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[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious. | **Guys help how do I turn this off?** Posted by u/ reddituser68 2 hours ago
​
Hey guys? You know how I posted yesterday with my Broadway-style-musical-number-spell? All the fun we were having with it? Well today I was singing *the song that never ends* under my breath and accidentally cast it... and a member of Congress was walking past on his way to work at the time. Now the entire House of Representatives is just repeating the lyrics over and over and I can't stop them. Anytime I try to get close I just start singing too, and the area of effect is getting larger. Please, help!
\[Edit\] Okay, thanks for all of your suggestions in the comments but none of them are working, so keep sending. As an update, it has now been an hour and nearly half the city is endlessly singing now. I've only been able to keep working on this by wearing noise-cancelling headphones, but my phone is almost out of battery. I'm starting to get desperate here.
\[Edit\] Well, my phone died, so I'm using a computer at the library. Everyone in here is completely ignoring the quiet rules. A few people who know sign language have managed to establish communication, but since everyone is too busy dancing to write anything down they're the only ones who can talk to each other. Last I heard the entire city was under the area of effect. Anyone who is nearby should probably prepare their defenses.
\[Edit\] Okay, we finally got all that sorted out. I deleted my previous post with the musical number spell, but I am *slightly* worried that some of you may have saved the post. Please for the love of everything that is good, don't use it, we used most of our paper towels already counterspelling this one. Thank you to u/ reddituser419 for the suggestion. Go give him some platinum everybody. | [Part 2 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/cc2gvb/street_magic_part_2/?) | [Part 3 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hydrael_Writes/comments/cc35vt/street_magic_part_3/?)
Title: Found a New Spell Combination
Text: Okay you guys, you’re not going to believe this.
So for those who haven’t been following, when the Ebon Bell rang last week, I was one of the lucky ones that developed Spontaneous Extranormal Powers - or as we prefer, Sorcerers. I’m on YouTube as FireBallMaster if you want videos to prove I’ve got SEP. Although I’ll admit, the name is a bit misleading, because my fireballs are actually kind of crap - check out Flame Princess if you want to see a real Pyromancer in action.
But that’s okay, because I’ve found something that will blow your minds.
For those of you who have SEP, or the few that are starting to learn Trained Extranormal Powers, you know how this works. For the newbs though, here are the basics:
Magic is performed by tapping into the Ley Lines that echoed out from the Ebon Bell. Sorcerers are people who have a built in connection to Ley Lines. Trained Extranormal Powered individuals, who I’m sure we’ll start calling Wizards once there’s more than a handful of them, have to manually tap in. With a Ley Line, you draw a Sigil in the air with your finger. (You can inbue wands or staves or other slender objects to store sigils, but that’s another thread - check out this video by NeoSolomonsKey for about how to do that.)
Or at least, you used to.
What I’ve managed to do, through some pretty intense meditation I detail in this video, is create what I call a “Servitor,” after the old Chaos Magic term. A Servitor is basically a mental construct that holds a sigil and, when activated, casts the spell.
Without needing to move your hand.
Now, the process is hard to replicate, but here’s why everyone needs to watch this video and start learning it right now - so far, the only thing Governments have been able to do to control Sorcerors and Wizards is restrain them. Once we can move our hands, we can make Sigils, and once we can...well, we all saw what happened with The Laughing Cutter in Rykers by now.
Sucks that a monster like him got SEP.
But - with reports of governments hunting down Sorcerers due to potential chaos - I’m sure it’ll never happen here in the States, but why risk it? - having a Servitor with some basic escape sigils programmed in is going to be pretty much essential. Hands free magic means they can’t keep you locked up, right?
The video details how to make a Servitor with a very basic spell - one that will coat your body with Alkahest, the universal solvent. Don’t worry, you’ll have a protection against your own Alkahest, but once you cast it...well, downside is, you’ll be naked. Upside is, any restraints they put on you will be a slurry at your feet.
Learn to call some Shadow Cloth once you’ve finished activating the Servitor, and you’ll be free.
Good luck out there. The New Age begins now, and we *will* be ascendant.
-u/ FireBallMaster
---
[Part 2 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/cc2gvb/street_magic_part_2/?) | [Part 3 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hydrael_Writes/comments/cc35vt/street_magic_part_3/?)
more of my writing at r/hydrael_writes
more of longer works by me and others at r/redditserials | 2019-07-11T12:55:49 | 2019-07-11T12:55:23 | 2,493 | 1,186 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing. | "I have the power and brains to make the world a better place... If only i could get rid of Holy Justice and his sidekick Kain." the Dark Phantom had thought before he had kidnapped Kain.
Three days had passed since he had Kain locked up and tied up in a cell. He had felt great joy at fooling that idiot Justice to believing that he and a bunch of his men were robbing a bank. As usual Justice busted in through the front of the building making sure that all the cameras were focused on him. Poor Kain as usual had to go through the sewers and prevent the getaway... Only this time Dark Phantom was waiting in the shadows with his most capable men. Kain did not go down without a fight. Phantom was aware that this young kid was a capable fighter but he did not expect for him to be such a savage when cornered. The kid had turned into a vicious beast and severely beaten all of his men before he was able to intervene and knock him unconscious. Phantom himself had struggled and taken his share of blows and still felt pain in his jaw and body where the kid had managed to get hits in.
"Tell me where Holy Justice\`s secret hideout is" Phantom demanded for what seemed to be the thousandth time.
"No" said Kain.
Phantom had stripped Kain to the waist and was planing to torture him but had stopped when he saw the gruesome bruises all over his body. At first he thought they had occurred due to the fight but then realised that these were older...
"What happened to you? where did you get these bruises?" asked Phantom
"That\`s none of your business" said Kain.
"You are too good a fighter to have received such a beating... Did Justice do this to you" said Phantom.
Kain had tears in his eyes. For the first time he actually seem vulnerable... He nodded his head. "How did you know" he said.
"I have a sense of these things" Phantom replied.
Kain explained how he received regular beatings from Justice and told Phantom that he never fought back. He told Phantom how he would allow the beatings because he was \`bad\`. Justice kept punishing Kain "for his severe beatings of criminals". He told Kain to be more \`gentle\` like him. Phantom knew the real reason why Justice kept beating his sidekick. It was because he was jealous of Kain\`s potential and knew that he would eventually surpass him. Justice wanted to keep Kain \`in check\`.
Phantom explained all this to Kain. Once finished the look in Kain\`s eyes changed. Phantom saw pure rage and hatred in the boys eyes. But not for him... this rage and hate was for Justice. Phantom smiled at the boy. "You and I will do great things... I will teach you how to embrace your true self and you will take down Justice for what he has done to you and then... we shall take over the world!"
Kain looked back at Phantom and smiled... | Edit: sorry for the formatting, I couldn’t get it to work properly on mobile.
We had been fighting Ghost for about ten, exhausting minutes. Someone who can turn invisible is surprisingly hard to land a hit on.
“Go on, get in a good punch Flick! End this. Now.” Flare growled. Well I say we. I was doing the fighting. Flare was simply speaking in an earpiece. I teleported right in front of Ghost, landing a strong punch on him. Well, I had landed it where he was. He’d become invisible and dodged my punch. Without anything to connect to, my right hook landed me right on the ground. I groaned and wished I could just stay down for a moment,
“Flicker, what are you doing?!” He sputtered. I heard him sigh. “You, are such a embarrassment to this team. You’re ruining my reputation. I can’t have my sidekick losing to...” he trailed off as electricity crackled in the mic. I stood up, feeling shaky.
“Cmon Ghost...” I said to the air. I wiped a trickle of blood off my face. Ghost reappeared, on a rooftop a few buildings away.
“You alright there?” He chuckled as he spun the silver case in his hand. The chemicals, he couldn’t get those. Flare would never let me hear the end of it. I had to get up there, even if it killed me. A teleport that distance would take a lot of energy. I stared straight at Ghost and blinked. What I had intended to be a lunge hadn’t worked. As soon as I reached the roof I crumpled to the ground. “Kid? You alright?” A concerned voice said as my consciousness faded to darkness.
I woke up to a throbbing headache and a bright room. I blinked and saw Ghost standing at a table across the room, with the chemicals. I winced. Flare would be unhappy about that... I was stuck behind some type electric wall. I didn’t try, but I had the feeling it would electrocute me into next week had I stuck my hand in it. I tried to teleport out, but I knew my energy was much too low.
“Right. So explain the ruse to me. I don’t get it.” I lifted my head, confused.
“The... ruse?”
Ghost turned.
“Yes ruse. Explain. Why did Flare have his kid sidekick come and act all pitiful and practically die in front of me? What? To lead him to my lair or-? I don’t get it.,” he turned back to whatever he was working on, “Expert acting job though. I really bought it! Oh! And those awful little quips Flare made! I can’t believe you knew I’d be tuned in to your earpieces! You really just went all out huh?” I blinked at him, confused.
“I... what are you talking about?” My head hurt too much too understand what he meant. He set his tools down and turned.
“Oh come on. You’re not serious?” He sounded concerned. He walked closer. “The famous duo Flare and Flicker! Best hero team in the city! Surely you’re not saying that’s how he treats you?” I frowned, Ghost almost sounded as if he was pitying me. I went to brush hair that had fallen in my face as I tried to think of a witty response when I noticed my mask’s absence on my face.
“My mask!” I gasped. Ghost rolled his eyes.
“Oh yes, well I had to know who you were, and you had a nasty scratch on your temple, had to take it off to treat it.” I frowned and noted the stitched cut I had on my face.
“Oh well... thank you.” He nodded, and then went to ask something, then stopped. “What?”
“Well speaking of injuries, I noticed on the back of your neck, you have quite the scars. Battle wounds Hmm?” I frowned. “Electric right?” I winced.
“Well, I can’t say Flare is the best hero, but I couldn’t end our duo. I mean the city, it would fall to crime and...” I trailed off.
“Right.” Ghost tapped a few numbers into a keypad and the electric wall disappeared.
“Well. I’m quite sure some of the city’s many other hero’s would save the day.” I blinked. “You know, I’ve actually been trying to find some help around here. You won’t believe how hard it is to find a good partner.” I stared at him.
“You... want me to help you?”
He chuckled.
“Can’t be worse then Flare can I? You could help me, change the world. Not as a sidekick, a partner. A true duo.” A partner, an equal. How could I say no? | 2020-03-26T18:23:55 | 2020-03-26T17:52:53 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You're on a space ship with a bunch of your crewmates. You're the only human, and apparently metaphors are a strictly human behavior. You've learned to cope with this, but today you've decided to speak in only figures of speech as a prank on the others. | "While you're down there anyway, check the exhaust valve. You know--kill two birds with one stone."
Zigitar's green complexion went pale, to a nice shade of mint. "You want me to... *kill*... two birds, Captain?"
I watched her face squirm with the moral battle that was raging inside.
"No, no. I'm sorry, Captain. I can't do it. No, I *won't* do it." She frowned. "Besides, there aren't even any birds out here. We're in the middle of Sector 84."
"Fine. I'll do it myself," I said. Her eyes widened, and I could feel her staring me down as I walked down the hallway.
"But--Captain--where will you find the two birds?" she called after me, helplessly.
"Hey, Bluffs," I said to the alien sitting cross-legged on the floor. He'd removed a metal panel and was dealing with a few loose wires, soldering gun in tentacle. "How's it hanging, man?"
"The blue wire is a 35-degree-angle from the vertical, sir. And the red one is about 25." He paused. "But... what relevance does that have, may I ask, sir?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
I made my way back to the control room. The expanse of space stretched out before the thick glass, stars winking back at us. My fingers tapped across the touchscreen. *Booting up... 12%... 28%... We're sorry, we've encountered an error. Rebooting now...*
"Damn. It's crashing."
Talilal spun around to face me. "What? We're crashing?"
"No, the navigation system."
"The navigation system is causing us to crash?"
"It just needs to boot up."
A blur of brown whizzed past me. *Clunk*\--a boot fell at my feet. Talilal sat across from me, one foot bare. Eyes wide, breathing hard.
"No, no, I'm sorry--I didn't mean that--it just needs to--"
"Use the boot!"
"No--"
"*Use the boot!"* She spun back around and held down the intercom button. "All crew members, report to navigation. Prepare for crash landing." She paused. "And be prepared to take off your boots."
*Oh dear*, I thought, as the red warning lights flashed at a dizzying speed.
*I might've taken this a little too far.* | Kyle awoke in his quarters, his head still wobbly from the aurora juice Yel-Dul was passing around the other night. As he sat up on his bed and took a moment for the nausea in his stomach to dissipate, his thoughts turned to the revelries aboard the *Ravana* the evening prior. More specifically, to the amusing reactions his fellow crew members had when he likened Su-Roh’s medical apparatuses to the claws of a praying mantis. It was a silly metaphor, but the way his fellow crewmembers’ faces contorted in bewilderment was hilarious in his inebriated state. Suddenly, a grin spread across his face as a particularly impish idea formed in his mind. He quickly threw on his uniform that was haphazardly piled on the floor and rushed out to the mess hall, where he knew the rest of the crew would be eating breakfast.
He stifled a laugh as he walked in and noticed the other four jumping at his sudden presence. There was something almost childlike in their reactions to him, and Kyle could not help but want to tease them a little further. He grabbed a bowl of nutrition gruel and sat down next to Chro-Nis, whose face turned orange as she kept her head down and continued to shovel gruel into her mouth. “Mornin’, y’all! Hope y’all slept well last night cause I gotta tell ya, that aurora juice was like one of them Spanish bulls kicking and screaming around in my stomach.”
Yel-Dul glanced at Kyle and replied, “Forgive me if my beverage caused such harm to your body, Kai-El. I was not aware the juice would metabolize into one of your Terran animals.”
“Haha, that’s a good one, Yel-Dul! Nah, I’m only kidding with ya. It was just a simile, there wasn’t an actual *bull* kicking around inside me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here!” Kyle said as he took a bite of gruel. Yel-Dul gave an uneasy nod in response before returning to his bowl. Kyle continued, “Anyways, any big plans for the rest of y’all today? Me, I gotta get down to the engine room after this. Damn FTL drive’s been a feisty little woman the last few days, and somebody need to get her in line.”
It was Dho-Do’s turn to chime in as he replied, “Kai-El…does your people typically associate the FTL drive with your female sex?”
Kyle covered his mouth with his right hand to stifle a fit of laughter and said, “Nah, silly! Just a metaphor, that’s all. Over on Earth, we call a lot of things ‘she’. Ships, horses, cars, you name it. It’s just a way for us to show affection to things, that’s all.”
Chro-Nis suddenly rose from her seat and quickly gathered her belongings, nearly knocking Kyle’s glass of water over. “Whoa there, Chro-Nis. You alright there? The way you shot up just now, I woulda thought our ship was under attack or something,” said Kyle.
The young Thrurrid paused before turning back to the human crewmember, her face bright orange as she replied, “Forgive me, Kai-El. But I was not aware your people were so…lecherous. It is completely foreign to us Thrurrid, and I will need some time to acclimate. Especially considering more of your brethren will join us.”
Kyle’s amused expression turned into one of surprise as he replied, “No shit! We’re going back to Earth? Why the sudden change of plans? I thought we was headin’ straight for the Empress lady over on Hyperius IV? Not that I mind, of course. Always good to have my fellow brothers and sisters on board!”
Su-Roh dropped her spoon and quickly turned towards Kyle as she said, “You mean to tell us every human shares blood relations with one another!?”
Kyle could not help himself and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, with the four Thrurrids showing various degrees of discomfort as the *Ravana* continued its course towards Earth.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
To see the prequel to this response, come check out r/williamk9949 for more! | 2020-06-16T10:51:51 | 2020-06-16T10:41:14 | 54 | 18 |
[WP] "Hello class! we have a special guest! We have an Earthling foreign exchange student with us! Please have a seat and tell us about your planet!" | First days at a new school were always the roughest. Oliver remembered the first day of elementary. The anxiety of being separated from his parents for a full day. The ominous warnings his sister Samantha had given him about bullies. The fear of looking foolish navigating a dozen new routines in front of strangers.
That all seemed like child’s play compared to today. A week ago, Govia time, he had been blasted across the far reaches of space to his new home for the term. Fortunately, the Goxul’s had been waiting for him at the entry point with lights and streamers to make him feel welcome.
After that one exhilarating event the lump in his stomach had steadily grown to the point where he feared if he opened his mouth all his fears and anxieties would spill out of his mouth and puddle at his feet. The uniform Mrs. Goxul had carefully laid out for him felt like being wrapped in the tin foil his mother wrapped her baking in. And the translator that had been delicately inserted into his ear made his brain all itchy.
And now he was surrounded by expectant unblinking eyes.
The Govians were smaller than humans, and that included the children. They reminded Oliver of Santa Clause’s elves. Except they were a bright blue.
Would Santa Clause find him on Govia? One more anxiety.
His new teacher’s question still rang in his ears. “Please tell the class about Earth.” Where did he even start?
“Well…” Oliver started. “It was really blue too. The sky I mean. And the water. Blue like your sky I mean, not like…like…”
Perhaps if he cringed hard enough into his seat he’d fall into this planet’s core. Anything to end this moment.
“And what of the people?” Mrs. Thumbowitx intoned from the front of the classroom.
Oliver had to really think on this one. “Some are really nice. Like my Maw Maw. Sometimes the watches me when I’m too sick to go to school. My old school. Others,” Oliver shivered at some of the news shows he had seen when his parents were dozing on the couch. “Others aren’t so nice I guess.”
His new classmates continued to stare in an unnerving fashion. Why wouldn’t they blink?
“And Oliver, can you tell us some about the history of your world?”
He fumbled for anything he knew about the history of the Earth. He fumbled for anything he could recall his dad talking about. Some guy named Kennedy maybe? Then it struck him like a lightning bolt.
“Yeah, we had dinosaurs!” He looked around the room with wide eyed enthusiasm. Finally, one of his classmates broke and spoke up.
“What are di-no-saurs?” a girl, if he guessed it correctly, carefully pronounced.
Oliver grinned broadly. The lump in his stomach seemed to shrink three sizes. “They are super rad! They were these giant lizard beasts and some ate plants and some ate the ones that ate plants and some, hang on, I have some drawings I made on the trip over!”
Around him more hands flew up as his new classmates started rapid firing questions. Maybe school on Govia wouldn’t be so bad. |
I stood nervously before the class of these strange looking people. When mom told me about a student exchange program, I though I would be traveling somewhere in the world! Yet she then said. “I’m surprised they are still doing this, because of Covid and all, apparently, this one doesn’t seem to bother or care… but… do you want to do this?”
I jumped at the chance.
I was sick and tired of being cooped up in the house, I was sick of this place, and the world for that matter. So I agreed to go. The problem was. I don’t know WHERE I was going, but it didn’t matter.
Anyway, no word of a lie, three days later a strange car pulls up and a man comes to the door. He wore a mask and all and explained he was from the exchange student program and was coming to pick me up. Lucky for him, I was so excited for this, I’ve been packed for months in advance!
Mom double checked the man’s claim and he even brought the form mom sighed off on. “Oh, what is this?” he asked as he held up the cheque.
Mom paused. “Oh, is it not enough?”
I froze. Did the price go up?
Mom and I have been saving for this. But the man handed it back to her. “It’s not necessary. Come, young lady, let’s go!” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
I hugged mom and jumped in the car. I watched her wave until we vanished down the street… and the roads got really blurry… like… light speed blurry! When the car came to a stop, we were nowhere near civilization.
“What the hell…” I whispered.
Looking about, it appeared nothing more than a haul of a ship! The driver took off his mask and turned to me.
I was scared shitless!
His mouth was massive and filled with jagged teeth. “Welcome! Please pardon my appearance. I wore a mask as per earth custom. Please, come out, I wish to take you to your new classroom!”
“Classroom?”
I eased myself out of the car. Still terrified mind you, but at the moment, there wasn’t anything I could do otherwise! I had to go with it!
The strange man led me down the hall. “We have all adopted earth like names to make you feel more at home. I have taken the name of David, so please call me that.”
“Uh… Okay… but what’s your real name?” I asked.
He laughed aloud. “If I told you, you would have to announce it perfectly in my mother tongue, if not, you will offend me and also may accidentally swear or say something very offensive. David is fine,” he insisted gently.
I nodded as he led me into the ship and then, I was taken to a room and brought in.
They were everywhere!
Aliens of all sorts of shapes, colors and sizes. Some oddly I have seen in movies as bad guys, but they were there sitting rather politely and waved to me with great enthusiasm! I swear the predator one was winking at me somehow.
“Hello class! We have a special guest! We have an Earthling foreign exchange student with us! Please have a seat and tell us about your planet!"
I froze but gulped my pride. “Hi… I’m Lee. I come from Earth as David explained… uh…” I froze up, yet then again a sigh came out of me. “I’ll be honest. I got nothing to brag about my home planet, it’s an utter mess right now…”
Suddenly I had their undivided attention, even the teacher. “A mess you say? Please, explain.”
I was in too deep now. So with a deep breath I got into it. “My planet is dealing with a virus that can greatly harm a human. Some more than others, there was a simple way of containing this virus and it was merely for people to say at home and wear a mask when they go out into the world so they don’t catch this virus or spread it to others if they have it. But many refused claiming that it was against their freedom of rights, when in reality, they don’t really care. They have been told a mask isn’t necessary besides the fact it is. People have thrown their belief behind those they tend to follow as political leaders and spiritual leaders as well… Uh… so I need to explain either one of those?” I asked.
The teacher shook her head. “They are well aware of such things for many of them come from planets with those ideals, however each is different from another, please continue.”
I nodded. “As such, this virus is still running amuck and harming a lot of people, it’s sad though since the people who study this sort of thing are greatly ignored for the sake of normalcy. But it’s been like that often on my planet. My kind… humans… are destroying their own planet for the sake of wealth and money…”
One alien put up their hand. “What’s money?”
I reached into my pocket and took out a dollar bill. “This is money,” I explained. “We exchange it for good and things we need or what”
“Oh, like credits!” said another. | 2020-09-25T12:02:59 | 2020-09-25T11:02:44 | 57 | 14 |
[WP] - On a dare from your friends, you've slipped into the dark bathroom, locked the door, and whispered Bloody Mary three times. Nothing happens, and just when you think there's nothing to fear, she appears in the mirror. But she doesn't look scary - she looks scared, and she's begging for help. | "For God's sake man, don't just stand there! Smash the damn mirrors!"
I don't know what I expected when I agreed to host my sister's friends for the evening. I had rolled my eyes when the game of Truth or Dare had started. But when I drunkenly accepted a dare to summon bloody Mary, I hardly expected to confronted face to face with a dead Tudor queen.
"Wh-what?" I stammered. "You're real?"
Mary shot me a look of such condescending disdain that only a British aristocrat could pull off as she pulled the bottle of Jack from my hands and swung it into my bathroom mirror.
"Do they teach you colonists *nothing* in your schools? Of course I'm real!" spat Mary. "Did my idiot sister have me stricken from the historical records? I suppose that's what I get for trusting England to a *protestant.*"
I looked at my shattered mirror, pieces of it falling from the wall into the sink. My countertop was stained black from the whiskey. From outside, I could hear the mocking voice of my sister's friends as they started to open the bathroom door.
"Oh Jeeeeereeeeemy! Oh Jer-bear! Did you chicken ou--oh shit who the fuck are you?" exclaimed my sister as the door swung open.
"I am Mary Tudor, Queen of England and Spain. Now, kindly stop your gawking and destroy any reflective surfaces in the vicinity!"
"Ok, Jer A+ for creativity but this is going a little far--" began my sister
"I swear to God, it wasn't me, I did the Bloody Mary thing and this crazy--"
I was nearly swung around from the force of Mary's backhand before I could finish the sentence.
"That is the last time you take the Lord's name in vain! Now, destroy the mirrors--I fear they're never far behind me anytime I'm summoned," spat Mary.
"Who? Who's never far behind?" asked my bewildered sister
Just then, a loud bellow was heard from the kitchen, followed by the surprised squeals of our guests.
"COME ON OUT YE BLACK AND TANS!! COME 'AN FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!"
"The Irish, you idiot," sighed Mary as she rolled her eyes. "Apparently they took my decree to hang all harpers where found personally, and now they won't let me rest in the afterlife." | #In the Mirror
"Help me!" she bangs on the mirror wall trying to get out. Paige backs up against the wall as Mary writhes in the mirror. A force grabs Mary and tries to pull her away. Mary resists leaving a hand on the mirror. Paige walks over to save Mary. Mary grabs her hand and pulls her into the mirror.
---
It has been two days since Paige had disappeared. The students of Lambert high school have been going through the motions due to her death. At lunch, her friends Kylie, Rachel, and Quinn sit in a circle staring at each other in silence. They all know what they are thinking, but they have yet to say it. Quinn starts eating her lunch.
"How can you be so casual?" Kylie asks.
"What?" Quinn replies.
"We may have just killed our best friend, and you are just sitting there eating," Kylie says.
"Well, it is lunch time." Quinn says.
"I can't believe you," Kylie says.
"Woah, keep it down," Rachel says, "Listen, Kylie. We all miss Paige, but there is no proof that we are the reason that she disappeared."
"It just makes sense. We dared her to say Bloody Mary, and now, she is gone." Kylie says.
"Yeah, but if that were the case, there would be a lot more disappearances," Quinn says.
"I cannot believe you two," Kylie storms away and heads to the bathroom. She sits alone in a stall and cries until lunch is over. Then, she stays there longer. After two hours, the lights go out. Kylie leaves her stall, still thinking about Paige. Unfortunately, Kylie has a tendency to think aloud. In the mirror, she sees Paige. Kylie runs up to the mirror.
"Paige?!" Kylie says.
"Kylie, you have to help. Mary has got me trapped in this mirror world. Get me out," Paige says.
"I will, but how?" Kylie asks.
"You have to pull me out." Paige holds out a hand to Kylie. Kylie grabs on to rescue her friend.
---
Rachel and Quinn have spent the past week at the brunt of speculation. Two girls gone missing with one being on school property? The police even interviewed them both. Now, they sit outside school after a day of gossip and mockery. Quinn breaks down and starts crying. Rachel comforts her.
"I saw Kylie last night," Quinn says. Rachel moves away.
"What?" Rachel says.
"I had to take a midnight trip to the restroom. I was thinking about her. I said her name three times out loud, and I saw her in the mirror asking for help. I didn't know what to do so I ran," Quinn says.
"It was probably just a bad dream," Rachel says.
"No, it wasn't. Come home with me, and let's see." Quinn says.
Rachel agrees, and they go to Quinn's house. They stand in the dark bathroom together.
"You say Kylie; I will say Paige," Rachel instructs. They hold hands and summon their friends. They appear before them in a mirror.
"Rachel, Quinn, you have to help us," Paige says.
"Bloody Mary has us trapped," Kylie screams. Quinn reaches out to help, but Rachel stops her.
"Hold on, Kylie, how did you get in there?" she asks.
"That isn't important. You have to help me." Kylie says. Quinn tries to reach forward, but Rachel stops her.
"Kylie would not even say the phrase before Paige disappeared. I can't believe she would say it afterword. However, I do know that she gets in trouble several times a year for accidentally saying test answers out loud. So let me ask again, how did you get there, Kylie?" Rachel asks.
Kylie and Paige stop trying to break free of the mirror and look at each other. A woman emerges from behind them holding lines to their backs.
"Well done Rachel, consider this your last chance to say goodbye to your friends before I take them away." Mary says. Kylie and Paige freeze in place.
"Is there anyway you can free them?" Quinn says.
"You could take their place." Mary says smiling.
"No deal," Rachel interjects, "there is no guarantee that you are not lying."
Mary starts to laugh.
"My my, Rachel you are smart. I will give you that. Come along you two," Mary walks away. Paige and Kylie wave goodbye before disappearing into the mirror. | 2020-10-10T16:55:13 | 2020-10-10T16:23:06 | 93 | 48 |
[WP]: Turns out God was a slacker and gave "Free Will" to not have to "plan" anything. He kicked out Lucifer cause he was a control freak. When you die turns out you have a choice, between a chaotic rule free Heaven or a smoothly machine operated Hell. | Saint Peter sat at a table in front of towering pearly gates.
“Well, where will you go?” he said to me.
“Give me a second, I wasn’t ready to choose where I’d spend eternity,” I said.
“Most people don’t hesitate the choice between Heaven or hell,” he said.
“But knowing the newfound information you told me about free will in Heaven makes me wonder.”
“About what?” the angel asked.
I pressed my finger against my lips and thought for a moment. “Let me get this straight, God was completely hands off with His own creation.”
“Practically,” Peter said. “He tried to pass the baton to His Son, but you know how that turned out. Afterwards, God kinda left everything on autopilot mode.”
“When you say everything you mean —“
“The entire universe and the realms of the after life,” he interrupted. “*Everything*.”
“And you still can’t see why I’m hesitating? Billions of people have suffered through life’s harsh screwballs. Malnutrition, cancer, heartbreak, mental illness…instead of losing their shit, people found a sliver of hope that their faith will grant them a better afterlife.”
I took a breath and continued. “Can’t you see why people would be upset to find out that Heaven was more of the same?”
Peter leaned over to the side of his chair and noticed an increasing line of new spirits. He turned his attention back to me and raised an eyebrow.
“Must I remind you that the other choice is literally where pain and sin reside?” he said.
“But is it an orderly place? If Lucifer promises something to his citizens, does he deliver?”
“It’s hell— I imagine the only thing promised is the omnipresence of misery.”
I scratched my head.
“I can’t believe it’s taking you this long to decide,” Peter said.
“Well an empty calendar was my hell on Earth,” I said.
“Then the devil will exploit that knowledge and make your eternity as consistent as a game of roulette,” the angel signed. “Listen, it’s not all that bad behind the gates, but the people who live in Heaven are still figuring out how to be pure. They’re as unpredictable as they were in the flesh, which can lead to hard times. But memories are made when a change occurs. Embellish the good, and try to find a break in the clouds when things get dark.”
He stood from his chair and made eye contact with me.
“Believe it or not, the afterlife isn’t a finish line. You’re still running and always will be. So I’m going to ask you one more time: where will you go?” | Alvin found himself floating in a sea of people. Bumping shoulders and slightly swaying with the gentle waves of people. He knew he was dead. That much was obvious. There’s no way he could have survived the plane crash. So that wasn’t what was confusing him. He confused because he didn’t know where to go next. There was no ‘Welcome to Heaven’ sign or a ‘This way for Judgement’ arrow.
“Where’s the queue? There’s always a line depicted in the after life. We’re supposed to wait till it’s our turn, then we’re judged on our actions and sent to the proper after life.” Alvin said to no one in particular.
He tapped the shoulder of the closest dead person.
“Hi, excuse me, sorry to bother. But is there a line I could get in? I’ve just arrived. I’m here for the judgements.” He asked an old man wearing a full brimmed hat.
“I don’t think there is a line. At least I haven’t seen one since I’ve been here.” The old man said.
“Yes, and how long has that been?” Alvin asked.
“That’s a good question. What time is it?”
Alvin thought for a moment. He was supposed to land at Heathrow at 3:45pm and the plane went down about an hour before they were supposed to land.
“If I had to guess I’d say it’s early afternoon.” Alvin said.
“Then I’ve been here for at least 85 years.” The old man said.
“And you haven’t seen any queues?” Not even three people lined up front to back waiting for something?” Alvin said.
“Not that I’ve noticed. There is a bulletin board over there though.” The man said and pointed across the cloudy hall. “It probably has more information than I have. Sorry I couldn’t be any help.” The old man said.
Alvin thanked the man even though he was of no use what so ever and headed to the bulletin board to see if it would help him find a queue to get in.
He pushed his way through the wall of elbows and butts till he could just barely see the one post on the bulletin board.
‘Hello! If you’re reading this then you are dead. Congratulations!’
“Not so helpful so far.” Alvin said.
‘Now that you’re here make yourself comfortable. You’ve made it to heaven!’
“This is heaven? Where’s the pearly gates? Where the judgment? Where’s the old bearded bastard that started it all?” Alvin said to a piece of paper tacked to some cork.
‘There’s a food court and plenty of people to meet.’
“I’m not here for people! Who would want to spend their afterlife gabbing at people. I had to do that my whole living life. I’ll be damned if I have to do it after I’m dead.” Alvin said.
‘Also, if this isn’t your thing there’s another option. You are more than welcome to go to Hell.’
“Well now that’s just rude!” Alvin said.
‘From what I hear, Lucifers got it set up pretty nice. They have bingo nights on Tuesday’s and a killer brewery turning out some great beer.’
“That sounds rather nice actually.” Alvin said.
‘There one problem though. It’s terribly organized. And crowded as you can imagine. There’s lines for almost everything. Want a corn dog? Get in line. Want to go on a roller coaster? get in line. Want someone to grade you on your actions while you were alive, Get in line.’
“Huh, maybe I will go to Hell.”
‘Hope you have a great time with your afterlife. I gotta split. I have a game of frisbee golf with the Demiurge and I’m already running late.
Peace
-God
