I have a tattoo. A new one." I explained before I could stop myself. Some of my classmates sniggered while others just shook their head, displeased. "Death Tat, Mr. Glenn?" the teacher asked, unconvinced. I unveiled my hand, still red from the surreal tattoo.
The teacher's eyes widened, and then every student was leaning over to look at the tattoo.
"Whoa! Did you actually kill someone, dude?"
"That's gotta be fake, right? I mean, you have been in lessons all day! Did you kill the janitor when you went to the bathroom or something?"
"Dude, that's sick!"
"Oh God, do you know who's it is?"
the students were all talking over each other as the teacher stood, thinking hard. Unsure what to do. I turned to look my friend, who had been awfully quiet. "Hey, what's wrong? You don't think I've actually killed someone, right?" I asked, panicking. James was the only friend I had. I needed him by my side.
"What, no. No. Uh, tell you later." he replied, frowning slightly.
"You can tell him tomorrow. He's packing up and going to the principals office." The teacher told me, eyeing me wearily.
I put my things in my rucksack, and got up to leave. "Straight to the Principal's office. And tell him what just happened." my teacher said.
"You believe me, right? I didn't do this."
"Tattoos only appear when someone dies because of you. That's a fact."
"But I've been here all day!"
"Maybe you planted a bomb? Maybe you locked someone in a room without food and water and they had just died. Or maybe you are innocent, and this is just some fluke. On any case, straight to the Principal you go. You know what, I'll come with."
We left. The class was silent as we walked out. And then a patter of footsteps. I turned around, and saw James catch up.
"Go back to class, Mr. Holden. I won't say again." My teacher warned, annoyed. He took of his shoe and pulled down his sock, so we can see his Tat. And I gasped. I looked at the one on my wrist. It was the exact same one.
"I'm not dead! And he didn't kill me!" James protested. | 2016-11-25T11:50:05 | 2016-11-25T08:50:06 | 401 | 140 |
[WP] Lying in bed with your significant other and feeling the rhythmic kicks of your unborn child, you recognize the pattern as Morse code. | Anna and I were expecting our second child, but I was waiting for the weirdness to begin.
See, our first pregnancy was pretty smooth up until the point where we figured out the child would tap along to the tempo of any music or background noise. At eighteen months Bella was a musical progeny, we'd bought her so many xylophones and musical keyboards, each one with a unique sound.
Of course Bella came out with the most wonderful jingles, she'd learnt to play all the theme songs to her favourite shows. It was remarkable, and still very annoying to hear the theme to 'Paw Patrol' on repeat whenever she was in the mood to watch it.
I would attribute this genius to Anna's family, as there was no way it was coming from me or mine, but she had insisted her family were ordinary. Could it have been the sperm donor we used?
After Bella was old enough, we decided she needed a sibling and thankfully the same donor was available as we decided that I should be the one to carry the second child. Although we would have one child that was biologically our own, we still wanted them to be related. And who knows? Maybe we would end up with another little genius?
"You'll get to experience it firsthand this time," Anna had said cheerfully, although she had blogged a couple of months into the pregnancy that she definitely wouldn't miss the morning sickness or acid reflux. I don't blame her, it's exhausting!
So here we were; it was a quiet Friday night, Bella was finally asleep after wanting to experiment more with the mini drum-kit we had been given for her first birthday, and Anna and I were in bed together.
My belly was so swollen at this point, I couldn't believe I wasn't due for another month! I could barely roll over to face my darling wife who, with her reading glasses on, was powering through 'American Gods' by Neil Gaiman.
Up until this point we hadn't heard much from the baby inside me, a few bumps and kicks but nothing as peculiar as Bella's musical tapping. Part of me was wishing that we would have a more average child, mostly because then I would be able to actually help with homework and not have to worry about the costs of an elite private school which wouldn't bore them out of their brains. I mean we were already on the waiting list for one of the most prestigious music colleges in all of Canada for goodness sakes, how could we afford another gifted child?
My focus was drawn back to my stomach as the baby began to move slightly and kick out. "Oof!"
Anna bookmarked her book and turned towards me, "Ooh our next little genius is awake."
I rolled my eyes at her, "I'm pretty sure the genius came from your 'exquisite' family tree, there's no telling how deformed the child will be because of my genetics."
She chuckled softly and raised her hand to my stomach. After a couple of kicks she frowned slightly, like she was concentrating.
"I think our baby is talking to us in Morse Code," she said.
"What? That's crazy! How would a baby know Morse Code?"
Anna didn't reply, instead she reached for her pen and paper on the bedside table, and pressed her hand into my stomach more and concentrated.
"Uhh, I think our baby just replied to your comment?" She looked puzzled, but also amused.
"Well?" I didn't know Morse Code, so I needed Anna to interpret.
"He said 'I'm not a complete fool'" her eyes were wide. I didn't blame her, I was as shocked as she was.
"What-"
"Hang on" she interrupted, "He's saying something else?"
The bumps and taps went on for a little while, Anna scribbled for a bit and then burst into laughter.
"What? What is it?" Of course I was anxious, who wouldn't be after her reaction to what the kid had said.
Anna couldn't reply, her whole body was rocking with laughter, so she shoved the paper towards me to read.
After the initial shock of reading such a sentence, I joined Anna in her laughing fit.
There, written on the page:
'Did you just assume my gender?' | Me and Alex were just settling down we noticed it. The little knocks of the baby against the inner womb. If you looked close enough you could even see imprints of its limbs as it tried to gain a sense of where it was. It was adorable.
That is, until we noticed the tapping. It was muted at first, but it crescendoed into a tap loud enough to who throughout the slightly larger apartment we had bought just for the baby. We assumed it would need some space. We hadn't planned on creating an ego chamber for the piercing taps of which there was no escape. The taps sounded like a tipsy metronome, and that's when I finally picked up on the slight variations. Some of the taps were longer than the others.
I opened up my laptop and pulled up a Morse code table. I waited until a long pause that I assumed meant the pattern was restarting and began to translate. Alex was trying to follow along, but any thought process was interrupted by the pervasive knocks. Then the pattern began with a dot, followed by two dashes, capped off with another dot. I scrawled the letter "p" onto the paper before listening for the next letter. Four dots in quick succession, an "h". Again I wrote it down.
I continued writing down the letters until the full message had been sent **"ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"**. It was time. I turned to Alex, but all I saw was dread. We'd been preparing for this day for quite some time, but it was always going to be too soon. Regardless, we had made our decision. It was time to release our child from his prison and let him do unto this world what he willed.
**A scaled wing emerges from the Pacific, followed by another. He has risen** | 2017-06-25T22:38:22 | 2017-06-25T19:01:37 | 219 | 20 |
[WP] You had a really bad break up with your ex… 300 years ago. Neither of you realized the other was immortal until you met again while grocery shopping. | The best thing about living in the 21st century was the conveniences that made up the day-to-day lifestyle. In 1606 you used to have to walk down to a packed outdoor market to by vegetables of questionable quality from a man covered in filth with seven teeth and as many fingers. As great of a guy Gareth was he wasn't really the greatest farmer the lands had seen. These are the kinds of thoughts that filled my head as I meandered about the aisles of my local Publix. I grabbed a plastic bag off of the reel and started dropping limes into it.
"Still trying to stave off the scurvy there, Sailor?" A voice from behind me asked.
I froze instantly as the smooth, vaguely Cornish voice echoed in my mind until it landed on a memory I had not thought of for nearly three centuries. I turned on my heels wide eyed and still wielding a lime in my hand like I was going to throw it or juice it. As my eyes landed on the person behind me I wasn't sure which I wanted to do more.
She hadn't aged a day. Quite literally I should say. From the freckles on her face to the same smirk on her pink lips she looked exactly like the young woman I'd left behind on a pier so many lives ago. I fought to swallow the lump that had built in my throat.
"Are you gonna say something like a normal person or are you going to throw that lime in my face and run like a child that just saw a ghost?" I knew she was joking. Anyone would know that, but as my eyes darted towards the lime her smirk dropped into a frown.
"Really?" She sounded almost disappointed.
"I... uh..." I fumbled lamely as my eyes dropped and went to place the lime in the bag.
My brow knitted in concentration as I tried to figure out how to make my fingers work. I screamed internally.
"Wow. Okay. To think you were so smooth back in... oh... 1722?" She let out a sigh. "Sorry. I'll just..." She motioned towards the meats section with her index fingers. "Go. Over there..."
She turned to walk away. She did walk away. I let out the breath I didn't remember holding.
I watched her go.
I dropped the bag of limes in my cart and took off after her. By the time I had caught up I founder her looking between a few different steaks with focus and unbridled frustration.
"I'm sorry... For... you know... That." I said as I gestured back towards produce. "I just though you'd've... you know... died. Like a normal person."
"We're not exactly normal people now are we?" She said without looking up from her selection of meats.
"No I'd suppose we're not, but it looks like you're still a butcher's daughter." She chuckled at that.
"Yup and I swear I could do a better job trimming a steak than everyone here." She held a steak up to me. "Look at this! There's still silver skin on it!" She huffed as she tossed it back with the rest of the herd.
I laughed. "You haven't changed much."
"Much?"
"I mean, last I saw your hair wasn't blue." I said regarding the electric blue locks that had replaced her straw yellow hair.
"Well, this wasn't really the style in early 18th century Cornwall." She said as she tucked a few strands behind her ear bashfully.
I smiled as I felt that plucking in my heartstrings just like they did all those years ago. "Well, how about you pick out a steak that gets the 'Berlewen Seal of Approval' and I'll serve it up with a nice red wine?"
Her lips pulled up into the sweetest smile I'd seen in all six centuries of my life as she looked up at me with her big emerald eyes.
"I'd like that." | "Mary?"
My ex lifted her head up from her phone, meeting my eyes. A sense of familiarity washed over me as I saw those beautiful differently colored eyes and I shut my eyes in bliss, a reminder of my home time.
"Who are you?" She demanded, a violent tint to her voice that she had only used with my on the day we broke up.
"I'm uh..." I said, struggling to remember my given name, "I'm Edward."
"Eddie?" She gasps, "I thought you were dead."
"Um, no." I responded, displaying my wonderful literacy.
"So..." Mary started, "you're immortal too?"
"Uh, yeah," I tried with what I knew was a bashful smile adorning my face, "I'm immortal, have been since 1680 that is."
"By the way Eddie," Mary smiled gently, "my name is Ella now."
I smiled back at her, "I go by David now."
"Well David, could I have your number?"
I couldn't help but raise my left eyebrow suggestively and wink. Mary, well Ella, let out a twinkling laugh, so similar to the one I had fallen for way back when.
"Oh David."
"Good evening shoppers, our registers will close in 10 minutes. Please make your final selections and bring your items to the registers located at the front of the store. Thank you for shopping at big cool grocery chain and have a nice evening." Blared on the intercom, pulling us out of our conversation.
"Oh uh, I better run," I quickly said, walking my groceries to the front of the store.
I didn't see Ella again until 2321.
​
I forgot to read bad breakup so I wrote the wrong story, I guess it's too late to change now. In this story it was an amicable breakup. | 2021-11-09T19:37:22 | 2021-11-09T18:09:30 | 76 | 54 |
[WP] You discover that Earth is the "North Korea" of the galaxy | "Wait. I mean, stop." I grab the arm of the interpreter.
"Sir?"
"Did that...ummmm... *thing*," Here I gesture at the mass of tentacle and claws sitting across from me. "Just say 'North Korea?'"
It had been a long day. I had been asked to fill in for George over in Archives -- something about shingles, or some other bullshit. I can tell you this much, when I woke up this morning, I was planning on wasting the morning on reddit, before I spend the afternoon working on my fantasy football team. I had not expected to be debriefing one of the Astasi concerning their decision to make contact with Earth.
If I had to be honest, I had be dozing. But I could have sworn that beast just said-
"Quite right."
"I thought we were discussing how they decided to visit us?"
"You are correct."
"Are you telling me that the reason these assholes came all the way across the galaxy to our neck of the woods is because of *North Korea*?" The Astasi began to vibrate, in what I could only assume was a gesture of affirmation. One that involved the distribution of copious amounts of its bodily fluids about the room. Disgusting.
"Oh, no sir, at this point in the narrative, they were not aware that North Korea existed. Indeed, they had just discovered Earth.” The interpreter let out a quick laugh and adjusted his glasses before continuing. “In fact, you might be interested to know that, given the speed of light and the distance that it needed to travel to their planets, North Korea wouldn't have even-"
"I didn't ask for a history lesson." I waved at the interpreter. You have to take a firm hand with these language-jocks. If you give them an inch, they will just start spewing words all over the place.
“Technically, sir, this entire debriefing is a history lesson.”
“You know what I mean. And don’t try to change the topic. What I want to know is this: How did these assholes know about North Korea” (Here I was blessed with another shower of bodily fluids) “before they knew about earth?”
“They didn’t.”
“What? You just said that...it...said ‘North Korea’.” I had learned my lesson, and mouthed the last two words, rather than saying them. Apparently Mr. Tenta-claws could read lips, because he sent a veritable tidal wave of his liquids my way.
“Correct again, sir.”
“Well, which the fuck is it? Did they know about...Mr. Kim’s Jong-un’s crazy-land, or not?”
“Most decidedly not.”
“Well, then why the fuck did he say those words?”
“North Korea?” (More liquids.)
“Yes, god damn it.”
“Simple, that is their name for earth.”
This sat me back a bit. I spent a good ten seconds blinking, trying to process what I was hearing. Then, I started talking again. Slowly, so as to make sure I was understanding what was being said.
“You mean to tell me that, the Astasi word for ‘Earth’ is ‘North Korea?’”
My shock was so great, I barely felt the deluge this time.
“Quite right.”
“That of all the possible phonemes in all the galaxy, they blundered into the same one that we use to describe that third-world trainwreck?”
“Indeed.”
“You are kidding.”
“I assure you, sir, I do not know how to kid.”
“Well, fuck me sideways.” | Peoples of the Milky Way - you have no idea what it's *really* like on Earth, any more than I had any idea what life off Earth was like before I was accidentally picked up by a temporarily stranded visitor.
We have no collective thought technology. It's not banned... we just don't have it. We're broken into factions driven to fight by ideologies we're indoctrinated into from birth, mostly to support a few mentally imbalanced individuals and their quest to control wealth and territory at all costs.
Because of this, we're literally disrupting our own biosphere to the point many fear the majority of our population will die off within the next few generations.
Because of this, we're not sure we won't end up using fissionable material to obliterate all centers of human habitation with nuclear bombs.
Because of this, the only reason we go into space is to build better weapons to kill with.
Because of this, only our wealthiest, most powerful citizens get the best healthcare, while the vast majority of us die younger, and live more sickly, than necessary - even for our current level of technology.
I know we've overpopulated our planet by your standards, and I know that worlds with biospheres capable of support us unaided are rare... but I'm asking for your compassion. Please, *rescue us from our leaders and accept Terran refugees wherever you can*. | 2015-01-28T18:27:16 | 2015-01-28T17:45:27 | 164 | 107 |
[WP] "I wish I never met you!" You shouted at your husband of 10 years, father of 2 of your children in a heated fight before bed. You then wake up on the day you first met. Eager to correct your mistake you wait for him in the park, but when your eyes met, he just smiled and walked past you. | I’d found out because he’d told me. It wasn’t a secret, it wasn’t something that had hung heavily over us for ages, and it wasn’t even that big a deal, in hindsight. He’d been drunk at an office party, a coworker had kissed him, and he’d admitted he hadn’t immediately drawn back away from it.
That was Nick. He couldn’t just be honest, he couldn’t just say she’d kissed him. He’d kissed her back.
The kids had been in bed for an hour when he’d started the conversation, sitting me down at the kitchen table, his request to talk laden with something heavy. I’d know there was something up with him, I had all evening, since of course after ten years of marriage you learn how to read each other. The fight had escalated into a shouting match, which I despair in hindsight, knowing the kids could hear, but hoping they were still too young to understand the meaning behind our thinly veiled metaphors.
I was first to go to bed, almost immediately after the fight, laying in the darkness and staring at the wall, my eyes puffy and red from crying. My mind travelled back to our wedding reception where an inevitable stream advice had been given over the course of all the toasts. ‘Never go to bed angry’ had been advised, though I couldn’t remember who’d said it. But this wasn’t something we could settle before midnight, and we both had work tomorrow.
When I woke up, I was in the park where we’d met.
We’d both been walking our dogs, and mine was a bit older so we’d taken a rest on a nearby bench. Nick had held tight to the leash in his hand, his dog just a couple years old, still a puppy, and mine patiently wagged her tail as they brushed noses. We got to talking and I felt something there. At the end of the conversation, I was actually the one to ask him for his number, and his face lit up, nodding.
So, I sat there on the bench with Sadie resting next to me. Nick walked by with his dog Maggie, and he met my eyes briefly with a smile. I smiled back. And he kept walking.
The smile slipped from my face and I leapt to my feet. “Nick!”
He turned around. “Sorry? Do I know you?”
My heart pounded in my chest. “This is how we met. You talked to me, we bonded, I got your number.”
His face blank with confusion, he shook his head. “I’m married, sorry.”
My eyes drifted to his ring finger, spotting the ring that I had given him at our wedding. But looking to my own hand, it was bare. A lump formed in my throat. “This isn’t right…” I managed.
“Have a good one,” he said, turning away.
“No, Nick!” I cried, grabbing his shoulder in a panic. I didn’t notice that the dogs were no longer there. I didn’t notice that we were suddenly alone in the park, that the sun was setting too quickly. It registered on a level of utter unimportance, compared to the butterfly I’d just somehow managed to squash in my past, changing the course of my history. “I love you.”
“I don’t know you,” he told me.
Tears spilled over and streamed down my face. “I’m sorry we fought,” I said, shaking my head furiously. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. This isn’t the end of our marriage, it can’t be. I won’t let it be, I won’t let you slip away from me.” I choked on a sob. “Our life together means everything to me, our boys are the lights of my life, my family is the center of *everything* I hold dear. Please don’t leave me. Please, I’m sorry I went to bed angry. I never should have done that. It was a mistake.”
Nick examined me closely. “Carol?”
“Yes?” I whispered.
“Carol? Carol?”
The world blurred into darkness and I flinched awake, my eyes darting around. The room lit only by Nick’s bedside table lamp, casting shadows across our bed as he leaned over me worried, wiping my face with his hand gently. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”
As my consciousness transitioned shakily, taking in reality over my dream, I nodded slowly. Realizing I’d been crying in my sleep, I sniffled a few times as I sat up, wiping away my tears. “Yeah…yeah, I’m okay, I just…nightmare…”
Nick leaned back against the headboard, letting out a breath. “I was having trouble sleeping too.” He paused. “I’m so sorry, honey, I can’t even-”
“No, hold on,” I interrupted, meeting his gaze. I took his hands in mine tightly. “This is why. This is why they say never to go to bed angry. It’s not always fixable, some problems are bigger than others, but…that’s what my mom said. Marriage is work. It’s a choice. Choosing the same person over and over, and I’m always going to choose you.” I sniffed. “I was just hurt. It…It hurt me that on some level, you wanted someone else.”
Nick raised a hand to cup my cheek and I leaned into it. “It was a drunk, in-the-moment reaction, and as soon as it happened, I regretted it with everything in me.”
I nodded. “I know.” I took a steadying breath. “I know.” His left hand still clasped in my right, I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb. “We’ll be okay, right?”
With a small smile, Nick nodded. “It’s just a little mountain I accidentally dropped in our path. We’ll…I was gonna say we’ll make the journey over it, but that metaphor doesn’t work.” He hesitated. “I’ll do my best to hack it to pieces first, because I’m the one that put it there, and then we’ll make it over to the other side together.”
I leaned forward and gently kissed him and he wiped the residue of my tears from my face. We lay down together and he turned off his lamp. He curled up next to me, and we breathed each other in, our arms tangled together between us until we drifted off to sleep.
​
/r/storiesbykaren | "I wish I never met you!"
Those words I've uttered so many times in the past 10 years, and even a little before that. So why today? Why was today the day when those words came true?
It was fairly obvious. When I first woke up with less cricks in my neck and back, I at first thought it was just a good day. I had barely realized the changes in my room, from nuclear family white to ill-advised pink. From a queen-sized bed to a cramped single. From stretch marks to pimples.
My feet still stumbled my way into the old bedroom, somehow. And suddenly, the fog in my mind cleared, and the dissonant switch finally registered, hitting me like a puck striking the bell of a high striker, ringing incessantly and vaguely congratulating me. Here I was: before Henry.
I screamed. Shrilly and loudly, of course. I was certain that my then-neighbours, including the kind uncle (god bless him) whose name I could never remember, were staring vaguely in my direction, but it didn't matter. There I was, a lot younger, a little more innocent, and still a hell of a looker, if you don't mind me. As I walked back into my bedroom, it struck me that an actual, physical calendar sat humbly on my desk, signalling the years that I've sped back into.
I vividly remembered the day I met Henry, but I only vaguely remembered the date. I think this was it. The day I haven't met him; the day I was due to. A song inadvertently came out of my lips, one that I recall not hearing in more than a decade, but somehow fresh in my mind. I looked through my wardrobe, trying to recall the exact outfit I wore that day before eventually giving up and just throwing on the cutest ensemble that was in vogue then and likely qualified as retro in 2021.
Each step to the park was fraught with nerves and tension. This was it. I could meet Henry again. A perfect, whirlwind romance would follow, where I avoided every mistake I've learnt through this unexpected act of time travelling. We will get married, and this time, I'm not inviting his stupid Aunt Gilda and her dumb white dress. We'll have kids, still, of course. Maybe we can do three, now that I know how to better take care of them. Filled with thoughts about our future (past?), I strolled down the park path, absent-mindedly tapping the lamp posts as I walked past.
Tap, tap, tap. This was it. I felt it in my heart of hearts. It was here. I lifted my head, and there, I would find... Henry. He was much younger too. Not sure why I didn't expect that. Did he really wear that coat, and did I fall in love despite it? And his smile, once again young and ravishing, was pointed directly at me. Our eyes met, and I felt the radiant sparks connecting our sight. This was it. Once again, we would...
And he walked past me. What? This wasn't supposed to happen.
I turned around, in shock. I wanted to chase after him and shout Henry, but my brain caught itself and my feet stopped in its tracks. My mouth gaped open and close, a goldfish out of water, indecision flooding every cell in my body. Why? Why did I stop? Why didn't I chase after the love of my life, the future father of my two kids.
In response, my decidedly adult brain swamped my barely adult self. The love that quickly devolved into callous words strewn across our relationship. The marriage that felt like it was too slow before it started and much too fast once it was done. The loves of each other's life, telling each other:
"I wish I never met you."
The love story had soured far before those words I said yesterday. Or a decade and change later. Whatever.
He was the love of my life. But I had a new lease of life now. I could do better, yeah?
And with a pep in my step, I walked away. There were billions of men and women out there on Earth. How many got a second chance to try something new?
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-02-15T16:04:35 | 2021-02-15T10:44:22 | 1,647 | 274 |
[WP] once in every month soulmates get to see from eachothers’ eyes for 60 seconds until they meet for the first time. It happens unexpectedly and neither of the pair knows when it will happen. One day you see someone you recognise from your soulmate’s eyes. | Once a month, every month, I switched places with a person I'd never met. The first time it had happened, I cried. I was so scared because I didn't know what had just happened to me. One moment I was playing with some toys in the front room, the TV on in the background, the next I was somewhere else, I was someone else for those 60 seconds and I was being punished by a scary man, hit over and over as he yelled words I hadn't understood. I had taken their punishment for them whilst being disorientated, with that horrible feeling of your mind not being in the right place. That was the first swap. I was four, younger then most kids and even though my mum had told me bedtime stories about it happening, they hadn't prepared my young mind for how awful those trips were to a very young mind.
The life I saw through that persons eyes was different to my own, although I occasionally caught a glimpse of little things that gave their location away. Their writing was different to my own. I saw them reading a comic, another time they were watching a movie, but never anything conclusive.
Most of us, as we got older, we stopped really caring about the visions. That's just how it was, because we could never control when we were going to see from each others eyes, we could never message the other. Most people never found their soulmates. Sometimes the visions would just end one day. We didn't talk about those things. I remember a friend of mine. Sarah. She'd see hospitals sometimes. I remember her reading a piece out in class about feeling very sick, but she was with two adults who were obviously the other persons parents. She was too sick to talk to them. Then one day, she mentioned she hadn't seen through her soulmates eyes in a long time. They'd died. She was the first person I'd ever known to have lost their soulmate, we were only nine. I knew a couple of other kids who just didn't have one at all, although I'm pretty sure it was because they'd already met each other. Instead of a tracking class, those kids went into a different room to study something else while we all wrote down what we had seen through our soulmates eyes recently.
It was always like this. Some kids found their soulmates early on, others lost theirs, but the majority of us, we just saw glimpses of their lives. By the time we were 17/18 most of us didn't care too much. We were always encouraged to post stuff online and search for keywords to try and find our soulmate talking about us, but only a small handful of people actually found each other this way. For me, there was no chance of finding them online unless they were writing in English, but they weren't from an English speaking country so that was very unlikely.
Life just seemed to go on after that. Most of us dated at Uni. Even I dated during that time, but never really settled, those of us who still had our soulmates out there rarely did unless we saw them settling down. My mum had always pushed me to settle down with someone from a very young age. She wasn't happy the person wasn't going to be white. When I'd asked her if my dad had been her soulmate she had told me he wasn't, but he was better then the person she'd been seeing all her life. I didn't believe that one bit though. She acted like she didn't care, but she had so much anger towards this person that she obviously cared about not finding them a lot. Life just went on though. I hadn't written anything online for a long time now. There wasn't much point. We were from two different worlds.
Today was just like any other summers morning. The birds were out and chirping in the early hours of the morning. Singing to the sun as it rose over the horizon. Dew glistened on the grass from the cool night air, but was gone by the time I'd left the house. It always felt great to leave the house in a tshirt and short shorts when it was warm out and today was the perfect day for it. I nearly skipped into the city center, just enjoying the nice feeling when I felt it starting to happen again. That gentle pull on my mind. I paused and moved myself out of everyones way before I was suddenly floating into another persons body. I looked around curiously, I had 60 seconds to take in where I was and what they were doing. Instead of being somewhere completely unfamilier, I was looking at a building I knew well, it wasn't far from where I was. I pratically screamed in frustration as motor functions were basically lost when we switched and this time was no exception. I couldn't send my soulmates body in my direction. I looked around at all the people walking around me, us, them. I saw a friend of mine just walking right by them. They took a quick glance at us, but didn't stop. I felt my mind being tugged again and I was back in my own body. I breathed heavily as usual, my body shook but I started walking, stumbling over my feet, moving as quickly as I could towards my soulmate. Would they still be there? Would we realise it was each other just like all the media tell us. It was really rare for people to find each other, but I had the chance. I turned the corner and saw the square in front of me and the building. I looked around and saw a person, standing where I had been standing a few minutes before, looking in my direction. They knew I'd find them if they stayed there. I knew it was him, my mind seemed to flutter, my body felt lighter then ever as I suddenly found myself standing still. Unable to really comprehend I'd finally found them, him. He was a he. He moved towards me, his eyes didn't dare even blink as he came towards me. It was as if he was too scared to just in case I'd vanish. Then he was in front of me. I smiled and laughed a little, he was Asian, that explained why I could never understand what he was saying while I was growing up. He probably felt the same way.