What a strange note to post on a bulletin board Alvin thought. He looked around for the entry to Hell. It couldn’t be too far. He asked the dead person closest again.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, do you happen to know the way to Hell by chance?” Alvin asked.
“Yeah yeah, it’s in the men’s room at the food court. Middle stall will get you there.”
“Thanks!”
Alvin pushes his way through knobby knees and tweed jackets till he made his way the the middle stall in the men’s room of the food court in Heaven. He opened the door to see the back of someone. And in front of that person was the back of another person and so on as far as he could see. He sighed with relief as he waited. Tapping his foot and checking his watch. Now this was an afterlife. | 2021-02-17T19:28:26 | 2021-02-17T18:34:16 | 415 | 184 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it. | The superhero in front of me wore a yellow and green spandex suit. Her green mask sat on an armchair beside her. Reading from her file it said she just got out of highschool a few months ago, but judging by her face she looked like she was in her late 30’s. The perfect target.
“Look am I in trouble or…” She said right before i cut her off.
“No no of course not Ms…” I took a quick glance at my notes before i continued “Ms. Erikson. Actually, it’s the exact opposite. I came here to offer you a deal.”
She looked confused for a second, and then a frown crossed her face. “Are you here to recruit me to one of those hero leagues? I haven’t hear-” I cut her off before I can let her continue and talk herself into saying no.
“No Mr. Erikson I’m here to offer you something way better than the hero’s leagues” A smile crossed her face and she looked slightly relieved. “I’m here to offer you a position with Lexcorp’s pharmaceutical division.” She looked confused for a second but she didn’t look like she was going to outright reject it.
“Wait wait wait” She began to say.
“Now here me out Ms. Erikson,” I began metaphorically setting up my fishing pole “You’re in your current position because you want to help people.” She nodded. “And by the looks of things it’s been…” I put some bait on my hook. “stressful in your current position with the city.” She nodded again. “And... you haven’t been doing the best financially.” And finally, I casted out my lure. Now all i had to do was wait for a bite.
She sat there waiting for me to continue but i just looked at her in silence. You have to be patient when fishing. She finally cracked and asked “Well how is working at Lexcorp going to help”. I had her right where I wanted her.
“Well from my understanding your superpower is teleportation. Well, we here at Lexcorp need someone to transport high-valued items for medical purposes, and you’re the exact person we need for that”. I said half truthfully. “You would be helping people by giving them life-saving medicine in a time of need. And in return you would be generously compensated”.
“But what about the people on the streets? Who’s going to help them?” Erikson said.
“There is already dozens of superheroes fighting crime Ms. Erikson but there’s no superheroes helping people after the fightings done. You’ll be doing a great service to the people of Gotham Ms. Erikson. And, you get a bonus yourself too” I said while sliding over a piece of paper.
She cautiously took the piece of paper and looked at it. “That many zero’s,” she asked incredulously.
“That many zero’s” I respond back.
She sat there deciding on what to do next. Deciding if it was worth giving up the superhero life. “I still don’t know if i should can i get a few days to think about it?” she said. That won’t do. A few days could mean a few days of her talking herself out of it. Or a few days where someone could poach her from me. No, I need to think of a reason for her to decide right now.
“I don’t know Ms. Erikson. I’ve already been talking to some other superheroes and they seemed more eager to join. I can give you a few days but I don’t expect the offer to stay for that long.”
“Fine fine I’ll join,” she said quickly. Score, that’s one less superhero on the street and one big bonus for me. | "I can still help," the Vacuumist says. He clutches the sides of his bed. The crawling green line on the monitor spikes. "I can still fight."
"You have paraplegia, Victor," I say. "You have no conscious control over your inductor organ. You can't work as a hero again."
I've seen that expression before. Superhero work is as dangerous as it is addicting. Fame, glory, stock options, flattering marketing. Better men than I have fooled themselves into thinking this was who they are, all they are, all they would ever be. Then again, it doesn't take much to be better than me.
"You can still help," I say. "Society at large, I mean."
His eyes light up. "How?"
"Donate a lobe of your inductor organ and its associated efferent nerves."
"...So you can replace me?!"
A project has been in the works for years. Public works. This city had nearly eighty million people. A network of magrail trains would add a lot of utility annually to every sector. Victor's vacuum organ would make the project viable. It would certainly be much cheaper than building hundreds of kilometers of vacuum tunnels. I think about how to tell him for a moment.
"So you can advance science," I say. "Save lives with the research we could get from you. Your gift is one of a kind. People will remember you as the Vacuumist, hero to the people even after retirement."
"What could you possibly learn from my body?"
"There has never been a gift in history that did not yield invaluable research for mankind."
"But what will *mine* do?"
That was always their problem. Me me me. They start their careers with great conscientiousness. Saving lives is addicting. Soon that was all the good they understood. I would know. I'm in his head. He doesn't feel it, not with the upped pain meds I *convinced* his doctor to use.
Victor was a bag of insecurities garnished with hero complex. The truth was his gift was great at putting out fires and killing people. Generally speaking one wanted to prevent fires in the first place, and a sublethal response to supervillains was better for PR, even if it behooved the taxpayer to spend less on supermax facilities to contain them. I assume an authoritative voice and look him in the eye.
"Listen Victor," I say, "It wouldn't be science if I could just tell you exactly what your body could do. The point is that it's a leap of faith. One that I'm offering you instead of lying there shitting in a pan." I soften my voice for next point, the conclusion. Make him fully aware of his situation, the pit that he was in, then throw down the rope. "Help me help you. If not for the future of mankind then for your own family. I am prepared to offer a hero legacy fund for your family. It's usually for when a hero dies in the line of duty. But if you sign the donation, I could use that, reword the fund so it could be your *living* legacy."
He thinks about it. I monitor his thoughts, his emotions. He recalls a moment when a grateful mother thanks him with a trembling voice and eyes wet with tears for saving her son from the flames engulfing their home. I nudge his memory, make him remember that moment in a little more detail than he had. Then I say, "Engineering isn't my thing. But I know a guy from the Supergene Institute who wrote a paper on your power. If we could replicate it, no one would lose a loved one to fire incidents ever again. We would name it after you, Victor."
"...Alright. I'll sign the damn thing."
"That's good to hear. I'll ask my people to get started on the documentation."
I leave the room and wait. The documents were already done. But he needed to think I wouldn't know he would agree, that his decision was his. It was of course. I just made suggestions. The best psychics in the world would detect no coercion. I return to the room after an hour and let him sign the papers. And then it was done. A surgeon was already primed to get the operation done. I tell them to wait a day.
This was a part of the job. Sometimes people didn't know what was best for them. They can't see inside their own heads after all. Good intentions marred by all their vices, ambitions, sensibilities. A noisy place. I stand outside the hospital and think about when the appropriate time was to unveil the magrail project and what to name it. But I get distracted. Maybe it was my old age. I'm getting tinges of guilt doing what I knew was the right thing. I call my friend at the Institute.
"Tillian?"
"Whitworth? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was wondering if hypothetically I did secure an organ from a guy who could make vacuum shields, would you be able to do what you described in that paper?"
"That was... a theory paper. Truth is we'd need a lot of samples and a lot of time to make shaped vacuum bubbles for use outside of putting out a small room. Biology is extraordinarily hard to replicate fully with machine. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Thanks." I leave the call. This was the job. Not everybody gets what they want.
---
---
Thanks for reading.
If you enjoy superhero stories with a realist twist, check out my [serial](https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/41437/there-are-superheroes-in-this-story) on Royalroad. | 2021-04-11T13:22:06 | 2021-04-11T10:30:33 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth. | It was never supposed to be like...this. When I made that devilish deal all those years ago, I expected a few children every 18-20 years, to keep me perpetually 30. I started at 30, gained years as the next generation aged, then regressed, sometimes to my 20s, depending on how prolific my progeny were.
It went that way for centuries, gaining and losing, a genetic stock market that always worked to my benefit, with some long holds during hard times.. Sure, there were some surprises, here and there, like when my great-great-great grandson Feodor managed to set world records for most children born to one person. Seriously, who has 69 children in their lifetime? I nearly died!
But after that, things settled down a bit. I'd found someone to "raise" me when it set me back to childhood, and not all his children lived to adulthood, as was the case at the time. As the years went by, birth rates declined, and lifespans extended, so I lost track of a few of these descendants.
Imagine my surprise when I suddenly became a teen practically overnight. I knew, from the Benjamin Buttoning, that one of my offspring had done something stupid, but I didn't know who, or how.
So my search began, before it was too late. Eventually, I managed, through DNA and genealogy research, to learn the culprit was also one of Feodor's descendants. Having fallen on hard times, this fool of a boy did what a lot of good looking, smart college boys did when they need money, donated sperm for cash.
Perfectly legal, and above board, of course, but it poses a bit of a problem for me. Namely; how the hell does a baby break into a sperm bank? | When I met little Richard he seemed not to recognize me. They had torn down the attic and was in the process of scraping the rest of the house. It was very hot and there was sawdust in the air. I did not manage to recover our common history from Richard, so I handed him a business card and played an insurance salesman. The lines I delivered perfectly. In the backyard there was this big tree surrounded by patches of highlighted grass. Under cover from the sun I recalled quite a while ago there was this tattoo I made on the tree. I did not find it, however.
​
I wished to inquire of Stephanie's grave, which proved unfruitful since the man was busy with work and busy chasing me away. Very subtle, of course, with a little frown on his face detectable only by Stephanie and by me, who she taught the art. When I used to hold him in my arms he must have also made this kind of face often. I had no idea then until years later when Stephanie finally revealed her secret. What fragile illusion I had had of being the better grandfather soon dispelled. I suppose he had never liked me very much.
​
I walked the whole way back the station. It always calm me when I have a goal in mind. Better more if the goal stays unmovable, unchangeable. Maybe that's why I enjoyed train rides greatly. Whatever I do, I can live assured that there is this station I will get off at. Such is fate.
​
My shadow grew shallow, I had lost a few wrinkles on my face. To the side of the road there was a field with grass higher than my head. The warm humid summer wind tickled them slightly. I remembered this sensation of humidity upon my skin. On a grass field, too, away from the main road, I had lain with a woman. A damned dog I was, going around spreading my seeds. With every regained youths I sought again to expand my roots. But this woman I lain with, let the humid wind sing, mind you, this Oriental woman, she once made me tired of going around. She had a big family, too. I had thought if I stayed with her I too would have a big family. But I didn't understand them, and they didn't understand me. I remembered, through the fading light of the station, her little figure waving as I departed. The rhythm of the train awakes me some nights, and when it does I could always imagine the same figure waiting for my return.
​
The Oriental woman might have cursed me. In her head, she would never say it out loud. I knew a few who would, though. She would curse me in her head, yes, and then she would be sad, and she would feel bad because she had cursed me. It would sadden her more. Now that I thought about it, she always had this willowy, sad look on her face. Enough for a man to settle down. Not me, though. Of all the women I had mated with, some might understand me, although no one I could recall. Every year I grow older and lose a bit of memory, then I grow younger and lose another bit of history. I could always love as if it was my first love, and because of that I could love no one. The women grow old. They lose their options. I never lose my options. Every time I become young I have wanted to try out a new life. Most of the time it ends on several broken hearts.
​
When I reached the station I could see my train over the horizon. I scratched Stephanie out of the notebook. It would be best if in my sleep I disintegrate. If not, I figured I could scrape out of my mind some names. I don't want to die alone. | 2021-04-15T11:43:21 | 2021-04-15T11:09:08 | 37 | 20 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | The master spoke to its student "So tell me child, what can YOU do?" right before he flipped the lever of the device.
Knowing the question was rhetorical, the young student prepared for pain. As a comfort, at least she could remove her hand from the box device at any time. Her breathing calm and steady, since it was merely an inkling burning sensation so far.
"Good, just make sure to keep remembering your training," the master advised.
Each student was meticulously trained to control themselves, and embrace pain to its limits. The purpose is not only to prepare for this ritual, but more importantly, too properly act and think when inheriting their new power.
Noticing the pain growing, she was mindful of her heart rate elevating, breathing intensifying, and the small urge to remove her hand. Blocking the pain mentally would only ruin the ritual, it was important too allow everything pass through the mind.
Slight quivering around her body was now noticeable too the master, as her body reacted with small convulsions of the muscles. Breathing also changed, and was audibly noted by the master.
He attempted to guide her along. "Bring your breathing back to your awareness."
As she regained breathing control, the quivering lessened, and she calmed just in time for the pain to develop.
Feeling completely real, it was now as if searing hot needles pierced the hand in a dozen places, injecting boiling salt brine into the tearing tissue within.
"Pain guides me, follow it to my power," she recited from memory, and took a deep breath once more.
Knowing the pain she was currently experiencing, the master nearly grimaced, but retained himself. Her control and will power has been excellent so far, most students required only a few more moments to unlock their ability.
Too help her hold on just a few moments longer, he assured "just a couple more seconds, you have done great so far.'
Her face contorted, mouth grimaced, heavy breaths released now like from a pressure tank. The free hand curled around the small wooden rod, appearing to almost have the force to break it in two. Muscles all through her body were nearly rock hard from tension, body temperature soared and sweat ran down her forehead onto the intense scowl of her eyebrows.
Incapable of even screaming in agony, her mouth frozen in a grimace, and all effort had to be used to keep breathing as well as she could. There was now a sensation of all the bones in her hand slowly breaking into fragments, the skin melting away. This was nearly all that could be withstood she thought.
"AGHHH..UGHHH...REEAAAAAAAAAAA..." and the device exploded, sending a shockwave rippling through the room. The wood rod shattered into splinters, and the pieces managing to pierce here skin stuck only for a second before being ejected almost violently. Suddenly, a new force grew, like the one that erupted from her hand in the box, except from her entire body.
The master noticed this and immediately commanded, "Find your center at once! tame your power!"
She was still mindful even now though, and could notice this atomic force inside her ready to nearly explode. In the blink of an eye, all that she was trained cycled through her mind, a solution was pinpointed.
Preparing for the worst, master winced when noticing energy leaking out her body which was ready to release it all at once, he closed his eyes...
Nothing was happening, he slowly opened them back up, almost scared, but to find the student peacefully sitting cross-legged looking deep in meditation. | [P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream” | 2022-04-26T11:54:32 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 33 | 10 |
[WP]He was obsessed and stalked her for years until one day he went too far and broke into her home. He went around touching all her stuff and entered a room, only to find a hundreds of photographs of him all over the walls with hearts drawn over them, and a small altar with his picture on it... | "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment" she slowly stepped out from the darkest corner of the room, the corner furthest away from the candles that illuminated his photo and her makeshift shrine, the same corner he currently found himself standing in.
"I've never seen a man love like you love, like I love, I saw it when you were following that last girl, I knew right then, in that moment, we are meant to be together David" she took two steps to the right and he quickly realized that she was now blocking his only escape.
"Look, Amanda, I think this was a mistake, I didn't even realize that this was your apartment" she looked almost elated as his lies flowed like melted caramel against her eardrums. "Don't you hear it David? The way you say my name, I always knew it would sound perfect like that and now you know it, I love you too, I love you so much. I promise you, we are going to be so happy"
That's when he noticed her shirt, his shirt, his favorite t-shirt, she was wearing it. "Oh sweetheart I'm sorry I didn't ask but I think it looks better on me and I needed a few keepsakes from the last time I visited your place" he quickly glanced back at that wall, her "wall of David". Amongst the pictures of him were framed photos from his childhood, "I'm sorry I took those too but I needed to know everything I could about you, that's why I took that job at the pharmacy where your mother picks up her insulin. David, she and I chat about you every time she comes in and let me tell you, you are just as adorable now as you were back then, I can't believe you're finally here right in front of me"
He felt sick, terrified, he needed to leave, he needed to shove her out of the way and run as fast as he could, anywhere, anywhere would be better than here, than this, with her. Yet there he stood, perfectly still, rigid. "Amanda, we need to talk about this, I think this has all gotten really out of control" she stepped a little closer to him when a curious thought suddenly popped into his head. "Who at the pharmacy convinced my mother to switch insurance carriers so she could afford her insulin?"
"Me silly, you know she was rationing it and she wasn't well David, to be honest we both know you can't afford to be taking care of her and yourself on your salary, not to mention your brother. Besides she's important to you so she's important to us, just like your brother is, why do you think I joined AA David? You know I hate alcohol but your brother has been arrested three times now for DUI, he just needed someone to listen to him and now you can worry a little less, you don't need to carry everyone else's burdens anymore, I'm here now baby"
"Why are you doing all this? What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asked the question with an almost concerned tone in his voice.
"David, when you see the person you're meant to be with you just know that you'd move heaven and earth to be together, you know that, and when that person looks like you do and has all the same needs"
"Needs?"
"Yes, needs silly, we are the same you and I, I always check your browser history before I leave and I am going to be all those things for you" He still hadn't moved, knees locked, mind frozen with a combination of fear and disgust, excitement and intrigue.
"Is this what love feels like?" He was asking her sincerely despite the fact that she was already nodding her head in agreement as she continued moving in closer. Now they were standing closer than they ever had before, even closer than those nights when she stood next to his bed, perfectly silent as he slept peacefully, as she took in his used breaths from a foot away. They stood there face to face staring into eachothers eyes and in those eyes they saw exactly what they'd always needed to see, a reflection of themselves. | So…Ms. Therapist. Do you know what a yandere is? Yes? No? Do you know an anime character named Gasai Yuno? Yes? No? Well…either way, sit tight. This is gonna get wild.
I’ll get the semantics out of the way- I saw the girl in my first year of middle school. Pale-white hair, fair skin, beautiful blue eyes. She got one glance back at me the same day I first saw her. Little did I know that this bare interaction would lead to a horrible discovery.
I made a few friends- they were all talking about the popularity of this girl, the girl I talked about a while back. She was the school’s hotshot, but seemed very dainty and calm instead of haughty and pompous. Not like the usual “popular girl” types, not an attention whore, but simply a cool girl who got both the guys and the gals, but never gave them any attention back because she was busy being herself.
I got a bit more social myself as the middle school years went on. Made a small friend group of FPS gamers, where we’d hang out on weekends and be dudes until dawn. We made groupchats, had photo shoots together at the park, and even did the occasional delinquency raid at the local supermarket. Thankfully we always had the money to pay all the shit we bought, and hell, those raids were even grocery runs for our respective parents, which made themy happy.
Ok, ok, off topic, my guy, but trust me when I say that on practically all of those raids, I felt the air being cold whenever I’m alone in an aisle, even when I’m in one without any freezers. Like the gaze of something- a ghost, perhaps. But at the same time as me and the boys were doing our own thing, I had been…planning things. Back to the girl, who got a nickname by our school: Yuki. I began to feel something for Yuki. She just couldn’t leave my mind regardless of what I did with the homies. At first, it was just exchanging glances at the cafeteria, with my group giving me weird looks whenever I did. Then when I’m by myself, I would ask people who knew Yuki for her schedule, so that I could see her in and out of classrooms as much as possible. As I started high school, this…fascination ascended. I began to take pictures of her discreetly. Enough to get her face, and bits of her body.
I shamefully sketched her and sent her to an online artist for a commission to make the sketch of Yuki into a body pillow cover. Then ordered said body pillow with Yuki as the cover. It was starting to get very weird- I began using alt accounts on many social media accounts to follow her. Yuki herself was an online artist, so I paid for her Skyfund (think Patreon) at the highest possible tier. I even went as far as to use the car that I got for junior year to follow her home in secret…which means it’s time for the big part.
One Wednesday afternoon in June, after school let out for summer last week, I was driving by her house as usual, then I noticed something- one of her windows was left open. Taking my opportunity to really get an inside look into Yuki’s life, I stopped in front of a nearby house and went over. Climbing through the window, it seemed normal, so I explored the house. Normal, very normal. Nothing out of place. Even her room itself is normal, the usual girly stuff, well, besides part of her closet being full of cosplay.
As I made my leave, I decided to just open 1 of the other doors in the house that I thought would lead into a pantry or laundry or something. Instead, there’s a staircase- a pitch *fucking* black staircase, descending down into some basement room. Curious, I headed down. It was a normal basement room…but there was another door after going through the boxes and furniture.
And I gently opened the door.
Photographs. Hundreds- no, THOUSANDS of photographs of me covered the walls and floor. Hearts drawn around my face. Any other faces were either scribbled or scratched out. Why do some of these photos smell like blood? And others smell like…well, obviously, if you’re cultured, you’re cultured. Either way, I noticed a small congregation of candles and books and stuff at the end of the room, and so I approached it…and it was a photo of my ENTIRE class of my first year of middle school. Some faces were scribbled out in red, others torn, notes were made all over it, and my face among all that was surrounded by hearts and proclamations of love.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I thought I was obsessed. **Yuki was fucking manic about me.**
I took out my phone and snapped a few photos, and bolted out of there. Leaped out the window, headed to my car, and drove off, never to enter Yuki’s house again.
I’ve since dropped my obsession with her, and instead began to fear her. I sold the body pillow to someone, and told my friends about what I saw, who all supported me and got me out of that nature. Well, after they belittled me for breaking and entering. They did some digging, and turns out, she had a bigger racket of love for me than me for her. Fan groups. Fanart. Fanfiction. All the creepy works. She had this entire setup, all for me, and while I felt fine with all of this attraction, I ended up being *disgusted.* There’s paying someone to do something weird for you, and then you get whole groups of people to faun over the same person for you, and further your obsession for someone by shipping you with that person. It was ridiculous. But at least my “investigative” skills have landed me with a job as a police detective.
So uh, any questions?
…
Wait, hold on…
Yuki, no, no, get away from me- | 2022-05-05T09:30:13 | 2022-05-05T08:46:58 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] A wife kills her husband. Make me sympathize with both characters. | "That wasn't really poison I used, you know."
"Oh, no?" His eyelids opened slightly, still half closed.
"No, I just wanted to make you say what you won't say any other way. I just used enough to put you to sleep."
"Ahh, you always thought you were smarter than me. And I really believed you had a toothache and needed that medicine. But I already replaced it with real poison."
"What?! And you let me poison you?"
"No, I swapped it out, since I decided that I didn't want to kill you."
"So I didn't take it?"
"No, but that guy who snuck in when you thought I was at work did."
"John!?"
"Is that his name?"
"Yes, your brother's name is John."
"My brother?!"
"He's in the garage, or his body is."
"You mean you knew he was dead?"
"I let him take it. You see, that was the only way I could get him out of the picture, since I read on our insurance policy all the payout was to go to his family after he adopted the two paraplegic children. Guess I wasn't needy enough for you..."
"But why..."
"Because it will look like you killed him and then yourself in a fit of remorse."
"But I never knew you were that smart!"
She pulls off the perfectly formed rubber mask of his wife's likeness. "Of course she wasn't, that's why I could kill her so easily!"
"Clarkson! You son of a bitch!"
"Yeah, I told you I'd get you back in 'Nam, and I meant it."
"But how long have you been posing as my wife?"
"For two months and its a good thing your marriage is so dead, let me tell you."
"Hahaha you always were a funny son of a bitch."
| She felt the soft autumn warmth on her skin like it had been that day, so long ago. She could feel the heat spreading over her face, but it did little to soothe the constant chill that had settled in her fingers and toes. Her skin was now delicate and softly speckled like crumpled tissue paper, criss-crossed and latticed with a web of thin blue veins like fine marble. She remembered that day when they had stood together, in front of a crowd but all alone, able bodied and firm with youth, their hands clutched together so tight because it felt like the world was spiralling around them.
That had been very long ago, though it didn’t feel like that far away in moments like these. Her glazed eyes looked up and outward, settling in a distant nowhere in which they were not to be parted. Her shoulders still ached with the strain of it. Her weak elbows had cracked and strained and had been left with throbbing, aching burning. Her gnarled fingers, which he had once loved, which he had once admired as slender and delicate, those he had once smothered with soft kisses, still felt oddly bent and contorted.
“I miss you,” She said, to no one in particular because there was no one there to hear. “I’ve missed you for so long.”
It was like watching her world descend into madness, into an over whelming chaos that enclosed them all. It drove away the children and she was alone. It drove away their smattering of friends and she was so alone. Most of all she had lost the other side of her, the other half of her being and even if her world was filled with people then she would still be consumed by loneliness.
Eddy had never been a violent man, he could be solemn and quiet, lost in distant contemplation at times but he had never been sharp or cruel. His intentions in quietness had never been to hurt or ignore. He had been good with his hands and loving towards his children and later his grandchildren, which he would spoil and coo over. He was her world, an icon of both strong and soft.
The doctors had explained to her that sometimes these things changed people, the chemical balances had altered or something. He always seemed to recede away into a dark place, into moments of fear and misunderstanding. His whimpering breathes and startled eyes. The way he’d look around the room beyond what was there. It had hurt her, she would creep close to him, hands out stretched and unsure what to do, desperate to help, desperate to heal, longing to save him from his terror.
The longer it was, the more it would happen until love nor recognition filled his face when his eyes settled on her.
He had changed. He was not her Eddy. He would not see her as she was. As weak as his diminished strength was, she had become brittle and blood would clot darker and bigger. That’s when people started to demand she give up. That’s when people started to leave.
He seemed these days to be more there, wherever it was, than here. He was unhappy, who ever that man had become. So she had pressed the pillow against his face, as hard as her withered strength allowed her. There was not as much a fight, less than she had expected and the last long breath had been a sigh of relief.
When she hesitantly lifted the pillow she stared oddly at the dent his face had made and wondered if she could make out a gentle smile that had donned his lips. Looking at the vacant face of her beloved his eyes were soft and distant, crackled with harsh wrinkles and lines like paths carved in stone. But they looked lighter, less burdened, staring off in quite contemplation. | 2013-10-08T17:01:14 | 2013-10-08T15:18:46 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning. | I am a software developer at a small company in rural Virginia. I have a family: wife, three kids, a golden retriever/chow mix, two cats -- a good life by any measure. I am a church-goer, a home owner, a touch overweight, and I do volunteer work with kids with cancer.
What I am getting at here is that I'm a nice, regular, boring guy. I pay my taxes and, with the exception of a few speeding tickets that I still maintain were undeserved, I have never been in trouble with the law.
But apparently my mother was.
Let me be clear here. Ordinarily when I say "my mother" I am talking about a septuagenarian former art history professor from the north side of Chicago with a penchant for bland food and unnecessarily tannic wines. In this case, however, I am talking about a 50 year old madam who, up until last week, ran a sex trafficking operation that spanned from the southern tip of Florida to Detroit. She moved children, she moved drugs, and she sold people into a nightmare of exploitation and horror the likes of which I would rather not know about.
But I do know about them because, 35 years ago when she was a 15 year old hooker working at a truckstop in rural North Carolina, she put me up for adoption and never looked back. It may have been the only decent thing she did in her life.
See yesterday my biological mother was killed. I've known I was adopted since before I can remember and I guess I always assumed that the whole intergenerational knowledge thing was Nurture rather than Nature though, now that I think about it, that doesn't make even a little bit of sense.
In any case, there I was, suffering through another of my mother's -- my adoptive mother's, I need to get the hang of saying that -- under salted chicken dinners and commenting on how nicely the kids were getting along out on the swing set when my eyes rolled up into the back of my head and I passed out face first in some steamed cauliflower. When I came to I knew.... all of this. I know names, bank accounts, telephone numbers, contacts, drop areas, schedules, and timetables for criminal empires spanning the entire eastern seaboard.
I also know that my mother was looking for me, that she was close to finding me, and that there are records of her search.
Officer, if her business associates find those records they will come for me. Yesterday I inherited the keys to a multi-billion dollar criminal empire: I need to disappear. | My father was a mathematician when he died, shot in the head by a mugger. It wasn't easy being the son of a genius though, having to deal with being average. Although he never said it, I could feel it in his eyes, the cold-hearted eyes, that I was a failure.
The day after his body was laid in the ground, I went back to school. First period, math. My most hated subject - Math. Every single fucking second of every single fucking math lesson was torture, but I knew that this one was going to be the worst, especially with the thought of my father, that poor old father of mine, floating in my head.
But I went into the classroom anyways, chose one of the seats at the back and dumped my flaccid body onto the chair. Another full sixty minutes, and it was going to be over, the thought prompted a smile.
"Mr Trevor," Professor Kinsley called my name, "please kindly enlighten the class by solving this question." That fucker. Every time he would ask me to solve a question, knowing that I wouldn't know how to. And then, he would feign surprise, saying something to the lines of "The son of the mighty mathematician Jackson Lee can't solve this?", prompting laughter from the class. I trudged down the steps and towards the blackboard. Just when I was going to pretend that I tried but ultimately gave up, I realised, "Hey! This question is actually quite easy!" I grabbed the chalk and frantically scribbled whatever came into my mind, in awe of my own aptitude. I looked right into the eyes of the shellshocked professor, gave him a smile and walked back to my seat, still in awe of my own mathematical capability.
After the period was over, I excused myself from school, citing the story that I had to console my mother as the reason. I didn't go home though, but instead, I followed my peculiar instinct and arrived at my father's lab. Locked, as usual. His colleague Probert was nowhere to be found, so I sat outside the lab for awhile. Minutes passed like hours as I was desperate for an answer. There was so much information in my head that didn't belong, and I needed to understand why.
Suddenly, a string of numbers flowed into my mind like a tsunami flowing into a river. It took me awhile, but the numbers organised themselves into a sequence.
5-4-1-9-9-5-7-8-0-0
I had no idea what these ten digits meant... A code? Then, it snapped. I walked over to the door, and inserted the numbers into the electronic keypad. There was no confirmation, but the door unlocked itself after five seconds of gruelling waiting. What was on the other side of the door was not what I expected.
Probert walked over to my side. There was a group of men in matching black suits and greyish-blue ties sitting around a oblong table. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Professor Jackson Lee's life work - Trevor Lee." I was genuinely confused as I stood dumbfounded in front of the group of solemn, unclapping men. I whispered to Probert, "Bert, what's happening?" His reply did not help. "Just do your speech."
I stood in front of the men, not understanding the situation, fiddling with my thumbs. Then suddenly, words just flowed right out of my mouth. I barely understood a third of what I was saying as most of it was technical jargon. But as soon as I finished, the men nodded in what seems to be approval, and walked out of the room, leaving me and Probert alone in the room.
"Probert! What the fuck is happening?" I demanded.
"This is what your father's entire career, his entire life was about."
"About a stupid fucking speech to boring middle-aged men?"
"All the knowledge you got - all the knowledge you will get - that doesn't seem like it belongs to yours, they belong to your dad."
"What?"
"Basically, he's invented this machine to transmit all of a father's memories and skills to his eldest son when he dies. Today, you have proved to us that it works."
"Wait, so my dad died for some stupid experiment?"
"Yes, the information that would come later would explain it further, but basically yes."
"But... Why me? He doesn't even love me. He detests me!"
"Does he? Look deep in your mind, in his memory... And you'll see."
"Trev, I'm proud of you. I love you." An all too familiar voice echoed in my skull...
Note: Please give constructive feedback! | 2014-08-01T09:59:18 | 2014-08-01T09:08:49 | 550 | 49 |
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning. | My dad was a monster.
That's what the woman told me. I didn't understand why this was happening. Why me? Not just why, either, but how?
I spent my whole life around my dad, but I don't think I ever really knew him. He never talked about his past. Never. He would stay awake all night some nights, drinking whiskey out of the bottle, staring out the window. He carried a gun everywhere.
He did strange things at times, he asked me questions that didn't make any sense. As a child I never really paid any attention to his odd behaviour, that's just how we was. He kept this journal, it looked like it was hand-made and old, but he never wrote anything in it most of the time, he would just stare into it for hours. With the way he reacted after I asked him about it when I was little, I knew never to bring it up. Who was my father, and why is this stranger trying to kill me?
“Your dad would say that I'm a liar,” hissed the woman, almost as though she could hear my thoughts.
She tightened her grip around my neck, I wasn't choking but I was starting to get hazy. This woman is going to kill me.
“You're right, you know,” she smiled faintly, “I am going to kill you. What your father did can never be forgiven.” A look of unfathomable rage washed over her suddenly, and was gone again in an instant. She smiled again.
We moved around a lot when I was a kid. My dad insisted I go to college and get good grades, but we never stayed in one town for more than a semester. What was he running from? This woman? What did he do to her? My mind raced.
“Your dad was a handsome man, you know,” she drew her face in close to mine, “it looks like you ended up with his good looks after all.”
She laughed.
“It's a shame you won't grow up and fill out a little more.”
“Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?” I barked, surprising myself with my anger. It was almost as if something inside me had stirred, like I had changed.
“I suppose I do have a penchant for drama.” She let go of my neck and I fell to the ground. She had been holding me up with one hand this whole time, she was impossibly strong. Why doesn't this make any sense? What is wrong with her eyes?
“But not until you tell me where your father is.”
“He vanished two months ago.” I looked her dead in the eyes as I slowly picked myself off the ground. Where was this strength coming from? A moment ago I was half-dead. “He told me he was going hunting, he never came back. He left me.”
“But I guess he was never really there, was he?”
In the distance I heard a gunshot. The woman didn't react, it was almost as if I was the only one who heard the sound. It was distant, but it was like it came from inside my head.
She took one step towards me and I spoke in a voice that I was certain wasn't my own:
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus!”
She stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes widened, like a deer in the headlights. “No...”
In an instant I knew who my father was.
“I am Kevin Samuel Winchester, son of Dean Winchester, the greatest hunter who ever lived.”
“No!”
“And lady, you're messin' with the wrong kid.” | Danny breathes heavily by his father’s side trying to hold back tears. His younger brother, Hayden stared fearfully at their father from across the room.
Their mother takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes before saying, “Boys, you shouldn’t watch this. Go grab a snack in the kitchen.”
Both boys look up at their mother surprised and Danny argues, “But mom, this is it. Dad’s dying.”
His mother hugs him tightly and his weak father smiles and utters, “I love you.”
Danny sobs and his mother leads both boys out of the room and shuts the door. Danny walks to the kitchen despondently and Hayden follows silently. Danny grabs a glass of juice and glares at Hayden from across the table.
Danny slams his fist on the table and says, “It’s your fault that we got kicked out of dad’s room! If you weren’t hiding in the corner, we’d still be upstairs!”
Hayden frowns and shouts “Shut up Danny! It wasn’t my fault.”
Danny rolls his eyes and laughs; there was never a time when Hayden wasn’t the center of attention. Although they were brothers, they were natural enemies. Danny couldn’t remember a single day of his life when he and Hayden didn’t argue or yell at each other. Their parents used to plead with them to get along but the arguments never ceased. Danny thinks back on all the time his father spent with Hayden with resent. Hayden was a worthless and lost cause and now he had stolen the most precious thing in the world; time with their father.
Danny looks at Hayden’s young and innocent face with contempt. Danny looks at the clock; it was going to happen any minute now. His father’s knowledge would be transferred and Danny would finally be wise. His heart beats a little easier knowing that a piece of his father will live on in his mind. All of the incredible advice and lessons his father possessed and had taught him over the years would be at his disposal. He thinks of last summer when he and his father were walking through his aunt’s apple orchard and he tried to bring up the subject of the transfer to his dad.
His father looked at him with troubled eyes and told him, “All the wisdom and knowledge that you need, you already have. It just needs to be unlocked in time.”
Danny smiled at the time knowing his dad was never wrong but also knowing that his dad loved to dote and build his boys up. He never lost faith or confidence, not even in Hayden. Danny thinks back to the time after Hayden ran away when his parents stayed up all night in case he came home. When Hayden came home, he wasn’t even scolded. His father embraced Hayden into his arms and said, “I love you.” Danny yearned to have that degree of patience and kindness in his heart.
Danny looks across the table at Hayden who is beginning to shake uncontrollably. He figures it’s just a weird type of mourning until Hayden vomits. Danny runs to Hayden’s side and offers him a sip of juice to which Hayden is too sick to respond.
Danny pats Hayden’s back and says, “Hey are you okay? Hayden!”
Hayden vomits again and then buries his face in his hands. Danny calls for his mother frantically, “Mom! Hayden’s having a seizure!” He looks into his younger brother’s terrified eyes. After a minute, the shaking stops and he begins to breathe slowly. Danny continues to look from the stairs to Hayden wishing his mom would come down to help.
Hayden begins to sob and says, “Dad’s dead.”
Danny nods at his brother worriedly; how did he know that? Was it just hitting him?
“It’s okay Hayden. I didn’t get the transfer yet,” Danny says trying to smile and calm Hayden.
Hayden shakes his head and coughs, “No Danny, I got it.”
Danny looks at his younger brother who just minutes ago he desperately wished would have been the one dying. Seeing his brother now so broken and so scared filled Danny with an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear.
Danny chuckles, “How would you get the transfer? I’m the oldest kid Hay.”
Hayden hugs his brother and says, “No Danny. You’re adopted, I can see it. I’m so sorry”
Danny pulls back from his brother confused; how was that possible? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him? He looks at Hayden’s eyes which were identical to his fathers.
“It’s okay, just try to breathe,” Danny advises softly.
Hayden shakes his head profusely, “No, Dad didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave,” he begs.
Danny hugs his brother tightly and says, “I’m not going to leave Hayden. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to protect you from now on, okay?”
Hayden nods feeling completely powerless. He had made so many mistakes and caused his dad so much pain. His heart aches wishing he could make it better somehow and then he remembers a lecture his dad gave him months ago.
He had been arguing with Hayden all day and his parents were exhausted from it. His father had taken him out for a walk to calm him down.
His dad looked at him with kind eyes and said, “You can’t hate Danny; Danny is your brother. Brothers stick together.”
Hayden was astounded how serious his father was and yet he never once raised his voice.
His dad’s message echoes through his head and Hayden makes a promise. He was going to be a better brother from now on; he wasn’t going to let his dad down.
| 2014-08-01T12:03:28 | 2014-08-01T10:19:28 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] In a perfect utopia, you have just committed the first crime... | He didn't tell anyone. Didn't need to at first. The smell always wafted away before anyone noticed. But this time it lingered. This time he couldn't escape. "Was that you?"
"No"
"Okay"
It was a strange feeling. Like something that was completely alien, unthinkable. Truth was changed forever. | kyle knew that he was different. Everyday he struggled to suppress his emotions and be logical so he could fit in. In history class he learned how in 2087 the government started the genysis project. All babies were to be injected with the life lasting drug at birth. Everyone would be logical and pretty much the same in every way. only the government officials were exempt. He didnt know how he has gotten through birth without the drug but he learned at a very young age that he needed to learn how to fit in. Kyle went to his desk to get onto his computer when he noticed a strange massage. It just scrolled across the screen saying "We are the reason your different. if you want to help everyone else here's what you have to do..."
Kyle was sweating from his nervousness. He had followed the instructions but did not know what he had made. He felt the white package in his pocket that he assembled with household items. while walking quickly, anxious to get the task out of the way, he rubbed his pant leg nervously. Kyle went up to the storm drain by the building that was described to him and slipped the package in the drain. Then he ran as fast as he could down four blocks as he was told to do. He didnt understand these instructions until a massive explosion went off from the direction he came from. He was knocked off his feet and hit the ground with a thump.
As Kyle groggily sat up, he couldn't comprehend the atrocity he had just done. As everyone was getting up from the blast a car immediately pulled up and put a rag over his face until he passed unconscious. He awoke in a empty room with bright lights with a chain around his wrists. A guy who looked like a general came in and started screaming questions he didnt understand about how he knew where all there servers were among other things. Kyle could not keep track of how long he was in that cell but if felt to him like weeks. Every day a the same guy would come in and tried to interrogate kyle and beat him but he didnt believe Kyles story. then one day then door was blasted in and a soldier poked his head in and asked "Are you Klye?' to which kyle just weakly nodded his head. The soldier turned back and yelled "Hey guys i found him" He approached Kyle and said"Congrats you just won us the war." | 2014-10-24T20:41:35 | 2014-10-24T20:32:19 | 64 | 10 |
[WP] Two time travelers go off on a date night. This is a special evening, as one of them has promised to *finally* show the other his/her favorite time in human history. | "Ok, so you're saying that your favorite time in human history is a week next Friday? And the place? that little Italian bistro on 9th street? What's so important about that?"
"Well, that's where a certain dashing gentleman will propose to a beautiful lady. I won't ruin the ending by saying how it turns out, you'll just have to be there to see. So shall I pick you up at seven?" | "You can't be serious."
"What?"
"We're staring at monkeys."
"Australopithecus Afarensis, not monkeys."
"Alright, tell me what's significant here, Lucian. No offense but I hardly see anything happening worth seeing."
"Take a guess, observe what they are doing!"
"They're eating fruit off the ground."
"Fermented fruit, Yvonne."
"Okay, they are eating rotten fruit and..... Goofing off?"
"No, they are getting drunk. Don't you understand the importance of this to world history? How this shaped culture and society?"
"I'm getting the vibe you're going to tell me."
"Two of the most historically significant and perhaps oldest processed foods are bread and alcohol, both of which go through fermentation. It was our desire to be drunk and have good food that lead to development of agriculture and housing and civilization and culture. Right as we witness, our ancestors are finally piecing together the connection between fermentation and alcohol content. They are purposely seeking out rotten fruit to get drunk and with that, will pave the path for the growth of society. It is common to believe that it was the discovery of fire or the wheel that lead humans to advance intelligence but in reality it was alcohol."
"Interesting to say the least but what is the real reason you brought me here?"
"Okay, Yvonne, you got me. You want to know the real reason? Why this is my favorite time? Look over there!"
Lucian pointed out into the distance, two shadowy figures stood the horizon.
"Who are they?"
"Look closer."
"Is that me?"
"From a different time."
"But who...."
"That is what I wanted to ask you. Who is that man next to you. Why is he holding your hand?"
"Lucian, I don't.."
"Of course you don't understand, you haven't made up the decision to cheat on me yet."
"This could mean so many other things!"
"Nice try, but I have been spying on the two of you for a while. So glad I caught this beforehand so I can take the appropriate action."
"Excuse me!?"
Yvonne turned to discover herself alone, Lucian and the time machine now gone with the figures out in the distance slowly fading away as history changed. She had no idea of what to do now, but Yvonne was sure she needed a drink. | 2014-12-24T21:52:19 | 2014-12-24T21:14:07 | 40 | 25 |
[WP] An RPG character is cursed with a higher intelligence than their player. | "No, dammit, don't charge, don't charge!" I cried out in my mind while my legs ran towards the dragon.
I was clad in armor; from head to toe I was covered with metals that most who passed me by only read from ancient tomes. My weapon was one that a legend himself once used and locked away. My belt consisted of tonics that even the greatest alchemist couldn't concoct. I was a god among men.
Yet I charged against a dragon, a beast that breathed fire, with skin that had scaled that even the sharpest blade couldn't pierce. And I charged against it like an idiot.
My life was constantly in jeopardy. I had fought this dragon for close to 2 hours. I died. I got back up. I charged again. I died, I got back up and I kept charging. It was because my body was controlled by a man-child of an imbecile mind. Perhaps God thought it humorous to give me a gift of immortality, inhuman resistance and the ability to stop time to rearrange my belt and armor at any time I see fit, and all these gifts came with a condition: that my body and will would be controlled by another.
It wouldn't be such a bad thing. We would work together and rule this realm as god kings. But what does this imbecile that controls me like one would a puppet, what does he do?
He collects flowers. And butterflies. And bloody rocks. I am a rock collector. I am a rock collecting GOD that slays dragons whence this manchild feels twenty days worth of collecting flowers and rocks is enough and now it is time to hunt.
People laugh at me, because there was a dragon in the midst, and my manchild of a pupeteer decided this location would be a great time for the Great Flower Harvest and when this dragon, this majestic beast took aim at me, what do I do? Do I perhaps retreat and trick the dragon with a flank attack and slice off its wings with this legendary sword that I possess? Or do I poison it with one of the thousand poisons I carry in my arsenal, or should I perhaps tame it and even ride it into battle against my other foes.
No, says my putrid brain puppeteer. I'll fucking charge at it.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! My first ever gold, thank you kind stranger!!
EDIT 2: One of the users mentioned a blog based on this character, its got me thinking. I'll definitely update this post with a link once I've written my first post based on this character
| Elben Fletcher wheezed up the spiraling stone steps that lead the way to the Great Laboratory, the last story of the tallest spire in the Library of El'Shaatuun. Endurance was not his forte, it never had been; rather he was gifted with incredible mental capacity, a wizard-inventor unparalleled amongst the seven kingdoms of Agema.
Out of breath and his legs aching, he finally placed both feet atop the granite platform that had awaited him at the top. Around him sat a myriad of golden instruments, alembics and mortars designed and forged by the greatest craftsmen who ever lived. In the center sat a small table, one of the many golden apparatuses sitting on its red linen-clad surface, and behind it stood a portly man whose beard was only matched by his reputation. He was Ta'loc, and nothing more; a man of his prestige has no need for a second name.
"Elben Fletcher, a pleasure to meet you again," the man said as Elben approached him, his cloak shimmering as its own power fought against the magical energies that surrounded it. "The Oracle foretold your arrival, Elben. I pray you have the device?"
From his pocket Elben pulled a small silvery box, one that looked as if it once held jewelry. From its side emerged the tail end of a golden key, like a music box's, and taking care not to nudge it, Elben handed the device over to Ta'loc.
"Excellent. It's been quite some time since I've laid my eye's on-" Ta'loc began to say, but suddenly his mouth stopped and his eyebrow furrowed. He looked the box over, turning it between his hands, a puzzled expression stuck on his face. After some consideration, he looked at Elben, and frowned.
"This is not the correct device, Elben," the alchemist said, his voice filled with confusion.
Elben cocked his head to the side and frowned back at the elderly man. "Sure it is. That's the one you told me to get," he said.
"No, the one I requested was spherical, Elben. This one is a cube."
Elben shrugged. "Cube, sphere, whatever. It's the same thing, innit?"
Ta'loc gasped and let the device drop to the ground. Crossing his arms, he met the gaze of the wizard-inventor and said, "I pray you are not serious, Elben? Surely a wizard-inventor of your caliber would be aware of the differences between each Timelock of Ragash'naul?"
"I know the difference, of course I do," Elben firmly replied, crossing his own arms to match the alchemist.
"This is all very curious then," Ta'loc replied. "Is this some sort of joke, then? Your research on the Timelocks was revolutionary, Elben. I find it a little unnerving that you now choose to make such a mockery of it."
"My research?" Elben questioned, but quickly memories of his life's work came rushing into his head. They were foggy, as if that portion of his life was nothing more than a synopsis, as if someone had been asking for the story of his life and out of impatience the details were omitted. He often forgot he was a leading researcher in the field of chronological manipulation. His new life fighting monsters and looting dungeons took precedence.
"Oh, right, my research," Elben stammered. "Duh. Right. Yeah, it was a joke. Ha ha, I'll go get the right one now." He was alone, but somehow he felt as if the rest of his adventuring party were collectively raising their palms to meet their faces as they learned of the backtracking they would have to do to correct this error of his. As if even though they were not here with him, they were all watching from seats around some sort of divine table, each one's god scorning his own, Benjamin the Usual-Barbarian-Player-Who-Was-Trying-Something-Different-For-Once.
Nervously he left without another word and began to make his way down the massive staircase. At the bottom he would have to share this mistake with the others, and it was something he was lamenting. Although, they never seemed to be surprised. Despite his hyper intelligence, they always expected this. Perhaps they already knew.
----
^Most ^cliched ^fantasy ^names ^of ^my ^life. ^Hopefully ^the ^jokes ^make ^sense. | 2015-01-09T11:35:26 | 2015-01-09T10:31:12 | 1,177 | 197 |
[WP] A social experiment involves a boy raised between two very different families until he is 18. He is switched between homes every night without his knowing it and is given a different name by each family. | **Monday 13 April, 1998**
Beautiful day today.
The boys are playing around the field behind the church.
Subject Samuel Smith adapting to the school environment pretty well for his first day.
Will return tomorrow for more data.
--
"Hey Sam, thanks for today, that was fun! Wanna join us tomorrow? I'll bring my remote controlled car!"
"Uhm....Maybe on Wednesday? My parents are probably going to be grumpy tomorrow... They'll probably not let me stay out after school hours.."
"Uhh...... Okay?" Jimmy replied, a confused look on his face.
---
**Tuesday 14 April, 1998**
Stormy morning. I hate the rain.
Subject woke up early today.
No surprise, even *I* would, if I had parents that strict.
Subject visibly more introvert at school today.
Only talked to the lunch lady today.
Wanted an apple.
---
.
.
.
.
.
---
**Thursday, 16 October 2008**
Another stormy day.
"Project Pendulum suspended due to ethical concerns."
Bullshit.
Will continue to monitor Subject.
Screw the Council.
---
**Sunday, ?? May, 2015**
Bright sunny morning.
Subject got married today.
Sweet lady, very good upbringing.
Jim Radon from elementary school is Subject's best man.
---
**Saturday, 3 August 2035**
Windy day. Hopefully no rain.
Subject celebrated daughter's 18th birthday today.
Never seen his proud smile for a decade.
Subject occasionally experiences mood swings on alternate days.
Wife contacted social service for domestic abuse twice last year.
Will stop him if things get out of hand.
---
**Sunday, 4 August 2035**
Dark clouds all over. I don't like this.
Subject enjoying Sunday coffee at the usual cafe.
Lost him in the streets at around 10am.
Will probably return to his apar--
---
**BREAKING NEWS!!**
4 August 2035 - Researcher, 64, shot dead in the streets.
Senior Researcher Dr Richard Jackson, 64, was shot dead on Caramel Street at around 10:05 am today by an unknown assailant.
No personal belongings except for his wallet was found.
No eyewitnesses were able to identify the assailant.
The Police urges the public to remain calm as more evidence is collected.
---
**TERROR ON THE STREETS?**
6 August, 2035
Terror swept across the nation's professionals today as 14 state researchers have been killed by an Improvised Explosive Device planted outside the State Laboratories of Biological Research and Development.
Police have refused to comment on the incident currently, but urges the public to remain calm and vigilant for any suspicious activities.
Head of the State Laboratories, Dr Matt Reeds, commented on the bombing as an "attack on the nation's progress" in a press conference, and suspects a possible link between the shooting of Senior Researcher Dr Richard Jackson 2 days ago.
We'll be now bringing you live coverage of the conference by our reporter, Samuel Smith.
----
| The blissful sun rays morphed into filtered moonlight after a few hours . James started to his bed , eager to sleep .He knew that tomorrow was going to be a better day.
During these days Mom and Dad were always grumpy and looked grotesquely ugly . Always wielding their sticks and threatening each other ,they were belligerent and made the hair on James' arm stand . They didn't let him go to school or leave the house , and were for some reason extremely hostile towards James.They gave him food and water through a pet flap on his door. He stays locked in his room enduring these times , waiting for the never-ending day to pass , cuddling his teddy bear ,Mr.Fluffy.
As the moon became prominent in the night sky , drowsiness took over and lulled him to a deep sleep.
"James , James , Rise and Shine! " Mum shouted.
James let out a yawn and sat up on his bed.
The room was a bright yellow , the sunlight illuminating the room .
"Good morning , mum! "
"You have a long day ahead of you ! Now gear up for school , you're going to miss your bus again! "
His mothers beautiful locks were flourished by the gust of wind setting in from the bedside window. He knew his dad would be shopping for a gift , as today was James' 18th birthday.
He quickly stopped spacing out and broke his mothers gaze with a wide grin .Her sea blue eyes shone warmth on him
Being the obedient kid he was , he trudged to the restroom and freshened up.
With his cumbersome backpack strapped on to his shoulder ,he set off for school. These happy,sanguine days occurred alternatively. It was as if his sinister parents metamorphosed into these loving beings at every alternative midnight .
James believed that he had a normal life , like anyone else.However,he was never allowed to have a typical school life . He was tutored in a separate room , and never knew why. Every time he raised the question , the teachers would just glance at each other nervously and give evasive answers. Soon , James got acclimatized to his fate and lived on like his life was normal.He loved going to school and learning new things , as he was a avid knowledge-enthusiast. This made him regret that he was going to school only every alternative day , but it couldn't be helped.If he were to set his foot out of his room when his parents were those sadistic beasts , then he probably would never be able to walk his way to school anyway
He didn't have any friends , and knew no one, apart from his teachers and his ever-changing parents.
Halfway to school , he felt a bit tired. Drowsy. After a few seconds ,he found himself fading into the void. He caught a glimpse of white lab coats , but blacked out before he could observe it sharply.
When he woke up , he was in the middle of a dark,desolate street . He was flustered , but hunger and thirst were his main problems for now . He couldn't remember what happened , but that could wait for later. He could find his way home .
He only figured out he was lost a few minutes later. He was in an urban city, with blaring horns and bright lights. Where had the lush greens and high rise hills gone? With muddled thoughts , he wandered on.
*What happened to school?What happened to mum? What happened to dad?* He thought
He mindlessly reached the mouth of the street and spied a bar to his left . He made his way in , only to be greeted with revulsion and loathing .
James pleaded to the bartender,"Hello sir , could I please have some food and water ?I am los-"
"How much cash do you have on you?" The bartender interrupted , keen to swindle James . The bartender knew something was wrong with this guy. He looked 18 , but spoke and acted like he was a 11 year old who was never exposed to the real world
" Cash? My parents never gave me allowance money , so I don't have anything on me. But sir , if you would take pity on a lost boy , please spare some food and water . Leftovers will do perfectly"
"Get outta here , kid"
James walked out with his head stooping down , dejected . He slept outside of the bar , knowing that the mean people inside the bar would turn into the nicest of men tomorrow.
But it didn't happen . He was kicked out the next day , too.And the day after that. And so on. He now lay next to a dumpster , about to sleep through another clamorous night . Now the question came to his mind as to why his teachers wore white lab coats and why he had lots of tiny holes on his hand , right above his veins.
Unfortunately for James , these questions were not able to be answered, as he was never to wake up again
| 2015-02-28T01:57:06 | 2015-02-28T01:36:16 | 88 | 16 |
[WP] She awakens you with a kiss. "Good morning honey, I made you breakfast." Just one problem, you live alone. | I felt a light pressure on my lips and her foggy, distant voice whispered "Good morning, Honey. I made you breakfast". For a moment I felt an overwhelming calm feeling. And a longing.
But when my eyes opened and I swung my sleepy head around I saw no one there. It was dark, the room was cold. I reached over to the pillow next to me that had lost her scent a long time ago and the calm abandoned me, while the longing only grew.
I found myself choking out, "Come back."
But the only time she'd ever visit was that thin line between wakefulness and sleep. I never saw her. I never touched her. Burying her was difficult, but this? This was unbearable. | I awoke with a storm in my head, it pounded and pounded like some of the music from last night had actually been physically imprinted on my brain. My eyes took what seemed like years to adjust, but when they finally did, i looked around my room. It was a mess, clothes and blankets everywhere. "Holy shit" I mumbled as my hand unconsciously reached for a glass of water on my bedside table. But instead of water, my hand landed in a pile of warm squishy goo. I spun around while slamming my brain into the side of my skull, it pounded again. I took a deep breath and the dizziness soon adjusted itself. It was food.."What" I exclaimed. And then that was met with a "Good morning honey" I spun back around, this time my mind was ready for the movement. In the doorway was a girl, a really short girl, she was blond. And in my T-shirt. And in nothing else. "Uhh Hi?" I said. I realized i sounded kind of dumb saying hi as a question. Was i really that drunk? I don't remember a fucking thing, but my god is she beautiful.
"I made you breakfast" She said, with the most cheerful smile i have ever seen a girl use on me. "Thank you" I replied back "But i think i was hit by a car last night" She laughed, oddly loudly. She made her way towards the bed and lifted the covers. I was naked underneath, this was the first time i had even noticed it. As she fell into bed it felt like the whole room shook. I had to swallow what felt like 100 times to resist being sick. I looked at her, and she smiled even more. "I think i need some water" I gasped, and practically ran out of bed. I made it to the hallway and had to stop for a second to avoid tumbling over. I looked behind me, she was still in bed, watching me and waving. I turned back and smiled. "I'm the fucking man" I mumbled to myself, whilst stumbling forward. I walked to the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with cold beautiful water. The TV was on, this model must have been watching while she fucking made me breakfast. I turned around, the news was talking about some mental person, escaped from the Belmont Psychiatric ward.
I heard a smash, water sprayed up my legs, almost reaching my crotch. It felt like it froze me on the spot. It was her. Oh my god. There she was, this girl, her face planted across the TV with a warning sign under it. I turned to the bench, and ripped a knife from the block. Only looking at them long enough to notice the largest one was already missing. | 2015-06-09T02:24:06 | 2015-06-09T00:41:40 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You go to clean dust off the needle of your record player and it catches in your fingerprint. There was no mistaking what the speakers played | "Natalie Rosenthal."
That was it. The record player, running across my unique, one-of-a-kind fingerprint, only said "Natalie Rosenthal."
It didn't matter which finger, it didn't matter where on the finger, it didn't matter if I played it forwards or backwards.
"Natalie Rosenthal."
I started Googling the name, and there were a lot. Many, many people named Natalie Rosenthal. I had no idea what she meant to me, but I needed to find the right one and discover the secret behind our connection.
After years of searching, I finally found a clue. There was a Natalie Rosenthal born within fifteen minutes of me. She lived in Minnesota. Most importantly, when I contacted her, she didn't act like what I was saying was crazy.
I flew out to meet her. She was beautiful - the most amazing-looking woman who had ever graced my vision. When she spoke, it was like listening to honey pour from the mouths of angels.
We had so much in common. Shared interests, shared beliefs, but enough differences to be eminently fascinating to each other.
When I produced the record player from my bag, we both held our breath. The magnitude of the possibilities involved was too much to consider, and the way we already felt about each other made it impossible to imagine the possibility of any but one outcome.
We played her fingerprint, and it said my name. Somehow, our perfect mate was right there at our fingertips - if you'll pardon the pun - the entire time.
This discovery led to a revolution in the way humans created relationships. Abuse, domestic anger, petty fighting - all things of the past. Crime dropped precipitously. Children found themselves born to increasingly idyllic households. All because I had found my Natalie.
Boy was my wife pissed. | This is my first attempt so be gentle and use lots of lube.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That sound. I never forgot the sound of those words. With them, all the smells and textures came rushing back to me.
It had been 15 years since I watched my best friend and SAW gunner die in my arms. As the platoon Doc, it was my job to save them. It was my job to patch the wounds left by the shrapnel and bullets and rocks sent into the air by those bastards we were fighting. The ingenious locals who had somehow mastered the art of concocting bombs with the stuff we threw away. We had taken to going so far as burning our trash and poop so they couldn’t use it against us, but they still somehow found a way to do it.
I still remember the look in his eyes as the light faded out of them. The halfcocked smile on his face and the words he spoke to me. We had been patrolling at night, something we swore up and down we wouldn’t do. We begged and pleaded with our chain to let us stay behind and wait till first light to push out of the CCP but they weren’t having it. We had stepped off a little past 2200 local time and were immediately surrounded by nothing. I don’t mean we walked to the middle of nowhere. I mean when you stepped out of the compound at night, all sounds were gone. You could not hear the sound of the rocks skipping of your boots as you begrudgingly wore on through the miles. You could not hear the sound of those around you spitting out the mint Skoal, the Cope long cut and the Grizzly wintergreen as they chose not to gut the vile concoctions their mouths brewed. You found yourself touching your chest every few feet to ensure you were still breathing for you couldn’t even hear your own respirations. There was nothing out there. I guess that’s why we never heard them coming.
The locals always seemed put off by our presence. They were weary when we were around and always followed their elders advice whenever it came to dealing with us. They never truly swallowed the “we’re here to liberate you” lines we were reminded to spout over and over in our broken local dialect. We tried using locals to interpret but found, more often than not, the others didn’t believe them and sometimes killed them in the night for being ‘traitors’. I still say they played both sides. Listening to the so-called self proclaimed “Freedom Fighters” but still giving us just enough information to appear as if they were on our side. All of us who saw them for who they really were knew they were just waiting to see who won. Waiting to pledge their allegiance and support for those who did the most for them. I don’t blame them really. I would do the same thing if it had been back near our homes, on our soil.
During the summer months, if you can call them that, we were jealous of their clothes. They barely wore any. Walking around us, smiling at us in our weighted down gear, reading our misery on our faces from the temps. In the winter it wasn’t much better. They had so much freedom of movement, while we all felt like the demon love spawn of a stay puff marshmallow woman and Robocop. We had all the padding to stay warm with the same robotic movements and the grace of a Gentoo penguin. They all wore the same thing too making it impossible for us to distinguish the little bastards from one another.
But that sound resonated in my ears and in my head now again. Was it a flashback? I thought.
I reached out with my finger and slow pulled it across the needle. There it was, clear as day. My best friend’s last words, “I told you we should have never invaded this planet. You owe me $20.”
| 2015-10-20T10:11:55 | 2015-10-20T09:52:24 | 367 | 51 |
[WP] - 125 years ago, an ancestor of yours traded the next male in his bloodline's soul to Lucifer for untold power. A son is yet to be born, and Lucifer is sick of waiting and wants your infant daughter. | Our lawyers sat across the table from each other, eyes glinting like a pair of vicious dogs waiting to leap into combat against each other. I like that in my attorneys. I pay them enough that they should be downright eager to tear the metaphorical throats out of my enemies. Mind you, it’s not every day one comes across an opponent of such high calibre.
 