"I found you," he whispered and suddenly I was in the warmest hug I'd ever recieved. This was what it felt like, why people who had met their soulmates talked about it all the time. This was why we wanted to be with them. I knew, from this moment, that we were always going to be together. | 800 days, 15 hours, 43 minutes and 18 seconds.
That's how long it's been since that first glimpse, over two years ago, that first time I saw through my soul mate's eyes. 26 minutes, one per month of hope, of frantic searching for anything at all that could tell me the smallest piece of information about my soul mate. 800 nights of dreams of finding the one, of knowing true happiness at last. 800 days of slowly dwindling hope.
I've stopped looking forward to the visions. They're empty now, useless. I already know what I'll see, and what I won't. I've even made a list.
Will see: an arm, a hand, a grey brick wall
Won't see: phone number, address, landmark, friend, family, computer, date, language, book, sea, floor, sky, sun, clouds, moon, stars, anything else. Anything at all.
The worst part is seeing your friends move on. As each person in your life finds their one, finds their person. As you see that happiness, that completeness. As they become content. As they go from words of encouragement, to words of pity, to no words at all. They have their partner, their soulmate. They don't need you.
There are support groups, of course, for this kind of thing. Cults, even, if you're really desperate, but nobody takes them seriously. And none of them help. I would know.
And so I make a life for myself. Not a happy one, but a life nonetheless. I work, I eat, and sometimes I even know the joy of human company. But there's always an odd one out. Always 2 together and 2 and 2 and 2 and 2 and 2 and me. And that's just too much to take, sometimes.
So I wander. I drive, or let the car drive for me, along the city roads, and then the dirt roads, and then the long mountain roads of the country. And today is one of those wandering days. A high mountain, a long road, and me. My vision hasn't come yet this month, but I turn of automatic driving anyway, to feel the thrill of holding the steering wheel and knowing I can make myself move. The green valleys and white fog rolls past my windows and, for the first time in a long while, I smile.
*I see a grey brick wall. The bricks are old, worn slightly, but sturdy. It is a scene I've seen a thousand times. This time, something is different. There is motion. The eyes I see from move, the head moves, and my vision jumps around the room. I see what I have not seen, and 800 days, 15 hours, 43 minutes, and 35 seconds worth of despair start to make a lot more sense. This is no door in this room. No windows. Only walls, and a slit in one of them. A metal tray sits abandoned on the ground, next to the opening. Perhaps it once contained food. It holds nothing now. And then the eyes look up. I see the sky. I see a single silver lined cloud through a rusted grate. And I know. From some part of the recesses of my memory, I know. I know where this is, where she is. I can find her. And I feel. There is a strange warmth in my body, mixing with the elation, the hope that has been rekindled in my heart. The warmth spreads.*
*The 60th second ticks past.*
*A vision ends.*
I do not feel warm anymore. My toes are cold, and my face feels numb. I look at the mountain scenery outside of my car window and blink once, twice, uncomprehending. The twisted metal of my car door and the shattered glass of my windshield lie on the ground beside me. I can see my phone, could even call someone, do something. I don't. To move feels impossible. My arms are so heavy, and I'm just *so* tired. I just want a little rest. As the cold spreads, and I see a golden light, I have a single, last, fleeting thought. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
​ | 2019-02-13T16:41:43 | 2019-02-13T16:32:33 | 178 | 50 |
[WP] Write a sad story using only google searches
This was done a while ago and I remember it created some amazing stories. Would love to see it again:
Example:
Dogs for sale UK
How to make your home safe for dogs
Cheap dog food
Anniversary gifts
Nice anniversary gifts for girlfriend
Flower delivery service
Premium flower delivery service
Are dogs allergic to chocolate?
Pet burial services
Yes I know it isn't good but that's the idea. :) | *This got way longer than I planned it to*
__________________________
Cyanide pills.
Are cyanide pills effective?
Non-painful suicide method.
Suicide watch.
Moving back with parents.
Loneliness.
Depression.
Chat rooms.
How to make friends.
How to approach girls.
Clubs in area.
What happens in clubs?
Bars in area.
What should I do on first date?
What should I do on second date?
Are flowers good gifts?
Good gift ideas new relationship.
How fast in relationships?
Kissing tips.
Sex tips.
How to have sex.
How to have sex as man.
How to have sex as man -gay.
What to do before big date.
Deodorant.
Hair gel.
Where to get condoms.
Are there different sizes of condoms?
How to clear history.
Are condoms 100% effective?
How to tell if pregnant.
Pregnancy test.
What to expect when pregnant.
What to expect when pregnant as father.
Engagement ring.
Cheap wedding.
Free wedding.
Can you get married city hall?
Wedding dress.
Cheap wedding dress.
Used wedding dress.
What should we register?
Cheap apartments.
Cheap furniture.
Late pregnancy.
Mood swings.
Chocolate.
What do I need to take care of baby?
Location baby store.
How to set up crib.
How to set up crib for dummies.
Splinter medicine.
What to expect giving birth.
What to expect labour.
When does water break?
How long does pregnancy last?
Good names for girl.
Good names for baby girl.
How to bathe baby.
How to clean diaper.
How to clean pee off walls.
How to clean pee off floors.
How to clean crib.
How to clean pee off shirt.
Extra-strength diapers.
Cheap extra-strength diapers.
What to do when baby walks.
Baby-proofing.
What to do when landlord raises rent.
Is working two jobs hard?
Can you work two jobs with family?
Extra job.
How to work two jobs and see family.
How to manage time.
Unhappy marriage.
How to fix marriage.
Marriage counselors.
Cheap marriage counselors.
Always tired.
Falling asleep at job.
What to do when fired.
How to live off little money.
How to apply for government money.
Divorce.
How to convince wife not to get divorce.
Where to get divorce.
How to pay child support.
Moving van.
Cheap apartments.
What to do when you can't pay child support?
Loneliness.
Depression.
Cyanide pills.
| How to open up to people
How to talk to people
How to be nicer
How to talk to girls
How to ask girl out
How to handle rejection
How to make friends
How to befriend people
How to find friends
How to get a friend
How to tie a noose | 2015-10-24T21:26:04 | 2015-10-24T20:12:02 | 138 | 38 |
[WP] Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008. | "So this is... heaven?"
The man looked at me strangely. "Hm. You may call it so."
I glanced around me. What had I expected? Soft fluffy clouds, heavenly hymns and angels with halos and wings.
What I got? A blank white room and a man I didn't even recognize.
Yep. I had expected to see my family, my husband, my grandmother even. Not a stranger.
"So... what are you? An angel or something?"
He gave me a stern look, before clasping his hand together. "Angel. A servant of God? That would be incorrect. Many would make such a mistake. It is understandable, but you may refer to me as angel if you so desire. It matters not to me."
I frown. This wasn't going anywhere. "Okay Mr. Angel. Where am I? Why am I here? The last thing I can remember was..."
*Huh?* I couldn't remember, my mind was drawing blanks. I try to think back to yesterday morning. What did I have for breakfast?
Nothing. Just fuzzy images of black and white. I hold my head in my hands, slightly distressed.
"Sophie, there is no need for you to be concerned. Here you are free, transcended. You have done well to have come here. It is a place that few can reach. Even your grandmother would be proud."
"Really? My grandma's here too?"
"Yes, she is and-"
"Of course she's here. She was the nicest and greatest person I knew. She- Is she pissed?" I asked as I suddenly remembered all the bitching she had done about how useless and worthless I was.
"Pissed?" he asked with a confused look.
"Yea. I mean... I was a failure as her heir. I couldn't accomplish anything great. She saved lives. *Many* lives with only her words. And what did I do? I served fries to overweight kids at a middle-school..."
I hung my head in shame as I remember bits and pieces of my overwhelmingly insignificant life. Putting on my hairnet every morning, standing over ovens and batters of fries, serving trays of junk food to kids. It was painful just thinking about it.
"Sophie. It appears that you have been mistaken. That is simply not true."
I look up at the man. Curious of what he meant.
"In this place, contributions are measured by 'levels' and you Sophie... have achieved a magnificent level. A feat that I have rarely seen in my time. Sophie," he pauses to smile at me warmly. "...You are level three-thousand-and-Eight."
I frown. That number meant nothing to me.
"Your Grandmother was level sixty-four," he added.
My eyes went wide. Now I understood and it was hard to believe. In fact, I thought it must have been a mistake.
"How?" I uttered. "There must be some kind of glitch in your system. Are you sure you've got the right gal, Angel-man or whatever you are?"
The Angel-man scoffs, then laughs. "My, my. So humble too."
I laugh with him. Not because I agreed with what he said but because of how incredulous this seemed. *Me? Humble? Ha.* That's a good one almost.
I stop laughing abruptly. "No really. I'm serious. How?"
The man paused. "You're serious?"
I nodded.
"Well then," the angel-man shrugs nonchalantly. "Guess I will have to show you."
He waves his hand around him and suddenly I am met with images of people I didn't know.
Men and woman of different attires doing different kinds of jobs. From working in an office, to working as a caretaker. One thing was common among them. They were happy.
Then an image of a middle-aged man in a suit appears in front of me. He is standing behind a podium speaking to thousands of people. There are cameras. Perhaps millions more were watching. Time reverses. His everyday life begins to rewind. His clothes change, the people around him change. The man grows younger, and soon I come to recognize the man as the lonely little boy who never had lunch to eat. Time continues to rewind until at last, single moment comes to pause in front of me. It was the moment that he received a bowl of fries from me.
Tears begin to fall, but I am smiling.
I guess my life wasn't worth nothing in the end.
--------
/r/em_pathy
| *--Warning: Abusive Themes--*
Smack.
This is not the first time she hit me, but on the 18th
birthday, this is the first time I can do something about. With my parent out
of the picture I was left with Great Ms. Albini, one of the world’s most famous
magicians. Regardless of her talent onstage, all her elegance evaporated when it
came to raising me. Belittling me, ordering me around, and in her furious moments
resorting to violence. “You’re a useless, rotten child” was a commonplace
insult. Not a soul would listen to me. How could they believe such a crazy child
when they looked into her sad blue eyes?
The red mark on my check showed exactly where she struck.
Giving her one final cold stare, I marched back on to my room, grabbed what I
needed, and walked out the door. I ignored her cries to come back and never
returned.
Five years later, her name was in the newspaper. Some accident
with one of pyrotechnics when she was making her entrance. She earned a level
of 64 before passive over, which can easily get you into one of the upper levels.
Whatever, I have my own life now.
I worked as a therapist in my little corner of town for the
rest of my years. Maybe I just wanted to be helpful, maybe it was projection,
but I felt this job was right for me. It was fun talking it out with him,
helping them get on the right track. I wasn’t a saint by any means, sometimes I
made less the desirable decisions. But, perhaps in the end I did make an impact
in another’s life.
My own time came at the ripe age of 98. Drawing my final
breath, I departed from the world and entered another one. I was too nervous to
see my score before I went. I was just a small-town guy, no way I got anywhere
close to 64.
I sat a chair, a desk before me. On it was a slip of white
paper, turned over. Taking a gulp, I braced for the worst and flipped it.
*Emily Alvalum’s Final Score: 3008.*
I could feel a tear of joy down that same cheek. Guess I wasn’t so useless after
all. In your face, Grandma. | 2018-04-14T17:50:37 | 2018-04-14T17:10:52 | 260 | 90 |
[WP] a new reality game show is sweeping the nation, ten people are unvolunterily trapped inside a house. Every week the viewers vote out one person. Unlike other game shows, the last contestent left, is the only loser. | Reality shows were thought to be a thing of the past. People no longer had the patience to spend one hour of their time watching some people go about their daily lives, and seeing some obvious staged drama, while trying to support for their favorite contestant, knowing that in any event the votes were probably rigged anyway.
However, last week, something changed. A video on Youtube went viral, which showed ten unwitting people trapped in a house, and much like a certain movie, the entire house was booby trapped in such a way, than any attempt to exit would lead to some serious pain. The video showed one of the contestants trying to pick the front door, only to get zapped through the keyhole, while another contestant who tried to break the windows only ended up with a bruised shoulder on discovering that it was reinforced with concrete. Intrigued, the show, called 'Hammer' by the uploader 'Puzzle', broke all previous records for Television ratings.
After the initial shock wore over, the contestants were then made aware of the rules, which was basically that they had to ensure that they were voted out by the public, as the last remaining person was going to be rewarded with death. The catch was that the audience didn't know about this and they weren't allowed to cause any bodily harm to each other. The house had all other modern amenities, including extremely fast WiFi, the latest gaming consoles, and extremely delicious food, which appeared in the kitchen from a chute.
It was 11:30 pm on the sixth day, with only thirty minutes left for the first voting to be done. In the past six days, all hell had gone lose in the house. The first two days were filled with every possible kind of foul language that existed in this world, but the discovery of a website that kept track of votes given so far with a thirty minute delay, pushed the participants to desperation. Slowly, the ugly truths about the participants came out. It turned out the house had a squad of fund embezzlers, pedophiles, arsonists and adulterers. The number of votes skyrocketed, with millions of people forming groups to ensure a particular contestant was eliminated first.
Harry watched the Youtube video which announced 'Hammer' for the hundredth time. He then checked his standing on VoteOut. Nope, he was still seventh, and the gap between him and first person to be booted was three million votes as of half an hour ago. The smile on his face didn't match his position though. He walked down to the Living Room, where all of the other contestants were gathered, anxiously awaiting the results. He saw Dick, with his 7 million votes, smiling smugly. Harry confidently went up to a corner of the living room, and then putting his back to it, angled his phone to where he was sure the camera was after his analysis of the 'Hammer' video. He then started browsing Reddit. In a loud voice, he announced, "Wow, this post is awesome," and then very deliberately scrolled past it without upvoting or leaving a comment. He continued this for the next half an hour.
Precisely at midnight, a bell rung, and a robotic voice announced dispassionately:
"The first contestant to be eliminated from Hammer is Harry with a total of 10 million votes." | I didn’t come here to make friends I came to win. Unfortunately due to the parameters of this contest, winning was exceedingly difficult. Everyone was doing thier best job to be unlikeable. The contest allowed everything from permanent maiming to even death.
Though death meant the lucky bastard was eligible to get out and basically overrode any vote made, so we hadn't killed each other yet.
So it was I found myself in Cynthia’s chair, hand bound to my side as I screamed in agony as she took out one of my eyes. She giggled at me, purely for fun as she reached for her sharp garden shears.
“Soo.. Jonathan, Are you enjoying your time this week?” She asked.
I hyperventilated as she placed her shears around one of my fingers. “Lets see how much the audience likes me after I cut off a finger.”
That’s how I escaped. With the first ever pity vote by the audience after losing three fingers and eyeball and some of my nonessential inner organs.
They only gave me a T-shirt for participating.
| 2019-01-07T05:44:35 | 2019-01-07T01:01:02 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You wake up in a universe where everyone is ALWAYS super strong except you. You're saught after as a hero for delicate missions where precision and minimal structural damage is ideal. | *Before anyone says anything, I preferred the idea of a world in which my protagonist was born into it. It made it more fun. A prompt is a prompt, not a binding contract.*
---
We aren't that common, but that's not because we're rare. Perhaps one in 2,000 people you'll meet in the street will be like me, but that's only because about 18 out of 19 of us die before the age of five. Germline augmentation might have been a boon for removing genetic disorders from the world, but the emergent behaviours were as alarming as they were fascinating. Genetic traits tend towards averaging over time, and no amount of modification to human biology will change that, and the "average" turned out to be a human with an average height of 334cm, the strength of a demigod, and the dexterity of a drunk nun in a cement mixer.
I felt her footsteps before I heard her voice. "You alright in there, Julia?" came the soft, lilting tones of Sydney, my carer. When you're less than half the average height and only 15% the average strength and durability of most humans, recessively-gened "baseliners" like myself are officially classified as disabled. Despite the fact that prior to the last 800 years of human history, the majority of people were just like me and were exactly as competent as these lumbering, oversized, under- well, we get a lot of patronising shit even from those who love us.
"I'm fine Sydney, really, I can get out of a bath without help you know." I know, I know, I shouldn't be so exasperated but... but it gets tedious. My job gives me respect, gives me renown in the community, gives me something to get up to every morning. I earn enough to pay Sydney and to afford the modifications on clothes, food, furniture, fucking godsforsaken fucking toothpaste- I'm getting overexcited again aren't I?
"Alright, but you let me know if-"
"-I need to use the pull-chain, got it!"
I probably shouldn't cut her off. It upsets her, and despite my nature I don't like upsetting people much. It breeds conflict, and when you're fragile enough to be killed with an idle backhand being a sarcastic little shit's not really a trait that correlates with survival. But... not today. Today, she will not question my ability, because today I earn my keep.
After hopping out of the bath - and I do mean hopping, that thing's lip would put mountains in its rain-shadow, but it's great for soaking - it's onwards to the medications. Pathogens evolved rapidly with the increase in human durability, and so a head cold to Sydney might be a spot of fatal pneumonia to me. Bioprogramming regimens were the answer, where the body is infiltrated with trillions of tiny biomechanical living creatures that essentially replace my own, "inferior" immune system and make it bigger, stronger, scarier. It's also much, much stupider, and so it needs daily reprogramming to make sure it's up-to-date with the latest sniffles-turned-smallpox that might try to melt my anus into blancmange or whatever the fuck those jumped-up overpowered-
---
"Hi! Your housemate needed a fine-tuner?"
The Pan-Am smile's back, and my voice (already childish compared to the deep boom of those around me) drips with sweetness that's composed of 100% artificial additives. He blinks slowly, and the reduction in speed between his own thoughts and voice and mine becomes painfully apparent as I wait for his response. It's not that we're smarter than the augmented humans, it's just that we're _faster_. For the same reason that a spider is proportionally faster than a human for its size, we're proportionally speedier with thoughts and words. Were it not for longevity drugs this would mean we would die faster too, but science will out and now the only certainty is taxes.
"Yeah, the robot's on the blink."
Synth. It's a synth. They're not slaves, they're people. Never a good sign when you hear a human calling their roommate a "robot", a word literally "forced labour" in Ancient Czech.
"He's started twitching and I think his motor functions are off-alignment. Some kinda deformity or summin"
I twitch minutely in a sort of hysterical sympathy, and can almost feel the words coming. I know what he's going to say, and I'm going to have to smile and take it.
"Thought I'd get a runt in to fix him, see if it's hardware"
And there it is.
Deep breaths, Julia. Deep breaths.
"...thank you for your concern, sir. I'll see to your friend shortly. Sydney, could you help me with my tools?"
---
Yaxer was possibly my favourite patient. No impoliteness, no laughs about how he hoped the job wasn't too "big" for me. No comments about how "humans like you are always so inspiring". He even apologised in hushed tones for his roommate.
"He just doesn't seem to get it. I've tried explaining why we don't use that term, for you or me, but he seems to think that it's OK to use it if he 'knows what it means'..."
I smiled a warm smile, the first all day, and told him he shouldn't be using his motor processors right now. His issue seemed to be a chronic one, some kind of hardware issue that was probably laid down at conception (as the manufacturing process is called, it's rather less clinical this way) and it wasn't clear if I would ever be able to fix it for good. Repeated checkups and finetunings might be necessary for the rest of his life - rather like myself.
Afterwards, post-rundown and after checking he really was good to go, he made Sydney and I some tea. Sydney packed up my tools, which were individually light but far too heavy for me to realistically carry together, and I sipped it carefully. The aroma was delicate, probably too delicate for Sydney to appreciate, and I smiled at him.
"Lavender and peppermint, with a hint of heather honey. Ever since I got the smell implant installed, it's been my favourite part of the day to sit down in my library and brew a pot." I nodded enthusiastically, earning a chiding mutter of "don't hurt yourself...!" from Sydney that I took a vicious pleasure in ignoring completely. Yaxer turned to me, and looked down into my eyes with a suddenly calculating look. I blushed, not used to not being the fastest thinker in the room, and looked down at my cup of half-drunk tea.
"What about you, Julia? What attracted you to this job? There are dozens of choices for dexters like you, you didn't have to pick a job where you're constantly presented with prejudice and misinformation. What's _your_ favourite part of the day?"
I took another sip.
---
As I walked out of my new patient's home, telling him not to overstress his processors and to log his diagnostics twice-daily for the next month, Sydney looked down at me with a slier look than I think I've ever seen on her face. It was slightly unnerving really, like watching a goat do integrations.
"You never did answer him, you know. Why this job?"
She'd been with me for twelve years. It can't be fun, being a glorified weightlifter for a legally-disabled dexter, but she'd never once been impatient, never once broken my trust. I took a deep breath.
"Every day I'm surrounded by things I can't lift, things I can't eat, things I can't breathe. You're all so... tough, and I'm just here. Being small." She began to open her mouth, but I continued quickly onwards.
"But when I open up a synth and start unplugging, replugging, examining, analysing... there's detail. There's scale I can work with. There's fineness. It's not just that it's something I can do that you, or anyone else, can't do... It's that, if I get it wrong... I'm strong enough that I might accidentally crush something". | Flowers of colored fire exploded across the night sky. Red, violet, and green – perfect in symmetry and luster. The imperial fireworks were more beautiful than Riza could’ve ever dreamt of. Still, they paled in comparison to the young man who just sat down across the table from her. This was their moment, yet something felt oddly amiss.
*****
*Three days ago…*
Riza rolled her eyes and stepped through the gates to her workplace. Thursdays were the worst because that meant new experiments. She was sure she’d have tinnitus by the age of thirty if she kept working here, and from the looks of it, that would be the case. Her only pleasure in life was stealing glances at the handsome assistant director. His name was Rowland. That was all she knew about him.
Riza was grade-a-nobody, working double shifts as a cleaning lady. Her days consisted of sweeping the floor outside the new ERGO Particle Collider. She sighed and leaned on the mop. The speeds of the moving parts down there were dizzying. She never stopped for more than a couple of seconds, though, and always made sure to wave at the surveillance camera to show that she wasn’t taking a long break.
Today she was running late – someone had managed to clog all the toilets on the seventh floor – and once she reached the catwalk with a view over the collider, it was hours past midnight. The piercing grinding noise went mostly unhindered by her cheap earplugs, and it would only get worse by time. Hurriedly, she pushed the bucket behind her and painted the floor in wide wet arcs with the mop. It felt like her eardrums were bleeding.
The floor shook, and the water spilled everywhere. Riza cursed and tried her best to mop it up. She was almost done. Almost. The floor shook again, and Riza lost her balance and tumbled the ground. Next thing she knew, she was bathing in soap water, and the glass cover of the collider was hailing down in a million pieces.
Sirens and alarms were going off. Lights were flashing red. She tried to move but cut her hand on a shard of broken glass. Then a white sheen surged out from the collider and Riza was left blinded.
At some point she must’ve passed out, she reckoned, because how else would she have ended up on a massive operation table made out of hardened titanium, with a crowd of people around her. Although, from the looks of it, these weren’t people. Their bulging biceps and broad necks, and the fact that they were all over nine feet tall suggested that they were giants.
She couldn’t understand what kind of strange place she had come to. Why was everyone so big and strong?
“You made it!” one of them thundered.
“Made what?” Riza said tiredly. “Where am I?”
The giants exchanged quick glances.
“You completed the mission,” the largest one said. “You… y-you made it!”
They all cheered again, stomping their feet so that the entire room shook. Riza couldn’t understand what was going on or how she’d ended up in this strange place. She touched her ears; they were still ringing from the loud noise of the collider.
“I don’t even know you…” she mumbled. “What’s happening?”
“Yes, you do,” a massive boulder of a woman said. “I trained you for six months, which wasn’t easy, by the way, considering your puny size and lack of muscle tissue.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“You were sent through the Glow Gate…” one of them said.
“You were chosen because you were the only one who could fit through.”
Riza shook her head. She didn’t remember any of that.
“Here drink this,” the woman said and produced a vial. “Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”
The concoction tasted like swamp water, and Riza grimaced as she swallowed it down. Soon the noise in her ears was dying down, and she was starting to recall tiny bits and pieces.
She had been a scientist because that was all she was good for in a world of super strength. She was the only person on the planet who wasn’t able to pull up a tree by its roots or lift a building. She looked at the gathering of heaving muscles in the room.
These men and women were her colleagues. She had been sent back through the Glow Gate to a time before everyone became powerful. Her objective had been to destroy the collider, to ensure certain scientific breakthroughs didn’t occur. Breakthroughs, which would endanger the continued survival of the power race.
She remembered it all. How she had hated not being able to do sports with her friends. And being so weak that nobody could ever touch her or love her. She had been destined to a life of hopeless solitude. That’s why she had taken the amnesia shot the day she went through the portal. She had planned on staying in that world and becoming the guardian of the collider. What had gone wrong?
*****
The celebration of Riza’s successful mission was going to last for a month. She looked up at the fireworks and then at the man sitting in front of her. She had gazed at him dreamily for years. How was he here now?
“Did you know I was the one who invented the amnesia shot? And, of course, the antidote.” Rowland said. “How does one give up the survival of their entire species for personal happiness? And what happiness at that; scrubbing floors…”
“I… um…”
“Did you know I realized quite fast that you weren’t from around my time? I had you on and off amnesia for years, while I grilled you for the secrets of the future. I never thought it would be possible to get here. But what is it that they say?”
“I don’t know…”
“You know what, *nevermind*. I’m not going to have a drawn out monolog like some dumb villain – I am a scientist after all. Here, Riza, just drink this and forget everything. I’ll enjoy the fruits of ‘your’ success for the both of us.”
Riza closed her eyes and swallowed. He was right, it was easier to forget.
*****
Subscribe to /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more stories.
| 2017-04-11T06:07:22 | 2017-04-11T05:35:23 | 220 | 33 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry! | I woke up in a white room. I was in a hospital bed with tubes going in and out of me. My skin was pale and all of my dark spots were far more noticeable than before... Before what exactly? What did I do? Why am I here? My mind drifted back to my dreams and what they were. So crystal clear like replaying a video, yet foggy like old memories. My dreams were of pure fantasy, like traveling in outer space and conquering planets, to being a warlord and taking over nations, then there were the peaceful dreams of growing old with someone or staying young forever. There was nightmares of demons and monsters alike, where killing was the only way out. Others where I flew around invisible and saw my family.... MY FAMILY!!!! Where are they? I frantically look for a button to call someone and begin yelling ut of confusion and fear.
A few nurses come running in and begin. to calm me down until I can coherently talk. While being asked questions a nurse walks over to a nearby table and picks up a clipboard. She flips some pages before freezing and staring at the page. She then grabs her phone and scans the screen. She mumbles "How is that...wha...how..who are you?
I stare at her in confusion before familiar faces enter the room. My parents! I begin to smile and tear up as I see them. As the walk towards me the nurse grabs them and holds them back. "Dont go near him!" she shouts and the rest of the nurses back away.
My parents begin to shout and demand to know why. She then shows them her phone and as the screen lights up I can see their expressions drop. I nervously ask "What is it?" as the nurse frowns and slowly shows me her phone.
There, was my name, surrounding it is a gold outline. I remember what it is and what the gold meant. It was the ranking database that updates everytime someone turns 18. But why is my name on there? Im only 16... Suddenly things start making more sense as I piece together why im in that hospital and how long i've been there. Ive been in a come for at least 2 years of my life, maybe more. but all I know now is that im ranked 1# in something and it must be pretty bad.
I slowly scroll the screen up to see my rankings. I see hundreds of normal or strange ones like "Best at Basketball" or "How Many Melons Can Fit in Mouth" but then I begin to see a few gold ones outlined.
"1# Civilizations Conquered"
"1# Lifetimes Lived"
"1# Extraterrestrial Enslaved"
"1# Lives terminated"
The list went on and each one had a memory for it. But all these memories...I thought they were my dreams? | I was driving down to Seattle to sell some of my produce. As I get out, I start to notice people staring at me. I know that I'm a farm boy and all, but this city is so big. I walk in to a small shop, and people start asking me for autographs. Did they think I was famous? I just go on, then someone comes up to me. They show me their tablet and what do you know, I'm first place in crops grown. I think that didn't really matter, but apparently it did! I got so popular that I started a small business at home. By this point my family started making more money than we could EVER imagine. It was great. | 2019-05-04T11:50:28 | 2019-05-04T10:51:26 | 139 | 28 |
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them? | "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
My friend John's typical spiel turned into a half-legible drone as my mind drifted towards the people in the room. I couldn't help myself from panicking just a little bit. How many here would leave this place in an instant after what was about to happen? How many friends and family members would turn against us by the end of the day?
My mind settled when I focused on Rowena. I started to calm down as I recalled the memories of the day I met her that fateful night at the diner crying her eyes out, the blissful year we had together, and the glorious sight of her face beaming down at me as I showed off the engagement ring. My anxiety fell even further as I thought of Rowena's daughter Imogen, who had been our most vocal supporter from day one. I didn't even need to look at her to know she was watching the whole thing with a massive grin on her face.
With my nerves finally settled, I managed to tune back in to hear John say, "If anyone has any reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."
"I object."
Everybody looked back to see a man in a suit with his red hair pulled back into a ponytail and his beard finely trimmed. Rowena's ex-husband, Lucas. Lucas strolled forward as he said, "Come on Ro, you know I still love ya."
I could see the panic in Rowena's eyes as Lucas' presence dug up countless memories of abuse. As Rowena started to say something, I gripped her hand and softly said, "Hey. You, me, and Gen against the world, remember?"
Rowena looked at me and her panic began to subside. She took a deep breath and said to John, "Bring out the partitions and the mirrors. We're ready."
John nodded and motioned for the best man and maid of honor to bring out the requested items. As the mirrors were placed in front of us and the partitions separated us into our own little changing rooms (so to speak), I faced the former. As John went through yet another spiel, I closed my eyes and whispered, "Please. Please."
A feeling like rose petals getting blown off my skin washed over me. I opened my eyes to look in the mirror and my heart soared high enough to escape orbit. Staring back at me was an absolutely beautiful woman with a big head of frizzy black hair that was wearing a suit that was quite clearly not fit to her figure. After all these years, I was finally the woman I knew I was deep down.
As I savored my newly beardless face, Lucas tossed my partition aside and grabbed me by the collar. As he saw my new look, he sneered. "What's the matter, Austin? Realized Ro doesn't see you as a real man?"
Undeterred, I fired back, "My name's September, Mr. Three-Minutes-And-No-Encore."
Lucas scowled at me and wound up for a punch. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm and threw him off the altar. I looked up with absolute joy at Rowena, who now stood almost six inches taller than me with stealthily defined muscles running down her arms. As the partitions and mirrors were taken away and my father dragged Lucas out by his ponytail, Rowena smiled at me with more warmth than the sun. "I really like the name September."
John promptly cleared his throat and interjected, "Well, now that that happened, the big moment: Do you two promise to love, honor, and cherish each other in sickness and in health, richness and poorness, until death do you part?"
Rowena and I stared into each other and answered, "I do."
"Then by the power invested in me, I hereby pronounce you wife and...well, wife. Now kiss already before you two explode."
Rowena and I did just that, making the crowd roar in applause. Once we broke away, Rowena rested her hand on my cheek and whispered, "You remembered. All the times I told you about, when Lucas made me feel so small, so weak."
"Well, now you'll never feel small again. And thank you. For helping me be the woman I always wanted to be."
"Anything for my queen."
Suddenly, a tiny weight collided with my leg and gripped me tight. I looked down to see Imogen had launched herself out of her seat to hug me. As she looked up at me with a truly giant grin, she said to me, "I have two moms!"
I laughed as I picked her up and kissed her cheek. "Yeah, princess. Yeah you do." | It was finally time. It felt as though my whole life was leading to this. My wedding day! The day everyone recounts being up there for the best of their lives...
In the other room, I could hear my soon-to-be getting ready. I wondered what would happen when I saw them on the altar. Would I cry? Scream for joy? Faint, perhaps? Not knowing was part of the fun, part of the excitement, part of the whole experience. At least, that's what I was telling myself. But to be honest? I was a little nervous. I mean, I trusted that my partner loved me as I was, but how could I truly be sure until after the ordeal was over? My thought process was interrupted as the wedding coordinator called me over from the changing room. It was time.
The reception was a blast! I loved hearing from my friends and family and my partner's friends, as well as the members of their family... Well, those that bothered to show up, that is. I knew from experience that some of my partner's "choices" didn't hold up all that well with them. But nonetheless, it was all smiles, and eventually, it was time for us to walk down the aisle.
As we approached the altar, my thoughts became a blur, as a huge decision was fast approaching. What did my partner really think of me? Would I still be me after this? I brushed it all off, as I had complete faith in them. And then it happened. I said I do, they said I do, and we kissed.
The officiant brought out two mirrors, one for each of us. I swallowed nervously as I took a peek.
I was... me. It was undeniably me. Not a single thing changed, no flaw, no imperfection, nothing. I then looked over at my partner.
She was beaming. It was the happiest I think I've ever seen her. I mean, it makes sense. She finally looked like the woman she'd always been. No more awkward stares in public from those who didn't understand, no more crying in the bathroom after catching a look at herself at the wrong time.
Many members of her family, those who never showed up to the wedding, were afraid of seeing their son -- or nephew -- or whatever else -- become a daughter, or a niece. But the truth is that this wasn't a transformation: it was a metamorphosis. And it was beautiful. | 2022-12-07T21:28:40 | 2022-12-07T19:55:00 | 457 | 210 |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | There was an arcade game in the early 80's called 'Dig Dug,' where you controlled a little man who excavated for treasure while avoiding monsters. He would dig through the soil and attack monsters with an air pump, blow them up, and continue merrily on his way.
After half a dozen scotches the night before, my head felt like a particularly difficult level of the game.
I dragged myself through my usual morning routine. Shower. Shave. Put on slacks and dress shirt. Protein bar and a big glass of water. Brush teeth. Leave house. These were as automatic as breathing, and I didn't give them a second thought as I began the 1/2 mile walk to the bus stop.
Halfway there, I was hit with the distinct feeling that I had forgotten something. I check my pockets. Wallet, keys, phone. Check. Was I supposed to bring something to the office today? I didn't think so. Did I leave the lights or water on? I doubted it. As I approached the bus stop with its dozen or so commuters idly waiting, the sensation of something vital missing began to grow increasingly stronger.
As I joined the jumbled queue under the benched awning, I checked my pockets again. *Something is very, very off*, I thought, yet I couldn't for the life of me pinpoint it. I met the gaze of a middle-aged brunette to my left and forced a smile. She stared blankly for a moment and then returned a smile that looked equally as forced before averting her gaze.
I scanned the area around me, trying to make eye contact and smile with each passenger. Most reciprocated the gesture, yet with each there was that same momentary delay before the smile. *Is this some sort of prescience thing?* I wondered, *are we about to get hit by a meteor and we all sense it, but don't know it?*
I glanced down the street and saw our bus stopped at the next light up. The familiarity of the resuming routine eased some of my discomfort, and I tried to focus my mind on thoughts less bleak. As the bus began to roll toward us, and before I could even process what was happening, one of the waiting passengers jumped in front. There was no time for the vehicle to brake or for any of us to react. It just *happened*.
The woman lay sprawled on her back, knocked a good 20 feet from where the bus had finally stopped. She was motionless. Her legs were buckled in and her arms spread out as if she were being crucified. Her face was turned at a profile, and the side we could see was a wash of blood and bruises. I looked around me and noticed everyone was staring blankly at her, as if they couldn't process what had just happened. Even the bus driver was motionless.
After about a minute of continued silence, the bus doors opened and everyone filed in slowly. With a final glance at the dead woman, I followed them in. *Something is definitely missing*, I thought. | It began with a general unease that settled over the world. A quicker walk, a look over the shoulder, a perpetual frown at the corner of the mouth; it manifested and reflected between people, multiplying almost to the point of paranoia.
Then the animals stopped. It was the only proper way to describe the phenomenon that swept indiscriminately across species. First insects, then birds, then larger animals would simply lay down and refuse to move except to let out some heartbreaking noise as though they were grieving.
Out of the ensuing panic, a term for this unprecedented event was created: Heartbreak Syndrome. For, it was theorized by some biologist in a moment of pessimistic frustration, the Earth’s heart has stopped, and the world is in mourning.
In the end, Heartbreak brought humanity to its knees, and did not allow it to rise.
| 2016-04-18T14:29:24 | 2016-04-18T14:24:04 | 66 | 23 |
[WP] A man wants to sell his soul to a demon but the thing he wants in return is so dubious the demon is thrown for a loop. | "Four lemons," Greg responded.
"It's done," said the demon. The response was so quick that the smoke from its appearance hadn't yet left the room.
"...and some sugar," Greg said. He stared blankly at the demon and blinked once.
The demon also blinked. A subtle mark of shock passed over its ashy face.
"Um, it's done. We're done here," it said.
"Oh alright," Greg answered. "It's just that I'm trying to make lemonade and I needed the sugar."
The demon shifted from one hoof to another. The man, who's soul it now owned, continued to stare in expectation.
"Why didn't you just ask for lemonade?" the demon asked.
"Oh, I just like the homemade stuff better," Greg said. For a man who just gave away his afterlife he appeared stupidly confident in his suburban kitchen.
"You could have just asked me for homemade lemonade," the demon said. It was smugly satisfied turning its victim down, but also annoyed that Greg was not grasping the weight of the agreement previously made.
"You probably wouldn't make it how I like it," Greg said.
The two figures continued standing in front of the oven. A tiny salt pentagram was still sprinkled in front of the burners.
"Well then. I'm going," said the demon.
"Alright," Greg replied. "Have a good day then."
"You...too." The demon slowly trotted toward his portal. Behind it the man placed his four lemons into a basket and took a seat at his kitchen table. He calmly reached for his cup of coffee.
The demon stopped. It didn't feel guilt but felt like it needed to say something.
"Maybe your neighbor has some sugar," the demon said.
"Couldn't you just give me some like you did the lemons?" Greg asked.
"I can't do free ones," the demon said.
"Oh," the man responded.
A short moment passed. The demon waited for that moment then started to turn.
"I'll trade my son for some sugar," Greg said without expression.
The demon stood hunched in his tracks. His hairy back faced Greg. "I need consent from each of..."
"And I'll trade my wife for some ice. My father for a pitcher and my dog for a clean glass," Greg said.
"Your getting a little ahead of yourself...," the demon started to say.
"And I'll give you my grandmother for a coaster," Greg was picking up the pace of his plan now. "My neighbor's baby for a wooden spoon plus another from the orphanage for a cloth napkin."
"Oh yeah," the man added, "I found a box of stray cats that I'll crush for you myself for a cocktail umbrella."
The portal swirled in front of the demon. It spoke looking away from kitchen.
"Give me back my lemons Greg," it said. "I should have checked to make sure I could collect from you before I handed them over."
| “Let me get this straight,” said Azazel, standing in a run-down apartment choked with smoke.
“You want to be the color purple.”
“Yeah maaan, I mean think about it... How much stuff in the universe is purple, I could be,” pause for bong hit, “all of that shit at once. I’d be fuckin Barney and grape soda… AT THE SAME TIME.”
“Uhm, I don’t think that’s even possible, I mean I’ve had some weird requests but.. Tell you what, I’ll come back when your heads on straight, maybe then you’ll want something reasonable, like Kuwait or something.” As Azazel drew his return portal he glanced back at the kid and shook his head, “Purple, now I’ve heard everything.” | 2014-05-15T21:16:19 | 2014-05-15T21:15:50 | 252 | 95 |
[WP] People have gained the ability to "log out" in real life. But that also means they're able to log in. If you find out someone's password and full name, you gain the ability to log in as them. That is what lead to... this. | Damn is a versatile word, and it happened to be Fell’s favorite. Damn this, damn you, God Himself damn it, those damned millennials, damn it all to hell; Fell loved it all. Recently, he had begun to use it more and more until non-damns in his sentences had to be found with the help of a metaphorical electron microscope.
“Damn these damn stupid kids,” he swore. “Give me my damned body back right damn now!”
The short red man called Fell Linstow was blustering in a haze of logged-out soup. Fell pointed a ghostly finger at the teen inhabiting his body and shook it in a way that was absolutely terrifying in Fell’s nearsighted eyes and terrifyingly annoying to the boy, who was Kensley.
Kensley made a gesture that was immature even for his incredibly low standards. Fell inhaled a scandaled gasp out of his wide, gross old man mouth, followed by a quiet “damn.”
Kensley rolled his eyes up to his disappointed God. “Well, then you shouldn’t have left your password *literally on the computer.* And seriously, ‘password01?’ You’re kinda asking for it, dude.”
Fell’s cheeks (and ears, and neck, and really his entire body) would have reddened impossibly beyond his already cherry complexion, but given that he was logged out, his spirit was only able to manage a transparent salmon from his see-through head down to his floating toes. “And you’re asking for a damn whack from the back of my hand!” Fell tried to deliver this, but his knuckles passed through Kensley’s grin.
“Why are you hitting yourself?” Kensley taunted with Fell’s voice.
Fell damned in utter frustration. Really, a new verb should be dedicated to the old man. He damned with a passion that could make Joan of Arc throw down her chainmail and walk out of church, admitting that her own fervor could never hope to match. It was nearly enough to make Kensley feel an emotion that wasn’t powerful smugness.
It wasn’t quite enough. However, Fell was the kind of man that was intellectually fueled by rage. He eyed Kensley’s abandoned body lying on the sofa.
Fell fixed Kensley in a blood-curdling glare. “What if I log in to your damn account?”
“Good luck with that,” Kensley laughed. “My password is unbreaka—”
Fell rose to Kensley’s feet. Kensley in Fell’s body stared at his own face in slack-jawed shock. He started to stammer a question, but Fell cut him off again with, “Your password is ‘kensleyiscool69.’ *You’re kinda asking for it.*”
“Okay, Grandpa,” Kensley sighed. “Whatever. Being an old guy sucks balls anyway.”
Fell and Kensley stood opposite each other, circling their own bodies like coyotes eyeing rather edible eagles, and the other way around. They each held out a hand and attempted to break the others in a death grip. Both of them seemed reluctant to break the handshake, as if it would be a display of weakness. Finally, Fell slipped his hand back to his side.
“We’ll log in at the same damn time,” he said. “I’ll do yours, and you do me.”
Kensley snickered to himself, and then shut his eyes and logged in as Kensley Sundt. At the same damn time, Fell logged in as Fell Linstow. They both felt the fuzzy sensation of their spirits logging into their corporeal forms, and then militaristically collapsed to the Oriental rug in piles of aggressive exhaustion.
“I got a damned headache,” Fell groaned.
“Me, too,” Kensley responded, to his joy, in his own voice.
____
r/Bennywrites | Logging out was more of a curse than a blessing. There was nothing to "Log Out" to, just an empty void with a menu screen to log back in. There were some benefits I guess; people could fix their visual and audio settings, so the majority of those deaf or blind were suddenly curable overnight.
But then came the hackers and scammers. People who would log in as others, booting them off the "server" and quickly changing their password to get back in, sending all of the victim's money to some anonymous bank account and then burning the rest of their assets and documents before logging out somewhere designed to get them horribly killed as soon as the account was recovered by the original owner.
"Two Factor" authentication became more of a thing, where people would ask you some key question to verify who you were. Celebrities and world leaders were especially hard to "hack".
Simon though... he was a lot more subtle. He hacked our professor while he was sleeping, and got into his home computer with all the final exam answers. Got him back into bed and logged out without him suspecting a thing! Must have made him think he logged out by accident. One of the girls though, Jenny, she found out about our plan to ace the test.
The price for not busting us both? I'd have to do her exam too. Hers was at a different time so it worked out... and don't get me wrong, being a girl for a few hours was wild; but when the only thing you get to do is write down test answers, its not that great. I logged back in as myself after, and there's Simon. On his knees. Sucking my...
"Uhhh...It was Jenny's idea...?" | 2019-06-03T16:23:20 | 2019-06-03T15:40:57 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | The gigantic oak door that made up the main entrance to my mansion buckled and broke, flying off its hinges in a shower of splinters. A young knight stepped in, clad in a pragmatic and flexible armor.
"I will not let you take my dragon!" I shrieked, wielding a heavy trident.
"Yes yes, we know."
"He is mine!" Purple flames licked the trident.
"He is a dragon." The knight said, and looked around the large hall. "Also we are fairly certain you have been driven coco in the head. This place stinks by the way, you realize that?"
"He is just misunderstood! I do not need to be rescued!"
"I mean, this is more like an attempted arrest..."
I rushed against him. The coward backed away as I flung small shots of purple flames at him from my trident.
"You will never have him! None of you!"
"Yeah we gathered that when you killed the first, a crap." The young knight blocked some of my bullets with his large kite shield and continued as if he was completely unperturbed, the bastard. "... after you killed the first three people come to try and extract you. Spontaneous magical powers huh. No wonder you are completely unhinged."
"I am NOT CRAZY!"
"Sure, sure. Just any normal princess arent you just."
"Leave now or I will kill you! You will never slay my dragon!"
"We are not here to slay your dragon."
That actually disturbed me. I stared at him with large, shocked eyes.
"That was the original plan sure, but you know. We were working on limited information."
"So why have you disturbed my domicile?"
"Well..." The young knight hesitated. "We are gonna save the dragon? From you?"
I screamed out in fury and flung my arcane powered trident at him full force, he let out another frightful gasp and again raised his shield.
"Oh Crap!" The trident hit straight into his shield, breaking it in four large pieces and sending him up into the air. He hit the wall with a large thud that echoed across the hall, then fell down on the floor. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled and he fell down on one of them.
I sneered at him, looking around for something to finish the job.
"It seems you will be the fourth, sir knight." I said in a mocking tone. "You will never be able to defeat me."
"Me? Maybe not. But you know. I did not actually... ah... come alone."
And then a large number of things occurred simultaneously.
From the back of my mansion I heard a large explosive sound, as if someone had just blown up the back door, and a loud happy rumbling as if something large was being escorted out of the building.
"Oh no! My dodo!" I screamed, but at exactly the same time, windows on both sides of the building shattered as two rather short knights poured in. One of them was a dwarf, and the other were clearly a gnome. They were wearing the same style of armor as the young knight.
"This is a KESA raid!" The gnome yelled. "Surrender now!"
I snarled and turned to set the little bastard on fire, but before I could, his friend shot a strange crossbow bolt at me. As it hit me, the glass head shattered, and I was covered in a strange gas that made me cough and spit. As I was unable to form the arcane power, the gnome rushed at me and threw a very small net at my knees. Then the young knight tackled me to the ground and gagged me.
​
"That eh, stands for Knights Extraction and Special Assault squad." He said, as I struggled and cursed at him trough the restraints.
\-
In the aftermath of the extraction, as the still cursing, still tied up, soon to be ex-princess was being carted away, the KESA squad met for a short after operations debrief.
"Cannot lie to you boss, that was helluva risky." The gnome knight said.
"Yeah maybe. I wanted to confirm she was really you know. Coco in the head." The young knight said, tapping at his temple. "Also it fit with the reports. No immediate attacks, just lots of shouting, then a flashes of purple light. And some more... much more abrupt screams."
The gnome knight grunted but said nothing. The young knight turned to a somewhat tall elf and an equally tall older human wearing the same armor as the rest of them. "How was the dragon?"
The old human shrugged. "Malnourished and scared, but otherwise mostly fine. He should be back with his parents soon."
The young knight lit a small yet finely crafted ivory pipe and shook his head. "Crazy times these. If this was back in my grandfathers days, we would have blamed the dragon for turning the princess mad and executed him on the spot."
"Things arent so simple anymore." The elf knight said. The dwarf knight grunted. "They never were. So boss, what do we do now?"
"What else is there?" The young knight said. "Now we do the paper work." | He opened the wooden door with a long drawn out squeak. In his hand a touch rose up illuminating the room and stretching his shadow behind him like taffy. He gazed at the silhouette laying in a bed decorated in fine silks, the moon outlining the perfect beauty of Princess Marianna.
"Alas my Lady! I have" *Clonk!* he stopped abruptly to a thick whack on his head, his helmet rang in his ears. He turned around to find a girl, dressed in a light gown, holding a chair.
"Princess wait" *Clonk* "I am your prin..." *Bang* "I'm trying to slay the..." *Clang* "Will you just sto.." *Bonk*
As the princess berated the knight with her chair a tail slithered into the room, a long scaly tail, a very very long and large scaly tail. the princess dropped the chair as the knight held his hands to his helmed dazed. She leaned back jumped into the air and at the same time the tail and her feat lashed out at the prince, pushing him over the bed and out the window. *clonk clang bonk bing* the knight tumbled down the side of the castle, *SPLOOSH!* and into the water. The princess walked over to the bed and pulled the sheets, revealing a couple of pillows and two watermelons stuffed at the top. "Knights are so stupid huh Ms. V" she turned around and the tail and her hand met in the hair with a quick *THWAK!*
The princess ran down the stairs following the dragons tail and into a large room that was once used as a dinner hall when the castle was new. now it set abandoned for years, covered in dust and in the center of it lay a large red scaly dragon.
"I'm just so sick of it Ms. V" Marianna said to the dragon. "It's like all anyone ever sees in me is, the princess, helpless little Marianna, maybe she will grow up and make a great casserole some day for a Handsom prince" she mocked as she did her best impression of a Nobel man. "Do you have any idea what it is like for people to judge you on your outside and never want to get to know the real you?" she questioned the dragon. The dragon raised her head to agree with a nod but The princess cut her off. "Off course not Ms. V, you're beautiful and caring." She hugged the dragon wrapping her arms around one of her giant scaly legs. "Now let's get to work."
The Princess and the dragon stayed up all night, in fact, most nights, building a stage, writing scripts. She was not destined to be a princess, and Ms. V. Was not destined to be slain in search of a princess. No. They were going to be the best play writers in the world. | 2019-01-09T11:21:07 | 2019-01-09T08:21:48 | 72 | 28 |
[WP] Spontaneously overnight, all of humanity is transformed into a vast array of mythical and fantasy creatures, based on who they were on the inside. You weren't even remotely prepared for what you became. |
I was never a nice person before the change. And afterwards I… was still a prick. I admit it. I don’t like people. And that didn’t change when all of humanity became everything written out in every Fantasy book ever written. Night owls became vampires and werewolves, kindly grandmothers and spritely children changed into Fae, walking enigmas shifted into Sphinxes…
You also got the really weird ones. I mean *really* weird. You can thank the East for that, I think. A fair few people got turned into Yokai, others turned into Gorgons or Griffons, and I think there was even one dude who turned into a Wendigo. Scientists were still trying to find rhyme or reason behind it, but the most they could get was that each individual was transformed to the being that fitted them the most. Of course, it wasn’t that simple, it never was, but they didn’t stop. Even at our heart, we were still human, still struggling to survive, still adapting, and still moving.
It was easier for some than others. Even the Centaurs and Driders had an easier time then me. Especially the Driders, despite the universal fear of *small* spiders. For me, people avoided me as much as I avoided them. It was a good compromise, I felt, though the more macabre-minded individuals of society took a liking to me.
I’m… still not sure on what to think of that.
Soon, I was inducted to the local police force. They were having problems, a lot of them. Some people had adapted quite well, and were now using their newfound abilities to go on a rampage. I asked what was in it for me, and they gave me a list of benefits. Good pay, secure job, and help getting used to my new body. I accepted.
My first job was about two weeks in. Training had been sparse, they needed bodies ASAP, and I had to have a crash-course in policing along with my mobility training. It was good enough for an emergency job, I suppose. Turned out, there was a Kitsune leading a few other nasties in the middle of the town, and we had to deal with them.
I kind of accidently revealed some of my depth of mythological creatures when I asked how many tails the Kitsune had. When I eventually got my answer of five, I figured I was ready.
We went down the street on a sunny afternoon. People were screaming, running for their lives. A few Fae-kind were trying to protect others. I didn’t care. I had one job to do.
The moment I was clear, I dug my hooves into the floor and charged my rotting carcass at my target. No chances. No mercy.
Let’s see how they’ll deal with a Nuckelavee. | I woke up, craving water, my hair having become pitch black and my eyes a speckled grey, almost hazel, although far duller. Getting up, I walked to the faucet and turned it on, drenching my head in the tap water.
It wasn't... right.
I lived next to a creek, running to it, I felt myself change. I saw mythical creatures everywhere, and when I got to the creek, I saw not a human, but a horse, with black hair, silky from water, and beautifully vivid grey eyes.
I hunted, I killed, I never understood why I became this way, but I accepted it soon enough.
Life as a Kelpie is quite fun. | 2020-06-11T23:27:45 | 2020-06-11T21:59:43 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You hold the gun to your head, and pull the trigger. Theres a moment of darkness that gets interrupted with a boom of laughter. “I think thats a new record!” The familiarity of the faces around you grows, and you remember, the simulation game. “35 years?! With the shit we threw into that sim!”
[removed] | You hold the gun to your head, and pull the trigger. There’s a moment of darkness and silence, peace that is interrupted with the growing cackle of laughter and a boom of cheers.
“Holy shit! I think she broke the record.”
The familiarity of the faces around you grows, and you remember, the simulation game.
“35 years?! You made it 35 years with the shit we threw into that sim! You’re a goddamn legend!” Whose voice is that? Jamie! Right Jamie. A friend from high school. It’s coming back.
“Fukin el, mate, brilliant, just, brilliant.” Sundeep, dammit, that sadistic bastard, I wonder what Sunny was responsible in that absolute dumpster fire.
“Shut up! All of you.” You try to get control of the room. With each second that passes comes a flood of memories, so you stall for a few more, then burst into laughter. “You mother fuckers! What was that?”
Laughter, uncontrollable laughter everywhere. Your best friends and you all clutching your stomachs, doubled over. Jess and Eli and literally on the floor.
“How?!? HOW did you last 35 years?”
“We threw the weirdest shit at you, for real, most of us have been high since you were like 14 years old in there.”
“Oh my god, remember when we started fucking with global politics, all gentle and shit - thinking it would give us away too fast?”
“When, when you made it to 25 we just turned up the dials...” Liza could barely catch her breath, “I, I don’t understand how you didn’t catch on at ANY point?! Just kept trucking along, didn’t ya?”
“Remember when we started the antivaxxers!” Laughter.