“Ms Adley, this was clearly not the intent of the contract. I don’t doubt that your great grandfather acted in good faith. You, on the other hand, are not. What do you have to say for yourself?”
 
“I have nothing to say for myself. That’s why I employ a lawyer,” I reply with a nod to the dour silver-haired man next to me. This case is a slam dunk, but it never hurts to make sure to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s. Malcolm’s good at what he does.
 
“There’s no ambiguity in the original contract,” Malcolm flatly informs his counterpart, “the next male in my client’s direct line of descent will be provided to, uh, Mr Lucifer. There’s no stipulation of a time limit attached to that.”
 
The devil’s advocate frowns. I can’t blame him. Most attorneys would frown if their client was gently growling at the opposition during a meeting.
 
“May I remind you that your growling could be interpreted as an implied threat against myself and my client, Mr Lucifer?”
 
“Is that true?” Satan quietly asks his own counsel. The increasingly harried lawyer from the inferno nods. He knows he can’t compete with our legal team. It’s surprising really, you’d think that if anyone could find a good lawyer it’d be the custodian of Hell.
 
“Do you really want to take this to trial Mr Lucifer?” Malcolm asks with mock concern, “You know you have no case. Considering your conduct toward my client’s family in the past I might also suggest that you avoid giving us any further motivation to bring a countersuit.”
 
“WHAT?” Satan bellows before catching himself and lowering his voice to a more appropriate indoor volume, “Ahem, what do you mean by that? My conduct has been irreproachable.”
 
“Let me speak to them,” Satan’s lawyer insists. I can see he still remembers Satan’s attempt to present his case at the initial hearing. It had taken guts for the judge to charge The Devil himself with contempt of court. The great demon had toned things down since his long night in a holding cell but that temper of his was still liable to get him in trouble.
 
“You have continually harassed my client’s family for the past one hundred and twenty five years. Almost from the day the contract was signed you’ve been stalking my client and her ancestors. In the past week alone you’ve appeared in horrendous visions asking her when she’s going to find a nice man and settle down no less than six times.”
 
“I JUST WANT HER TO KNOW THE JOY OF HAVING A FAMILY! JUST BECAUSE I’M THE DEVIL EVERYONE ASSUMES THE WORST!”
 
“My client has no idea what you’re talking about,” the other side’s lawyer shouts in a futile attempt to drown out his own client’s ravings.
 
“I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Satan bellows.
 
“Shush, shush. I’m trying to help you!” the devil’s advocate hisses at his increasingly irate client, “What’s more, you can plainly see that my client is suffering a…uh, a psychotic break due to the stress of this situation and cannot be considered legally competent for purposes of giving a confession.”
 
“Phhh, really? That’s what you’re going with?” Malcolm laughs. Maybe we should push our countersuit. If this is The Devil’s best lawyer we could own Hell by the end of the week.
--------------
 