“By the end that was nothing. Like literally nothing. Jesus we literally created and then sabotaged all social progress. Dude, Eli created the whole slave narrative, like wtf even was that? And then to have this on and off again with basic fucking human rights, like how did you not call BS.”
“He really brought it back though at the end, undid all the progress, cops killing people over the color of their skin, but this gem over here...” Cory is shaking your shoulders “this gem! Going to these rallies that she knows ain’t gonna help a thing because somewhere deep down she sees the game is rigged, but still gives it her fucking all to change things. Damn girl, you are a gem.”
“Ok, but for real, let’s talk more about the last few years. We made the creepiest fucking human, and then, had him elected as US president.” More laughter. “We made him a reality TV star for fucks sake. And then, and then! We had him instigate the weirdest shit AND somehow magically not get his ass landed in prison. I mean, come on, we try not to make this game too severe but we rode the line pretty hard in this one.”
You’re finally getting it all again. Right. This is a game, a game you play with your friends. CivSim. You go in, you hit the “No memory” setting, and then your friends, they control your simulation. Your crew turned it into a drinking game, you’ve gotten together once a month to play since Uni. You can only play every so often because, well, you all have lives, real lives in the real world. Thank fuck that shit hole you just woke up form wasn’t real. You’re a little embarrassed you fell for it, but I mean, how were you to know. You’re born into the sim around 8 years, with some foggy memories of life before, details aren’t important for that age, broad stroke will do just fine to create a secure memory and believe that you are definitely, 100%, a real human living a real life. Then, they make everything terrible, I mean, you all try balance some good, nobody wants to see a 12 year old off themselves, but, that is the eventual goal, to drive each other mad. Game over when you suicide. Everyone does a shot each time the player considers it, except for whoever created the scenario that caused the downward spiral.
A year in CivSim is about an hour out here. It hits you, “You cunts stuck around for 27 hours just to torture me?!?”
“Ok listen, in our defence, we really tried. I mean, common, even the history options were at full blast depressing. 2 world wars. 2!!! And the literally no good reason. Just, hatred.”
“That was the theme mate!” Fucking Sunny, I knew it. “I made the theme ... hatred.” He was so damn proud of himself. I knew that prick was behind this.
“Seriously though” Sarah chimed in, looking exhausted, “we all just wanted to go home, I’m so sorry about 2020.”
“Yeah, living past age 30 in our games takes serious resolve, but, I’ve never seen anything like the shit we threw at you in your 2020.”
“K, just one serious question” Jag’s tone went cold, “how exactly, did you not figure it out at MURDER HORNETS”. Laughter. Yup, they’re still a prick too. But you would be doing the same in their shoes. In retrospect, you really should have known something was up.
“Or, maybe when we set all of Australia ablaze?! And killed like a billion animals.” Thanks, Jess.
“That was the least of what we did to the environment, come on. That was just the icing on the cake, and still we made sure society barely flinched.”
“And Iran, we almost started another world war and then, we had end by blowing up a fucking plane of innocent people.”
“COVID was just a Hail Mary, but then having everyone fighting about whether it even existed or not! While hundreds of thousands of people were dying from it, strike of genius.”
“For the record, that was me!” Eli chimed in, giggling with pride. “Who wants a plague where everyone just complies to help make it go away? Sorry, to push you so hard, but I really want to go home and get some sleep.”
You laugh too. It feels strange to remember the pain, confusion and anger of being in the sim, yet still find the humour. You’re still not sure whether you should proud you lasted so long, or embarrassed.
“So who did it, who was responsible for my final demise.” You ask, trying to mask the torrent of emotions lying under the surface.
“Oh, it was this bastard that finally cracked you” Eli says as he pulls Karen into a headlock and jokingly rubs her scalp with his knuckles. “She had the brilliant idea of quarantine. We all kinda pitched in for the pandemic and all the weird shit but it was Karen that created the end goal, isolation. You’re clearly insusceptible to trauma so we basically had to kill you with boredom and loneliness.”
Fuck Karen.
——
Hey, OP here, just wanted to say thanks for swinging by. The other stories here are SO great, and so very different than what was in my head (big fan of that) so I figured I’d try to put my own thoughts to “paper”. This is my first writing submission and I wrote it on my phone. Hope you enjoy. And a huge thanks to the other writers here for sharing their perspective! | The dry dirt crunches beneath my knees, my mouth is so dry.. it's been at least a day since I had that mouthful of water, the pain from lack of food has gone but I know it's only because my body is tricking itself, my stomach is bloated and my body is sluggish and heavy weighed down further by the worn leaded suit and empty satchel that would normally hold my supplies.
Trough the grimy lenses of my gas mask I see no shelter just rubble, blast craters, and skeletons, and the pounding unrelenting wind keeps me from standing upright as the Geiger counter ticks wildly... When was the last time I managed to clean or change the charcoal in my filter? Not to mention the dose I must be getting just being up here but I had no choice.. "I HAD NO FUCKING CHOICE!" And after a moment the rage subsides "God it even hurts to talk eh, then again I don't do much talking these days eh?" And chuckle dryly as if expecting to hear a reply.
Taking a deep ragged breath I get up and try to move on, my hands clutching a piece of rubble for support I half walk half crawl forward until an upward slope is in front, getting onto my knees and hands again I crawl up the slope getting to the top I see a pit at least twenty to thirty feet deep "I'll take my chances climbing the higher rubble over ther"....
.......
"Ohhhh fuck..... What hap.. fuck" there's. A fucking bar of rebar sticking out of my gut...... My left leg appears to be broken aaaand I'm breathing fresh irradiated unfiltered air. "Ahh there it is must've been torn off in the fall hahahaha.... HAHAHAHAH" looking up as those pathetic laughs finish I chuckle again "fuck me.. I'm lucky to even be alive, then again is it really luck at all? Fucking Geiger counter I know there's fucking rads out here!" Grabbing it I throw it as far is I can the sound being drowned out by the howling vortex of wind and convulse in pain as the rebar shifts in my gut reminding me of the blinding pain "there at least I can die in relative peace eh? Fuck I can't believe I'm gonna die and can't even remember the last person I even spoke to"
....
"I have a gun... Well I did have a gun do I still have it?" I'm afraid to reach down for it.... "Do I even want it to be there?" Reaching down I feel around, these fucking leadened gloves make it so hard to "fuck it I'm dead already" I rip off the gloves and unzip the heavy suit down as far as I could, the wind feels good on my sweaty body beneath and fumble down beneath my thigh... "Huh would you believe it I lose the fucking mask but I still have this thing?" The .45 pistol I've carried for years sits in my hand, it's always felt good in the hand.
"Do I want to end this now? I mean there's no way I'm getting out of here, and even if I do the Rads I've collected will kill me anyways sooner or later" lifting the gun I press it to my temple.... "Surprisingly I feel pretty good about this haha who'd have known" more wretched giggles claw out of my throat as I take a deep breath and pull the trigger.... Click!
"For fuck sakes... Did this thing seriously not work?" Working the slide I see nothing wrong Just a fucking misfire, I pull the slide back hard and eject the bullet and chamber another. "Normally I'd never throw away a bullet but I guess what's the point right?" Pressing the gun to my temple again and taking a breath enjoying the fresh air on my face and body I pull the trigger again slowly "goodbye me or whoever the fuck I'm talking t" BANG
Everything is dark... Who the fuck? Who the hell is laughing?!
"Wow I think that's a new record! Thirty five years in that irradiated shithole sim we stuffed you in that's quite a feat there" the jovial voice says as I open my eyes
The bed I'm secured to is uncomfortable and I look around seeing the face of.... Fuck I remember.. and a smile creeps onto my face "Hello Warden Fancy seeing you here, how's your favourite Sim stream treating you?"
The smile on his face drops instantly and he says "I'd hoped you'd be a little more incoherent maybe this one would be the one to break you"
That triggers a laugh "honestly I think you'll have to do worse if you wanna break me, so how much longer until I'm released? How much time did this one take IRL?"
"Long enough you fucking Murderer! And I will make each and every day your in my prison fucking hell on earth! And when you are released you'll be nothing more than a drooling mess! Send him back in!"
Laughing harder I shout "alright see you next time, be sure to make it realllly fucked up this time, it might actually stick!"
Everything goes dark again...
"What the fuck where am I?!" I can barely move it's pitch black and the air feels thin I feel around and feel nothing but rough wooden planks. "Have I been buried alive?..... HELP SOMEONE ANYONE PLEASE HELP!" | 2020-12-05T18:31:58 | 2020-12-05T17:44:31 | 19 | 12 |
[wp] When someone dies, they go to a platform where you can choose to move in to the afterlife, not knowing whether you will go to heaven or hell. You meet someone who has stood there for millenia, trying to decide if they should go. | Death was swift for me, at least. Despite the rest of my life, I somehow managed to escape suffering in my final moments. Something to be thankful for, I guess.
It's really strange waking up after you die, looking down and seeing yourself even though you know that what you see is rotting away in a coffin somewhere; a feast for worms. After the initial shock of it, I followed a thick stream of people, just like me, wandering forward in what was more or less just a train station. Once we arrived at the platform, there were two trains on either side of us, both merely labeled with "AFTERLIFE" and nothing else. I expected a saint interviewing people, ushering them to either side, or a demon, or... *something*, really. Anything.
Yet all I found was an old man, hair wispy and white, sitting alone on a bench between the two trains as the river of souls split in front of him. Rather than board one, I sat next to him. As I got closer, he looked at me with eyes exhausted from carrying the luggage beneath them, and gave me the faintest smile.
"It's not often someone chooses to sit by me," he said, eyes returning to the river.
I shrugged. "I don't really know what else to do. Someone could at least tell us which one goes where, or something."
"That would be silly, no? Life was not easy, with labels and someone to hold your hand. Someone out there *really* loves testing us."
"Yeah, I guess that's true, but still. I don't want to get on either." I looked at him, furrowing my brow. "How long have you been here?"
"Oh, there's not much of a concept for time here, son. I've been here since I got here, that's about the gist of it. I've seen quite a few people come into this station. Never a quiet day, sadly."
"Lots of people die."
"They do indeed. Sometimes, though, the river swells and nearly floods the station. Sometimes more of one ethnicity comprises the river. That's how I can get an idea of what's going on back home. It's rather fun, actually. Learning about Earth by watching the dead come through here."
My eyes turned to the train in front of us. "Are you ever going to pick?"
"I reckon eventually I'll have to. The rest of the dead have moved on, while I'm stuck here in purgatory. Pretty sure I've seen my family pass by, but again, no one really stops. They all just see the trains, the choice, and frantically follow those in front of them to get inside. As if the train's going to run out of space." He chuckled to himself, taking a deep breath afterward.
"Which path will you take?"
"That's the tough question. I'm afraid I don't know. Most people pick the righthand platform upon entering, I do know that. Perhaps because it seems to go forward, while the other faces backward. At least, from their perspective. Here, on this bench, neither seem to go much of anywhere."
"Hmm. Maybe I'll take the one less traveled by."
The old man turned his head. "What was that?"
"The path less traveled by. It's this poem I read back on Earth in high school, about some guy that has to pick between two roads and chooses the one less people take. Seems fitting right now."
He smiled, gazing into his lap. "I haven't heard that in a long time- I'd nearly forgotten. Yes, I recall something like that now that you mention it. I think it meant something different on Earth, however."
"Why's that?"
"Say I pick the train less traveled by, and it takes me somewhere pleasant. Is it better to end up somewhere wonderful, with no one to share it with? Or to end up somewhere ripe with struggle, but suffer it with those you love?"
"I guess so. Man, I wonder what Frost would say about this place."
For the first time, the old man laughed, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "I reckon he'd just sit here on this bench. I have a proposal for you, uh..."
"Steve."
"Steve. Why don't we get on a train together?"
The young man chewed on that suggestion for a moment. "Okay, deal. Which one?"
"I'll let you pick."
"All right. Why don't we pick the one more traveled by, uh..."
"Oh, silly me. Why don't you, eh, call me Bob?"
"Okay, Bob. Let's go." The two men joined hands, merging into the river of souls flooding the righthand train.
*Two paths diverged in a station of concrete and steel, and I-*
*I took the one most traveled by.*
*And that has made all the difference.*
----
*thanks for reading! You can find more at /r/resonatingfury!* | "Hello?"
There was no response. There were a few people lining the edges of my vision, but none spoke. I came up to one, sporting the longest black beard I had ever seen.
"Hello? Where are we?"
He gave me a baleful look. His eyes seemed like sandy mud chunks and his limbs were worn to the bone. Skin and freckles were all he had to his name, and no clothes. I didn't understand that. I had clothes.
"Why are you naked?"
There was an ageless interval where nothing happened. He blinked, and with great effort, snapped his jaw shut twice, like he was eating. He swallowed emptily.
"Oh... Ok. I'll... I'll come back later."
He frowned and shook his head. A stern gaze marked him.
"Don't you know who that is?" Someone called in the distance. I turned and ran towards the source. Another person started to emerge from the misty fog. Light, girlish echoes sounded over he corridor.
"He's an Ancient Greek philosopher."
"Which one?"
"I'm not sure," they called out. "It's either Heraclitus or Parmenides."
I stopped in my tracks as the figure came into view. A teenage girl stood in front of me, a little stout and shorter than I was expecting. Her voice carried very well from here.
"How do you know that?"
"I don't know, it's a guess. But he's been here way longer than me."
I took tentative steps towards her. I had so many questions, but nerves were getting the better of me. Maybe it was better to turn back and not know where I was, like the one time I opened my parent's bedroom door late at night.
My feet didn't let me turn around.
"Why can't I move?"
"Because we can't. Only onward."
"...oh. Who are you?"
She scoffed. "Who can say? Maybe I'm God, maybe I'm Satan, maybe I'm Buddha or Vishnu or a Second Vishnu."
I shrugged it off.
"I'm kidding of course. I'm Maria Olson from Tuscaloosa."
"...Sounds cool," I tried to lamely comment.
"Eh. It's ok. But what about you? You're a new shade around here."
I was about to respond when someone else called out in the distance.
"Hey! Where are we?"
I turned my head and answered, "I don't know!"
The voice was quiet.
Maria gave me a look. "You have a terrible imagination. I know where this is."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Purgatory. We have to wait here forever."
The new footsteps started approaching us.
"Hmm. Maybe I'll go investigate."
"You go in, if you like. Just remember, you can't go backwards."
I nodded and started walking. Whoever else was there could figure this out.
| 2016-08-14T07:28:06 | 2016-08-14T05:25:06 | 84 | 56 |
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered. | Most of my colleagues in the Adventurer's Guild just *love* showing off their gleaming armor and trinkets. You can understand why, they crackled and sparked with impressive, nearly overflowing magical energy. As for me? I tended to play my cards a little closer to the vest, never displaying much of anything publicly.
Oh... not because I'm particularly modest or humble in any way, I'm very likely just as arrogant as the lot of them! But rather because, unlike my dear colleagues, I... am dead broke. Rarely a single silver coin to my name, and the quality of my poorly enchanted gear suffers for it. Most of those in the guild saunter around with thousands of gold pieces worth of magical equipment strapped to their bodies. Cloaks of Invisibility, Gloves of Bear's Strength, Boots of Mighty Leaping... the parade of impressive gear often feels endless.
On the other hand, the finest item in my entire inventory was a Helm of Insignificant Wisdom I'd pulled off a dead goblin some years back. It provided me with... well, a rather paltry and appropriately *insignificant* amount of wisdom! When worn, I could remember about 10% more of the multiplication tables I'd been forced to memorize as a boy, and... uh, that's about it.
As a result of being unable to afford anything terribly impressive in its own right. I began to seek compromises and trade offs in my magical shopping sprees. You see, it turns out there's a bit of a discount applied to items that enchanters deem 'imperfect', 'failed', or even 'cursed'. Enchanting is no easy or straightforward business, so of course the process went wrong almost as often as it succeeded. But what was an entrepreneurial young enchanter to do when they accidentally cursed an item in the process of creation? Just toss it away, all of the reagents required to create it going to waste? No! You toss it in the bargain bin and sell it for dirt cheap to some poor bastard like myself, of course!
My very own set of Gloves of Defective Bear's Strength were a good example. I'd bought them for the paltry sum of 8 copper and hey provided me nearly the same strength enhancing properties as my colleague's perfect, glimmering items. I could lift heavy boulders, toss aside a charging ogre, and wield massive axes and hammers, but there was a notable trade off with my 'defective' set. The gloves, while effective, caused me near constant physical pain while worn. The feeling of sizable electric shocks rippled through my arms every few seconds as long as I had them on. But, they were all I could afford, and so I put up with the unwelcome feeling of frequently grasping a bolt of lightning, so long as they provided me with the strength required to do my job and perhaps begin to earn enough coin to upgrade all my shoddy, loathsome gear.
The contract to capture or eliminate the legendary dragonkin assassin Drek'thar was a big one for our guild. Unlike most of our jobs hunting down cattle stolen by goblins or slaying the rats that invaded a farmer's cellar, this job came straight from the royal palace itself. Predictably, my good friend Sir Jamsen Farnsworth was selected to head the effort. He was not only one of the richest, and therefore most well equipped, members of the guild, he was also the best. He'd earned his riches through success on the battlefield and cunning in navigating effective payment from wildly disparate entities across the realm.
As was standard in our organization, he was allowed to choose a partner to accompany him on his mission. And perhaps because he is a good friend, or because I am a half-dragonkin who might have some insight into our target, or because most in the guild refused his offer to be slaughtered by the most deadly assassin in living memory, he selected me. We set off in a grand mood, but almost immediately my enjoyment of our upcoming adventure was sullied by my lowly status. His magical Saddle of Dazzling Speed caused his horse to gallop at twice the speed of my pathetic Carrot on a Stick, which was quite literally just a carrot tied to a stick with I held in front of the horse in hopes it might increase its speed slightly to "catch" the carrot.
"Everything alright, Dran?" Jamsen asked as he circled his horse back around to check on me.
"Oh yes!" I lied, as I desperately swung the hanging carrot in front of my horse's nose. "Just fine indeed! My mighty steed merely needs a moment to... to warm up!"
Jamsen laughed, but did not mock me as most of the others in the guild did when they noticed my sad equipment. "Do not fret, friend. We shall trot along at a comfortable speed for both our horses. Drek'thar has taken up residence in the town of Grayhaven to rest and recuperate after an injury. We will arrive in plenty of time."
Our travel was pleasant enough, sharing stories and laughs as we sauntered along toward our destination. It was also a fruitful journey for one of us. Just off the beaten path, Jamsen discovered a chest using the shimmering Ring of Detection on his finger. Inside, we found a beat up old Chestguard of Lesser Thorns. He politely informed me that I should wear it, because it was far superior to the rags that were currently 'protecting' my midsection. The Lesser Thorns spell imbued within it would radiate a wave of magical damage outward each time I took damage from an attacker. Not nearly as impressive as some of the devastating effects on Jamsen's armor, but it was indeed *something*, at least.
Upon arrival in Greyhaven, we found Drek'thar almost immediately. Locals were not happy about his presence, and happily informed us that he was waiting for his wounds to mend in a cave just outside town. We entered with caution, but to our surprise found no traps set at the entrance. The cavern was fairly small, so almost immediately we feared we had missed him, as it appeared completely deserted. That is, until a boulder fell from above us, right atop poor Jamsen.
Thankfully, his armor proved worth its high cost as he was still alive, but unable to move. As I tried to assess his potential injuries, we both turned our heads as the sounds of rapid footsteps filled our ears. "He's stealthed!" Jamsen shouted. "He must have pushed this bloodly boulder down on me from the ledge above. Be wary!"
I pulled my meager, somewhat rusty sword and began swinging in a wild arc through the air, in a vain attempt to protect myself and my trapped comrade from our invisible foe. The sound of dashing footsteps around us was now constant. "He's toying with us before the kill," Jamsen told me. "Neither of us stand a chance against him alone. Get this damned thing off me or we're both dead!"
Knowing what had to be done, I quickly slipped on my somewhat defective strength enhancing gloves. Immediately I felt a surge of power flow through me... as well as the now familiar surge of painful electrical shocks, and I began to lift the boulder off my friend. Just as I managed to shove it aside, I heard the blood chilling sound of a knife being unsheathed behind me. This was the end, the moment before Drek'thar emerged from his expertly hidden state to quickly and efficiently slit my throat. I felt one more surge of electricity rush down my arm, and annoyed that I had to experience one more indignity before I died, I closed my eyes to wait for the deathblow. But, for a moment at least, it did not arrive?
I turned to see the deadly assassin standing several feet away from me, in clear, plain view. He looked utterly confused as I was about this fact. Rapidly he faded back into stealth, but just as quickly, I felt another surge of electric pain radiate down my arm, and he once again appeared before me, clear as day.
"The Thorns!" Jamsen shouted with a maniacal laugh. "That bloody little, lowly Chestguard of Lesser Thorns is knocking him out of stealth!"
Suddenly I understood. Each time I felt a nasty shock from my shoddily made gloves, the damage done was just enough to trigger the Thorns spell imbued in my chest armor. That meager wave of damage, in turn, pulsed outward from me and kept knocking the mighty assassin out of his own stealth spell anytime he got near me. Alone, my bracers and chestguard were a rather sorry excuse for being a part of any great adventurers armor, but together they were at least a highly effective, if totally accidental, stealth detection system.
Jamsen and I stared the dragonkin assassin in his now very visible face and both smiled to one another. His expression became one of very obvious concern. The playing field had suddenly been leveled.
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories.
EDIT: As requested I wrote a Part 2 for this story, [here is a link to it if you'd like to continue reading.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/e5ce63/prompt_a_poor_adventurer_has_to_buy_cheap_items/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
(This Part 2 is also down below in comments somewhere, but it may be buried) | "I'll give you this for-- all you have," the shopkeeper grinned. "I'm being generous, trust me."
Gram sighed, and tossed the satchel on the counter. Ten shekels seemed far too much for a cheaply made trinket, but if the Oracle had willed it who was he to argue against it? Besides, Gram knew that those shekels were different. Special, was the words the Oracle had used.
It had been two weeks since he had lost every ounce of currency of what little he had possessed after a few of Syon's rogues came for him. He had woken up in a medical barrack with no possessions except an empty satchel, a sigil that represented his home village, and a nasty head wound. It didn't deter him one bit-- he was back on the road within a day, making his way to the mad highwayman's city with the intent to take back the weapons Syon had stolen from his own village. He had a dagger and a satchel that he occasional filled with loose change, but little else but his wit. Yet Gram knew that Syon, with the acquisition of more and more power, would be impossible to fight.
"Fine," replied Gram, his eyebrows narrowed slightly. "I'll take the bone, but will you do me the courtesy of wrapping it up first?"
"Of course," laughed the shopkeeper. "I'm a good shopkeeper, I treat my customers just right. Just right."
Gram prepared to leave the decrepit tent, but the shopkeeper reached out his hand, leaning over close. Gram could smell faint licks of moonshine on his breath.
"Hey," he whispered. "I can tell that you're a member of the Resistance movement. Let me just tell you that Syon-- he's stronger than any man. You'd be best not coming across him. Once a highwayman, always a highwayman."
"Thanks," winced Gram. "But I think my adviser knows what she's doing."
She called herself the Oracle, and Gram had encountered her in the basement of one of the sole hotels in the city of La Grande not run by the highwaymen. While walking through through the fields, a group of men had noticed the bandages on his legs, and most importantly the sigil around his neck.
"Man from Tyrande," began one of the men, walking in level with Gram. "Eh, you want to be taken up on a proposition?"
"Yes, I'm from Tyrande," said Gram, slightly suspicious. "What proposition would you be interested in? You are aware that my village was razed, and our holy weapons destroyed, no?"
One of the men threw Gram a coin, which he gladly took, and examined. Yet he noticed that the faint lines of the shekel were tinted with a strange green, lines that seemed to run like veins through the bronzed metal. He flipped it over, and watched as gentle, cold flames doused acid green reached into his palm and licked at his fingers.
"What-- what the hell is this," asked Gram. "Some kind of joke? What's the coin for?"
"Ah, it accepted you," exclaimed the man that had walked at Gram's side. "First comes choice, then comes intention, followed by the great mantra."
"One man's trash is another's treasure," chanted the men in unison.
Gram had been intrigued, and allowed himself to be led to the city of La Grande, where the foe who stole his village's weapons lay protected in a nest of iron. *Lent's Chance*, was the name of the small hotel in which they settled in, for a so called "proposition". The outsides were falling apart, and the insides were covered with blankets of thick dust, the lights flickering as if to remind every soul of a time long past. Down an old hatch, lifted by the corners and wailing as the hinges moved, was a basement lit dimly by rows of assorted candles.
On an altar was a pale young woman nursing a mist-suffused orb in one hand, and a hastily constructed gauntlet in the other.
"You are the one from Tyrande, no," the woman had asked. "I am the Oracle, and I've seen you from afar through prognostication of a wicked kind. It seems to be that you qualify all of the requirements of an individual that could be our Vessel."
"And what is this Vessel," Gram asked in turn. "Something to do with your devilish leader? Though your men tell me your kin resists his presence rather than exalts it."
"See, I think my men have explained to you the three conditions for a Vessel," the Oracle had explained. "Syon's curse dictates that only an outsider can rid this city of his presence. But we have a secret weapon, so to speak."
The Oracle had waved her hand, two men rushing to a back room and returning with a discolored wooden treasure chest, dropping it at Gram's feet.
"Go on," whispered the Oracle. "Open it."
The opening of the lid revealed hundreds upon hundreds of shekels, piled on one another like massive pillars. Yet each shekel was tinted in the same green hue that Gram had seen earlier. Hues of green that wrapped around each coin like a vine, radiating energy that seemed weightless and flightless. Each inscription was perfectly inlaid with tangles.
"More shekels, yet," began Gram, picking one up from the very top and waiting for any objection to his action. "They seem different. Hued in green, bathed in this acid energy that I can't describe. Similar to the power of the Holy Weapons stolen from my village."
"These shekels are special, powerful," promised the Oracle. "Each one can be inlaid with three specifications. One is choice, which is finished. You can see the energy, and thus it has chosen you. Second is intention, which you must possess. Syon destroyed your village and left you destitute. You have this intention, no? Third is the great mantra, *one man's trash is another man's treasure*. The plan is simple. Buy useless items that you yourself would consider cheap and worthless with these shekels, and once enough items are possessed you may combine them to create a catastrophic weapon of prognostication to aim at Syon."
Gram, intrigued, had agreed to see at least some of the plan through, spending the next two weeks buying useless items with the cursed shekels. Ribbons, trinkets, charms, even food that he would never eat, weapons he would never use. But now, as he exited the tent, he recognized that he wouldn't need to recollect the cursed shekels. Perhaps that would be enough. He had been chosen by the mysterious energy of prognostication that wove its way through the shekels. He had the intention of getting back the Holy Weapons Syon had stolen. He had enough trash, all of it woven by those strange green cords that could become the treasure the great mantra promised.
*Perhaps it is time to aim the weapon of prognostication*, Gram thought, as he pocketed the empty satchel.
————————————————————————
r/bluelizardK | 2019-12-02T15:43:31 | 2019-12-02T15:34:46 | 331 | 33 |
[WP] You are Dog to which dyslexic people sometimes address their prayers. You do your best to help because you're a good boy, but alas, you are a dog. | I try to be a good boy. Dogs are man's best friend, right? Our two species practically grew up together. I suppose it's that feeling of ancestral duty that makes me do it.