[As always, check out my sub if you enjoyed this](https://www.reddit.com/r/herd_of_birds)
| "Grace, can you get the door?" Travis fumbled behind the bookshelf, trying to retrieve the fallen pacifier. She sighed and deposited a still crying Claire into her crib before rushing to the living room.
"Hello, Grace." An unfamiliar man in a tuxedo and a rented smile leaned against the doorway. "I'm Lucifer: lord of Hell, archenemy of God—you know, all that jazz. I've come here to collect that which I was promised 125 years ago." He saw confusion appear on her face and added, "You know, by your great-grandfather."
A slam resounded from the bedroom, and Travis erupted into a stream of curses. Claire began to cry even louder. Grace looked back and forth between the hall behind her and the man in her doorway. "I'm sorry, is this a joke? I'm kind of busy here..."
"Look." Lucifer conjured a small flame in his palm. "Your great-grandfather promised me the next son born to your family in exchange for a favor. Unfortunately, none of the broads in your bloodline were courteous enough to spawn a son. I'm tired of waiting, so it's your daughter I'll be taking."
"What the hell? You can't just do that!" Grace snapped. "I didn't agree to any of this! This is between you and my apparently Satanic great-grandfather. Plus, it's not even the original deal. What gives you the right to change it up like this?"
"Ha! Absolutely nothing. Why do you think I haven't taken her with me yet?" Lucifer fiddled with his bow tie. "I'm asking you nicely. Out of the goodness of your heart, how about you fulfill the contract on behalf of your great-grandfather? Spare your descendants any future, unexpected grief. Also," Lucifer leaned in closely, "just between you and me, our numbers have been down for this quarter. We've been forced to go around, collecting on unpaid debts, just to meet our quota. We need as many souls as we can get: Hell isn't gonna clean up its own shit pits." Lucifer resumed his original position and flashed Grace a smile.
Ridiculous, Grace thought. Did he really think she would just give her baby away so easily? She had dropped out of med school, spent nine months with a human backpack strapped to her stomach, and underwent the most painful ten and a half hours of her life to become a mother. All to be able to hold Claire in her arms. To change her diapers. To wake up five times each night to make sure she wasn't dying. To let Claire decorate her breasts with teeth marks.
"You know what? Let's do this," Grace said. Lucifer nodded smugly and held out his hand.
"Grace, what's going on? Is this guy still here?" Travis emerged from the hallway, carrying a now pacified Claire. "Hello, can I help you?"
"Hello, Travis. This need not concern you; it's between me and your wife."
"Honey, who is this man? Is he a Jehovah's Witness?"
"Ugh, don't insult me like that. Okay, look." Lucifer held up his hands. "I'm the devil, and I'm here to take your daughter away." He briefly explained the deal he made with Grace's great-grandfather.
"Wait, you can't do that!" Travis clutched Claire protectively. "Grace, I've read about this guy. If we guess his name right, he has to leave us alone."
"This isn't a fairy tale, boy. Your wife already agreed to the deal, anyway."
"Travis, parenting sucks." Grace gripped her husband's hand. "Claire is so high maintenance. I don't know who she gets it from. Can't we just get a dog instead?"
"Grace, I can't believe this! We sacrificed so much for Claire: you spent nine months pregnant, and I spent nine months putting up with pregnant you. Now we're just going to throw all that away, just like that?"
"Your sacrifice has not gone unnoticed," Grace grumbled, "but that's all over and done now. Look at the present: it sucks. Claire sucks. You don't suck enough. Claire is a demon baby. She's a perfect fit for Hell."
Travis stared agape at his wife for a few seconds. "Grace, I'm sorry. I never knew you felt this wa—wait, I have an idea!" He turned to Lucifer. "How about you get custody of Claire until she's outgrown this stage? Give Grace and I some time to find ourselves. Then we get her back, and you can still claim some other poor descendant from Grace's bloodline later on."
"That's ridiculous," Lucifer scoffed, "Well, actually..." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I just need a few extra souls to boost numbers for this quarter. Hopefully, we'll have rebounded later on...and if we're ever in a tough spot, I'll have another free soul to claim later on. You know what, I like it. Just give me a bit more, since I'm doing you a solid: I get the souls of two of your descendants' children later on."
"Sure, whatever. If Claire's anything to go by, fuck my descendants." Grace shook Lucifer's hand and handed over her baby to him. "You know what, Lucifer, you're not a bad guy. I can see why my great-grandfather did business with you."
"Always a pleasure." Lucifer grinned and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"Finally, some peace." Grace slumped back in her couch.
"You know what we haven't done in a long time?" Travis settled beside his wife and started to unzip his pants.
"Put a damn condom on this time."
---
"Well, Claire, say HELLo to the pits of Hell—hold on, what is this?" Lucifer had smelled some shit in Hell, but this was some special kind of shit. He held Claire at arm's length to find that the gunk had permeated her diaper and had made a splotch on his formerly pristine tuxedo.
Claire started crying. It made the wailing so often heard around the pits of Hell sound like elevator music. And if this was the wailing, Lucifer did not want to experience the gnashing of teeth.
He sighed. It was going to be a long six years. | 2016-06-10T01:35:26 | 2016-06-10T00:54:50 | 200 | 75 |
[WP] An outbreak of a disease occurs. You discover you are immune. You watch the world around you crumble. | It started with a cough. My little sister. My brother. My mom. My dad. All staying home from school and work while I carried on. Within weeks, we were down to half the class showing up, then the teacher calling in sick, then class getting cancelled. In a time like that, where people say there's a "nasty flu" spreading around, it's hard to wonder why you're the only one not affected by it.
My sister, only four years old, lost the battle first. The funeral homes were shut down, and burying a child, one who hasn't seen the world or been to the mountains or kissed anybody, well, that's enough to break just about anybody. I stayed in my room for a week and I cried, and I cried, and I cried.
Pretty soon I discovered this was happening to everyone else. My chemistry teacher kicked the bucket. Then the girl I got answers from in precalc. And it kept on going until it wasn't shocking.
No, I don't think about it anymore. But with everyone in the house lined up in shallow graves in the back yard, it's quiet around here. Outside is silent, and eerily so. The internet has stopped being fun without anything new. It still works, thank god, but not for long.
Once no one responds online and there isn't anyone left, I think I'll end it. Probably swallow a whole bottle of pills and take a long nap. Maybe grab myself a gun and a few bullets.
I just wish I would've gotten sick at times. No one tells you how the pictures of your cousins and aunts, how seeing your mom's grave and all her things tears you apart once they're all gone. No one helps you heal and recover.
No one can do that if there's no one left. | Crumble, verb, it means to disintegrate gradually over a period of time. At the height of the scourge, people would say society crumbled. I could never see it that way. You see the scourge happened way too fast for it to be characterized by the word crumble. No, Society was annihilated. Annihilate, verb, to destroy utterly or obliterate. That was what happened. How would I know? I am immune the only one to have seen it from beginning to end. The only one who could understand its totality. The lucky one's died before whatever happy vision of the world they had could be shattered.
The first day of the scourge, a Bio-attack was suspected. The news never identified an attacker, but whispers were spread around. Whispers identifying the Russians, the Chinese or for the religiously fundamental, God as the culprit. I never cared either which way who it was and I though the the worst would soon be over I was wrong. The news warned of the symptoms. A bloody nose, followed by convulsing, and eventually death. Time from contraction to death, 1 day.
By the second day, the disease had spread nation wide to urban centers. That day I woke up to screams. I looked outside my window and saw people dropping dead in the street. My family, was my first thought. I hastily ran downstairs to check on them. I was too late. The disease had come to my home. I found my wife and daughter dead on the floor, faces wrenched in agony and blood soaked. That is my last memory of them. I sat in that house for days, barely eating. Watching them crumble. The previous scent of love and happiness was overshadowed by the smell of death. Bidding my time, I waited for the disease to take me so that I could be reunited with my family. it never came.
In desperation, I took my daughter's insulin needle and injected my self with their blood. If the scourge would not come to me, I would go to it. I never got sick. It didn't take long for me to figure out that I was immune.
I decided to bury them out in the backyard. For the first time in days, I steped out side. My eyes burned at the sight of sunlight. Eventually when they had adjusted, I molested by an scene filled with bodies upon bodies, decomposed, grotesque, and misshapen to the point that they barely represented humans. In apocalypse movies, the roads are always barren, and few bodies are found. The infrastructure may be dilapidated or aged, but overall the image is always sanitized. I was not in a movie though, I was in real life. The buildings, roads, cars were blood stained. The stench was unbearable. Death was everywhere. I walked over it, breathed it, and smelled it. It was inescapable.
The scene was to much for me, I was driven insane. After all what was the point of burying my family in a place so god forsaken? Quickly, I ran inside my house, up to my room, and loaded up my shotgun. I sat down next to my family ready to pull the trigger. My family was my world, this nightmare I could never live in especially alone. I had not yet built up the confidence to pull the trigger when I realized that if I was immune, then I was also the cure.
With a new purpose, I buried my family, packed essential items and planned routes on a map. The points of interest were the most isolated spots in the country. I set out to find people who would need my help. For the past few weeks the only word on my mind was annihilation, but past that point. I live with only one goal in mind to revive.
-------------------------------------------------------
Hope you enjoy, I might make some revisions and expand this story. Critiques and comments are welcome :) | 2016-12-23T18:38:37 | 2016-12-23T17:31:50 | 39 | 20 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh | "Hello, Owner."
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There, standing on my doorstep staring at me with those wide, familiar eyes, was my dog, Buddy. I hadn't seen him for the last four years! I had so many questions; where had he been? What had he been doing? And where was that fucker Brad who had up and disappeared while taking him for a walk? All these long years I had waited, hoping desperately for my beloved friend to return. And here he finally was. I opened my mouth shakily to respond to him.
"B-Buddy? Is that you, boy?"
The dog gave a short, sharp nod.
"It is I. I have returned to you. There is much we have to discuss."
Suddenly a strange thought crossed my mind. I hadn't noticed it in the shock of seeing my dog returned to me after so long. I opened my mouth once more to ask him one single, vital, question.
"Wait...you can talk?"
Buddy nodded again.
I let out a short laugh of disbelief. And then, without taking my eyes off of him, I reached over to the wall, grabbed my shotgun, and shot the dog in the face. His brains exploded onto the porch; body slumping limply onto the welcome mat. Lowering my gun, I straightened my back and placed the gun back on its holder on the wall. Slamming the front door shut, I crossed myself quickly, before shaking my head as though to clear it from the madness of that encounter. I turned and walked back towards the lounge room to resume my Bible Study, muttering all the way.
"Won't have no devil dog in my house; try again you horned fuck!" | "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat." Stinky said. "And while I can still speak, I want to tell you that I really resent the fact you named me Stinky. I don't have opposable thumbs that allow me to wash myself, plus, I am covered in.. in human terms I'm covered in long John's and a jacket, then you're throwing me into hot water. It's not comfortable. And while I've got you her-"
"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit." I said, knowing I must be completely losing my mind. I was overcome with joy to see my long lost dog, but I quickly began to think that this is a serious hallucination. I checked my pockets for my keys with the intention to go right to the hospital. "Oh my god, oh my god... I need to go to the hospital." I thought.
Stinky jumped on me with all her weight, knocking me to the ground, and began licking my face. "Does this feel like a hallucination? I love you. And everyone I've ever met. But you're really wasting this precious time we have to speak by telling yourself it's a hallucination. Do you remember all those times you said 'I wish you knew how to talk so I could tell you some things, like to bark twice when you're hungry, or bark three times when you wanna go outside'?" my talking dog apparently said to me.
"I remember this, but this cannot possibly be real. I need to get to the hospital immediately. You're not real." I said again. My heart was racing and beating out of my chest, I was beginning to sweat... I thought I was having a heart attack, but in reality it was just a panic attack.
"This is so typical of you. You say you want this, or that, but any time you come close to this or that, you think of an excuse not to do it, or convince yourself it isn't an option. Do you remember that woman you were in love with? The one who told you a hundred and fifty times that she loved you too?" Stinky, the talking dog asked me.
"Of course I remember. She was way out of my league, there was no way she could possibly feel the same. Probably wanted to steal my identity or something."
Stinky began to growl, "You have seriously got to be joking. You have to be the most stubborn and most ungrateful person I have ever met in my life. You have a once in a life time opportunity to talk to your dog, a dog if you remember correctly had been *missing* for four years, and what do you do? You spend the entire ti...rrruf!" Stinky said.
"What was that last part, girl?" I asked her.
Stinky just barked at me, her expression completely different now. She had that dumb dog smile back on her face.
"Come on Stinky, talk to me." I pleaded with her.
But she didn't talk. She never spoke again. I never got to ask her where she was. What happened to her that day, when I had her on the leash at the park and it snapped. Where she went when she chased that squirrel into the woods, never coming back. I was never able to find her again. My heart broke for months after that. And here was the opportunity to talk to her. Find out what happened. Find out if animals really love people. But I squandered it. Telling myself it could not possibly be real. I won't make that mistake again. I won't take the good things I have for granted.
At least until something else happens.. | 2017-03-31T15:14:43 | 2017-03-31T14:37:37 | 249 | 119 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Look man, I don't think you know what you're doing. There's gonna be some serious repercussions for this kind of shit," Tom said as he leaned back in his chair, glowering at a sweaty, porcine man across the table from him.
"I've got to fucking do it, Tom," Greg whimpered out, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly. He held out a closed fist, opened it, and a handful of dice scattered across the table. It was almost like a movie, eyes all fixated on the d20 as it clattered to a stop. A natural 20. The crowd went wild and Tom launched out of his chair, hands pressed to his temples in a gesture of supreme existential horror. Once the din of the table died down, Tom finally unfroze from his statuesque position and slumped back into his chair.
"... No." Greg's face scrunched up into a pout.
"C'mon man, it was a natural 20! I seduced the Lich!"
"No, dude. I'm sick of you constantly fucking up my plans with your bullshit amazing luck. I would rather DIE than see you do what you're doing."
Just as Greg was about to retort, a crack of lightning shook the room around them and Tom exploded in a gout of black smoke. As the rest of the table did a quick check of the contents of their britches, Greg stammered out the one thing he could think to say: "Did he just straight up fucking explode?!"
Unfortunately for Tom, he did not in fact "straight up fucking explode." The next thing he knew, he was falling flat on his ass against a hard stone floor. If Tom, let alone any human being ever, had actually been subject to a demon summoning ritual as he just had, he would know the typical signs and symptoms: candles, maybe a candelabra if his host was fancy, salt circles, and some adorable little munchkin-type people in robes who had just summoned a hellbeast of unimaginable power. As one could expect, Tom was reasonably alarmed and upset. He scrambled back against the wall, knocking over many a tiny chair and smashing a table or two with accidental ease.
"What the fuck just happened?!" The summoners, witnessing the wrath of a dark lord, began to scream. Only one of them did not panic. The short little wrinkled creature gazed solemnly upon him, an open book cradled in one hand. Tom's mouth went slack and eyes wide when he truly perceived the creature's face.
"Oh my god... you've got an adorable little pug face!" he practically squealed. While Tom immediately regretted his reaction, it was no less true. Every single one of them was an adorable little bipedal pug person. In a little hooded robe. One of them even has a cute little walking stick!
"Thomas Kinsey!" the tiny creature belted out in a somewhat squeaky voice, pointing at a bewildered Tom. "By your true name, I bind you to my will!"
"I... I'm sorry, what?" Tom inquired, squinting incredulously. "Bind me? Like I'm some kind of demon or something?" All those years of D&D were finally paying dividends. This seemed to throw the wee sage off balance, now wide-eyed and flipping through the book as quickly as he could, one of his compatriots clinging to his arm and babbling nigh incomprehensibly.
"I told you we shouldn't have mettled with the dark arts! He's going to fry us in sulfur pits and strip the meat from our bones!" Tom couldn't help but look fairly disgusted.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you on about? I don't even know why I'm here. Or where here even is. Who ARE you?"
The leader of this ragamuffin group stepped forward, looking wary but less terrified of their guest at this point.
"I am Gynklef, my Lord," he said with a proper bow. "We have summoned you here to strike a dark bargain, if you would hear our terms." Tom, once again, glanced at the figure incredulously. This has got to be a dream. Or a stroke. It can't be reality, at the very least.
"... oooookay. Uh... what are your terms?" He crossed his arms over his chest, still fairly unsure of what was actually happening. Maybe he was dead and this was some crazy little fantasy in his head as the last of his neurons sputtered out. An aneurysm would make sense.
"We bring you precious stones and gems to curry favor, in hopes that you will help my people overthrow the cruel oppressors that so long ago usurped the throne from my father's father..." With a gesture, one of the other pug-monks pushed a battered chest up to the periphery of the circle and opened it, revealing a pile of gold nuggets and raw, uncut gems.
"We know your kind has a penchant for that which shines and lies within the earth. It is yours, if you will help us." Tom stood agog, staring at the chest. He'd be set for life if he could take that back with him. There was an emerald as big as his fist just sitting there! He shook himself from his stupor and sighed.
"I mean... what can I do? I'm just one guy," he muttered, scuffing the heel of a shoe against the grimy stone floor.
"Perhaps... but one of your kind is required to operate... THE ARTIFACT." Hushed whispers among the congregation could be heard. Tom arched a single brow.
"The artifact? What is it?"
"An item of incredible power... it has brought down kingdoms before, broken the wills of those who would seek to stand against it, and brought terror to those who even hear its name." The tiny figure gestured to one of his compatriots.
"Bring it here, quickly!"
After a lengthy pause, the sound of wagon wheels could be heard against the floor, and through the door entered what almost appeared to be an upright and ornately decorated coffin on wheels. Grynklef drew an ancient looking key, inset with bone, and released the locks.
"Behold! Terrorscream, Render of Kingdoms!" he bellowed (as well as someone with his lung capacity could) as he flung the door open, revealing...
"... a fucking vacuum," Tom stated flatly. Grynklef nodded solemnly.
"It is a weapon we do not use lightly, but... times are desperate. More of my people die by the day." Tom nodded solemnly for a moment, and stepped from the circle, brushing a hand across the handle of this vacuum that looked like it belonged in the Warhammer universe.
"Okay, little dog dudes... let's topple a kingdom." | *The Therapist*
"Shit." I looked around, realizing I had just been summoned, again. How many times was this going to happen? Here I was, just enjoying my day, about to have sex with my girlfriend and this happens. Why can't I just stay on Earth? They always ask me to do stupid things I can't do anyway.
"Can you force her to love me." A young man looks up from his sitting position, with his soft whisper.
"Man, I can tell you one thing... if you want to force her, you have other problems." What I wouldn't give to be home right now with someone that *did* love me.
The young man outside the circle looked distraught. If I'm being honest, I felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault that the girl he chose to love didn't love him back. I heard a sob.
"Okay, so what's going on, man?" I sit down in the circle and prepare for a long-ass story where I end up being the therapist again. Y'know, being in their version of hell really makes you go through shit and end up stronger. Sometimes I think they should visit Earth. If only I could summon them.
The young man huffs. His breaths are jagged as he recovers from his tears. "You aren't like any other demon I've summoned before."
"Yeah well, you're not like any sorcerer that I've been ordered around by before." I pause, trying to figure out how to get him smiling again. Forget it, I'll just be honest. "The rest were just fuckers. At least you have something I can help you with. No world domination shit, okay?"
"I just needed someone to talk to."
I meant to suppress my guffaw. Unfortunately, when you're from hell you aren't the most tactful in tense situations. "Let me summarize: you are one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, which I gathered from the fact you *summoned* a fucking being from an alternate universe, a girl won't love you, and you summoned me so that we could have a chipper chat? HA. Are you serious? Don't you have friends?"
"That's the beauty of being one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world," he bitterly replied, "unless you have family, no one wants you."
"Oh shut it with your pity party shit." If I was here, I was not wasting this time listening to him blather on and on without solving the god forsaken problem. Heh. I am technically forsaken from God, get it?
"Fine. What would you rather I talk about?"
"Maybe how no demon has talked to you like this before?" he stared at me blankly. Well, I guess he doesn't have a commanding presence, usually we're pretty docile because we have no choice. "Okay... how about the woman you mentioned."
"Oh, she's perfect," his eyes started to glaze over in a fucking daydream. Really, this was what he was like? No wonder she didn't want to be with him.
"So what happened?"
He adjusted to be comfortable, then he looked up at me and asked, "Do you want a cup of water or something?" If he wasn't so pathetic, I would cry at his kind gesture. These beings were too power hungry to ever consider if I was actually hungry.
"No, but thank you," ew, I could feel my heart softening towards this guy. By the end we might have a serious bro-mance going. Ugh, that would mean he'd summon me whenever he needed something. Shit he needed friends.
"O-okay. Well, you're certainly far different than any other demon I've summoned before. They usually have magical powers like I do."
"Yeah, well you called the wrong universe this time." I needed to get back on subject, I had other things to do today. "Who is this girl?"
"She's my best friend." ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU WANT TO HAVE A FRIEND ZONE CONVERSATION? Fuck me.
"Mmmmhmmm," I read somewhere that minimal attending skills were the best when you had to listen to someone. Honestly, I feel for this guy, I've been there, so I could try to have this conversation.
"Everyone loves her. When she walks into a room, there is always someone she knows, someone who wants to be near her. She's a magnet." He locked eyes with me as his eyes started to tear up, "For some reason she chose to befriend *me*. I'm the freak magician in the corner who is too shy and too feared for anyone to approach. I am a social pariah."
"What makes you think she doesn't love you then?" I really have been here. I mean, usually I don't socialize because I'm awkward and I play a lot of video games, but he wanted the girl who was the belle of the ball. By some miracle I currently had her... I mean, a version of her in hell.
"She talks to all these guys, she's always flirting and going on dates. She never gives me a second thought when she talks to me about them." He was still sitting on the floor and holding his legs.
"Have you talked to her?" It was obvious this guy didn't know how to talk about his feelings. Gotta love masculine expectations, they seem to be the same wherever I am summoned. Fucks the poor guys up. No wonder they all want to control a demon. Still doesn't excuse this shit though.
"I mentioned that I can't really help her with her guy problems." She sometimes gets frustrated with me then doesn't talk to me for a few days when that happens.
"... But have you asked her on a date?"
"No..."
"WHY THE HELL NOT? If you are going to summon a demon, who could be potentially dangerous, don't you think it should be your final resort?"
"I am your master and you are berating me!" The girl is definitely a touchy subject. At least the yelling made this interesting, so I continued.
"As soon as I leave I HAVE no fucking master. You know what's so funny? You want to make this WOMAN your slave. That's what you told me as soon as I arrived. Taking away her choice, just like you took away mine, I guess that sounds a lot like love in this world." Oops, might have stepped on a few nerves.
The sorcerer just stood there and said nothing. He bowed his head. "You're right. If I could force her to love me, I would do it. It would be for her own good too. I'd take care of her every wish or desire."
"Except one -- her freedom. That's the most important one for a relationship. Otherwise you'd only have a hollow semblance of one." I really did feel for this guy, but I've never wanted to control the girl. At the time, I just wished the girls on Earth had liked me.
"I'd rather have that than not have her at all." He stood up in defiance.
"Well, I still can't help you with that." I looked at his determined and slightly terrifying face. I take it back, he could command a demon, there was sheer power there.
"Then you're useless."
"Or maybe you're useless."
"What did you say?"
"You heard me. I thought you weren't like those other sorcerers, and I was right. You're worse."
"You're just a shit demon who has to be a slave for all eternity, it doesn't matter what you think."
I couldn't keep myself from saying it, "I guess that's why you have no friends and no lover."
He stormed out and I sat there until a candle burned all of it's wick. Finally the circle was broken and I could go home. I saw the sorcerer run into the room as I prepared to leave.
"Go to therapy, man. Only dicks don't get the girl." Then I vanished, back into the puff of smoke and back in my bed with my girlfriend.
"Good morning, love. Who did you have to talk to this time?" She yawned and wrapped her arm around me.
"Myself. In an alternate universe." She sat up and looked at me intently, I noticed she only had her t-shirt on. This was the universe I wanted to be in.
"Are you okay?" She reached for my hair as she searched my eyes.
"I am now." My cheeky grin made her smile. I felt sorry for that guy and I hoped he'd change for the better like I did. As my girlfriend started to get out of bed I pulled her back. "Where do you think you're going?"
She laughed. I definitely hoped this guy would learn his lesson and experience this kind of satisfaction. For my sake. | 2017-05-12T13:13:55 | 2017-05-12T12:28:14 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | I swear this happened exactly as I'm saying, but there's no way I'll put my name on it. They'd lock me in the looney bin forever.
I was just sitting on the sofa, watching TV, and then I was sitting in a room with no chair and fell on my butt. My back was against something - well, not something, more nothing, but nothing that felt like something. Like a forcefield I guess. There were markings on the floor that lined up, and some candles nearby.
And there was some sort of odd alien looking up from a book and saying "Ah, and now you are summoned! I have bound you to my will!" So I said "What for?"
He, I guess it was a he, said "To exact revenge on my enemies!" He shuffled through some pictures and showed me one. "Kill him!" I said "Murder is immoral, I don't know who that is, I seem to be stuck in a forcefield, and I wouldn't know how to kill one of you guys anyway. Do you even have hearts?"
The alien seemed confused for a moment. "You can't smite my enemies?" I said "I don't even know what 'smite' means, but it sounds kind of rude. Speaking of which, why am I stuck in this forcefield? That seems rude too."
Now he was angry. "What kind of demon are you?! I summoned a demon from Hell, I want some action! Grant me wealth, or power, or something! I command you! You will help me commit murder!"
I just shrugged. "Dude, I work part time at a Tim Horton's. Does that sound to you like someone with wealth and power?"
He looked even more confused. "The devil's name is Tim Horton?"
I said "Somehow I don't think so. I'm not even sure Tim Horton is a real person; maybe it's like Aunt Jemima."
"Demons have aunts?"
"Why do you keep saying I'm a demon?"
"Because I used a demon summoning spell! Don't you come from a place of misery ruled by an evil being?"
"Well, that's maybe overstating it a little, but I guess you're not too far off."
"So you should have some kind of special powers that don't exist on my world!"
"Well, okay, but I don't know what powers exist on your world, so how am I supposed to know what's considered special?"
"Don't you know anything?!"
"I know lots of stuff. I just don't know anything about you. What makes you think you're important enough that I should care about you at all?"
"Because I summoned you!"
"Well, actually, you did do that. I suppose that connects us somehow. I guess I could give you some sort of powers; can you guys do math?"
"Of course we can do math! I don't what math power!"
"Hmm. How about juggling? Do you know how to juggle?"
"No, but I don't want that. I want something that will let me wreak vengeance on those who have wronged me!"
"How about flying? Can you fly?"
"Fly? Flying?! Yes, that one. If I could fly, I do all kinds of things!"
"Well, okay, let's do that. I'll focus on you, and you go open the window."
He walked over to the window, and turned a crank to open it up. "Okay," he said, "I've got it open. Now what?"
I said, "Stand on the ledge, and picture yourself flying, and jump into the air."
He did. And did not so much fly as plummet.
A few hours later, some sort of uniformed people came into the room. One screamed. A guy (I guess it was a guy) who looked like a cleric looked at me and said "This demon drove him to jump to his death!" I said "He said he wanted to murder people. He demanded I help him commit a murder. There was only one person here I had the power to kill, and I was required to obey."
The cleric said "Back to Hell with you!" and blew out the candles. Which was fine with me. At least here we have Tim Horton's.
| He stood there, holding an odd looking book, a smug look on his face, almost as if he expected something from me. I'm sure my confusion showed on my face, but he started babbling at me in some vaguely Latinesque sounding mish-mash.
I shrugged my indifference, and said, "Sorry man, I don't speak whatever language you're speaking. Do you happen to speak English." I wasn't particularly hopeful--he looked pretty foreign. I mean it wasn't *just* the pale lavender hair and bright violet eyes. Those were clues, but the extra arms were what really sold it for me. Well that and the angelic-looking wings made of light.
I mean sure, when you wake up, you *don't* really expect to be walking along then suddenly *bam!* you're in some LSD-fueled art-deco room full of arcane symbols and about a million candles. So this was all coming at me pretty cold. But this guy stopped mid sentence, frowned at me, and then right back at it.
"No really, I can't understand a word of tha---whoa!" I felt a sudden compulsion to obey the guy's commands--which might have been okay, if I'd had any idea what he actually wanted. It felt like someone sticking a needle in your arm and promising to take it away if you made them a sandwich. Painful, but also just *weird*.
It was at this point that I also noticed the headache. It was one of those that started behind the eyes, then climbed up inside your brain and started threatening to really wreck the place. Not *quite* a migraine, but close-ish.
I started over. "Look, I don't want to be rude, and I'm sure I can help you, but I *really* would like a glass of water and maybe a few ibuprofen--if you have it."
He stopped his recitation from that book, the smug look slowly dropping from his face. Finally he spoke something non-scripted, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't much better. "Foul tempter, I won't listen to your requests! You are here to do *my* bidding, not the other way around. I'm prepared for your temptations, and I won't be swayed by them!"
He went back to chanting, and I sighed. As he chanted, my skin started prickling more and more, until it felt like a million angry ladybugs marching forcefully across my entire body. With cleats on. Finally I shouted. "Look! I don't know who you are, or what I'm doing here, but can you just explain it to me? I'm tired, this feels weird, and all I want is to go home. Can we make that happen? What would that take?"
He stopped the chanting, looking annoyed. He glanced at the book three or four times, then finally set it down. Very carefully.
"Demon of the Unholy Realms. I have summoned you here to do my bidding. To grant me power and knowledge beyond that of my enemies. Grant me this power, and I will return you to your Uncouth Hell."
"Do what now?" I've been called some names during my life--who hasn't?--but demon? That seemed extreme. And while New Jersey is a bit of a pit, I wouldn't really put it down as an 'Unholy Realm' or 'Uncouth Hell'.
Well...not most days. Okay, not *every* day. After all, some days I don't have to go outside. But it's hardly representative of the rest of the world, and it was pretty clear this guy wasn't operating on the same mental playing field as pretty much anyone I'd met before. Possibly not even the same mental planet.
He gave me a look that said that just maybe he was catching on to my utter confusion. That lasted long enough to make me even more uncomfortable. Finally he said, "Ah, this is pretty simple really. Standard contract, you know. I summon you, you grant me a portion of your power in return for your named price--often my soul, but negotiable--and then you return to the Unholy Realms whence all demons come. Simple, straight-forward. Except..." he paused to lick his lips, "Except you seem confused by all this, and I can't imagine why. I'm certain that I've done this correctly. The instruction were not difficult. So, demon, I ask you what are you playing at? What is your temptation for me?"
I frowned. Okay, so he recognized I was trying to show confusion, but thought it was fake. The Bastard. That's when I named him, in my head. Moving on. "First off," I started, possibly showing some anger, "I am not a demon. I am a human. I'm from New Jersey, not, as you say, the Unholy Realms, though I will acknowledge that Jersey ain't the sweetest place in the world. I would, however, gladly grant you any power you want if you'd send me home, but I *can't*. I don't *have* any!"
This didn't bring the reaction I anticipated. He *should* have either been more confused, angry, or possibly apologetic. Instead he smiled. What. The. Hell. "Yes! See a demon. A Jersey Devil even!! That's perfect. So we have an agreement? And I don't need to give you my soul? Deal! Repeat after me and we're done: Isnh'gh so'slsi Argat'angh."
I tried. I really did. But, alas, my mouth *isn't*, and never was, made to produce those sounds. I've probably misspelled whatever he said. But he beamed at me, picked up his book, read a long passage, making it sound like the trippiest possible version of a Gregorian Chant, and just like that, I was...home?
Yeah, home, but for some reason I can just barely make out horns on a lot people's skulls. Jersey devil indeed.
----------
^(more weird writing at /r/Epharia)
| 2017-05-12T12:27:31 | 2017-05-12T10:51:05 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot". | Ramsey took a seat on the scuffed wooden barstool and signaled the bartender.
"House whiskey, dry." he muttered and scratched through his thick beard to his cheek. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips dry.
Ramsey hated the fucking desert. But he was used to blindly following orders. In his line of work, you went where they told you to go and you didn't ask questions.
A smallish, rodent-looking man with a round face took the stool next to him. He was going bald on top, and had beady little eyes. He reminded Ramsey of a neighbor he had as a boy, an accountant.
As the bartender sat down Ramsey's shot of Jack, the small man said timidly:
"Cock suckin' cowboy."
"Come again?" Ramsey demanded, growing red in the face.
"2 parts butterscotch, 1 part Bailey's."
"Oh." the bartender said, frowning. "Right."
"Name's Jonas." the smaller man said, thrusting a hand towards the burly man, causing him to spill the whiskey he was attempting to drink down the front of his shirt.
Ramsey closed his eyes, sat the shot glass down, and turned to face Jonas.
"You gonna pay for that?" he asked, barely containing his contempt.
"Depends." Jonas said calmly as the bartender returned with his CSC. He sipped at it, then continued. "Where are you stationed?"
Ramsey considered the little man. "Pushkapoor. Just shot my target this last night, headed back West tonight."
"I just shot a guy this morning. Group of guys, actually. Great start to the day." Jonas signaled the bartender for another round.
"Funny, I wouldn't have taken you for the type." Ramsey said. "Would have thought you were an accountant."
"Oh yeah, I get that a lot. But I've shot lots of people over the years." Jonas said, and made a clicking noise with his tongue.
"What's you're record?" Ramsey asked. "I bet mine is higher."
"In one day?" Jonas paused, and considered. "Well, back in '09 I had twenty separate head shots. But I was much younger then."
"Twenty?!" Ramsey shouted. "No! I can barely get more than a dozen before the screaming starts and everyone's running around haphazardly."
"Here's the trick: you have to get as many shots off as you can before they realize what's happening. Catch them in a natural state."
The bartender slid them their shots. In unison, the men clinked their shot glasses together and downed them.
"What's your best shot?" Jonas asked, licking the remnants of his cock sucking cowboy from his lips. "The one you're most proud of?"
Ramsey chewed his lip, and sorted through a catalog of memories.
"Fallujah, '04. Shot a man and his wife outside of the U.S military base. They couldn't have been more than twenty yards away, but the shot was perfect. Crisp, clean. And the best part was, it sent a message."
"You... you're proud of that?" Jonas asked, bewildered.