Despite all of man's advances, some still can't tell the difference between GOD and DOG. Dyslexia is a bitch (no pun intended). So when I get an errant prayer, I try my best to help.
I do what I can. You need a friend? I can hang out for a day. Emotional support? How about we take a nap, friend? Sometimes it can be difficult though. I'm not a genie, you know.
I can't fetch your wife back, Phil. She's already moving on. And no Karen, I can't heal your sister's mental Illness. Sometimes life just sucks.
But I do what I can.
Today Alex Baker prayed for me to bring back his dead mother. Humans are funny like that. To live in the moment is freedom, I should know. But humans love to live in the past.
Alas. Maybe I can help Alex today.
When Alex wrote his prayer to me, he was sitting by his mother's grave with his nanny. I could see him laboring over the manilla paper with crayons, scribbling away. "Dog, plez bring my mommy bak.". Below that was a drawing of two stick figures holding hands. One was wearing a dress.
I could see the headstone. "Here lies Annie Baker. Loving sister. Beloved mommy".
Normally I would never entertain a request like Alex's, but that shit got me teary-eyed so tonight, I think I can help.
...
It's midnight and I've been digging for hours. Finally I have reached Annie's next to final resting place and I need to say a prayer of my own because I have no thumbs and this casket is closed.
Well, it was closed. It looks like I got lucky and this coffin is pretty cheap. The lid took a little persuasion from my nose, but it gave.
I can't wait to see the look on Alex's face. I know where he lives based on his scent from earlier today. Just a few blocks north. He's going to be so excited to see his mommy.
I left her on the porch. Unfortunately it has been awhile since Annie passed and she was not exactly travel-ready. Those stairs on the porch really did a number on her body. But I got the important part to the doorstep.
Alex is waking up now. Based on the strength of his scent on the porch, he probably runs down to play outside first thing most days. This is going to be great. Another mission accomplished. I'm watching from some bushes across the street.
He's opening the door. They are locking eyes. He's screaming in ecstasy. His mommy is back. | The voices of supplicants came to my mind, in overwhelming numbers. Of course, I had an intense desire to be their comfort, their savior, the grantor of wishes. I wanted to help them all. It would make them happy, which I know is my sole reason to be. I felt like Jim Carrey in that black and white classic “Bruce Almighty.” The power, though, conflicts me. I do not want this.
I just wanted some belly rubs and a good stick.
My name is Bailey. I am a good boy. I do not know how I came to know this.
| 2019-03-25T07:38:52 | 2019-03-25T07:16:17 | 64 | 22 |
[WP] Your friend gives you a box, asking you to keep it closed for 15 years, before disappearing without a trace. Today, the 15 years is up. | I thought of Frank. Back on that day so long ago."No, I cant explain. Take the box and tell no one. You hear me not one damn person." His normally calm persona seemed rattled. His light brown hair hung down in his face covering his eyes as he leaned forward. He shoved the bound hatbox into my stomach again. "Trust me. please"
"I don't want it Frank. Just tell me whats going on and I will help".
"I cant. And you cant fix this. Please just take the box. Youre my best friend man. Take it. please."
In the distance, a police siren passed by. Frank started. First time I had ever seen that. Two tours in Desert Storm and I had never seen this man flinch. I opened my hand flat with the palm up. Frank put the box in it and backed away. "You wont regret this. It will all work out. I promise". He said as he backed away into a jog. I watched him as he disappeared down the street. That was the last time I saw him. All frantic disappearing into the night. that was 15 years ago. Occassionally I would think about him. But I never did know what happened or why he left that night. Until now.
Washing off the last of the shave cream I checked my face again. A good clean shave had taken 10 years off me. I walked into the bedroom and grabbed my grey suit. In the time that Frank had left I had time to focus. Time to make Gloria's last words a lie. I wasnt lazy or good for nothing. I had built a thriving car repair and customization business. We serviced an average of 8 repairs a week and 2 custom rebuilds a month. I had achieved my goal. There was still something missing. You know that feeling you get when you want to get out of the house but don't know where to go? That feeling. Something was off. Now I knew what.
Grabbing up my bags I took one last look at the letter. Thats what was in the hatbox. Well that and a couple of pictures and a key. I took a deep breath as I read it again and let the emotion wash over me.
"Mike. I know you going to hate me for this but I am going with Gloria. Shes determined to be rid of you. She insists that shes got to raise her son without you and your influence. You know how she gets when she gets an idea in her head. I tried hard as I could, believe me I tried but she has her mind set. Gloria doesn't want you to know where she and your son are. It took some fast talking and Im sorry for the terrible things I said about you to her, but Im going with her. When you pulled me out of that humvee all those years ago, I swore Id pay you back because I owed you my life. So that's what Im doing. I will keep close to Gloria and your son. I will tell him about his daddy. If you kept your promise to me and are just now reading this, your boys turning 18 tomorrow. Go to the postbox in Carlton Arizona. The keys in the box. I will leave the address of where I am. Come wish your boy happy birthday.
P.S. I love you man."
I wiped my eyes and threw the key and photos in my pocket. Flipping off the lights I let the door close ad latch behind me. standing on the porch I could smell the wildflowers. The sun was bright. Time to go see my boy. | It's time to open the box. Jim gave it to me 15 years ago. Maybe it will give us a hint about his disappearance. I unlock the lock with the key he gave me. In the box there is a single envelope. I open it and begin reading:
Dear Saimon,
we were friends for 10 years before I disappeared. If you did as you promised now its 15 years after my disappearance. I left voluntarily and went to a different world. Here we live in peace and harmony with the nature. The relationships with the others are built with honesty and trust. Almost like the one we had. You were honest Saimon except one time. Do you remembered when they stole my house. In fact they were FBI agents who wanted to take over the magic item I had found. The item that made me find this heaven I live now. You told them that I had a magic item without knowing what it meant. So they came but they didn't find it. That's when I started plotting my escape from your world. I know you didn't mean to hurt me that why my revenge to you will be minimal. You waited 15 years to learn what happened. So now you know, you will not see me again. But you will have to remember. I'm *Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.*
That was my revenge.
Yours,
Jim | 2022-09-01T10:03:56 | 2022-09-01T09:20:57 | 296 | 89 |
[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’m not sure why it started. For a long time, I thought it was some kind of fucked-up coping mechanism my brain dreamed up after the accident. It’s amazing how the human mind handles trauma. Rationalization. Repression. Disassociation. This is something…different.
I’ve been to therapy. Or, through therapy. With a few therapists. It didn’t really work. Maybe that’s because I was never really honest with them, you know. About him.
Oh, I’ve been honest about some of it. I’ve told them how he died. We had taken a cross-country drive to visit my parents for the holidays. We’d bickered during the trip - my family has always been overbearing, especially my mother. John had never had the tolerance to put up with her like I did. My mother’s casual snide and, at times, critical comments had taken a toll on John over the course of our visit; he, in turn, was upset with me for not cutting off my “toxic” family years prior. We argued about that the whole way home.
It was snowing. I’ll always remember that - staring out at the slick black road ahead of us, watching the white flakes swirl in the air before the *whip-whip* of the windshield wipers swept them away. I’ll always remember the pit of anger in my stomach as I fixed my gaze on those little flakes, trying to pretend I didn’t hear John’s voice. I’ll always remember what he said that finally made me snap.
“You’re just like her,” he’d said. I can still hear those words, hanging in the air like those little snowflakes.
It shouldn’t have made me so angry. I’ll never know why it did. I knew he didn’t really mean it. But I shoved him.
In the months afterward, I’d tell myself that I didn’t shove him that hard. Really, I didn’t. I’d never gotten physical with him - or anybody, for that matter. It shouldn’t have happened. If I had known we were driving on a patch of black ice, I wouldn’t have done it.
I shouldn’t have done it to begin with.
If I hadn’t, the steering wheel wouldn’t have jerked in his hands. We wouldn’t have drifted into the other lane, into oncoming traffic. The paramedics wouldn’t have had to pry his lifeless body out of the car.
My husband would still be alive.
I’ve never moved on. It’s not for lack of trying. In the three years since his death, I’ve tried to become a better person. A healthier person - mentally, anyway. This was the only way I could think of to try to honor my husband’s memory. I’ve gone to anger management. I’ve gone no-contact with my narcissistic mother. Like I said, I’ve gone to therapy. It would have been easy to let the grief swallow me up, but I didn’t. That’s not what John would have wanted. It took me a long time, but I managed to let go of my anger. The guilt still remains.
And so does John.
That’s my secret.
It’s easy to tell when he’s waiting for me. I can smell the food cooking before I walk through the door. The door opens and I see him standing in the kitchen, ever familiar, a vision in his t-shirt, jeans, and old Chuck Taylors. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at me, and I can't help but stare.
At first, I thought he was haunting me, or maybe I was going crazy. Honestly, the jury’s still out on both counts. For whatever reason, he kept coming back. And he seems…happy.
It makes me happy too, in a bittersweet kind of way. Things can never go back to the way they were before the accident. I know that. But I don’t mind spending time with him - with him the way he is now. He never speaks. He doesn’t stay long. He just…checks on me from time to time. For a brief moment, it’s as though we never parted.
Eventually, we’ll both have to move on. Until then…it’s fun to pretend. | ...My face breaks into one of shock and horror, this is not possible, it just isn't.
My "husband"'s face also changes then, a huge malicious smile forms across his face, "Oh what's the matter babe? You not happy to see me?"
I become angry then, this obviously isn't my husband brought back from the dead, and he's taking pleasure in my discomfort at this situation."You're not my husband! Lets quit the bullshit, just tell me who the fuck you actually are, and what you want."
My anger grows further, as his reaction is for his smile to grow larger. "Ok, if that's what you want. No. I'm not Derrik. But I am his twin. His identical twin. Looks like my oh so perfect brother wasn't so perfect after all, otherwise he would have told you about me. But no. Looks like he didn't want to blemish his oh so fucking perfect name. You see, whilst my brother went off to be a banker, I went off to be a criminal. I've been in prison for the last five years, and so when I recently got out I wasn't in the best position to say the least, being in for that long doesn't do wonders for your career, legal or otherwise. But when I got out and met back up with my guys, they told me something, Something very interesting. Very interesting indeed. Seems like justice finally caught up with my brother. We both fuck people over for a living, just he does it in a suit, and does it in a legal way, where as I do not."
He takes a pause, waiting for me to absorb all of this, but how can I? I thought it would never get back to me, that I'd gotten away with it scot free. My husband told me he was an only child, his parents had moved to Australia and never bothered contacting him, and until now I'd been right.
He continues. "My brother was a rich man, you don't fuck over as many people as bankers do without getting all the money that entails" He looks around us for effect before continuing "I know all that money didn't go on this modest little house." With an unspoken threat and real malice he says "So. Where's the rest of it?" | 2022-02-22T14:14:01 | 2022-02-22T09:18:39 | 68 | 39 |
[WP] Bob the hobo's always been a nice guy. He stops thugs tagging the building, picks up litter, and doesn't bother anyone. When he returned your wallet, you decided to repay him and treat him to dinner. You're now in a 5-star restaurant, and Bob has just paid a bill four times your yearly rent. | "Watch your feet kiddo. I just want to grab that candy wrapper real quick."
Bob was always cleaning up the neighborhood. He was homeless, but took pride in making the street he lived on look clean. He was always friendly to everyone, and even used his calm ways to convince the wannabe thugs not to tag the walls. Everyone likes him, and he is always smiling.
"Sorry Bob. Thanks."
"Its all good kid. Hey, what's going on? You seem off your game."
"Yeah man, I lost my wallet. It had all my money for dinner and I dont get paid till tomorrow. But I'll be fine."
"That sucks. Tell you what, I'll keep an eye out for it. In the meantime, here's a couple of bucks for dinner."
"I can't take your money! What about your?"
"I'm used to going hungry. And I hate to see anyone unhappy. Go on take it."
"Thanks man, I owe you. Dinner on me another time, alright?"
We said goodbye and I started home. I stopped at a burger joint along the way for takeout, still in awe of how generous this man who has nothing is.
I got out of work the next day and was walking home when I heard someone call my name. Bob came running up with a toothy grin peeking out of his bushy beard.
"Glad I caught you kiddo. I found this last night and wanted to make sure you could grab some groceries."
He hands me my wallet, assuring me it's all there. I go to grab a bit of cash as a thank you and to pay him back when he says no.
"I dont need your money. I'm just glad I could help."
"Then you have to let me buy you lunch right now. Anywhere you want. You are such a positive dude, I want to learn your story."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but sure. Let's go."
We made small talk about the neighborhood as we made our way downtown. The stories he told me of the area and the characters in them seemed stranger than the truth, but I believed they all happened. I knew I could learn so much from him and how to appreciate life.
I was so enamored by Bob's words, I almost missed us walking into the best restaurant in the city. I halted in my steps, and stammered an apology.
"I can afford to go here. You deserve it, no doubt, but I can maybe do like twenty bucks between us."
"Relax, it's on me. I've seen you around, helping those who need it and treating others with respect. You are the one who deserves this. Come on in."
We walk in and the maitre d' took one look at us and, without hesitation, ushered us through the restaurant and past a set of curtains to a private room. We sat in plush sets at an ornate table. Before I could ask any more questions, wine was being poured in our glasses and food was already being set down in front of us. It was some of the most beautiful food I have ever seen and I had a feeling this was only the beginning of the meal.
A soft chuckle ripped my attention away from the display and back to the figure sitting across from me. Clearly he is a man who is not what he seems. A thousand questions were at my lips, but I didnt know where to start. Amusement danced in his eyes as he broke the silence.
"I know this may not seem possible, considering what you know of me. So I will explain who I am by telling you my story."
"I am an immortal. | Bob leaned back in his seat, savoring the plush leather. He grinned that same toothy grin he gave anyone who gave him a quarter.
“Alex,” he said, “I came here to find the bullies. The mean men and women who beat and steal from the homeless.
“But after a while I realized something... I’ve already got those guys by the nuts. They’re coming with me no matter what I do.”
He leaned closer, his eyes glowing, and for a moment his leathery skin seemed to glow a deep red. This close his breath carried a faint whiff of sulfur.
“But guys like you... the good guys, the kind ones... getting you to owe me a favor... well, that’s what my life is all about, Alex.”
He grinned and for just a second I could see the deep red of his skin, the sharpness of his teeth, and the vestigial horns on his forehead.
“Now you owe me. Alex. And you’ll either come with me, or give me someone to take. I think you know who. ”
I jerked back from him, my heart hammering in my chest. I tried a sip of wine to calm myself, but it was spur on my tongue and I spat it back into the glass.
“No...”
“Yes, Alex,” he said, “I want Elizabeth.” | 2020-03-30T07:32:06 | 2020-03-30T05:59:29 | 70 | 17 |
[WP] When two of the most powerful villains in the world are defeated, everyone is happy. Except you, the grieving husband who just lost his daughter and wife in one night. Despite what everyone expect though, you never turn into a supervillain. | "Oh you can be sure that the temptation was there. Crusade and Xenos killed the love of my life, and my own child. My blood."
Gary Willis takes another sip of water from the glass at his side. "Every night when I go to bed, alone, when I walk past the empty room where my daughter, Kate would be sleeping, I feel the pain of that day all over again. I--"
He cuts himself off, gripping his hands in each other hard. He looks up with tear-filled eyes at the gathered tribunal. "My wife, Julie, and my daughter, Kate were villains to you, but I never knew that side of them. I knew the woman who lived for baking. The girl who was obsessed with"One N0te" 5 years ago. The wife who struggled in labor for hours with a child who nearly died due to the negligence of the hospital staff. The daughter who had to accept she would never walk again. Those were the girls I remember." Gary sighs deeply. "Lords and Lady of the tribunal, I cannot deny what they did. I cannot deny the illegality of it, or the immorality of it. That is not what brings me here today."
Gary holds up a picture of his family, himself, his wife still as beautiful now as she was in high school when they fell in love, and his daughter, age 16, bound to a wheelchair, never having felt the touch of grass on her feet.
His voice is close to breaking once he gathers himself enough to speak again. "I am here to demand an answer as to why, when Barron Phantasmic, Hugemongous, Killer Joe, and The Crippler are still walking around, alive and well after the atrocities they have committed, after Gulf City, after Mount Drucilla, my wife and child are laying on a slab for their crimes? They didn't kill or even injure anyone, they didn't destroy any buildings. They didn't collapse any significant governmental agencies, or destroy any monuments. They erased people's medical debts. They attacked! Not citizens, but the insurance companies who accepted no fault for the injuries to our daughter." The crowd murmurs, a few holding signs saying "Justice for Cleopatra and Jett."
Gary clears his throat once again. "As I said before, the city, the country, and the world face no threat from me. I have no aspirations of being a super villain. But that's not to say that my family's lives will go unanswered.". More murmuring from the crowd.
"Is that a threat against us, Mr Willis?"
Gary stands and adjusts his jacket. "It is indeed Tribune. It is a threat against all who are victimizing the citizens and individuals of this world." The murmuring from the crowd becomes deafening. Gary's voice somehow manages to boom above it all, silencing everyone in a display of power that was wholly unexpected. "I am no super villain, Tribune. But I am someone who will not be victimized any longer. My words right now are being broadcast to the entire planet. I, and others like me, are tired of the status quo where villains are given tenth and twentieth chances. Where mass murderers are locked away until they trick or buy their way out of prison. Where CORRUPT TRIBUNALS LIKE THIS allow people to be killed for minor crimes by supposed heroes with carte blanche to mete out 'justice' as they see fit, and then acquit them of all wrongdoing." He turns to the cameras that have been broadcasting the proceedings. "All of us need to rise up and work together to fight this corruption, and we must do so sooner rather than later. Before more people die."
Gary Willis, the man whose alter ego is known as 'Echo' let's lose a scream that manifests as multiple copies of himself, the copies, and the original escape the gathered authorities with one last phrase to the tribunal. "We will be seeing you again." | Peering out of his bedrooms crystal clear window, Andrew sighed to himself, everyday he would sit here and await his wife and daughters return. Though he knew the two would never return home- he found that it was easier to pretend otherwise. It had been five weeks since their deaths and he hadn’t appeared in the public eye since- many assumed that was for the best though and he found himself agreeing with their views.
Admittedly, Andrew was quite angry with the U.S. government for putting out those bounties- though he couldn’t quite blame them. He couldn’t list how many lives his family had taken, the many careers ruined, the people who suffered for his family’s benefit.
As much as he’d like to avenge his fallen lover and daughter he refused to do so- for he had signed a contract that the United Nations has drawn up for him, said contract was incredibly simplistic and went as follows:
“I,Andre Javier Quincy-Anne Nikelhoff, will not avenge the assassination of Julia-Jarine King-Nikelhoff and Kari-Anne Beni King-Nickehoff, in exchange for Julia-Jarine King-Nikelhoff and Kari-Anne Beni King-Nickehoff’s corpse’s. In addition, all funeral expenses will be covered by the United Nations and I, Andre Javier Quincy-Anne Nikelhoff, will provide the United Nations any and all evidence required to persecute my wife and daughter’s allies- in return for these good deeds I will be granted a pardon for assisting in the crimes of Julia-Jarine King-Nikelhoff and Kari-Anne Beni King-Nickehoff.”
It pained him to do so but he knew it was for the best, especially if he wanted to redeem his families name. Though for now, he decided, he would suffer in silence and pray that his wife and daughter were in a place where they could redeem themselves.
(Haha poor Andrew! 😢 Hope you enjoyed it- Sorry it seems kinda rushed.) | 2019-06-26T19:39:37 | 2019-06-26T16:32:38 | 61 | 14 |
[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. | Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist.
Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to.
He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms.
Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them.
“Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.”
The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!”
Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children.
But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today.
“Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.”
“And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!”
“You look like, what, 12 this year?”
“What does that even matter in a situation like this?”
Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.”
“Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!”
Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.”
A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?”
“Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.”
“But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!”
“You couldn’t afford my fees.”
“My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!”
Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.”
His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that.
“Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!”
Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room.
“Anything at all, I can take as payment?”
“Yes! Please, anything!”
---
Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.”
“Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.”
“Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?”
Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny | "Morning Mayor."
"Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?"
"I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you."
"Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here."
"Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you."
The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed.
"Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said.
Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long."
The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started.
"What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked.
"I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant."
"You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly.
Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along."
"The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine."
"They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place."
Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon."
"W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted.
"That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him."
"Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth."
"How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus.
Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose.
"Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it."
*****
If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses. | 2017-04-02T08:24:03 | 2017-04-02T07:18:03 | 142 | 34 |
[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. | Late to the party as usual, but here goes.
In the human history there is man named Alexander whom they call 'the Great.' Alexander lead a vast army, which worshipped him, with which he conquered hundreds of kingdoms. He spread his noble culture to the far reaches of the world in an unbelievably short amount of time. However, there are legends that he was at least mildly insane. It is the belief of non-human species that this trait is what caused both him to be audacious enough to attempt the feats for which he became famous (even among the humans), and which humans are naturally more inclined. Man is mad, and it is that unrestrained human madness that pierces all other species with a cold dread when they hear, "Man is coming."
The humans have a saying: Ignorance is bliss. This sentiment, like the example of Alexander, lends credence to the cultural norm of willingly flinging themselves into high risk-high reward situations. Let me illustrate this with their first war, of many, with another species. The Luts were a race that was generally respected among the nobler galactic races, but today their name is spoken only after hesitation; it is not polite to bring it up in certain company. The Luts had sent a message to the humans that they owned the area into which the humans were expanding. It is unknown if they received or understood the message - it is most likely they simply ignored it. To Man's credit, the Luts did attack first.
After decimating the simplistic pioneer human ships, the Luts thought they'd be rid of the humans. It was the first exposure to alien technology they had ever had as a race. Surely they'd be conditioned not to fool with superior races. The Luts went back to their work and let their guard down.
Not a single standard solar cycle had passed when the Luts sent out distress signals to anyone who could receive them. The humans sent their entire space fleet to the exact coordinate where their first ships had been destroyed, opened fire with, would you believe it, physical and explosive projectiles, and did not let up for a single second for more than 500 hours straight. In space launching physical projectiles causes a ship to fly very unconventionally due to assymetric propulsions. Their ships flew crazily, absolutely impossible to anticipate their flight pattern. And if other human ships got in the way they were shot too! Energy shields do nothing against physical projectiles; the Lut ships, mining camps, colonies, everything was completey destroyed in the sector closest to the human home planet. In fact, human ships were still coming out of hyper-drive when their bombardment stopped, of course by that time the Luts had been obliterated. The point is, there's no way the humans had known about the energy fields' weaknesses, but in their ignorance they ran wildly into a fight. And they continued to run wild until the Luts, as they remain today, were economically crippled. As a side note, it is because of the humans that the new physhields had to be developed. But human ships? They continue to fly their ships naked, no shields at all.
Ok, I'm out of time. That's all.
Edit: Fixed some bad sentences, added a few words for thought clarity. | "Sir you worry too much, the humans plan won't work"
"I just have a bad feeling Lieutenant Danstaik, humans are insane. You are too young to remember the zaartak disaster"
"What happened Admiral Gaaztuk?"
"The lutaak amarda had encircled a few human vessels at the zaartak system. The humans in an effort to escape launched all their nukes from the rear and hoped that the blast could launch them out of the trap"
"Did it work sir?"
"No, all the ships were vaporized in an instant. The luutaks never recovered from such a loss."
"The humans are sending us a transmission sir."
"This is Admiral Gaaztuk of the Taatiop, to whom am I speaking to?"
"This is Admiral Rice Crispies of the HMS USS Cereal Bowl. If you do not comply with our demands we will slingshot that dwarf star at your homeworld"
"That is absolutely insane"
"Exactly! Comply or die!"
| 2017-03-06T00:34:43 | 2017-03-05T22:15:01 | 171 | 78 |
[WP] For years you have been able to communicate with any and all forms of living creatures which has led to a successful veterinarian career. One day you're called into the zoo to help put down an animal, only suddenly you hear through the howls: "WAIT! I'M AN ALIEN!" | I trudge along behind the zookeeper. This is one of the things I hate the most, and I am *not* looking forward to it. Still, I know that it needs to be done.
Don't get me wrong--I love my job. There's nothing quite a satisfying as helping an animal that no one else can. My own unique--talents aid me more than the average vet.
And yet, despite my best efforts, despite the best medical care available, sometimes animals get so injured or sick that the only option is to put them out of their misery. "Do you know what happened?" I ask the keeper. "I mean, the wolves were fine when I was out here last week."
The keeper sighs. Some of the keepers only work at the zoo for a paycheck, but this one--this is one of the good ones. "I'm not sure," the keeper says as he slows.
(I'd be lying if I said I wasn't grateful to be going slower.)
"One of them just--just lost all their hair. Fur, I mean. And the skin is blistering where the fur used to be, and some of the blisters are oozing puss."
I frown. That doesn't sound anything like any of the diseases I'm familiar with. The closest is mange...but the timing. I've *never* seen a case of mange present so thoroughly in such a short time. Usually it takes eight to ten days to *start* seeing symptoms, and all of the wolves were fine on my last visit. "How are the other wolves?" I ask.
"They were a little irritated when we pulled them all out to do a deep clean of their pen," the keeper toells me, "but other than that they're fine. They're not showing any symptoms of--well, anything other than irritation. They keep nosing the dirt, and the pack leader pissed on pretty much everything first thing they were let into the pen, but other than that they're fine."
So--a solitary animal, living in a group setting, was affected with an unknown disease. "What about their diet?" I ask as we continue down the pristine hall. "Has anything changed there? Did something get into the enclosure that the sick wolf ate?"
"Not that we could tell," the keeper says me. "And it hasn't pooped yet, so we can't examine its feces."
Odd.
As we get closer, I can hear the howls coming from pen. As always, my ability translates the noise to words I can understand. "WAIT! I'M AN ALIEN! I SWEAR I DIDN'T KNOW THE CAVE WAS RESTRICTED!"
I run forward, throw the door to the room open, and see--the creature.
Bluish black skin is, indeed, blistering. The only reason this--alien--could have been confused for a wolf is because no one here was thinking, "Hey, I bet this is an alien creature in our wolf exhibit."
I stare at the scene for a moment. "GET THAT THING OUT OF THE SUNLIGHT *NOW*!" I yell. One of the techs in the room, thinking quickly, covers the cage with a blanket. Now. How to appropriately bullshit this? "Thank God," I say as I stride forward. I sigh and look at them. "Okay. The good news: the wolf is not dying. It does not need put down."
"You know what I am, don't you? I can tell, you know what I am!"
The tech who'd gotten the blanket looks between me and the crate. "What is it?"
This is where I'm going to have get--creative. "It's a rare genetic anomaly. Well," I add thoughtfully, "I *say* rare, but more accurate is that it's rarely expressed. It's a genetic disorder known as *humani pellis.* It's an odd, partially recessive trait; most of the time, the gene just doesn't activate. *Sometimes* it does. What happened is that the skin lost the ability to hold fur--the dermis just sort of sheds the follicles for reasons that aren't understood yet--and the wolf develops a severe sensitivity to sunlight."
"Which is why you warned us to cover the wolf up," the keeper says, putting bits of information together with my tall tale.