"Well, yeah. It was a big deal. Everyone was talking about it for weeks. It really impacted Iraqi-American relations." Ramsey said defensively. "What's yours, Mr. Hot Shot?"
"It was actually a series of shots-"
"Oh, Panoramic?" Ramsey asked and knocked on the bar for more shots. "C'mon that doesn't count."
"Fine. The best shot was the very first one. I got a head shot on this Al Queda leader while he was taking a bite of an apple. No wind, lighting was perfect. It was the perfect shot. Got the apple, and the terrorist leader in the shot."
"That... that is quite impressive" Ramsey mused. "How far away were you?"
"About a mile and a half away. My longest shot to date. Oh, but you know with the improvements in technology it looks like they're standing right in front of you."
"I'd really like to see that. Do you have it on you?" Ramsey asked eagerly.
"Have what? The apple?" Jonas asked, startled.
"No," Ramsey laughed. "The picture!"
"Picture of what?" Jonas asked.
"The terrorist, with the apple." Ramsey explained slowly, like a teacher talking to a student.
"Well there wasn't much left of either of them after I took the shot." Jonas said, perplexed. "I damn sure didn't stop to take a picture."
"Wait, what? So you *didn't* take a picture?"
"What are you talking about? Do you take a picture of every terrorist *you* kill? I'm not scrap-booking, I'm killing bad guys."
"Wait, this whole time you were talking about *actually* shooting people?" Ramsey squeaked, his voice betraying him.
"What the fuck were you talking about?" Jonas asked. "You're not a sniper?"
"No." Ramsey shook his head in horror. "I'm a photographer." | ***Sniper:*** hey, how are you doing, pretty lady.
***Photographer:*** o-oh um, i'm fine.
"the photographer looks at the burly man, his body chiseled to perfection, dressed nicely, has the beard that no matter how much you'd scratch, it will still feel as smooth as silk... needless to say, her cheeks went completely reddened..."
***Sniper:*** so uh, can i get you a drink?
***Photographer:*** u-um, sure, i'll get a cosmopolitan~...
***Sniper:*** huh, i'll get a bloody mary then, Bartender.
***Photographer:*** h-hey um, i can't help but notice the camera you've got, i-it's looks quite unique.
***Sniper:*** ah, this thing?
"he hands her the camera, a Canon DSLR, built to withstand all kinds of harsh environments, and take the most crisp of shots."
***sniper:*** she's been with me through thick and thin, takin' shots, locating my targets and getting a good click on their faces... good times.
***Photographer:*** oh um, that's great, it does seem like you know a thing or two about the subject.
***Sniper:*** yeah, i know, it ain't exactly rocket science, but to get the right shot from miles away with all of the environmental hazards, the shaking, awkward positions, awkwardly placed bipod...
***Photographer:*** oh god i hate that too, either it's too blurry or i miss my target by a few inches.
***Sniper:*** exactly! no matter how stable it gets!
***Photographer:*** oh god, that is truly a pain.
***Sniper:*** try pulling all of your gear through water and mud, that's a pain.
***Photographer:*** oh christ, don't remind me... Shanghai was a pain when i had to go and take a few good headshots of some people there, they insisted on the scenery.
***Sniper:*** really!? oh shit i was in the Philippines, the trees were a pain in the ass, chopping with a machete was the only way to finish the job for me.
***Photographer:*** what about the lenses, they get dirt all the time!
***Sniper:*** that's another subject, till then, why not get some shots?
***Photographer:*** i'll have a shot or two, i quite like it.
"with that, the two order shots of Vodka and tequila"
***Sniper:*** so, lenses.
***Photographer:*** y-yeah! uh, the dirt locks up the adjustments and i'll have to go a little rough, which for me is a bit painful.
***Sniper:*** same here, had to change twice till i rested on one that stuck with me the most.
***Photographer:*** so, what was your first shot?
***Sniper:*** it was a compound of about a dozen targets, each one was uglier than the other, i had to take shots at every single one of the fuckers... but hey! the pay was great!
***Photographer:*** mine was a middle aged man, it wasn't an amazing pay, but it was fast, so i took the shot and went home with a good meal at least.
***Sniper:*** man, you really are fun, you know that?
***Photographer:*** why thank you~! so... how do you take *the perfect shot?*
***Sniper:*** simple... get yourself into a comfortable position, prepare the lens and check the angle, you don't want a bad shot, right?
***Photographer:*** right right!
***Sniper:*** once all the stars align, the target is within the crosshair, and you've calculated the shot... gently pull the trigger and bam, mission accomplished.
***Photographer:*** w-wow, that sounds so awesome...
***Sniper:*** what's your perfect shot?
***Photographer:*** have your setup on an area of good elevation, not too low so you have to account for angle, not too high so you'd have to sit yourself up and risk shaking the vision, once all of it is said and done, have a few good seconds of breathing and brace yourself for the shot...
***Sniper:*** **-Sip-** uhuh?
***Photographer:*** then click, there it goes, and in your words... mission accomplished~.
***Sniper:*** damn, that is amazing... so uh, what's the highest caliber you've shot.
***Photographer:*** oh uh a few good models, they were from serb-
***Sniper:*** no, wait, what?
***Photographer:*** these harlots that were so freaking bitchy about everything... eventually i had to put them down for good because they annoyed me.
***Sniper:*** f-fuck, that's ice cold, lady... i like that, the ability to do what's right, even if it is wrong as fuck.
***Photographer:*** yeah, i had to do a few things i'm not proud of...
***Sniper:*** so, uh... yeah... same here.
***Photographer:*** oh, by the way, where do you work? i want to visit someday.
***Sniper:*** oh, that would be hard, i'm with the S.A.S, top notch shit, they won't let anyone from outside come near the doors by an inch.
***Photographer:*** oh, wait... what is S.A.S?
***Sniper:*** Special Air Service?
***Photographer:*** w-w-wait... what?
***Sniper:*** i'm a designated marksman and sniper, what about you? army?
***Photographer:*** n-n-n-no! ii'm a photographer! w-what!?
***Sniper:*** oh... *oh...* now i see that clearly...
***Photographer:*** s-so when you said you took sh-shots... you mean you've k-
***Sniper:*** each and every single one of the Militia members, that was a good day for me.
***Photographer:*** a-and Caliber?... l-like in guns?
***Sniper:*** mine was 50.Cal, and y-yeah... i kill people for living, the camera is to take photos for recon.
***Photographer:*** oh... *oh...* that makes so much sense...
"feeling he fucked up big time, like compromising a mission due to a shot that missed the target by a millimeter, he simply looks ahead and takes another sip of his drink... but after a while, she speaks up..."
***Photographer:*** hey, i'm Hannah Kingston, what's your name?
***Sniper:*** John McTavish, they call me Soap.
***Photographer:*** Soap?
***Sniper:*** long story, wanna leave this place and talk in a calmer area?
***Photographer:*** i'd love to, shall we leave then? | 2017-08-31T08:30:01 | 2017-08-31T06:35:04 | 2,832 | 497 |
[WP] Everyone's 2017 New Year's resolutions were legally binding. Government forces are preparing to arrest and punish those who failed starting tomorrow. | Donnie lives in a trailer, which has a rebel flag draped over it. He has a Swastika tattoo on his calf, the Star of David on his neck, the Latin Kings insignia on his thigh (even though he's white), a Bloods tattoo on his stomach, and a Crips tattoo on his chest. This was part of his flawed strategy to keep himself from being a target in prison. He also has a tattoo of Sonic the Hedgehog engaging in explicit sexual acts with Donkey Kong.
He's 22 years old, but he looks 45 and acts 16 because hard drugs are a hell of a drug. His favorite activities are fishing on crystal meth, chugging Steel Reserve beer on crystal meth, making Facebook posts about how his ex is a "2 dollar whore" on crystal meth, and smoking cigarettes (also while on crystal meth).
At the beginning of 2017, he promised his five children that he would go to jail no more than three times. Any more arrests would make the authorities put him in prison for the entirety of 2018.
He successfully abided by the law through the first week of January. He was very proud of himself. He decided he'd reward himself by drinking damn near his bodyweight in alcohol and then hitting the town (at three o'clock in the afternoon). He went on foot since he didn't want another DUI. He was having the time of his life being drunk as hell at the Dollar General. That was until he had to pee. He couldn't find a bathroom, so he dropped his pants and urinated on the children's coloring books. He was arrested about fifteen minutes later, before he even had a chance to put his pants back on. Oh well, he could still go to jail two more times this year. The resolution remained intact.
The next arrest was a huge curveball. He didn't expect that he'd be getting a *random* drug test from his probation officer. Donnie argued that the police weren't allowed to do drug tests without bringing it up ahead of time. He said it was in the one of the Amendments in the Constitution. His compelling argument didn't keep the bath salts from putting him in hot water.
It was okay though, because he had one more chance. That was until October. Donnie was under house arrest. He liked house arrest for the most part, because he could still have his dealers over. But he started to miss the outside world. The temptation became irresistible when his friend Jimmy told him about a KKK rally happening that night. All of Donnie's friends were going to be there - even Billy. Donnie decided that putting tape on his ankle monitor would somehow keep the police from knowing he was out of his house. He was wrong.
Fast forward to the night of December 31, 2017. He has managed to evade arrest for a record of two months. He's cut back to smoking meth only in the mornings, he makes every child support payment, and he hasn't driven drunk in over a year. Donnie felt invincible - not only because of his winning streak, but also because he had just gotten through watching a documentary on criminal masterminds the night before.
At 11:50 P.M., Donnie waltzed into a gas station wearing all camouflage so that he could go in unnoticed. He made his footsteps as quiet as possible, while maintaining a crouching stance. He then crawled because his knees started to hurt. He grabbed everything in sight - Gatorade, Miller Light, Snickers bars, gum, chips, and the newspaper. The heist went well until he was inches from the door. He rose from the floor and stood to find an officer staring deep into his eyes. Donnie became covered in sweat. The cop took him to the side and asked him to put his hands against the wall. Donnie begrudgingly complied. Donnie catches a glimpse of the digital clock through the window. Right as the first handcuff wrapped around his wrist, he caught it ticking to midnight. He had successfully gone a full year with only three arrests. He yelled out in triumph.
His excitement was short-lived, however, when he saw the time on the cop car's dashboard. Donnie broke his right to remain silent.
"Hey, ain't it supposed to be the new year?"
The cop looked back and said, "that clock in there is ten minutes ahead of time."
Donnie sighed and whispered "dammit" under his breath. | Well, here I am. Waiting on prison's door just because I had too much faith in myself.
I honestly thought it was the right thing.
I honestly thought it was a good moral decision.
**I was clearly wrong**.
-----
On my first day back to work from last Christmas, I happened upon a small animal. It seemed to be stuck in a drainage pipe on the corner of the road. I decided in myself that it would be worth seeing.
As I trotted over, I saw something on the beaver's chest that might have been what got it stuck in the first place. It looked silver, like a badge or something, and it was caught underneath.
I began to pull the animal out, but as I did so, it immediately jumped up in the air, above my head, and out in front of me.
I then saw what that silver thing was.
It was a police badge.
And he was after me.
"Miss, I have been sent by your county's police to inform you that you have ignored the charges that were claimed against you in July."
"Oh, yeah. I, uhh, planned to let them know about this, bu-"
"Please let me finish miss. In addition, my leadership in transportation enforcement tells me that you have been running EZ-Pass gates with no pass for the last 2 months."
"The thing was in my dad's car, because he told me not to drive that-"
"Miss, *please* let me finish. I am here to safely direct you to your county office, *immediately*, and resolve this. If you would not like me to safely resolve this, I may resort to other methods."
"No, thanks, go ahead."
"May I join you in your vehicle?"
------
Ah, yes, the old "helpless little animal" bit. Why is it that the worst people are the only ones who care to come for me? Do they feel like they have something to prove?
I can just as easily reinsert myself into that grate once somebody drives off, so there's no reason I need to hide from people other than my case.
I never understood it, but it works I guess.
Oh, where are my manners? Officer T.B. Wilkinson. Beaver and Special Forces agent. At your service.
The main reason that I stuck around here isn't because nobody else could take me. Granted, that's probably true, but one could also argue that my talents force me here, which also isn't true.
I stay because this staff needs me. They need someone different. They need someone to go after the avoidant. They need someone to go after those who turn away at the sign of an officer.
They need defense against sovereign citizens.
My job is to be both the good and bad cop. I'm sent out to relate, communicate, and protect in any way possible. The leaders feel that having someone who doesn't don a uniform keeps people from resorting to the usual methods of defense.
Why that had to be a beaver who was trapped in a sewer at age 16 and learned English and police tactics out of boredom, I don't know.
-----
The creature sat himself in my passenger seat and made himself comfortable. As we began to drive (slowly, because I wouldn't dare touch the speed limit with this thing at my every move), he began to speak again.
"Now, the county realizes what you've done, as do I, and hopefully as do you. We know that giving you a court case won't do you much other than get us the money we needed. So, I'm going to do something else first.
It's the beginning of the year, right? And I'm feeling pretty generous with people making really good resolutions and such.
Tell you what. I'll get to the bosses and get you out of today."
When I heard that, I was relieved. I could actually get to work on time and not have to worry about this nons-
"...**if** you resolve to stay within the laws this year."
"Umm...okay?"
"Honestly and truthfully, in front of my staff, who knows you very well, I hear."
Well, it's something I guess. I nod, and pull into the police department building.
-----
"Hey TB! You have her?"
"Yeah I do doc, but hold on a sec."
I walked back into my office and asked to see the boss. He was fairly close by, and came quickly.
"What's up?"
"So you know the girl you wanted me to pull the fine out of?"
"Yeah, she better be here."
"Well, I was thinking of doing the whole 'resolution' thing with her so we can get her out first. She seems impatient."
My boss seemed to let me go through with this bit every year, because it was surprisingly effective. New Year's resolutions mean a lot more when they come from your police instead of your own flawed brain. As expected, he was fine with it, so I brought her in. The boss called everyone into the meeting room, and told me to set the stand up.
------
The beaver and who I assume to be his boss brought me into this side room, and I took one look in there and got worried.
There was cousin Ron, who knew about everything I did at home and who would be more than happy to watch over me.
There was Mitchell, the guy I drove away from after some douche got me into an accident. I didn't care about the car then, I just wanted to get out of there!
And, of course, there was Melinda, the woman who sat at that toll booth every day watching me whizz by the lines without that pass.
The boss told me to stand in front of the group and repeat after him.
"I pledge..."
"I pledge..."
"...to do everything in my power..."
"...to do everything in m-my power..."
"...to uphold the law...
"...t-to upload the law-uh....to uphold the law..."
"...and be a force for justice."
"...and be a force of-for justice."
The group stood and applauded, and I was dismissed. I guess my work was cut out for me.
As I walked out of the meeting, I could hear the boss telling the creature, "Good call TB. She would never have turned it in."
Well, glad they believe in me.
-------
faturl.com/smoov22
I tried to set myself up to keep going, so I'll try to get out a part 2. | 2017-12-31T08:58:01 | 2017-12-31T04:47:16 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] Turns out Humans are tiny compared to any other species of aliens, allowing them to live off in the nooks and crannies of alien spaceships. Colonies can live on ships for generations unseen and unknown, or have a mutually beneficial relationship with a crew. | "Quit doing that."
"Quit doing what?"
"Messing with the nats. Don't do that."
"Why do you care what I do to the nats? Are you not at least curious how they got here?"
"You know what happened on Breacher L13 and it is not my place to know or care for that matter. The officers know and the little ones serve their purpose or they would have been removed."
"They just showed up one day. You’re not at least curious how they managed to build entire colonies before anyone realized we had an infestation. They're everywhere I found some in the kitchen on the 4th engineering deck. That is just disgusting someone could have accidentally eaten one. They were really close to the food."
"Look man just leave them alone. It's something about how short their life spans are or something. It's weird. One of the engineers tried to describe it to me when he was drunk. Exactly how an infestation managed to take down a Breacher. Just don't mess with them. They could have diseases or something."
"All I ever hear about is the Breacher this the Breacher that. I refuse to believe a colony of pests took down such a large mining vessel. The military is just covering something up with those rumors. They could have done a better job on the story since we continue to let the nats stay on the ships."
"Look man you can't get rid of them once your ship is infested. They multiply to fast. The only way even attempt to get rid of them is to dock your ship and open all the locks and sometimes that does not even work. It's like some of them don't need to breath. And, you know full well they lost control of that Breacher only after the crew started trying to clean out the nats. Other boats had problems with life support systems after attempting to get rid of them. It's just bad luck to mess with the nats. Plus when is the last time you had to do a sweep for slugs.”
"Not since we noticed the nats."
"That’s right. The nats will hunt down anything that is 10x their size are smaller. It's great! Would you rather deal with slugs or nat colonies?"
"Nat colonies I guess"
"Great. So, please leave the nats alone."
"C'mon man you can't tell me you’re this superstitious of the nats."
"Just leave them alone. C'mon we need to get back."
| Turns out that humans are tinier than a dust particle floating in an unknown corner of space. That was until they started floating toward other parts of the universe. I have to hand it to them, they had come a long way given their size against other beings in the stars. Especially the young human named, Shawn Willard. He was even hard to see under a microscope.
Dra’aem was another young being, but unlike the humans, he was normal sized. Dra’aem took interest in Shawn after discovering him wandering around the control panel of his father’s ship. Shawn took interest in Dra’aem because of his own curiosity towards another race.
“Shawn? You in here?” Dra’aem spun around in the control panel. “Pssst.” He hissed. “Where are you?!”
Shawn finally crawled up from the hole beneath the side of the panel. It took him a few seconds to get over one of the giant buttons positioned in the flight controls.
“Dra’aem!” Shawn cupped his hands together.
Dra’aem saw Shawn sitting atop the button. Shawn kept looking over his shoulder, the other humans banned any interaction with the aliens.
“Shawn, we don’t have much time!” Dra’aem leaned over worried.
“What is it?” Shawn stood up frightened.
Before Dra’aem was able to answer the iron blast door behind him opened. Snarling and yelling Shawn witnessed another race of aliens abducting Dra’aem. Shawn quickly reacted by ducking behind a red switch.
“Who was that boy talking to?” One of the other aliens growled. “Search the room!”
Shawn tip toed towards the hole leading back into his colony.
If the ship is taken over, it may put all of us in danger. Shawn thought to himself trying to avoid detection at all costs.
“There’s no one in here.” Another alien claimed. The alien barking orders grabbed the other by his throat before threatening,
“There better not be, or I’ll lock you up with them!”
Shawn noticed the alien stumble back. Towards the control panel. While he tried making a final run for the whole, he jumped onto what he thought was part of the control panel but instead it was the top of the alien’s utility belt.
“Oh, no.” Shawn shook his head. “I can make that jump.” He took a squat getting ready to leap back into the hole. “I can’t make that jump.” He leaned back grabbing onto the ledge of a pouch.
“Go and make sure the boy is locked up!” The alien in charge instructed the alien Shawn now found himself hiding on.
The alien went back into the ship they connected with. He went down to the cells holding all of the prisoners from the ship. Shawn bounced up and down with every step the alien made.
“My parents are going to kill me.” He shook his head. “That is if I ever see them again.”
The alien made sure all of the locks were held on each cell. Shawn quickly recognized Dra’aem leaned against the bars of his cell. Dra’aem’s face lifted when he caught a glimpse of Shawn moving around on the alien’s utility belt. Dra’aem quickly straightened his back before commenting,
“Do you always get bossed around like a sissy?” Dra’aem laughed. The alien slid in front of him hitting the bars with his fist.
“Shut up, or you’ll be tossed into space first!”
Dra’aem sat back down and lowered his head. “That was close,” he whispered.
“I told you to shut it!” The alien snarled back before moving onto the next cell.
Dra’aem opened his palm revealing Shawn attempting to regain his balance. “I made that jump.” Shawn gasped.
“Can you get us out of here?” Dra’aem asked.
Shawn shrugged his shoulders. “I can try. I can’t go back now.”
Dra’aem guided Shawn towards a space between the panels along the wall. Shawn pulled himself into the space.
“Wait till he’s asleep and get the key.” Dra’aem told him.
“How am I supposed to carry that thing?” Shawn crossed his arms. “That key is massive!”
“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. Just get the key as close to me as possible.”
Shawn scooted his way past the space. There was another hole inside the inner wall. He slowly stepped into a round tunnel only to find that he was not the only thing his size.
Shawn discovered he was not alone.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) | 2018-05-30T13:28:55 | 2018-05-30T11:11:03 | 230 | 95 |
[WP] Turns out Humans are tiny compared to any other species of aliens, allowing them to live off in the nooks and crannies of alien spaceships. Colonies can live on ships for generations unseen and unknown, or have a mutually beneficial relationship with a crew. | "Quit doing that."
"Quit doing what?"
"Messing with the nats. Don't do that."
"Why do you care what I do to the nats? Are you not at least curious how they got here?"
"You know what happened on Breacher L13 and it is not my place to know or care for that matter. The officers know and the little ones serve their purpose or they would have been removed."
"They just showed up one day. You’re not at least curious how they managed to build entire colonies before anyone realized we had an infestation. They're everywhere I found some in the kitchen on the 4th engineering deck. That is just disgusting someone could have accidentally eaten one. They were really close to the food."
"Look man just leave them alone. It's something about how short their life spans are or something. It's weird. One of the engineers tried to describe it to me when he was drunk. Exactly how an infestation managed to take down a Breacher. Just don't mess with them. They could have diseases or something."
"All I ever hear about is the Breacher this the Breacher that. I refuse to believe a colony of pests took down such a large mining vessel. The military is just covering something up with those rumors. They could have done a better job on the story since we continue to let the nats stay on the ships."
"Look man you can't get rid of them once your ship is infested. They multiply to fast. The only way even attempt to get rid of them is to dock your ship and open all the locks and sometimes that does not even work. It's like some of them don't need to breath. And, you know full well they lost control of that Breacher only after the crew started trying to clean out the nats. Other boats had problems with life support systems after attempting to get rid of them. It's just bad luck to mess with the nats. Plus when is the last time you had to do a sweep for slugs.”
"Not since we noticed the nats."
"That’s right. The nats will hunt down anything that is 10x their size are smaller. It's great! Would you rather deal with slugs or nat colonies?"
"Nat colonies I guess"
"Great. So, please leave the nats alone."
"C'mon man you can't tell me you’re this superstitious of the nats."
"Just leave them alone. C'mon we need to get back."
| Little green men. Who the fuck came up with that line? In the Fifties, people all over were using this to describe “aliens” It wasn’t until 2027 when there was true, recorded contact, that we realized all ET’s do not fit the same bill. The first contact we had was with those who call themselves Nordics, and yeah, those guys are all 3 meters tall \(9 ft.\), minimum. They reached us at the ISS, and docked in a timeframe that no human could rightfully do in one try. More humanoid in appearance than could be ignored, many of us on the crew wondered if we were staring at our ancestors. Possibly even our creators.
We didn’t get too much time to dwell, because within just a few days of meeting the Nordics, we were escorted to some sort of intergalactic federation. Federation of United Galaxies. Although I couldn't read the words, we were told it meant The Federation of United Galaxies. Being a crew of many nationalities, it was easier to just call it FUG. That was our first glimpse into an intergalactic powerhouse that had been in full operation since longer than our planet had been rotating around the sun.
I was staring at pretty much every known intelligent species since the Big Bang, and it didn’t take long for anyone to realize that we really had to crane our necks up to see anyone. Who knew that at 1.8 meters \(6 ft.\), I would be considered short?
Every being already knew what humans were, but none tried to actually reach out to us. I suppose this is similar to a human reaching out to invite a band of chimps into NATO. And so it was, we were never formally invited in, but allowed to sit in on certain FUG discussions for some time until we were more properly vetted.
As the ship’s captain and 2nd mechanic, I was more interested in seeing the other ships than I was in listening to some foreign ET discuss dumping rights on Jupiter, so I started to sneak out and just ogle the ships. One day, the others from the ISS saw me slip out, and they followed. We started to notice that no one really paid any attention to us, but I couldn’t tell if it was because we were new, foreign, or just so damn tiny.
It was early May, 2027, when the crew and I accidentally got involved with an operation. The 5 of us again slipped out of the conferences, and we walked on board a Prii destroyer, easily the biggest fucking piece of metal I have ever seen. I went to see Mt. Rushmore as a child back on Earth, and I’m pretty sure if this ship landed on those heads, they would be eclipsed. We were pretty deep in the ship when I heard the first alarm ring out. But by then it was already too late. The Prii were rushing onto the ship, and before the ramp drew to a close, I saw every other alien running to their ships.
No one saw us, no one asked why we were there. There were 5 human beings, but it might as well been 5 cockroaches. So, like roaches, we scurried to a small nook in the ship to avoid detection, and more importantly – avoid getting trampled.
We sat on that ship for what could only have been 2 hours, but then I could feel everything starting to slow down. There was a window, but it was about 3 stories over our head. Luckily, there were some grooves and notches in the wall, so we used them to pull ourselves up.
What I saw will haunt my remaining years. I saw Earth. Only, I saw it with about 8 dozen intergalactic war ships surrounding it. I wondered aloud what the hell was happening, and not too long after I got my answer. There was another fleet! Foreign even to the Prii and the others we had been spending time with. We were about to be in battle, and I was about as useless as dryer lint.
It has now been 31 days since the battle. The Prii could not win, and were forced to retreat while the opponent landed, and presumably conquered Earth. Now, we 5 humans stow away as the last free humans in existence. We mustn’t let that concern us. Or mission is now to colonize this ship, and bring it back to take back our home planet. Knowing this could take at least 2 more generations, will those who take back Earth even be human anymore? | 2018-05-30T13:28:55 | 2018-05-30T13:04:59 | 230 | 45 |
[WP] Your father suddenly says “It's the pigeons. Stop people feeding the pigeons. It's the only way we can end the simulation. Oh my god they are turning me off now. Stop the pigeons. Please." Then he suddenly collapses to the floor. | The last memory I have of my father is him frantically running into my room the day after my 12th birthday screaming “It’s the pigeons. Stop people from feeding the pigeons! It’s the only way we can end the simulation. Oh my god they are turning me off now! Stop the pigeons. Please!” Then he suddenly collapsed to the floor. He never got back up.
I didn’t find out until 50 years later, when my mother was on her deathbed, That my father knew he was having a heart attack, and according to my mother, also had an extremely sick sense of humor. In a series of journals my father had kept before he passed, was a detailed description of how funny he thought it would be to convince his child that pigeons were the center of some evil conspiracy right before he died, so that the possibility would exist that I would grow up to be so obsessed with pigeons, that it would border on the absurd. He also journaled that he hoped the possibility being a ghost or watching down from heaven was a possibility, so that he could witness the hilarity of his prank come to fruition.
I sat frozen in my pigeon suit as my mother pulled this lifelong veil from my eyes. The memories of the fights against the evil pigeon keepers throughout the years all for nothing? Years of trying to right the wrongs of the world as the “Pigeon Holer” just a delusion created by dying fathers twisted joke? I felt betrayal from my parents for keeping the truth from me. I felt shame and guilt for all the alkaseltzer tablets used at parks and all the innocent bystanders that witnessed not the freeing of the human consciousness from the grips of an evil empire, but only the ruining of a festival by a man dressed in a pigeon feather covered gray sweatsuit with underwear on the outside. I thought about all those wasted nights I had to spend away from my own family trying to save all of the other families from something that didn’t exist. Plays missed, science projects incomplete.
It took me years to process my new reality. And even longer to come to terms with what my fathers dying actions were. Now, in my 90s, I face my own mortality. And as I hang this pigeon suit in the hall closet and prepare to enter my grandsons room, I can say, Good Prank Dad. | ...
As his last breath rattled out from his chest, panicked eyes locked to the ceiling and his heart monitored flat-lined. His hand, in mine, went limp. I closed my eyes tightly, both to hold back the tears and to pause in frustration at what this disease had done to this man's mind.
I slowly shook my head to empty the thought. As I opened my eyes, my head was turned to the window. My gaze locked on a shape silhouetted in the morning sunlight. A bird? A pigeon. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly – whether it was the exhaustion from staying up all night with my ailing father, waiting for the inevitable end, or the pain, or the irony of his supposed final demon appearing at his deathbed… I did not know.
I noticed my other hand still held the plastic cup I had been holding to my father’s lips between raspy coughs. I had spilled the remaining water on the floor at some point in the last hour. Without thinking, I hurled it at the window to scare the bird off. I heard a “coo” and a flutter – but to my surprise it was not of a departing bird. Another had joined the sill. I release my father’s hand as the first nurse came rushing in, I could hear her begin her rehearsed condolences. They were not here to resuscitate my father, only to tidy up, remove him, and prep for the next poor soul. I waved her off as I took a step toward the window, frustration beginning to bubble in my stomach.
Flutter.
Another pigeon had come to the sill. *Mocking me.*
“Fuck off,” I mumbled. I could hear the nurse’s gasping surprise, no doubt assuming I directed the words at her, but I continued toward the window. Another pigeon had since joined. “what is this, a murder?” I laughed, or maybe cackled, as I stared daggers at these birds. “No, that’s crows.” I continued toward the window, waving my arms now.
I heard the nurse nervously, quietly call for some help. *Psh, what, for the birds?*
I reached the window, six, seven pigeons now craned their heads back at me. Beady little pupil’less eyes staring. Staring at me? No, my father…
“What in the fuck do you want!” I slammed my palms on the window. They stood still. “Are you brain dead? Get the fuck out of here!” I slammed again.
“Sir, let’s take a seat,” I felt hands on my shoulders.
“Are you mocking me?!” I grabbed the edge of the window slide and shook.
“Sir, nobody is mocking anybody, I know this is difficult,” He called to someone over his shoulder.
More pigeons.
Another set of hands grasped me, and pulled hard. I refused to let go of the window. As the pulling continued, my grip weakened, and I shut my eyes tights as tears pulled out. Finally, I felt something give – not my grip, but the window. Did I break the stop? Was it unlocked after all? All I knew is that it was open, and the pigeons flooded in.
I screamed, protecting my face as they swirled, lashing out as the dove. I felt arms hitting me, the others must be in a similar panic. Now they were grabbing me. I lurched toward the hospital bed, opening my eyes to see the pigeons light on my father’s body.
“GET OFF OF HIM!” I threw myself at his corpse, throwing my arms in every direction. “YOU BASTARDS, WHAT DID HE KNOW?!”
More hospital staff sprinted into the room.
…
“Who is causing all that ruckus in 113?” the receptionist asked, peeking down the hall toward the commotion.
A passing nurse, just getting off of her night shift replied, “Owen Prescott, the deceased’s son. His father’s death may have cracked him. Unless we are seeing some early schizo symptoms. Sad.”
["Either that or OP is a reposting hack.”](https://old.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/e5eokq/if_you_could_choose_what_would_be_your_last_words/f9jds1a/)
THE END
…
JK OP, but I had to! | 2019-12-03T07:54:18 | 2019-12-03T07:01:15 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] A man accosts you in the street, and he claims he is you from the future. “Whatever you do, DO NOT fall in love with that girl!” the man warns. Distracted by the crazy man, you turn the corner and bump into someone. Its the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. Your eyes meet and she smiles.
Credit to this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/greentext/comments/eyaquy/anon_spites_himself/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf | Michael watched himself, and his other self converse from across the street. Time travel once, and you do it again. Watching history through the lens of whatever bias the historians had was far inferior to watching it through the lens of a cafe's window, slow jazz music playing in the background.
It was never worth it to travel in time only once. It became a habit, an addiction that could run away with you faster than, well, time.
This time, however, his goal wasn't to dissuade his past self from falling in love with some random girl he was about to meet, but simply to watch it happen, if for no other reason than for amusement's sake.
He remembered the disguise he had put together, the fake beard and wild hair. He had taken inspiration from an old time travel movie, and the mad doctor therein. A little make-up and a white wig did wonders to transform a young man still in his thirties, to a sixty-something mad-man.
He watched his disguised self grab hold of his youngest self's shoulders, going on about this cryptical warning he had given himself. "Do not fall in love with that girl!"
The words were still clear on his mind, and he muttered them to himself again, sipping his tea.
Even from here, the waves of amusement that turned into concern, and then confusion, that crossed his past self's face were clear as day. The grimy window of the cafe did nothing to lessen the view of history unfolding.
The arms of the Mad Self were beaten away, and his past self took a step back, shaking his head.
"I remember telling myself that the guy was a lunatic, and an idiot," Michael said aloud with a wry smile. "My head was so full of internal ramblings, and half-thought threats that I didn't even pay attention when I continued on my way."
As he spoke, the past-Michael turned the corner, now ignoring the Mad-Michael. He had taken but two steps before a smaller shape collided with him, sending the both of them tumbling to the ground.
A scene of momentary confusion, and several profound apologies, followed. The one that past-michael had bumped into was a woman, deep brown eyes and long hair so dark it was nearly black. Her sheer beauty had struck him dump, so much so that he didn't rise before she offered him a hand to help him up.
From this distance he couldn't hear what they were saying, but the words were still crisp in his mind.
"And that is when I asked her for a cup of coffee, to repay her for the one I had just spilt."
Michael turned to look away from the window, to the person on the seat opposite his. Even twenty years later, her beauty had not lessened in the least.
"Some reverse psychology does wonders to help romance bloom. What do you say, Octavia?"
Octavia's eyes were still glued to the scene unfolding on the other side of the street, but slowly she tore her gaze away and let it fall on Michael, his subtle smile one that promised an 'I told you so'.
"When you told me you'd tell me why you fell for me, I wasn't expecting... this." She waved her hand towards the scene outside, still going on.
"I was a scatterbrained, clueless young man. I needed a little kick, and something like a mad doctor showing up to tell me not to fall in love with someone?" His smile widened. "Well it sparked my curiosity, and look what happened because of it."
Her gaze continued to linger on him, but soon her smile brightened, and the entire room with it too. "Inventing Time travel just to get a girl? You're a dork."
"Only for you." | It was a rather normal day- I was heading to my dead-end marketing job in the middle of the city. I had taken the train already and was just walking the last distance to the large office building that housed thousands of other workers like me. Just as I began to space out, I felt a hand grab my shoulder and drag me into an alleyway.
Just as I was about to gather my wits and cry for help like a normal person, a hand covered my mouth. A man- who, strangely enough, was exactly the height that I was- was looking at me wildly. There was a strange blue dust that covered his face. He wore a long brown coat that seemed to be a material similar to burlap. There was a slight gray to his hair with quite a few creases on his face.
“You aren’t going to believe me,” he whispered harshly, “but I’m you from the future.” That voice… I had heard that voice before. I was taken back to my home office, where I occasionally recorded videos for fun.