Well, the best lie has a seed of truth in it. "Yup."
"What caused it to activate?" asks the tech in horror.
"Could be anything," I say with a shrug. "Like I said, the disorder isn't well understood." I wait as the two confer. I need to time this just right. "If it's possible," I say slowly, "I'd like to take the wolf home with me." Both of them look at me and I quickly add, "I'll be able to give it almost instant treatment. And, I'll be able to monitor the wolf's condition, track the disorder as it progresses."
"Yes," barks the alien not-wolf. "Please, get me out of here. If you do, I'll be sure to tell my superiors this planet isn't worth invading!"
The alien said *what* now?
"I suppose that would be for the best," the keeper says. "We just have to clear it with the director."
Ah, the director. She's either one of the most gullible people I've ever met, or one of the most observant. I feel certain she'll agree.
She does, and soon I'm taking the wolf to my home. Fortunately, I live in the middle of nowhere. Two hundred and thirty acres, and my house in the dead center of it all. Since it's dark when I pull up I get out of the truck, release the gate, and then uncover and open the crate so that the alien can jump down. "What do you mean," I demand, "you'll talk to your superiors?"
"Ha!" barks the not-wolf. "I *knew* you could understand me." The alien hunches its canine shaped body and scratches behind an ear. "Man, these healing blisters *itch*."
"Stop scratching; you'll make it worse," I say automatically. I've given the command hundreds, thousands of times.
"Yeah, yeah." The alien shakes itself and then looks at me. "So, I was sent to scout, right? Only I thought the cave was open. My mistake; it's restricted." A tongue lolls in a wolfish version of a doggy grin. "This looks like a great planet. Lots of forest, big stupid things to hunt, and even native animals that look like us!"
I nod thoughtfully. Put like that, invasion *does* make sense. However. "It won't work."
"Yeah, humans are an unforeseen complication."
I nod again. "That. And." I relax my hold on myself. Fur races up my arms as scales emerge around my eyes while feathers frame them. I swiftly grab the alien with a clawed hand. "My species got here first." | The creature I beheld was strange, but that was not the best word to describe it. I've seen many strange things on this Earth, all sorts of biology diverging from extant trees, but there was nothing quite like this... thing.
It did not breathe, for one. And it was also difficult to describe its colour or lustre, for it both camouflaged and stuck out plainly against the grey steel cage it was in. I could not call it beautiful, for I could not for the life of me compare it to anybody else. It wasn't apples to oranges--it was apples to the Kolmogorov complexity. It had said one thing, screamed it--
"Wait! I'm an alien!"
--before promptly falling back into stasis. I hesitated to call it sleep. But I waved everyone away, and they promptly trusted for me to take it into my care. For when have I failed them before? I was known to the zookeepers as the "animal whisperer," and they barely knew how right they were behind their wide smiles and impressed whispers.
And so, I sat. Studying it, trying to compute it into an equation that my brain could understand. I had asked Christy to tell me what she saw, and she looked at me, puzzled.
"It's a Bengal tiger cub," she said confidently. "So adorable. But terribly sick."
When I posed Edik the same question as he came by to pass me my lunch, he had the same puzzled look on his face.
"It's a kangaroo," he said, bewildered at my question, like he expected me to know it. "Delightful animal."
The creature talked in its sleep, too. I heard it mumble something that sounded like language, but all Chloe and Edik heard were the whimpers and growls of an injured animal. Its first sentence was clear as day, but it was much more difficult to hear the soft sniffles that escaped it while it slumbered.
I tried my best, then. Usually, the animals told me what they needed for them to heal. Whether it was the right food or the right foot, they simply had to say, and I provided. But now, I had to use every ounce of accidental knowledge I've acquired to treat the creature, make it comfortable, and to stop that pitiful wailing sound that I only I could hear.
---
"Thank you," it said.
I must have dozed off. I rubbed my eyes, and looked at... it?
There was no it. Not any more, at least. This... was beauty. In its purest sense, like the first sight of the blind, the taste of hot cocoa on a rainy day, the warm hug of a friend well met. It was like all my favourite things compacted into a delicious pill, assaulting every sense of mine with brilliance and love.
"What... who are you?" I asked.
"An alien," it said, simply. "I did not know there were human healers of your capability."
I struggled to speak, of course.
"How... what..."
It laughed, then touched me, graceful moonlight caressing my cheek.
"I understand. You have a gift," it said. "You have the tongue."
"I... could speak to animals," I said. "How... you are definitely not an animal."
"Oh," it chuckled. "In a sense, probably. You can speak to all living things if you choose to, you know."
"All living things?"
"I am a living thing," it chuckled, which played like delightful wind chimes on the first cool breeze of spring. "All living things, perhaps. What do you see me as?"
"A god," I said, awed.
"Interesting," it said, curiously, voice lifting with the joy of discovery. "But I have to return."
"Return?" I scrambled. "Where? Can I come with you?"
"You are already here," it said, laughing.
"But you are an alien," I said, dumbfounded. "Are you not from space?"
"I'm just not from around here," it said, and it glowed like radiant stars in a dark sky. "But thank you for healing me. You have the tongue and sight, and you did well."
"I don't understand," I said, shaking my head. "I really don't."
"You've done well. But the humans must do their part. Or I shall be here, sick again," it said. "I've taken many forms, and no matter how, they seem to hurt me."
Indignance flooded my heart, then.
"Hurt you? Who dares?"
"All of you," it said, but still smiling. "But it's OK. I appreciate the ones that care."
And with those final parting words, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life slipped away, not unlike the passing of seasons, so difficult to notice.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-05-19T07:24:49 | 2021-05-19T07:18:09 | 314 | 71 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | “Shapeshifting?”
Alex’s eyebrows migrated towards his hairline and his forkload of pie paused mid-way to his lips. He studied his date across the table as she shifted in her seat and examined her immaculate nails.
“I knew you were sensitive about your ability but I have to say I expected far worse”
Emma tucked a curl of dark hair behind her ear and continued to fidget. This is why she was hesitant about dinner with Alex. Her excuses about working late or “ruining their friendship” truthfully had absolutely nothing to do with the constant rebuffs she threw his way. She had finally agreed to this date when she found herself in a rather advanced state of refreshment at the office Christmas party. Alex had almost glowed with delight for the next week. Even she had to admit that it was sweet. She liked him. She really liked him. She just hated the fact that she had to ruin this romantic endeavour before it had a chance to really flourish into anything more.
She shrugged. She sipped her wine. She finally made eye contact with him.
Alex took this as a cue to bombard her with questions.
“I mean...” he paused to lick a morsel of stray chocolate from his lips. “I kind of thought you’d some kind of awesome, dark, scary power because of your whole well... vibe” he makes a hand gesture towards her black dress and spiked headband. “I kind of thought you’d be a necromancer or something, not that that’s a bad thing!”. Emma smirked as she watched his eyes grow wide with anxiety before he began to back-peddle. “I dig your vibe too by the way! I just thought you’d be worried that your ability wouldn’t match with mine since mines is a bit... well... pure”. Alex seemed to pause to consider his next words. “And girls don’t normally like guys who have soft powers like empathy and empathetic healing”.
Emma felt a rush of guilt as Alex now lowered his eyes. She reached over the table to take his hand in her own. “Alex.” She breathed softly. “I dig your vibe too.” He chuckled lightly at that and ran his thumb over hers. She sighs as she finally allows the many layers of her ability to strip themselves back, leaving her bare and exposed for the first time in years. “It’s just that my whole image is faked”. She breaks eye contact again as her true form is finally revealed. “I was in a house fire when I was seven.” She said flatly. “Me and my sister were the only two out of the five of us to make it out. I’ve hated the way I look ever since for obvious reasons”. She registers the sound of Alex swallowing and tries not to imagine his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. She tries not to imagine his eyes as they take in her scars. “... and you were hurt?” He sounds gentle. Full of fake sympathy. Typical. “Obviously.” She snaps. She feels tears threaten to leak out of her one good eye and down her scarred face. Alex rubs his thumb over her hand once again. She feels a strange warmth as he raises her hand to his mouth to softly kiss it. “You’re beautiful” he murmurs into her raw and scarred skin.
For the first time in her life, Emma believes it.
Edit: damn this one blew up a bit. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments (both here and in my inbox) and also for the two (2!!!) silvers! I’ve actually been struggling with writing lately thanks to a real bitch of a depressive episode and so this means a massive amount to me. I’ll try to reply to as many as I can but I just thought I’d post a proper thank you on my comment as well. | I walked silently through the deserted town, tracing my fingers along the side of a wall, feeling it crumble beneath my touch. Around me, trees withered and died, their leaves shifting from green to sickly yellow to deathly gray, before they collapsed to ash. I could feel the very air getting colder, the light caress of the wind on my face becoming sharp and frigid. I was certain that the sunlight falling on me was dimmer than before.
I turned around, gazing at the barren ruin my power had created. Behind me, the sidewalk was cracked and faded. I could see the disintegrating imprints my footsteps had left on the ground. I could see the dust drifting up around me as I stayed in one place for too long, giving my power too much of a grip on the environment. A few minutes more and the very ground would fragment into a thousand pieces. I sat down with a depressing finality, trying not to remember the horror of receiving my powers, of touching my friends and watching them age a thousand years in a few heartbeats, of staring numbly at my hands as people fled in a panic from me. I was a monster. There was no doubting that. My power was born of my dark subconsciousness, birthed from self-hatred and a desire to end it all.
The concrete at my feet split open, spiderweb fractures spreading outwards. I closed my eyes. My face was set in a smile as the crevice yawned open and I fell towards the darkness underneath. | 2019-09-08T08:30:00 | 2019-09-08T05:28:06 | 2,511 | 327 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I was born into a family of super heroes, and raised amongst the 'elite' of the League of Champions. I was expected to be an elite hero myself, but I wasn't born with any mystical powers like the rest. I was quickly disowned by my Übermencsh parents, mocked by my peers, and ridiculed by members of the League. I left home at the age of 23 to live a normal life -- study college, get a career going, that sort of stuff. I loved college and the normal people I have met. I passed with a perfect 4.0, went on to develop technology to help normal people combat meta humans, and married my loving wife.
Everything changed several weeks ago -- my life was destroyed by a massive battle between the League and their sinister sister group called the Chosen Few. My business was destroyed and my wife killed due to collateral damage. I slumped into an abyssal depression, because my life was once again influenced by those... those... self-righteous, egotistical, ass hats.
I grew angrier and angrier. A burning rage consumed my heart, a terrible bitterness enveloped my thoughts. I'd destroy these living gods and devils, with the power I have refused to use my entire life. My wife was the only one to have known about my power, but she loved me who I was not for the power I was given.
Fast forward three months....
I placed the boot of my power armor on Mystic's chest. He struggled to move my weighty leg aside, arms drained of energy. Tears rolled down his face begging me to stop my assault. I laughed.
"Why are you crying Mystic? This is a beautiful, blissful moment. Can't you feel the tension dissolving? Well, maybe you can't but I can." I sneered.
"Please stop! Not ag--- gruahhahh" Mystic cried out in agony.
"I really must see the others. Don't have too much fun!" I chuckled walking away from the twitching spellcaster.
I crossed into the meeting chamber where the other champions were a waiting me. Ultraman tore off towards me, but he was little more than fly swatted down. Onyx Ninja attempted, and I use attempted generously, to out maneuver me. Shadows and sneaking doesn't protect people from my abilities. A loud thud confirmed I was effective in my application of my powers. Star Nova surprisingly resisted my ability, but only momentarily. She fell just as hard as the rest.
"Who are youu...gahh." Star Nova winced, barely standing under my influence.
"I'm nobody important, but if you must know my name -- Dr. Ahegao, but I'm sure you'll remember it easily. I mean it's the face you're making after all!" I laughed maniacally.
| Herbert Johnson, on his 80th birthday snapped. It was bad enough to have a super power that only brings you ridicule, in a world full of powers that inspire admiration. These super powered fools, now, used their great powers to crash an old man's birthday party.
Herbert Johnson, the master of gas, unleashed his ultimate revenge. A thing so diabolical he promised never to do. The world of heros now had one villain. Flatulence was Herbert's game. Now the world was subjected to an endless cloud of flatulent gas. A feet none of the other super heros realized Herbert was capable of. No one is laughing now. | 2017-06-12T08:54:20 | 2017-06-12T08:36:12 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Today on your 18th birthday you’re informed that your Middle Class life is a sham to teach you good values and your family is actually worth billions. | "Why?"
Dad turned and looked into my eyes. We were seated in the living room of our modest suburban home, CNN playing quietly on the screen above the fireplace. The furniture was IKEA, the paintings on the wall mere prints, and the shelves had cheap souvenirs on display. A far cry from the estate of my wealthy friend I'd visited last week.
Unless my father was playing a cruel trick on me, I just simply couldn't imagine how the man in front of me was somehow a *billionare*. One that used to be the CEO of a large multinational firm, working in the background and letting his spokesman do the talking. His title of "Application Developer" was simply an illusion. Instead of writing and debugging code, he was managing aquisitions and ensuring the company worked to perfection.
He'd retired today, with a ridiculous sum in the bank and zero fanfare.
I had small hints of hidden wealth throughout my life. How we seemed to pay for Grandpa's cancer treatment without a care. How we never had to worry about loans or debt. Nevertheless, I certainly didn't expect the billions left behind in accounts all over the world.
"Gary, why did you think your mother stayed at home?" he asked.
"To look after me?" I replied slowly. While many of my friends came home from school to video games and junk food, I had someone watching me to ensure I didn't do that. Chores. Curfews. Much less time alone.
I also remembered the times when she was there after I ran home crying. How she helped me out with assignments and talked to me about my future. Without any siblings, I became closer to her than I realised.
On the other hand, my father spend most of his days at the office, with harsh overtime hours taking over much of the weekends too. Yet he always came home as soon as possible, and I remembered the days where I used to play basketball with him in the driveway and go skiing together in the winter.
"I kept all this a secret because I saw what money did to my older brother," my father continued. "Ernest chose to splurge heavily and indulged in drugs, gambling, and even prostitutes. He was stabbed to death during a violent disagreement at the age of twenty-two."
Looking back at last Christmas, I remembered the simple presents I got and how I was taught to buy the things I needed, not what I wanted. How to cherish good family and friends, rather than the sudden highs associated with vices.
Was that a good thing? Had it made me a better person? I don't know. But something in the back of my mind told me that if I ever had children, I wouldn't let them go down the dark path. | I sighed with a sense of relief. They took good care of me for 18 years. repaying the kindness they bestowed on me was always in my mind. That sense of relief was beyond what I imagined.
But...
I was mad too. Mad that I choose a path I spite out of necessity for financial security. I could have followed my passion, the fear of never repaying them back paralyzed me.
Their intentions were good. But still...
Today, I am finally free. | 2017-12-28T12:41:06 | 2017-12-28T11:01:52 | 60 | 16 |
[WP]Aliens come to Earth in hoping to wipe us out and take over the planet, but are honorable and gives us a fighting chance. They announce they will return in 100 years so as to give Earth a chance to prepare and defend itself. Neither side expected what the other would bring to war | It's been 100 years, we are ready. The human race was challenged to a fight with an alien race and given 100 years to prepare. They proved to us we weren't ready back then. Half of our missiles exploded in their silos. Of those that launched, less than 1 in 100 hit something. That something didn't even get scratched.
The aliens spoke to everyone, all over the world, in whatever the local dialect was. We had 100 years to get better at defending ourselves. They would be back and they would take over then.
Every government suddenly had something in common with every other government. Patent offices were raided. Research centers were given nearly unlimited funds. Even the craziest ideas were dusted off and explored. Technology made leaps and bounds. One hundred years ago, nobody thought that what we discovered was even possible.
We now have Anti-matter Bombs, Ion Cannons, and space ships, lots and lots of space ships. Nearly 80% of able bodied humans - no longer just Americans or just Russians, or even just Arabs, "Humans" - male and female alike have been trained up in using these new weapons and devices. We were as ready as 100 years could make us.
The entire previous week was given over to celebrating our readiness.
Then the day we prepared for dawned. Every weapon was charged and manned. Every missile was prepared to launch. Clocks everywhere counted down to the appointed meeting.
As the final second ticked away, a bright flash appeared at the expected point in local space.
A voice immediately boomed out "HOLD YOUR FIRE ... PLEASE!".
Hands twitched on the firing buttons, fingers pulled back on triggers but left the guns unused. Every hand everywhere stopped. Then the clocks ticked again, and again. Time was continuing but the fight we had prepared for had not started.
"WE COME IN PEACE"
"THIS TIME. WE ARE NOT HERE TO DESTROY YOU!"
"It seems that humans beat us last time and we felt it necessary to let you know."
As before, every human was hearing this in their preferred language.
The voice continued "A virus was transported back to our home world 100 years ago."
"It infected the entire planet, along with all of our colonies and stations before we even knew about it."
"Once the virus made itself known, it was too late. The death toll was in the trillions. One hundred years later we are still cleaning up the dead and recovering the land and buildings where they died. If it weren't for this ship and the half a dozen others that were found still useable, we wouldn't have been able to even show up for this meeting."
A long pause ensued, weapons were lowered, missiles stood down.
The voice began again; "Less than 1 in 100000 of our people survived. Half of them died when the virus made a second attack."
"It has taken us the past 90 years just to get back into space. The only reason that we managed even that much is because of the records of previous advancements."
"This ship will go now, if you wish to finish us off, we will not fight back. We even freely give you our location in the galactic arm."
This was followed by a star map downloaded into our computers with one star highlighted.
Another long pause was finally broken by a human voice; "Is there anything we can do to help?"
| Long had Earth feared this day, and the last century had showed it. Every nation had forsaken its troubles, its conflicts and squabbles, to prepare for the battle. Earth in its entirety had united into one world government, ruled by fear and duty against these invaders, and trillions upon trillions of resources were funneled into what would be that day. So it was a surprise that when the day came, only a single envoy was sent to meet the aliens. The weapon that was offered up against the aliens on that day was betrayal.
On this envoy, the Earth's grand leader rode with a select group of trusted advisers, friends, family, all the wealth Earth could gather into a single envoy, with promises of surrender and gifts of strategic maps and assets for every single garrison on Earth, seeking only one thing: survival. Long ago, Earth had deemed any resistance futile, doomed to failure, and a century of fear and oppression against a common foe had not managed to change the fact that their foe was far more advanced than them, and that their defeat was inevitable.
So it was to the envoy's surprise and horror, that the aliens weapon proved to be a small, concealed GoPro. | 2016-01-01T18:48:26 | 2016-01-01T18:19:06 | 122 | 10 |
[WP] You are an ancient being that the gods believe to be a villain. For centuries, they have sent their descendants and heroes to try and kill you. This time, they have sent a child. | I came to this realm a long time ago. A very long time ago. When I arrived here, I was approached by the first race of elves. Hunched over, ugly, their long ears and strange eyes betraying the fact that unlike later races, they descended not from carnivores, but prey. They share a common ancestor with the modern rabbit, I believe. They spoke a simple language of high-pitched grunts and whistles.
At first, they feared me, for I seemed like nothing they had ever encountered in their lives, nor anything their instincts, inherited from their ancestors, could find a proper response to. But they were cold and shivering, and I had fire. Through a series of pantomine and mime acts, I got them to understand that I would not harm them. They sat around my fire, marvelling at the heat and the light.
Whenever in that primordial age I walked, these elves would follow me. I taught them how to sharpen bone and wood to make tools, how to use flint to make fire, and how to mix together plants and minerals to create paint. For this, they worshipped me. Though I was not one of the gods that exist today, for I do not need worship and faith to sustain myself, I was the first to be worshipped like a deity.
I'd come here from another world. Another universe indeed. Exiled from a realm of mind and thought for asking the wrong questions, thinking the wrong thoughts. Yet I preferred exile, to living a lie. And having followers, people who I could impart my thoughts on, teach my ways to, was just what I had wanted back then. Through me, they learned, and following my path, this motley clan of proto-elves, became the First Tribe of Elvenkind, as told about in legend. I took their primitive language, and expanded it to fit new concepts. Like agriculture, farming, and of course, magic.
Together, me and my followers, who grew in number greatly, once other clans learned of the one whom they called the Flame-of-Mind, picked a hill by a lake, and built the first city. In legend it is a sprawling metropolis of parks, spires, and palaces, but in fact, it was merely wooden walls around wooden huts, with a larger wooden hut on the top of the hill, serving as a temple. We cleared out forests, built farms, explored the river, learnt how to fish and expanded. The elves grew in stature over time, learned from me much, and began to teach me some things too.
It wasn't a golden age of culture and civilisation, like the modern elves claim. We made art, sure, but the things they claim are relics of my followers and the first city, are clever forgeries. We lived there for years. Planting fields, the elves growing up, becoming adults, growing old, and dying. I was constant. How could a living idea ever die.
But where there is success, there are those who wish to take it from you. Raiders, at first other elves, then various races which were the progenitors for the first men, the first orcs, and others. And such raiders are met with violence. Violence creates violent people. And the elves who had followed me in my ideas about learning, reason, and civilisation, turned aside from my path. A leader arose, who called me out for my inaction, my unwillingness to hunt down the raiders and slaughter them, burning their camps, enslaving their young.
She was Arathel, first Goddess-Queen of the Elves. And she took many of the people with her to hunt down the raiders, slaying them all, enslaving those too young or too weak to resist. When she returned in triumph, I packed up my belongings and told her that what would come next was her own fault. She laughed. The people who I had taught the egalitarian values of freedom and justice to, cast them aside and took up the mantle of slavers and conquerors.
I watched the city from afar, as it grew bigger and more evil. I watched Arathel ascend to become the first true deity upon her death. As a living idea, a mind made into flesh manifested, I could take any shape I had wanted. To the elves, I had been a tall version of themselves, with warm and gently shining eyes, obsidian skin, and a loving parent-like smile, I was completely hairless too. I buried my belongings, and walked into the forests where Arathel had begun her bloody reign. I took on the shape of a different creature, of a rustically friendly cave dwelling human, and went to find the survivors of Arathel's folly.
I found the survivors who had fled rather than die or be captured. I found them, and I understood their language. They spoke with guttural and harsh voices, but they welcomed me in to sit with them regardless. As the elves grew more powerful, they also grew more arrogant. These proto-humans, early orcs, primitive goblins, and firstborn dwarves, all huddled together in fear and hate of the enemy.
Sure, some of them had raided the settlements of the elves in the first city, but most had called it folly, and had disapproved of such actions. Such were the things I learned, as I tended to their wounded, helped to burn the bodies of their dead, and worked in the background. But now they were united. And more came to them every day, from many other villages, consisting of many other creatures. Even the first dragons joined in, when one of the sacred dragon hatching areas were raided, the eggs crushed and the whelps carried off.
Arathel would tell the later gods I had been leading a black army of bloodthirsty barbarians against the first city. I raised not a blade that day, nor did I command anyone. I took care of the orphans, taught them the arts of healing through magic and herbs. I aided the wounded, in that first war. When it was all over, I argued for mercy towards the elves. Perhaps that had been a mistake, but many of them had been descendants of friends I had made for centuries at that point. A few even carried my blood. As the leaders of the nameless army, which tore down the palisades of the first city, respected me for my wisdom and learning, they decided to heed my suggestion of mercy. They sent the elves into exile. The 999 Years of Wandering, the historians later called it, until the founding of the Second City of Elves, who still worshipped Arathel.
The Alliance of All Races was dissolved after the end of the war, which was celebrated by the destruction of the first city, and the burning of the temples to Arathel. I kept working, teaching the orphans of that war about medicine, tending all the wounded from that last climatic battle, until they either got better or went painlessly to wherever souls in this realm go.
I retired a few years after that, when the children were all grown up. Pretending to have died, I walked in secrecy through the world for many years, watching, and sometimes teaching. I saw the mortals learn metallurgy, the dwarves inventing the alloy bronze, the coming of the first gods, and their passing. But Arathel remained. And every generation of gods, learned about the dreadful betrayer. For Arathel twisted the stories that existed about me, making me into a monstrous thing which had demanded blood sacrifices from the elves in the first city, a creature born of eldritch, primordial night. That story became so common, spreading from the gods to their prophets to the people, that in cultures I had never even met, I was the greatest evil villain in history. | The secret to my immorality wasn't so very dark; time wore on things that existed within time. I merely learned to remove myself from time's flow, and so I could exist forever. If I so chose I could have, from my position apart from time, looked far into the future, or far into the past, but I figured that if I was going to be around for the entire future, it would not do to spoil all the fun.
I made sure I didn't have too large of an impact- I was more curious about how the world would progress naturally, without my immortal influence.
For whatever reason, the gods disagreed with both of those things- firstly, to not interfere very much, and secondly, that I was permitted to spectate.
They tried and they tried to end me- but how could I, the only living thing that existed apart from their power, be killed?
They sent strong heroes. They swung their swords and slung their magic missiles- and though this was distressing, it certainly could not kill me. They tried to imprison me, they tried to poison me- the gods seemed incapable of believing that one of their own creations had the gall to ascend to their own level.
I knew they would, eventually, some day, give up. They would let me be.
I was downright confused when what I assumed was their final attempt at getting rid of me turned out to be a child.
My 'evil lair', as the gods had taken to calling it, was a simple cave. I had carved out some steps for safe walking, some handsome statues (though that took me a very, very long time to get good at) and I had plenty of lovely flowers and assorted plants growing- to achieve this I had set up an array of mirrors which reflected the sunlight, and moonlight, down into every corner of my home. That, also, had taken me a very long time to get right- but then, what else would I do with all the time on my hands?
I heard the soft steps echoing throughout my home, long before the child had announced its presence. I already was boiling some hot water for tea when they caught their first glimpse of me.
I was certainly not an imposing figure- though I could have solved the mysteries of altering my physical form, and made myself tall, and handsome, and impossibly strong, I had no need for these things. I was a tall, lanky, wizened old man- the same as I had been when I finally cracked the immortality code. I suppose I could still have looked intimidating to some, if I put a scowl on, but I much preferred to wear smiles.
"Hello, young sir!" I said, having not yet turned to look upon my visitor. "I'll be right with you, I'm just putting on some tea. Have you eaten? I've been learning to cook, and I've gotten pretty good, if I do say so myself- all the ingredients are grown right here, too! Completely poison and hex free, I promise." I said, and turned to look at my visitor.
It was not a young man at all- this was a girl. Perhaps six or seven years old?
"Ah, pardon me, I assumed you would be a lad, like most of the heroes they send to me." I said, taking a seat on a tree stump which I had refurbished into a chair. "Are you here to fight me?" I asked.
The girl shook her head. "I am the youngest descendant of the gods. I have come with a request for...parlay."
For a young girl, she did not look the part. There was a seriousness to her eyes that betrayed a much greater maturity than she ought to have had. There was also a firmness to her skin- children were usually soft, pudgy.
I suspected she was not a human child after all.
"Well now, little descendant, what could the mighty gods want of me?" I asked.
"Do not play coy, old man. You have learned a secret to rival the gods. They would speak with you- this is a most generous offer."
I rolled my eyes. "You can quit with the play-acting now, Selva. You are no more of a little girl than I am- and your disguise is not convincing."
Selva shed her form. "Fine then, mortal, let us speak plainly." She was now some kind of cross between billowing smoke and obsidian, maintaining a vaguely human shape. "You have learned to become immortal- though you are not a God, you are...somewhat akin to us. You must come to Our Realm, to learn the rules we have for you, and for your behavior. If you obey our rules, we will allow you to exist in peace- though, if we ever have need of your services, you must answer immediately. If you refuse- well... just a short trip away from us is a village- the inhabitants mean something to you, do they not?"
I grit my teeth. So this is how it would be?
"If you understand, then on this day, next week, you will come when I summon you. You will be allowed to see the splendors normally forbidden for human eyes. You will be allowed to sit on our council. And you will *obey*."
She left without waiting for a response- just as well, since my response would have been none too friendly.
One week, huh? Well- if they had left the villagers out of it, I may have been receptive to their invitation.
Now I had seven full days to learn how to execute a god. | 2020-07-12T18:37:09 | 2020-07-12T17:54:14 | 69 | 29 |
[WP] You are an ancient and incredibly powerful god, and you’re furious that your enemies keep sending teenage “chosen ones” to fight you. | It is over. The boy-warrior has triumphed. The afterimages of his silvered blade, blessed by all the gods of the old world, still linger in this wretched crypt. Every prophecy was true. Here, an ancient deity would arise once more to enslave the world. Here, a youthful paragon would cast that god down.
He takes but a moment to catch his breath. Nothing haunts this place but shades and dust. A ragged black mantle lies at his feet, ghost words still echoing in his mind: "I will return once more..."
"And we will always strike you down, Dark One," he says to the silence. And without a backward glance -- nothing remains to threaten him -- he is gone, returned to some lakeside village or secluded monastery or hidden mountain tribe.
I wish him the joy of it.
I have fallen so many times before. Incorporeal, I shadow his reversed progress through my temple. He disdains the trap-mined field where one must spell out my true name for safe passage. He has no interest in the cunning placement of murder-holes and poisoned stakes through this twisted labyrinth. He ignores broken death-charms and unthreaded riddle-beasts. His handsome face is lit, at last, by the rising sun through the cavernous chamber. He smiles, at last. He has put this horror behind him.
Behind him, the vast iron-shod doors swing shut, sealing this place. Finality. Catharsis. Endings. His thoughts turn at once to hopes his trusted steed has remained tethered across the waybridge, and that his sweetheart at home has stayed faithful...
And I?
I turn back the flows of time. Traps reset. Spells re-knit. Beasts revive. The labyrinth echoes with mad laughter and far-off thunder once more. It must look lived in, you understand. Well-used. It would not do to break the immersion for those who will come after. The hero brings a tale back to those outside. He brings back the unthinkable. The monsters in the dark can be beaten, can be outsmarted, can be outfought. He will bring my final words to them. He will ensure the legend of my return grows over the years.
The people have always been tormented by the warlords and dark spawn of this world. They have cowered in their homes and prayed to far-off gods unwilling or unable to deliver them from suffering. But I have given them something more precious than divine intervention. I have given them hope. The hope to fight back. And in another generation or three, when they grow complacent when they forget the old tales, when their guard slips...
I will return. Another hero will rise to face me. And the people will have hope once more. Until then... peace. Silence. Solitude. | Another child, come to fight me. Terrified, as usual.
I cannot speak to it, not even a whisper, or my voice would destroy it. I place it with the rest of them, in a quiet place full of their kind of nourishment and things that I hope are comfortable for them.
Are they happy? I let one go back to where they come from, but they killed it, so I just keep them all now.
Thousands and thousands of them. | 2018-05-19T01:54:18 | 2018-05-19T01:26:06 | 366 | 183 |
[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder. | "She did it, damn it!" Detective Patel shouted, slamming his fists down on the cheap plywood desk, causing computers and coworkers alike to jump.
"Hey, Nikhil, calm down," his partner, Sergei Kordev warned him in his thick Ukrainian accent. "Claire submit blood. It clear. She did not do it."
Nikhil jabbed a finger at the screen. "Something's wrong, can't you see it? She was the only one who could have done it. No defensive wounds on the vic, they were alone, and she ran for four days! If she was innocent, why run?"
"The girl was probably scared," detective Kordev shrugged. "Her boyfriend was killed in front of her. She didn't know what to do."
"Most scared people go to the police," Nikhil muttered, pacing across the floor.
"You wouldn't if you were a black girl caught in an isolated cabin with a body and enough drugs to kill a rhino," sergeant Jackson interrupted, walking in with her first coffee of the night shift. "Good evening, boys."
"Sarge," Sergei acknowledged.
"If they had the drugs, why was her blood so clear? That's a sure crime! Her blood is too white - has she never lied or cheated on anything in her entire life?" detective Patel demanded.
"Blood doesn't lie," Sergei grunted, opening another case file. "Makes the job very easy, no? Boyfriend probably was selling them without her know. Knowing. His blood, not so clear, right? Maybe upset customer, gets in close before he realizes?"
"And stabs him almost forty times before he dies? No way. He would have had to be asleep or high to not defend himself. Did we get a tox screen back?"
"Ease up, Patel," Sgt. Jackson warned him. "Isabelle was on her vacation when the case came in, she'll run it when she gets back. It's not like we rely on forensics very much."
Nikhil sighed, slumping down into his chair and leaning back. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and looked up at the ceiling.
"Okay, picture this."
Sergei sighed heavily, and Sgt. Jackson rolled her eyes towards the heavens.
"Just hear me out," Patel huffed. They quieted, and he continued. "Imagine you're Claire. You've got this jackass of a boyfriend - sells drugs, runs guns, almost certainly beats her based on those bruises - a total deadbeat who has never held down a real job or even finished school. If you're completely pristine, milk-white blood, why are you clinging to this guy? Did he have something on her? How long does it take you to push back?"
The sergeant shrugged. "Love is blind. Still doesn't explain the blood proving her innocence."
"Love is stupid," Sergei corrected, rubbing an old wedding band. "But the sergeant is right. Blood is proof."
"But it's not," Nikhil cried out, frustrated. "What if she faked the test?"
"I administer test," detective Kordev growled.
"Some sort of injected fluid under the skin of her finger?"
"I verify with mouth sample, from gum," Sergei replied. "Clair would be very dead if she fill her body with embalming fluid."
"Maybe it's some sort of genetic mutation. Animal blood doesn't change colour."
"You're going to go up to a judge and tell him that a black girl is an animal," Sgt. Jackson asked, narrowing her eyes.
"It's - I - That's not what I meant, Sergeant," Nikhil stuttered.
"Uh huh," the nonplussed officer nodded.
"Sergeant?"
The discussion was interrupted by a young officer, still a rookie. Nikhil couldn't place the name of the tall, dark haired woman off the top of his head.
"Some officers picked up a Claire Tyler after a botched bank robbery. Seems the hostage takers grabbed her and then tried to blame it on her."
"Keep her in holding!" detective Patel shouted, grabbing his coat and badge. Sighing, his partner followed. | Trent had to admit it was a shame that such desperate pleas
fell on deaf ears. But regardless, he had to go through with the murder of Ms.
Winthrow. The inheritance was too great, and her death too far away.
Trent was eventually caught and promptly tested. For how the
corpse was found his blood should’ve been darker than the heaviest of winters.
But as they cut a small incision of his arm, out popped blood whiter than snow.
Even Trent was trying to hold back his surprise. They were nearly positive he
was the culprit, but the test proved otherwise. The blood has never lied, why
would it now?
Destruction and misery just seemed to follow Trent whenever
he went after such an revelation. They tried and tried again to convict him,
but it was just the same result. Test, clear, released.
Eventually however, Trent got a little too over his head. He
made some drug deal he really couldn’t keep up with, and let’s just say a lot
mobsters were a bit miffed.
Despite Trent doing his best to avoid capture, he would soon
find himself tied up in an abandoned warehouse. His cries were almost as pained
as Mr. Winthrow, but sadly mercy was no longer an option.
In the next hour, Trent was no more.
The mobsters looked around the body, proud of their work. As
in tradition, they all shared a couple droplets of Trent’s blood in sort of a
twisted remembrance of their victim.
As a few weeks later, they were apprehended for an unrelated
crime. That same test was completed but were never found guilty.
Their blood too, was crystal clear.
/r/StoryStar | 2018-04-30T11:00:01 | 2018-04-30T10:48:35 | 380 | 231 |
[WP] You're the most recognised and internationally praised superhero, but you don't fight any crime. Instead, you use your powers over stone and metal to repair the damage caused by the catastrophic fights other heroes get into. | "The fight between Superdick and Evilcunt would have rendered a tenth of the population of this city homeless, if it weren't for our very own Metalworker!"
The crowd cheered in my direction and I gave them a half hearted smile. I sat sulking to the side of the Mayor, waiting for them to give me my damn medal so that I could just go home and finish the movie I'd been watching before being rudely interrupted by the two douchebags duking it out over the city.
Superdick, who was sitting to my side, leaned over.
"I really owe you dude," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper relative to the cheers from the crowd.
"Yeah. Yeah, whatever," I muttered.
"No, really. It's because you're here that I can go all out against supervillains and then really pound them to dust," he said.
"I would actually prefer if you tried restraining them first. Maybe use a supertranquilizer?" I suggested.
"Nah dude, where's the fun in that? You really gotta lay them out so that they think twice before getting back up."
Well, apparently they didn't think twice because a fight of this magnitude happened almost every month with smaller skirmishes happening every other week. I could control stone and metal, yes, but I could control the time it took, say, for concrete to set. Thus, I was always busy repairing damages that these dicks did to the city.
"Metalworker! Please step forward and accept this Medal of Appreciation!"
I sighed and stood up as the crowd cheered. They roared louder as I accepted the medal around my neck from the Mayor. He stood expectantly. I forced myself to smile and walked up to the podium.
"I am honoured to accept this Medal of Appreciation for the twenty-third time," I spoke, words pouring out monotonously from my mouth. Not that the crowd cared, I could probably tell them to go fuck themselves and they'd probably cheer. Should I?
"Thank you," I ended my 'speech' and the crowd cheered again as I stepped off the podium and let the Mayor speak once again. I walked back to my seat, Superdick beaming at me.
"You deserve it dude!" he exclaimed, clapping with the crowd.
I looked at my watch. Ten more minutes and I'd finally get to go home. Unless the crowd mobbed me, which they always did. That meant I wouldn't reach home for another hour. I sighed again as I sat down on the chair.
I thought about dinner instead. Should I order pizza? I did have that leftover chicken salad in my fridge from yesterday. I thought about what I had in my pantry at home. Perhaps I could put together a lasagna? No, that would take time. Maybe Chinese take out? My mouth salivated at the thought. I hadn't had spicy Chinese noodles in a long while now.
Yes, there was a Chinese noodle shop not far from where this ceremony was taking place. In fact, I could see it from where I sat up on the stage. It appeared to be open-
There was a loud explosion. My heart sank as I saw that the Chinese shop I had been looking at had blown up suddenly. The crowd suddenly went silent as Superdick immediately jumped up into the air.
"Who dare attack such an auspicious ceremony?" he yelled with his supervoice.
I ignored him and scanned the buildings. Ah, a pizza place-
There was another explosion. The building that had the pizza place had blown up.
"I just fucking repaired that building!" I exclaimed. But my voice was drowned out by a loud hum as a metallic sphere appeared out of nowhere in the sky.
"It is I, Dieto!" a voice boomed.
"I defeated you!" Superdick spoke back.
"You merely cut away at my fat and that made me stronger! Prepare to starve and die!"
The sphere fired a laser at Superdick who countered with his own lasers from his eyes. The crowd screamed and dispersed. I watched the Mayor being escorted away by security. One of them ran over to me.
"We have to get you away from here!" he shouted.
Behind him, Superdick had flown over and punched the metal sphere which flew off and crashed into a building. I sighed again.
Leftover chicken salad it was then. | I was relaxing on my tablet when I heard a small alert. It was time for me to do my job. My job wasn't special, it wasn't fighting crime, but it sped things up. Made things more convenient for people. And because of that, I was beloved. It helped that my power wasn't a violent one, or one that could be used fighting someone and destroying things.
As I walked outside, and got closer to the site, my fans swarmed around me, or tried to. My bodyguards do their job quite well. The fans still smiled and cheered. They thanked me for what I did, even though it was nothing special, really.
When I got to the site, there were no heroes or villains in sight. They must've left in the commotion, or have an invisibility power. Either way, I'm only here to rebuild, not think, so I started.
The rebuilding process started. Everyone quieted down and watched as I worked. Every piece of the wreckage I touched moved into place, and if I couldn't find a piece, I could simply think it into place. I could think the building into place, but I like walking around as I do it. Gotta get some steps in while I work.
Soon, I was done, and the building was as solid as if it was newly built. I was about to walk back home when I was swarmed by reporters. I was surprised they asked these questions again and again. I'm not the most interesting person around.
Not only reporters, but fans swarmed me. One person got to the front, only to get pushed back. That person would then get pushed back. As that happened, I walked. They followed me, but I simply ignored them. Soon, I got to my house, and my bodyguards set themselves up at every entrance.
Done with my work, I put my tablet to the side. I made some tea and sat down with my favorite book. I turned on the tv for some background noise. It was another report about me. I laid back, relaxing for the first time this morning. | 2021-06-05T08:19:23 | 2021-06-05T07:17:21 | 50 | 22 |
[WP] a woman sells her soul to the devil, gets what she asked for, but not what she wanted | "I just want to be happy" Sherry told the devil.
"That's understandable. But you do realize the implications selling your soul will have, right?" Satan pressed.
"Yes, we've been over it a hundred times. I want to sell my soul to be happy the rest of my life." Sherry said this with more gumption than she intended, she _was_ talking to the Devil after all. But he was not what she expected. No horns or tail, not even a sinister looking human form. Satan had bookish eyes, a broad yet burdened frame, and messy gray hair. He fit the mold of a professor more than the Prince of Darkness.
"Very well my dear. You shall live out a long, normal life, and be happy for all of it. When it is time for your Earthly demise, I will own your soul for eternity." Satan held out his hand and Sherry grasped it with fervor.
After two shakes, up and down, the Devil was gone; and Sherry's spirits lifted. Plagued with depression her entire life, this was the first moment she'd ever remembered not worrying--a weight had been lifted from her neck, a calming aura passed through her body.
The ensuing years were bliss for Sherry. She’d finally made friends, even obtained a boyfriend who she eventually married. Her writing suffered, that was one unfavorable consequence, but she didn't care about her noticeable decline in the arts _because she was happy_.
The years went by, and everyone knew Sherry as the pleasant woman with a pleasant life; no one took her that seriously, mind you, but that was OK.
Then, when she was 40, tragedy struck. Her two young boys, the loves of her wonderful life, were hit by a passing truck. Sherry’s family, and especially her husband, were devastated. Sherry knew she should be upset…but she was as happy as ever. She truly felt neither remorse nor mourning.
At first, her family thought it was denial. But as her cheery disposition carried on, it drove them and her husband crazy.
“How the hell can you be so happy after everything that’s happened? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you miss our children?” he cried, after having enough of her buoyancy.
“Of course I do honey, I just…still feel happy” she thought about the fateful day she’d sold her soul, and just now realized exactly what that entailed. She smiled, and didn't regret it, as she gaily watched her husband walk out their front door for the last time.
Life went on. Sherry was happy. She merrily saw her parents to their graves, gladly broke friendship with those who didn't understand her demeanor, and brightly greeted her failed attempts at publishing a book. “This novel, it lacks authenticity, it’s completely unreal, it’s too happy” agents and publishing companies would always say. But, invariably, she’d grin and brush it off.
And thus, this was Sherry’s life. She was alone, poor, and happy. In her advanced age, a doctor told her she’d be dying within the month.
“That’s swell” she replied, smiling ear to ear. The doctor wrote it off as dementia.
As the cancer worked its way through her body, the pain was nearly intolerable but she couldn't help but find cheer in the whole process. Moments away from death, she saw a familiar figure.
“Are you one of my doctors?” She called to the old man.
“No Sherry, I’m Satan. I’m here to take you to hell. There, you’ll be miserable for the remainder of the universe.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely, Satan. I’m looking forward to not being so happy.”
| Rosie Capeman never had a problem spending money. She never quite had enough, however, and she did have a problem with that. Clothes, shoes, food, an Upper East Side condo. She always wanted more than her job as a criminal defense attorney provided.
So when the Devil knocked on her door one evening, it didn’t take long to strike a deal. Rosie figured she had already sold him so much of her soul defending rapists and murderers, she may as well use what’s left for her.
“I want to be RICH!” exclaimed Rosie.
“Then it will be done,” the Devil replied as he disappeared from the apartment.
Rosie went to bed thinking about what she would buy. A house in the Caribbean. Or maybe in Italy. A private chauffeur, or perhaps a butler. She knew the possibilities were endless, and breathed a sigh of joy as she closed her eyes and drifted off.
She woke up early in the morning with the sudden need to use the bathroom. Shuffling in a half-daze, Rosie walked to the toilet, lifted the seat and relieve herself. It wasn’t until she was finishing that the realization came. She was standing! And in her hand...no, she thought. It couldn’t be.
She turned on the light and screamed at her short hair and face covered in stubble. Rosie ran to her dresser only to find her purse replaced with small wallet. In the wallet was the driver’s license that gave proof to her fears. Name: Rich Capeman.
As a lawyer she should have known better. When dealing with the Devil, get everything in writing. | 2013-11-13T07:01:03 | 2013-11-13T06:56:28 | 47 | 24 |
[WP] Armageddon began, and it quickly became apparent that bullets beat swords and claws every single time. Now Heaven and Hell have joined in an uneasy alliance against the humans who have invaded Hell and begun using its endless fires as a power source. | "It's cool." Averus said, arranging his suit in a controlled gesture, eyes watching over the mass of people in front of the podium.
"There has to be a thousand people here and its 65C outside yet its cool, THIS is what humanity has come to, the conquest of hell itself."
He could still see some flinch at the old name, mostly the old generals and veterans here to provide the voice of the past, back from when they first came here and had to survive the horrors of this savage world.
Averus himself was from the first generation born in hell, grew up with stories of open sky and bodies of water. And now he was close to them, so close the could see clouds when he closed his eyes, hear leaves, *taste* something that wasn't generated. Only one more step, one more term and he would have it. His slight introspection would be interpreted as a dramatic pause but it was starting to stretch so he cast his gaze again on the mass of dignitaries, officers, reporters and any other person of any import that was present.
"We came here as refugees, a remnant of a shining civilization fleeing the playground of gods. Judgement came and went, The Horsemen devastated us more than anything we could have imagined, the hordes of demons and choirs of angels scorching the land in their battles, our own counterattack ravaging what little was left..."
Again the pause, this time he scanned the crowd and drank in the mass of emotions, something only the ones born in hell like him were capable of. The mix was intoxicating: Pain, Rage, Suffering, the darkest moments of every person from the Pre-Fire days mixing with his own companions emotions: Pride most of all but as people were falling into the flow others started to surface Joy, Lust... the mix was getting so dense that even he let a mad grin split his face, echoed in the people in front as they misinterpreted his thoughts again.
"And yet here we stand! Stronger than ever, they dismantled our civilization and we're build it up again, on pillars of obsidian, fueled it with hellfire where oil left a void, we flooded Hell like a tide of biblical proportions and taught them fear, both of them."
Everyone's gaze darkened at that last bit, the betrayal clear, the supposed saviors. At first he'd heard that people simply fell to their knees at the sight of the angels, for almost a year people were forming lines to be disintegrated, the light that destroyed the body being misinterpreted as the Grace of Heaven, salvation from the battlefield their world had become. Shame and Rage flooded the room from the old ones, so strong it covered everything else, his own starting to buckle under the intensity of it.
"And now we stand alone, against both, neither the pure nor the unholy willing to share the world with us. We are in the year 234 AF, the oldest here still remembering their first days here for none can die in Hell, and I tell you now, I do not intend for there to be a year 240."
Once again the reaction was immediate. Shock from everyone, Hope stronger than anything in the old ones, Bloodlust, a lapse in control from his own. Old worries flared again in Averus but he fought them down, better to move his compatriots to other emotions quickly.
"We're ready, ready to finally break out of this cavernous world. Earth may not be inhabitable again according to most recent scans but there are other places out there"
The meaningful grin echoed in others as they realized what he was talking about, the frenzied emotions of impending violence was like a wake-up call to his own. He could see the neutral expressions as they all mastered themselves. The ones not born in hell oblivious to the strength of emotions were simply enjoying themselves at the thought of finally starting to push again.
"I wish to announce that I want another term. I know I've had 5 so far, overseen a good quarter of our lives here, but I want to see the end. I want to be the one who ends the Age of Fire, the one who holds another gathering like this one under the open sky, where we can have as many as possible without having to worry about building a big enough enclosure."
And here Averus left the old pain out, the old rage at seeing his mother beg for death as her body got older and older, the helplessness at not being able to give her what she wants, the slight hope that once they got the Grace he could revive her into a healthy body. As always he felt the blood vessels in his eyes dilate from the flood of emotions, to all onlookers his eyes would be turning red, most of the white in them vanishing as the vessels dilated, best to use this.
"Look at me! All of you! See what has become of your children by being born here. Look around! See the old ones who cannot die, the lucky few who can still move and think. We're getting out, they wanted to eradicate us and now we force them together. They hide behind The Gates thinking themselves safe. But we've reversed engineered everything they had, we've improved it, and now we have the key... or a hammer to let us into the next age."
A man in a white suit made his way onto the podium then, all eyes turning to him for a second before fixing themselves onto Averus again.
"They brought down Pestilence upon us, War, Famine, Death. They believed they could exterminate us with fire and disease. They were wrong. And now we found the one weapon they were too sure of themselves to use, locked here in hell. A deal has been struck, the kind you could start a religion on not that we will ever make that mistake again."
"Ladies and gentlemen, Old ones and young, I would like to introduce you to Conquest." | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For he alone was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples. He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons. They knew he would come, as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow-dwellers, driving them to deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains. The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighty armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding. With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that were left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell. Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep. And blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in. This e priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus. The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
-thus as the scripts of the slayers testament of the doom chronicles | 2018-10-27T01:06:32 | 2018-10-27T00:05:02 | 90 | 21 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | Coyly, I looked into the two orbital sockets that I assumed Death used for sight. "Fine. But, I need 24 hours in this realm's time, a notebook, and a pencil to make my selection." Death's black hood dipped slightly in assent. "I also need you to leave during that time. When my time's up, I'll choose."
Death seemed still, almost contemplative. I puzzled whether the thing in front of me was, truely, the shepherd of my consciousness from the realm of mortality. Or, merely, some construction of an unseen entity used to resign me to my own demise. The scythe propped in the corner was a nice touch, until you realized the whole skull and cloak routine was all rather hammy. No accounting for taste, I guess.
The Grim Reaper approximated, what I assumed was, a shrug, handing me what I requested as if it always had them. When I looked up from them it was gone, scythe and all. I opened up the notebook to find two words were inscribed in the darkest of black inks.
**CHOOSE WISELY**
I laughed, tearing the sheet out and began to write. And, write. And, write.
By the time Death returned, the notebook had filled. It was tightly plotted, with characters and requested guests, treasures and shopkeepers, and quests. A skeletal hand reached for the notebook back.
"Oh, no." I said. The hand stopped. "We'll need this for the game I've chosen. We'll also need dice, and pencils." I tore two sheets from the back and handed them to the hooded avatar. "The rules for character creation are included on the sheet. You'll need to roll your stats and choose a name."
The skeletal being held the paper briefly and then placed it on the table. Some dice appeared in front of it.
"You'll hand those to me. One of these needs to be 20-sided, 5 -sided, and 3- sided, also." The dice moved and had reverted to my request once they reached me. I rolled a few and told Death how they affected who its character was. Diligently, it complied with every request. By the end, it had almost a totally realized character and was ready to purchase goods from the store. It sat, staring at me patiently.
"We can't proceed until you've chosen a name."
Death stared down at the paper, and stared, and stared. It started to write, but erased it almost immediately. The skeletal creature did this several times.
Suddenly, I woke up in my hospital bed moments later. I laughed until it hurt.
It turns out, Death, by its nature, wasn't very creative.
| "Then I'll choose Tic Tac Toe!" I said confidently.
Death drew a glowing tic tac toe board suspended in mid air and grew a devilish smile. "Fine, go ahead and start", he said with a whisper of a voice.
An hour passed by, with no moves made. "Are you not going to do anything!?" Death shouted annoyed.
"Nope," I answered satisfied that I had enraged death itself. "Can't lose if you don't play," | 2018-03-07T06:59:07 | 2018-03-07T06:43:50 | 1,807 | 72 |
[WP] The United States government is so bored, they start monitoring one random unsuspecting idiot 24/7. Every time he fails to brush his teeth at the appropriate time, gas prices increase slightly. | A solitary bead of sweat ran down Senator Crafford's brow as he watched the monitor. "Come on, you son of a bitch, you can do it. You can keep those pearly whites sparkling, I know you can."
"Nervous, senator?", the smug smirk playing across Smith's stupid mug was enough reason to hate the man and he had the personality to match.
Kenneth stared at the sink vacantly. Since he split up with Deborah, life had lacked the silver lining it once used to have. He felt no drive, no purpose, no real attachment to the material world. He was a machine, keeping up his tasks, his responsibilities, not out of a will to succeed, but out of routine.
The plastic cup in Crafford's hand let out a dying groan as it had to pay the prize of the tension in the room. He had promised his daughters that trip to France, and he had yet to let them down.
"Odds at 13 to 1!" The voice of the VP was drowned out by a wave of shouting and reshuffling of bets. Bernard Humphrey, the fittingly oily CEO of Petro-Corp let out a cheshire cat grin. It was widely accepted that he had grown rich out of Kenneth's bad habits, and his agents had been busted trying to influence Kenneth more than once, but they could never be traced back to him.
Kenneth let out a sigh. He had no lust for brushing his teeth tonight. He had no lust for anything these days.
"Don't let me down son. Not tonight." Crafford was whispering while his eyes never left the big monitor showing Kenneth's blank face and bare, hairy torso. Even Smith couldn't contain his anxiety. His face still flashed his stupid smirk, but his bony, fidgeting fingers spoke volumes on their own.
Kenneth stared at the hardly used toothbrush sitting on the bathroom counter. An invisible audience of unyielding eyes followed suit. He let out a sigh. What the heck. He might aswell try to keep up one more routine.
The room erupted. Crafford let out a hoot of joy. He looked to his right as Mr Humphrey was cascading his phone in scream-propelled saliva. Someone was about to lose his or her employment. His eyes finally met the stunned face of Smith. Smith looked back at him, his smirk pouring away from his face slowly turning a marble white.
Crafford brought up his phone. His joy couldn't even be damped by the rough tone of his rudely awoken wife. "Pack your bags, Honey! We're going to Paris!"
| Smith now stranded at a island somewhere at pacific ocean after survived the plane crash..
Now the UN launched a world-wide search&rescue mission to find Smith.
As time goes on, the world's economy worsen and at the edge of collapsing...