*Wait.*
There was a slight rasp to the voice, as if his throat was raw. I looked at his eyes and saw my own. *No. There’s no way. He’s insane, and just happens to be someone that looks like me. I walk this way every day. He probably is just getting a kick out of pulling a prank.*
“Whatever you do,” the man said, his voice shaking, “do *not* fall in love with that girl.” He lowered his face to the ground and shook his head slowly. “I don’t have time to explain. Just go, and be careful. And, whatever you do, *do not fall in love.*”
With that, the man turned and sprinted further into the spaces between the houses. I didn’t even try to stop him. I was so bewildered by the whole situation that my brain was at a loss as to what I should be doing.
My mind was on overdrive. I couldn’t understand anything that just happened, so I went on autopilot. I returned to my daily route to the office, though I wasn’t sure how much I could sell today considering I had lost all of the focus I could have had on marketing.
I turned the last corner on the way to the office blindly, and ran directly into someone. I recoiled and withdrew slightly, my introversion taking over. “I’m so sorry, I-” I looked at the person that I ran into and my tongue twisted itself into a knot. There was a woman who looked to be about my age, a few inches shorter than me with silky blonde hair that flowed perfectly down to her shoulders.. Her blue eyes could paralyze- I might as well have been turned to stone.
*The most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and I compare her to Medusa. Smooth.*
I don’t know what happened after that. There was a blur of movement, a blur of time, and I ended up with a piece of paper in my hand. It had a phone number, a location, and a time.
I had a coffee date.
I was late to work, but I didn’t care. I floated through the work day. I somehow forgot all about the crazy man from the alley. All I could see was the woman- Julie.
One coffee date turned into two, then three, then a fancy restaurant, a wedding ring, a set date, a house, kids. Years had passed and I was in absolute bliss. It was an endless honeymoon.
I had left the dead-end job and started my own business. It was in software, which was what I had always wanted to do. It paid for a nicer house than I ever thought I would deserve, a fancy lifestyle which I never wanted to give up.
Technology had massively improved up to that point. My company’s stocks were through the roof, and scientists were beginning to toy with the idea of time travel. I walked into the bathroom in my favorite robe- it was almost a suit, but it was a very nice brown material. It had started to fray, though, so it looked a little bit like it was made of a burlap sack. I laughed at what people must think. With that and my favorite pair of pants, which felt more like pajama bottoms than dress pants, I felt like a king. I cleared my throat, which was hurting slightly. *I’ll grab water after I get cleaned up.*
I stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. There was a slight gray to my hair now, with smile lines that framed my entire face. *I’m getting old, and I think I’m okay with it,* I thought with a smile. Just then, the lights dimmed and the room began to shake. There was a loud boom, and things began to collapse around me. I looked at my hands. There was a sky blue powder on them- Julie’s favorite makeup.
I looked in the mirror. I had an instant flashback to the alley.
I sprinted into the bedroom. “Julie?” I shouted. “Kids?”
The woman I loved stood before me, a black folder in her hand. Papers were sticking out of the side of it, and she had an apologetic look on her face. “I had to do it. I’m sorry,” she said.
*No.*
Just then, I felt a tugging at my head, and things began to spin around me. I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was in an alleyway, and it was as though nothing had happened. I looked at my arms. The powder was there, and I was still wearing my robe. There was a mob of people walking around to my right.
Then, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I got up and sprinted toward destiny.
===
Thanks for reading! I wrote this in about a half hour, and had a lot of fun with it. Constructive criticism is, of course, appreciated! | 2020-02-04T10:18:37 | 2020-02-04T08:33:54 | 163 | 37 |
[WP] You wake up on Sunday morning and head downstairs, still fairly groggy. You hear a woman scream and then “who are you?! Why are you in my house?!” You look around to see a woman and her 3 children having breakfast at your table. Before you can speak, you’re knocked out from behind. | I slowly open my eyelids, still heavy. It’s the morning.
I pull my body up, sitting atop my bed groggily, going about my morning routine of regaining a sense of my surroundings.
As I begin to stretch, I peer outside my window. I see a car parked outside my house.
“Neighbors throwing another fucking party. It’s the morning. Jesus,” I mutter to myself, too sleepy to consider any other possible situation.
As I come to the slow realization that it’s the day, the Saturday morning I had been waiting for, I start to feel somewhat elated. I’m going over to Jodie’s house today.
I pop out of bed. I don’t bother to get dressed. What’s wrong with a underwear-only breakfast every once in a while?
I walk out of my room, still slightly discombobulated but quickly shifting in emotion. I amble down the stairs, past my newly arranged picture frames which line the walls. I turn my head and smile as I look towards these photos. Collection of an assortment of photos I’ve taken throughout the past year. One at Kilauea in Hawaii. A few from my national parks trip to Zion, Bryce, Yellowstone, you name it.
I then hear a blood-curdling scream erupt from below me.
I almost fall down the few remaining steps as I jump in response to this ear-piercing roar.
“What the fu-” I mumble, regaining my balance.
“Who are you? Why are you in my house?!”
I scramble to the bottom of the stairs and turn towards where this voice is coming from.
I freeze in place.
I see a woman standing next to my stove with an apron tied around her. I see three children sitting around the table, eating eggs and toast. Breakfast.
“Hey what’s goi-”
*Clank*
The pain quickly shoots up from the back of my head. My body tenses up and begins to shiver rapidly in response.
I see the family react. The children sit up in their chairs, surprised. The mother is dashing towards me.
I hear the object fall to the ground behind me, as well as some shuffling. It rings in my ears.
Everything is loud.
The shivers slowly fade into light stinging. I see the scene in front of me steadily disappear from my vision.
Everything goes black.
Maybe I’ll wake up again. Restart the day from my bed. This was all a dream.
“Hello, Michael.”
Where am I?
“Hello, Michael.”
I look around. I’m confined in a seemingly endless white space. Floating.
“Hello, Michael.”
It’s a deep, booming, rather robotic sounding voice.
It’s all I can hear.
My head still hurts. It’s all I can feel.
“Hello, Michael.”
“Where am I?”
I muster a response.
“That is of no concern. Soon you will leave.”
“Who are you?”
“I am what you refer to as ‘God’”
I am less shocked than I would expect myself to be in a situation such as this.
“Why am I here.”
“A mistake.”
“What mistake?”
I am weirdly calm.
“A mistake in the system. It happens every now and then.”
“What was the mistake?”
“You were in the incorrect line.”
“Line?”
“Reality line.”
“What is a reality line?”
“The lines that construct reality.”
“You see Jason,” They continue.
“When creating the test of run 0-10-F9, we needed a practical system. One that would bring the best possible results.”
My calm state is retracting. I start to feel my heart pulsating.
“So, we devised reality lines, each line having a separate choice, thought, action, etc made by a person. As expected, some lines greatly differ from one another.”
It could be a dream. But it feels so real. More real than anything I’ve ever experienced, more real than real life.
I start to feel myself shivering again.
“What is 0-10-F9?” I ask, unprepared for the inevitable answer.
“It is our,”
*Thump thump*
“Simulation. We needed a method of finding out how to construct the best reality for ourselves.”
My body erupts in shivers the moment they finish that sentence.
I desperately want this all to be fake. I want to wake up tomorrow knowing it was a dream. I’ve never craved for anything more.
I can’t even process this information.
“My family.. Jodie.. Everyone in existence, does everyo-”
“Yes,” They cut me off.
“Don’t worry Michael. You will never remember this experience. It will almost be like it never happened,” They continue, rather easily.
How is it so easy?
A tear streams down my face. It is all my body can handle to create in its forcefully calm state.
“Goodbye Michael.”
​
I slowly open my eyelids, still heavy. It’s the morning. |
I woke up, and looked at the clock on the wall. It was getting close to eight thirty. I looked to my side, seeing that my lovely Yves wasn’t in bed. A little odd, but it was fine. A quick check revealed a note on our bedside cabinet.
*Hey, Nuke!*
*Holly was asking for extra muscle. You were asleep, so I decided to take the job on. If I’m not back by tonight, can you ring the sprog and see she’s ok?*
*Love,*
*Wifey*.
A few kisses were underneath it, making me smile. The job must not have been too difficult if Holly was going to allow Yves to go in, though why she needed backup was beyond me. Not that it mattered, I figured. She was always grabbing someone or another, and if it was important, Yves would have woken me up.
I yawned, and rubbed a hand down my face. I needed coffee. Not that it did me much good, but the placebo would be there if I didn’t think on it too hard.
Once out of bed, I put my jeans on and headed downstairs. I pondered on what I was going to do afterwards. Have a shower, obviously, and clean the bed sheets while I was at it-
A loud, obnoxious, morning-ruining shriek pierced my eardrums. My head snapped to the source, revealing a woman in an awful yellow dress clutching a small lad to her.
“Who are you!?” She screamed. “What are you doing in my house!? Harold! *Harold*!”
I opened my mouth, and my world went black.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself sat down, my body tied to the chair with a thick rope. A cursory glance told me I was in the cellar, a good portion of it having been renovated as a music room. I was in the middle facing the stairs to the kitchen.
“Now what have I got myself into *this* time?” I wondered aloud. Now that I was awake and cognizant, I was able to be properly irked at the turn of events. Chances were, this would be the last time I’d accept a house as payment, even if it was nice in all its rustic glory.
Before I had the chance to decide on my next move, I heard the door open. A man’s voice was talking to someone in hushed tones, likely telling them to stay back.
Being properly awake had its perks. I readied myself to deal with whatever the hell decided it would be a good idea to piss me off. Bite me once…
He thudded down the stone stairs, likely as an intimidation tactic. To be fair, he was big, broad shouldered and stocky, like an oversized dwarf. With his naked scalp, huge, fiery beard and tartan shirt, he looked a lot like a lumberjack.
“Awright, mate,” he drawled, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”
“Isn’t that my line?” I replied.
He stomped up to me and grabbed me by the neck. “Listen here you little *shit*, I’m not taking any lip from you. I want to know who the bloody hell you are and how the hell you got into my home, before I beat the ever loving shit outta ya, clear?!”
I smirked. I could see his soul, burning in his eyes. “You honestly believe you’re in control. That’s *adorable*.”
My head jerked sideways, the pain in my face dying faster than the one in his fist.
“I am.” He growled. “And you’re gonna answer my questions. Pronto.”
All he got for that was a low chuckle. I cast my eyes past him, focusing. The souls of his family lit up in my gaze. The whole lot of them were human.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
He punched me again. “I’m asking, not you!”
“And you think you’re the interrogator?” I said. “You’re in no position, big guy!”
“Says the twat tied up in the chair?”
“I’m as free as any man. Even when my body is tied.”
He finally released my throat, moving back, then pacing like a caged animal.
The door opened again. “Harold?”
He kept his eye on me. “Yes?”
“I found a mobile phone.” Her voice shook like a leaf. “I think it’s *his*. And a note.”
“A note?”
“A *note?!*”
He glared at me.
“As I said, you’re in no position.”
At his order, she crept down the stairs, as if going into a lion’s den and expecting to be pounced on. To her credit, it was an appropriate response. As soon as she could, she handed the offending items over and scurried back up. Harold took a look at the note first.
“Nuke?”
“Been to the Orkney Islands?”
“Born and bred.”
“Then you ought to be able to figure it out.” I said, grinning. “Now, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”
“And what makes *you* think I’m gonna do that?”
I tilted my head. “I don’t *think* you’re going to do it. I’m just stating a fact. Sky’s blue, water’s wet, that sort of shit. But whether you’ll do it of your own volition or mine… I wonder. How long would it be until you break?”
He marched up, raising his fist. At the edge of my mind’s eye, I saw another fist, fingers made of porcelain harder than even diamond or platinum. The unwitting buffoon threw another punch, phone in hand, and it collided with my companion’s. Idiot didn’t know what hit him, dropping my mobile and clutching his ruined hand as he swore and shouted.
“Ooh, *nasty*.” I smirked at the blood dripping from the limp pile of flesh. He saw this, and wound up another punch. Deciding to punish this one differently, I allowed him to follow through. This time, my companion, my Eidolon Step bound herself to me. He didn’t notice the porcelain mask before the entire row of fingers snapped.
“*Harold*!”
I supposed his helpless howling was bound to attract attention sooner or later. As she screamed at the horrific damage wrought to his appendages, I started my work. Letting a little of my energies leak out, I began rotting the rope. It soon collapsed, falling to the floor in a heap while Harold and Wife were busy panicking.
Of course, they began to panic more when I stood up.
​
“Right. We’re going to try again. From the top.” I grinned my evilest grin. “Who. Are. You?” | 2020-06-14T13:56:40 | 2020-06-14T13:53:54 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract. | The more I thought of what I did, the more I went crazy. Is this gonna work? Hope so, I lost my pizza to that bully in exchange for a paper where he would give me his soul.
When I got to that old crossroads, I got started drawing the summoning circle. According to the thing I found on the internet said that for summoning I needed basic ideas of what to summon, but the chant should be made by me, being careful at what I said. I got scared on the part that said that if summon a demon stronger than my summoning circle it would escape.
After I finished my circle with a bunch of safeguards, I started. After a while, a sulfur smell started to appear. Smoke emanated from the circle, yellow and menacing. About 5 minutes later it all ceased. A creature leaned, with a weirdly human appearance. It had a human body and wore a red robe with a goat skull with horns bigger than normal.
"What? My form? We are fallen angels, that egotistical entity created all in his appearance" he said, probably reading my mind. "So what can the great Asmodeus do for you? With a price of course." He said smiling. Did I summon a really big one? And he is not leaving the circle?
"Is-is this worth something?" I showed him the paper, and he picked a glass on his robe and started trying to read the paper.
"Can you please give it to me so I can read it better?" He said looking eager.
"No." I was afraid of him taking Kyle's soul and leaving without me getting something in return.
"I can't do anything without your permission. You rule the circle, how can you be so ignorant and summon one of the 7 kings?" He looked at me like I was stupid. After I didn't move, more due to the fear of crapping my pants than anything else, he grinned "Smart kid. I wouldn't be able to leave the circle but I would be able to collect the soul. I think that answers your question. You really got his soul for a pizza?"
"Yes, he was getting a scold for lighting a firecracker, got late for lunch and I offered him mine in exchange for his soul." I was kinda proud of my feat. He could've just beat me and get it but he signed anyway
"Well, bad for him I guess. But this would be worth nothing without a means to collect it. Now, what do you wish for?" He looked both amused and bored, so I decided to go for it
"I want to be able to use magic." I grabbed a notebook with the magic system I created.
"Ok. This will last seven years. If you want to keep using it, you will need another soul. I will search for you every 7 years to eternity, So if you don't want the powers anymore, I will just remove them, unless you gave me your soul. After I finish, you will say 'Lord Asmodeus, I set you free " He gave my notebook back, moved his hands, and moved his head to say it was done. I gave a snap as if I was using a lighter, and a small flame appeared on my thumb.
"Lord Asmodeus, you can go back to where you came from." While he disappeared in an ochre smoke, he grinned at me. Great, I have magic. Now what? | While waiting a dark and dingy lounge of the Demon Inc, I was thinking what my lawyer said "This might be valid contract that you own bully's soul, but whether you will be entitled to the benefits (tangible or intangible) coming out of deal with the demon is debatable. The law is not very clear on this. It might happen that Bully is actually true recipient of the benefits. Our legal system has always been scared of demons since they always bring bad luck, hence no concrete law has been made. It is generally left to the discretion of the demon to decide who is the real benefactor in such cases. However, the bully can always challenge you in the court and demons, historically, don't interfere because they feed on the agony and distress such court cases cause."
I was in deep thought on how will this meeting go? More important question was what should I ask for in return? I had some ideas but had to first gauge what CDO (Chief Deal Officer) of Demon Inc had in mind. What value did he see in the soul of a bully?
Suddenly, the announcement happened "token number 621, please proceed to the conference room 5". This was me. A chill went down my spine. I am only 12 years old and going to make my first ever deal that too with Demon Inc, the most notorious organization in the world. I was scared.
The conference room was dimly lit and on one end an old demon was sitting. He was just staring at me with a blank face. I just said hello and he directed me to sit on the chair across him.
He said "so young man, you are too young to forget the word of lord. Why so? Don't you have trust in your god or you are too young to understand his miraculous ways?"
I was not ready for this. I just wanted a simple trade which I was promised. I was not ready for a spiritual discussion. I said "I thought we were going to discuss what I will get in return for the soul. I already emailed the details and was told that this meeting is for negotiating final terms"
He laughed and said "Ofcourse young man. I was just trying to break the ice. I like how you want to get to the point so soon. Ok. So tell me what you want. You do know that I might allocate your wish to the true soul owner too, right? So don't be too greedy and be reasonable in your ask"
I nodded and felt uneasy at his mention of allocation of wish to the true owner. I was hoping that this point won't come during the discussion.
I cleared my thought and said "I want to be never bullied in my life. Nor me or any of my family members till eternity. I have had enough with my lunch money being taken away by these bullies. This needs to stop. So please grant me this wish and in return I offer you the soul of the worst bully I ever met in my life."
The CDO smiled at me and said "Don't you want to become bully too? I mean what's better than bullying the whole world?"
I got puzzled. I didn't think about this. But I also remembered that Demons play tricks. They trick you into bad things that can have adverse effect, so I said "No, after being at the receiving end of it, I have no intention of becoming a bully. I just want to be safe whole my life".
"Fair enough", the CDO got up and started walking in the room. He said "but you see this is not how things work. I am removing an obstacle from your life, in return I will have to add another obstacle in your life. Especially in your case, since I am not even getting your soul to torture or do whatever with it, it has to be a zero sum game. You understand that right?"
I nodded.
He continued, "this is precisely the reason that sometimes the benefits, in such kind of trade, are handed over to the true owner of the soul because that maintains the balance of the universe. So unless you opt for a sin or, to put it out mildly, agree for something bad to happen in your life, I can't agree to your demand."
I started thinking. What is not so important in life? Family, parents, friends, money, education, xbox, iPhone, health?
He figured that I was confused, so he said "You don't have to tell me right away. You can come back later and we can have one more meeting." But I didn't want to wait so I said "I want to be a bully. I don't want to lose anything in life. Fuck it. This is hard".
Before I could finish, I passed out on the floor and when I got up in the hospital few hours later, I had a signed agreement in my hand stating that "I, my family, and any of my offsprings will never be bullied till eternity. In return, I have agreed to become a bully for life. Since all the deals of Demon Inc are constitutionally required to have zero sum impact on the universe, my family and all my future offsprings will also be bullies."
I choked when I read that. I didn't agree to this. It was never disclosed to me. But it was too late. Demon Inc has not customer service and agreement can't be challenged in any court of law.
I was a bully now and we were a family of bullies. "Go fuck youself now!" | 2021-03-27T04:14:12 | 2021-03-27T01:43:59 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] For all your life you have been able to see someones’ age floating above their head. You’ve seen people who don’t look their age before, but you’ve never seen anything like this. Standing before you is a small boy and above their head is the number 13.8 billion. | By all rights it didn’t make sense. I’ve never seen a number like that before. Never. 13.8 *billion*. I look up at the kid. He looks back at me, quiet. His skin is pale, his brown hair neatly combed. His clothes are worn but pressed. He’s been quiet since he got here, picking at his clothing while waiting. I sigh, setting the paperwork down on my desk.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask him. Silently he nods, a swift chin dip. Mentally I wince. There had been two adults in his household. Next to him on the floor is a suitcase. The old kind made of worn leather. It’s in mint condition. The leather of the old traveling case has been cleaned with care and attention, polished until it shone like new. For a moment the morbid part of me wonders who packed it.
“Do you know *where* you are?” I try again. Birth certificate, I think belatedly, looking down at the file in front of me. It takes a few moments but I find it, just in time to hear his soft voice.
“No ma’am.” It’s said calmly, matter of fact. Again I look up to him. The kid carries himself with more purpose and maturity than nearly all the adult acquaintances I have. I glance at the date on the birth certificate, before comparing it to the number over his head. It sits there, like the numbers of a digital clock, block shaped and unforgiving. 13.8. Followed by the billion.
“Your file,” I tap the papers with a finger, “it says your name is William?”
“Bill,” he corrects me softly. “My,” he hesitates, taking a breath, “I go by Bill.”
“Bill,” I say gently, “Your birth parents passed away several years ago, correct?”
“Bad car accident,” Bill supplies. I nod in agreement. I’ve never seen a good accident involving the amount of empty liquor bottles found on the floor boards of a vehicle like the one that t boned bill’s-Billie’s?-parents.
“Bill,” I shift in my seat. “It was your parent’s decision to send you to your father’s parents.” I pause. “I understand you were the one who made the phone call after you found them?” My voice is gentle. And I try. I really do, but bureaucracy is a heartless bitch. Billie is quiet and he looks at the ground as he nods. His 8 year old frame looks so small in that chair. My gaze flicks to the number over his head then back at the birth certificate. I read it over again as Billie speaks, his voice steady but quiet.
“Grandpa was complaining that his chest hurt. Grandma didn’t take her medication. I found it on the bathroom counter. Sometimes she forgot,” Billie takes a breath. “Grandpa used to remind her but he went to bed early last night. He forgot to remind her.”
My heart breaks for Billie again as I reread the birth certificate. William Sean Howard. Born 2013, July 21. I look to the number over his head. 13.8. Billion. Years. Old. Billie lost his parents at the ripe age of 5 before he bounced from relative to relative before finally settling at his grandparents home. In his short 8 years of life Billie know more about living than most adults. He knew more about loss too.
*Old souls* my gran had called them. People wise beyond their years. Older than the dirt under their feet. I close the file. I would not be placing Billie back with former family members who had bounced him in the first place. No someone like Billie required more than that.
“There’s a place,” I say slowly. “That offers a home for,” I hesitate. The word “child” as I knew the word did not apply to the person before me. Instead I take a breath and try again. “It’s like a boarding school. Housing with dorm rooms, provided meals, school,” I pause. “It is a safe place. Well funded. I would check in with you bi-weekly. Unless you’d prefer to be placed-“
“No,” Billie cuts me off. “I like school,” he adds not looking at me. Wordlessly I nod. Even without his file, I know the kind of admission he’s making. I know why he’s making it too. There was a reason his parents had forgone his uncle as a potential caretaker. Everything about Bill’s case had been a clusterfuck in management since his parents passed.
“It isn’t always like this,” I say. “It does get easier. Eventually.” At that Billie looks up. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His bottom lip trembled at that but he pulls it into a frown and nods quickly, lowering his gaze to the floor. I make a mental note to include my contact information in his file along with being present for his transfer. It’s against protocol but I make the plan then and there to remain in contact with William Sean Howard. I also consider what kind of therapy might be best for him and how I can make that service available to him.
After our meeting, he follows a staff member to his temporary lodging, suitcase giant against his small frame. All the same he carries it without complaint. I can imagine the kind of character his grandparents must have instilled in him. Rising from my desk I walk to my office door watching Bill walk down the dingy hallway with its tacky yellowing carpet. That number 13.8 bobs in time to his stride. Slowly I let my gaze drift upwards as I look at my reflection in the glass.
478. Not in the billion neighborhood by a long shot. A traumatic car accident that dwindled my family to just myself and a permanent limp had culminated to that number. I’ve seen returning soldiers in the thousands before. They don’t call it the thousand yard gaze for nothing. I thought I knew what it felt like to be at the bottom looking up, peering for a glimmer of sky. To wonder where the light had gone and why I existed in perpetual darkness. I run my hand through my hair, letting my nails scratch my scalp, as I push the reminders of my grief aside. How much has that kid loved and lost? How much more would I have had to lose to get a number like his? I sink heavily into my desk chair. By all rights, it doesn’t make sense but then, nothing about loss ever does. |
Growing up as a kid, I liked reading the x-men comics a lot, because I felt that they were more realistic than others, you might think “a comic is a comic, they’re all fiction” and you wouldn’t be wrong to think that but the fact of the matter is some people do have special powers, how do I know this? Because I have one myself, honest to god.
If you’re inclined to believe me, you’d no doubt be wondering what power I got. Is it super speed, strength? Invisibility? Or the ability to fly? We’ll you would be wrong in thinking that , trust me I’m more disappointed than you. The special ability that I have had since birth was that I could see a person’s age floating above their heads. Now you know why I think the x-men comics are accurate, it’s because they show you that some people actually have useless powers.
Believe it or not it took me a long time to realise that I actually had this power because at first people just thought that I was real good at guessing a person’s age, until one particular awkward and confusing conversation which made me realise that not all people can see what I do.
Apart from being an ice breaker in conversations sometimes or a party trick my power really didn’t have any use, I mean how does knowing how old a person is help you in any meaningful way? Or so I thought.
It was just another regular day on the subway and as I was waiting for the train along with dozens of others I caught something out of the side of my eye. usually in crowded spaces the numbers slightly overlap in my vision so if you aren’t paying attention a few people’s numbers get mixed into one, happened a couple of times in the past and usually I just shift so that they don’t seem unintelligible anymore, not that it’s really a problem, but it’s just a habit, like blocking the sun from your eyes. The problem was no matter how i shifted my vision the number didn’t get corrected, I could see more than 10 digits in a single row.
Mildly annoyed I concentrated on the number and the person that had it and my jaw dropped and I felt a shiver run down my spine. It belonged to a young boy and the number started with a 13 and had almost 10 more digits to it, you might think that my vision was wonky or that I was looking at other people’s numbers or something like that, but you would be wrong, because even if my vision was glitchy the first number should not have been 13 because this boy couldn’t have been older than 9 by the most forgiving of estimations. That’s what sold me that my vision wasn’t messed up, because right in front of me, not more than ten feet away was a boy whose number was 13 billion. I triple checked , everyone else looked normal, I.e they looked their age, which I could see clearly but this prepubescent child alone had 13.8 billion and some change right on top of his head and what was worse, he was staring right at me.
My soul froze, my hands were clammy and my stomach dropped, his gaze was terrifying, he didn’t seem angry or even cold, it was just that he knew that I knew something and for the love of god i felt like I was burning, like I was dragged to the hell that this ancient demon crawled out of. It was a miracle that I didn’t evacuate anything from my system, and after what seemed to me like an eternity but was not more than two seconds he smiled and all that tension left me as if it never existed, it was a knowing smile, the sort you’d share with a friend when only you both know a funny secret, the kind where you and another random stranger witnessed an event and find a little joy in knowing its not just you who saw what happened. So abruptly and utterly disarming that I found myself smiling back, unable to break eye contact. In the back of my mind, such thoughts such as hypnosis and mind control existed, but were blown away as soon as they came because such eyes could not belong to something evil, surely.
Still maintaining eye contact he walked towards me, grabbed my hand and smilingly said “ how about we go outside and we get some nice ice cream, I’m sure you prefer something with more bite to it, but how would that look, I am after all still a child” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
I have no idea what I said back to him but i did exactly as he said, because how can you deny such innocent child, who could ever say anything contrary to what this being said, who would dare. In but a few moments I find myself with a big cup of ice cream in my hand, with all my favourite flavours and toppings, just like I used to have as a kid, but when I look around I’m not in an ice cream shop at all, I’m sitting on the edge of a roof top, with a tub in my hand with my legs swinging idly in the air, below which, i don’t seem to care is a twenty story drop. And beside me this angelic looking child with a choco-vanilla cone in his hand with his legs crossed, facing me. Still looking at me.
“I never realised a person like you could come to be, and that’s saying something” he said as he lightly laughed and turned around mimicking my posture.
As soon as he turned around, it all came crashing down, the dread that I felt, what I saw and how I have but a vague memory of what happened after he looked into my eyes. I could feel the hair on my body stand straight up, my tongue ran dry and the cold feeling at the back of my neck felt like i was looking death itself in the face. The realisations that i was quite literally not even a child to this being, of my own insignificance and worst of all the bliss and acceptance that I felt when this being was looking at me made my skin crawl, whatever it was that was sitting next to me, it was an ancient being that was older than the sun, let alone humanity and to it I was insignificant as a speck of dust.
After trying to wet my throat, I nervously managed to croak “wh- what are you?” I was about to ask him who, but then I realised how inconsequential the answer was. Throughout it all I managed to keep my eyes straight and not look at him.
“Haven’t you realised who I am already?” He asked, and even though I wasn’t looking at Him I could tell that He was smiling. “Who else could I be, than the one that you call God”. He said.
I turned to Him and I couldn’t stop the tears falling from my face and at that moment I knew that nothing else than this being mattered and that what he said was true and that meeting Him was my life’s purpose, and now it was fulfilled. I knew that with a word from this being, I would traverse the world to bring His word to the people and heal them all or I would burn it all to the ground and rejoice. For that is the joy, the bliss that one can find when standing in this beings presence. To not acknowledge the divinity of this being was a sin, to even think to be contrary to His will, was evil. He is the light and those who cannot see his presence are blind and unworthy of life itself. The mind bending hatred I felt at those who would not look upon his magnificence cannot be conceived by a mind that has not witnessed this divinity. The weak willed will go mad by gazing at even a glimpse of his magnificence, but those of us who are worthy, shall do the work of His, our creator.
“You know what to do now don’t you?” He asked his visage never changing from his perpetual smile.
I nodded as a smile graced my own face, only a fool wouldn’t know, in fact even a fool would I amended, as I stood up as I abided by his divine will,the meaning of life finally understood , the meaning of his smile grasped by my mere mortal self, I jumped.
For what does he need from me, but a leap of faith and as I looked above to glimpse at his visage one final time, I realised with shock that it had changed for the first time since I had seen him.
He was looking at me not with a smile anymore but with something that could only be described as the look on my face when I first saw him, a mixture of puzzlement and horror at what I had just done. It was at this moment that I realised, just before my vision went black, that I had messed up | 2021-06-15T23:16:15 | 2021-06-15T22:05:06 | 287 | 48 |
[WP] You are about to become a Supervillainess! Soon the world will pay and crumble in ruin! There's just uh...one problem. Your mother is a femme fatale. Your aunt is a femme fatale. Your grandmother is a femme fatale. Your SISTER is a femme fatale. You. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. A FEMME FATALE. | Nobody expects it to be you. They all look towards your mother, in the nice suit, with the commanding attitude and the heels to match, or your sister, with the stockings and the whip.
They would never suspect it to be the girl in the stained hoodie on her second cup of coffee ‘cause she stayed up too late last night. Nobody notices you when you grab a blanket to wrap yourself in as you boot up your machine.
Nobody notices when your anonymous and *very generous* donation to a certain election campaign gains you nuclear launch codes. Nobody pays attention when a person you despise (and that happens to be in the way) vanishes without a trace. Not a single soul notices *you* when a string of hitmen strike in just the right way at just the right time to bring a rival organization toppling down. They all assume it was your mother, or your sister. And you don’t care.
You get to wear hoodies, and drink coffee, and wear blankets, and snuggle with your favorite stuffed animal. You also get to be more powerful than anyone will ever know. And that? That is more satisfying than any amount of recognition. | I looked good enough to follow in the footsteps of my matrilineal line. I was hot, just like my mother, grandmother, and great grandmother before me.
And I certainly had the same penchant for evil my female forbears so infamously possessed. From the time I was a little girl, I liked having power. I liked being in control. And more than that, from a very young age, I was titillated by small acts of sadism. Meanness was magnificent, as far as I could tell. Bullying was bliss.
My mother watched me with high hopes. Another budding femme fatal in the family. Another villainous seductress on the rise.
"Soon you'll be donning the poisonous lipstick that seals a man's fate with a single kiss," she effused, tucking my girlish blonde locks behind my ear. "Soon you'll be wearing cute little handbags in which you can store your torture tools. Soon you'll be just like mommy, and auntie, and granny were at your age. The bright and beautiful flower, as well as the serpent hiding beneath."
But that wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't who I felt destined to be. I wanted to be the naked viper, uncovered by lilies and roses. I wanted to be the cackling hunchbacked witch without the beautifying ointments and spells. I didn't want to lure in my prey with shows of sexuality and innocence, only strike when their guards were down. I wanted to repulse my foes from the start, to send them running away, only to catch up with them despite their headstarts, then subdue and destroy them!
"Maybe I don't want to be like you," I grumbled to my mum. "Maybe I don't want to be another femme fatale."
"Well you won't be if you keep dressing in those baggy jeans," she quipped. "A butch fatale, maybe. Go change into something cute."
"You're a bitch," I said.
"I'm a supervillain, dear. Far worse than a bitch."
It was then, at 16, that my frustration with my mother's expectations finally boiled over.
"Your whole schtick is a lie!" I shouted. "It's all fakery! Pretending to be one thing, while hiding the truth. Covering over your evil with beauty. With makeup and dresses and doe-eyed shows. Transforming your true intentions with soothing words. What a crock! If you were strong, you'd wear your evil proudly! No bullshit. No masks. No tricks. You'd announce it up front to the world!"
She gasped, playing at being taken aback, but I could see through her dramatics to her core. I saw the fury smouldering behind her wide blue eyes. The rage behind her sultry pout. And I could hear the bitterness beneath her super-sweetened voice, when she asked, "A-a-are you saying that I'm weak?"
"I'm saying I'm doing it differently," I said. "Just you watch. Just wait and see!" | 2022-07-21T00:20:46 | 2022-07-20T14:29:34 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] Many of the strongest and most virtuous knights have tried their best to pull the sword from the stone but they all failed. Therefore you are quite surprised when you see a peasant just casually pull the sword from the stone, clean it and then stick it back into the stone. | There was a subtle grace to his pull, a slight twist of the wrist, the position of his feet. It all spoke of routine. I was perplexed. I never thought I would witness the day that sword left that stone, let alone in the early breaths of the night, and even less by a ragged peasant whose expression screamed dullness and boredom.