The search & rescue team, packed with dental hygiene apparatus, is humanity's last hope.. | 2018-05-08T05:45:36 | 2018-05-08T05:25:39 | 318 | 52 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | They mostly died gibbering, eyes wide, searching for something no one could see. I was in the storeroom, taking inventory of the powered milk, when Sal spasmed and sent a row of cans clattering to the floor, and I yelped and turned around to him and his eyes were just wild and flickering, rolling up into the back of his head, nearly twisting out of their sockets. He was trying to tell me something, I'm sure of it. And then the whole place was chaos, him and Maury and D'Angelo and all of them just having seizures, and I ran out to the floor and my god it was a madhouse in there. All the customers, flailing, pulling shelves down on themselves, that awful gibbering babble just looping in on itself and echoing and there was nothing I could do to make them stop, until they were all of them, all of them, dead.
Well. Not all of them. This nice lady named Virginia shrieking with the rest of them, but she was just panicking like I was. And Stevie and his kids. And Merle and Yvette and - and long story short we ventured out of the supermarket together, and then out into the city, and then listening for any news on the radio, and every time seeing the same thing repeated larger and larger and larger. They were all dead, died in their cars, died in their beds, died flying airplanes, died keeping the electricity running, all across the city and the country and the whole goddamn world, all of us huddled together around the radio listening for the news coming in. All of them dead. All of them except for us.
"Decimation," says Merle, as we're doing rounds. It's funny, in an apocalypse. You expect looting. You expect tyrants. You expect that the worst thing of all is your fellow man. But there ain't no zombies after us, no lack of food or gas or water. There's a fucking surplus to pick through here. Because we've done head counts, we've dragged away the bodies in rows of straight lines, we've extrapolated and done the math, and the numbers we come up with square with the numbers we hear on the radio. "A removal of a tenth," Merle says, with a weak smile. "Hence, decimal, decade. One-tenth of a military unit singled out and killed." Just rows and rows of bodies, and we've counted the ones who're left. "Just think, they used to consider that a severe punishment."
Ninety percent of the world is dead, more or less, more or less. We're just the ones who are left, all fucking traumatized and clinging together for warmth. Roughly seven hundred fifty million people left on the face of the Earth, if our estimates hold right, if the decimation's been uniform. Sounds like a lot, don't it. Just us seven hundred fifty million left, among six billion-odd corpses. In the end, it gives you something to shoot for, doesn't it? You bury nine corpses, and then you've done your part.
In the beginning, the worst we faced - beyond the fires, beyond the rats running free, beyond the stink of rotting flesh, beyond the - the worst we faced of humanity, is what I mean, was a couple of kids with their daddy's rifles, thinking they were raiders. We disarmed them peacefully, they're living with us now. But now, now that we're just starting to get organized again, and people have to go and get trouble.
"There," Merle whispers, nudging his elbow into my side, pointing to the bloody handprints chalked across the wall. Too neat, to clean to have been placed there accidentally. Alistair and his goddamn cultists. I grip my rifle tighter, the hairs on my neck going up. "Marking their territory," Merle says. "Trying to expand."
And we're crouching low, but there's a whistle that sounds above the rooftops, and our eyes turn to the sky. "Run!" I yell, and there are footsteps sounding, chanting, figures stirring in the abandoned buildings. "Get back to base!" And a bullet whistles through the air and takes Merle through the shoulder and he gasps and stumbles and I'm grabbing his shirt, dragging him along, the two of us running together.
Here's the thing about surviving: it makes you think you're special. It makes you think you're chosen. It makes you think that maybe everything else you do to survive is justified. It wasn't a God that spared us, no, no. Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, struck down like anyone else. It wasn't skin color or race. It wasn't where we lived, it wasn't how rich we used to be before the fall. It wasn't anything we ate or drank, wasn't anything we watched or heard or knew. In our group, it was Sarah, Stevie's little girl, who was the first of us to figure it out, to voice it, I think under a week after it all happened. But all of us must've been thinking it in some form or another as we made our way through the trauma, it must've been percolating through my head as I shook hands with another stranger, as we passed each other supplies, as I watched them work. Such a stupid, pointless little trait. And since it didn't match up with any doctrine or dogma, they've made up a religion to fit it. A religion that says that we are Chosen. That we are the inheritors of the Earth.
"You have a chance!" booms Alistair's voice from outside, as me and Merle huddle behind a bank counter, my rifle at the ready, Merle sweating and pale and his breathing going hard. His cultists are parting like the sea, and I peek up and I see Alistair, all in in black, black hair, black beard, the bloody handprint crusted across his chest. "Join us! We recognize not the laws of the old world, a world that sought to persecute and marginalize us! You seek to reestablish your own oppressors! That ugly thing you call Civilization! Join us, brothers, and recognize the New World Order!" He's arrogant, that bastard, an utter fanatic, arms spread, smile wide. Merle's eyes are flickering closed, the blood spreading across his shirt. I steady my rifle. I think I may be able to get off one shot.
"Join us!" screams Alistair, his face a perfect spot of white in my sights as his followers begin to flood in, their own weapons raised. "Join us on the Left-Hand Path!" | Who would have thought we’d all be alone.
There was a man from South Africa and one from New Zealand. There were women, Christian and a Muslim. The rest of the group was just as mixed up as the first few. But each of us were the remainder of our heritage.
I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. They were all just strangers, no one I could confide in. Those types of people were gone.
“Cup of soup?” the Christian woman asked.
I took the cup without a word of thanks. Words wouldn’t do much of anything now. Not with my daughter, Sarah, and wife, Claire, deceased. The disease had swept through the world like a tidal wave. And here we were, in the basement of a body strewn hospital. And all of us pretended like nothing had gone wrong as if there was still hope.
The South African man approached me. “Hey Bru, I’m going to check for blankets upstairs. Lend a hand?”
“Oh, are the fools feeling cold?” I said, staring into my soup cup.
The South African man peeked over his shoulder and then back. “A walk might do you some good.”
He seemed earnest. So instead of spitting in his face, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Upstairs, we passed body after body. They laid on stretchers, hospital beds, or the floor. And most had a pained look on their face, like whatever had killed them had won from the inside out. Each face posed a statement: *Why us when it should have been you.*
For whatever reason, we hadn’t been infected.
“You should cover your face, bru,” the South African said.
I scoffed. “I’ll walk with you, but don’t Nanny me.”
He spun around faster than I could react. And then he slammed me against the hospital wall. Pain shot through my chest, but I tried to fight back. The man had me pinned under his elbow. “We’ve all lost our fair share,” he said.
The strength was sapped out of me. I went limp. “Why don’t you just get it over with then?”
“I’m not trying to harm you, lighty,” he said, “but you’re adding oil to the funeral pyre.”
“Maybe we should be sad. People have died. My wife, my chil-”
“You think you’re the only one?” He hissed. His face was red, and veins were straining on his neck.
“I know I’m not, but I can’t help how I feel. I have no family now.”
The man let go of me. “You want family?” he asked. “My name’s Leon,” he said, hand out. “And we’re all that we’ve got left on this godforsaken planet.”
I stared at his open palm. Despite my anger at him, it was like an open invitation. A chance at what the world could still be like. “And what if you pass away tomorrow? What’s this handshake going to be worth then?”
Leon rested a hand on my shoulder. “The present doesn’t discredit the past. Things were good before today, they may be hard now, but let’s show that we remember our loved ones by honouring them.”
The fire inside me raged on, asking for hate as fuel. But Leon’s words had stuck with me. I thought of my wife, my daughter. I decided not to look at the bodies of those gone. Not because I was afraid, but because I knew where the road of remorse led.
When we arrived back at the hospital basement, the warm atmosphere died down as soon as the survivors saw me. I crossed to the center of the group. The people all watched in silence. I took a seat near the lady that had given me the cup of soup earlier.
“Thank you for your chicken soup, it was delicious. Would you like a blanket?”
It was pitiful that it was all I could offer her when she had given me so much more a few moments earlier. Leon smiled as he sat down opposite me and gave me a secret thumbs up.
“Oh, thank you,” the soup lady said, blushing as she took the blanket.
“I’m Daniel,” I told her, holding a hand out.
The lady smiled and with it a bit of the warmth came back to the room. “I’m Elaine,” she replied, and placed her hand in mine.
| 2016-10-22T00:46:39 | 2016-10-22T00:43:55 | 2,897 | 67 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said. | She wasn't the only one who refused her words, of course. But most people eventually said them after a few centuries, driven by boredom or heartache or apathy. Or pain.
You could suffer in pain for eternity, but still you would live, unless you said the words. Others insisted you simply came to long for proper rest, or so Elsa had been told. But she never had. She was approaching 750, and she had never grown tired of life. She privately believed that was why the Gods had given her the words she had known since birth: a curse to balance her never-ending hunger for life.
Today, she was choking on them.
She considered his face, tight with pain as he laboured for breath. Before long, he would be too far gone to hear and understand what she said. He might become one of the countless withered bodies that never left the state facilities dedicated to such cases. Too delirious to remember his words, he would hang in limbo for eternity. James was nearly there already. And she owed him the words, even though he had never demanded them. She owed him everything.
The window was open, and Elsa stepped closer to take a breath of the crisp night air, smiling at the twin moons that winked at her from the sky. It was a lovely planet, newly opened for habitation. They had meant to spent at least a century here, but life happens. Death happens.
Any minute now, a nurse would come for the nightly check-up. They would be done before then.
"I love you," she told James, her 30th partner. Her last and most vibrant of partners, wasted almost beyond recognition now. The bones of his once full cheeks were jutting out. She smiled to see his eyes flutter open, to catch one more glimpse of those luminous blue eyes. The rest of him had faded, but never those eyes.
He grasped her hands, a surprisingly strong grip. She laboured for breath herself now, as he groped for his words. Her heart leapt as she saw him smile, that same teasing smile he had given her so many times during the past two centuries. Whenever he hugged her and kissed her neck, or presented her with flowers after she had done some small thing for him. Whenever he wanted to say his own words, but couldn't.
"Thank you," he breathed, and silence reigned as a chill wind swept through the room. He was coming, but Elsa wasn't worried.
She wasn't alone.
---------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | "I need healing." said Genji, now at 1/200HP and in unbearable pain; but by speaking these words, he caused Mercy to quickly turn to the left. The small wind-- caused by the annoyed healer-- blew towards Genji, unto which a small particle of sand blasted towards him, getting through his visor and into his eye, instantly killing him. | 2017-08-07T09:02:17 | 2017-08-07T07:19:46 | 843 | 331 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | "IS THAT HIS EYE," I screamed looking down at the mangled corpse of the hero was now strewn lazily about the floor of my laboratory.
"Yes, my love," she cooed in response, then pouted, "he had come to take me from you." She was the Princess even as she was my captive. Her classic pink dress was long gone however, and she wore an all black gown sewn from the silk of the Neverspiders that stayed in the furthers depths of my dungeon and not for the last time I was ... say concerned about her mental state.
Aliva had been your typical princess when I captured her nearly a year ago. She had flounced around my dungeon and basically made a nuisance of herself. Her petulant whining about being bored had finally caused me to torture her for a bit, but I'm pretty sure she liked it. And I'm pretty sure it broke her.
And then she started chancing me around to get me to torture her more.
So I sent her off to my great library to study. She was a linguist after all. I was bound to have something that a princess would like to read there among my spellbooks. She hadn't taken that well either, hence the glowing black scepter that she also was holding.
"Where did you get the Shard of Oblivion," I asked calmly. It was a sacred relic that I had corrupted, and had remained inert in my vaults until she took it... and empowered it.
"This old thing, as far as presents go it not a very fine one," she said in a bored offhanded fashion that set my hackles up, but as she turned the wild look in her eyes did as well, "And I love it, see I bound the soul of my handmaiden into it to empower it."
"You sacrificed your handmaiden," I said impressed. That was her childhood friend, the one who held off my goblins with a tree branch for several minutes until I managed to take them both myself. Had she tried to escape I would not have stopped her as she was no prize but had loyally remained with her friend throughout her captivity.
"I told her it would make me happy, and so she did," she smiled, looking at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a dead hero strewn around me.
"Why are you happy," I said, the power of the EverVoid flowing into me as I saw the Insanity in her and wondered how powerful the corrupt shard actually was. It practically radiated Dark Magic, filling the room, bleaching the walls. The Princess's lustrous blond hair looked almost white now. She seemed hollow.
"Because I have a present for you," she said and handed me the Shard. I gripped it magically, taking care to magically separate myself from the artifact until I had time to analyze it. Every sense I had screamed danger, more so than even when I had battled the Neverborn to take its great Libram of the Undying... which I now saw was sitting on the table before her open.
"You've opened the Libram," I asked stepping backwards slightly, my most powerful magics had been sucked into that great tome. I could see the words for a powerful spell of some type on the open page.
"Oh you noticed," she oozed, "It was very hard, my Ancient Tongue was a bit rusty but I realized that it was in Eastern script not Under script like the notes indicated." Those were my personal notes, written in my personal cipher, in my personal study, protected by my personal wards. My hand tightened on my Hellmace. I'd have to make this quick.
"How," was my one word question. Her back was to me and I could see the book past her. Eastern script was an ancient dialect of the ancient tongue. She was a linguist, but who delves into such scripts? Now that I read it using Eastern scripts I could almost make out a few words.
"I had to sacrifice the soul of a Princess to open it," she said.
"You sacrificed your own soul."
"It was the only way we could be together."
The spell was one of binding, and the final ingredient was the eye of a hero. | "Lord Vainz! We have captured humans merchants on the road!" the undead knight announced on his knees.
"Hmm, what should we do with these pitiful humans?" I wondered aloud.
The human princess, that I rested my skeletal feet on twitched excitedly. "Lord Vainz! I know! I know what we should do!"
*Hmph.* This human princess that I had turned into a footrest, dares to think that she knows what *I*, the Evil Overlord of the Rotting Wastelands should do?
"Well then human girl let's see what you have to say," I said. "If you fail to amuse me, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to demote you from footrest to something even *worse."* I cackled manically as evil miasma spewed from the crevices of my skeletal body.
"What if I do amuse you?" asked the human princess, "What do I get?"
I cackled even more and more miasma spewed forth. *As if that would ever happen.*
"Name one thing," I raised a long bony finger to her. "And you shall have it," I said grinning.
The human girl began to speak gleefully with her sweet voice, but from her mouth came words so evil and insidious that an ugly silence pervaded the throne room.
When her speech was over I had beads of sweat roll down my bony face. The lower jaws of my Skeletal knights had literally dropped so low that it slipped off and hit the floor.
---------
***A week later***
"Uhh L-lord Vainz... We have found a remote village at the border of the human empire."
"Oh! Oh! I know what we should do!," shouted princess Evil as she bounced up and down on the throne, her legs hitting my back repeatedly.
I, the Evil Overlord had been reduced to a footrest for a human...
*Someone kill me please...*
------
/r/Em_pathy | 2018-02-09T05:33:00 | 2018-02-09T04:18:08 | 158 | 92 |
[WP] You live in Gotham. You are the only person who suspects Bruce Wayne is Batman. Give us your conspiracy theories. | Hello, and welcome to my website, BruceTheBat.org
There is no need to drum this up with dramatics, I'll just say it, Batman, the famous masked detective, is actually Bruce Wayne, millionaire industrialist, playboy, and philanthropist. Let's observe the facts:
1) Batman uses high tech gadgets while Bruce Wayne runs a company which produces futuristic military gadgets
2) Whenever a high profile function is attacked by a famous super villain (which is what once a week now?), Bruce Wayne, mysteriously disappears, only to have Batman show up minutes later
3) Finally, there is no one, *I repeat no one*, in Gotham who has the money to afford a holographic mountain, and bat-shaped stealth jet besides Bruce Wayne.
Really? Wake up Sheeple! THE EVIDENCE IS ALL THERE!
Now, I know what some of you are saying, "Why would Bruce Wayne keep this secret? Tony Stark revealed he's Iron Man, and he gets invited to the Emmy's and stuff. Why wouldn't Bruce Wayne? Why haven't I seen Bruce Wayne at the Emmy's and what would he wear?"
Because, Bruce Wayne is not Bruce Wayne's name, it is actually Bruce BRUNNER! He is son of famous Nazi fugitive [Alois Brunner](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alois_Brunner), who in was brought to the United States by the CIA during Operation Paperclip! Thomas Wayne, a.k.a. Alois Brunner was almost killed in a botched Hamas assassination attempt. The CIA in turn faked his death, keeping him in protective custody in their hallowed out mountain base in Glacier National park! Batman was then raised to be the perfect CIA operative!
[\(CLICK HERE to read more about the huge amount of NAZI WEREWOLVES brought into the US by the CIA\)](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1811315/)
Yes, Bruce Wayne is the son of a former Nazi who, now fights crime posing as this masked crusader! But I ask you, what has Bruce "The Bat" Wayne, actually done? Nothing! He could not stop the bombing of Gotham General! What has he done besides acquire low level criminals! He is merely a CIA stooge which was used to pass CIA operation D.E.N.T. A.C.T (**D**amn **E**veryone's **N**ational liber**T**ies **A**llow (the) **C**.I.A. **T**o (take over).)
Think about Sheeple! Isn't it a little too convenient that Batman saved Harvey Dent from the fire? After all, would the Joker just tell him where he was? Of course not! Unless "The Joker," was actually Nazi super doctor Joseph Melange kept alive by the C.I.A using futuristic technology stolen from the now gone planet Kyrpton.
[This photo illustrates, the undeniable similarities between the two](http://imgur.com/GU7so6V)
[(CLICK HERE to learn more about CIA involvement with Kyrptonians during the Cold War and their assistance in faking the moon landing!)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DA66pqjTnNU)
When Harvey Dent discovered Batman's connection to the Joker as well as the Third Riech, Batman, along with the CIA, silenced him! Justice for Dent! Please Share Via Facebook! Your family must learn the horrible truth! I'm sure no one will think your crazy.
[\(CLICK HERE to learn about the Daily Planet reporter who is actually Superman! And how he and the CIA worked together to orchestrate the invasion by DARKSEID to justify the U.S invasion of Apokolips\)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) | My father died and went to heaven. He was the type of person that you could pick out in a bar without going inside. I loved my father more than anything. It was hard to see him go.
Seven days ago, I bumped into the Batman - if that's what we're calling him - but I could have sworn he had the face of my father. I walked up to him, laying my cards down on the table, showing every emotion... and said "Dad?" He looked at me for a moment as I looked at him. He responded: "What is your name?" I quickly said: "Luke! I'm Luke! Is that you dad?" We shared another similar silence before in a deep voice the Batman said "Luke... I am *not* your father." And he flew off.
But I knew the truth. I knew that was my father, Bruce Wayne (not the millionaire... my father... the bridge inspector from Westpike, Maine). So I followed him to his bat cave. I waited... fourteen days for any sign of life. And then... it happened. A woman entered the cave. And then another. And another. Over the course of two hours this cave had been visited by twelve additional women and two pizza truck delivery men. That was when I made my move. I ordered pizza and paid the delivery truck driver $300 to wear his clothes and deliver the pizza.
I walked up to the door. Knocked three times. A naked man approached. Behind him. Fifteen naked woman.
And... yeah... it was Bruce Wayne, the millionaire. I was totally off! Man... I felt like an idiot. | 2015-08-02T01:57:53 | 2015-08-01T21:08:07 | 59 | 33 |
[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. | If only we knew then what we know now. The humans claimed historical sovereignty, as is the right of all new applicants into the Galactic Conglomerate. This is usually to hide a soft past in an effort to appear strong. Usually a war-like species is proud of their military capabilities. They flaunt them in a show of strength in such a loose alliance of different peoples. The humans proved to be expert diplomats, but not much else. In nearly every field, much of the conglomerate surpassed them. At least, that's what we thought.
Within thirty earth years, as is now the standard, the Dopeshki, our people, thought it would be fun and exciting sport to conquer the soft, fleshy humans. Our hard outer shells could resist most of the small arms the humans showed to the galaxy as if they were leaves falling from a tree. Our ships' shields could easily absorb their pitiful energy weapons. We didn't know that they had researched so deeply into creating projectile weapons though. It had seemed almost like an obsession to make a bigger, stronger, more deadly "gun" as they call them. Most of our warfare revolved around a slow approach and on-board combat in order to not activate the energy-absorbing shields. Projectile weapons had long been abandoned because of this.
The first battle was a slaughter. We attacked a huge transport ship bringing luxury goods and medical tools to an outer colony of theirs. The humans could not stand up to our strength in close combat, but we did not win a single fight after that.
Humans came up with the idea of a "railgun" a thousand years prior to outside contact. The first one could accelerate a tungsten rod to 1% the speed of light, and they only got better at making them from there. Our shields didn't stand a chance. We did not even realize that they were not using payloads on the projectiles until they started doing so. The colony of Darmak was the first time we found this out. Then Kartor, and Sengui, and Kalloo, and so on until it was just our home. They had developed bombs that ignited the very atmosphere of a planet, and they could fire them at 86% the speed of light. We never even knew when we were being attacked until the scorchlines were already traveling across the planet.
When we Dopeshki warred, it was like a grand hunt. It was full of sport. We had rules and valued the spoils more than the annihilation of our enemy. Surrender and tribute was always an option for our foes, for why else should one wage war if not to benefit off those who are weaker. The humans did not share such views. Many wondered why such weak creatures ever became so dominant on such a savage planet. It is because humans have no mercy once they decide oblivion is their foe's fate. They never mined our colony worlds. They never tried to seed life to them after such unimaginable destruction was dealt. The humans called it "total war," and it is something they have practiced, refined, and learned from since the dawn of their civilization. When they finally delivered the mercy treaty to our last bastion of government, they made sure that we understood they only stayed their hand so as not to look like complete monsters to the other people in The Conglomerate.
That is why we may no longer engage in war, young ones. That is why our planet is mostly barren save for the small patch of land on the continent of Congima. That is why we may never hold colonies again. That is why the humans are the head of The Galactic Empire. Never before has such diplomacy been seen. | "Gentlemen, I have ordered this war council to discuss the stagnation in our current offensive against the humans", said a tall, humanoid looking Alien. "Grand Admiral Whala, as the most experienced officer of the High Command, what is your assesment?"
"My assesment? MY ASSESMENT?", the old Admiral hammered with his fist on the table. "I told you before that this war was foolish to begin with. Yet none of you would listen."
"You may be experiemced but the times have changed old man. War is different now than it may have been back in your days," a lower ranked Admiral responded.
"How DARE you insult me like this? Unlike you I have studied the Human history! It is full of wars, small ones and big ones, and even wars that span the entire world and incorporate every last aspect of society. They call it the "Total War"."
"Whala, I am not here to study human history. I am here to understand why our forces still haven't successfully captured Gyna Prime!", the leader's voice got louder.
"My assesment is that this war is unwinnable. The humans see this war as a threat to their very survival as a species, and rightfully so, and will not stop until every single one of us is dead. They will sacrifice billions if they have to. But none of you would listen to me. And now you will pay the blood price for it with the destruction of our entire species." | 2019-11-24T14:11:42 | 2019-11-24T13:03:30 | 426 | 65 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | The man called Jesus is very handsome. Even in person, from across the church square, I can tell his megawatt smile is as bright as they’ve been showing on the news. Before the past year, when he landed on Earth with the ability to walk on water, I imagined Jesus to look like the basketball player Pau Gasol, and I wasn’t too far off.
You know, a handsome, Spanish-looking bastard. He sits in squares around the world now, meeting followers and spreading wisdom. It’s a pretty good setup for him, like the world’s biggest Christian rock tour. I expected the gimmick to die down, but he still gets crowds of thousands every day.
I am not too far in line now. But it’s not really a line, moreso a procession of zombie-fied people drawn to the man like a magnet.
He looks up, surveying the crowd, as he takes a drink of water. Then it happens. The moment I’ve been waiting for ever since he arrived.
We lock eyes, and I know he knows who I am. I see his eyes widen almost imperceptibly in recognition. But to his credit, he doesn’t look away. True to his nature, he nods, and gestures for me.
There are gasps and cries in the crowd as the seas part for me to walk to him. Compared to him, I must look so stupid: badly shaven, bloodshot eyes, a shirt and jeans far too casual for the moment.
“It is he!” The man called Jesus says, standing up. “He who would deceive you, if not for me.”
More gasps and cries.
The man called Jesus pauses for dramatic effect, and I realize how stupid all this was, coming all this way, trying to confront him face to face, in a large crowd. Because the crowd will always be on his side.
I guess I was hoping he would appreciate the direct approach, and try to handle things civilly, without a big scene. But then I see his smile, and I know what he’s about to say.
“It is the Antichrist! After him…”
I’m already pushing through the crowd, as murmurs of his words begin to pass through of who I am...
\-
“Are you sure?” the girl asks.
“Yes, I am sure.”
“This will help me understand...bring me closer?”
“Of course.”
“Ok.”
I burst through the door, and the man called Jesus takes his hands off the girl’s buttons almost immediately. The girl screams, but the man called Jesus gestures for her to be quiet, to act like things are normal. But it doesn’t matter.
I turn towards the girl. “You should leave. This man is dangerous.”
She turns towards the man called Jesus.
“Stay here,” the man called Jesus says. “This is just another crazy follower. Not saying you’re crazy, of course.”
“It was a smart idea,” I say. “You must have thought on it for a while.”
“Call the lobby, tell them we have a visitor,” the man called Jesus tells her.
I raise my hand. “By the power vested in me, I return you to your true form, and then to the dark realm from which you came.” I point my hand at him.
The man called Jesus fights, but slowly his true form emerges – winged, scaly, red. He screams, and spits at me, before he fades away.
“Sorry,” I say to the girl. “I’m not really that handsome anymore. Even Jesus has to get old.”“Wha-what just happened?” she asks.
“He wasn’t Jesus,” I say.
“And you are?”
“Maybe.” I turn to go.
“Wait!” she says. “H-how do I get closer?”
“To what?”
“God? Truth...life, anything.”
I smile, and tell her the truest thing I know, as I turn to go for good. “Stop believing in anyone who says they have the answers. They're probably just bullshitting too."
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | Oh fuck me. "Really? Here? Now?" I say. Jesus sneers at me. "I think so Antichrist." He looks to the gathered people. "Everyone!" he says, his voice amplifying so everyone can hear it. "This man here." He points at me, "Is the Antichrist, here to damn you all to Hell." The people turn to look at me. I sigh, "Look the Antichrist thing isn't what you think." I say raising my hands in surrender. A fat, sweaty suck up yells at the crowd, "BURN THE ANTICHRIST!!" The crowd takes this order to heart and quickly surround me. I look at Jesus and flip him off. Jesus becomes more angry at my flippant disregard to my personal health. "Yes true believers burn him on the stake." As they tie me up I continue to stare at him. "So much for all loving." He smirks, "I believe you know I love you..." "Gay." I say interrupting him. He snarls a little, "As I was saying I would love you to burn and be sent back to hell." I roll my eyes as I'm covered in gas. "Hell has open borders." I say blandly. He scoffs, "Then we'll send you back again." The fat man walks up with a match. "My lord shall I?" he asks. Jesus looks at me and looks at the man. He looks at me again, a little uncertain. "Oh get on with it I'm not saying sorry to you bitch." I say. Jesus snatches the match and tosses onto the fire. I wake up in hell. "Asshole it's not my fault you suck at cards." I say to myself as I stretch and get out of my bed. "Welp time to go back to earth." I vanish in a puff of smoke. | 2020-02-02T15:56:06 | 2020-02-02T15:07:16 | 2,214 | 25 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.