"Sir," I said, running up to him as he began his way back toward the city. "Pardon me, what are you doing?"
He met my eyes and knelt before me. "Lord Garlan, what an honor to be in your presence. I was simply honoring my duty. It's how I earn my coins. Two lotas and one copper lof per week. Enough for a loaf of bread and a bucket of water." He shook his head. "I apologize, I'm rambling."
"Two lotas and one copper lof?" I muttered under my breath. That couldn't be true. They were skinning him alive. Pulling that sword out of that stone was an act of prowess, not even the strongest, most skilled knights across the six kingdoms could accomplish, and yet he, a nervous and oblivious young man with more bone than muscle did it effortlessly and with unmatched grace.
"Yes, Lord Garlan."
"Rise, boy. It's an order. What's your name and how many bleeding moons have you seen?"
He staggered to his feet, straightening awkwardly. "Taros. Sixteen bleeding moons, Lord Garlan."
I examined my surroundings. There were a couple of small boulders perfect for us to sit not ten steps away. "Well, Taros, would you honor me by joining me over there? I would like to know your story."
His brows drew into a line. He looked at the city and then back at me. "I ca--can't, Lord Garlan."
There was terror around the edges of his eyes. "You are rejecting a Lord's invitation. That's worth ten lashes at the very least. Are you aware of that?"
He swallowed hard, his gaze locked on the grass below. "I'm aware."
"Why then? It will only be a couple of minutes."
He murmured something. "What was that?" I asked. "Speak clearly, peasant Taros."
"A life is worth more than ten lashings," he exclaimed, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. He gritted his teeth as though bracing for a hit. "You shouldn't be here. Not at this time. No one should."
"Whose life? Are you being threatened? By whom?" I grabbed his shoulders, a poor attempt at bringing him comfort.
He shook his head, still not looking at me. "I can't speak--"
An unbecoming whirring cut the air around us. A scream followed. Taros fell to the ground, crying in pain. An arrowhead bulged out of his leg, creeks of blood pouring at the sides glinting in the moonlight.
"What is this?" I shouted to the man holding the bow in the distance. He was approaching yet the darkness hid his features until he stepped into the moonlight. His armor was regal, red in color, and upon his shoulders fell a night-dark mane.
"Sir Knight Stross?" My heart stuttered. He was the King's own executor. "What have you done? What is this?"
I stared at Taros briefly. Despite the arrow, he wasn't bleeding out that much. His pain was clear as day, though. Poor kid. Still, he had been fortunate. No, fortune didn't exist when it came to Stross. That had been intended. They wanted him alive.
"Orders of the King," Stross said as if it were an everyday thing to shoot a peasant. "In all honesty, you shouldn't have seen him nor me. It threatens the crown, but I think you understood that already." He held my gaze. "Didn't you?"
I nodded and took a step back. "I suppose there's not much I can do."
Stross threw the bow to the ground and unsheathed his sword. "Accept your fate in silence and without complaint like the honorable man you are."
I sighed and dropped to my knees. With a swift movement, I placed my hands behind my back and lowered my head. "Make it a clean cut."
"I always do." The cold of the steel kissed the back of my neck for a moment, and a moment later it was gone. The world seemed to come to a standstill then. I could feel his sword rising, the joy in his heart. And even though I was staring at the grass, I could see in every blade the position of his blade, aloft, high in the sky, eager to come down.
I shut my eyes and awaited my conclusion.
A conclusion that seemed to take two seconds too long. I squinted and stared at the world before me one last time. Rivers of blood dispersed across the grass blades, and I wondered if my head was already on the ground and I hadn't yet died. I raised my gaze ever so slightly, and I saw it. The back of a perfectly-cut head bleeding seas.
It seemed to me death had taken me out of my body and to accentuate my suffering it had shown me my end, and yet I was grateful, for I had not felt any pain.
"Lord Garlan, run. Fast," a young voice said. I came to my senses then. That head before me had a night-dark mane. I stared at Taros. He was holding Stross' sword. The arrow was still stuck in his leg.
I couldn't react. It was as though the weight of the world had fallen upon my shoulders. "How?" I asked, and he heaved me up to my feet. My question had been stupid, worthy of an ignorant. This kid, whoever he was, was far from another peasant, and I had known that the moment I saw him pull that sword out of that stone.
He staggered toward the forest. I followed suit.
"We have no more than two hours until the guard rotation," Taros said, his voice filled with fear. "They will haunt us then, an army will do so."
"Don't fret, boy. I'm old and I have met many forests and many roads. This one is no exception. Two hours is enough for us to fade out of this world."
Taros frowned. "How?"
"There's more than meets the eye, and although I will have to pay a price, it will be worth it."
I was uncertain of the nature of my actions. I was uncertain of what would follow. I was uncertain of many things.
But I was certain I was doing the right thing.
\-----
Hope you enjoyed it! Come over to a /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll, my stories are there >:)! | Even the numerous lives saved and cities liberated giving strength to my arms, the sword would not budge an inch. Veins popped, teeth grated, until I felt faint and stumbled back against the smooth marble lip of the fountain. I scooped up a palmful of crisp water and slapped it against my neck, ice cold droplets scattered down behind my collar and burrowed deep into my clothing. Though by full admission I was not worthy a year ago, I had performed countless acts of valour since then and yet the sword would not recognise me as a worthy owner.
Sat in the humid courtyard as the mid-afternoon sun baked the terracotta roof tiles, I watched as crowds gathered and dispersed around the relic like ants to a fallen apple core. Knights with capes barely longer than their titles being swarmed by a harem of adoring maidens waltzed up to the blade and spat curses after their image was slandered by a simple length of steel wedged into an unassuming boulder.
Shortly after, a congregation of priests passed through. Chanting and dousing the sword in holy oil, they lit sticks of repulsive incense that made my breath stifle in my throat. Oldest among them a feeble lady stepped forward, drawing back her hood with boney hands. On closer inspection, only six of her fingers were intact, pauper’s rot having nibbled away at her ring fingers and the backs of her thumbs. For all their ritual and devotion the sword did not pay her any mind either.
Next up was a vaguely familiar lad, short in stature with a darker complexion and an explosion of frizzy curls springing from his scalp. I stared as he meekly slunk across the cramped space, eyes locked on the floor in front of him. As he passed by I was able to see a small patch of fresh scarring lining the backs of his hands. The chef’s new assistant! I barely recognised him without the hat containing the wild tangles of black locks.
He knelt in front of the sword and began a silent prayer. Gliding in a practised arrangement his fingers contorted and stiffened, forming patterns that he would draw about his temple, shoulders, over the dirt around him and finally over his chest. Over the roaring cascade of water behind me, I strained to listen to the end of his ceremony.
“Elias, Ohmina, I implore you.” He croaked in a hoarse whisper.
Arising a new man, he pulled a small pouch from his pockets and poured out a fistful of finely milled flour into his quaking palms. Half of the powder fell to mix with the various oils and ash that already encircled the stone, the other half stuck to the sweat oozing from his hands. With a firm grip his thrust his right hand out to take the blade’s handle, and his left leveraging under the cross guard. Flour, ash, and dirt rose as the youngster slammed his heel into the floor and forced up with all his might.
My ears recoiled at the screech that followed, like a cornered bat the blade clung into the rock and cried out in distress. Falling back the boy covered his ears and panted, hardly exhausted but deterred from a second try he scrambled to his feet and fled.
The sun set over the immaculate surrounding walls as shadows fell like falling curtains over this scene of today’s failures. I was humbled by the litany of worthy folk who had approached and been rebuffed after me, it had become clear that the sword was not bound by a spell but by a curse. Pressing on my knees I began to rise, with the sun gone a chill had spread through the stone surroundings that made my rear ache on the impromptu bench.
“What in the blazes…” a disgruntled voice caught my attention, the drawl was too common to be that of another priest or knight. Turning on my heel I took in the speaker with a passing gaze. Shoulders hunched, his right side sat around four fingers higher than his left. A snaking spine lead down to unbalanced hips and legs of vastly different proportion. His right was strong, even through the tattered flaxen trousers muscles bulged as if they had been exaggerated in a king’s portrait. His left hung almost limp, the tips of his toes barely touched the ground, a gnarled wooden staff lodged under his armpit stood in sympathy next to the withered limb.
As he swung over the courtyard a knapsack full of various tools rattled and bounced on his shoulders, frayed feathers jutted out of a dusting wand, and the nixing cap rang on the end of its pole, soot from what must have been thousands of choked candles coating the inside of the brass bell. He stood in disbelief at the mixture of balms, powders, and waste that littered the perimeter of the stone, shaking his head about his flimsily attached neck.
The sight was pitiful. “Would you like some help, steward?” I found myself calling out.
Body still facing forward the servant’s head spun round like an owl’s locking two greyed and puffy eyes with my own. “If you’re offering, I can’t quite get down as I used to.” He professed.
I took up the small trowel and a cotton sack, scooping clumps of congealed ritual materials out from the cracks between the cold stone slabs. Occasionally a small drab of oil would be flung off the boulder and onto my shoulder, met with a hasty apology and a musty rag drawing the stain across my soiled cloak.
“They always pour the oil directly into the groove.” The crone lamented.
After wrapping the cloth around the exploded steel of the blade, his chipped nails re-appeared after encircling the guard. With an unprepared grunt he pushed up, dragging the blade vertically out of the groove like a knife through butter. Oil coated the blade as the rag was drawn down, turning the surface into a perfect mirror which reflected my astonished gaze back at me. After the last flick to polish the tip of the blade, he let go and I watched as the accursed sword of Maya the Defiled was drawn rapidly back into its prison.
Leaping from my feet I grabbed the hilt with both hands, as much as I pushed the weapon pulled with triple whatever I could muster, nesting itself back into place. A rush of envy clouded my judgement as I started on the cripple.
“How did you do that?! Show me, now!” I bellowed.
Taking a step back he regretted his former judgement, scowling at my demanding response. “Idiot,” he spat, “this is why the sword refuses to partner with you.”
Insulted, my blood ran hot as a dull ache throbbed behind my temple. What right did a peasant with more teeth than possessions have to insult one of the Queen’s employed arms? As I thought this, my temper was abated by the genuine disappointment that emanated from the cleaner’s pitiful look.
“Please… could you explain.” I mustered.
A warm and understanding smile spread across the weathered face. “Of course.” Hobbling over to the fountain, we sat together as he massaged his withered thigh with a wince. “All these oils, all this ash and offering, they are giving a scrap of barley and asking for a banquet in response. What good does a sword have of incense?” He postured.
I pondered the question briefly before suggesting an answer, “the incense isn’t for the sword, but for its Patron spirit, surely?”
“Ha!” The first look of elation glowed like the embers of a great hearth, “why do you think that the sword must have a patron?”
“It must have belonged to someone.”
Shaking his head, his patience seemed to know no limit. “Or, the wielder belonged to the sword. Did you know Maya was the third daughter and seventh child to Lord of the Marin? Not exactly a title that incites surrender with just a rumour of the owner’s approach.”
I stared at the blade, and could feel it returning my look with equally peaked interest. “So that’s why none of us could draw it from the stone. But, why can you?”
“It wanted to be cleaned. I do not particularly want to clean it. It put up no fight to me as it had to put in no work to achieve it’s own goals.”
A sword having goals? Standing to attention I approached the boulder once more, tracing a delicate finger down the leather wrapped grip I lost myself in thought. If I were to lift the weapon that enslaved Maya, I would have to put myself in its service instead of recruiting its strength for my own ends... Was I ready for that?
Seeing how easy it was to lift when the sword was compatible with its wielder, I placed one hand in a loose grip on the guard and gave a gentle tug. | 2022-11-05T07:31:17 | 2022-11-05T05:59:16 | 333 | 74 |
[WP] Write a seemingly innocent story that could have been written for children. Then tell a different perspective on the same story that casts it in a totally different light.
Nothing in the original story should change - all that should change is the perspective on it. | **SAM**
Sam always wanted a sister. She didn't have many friends at school, and was very timid. It worried her parents greatly, and although they knew they couldn't have any more kids, Sam deserved a friend. So, they sat down, and decided to adopt.
"Sam," her mother said one day, "The agency called and said we have a match! A girl, 6 years old just like you, named Caroline!"
Of course, Sam was elated! A sister the same age! Just like twins! She was told her dad was going out of town to the orphanage to pick up Caroline and bring her home! Sam waited anxiously all day; and when her father pulled into the drive, he got out and walked around to the passenger side and grabbed a little girl's hand. Sam waited at the door with her mother, a huge smile on her face.
"I'm Sam!" she greeted as they stood in the doorway. Her father nudged the little girl next to him gently. She timidly answered, "I'm...Caroline."
Her father said, "We're your family now!"
___
**CAROLINE**
Caroline sat in the passenger seat of the car, the man next to her intensely staring at the road. She jumped slightly, startled when he spoke, "Your name is Caroline. You will be polite, and you will play with Sam whenever she wants. Got it?"
Caroline nodded fearfully. *Why did he take me? Where is he taking me? He told me was bringing me to the hospital, because my mom was in trouble. This isn't the hospital. Where are we? Why does he say I'm Caroline? My name is Lily.*
She shivered, and started to cry. The man shouted, "Don't you *DARE* cry. You have no idea what I will do to you if you cry!"
Caroline/Lily quickly sucked it up and put on a brave face. They pulled into the driveway of a nice, two-story house. He mumbled, "Don't try to run."
He got out, walked around to her side and opened the door. He led her inside to find a woman and a young girl she assumed was Sam. When Sam introduced herself, the man prodded Lily in the ribs. She answered, "I'm...Caroline."
The man said menacingly, "We're *your* family now!" | Young Johnathan was a rambunctious boy, his parents did their best to discipline him, but all their trouble was for not. For Johnathan was no ordinary boy, originally an orphan, originally filled with magic. His parents kept his gifts a secret and professed an undying love for young Johnathan the day they adopted him.
His ability to create with magic was also met with his ability to destroy with it. It was not uncommon for Johnathan to summon a butterfly in one moment and obliterate it in another. His parents did much to discourage such dreadful use of his gifts, but Johnathan simply refused.
One day young Johnathan was walking home from school when a carriage stopped along side him. Johnathan was a curious boy and because he had magic felt no need to fear anyone or anything around him. The carriage door opened and and outstretched hand pointed to him longingly.
Suddenly Johnathan heard a whisper rustling through the trees.
*"Come with me my child, let me show you wonders you have never seen"*
Johnathan pondered for a moment, could this person be like him? Could this person be one of his parents, a parent that maybe has been looking for him and never meant to lose him? Without a second thought Johnathan grabbed the outstretched hand and stepped into the carriage.
His eyes slowly adjusting to the dimly lit cabin and a pair of pale blue eyes first broke free from the darkness. He squinted, then summoned a flurry of lightning bugs and the cabin suddenly filled with a luminescent glow.
*"Mother"* Johnathan cries out.
*"Is that you!?"*
*"My dear child, you have grown so much since I last saw you. I will show you things you have never dreamed of and together we will finally be as one"*
Johnathan stared out the window as the carriage passed his house, seeing his mother and father tending to the garden. He thought for a moment about what they might think of him not coming home. He wondered if they would be sad or happy to longer need to care for him.
His feelings suddenly faded as the carriage continued by and the voice within the carriage spoke once more.
*"Don't be sad my child, soon you will forget about them and take your place by my side. For today is the day we finally become one"*
_____________________________________________________________
Mr and Mr's Sumbridge were called to the hospital, hands clasped in one other they slowly made their way down the dimly lit hall. Screams from the adjacent rooms and the horrid smell alone made this trip an unbearable task.
They enter the last room on the left and are greeted by the sight of a lone doctor hovering over their daughter as she laid strapped down on a table. They approach her side and attempt to comfort her but their words are met with only laughter and screams.
Doctor: *"We have to deliver this baby right now"*
They watched as the doctor cut open their daughter and pulled from her open womb a baby boy.
*"I will find you, I will show you everything"* she said before passing out.
Mr and Mrs Sumbridge had been through so much, their daughter obsessed with her delusions was kept as a warden of the state. The child, conceived while she was administered here meant it too would become a warden of the state unless they raised him.
As years went by they didn't keep his adoption a secret, but never mentioned who his mother was. Things were going well for the Sumbridge family until young Johnathan started behaving in a matter much like his mother.
Mr. and Mrs Sumbridge did their best to conceal his illness from others. They scolded him when he would commit viscous acts of violence towards wildlife while under the pretense that he could do magic. They hoped the same illness that befell his mother would somehow not be present within young Johnathan, but they were wrong.
One day Johnathan never returned from school, they searched all through the city. They went door to door to see if anyone had seen their young boy. They stayed up late at night, one chair facing the door at all times but he never returned home.
As time went on Mr and Mrs Sumbridge slowly stopped waiting, the chair usually affixed facing the door would soon be empty more then filled. It was on the 3700th day that young Johnathan returned home. The day the world would know him by a different name and in infamy Jack would live forever. | 2014-09-02T16:41:55 | 2014-09-02T15:40:15 | 172 | 52 |
[WP] At your job, you have one task. Every day you go in, sit at your desk, and wait for a red light to turn on. When it does, you push a button. You repeat this process until the end of your shift. One day, you find out what the button does... | Jabez Wilson, Private Detective.
That's what the sign on the door said, and that's who he was.
Doyle sat down in the chair offered to him by the redheaded detective and gratefully accepted the glass of water.
"Is it bad news?" Doyle asked.
"I'm afraid so," the detective said. "A few hacked email accounts, and a few hidden microphones was all it took. I wont charge you anything for this job, but you have to brace yourself for the truth about the red light."
Doyle sipped the glass of water again. He'd had concerns about his new job ever since it was given to him last year. It wasn't the work itself, that was easy, but he felt that his boss was constantly lying to him. After 3 solid weeks of work, the detective finally had answers.
"Cast your mind back to a year ago," said the detective. "You came home unexpectedly from your old job in the sales department, to find your wife in her underwear."
"You mean..." Doyle said.
"Yes, it wasn't the parrot at all. Despite your 1 hour commute, you'd nearly caught your wife and your boss in the middle of some afternoon hanky panky!"
The room swirled. Doyle could hardly believe it. And yet, it all started to make sense now.
The private detective continued his explanation. "Your wife has an app on her phone. Every time she gets a 'visitor' she triggers that red light. She had explained to your boss how to rig it up at your new desk. Every time you push the button, it lets her know you're still in the office."
"But, the light comes on so often!" Doyle exclaimed. "Especially in the last 3 weeks."
"Yes," the detective said, turning his head away in shame. "I wont be charging you anything for this job."
| Joe sat down in his gray walled cubicle that contained nothing but a tiny red button. The job was the easiest that Joe had ever had, but it was also so monotonous that minutes felt like hours. The red button already turned on and Joe instantly pushed it. Sometimes it came on only hundreds of times per day and other times it was thousands.
"Joe I want to talk to you." His manager said walking up behind him.
Joe's heart started pounding and he wondered if his manager had found the crossword puzzle that was hidden just underneath the desk. If he got fired, his family would be out on the street in days.
"The button shouldn't come on for at least a couple more minutes, so we should have some time to talk. Nathan will take over if anything comes up. The Group is fond of your work." The manager said smiling as the two walked down the long hallway that lead away from Joe's lonely desk.
"Oh. Well I'm glad sir." Joe said feeling confused. He hadn't done anything impressive at all, nor could he. All he had done in the last ten years was push a red button for eight hours a day.
"Oh Joe, you have a great strength. You've never asked nosy questions or tried to figure out what the button does. The Group wants to promote you and show you the good work you've been doing for the planet." The manager said as they got into a plain white elevator.
Joe was given two simple instructions which he never dared break. Push the button when it comes on, and never ask what it does.
"Do you remember what you said to me when you begged me for this position? You said you'd do anything. This perked my interest, and you accepted the button job right
away. You're more man than most of us." The manager said chuckling as the two made their way out of the elevator.
Joe hated this lifeless job, but he desperately needed a good paying position that could provide for his newborn daughter Emily. The planet had become hugely overpopulated and the job market was more difficult than ever before in history.
"What floor is this sir?" Joe asked cautiously. "It's the heating level of course. Right this way." The manager glowed with pride. Joe had never had never had access to this floor before and always kept his mouth shut about it.
"I just don't see what this has to do with me." Joe said. "We want to give you a raise. Basically we will be paying you 4 times what we are paying you now if you agree to say with us. We need someone we can trust with this information." Joe couldn't believe it. Even a 4% raise would have been a huge boost.
"Your pay will go up dramatically if you stay with us for one reason. You will continue the work despite knowing what the red button does. If you refuse this offer, we will have to let you go."
The manager stepped in front of a red door and then asked, "Are you ready to make 4 times more money, or do you want to go home?" That was a no-brainer. After ten years of sitting at that boring desk, he would finally make enough to retire in a few short years and maybe buy a nice house for his family.
"I think I'd like to get the massive paycheck after I see what you want to show me." Joe said with a huge smile.
"Good. Guard, open window 3." The manager commanded. The window to the door opened and Joe peeked inside to see a small baby crying on the floor with no mother in sight.
"I don't get it." Joe said feeling a shiver run down his spine.
"Looks like the button just went red. Live demonstrations are best. Nathan should be pressing it any second now." The manager said peeking in behind Joe.
In a bright flash that lasted less than a second, the baby turned to ash. | 2014-12-02T17:32:24 | 2014-12-02T17:14:24 | 112 | 59 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | Edward Sam M’boma didn't really see his retirement going this direction. The former general thought his last days would be spent watching his grandchildren grow old. However, here he was about to jump out of a Russian military aircraft over Raqqa, Syria. When the red light went on, 3 men in hazmat suits helped M'boma get to his feet as the rear door lowered. He could struggle, but what was the point? The end result would be the same. None of this was his choice, but he knew he couldn't fight it.
After he exited the plane, M'boma pulled his cord. It was the middle of the day and he had a bright red chute. There would be nothing secret about his entry into the ISIS stronghold. The former Sierra Leone general's job was simple. Get captured and spread ebola. | "Commander, we have it. We've taken the facility that houses ten - ten! - nuclear missiles capable of reaching the United States! Can you believe it? Ten! With the fifteen suitcase nukes we've seized in the last three years since 2020, we can finally take the battle to them!"
"Yes, yes....this will show the world at last that *I* have power and that **I** am a man to be feared! The world will bow their knee to me, now!"
"Er...don't you mean, to God?"
"Yes, yes, whatever. Sure. To God." *door closes*
"The West will know to fear *me*, now."
---
"Ma'am, we have the confirmation that the militants have possession of nuclear materials and have begun their intention of using them against targets within the United States."
"I understand. Major!"
"Ma'am!"
"Inform the President that we are preparing Operation Pound Of Cure. We will wait for the Executive Branch in Colorado. 15:00 hours. Mark."
"Yes, ma'am. Time to end this."
---
"ʂʓϭϣѮ, look at that. *Look at that.*"
"Sir?"
"Ms. խֆ∂ⱷɤ is an important client of ours, would you agree?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Perhaps *the* most important client we have, yes?"
"Yes, sir?"
"And the backdrop of the view of her place of business, her main draw, *my* source of pride, is....is....*infected* with some sort of fungus that has covered those *beautiful* greens and *brilliant* yellows across the *entire surface* with their...their greyish *colonies* and is turning the blues - the blues that cost me my *youth* and my *grace* and my *soul* to create - into browns!
And, and, and, remind me again, the purpose of the life on that world?"
"...to keep the greens green and the blues blue."
"And *whose* job was it to keep the surface of it clean? To kill infections before they got a foothold?"
"Mine, sir."
"What are you?"
"A fuckup, sir."
"Yes, but what are you *at the moment?*"
"An *incredible* fuckup, sir."
"That's about to...?"
"Yes, sir, immediately sir. I'll sterilize the planet at once, and reseed from stock. There won't be another repeat of this."
"There had better not. This will be the *seventh* time this contract we've had to do this....I don't know *how* I'm going to explain this one to her." | 2016-01-29T05:12:30 | 2016-01-29T04:24:26 | 1,829 | 19 |
[WP] "If you plan on going somewhere dangerous, bring a human" | **REMINDER**
A reminder to all visitors to this system. This system marks the end of the Counsel's jurisdiction. From here, Counsel Military and Security can not reach you and thus can no longer provide protection to you or your property.
If you are going somewhere marked as "Dangerous", we recommend bringing a guide with you, preferably a Human species guide. Please see reference below to give you a brief overview of the Human species, as well as a tutorial on how to handle them. Press here.
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Humans (homo sapien sapien): Humans were discovered in the 367th Year of the Galactic Unity. While at first a hostile enemy of the Counsel, they soon were pacified with the Outer Arms Agreements. The largest exchange of territory to any one species in Counsel history. Since then, Humans have lived peacefully among the galaxy and are some of the greatest pioneers and adventurers in the name of the Counsel. Discovering new systems, worlds, and expanding the Counsel's reach at an unprecedented rate.
Because of their innate to desire to conquer and explore, along with their advanced weapon manufacturing, hostility and rapid healing factor, they are ideal for guides through "Dangerous" areas. If you decide to travel outside Counsel Jurisdiction, here are the steps you should take to recruit a human guide.
1. Approach human territories carefully, and timidly. Humans react violently to quick and sudden inter-species interaction.
2. Have funds immediately ready to deposit. While the Human governments are easy to negotiate with, average humans are distrustful, and will demand compensation upon agreement.
3. DO NOT DISOBEY THE ORDERS OF YOUR GUIDE! Humans can be irrational, distrustful and most of all, extremely violent. For you, and your party's safety, the Counsel recommends following exact orders from a Human guide.
4. Finally, be safe. While human's may pose their own assortment of threats, so do "Dangerous" areas. The unexplored wilderness of space has many threats and even more threats unbeknownst to anyone. Stay safe. To quote a common, and ancient phrase of the Humans; The night is dark, and full of terrors. | "Remind me," Eric said as he pulled himself off of the ladder, "why the hell I'm here with you?" . The man dusted himself off and checked around them, it was dark, just dark enough to be the belly of a massive ship.
"I'm paying you to be," Thador said from above. Through the translator, his voice sounded deep and commanding, like he could get anything he wanted. Eric didn't know what Til-ai actually sounded like, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"It's starting to feel like it's not worth it," Eric sighed as he readied his blaster. It had been a long day getting into the damn ship, but the next stage involved going up. "I didn't think I was going to be pissing off Hasida again.
"You're not pissing them off," Thador corrected, "you're stealing from them."
"Which pisses them off," Eric added.
"That's just a side effect." Thador dropped off of his ladder and his talons cut across the metal. They were tough enough that he could walk barefoot almost anywhere.
"Ready?" Eric asked.
"Yup."
"Ventis systems online then," Eric said. The A.I he worked with lit up his suit with hardlight armor. It was a touch too bright to be in the belly of a freighter, but it would need to do.
"God damn showoff," Thador hissed through his beak as the pair started to go down the hallway. Their steps sounded almost opposite as they walked, soft human padding and harsh Til-ai scraping.
The Ventris system was unique in two ways. One was that it would burn most species, as they had a lower core temperature than humans. The second was that it ran off of A.I, and couldn't be used without one. Most species had banned A.I after a pre-spaceflight disaster, humans and the galactic running Vorkis were the two that still used them.
"You could get one," Eric said into the dampener on his visor. It kept the two from being heard as they chatted.
"Yeah, but not like I wanna cook myself if I use it for more than five minutes."
"Well," Eric shrugged, "five minutes could save your life mate."
"You know I'll forget to turn it off."
"Fair enough."
Thador held up his hand and tried to peak around the corner. He had a good three feet on Eric, which meant he wasn't hiding anywhere on a mostly human mining ship. He motioned forward and Eirc leaped ahead, pointing his rifle down the hallway that was coming up.
"Holy shit, who sent you the details on this?"
"Mom," Thador said, Eric nodded. "Jackpot?"
"I cannot believe you found out which ship this was on," Eric said. He jogged ahead to the door that capped the hallway. There was a hardlight cover on it, but the ventris system Eric was wearing slapped it away with lightning. Human DNA was enough of a password for the door.
Hashida was the corporation that was in charge of all of the mining in the third sector. They were rich in the way of Galactic level bribes. One of those bribes was making sure that they got almost exclusive access to the exploration missions that happened every fifty years. They went out into unexplored space and discovered useful planets, brought up species, made more money than most people could fathom.
To leave explored space during a mission you needed to have a pass. There were passes on the desk that Thador had brought Eric to find. Sure, they had to piss someone off to get here, but they were staring at a chance to be massively rich.
Eric snatched one of the passes and threw it back to Thador before taking one for himself. The second that Thador touche the pass, a sharp alarm went up on higher floors.
"Fucking Bio-Alarms?" Thador swore as he pocketed the passes and took out his rifle.
"They don't want pirates taking their billions," Eric commented.
"I'm not a pirate, you're a fucking pirate."
"Yeah, but I'm a human, and we're kinda racist."
---
Sorry ! I have to go, I'll finish this in a bit but it's father's day! | 2016-06-19T12:42:38 | 2016-06-19T12:24:49 | 388 | 107 |
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the... | In my stomach
a lurch suddenly hit
a telltale fact
that I would need to take a shit
I made in time
this one is a butt scraper
Then to my horror,
No toilet paper
**NOTE** I may have been a bit crass, but I dare an English teacher to find meaning in a poem about going to the bathroom
| Blazing with all the wrath of a young star, the afternoon sun fiercely beat upon the partially shaded buildings of Ricks & Wracks Bricklaying Co.. Said buildings had briefly experienced a complete lack of shade under the midday sun but such a time had already come to pass.
Stan was loading his company's finished product onto a truck when he made a mistake. A bag fell like a sack of bricks and clattered to the ground with the sound a collective of bricks makes when it hits the ground, accompanied by the swear words of a by now audibly, visibly frustrated and hot forklift operator.
Partially shaded by the truck that had been receiving the bricks, Stan walked over to the fallen merchandise and stated "I will need to tell someone about this incident."
However, Stan was incorrect. Jim the foreman had also heard the sounds of bricks falling from a height of around 2 metres and had come over sporting a pace one would expect a foreman to be able to muster up while partially shaded in the afternoon sun. He looked at the bricks, now broken.
"I see you have made a mistake. This means that I am going to be annoyed with you because of the extra paperwork I now have to do because of your broken...ah...pieces of company merchandise."
Stan was confused about Jim's odd choice of words. "They're bricks, Jim. You don't have to call them company merchandise."
Jim scratched his elbow, but only because it was itchy. "I do. Jill the head foreman passed a mandate saying that we couldn't say words that started with the same letter next to each other. She...claimed that it made her...noggin hurt."
"Oh well," Stan answered. "I will clean up the broken pieces of company merchandise. I am sorry for making you do extra paperwork."
"It's not a big deal. Perhaps you inconveniencing me now might result in you buying me a drink later tonight -- a means of apologizing?" Jim replied.
"Fuck off." Stan gave Jim the middle finger such that Jim got Stan's message verbally and visually.
---
I tried to make the writing as pedantic as possible, hope it wasn't too much of a slog to get through (unless you're an English Teacher)! I've even tried to avoid alliteration, although I might have slipped up here since it's pretty late where I am.
| 2017-01-30T09:54:13 | 2017-01-30T08:28:51 | 139 | 76 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | The arena was fairly ramshackle, which didn't seem to fit with the whole "angelic judgement" vibe. Scia looked around as she traversed the corridors underneath the battleground, where voices could be heard screaming in an uproar.
"You'd think they'd've at least given the place a facelift." She murmured.
"Scia Orioso, please make your way to the Arena Gates."
Judgement day.
An angel greeted Scia at the gate.
"Hello, my child." the angel grinned. "What will your weapon of choice be? Will you select the flamethrower? The grenades? The water hose? Perhaps the net?"
Scia had a brainwave. "You wouldn't happen to have a gun for this, would you?"
"I... Why? That's almost the worst weapon for this!"
"C'mon dude, throw us a bone."
"...Good luck, child of God."
Scia shot herself in the head.
"...Ow...My head..."
"That was reckless."
Scia looked up. Standing over her was an archangel. Gabriel? Michael? She could not remember his name.
"I have good news and bad news. Which will you hear first?"
"The good news."
"You committed suicide. While I had the power to bring you back, it was not a simple fix. I had to erase your sins and purify you first. Which means..."
"I don't need to fight the bugs! Haha! I knew the plan would work!"
The angel smiled wryly, before his expression hardened.
"Ingenious. It's a shame about the bad news though. Suicide is a cardinal sin; unremovable. And the punishment for that sin is being sent to hell."
Scia's euphoria faded.
"...So..."
"I pray Lucifer will have mercy on your soul. Although, with his sick, twisted mind, he probably plans on making you fight those creatures anyway."
Scia sat with an aghast look.
"You ruined your chance. Your choice is probably going to bug you for the rest of your life." | She sat in the back of the dusty cells, decked head to toe in cracked leather armor, like some poor sod out of Mad Max made manifest. She had the options of heavier armor, but she figured the lighter armor would keep her nimble. The keepers here could conjure any sort of arms and armor that she could conceive.
Her first cheeky attempt at requesting something ludicrous, say a tank for example, was met with a pointed "No". She hated that moment. Not because an ethereal being from purgatory had dismissed her handily. That was easily the least of her worries.
It was what the tone betrayed beneath it.
It wasn't the exasperated "no" of a retail employee who had answered the same question one time too many. It wasn't the furrowed brow and irritated tones of a humorless middle manager in some software development company somewhere.
It was a habitual response that found no humor, joy, sorrow, bemusement, nothing at all. There was nothing there. Everything currently happening to her was a process with natural immutable rules, like a change of season or an ocean current. This was her first clue that she was a part of that process. Something to be attended to in short order.
That's all...
Her hair had been a tangled mess of dirty blonde in life befitting the blue collar work.
It was now as short as can be.
A bleeding scalp that was white hot with pain following her first encounter with a gargantuan termite. That taught her to cut her hair.
Another battle with a beetle. New scars. New lessons. Dead inside.
Four more. Various insects. She gasped for air and humanity against the corpse of a beetle. The usually disinterested crowd that was there out of obligation -their role in the process- murmured at the young scrappy woman still alive somehow despite six consecutive battles. It turned into a boisterous cheer.
Something flickered in the depths of who she was. It wasn't a scorch that brought her back to life. The apathy had snuffed out what it could. But somewhere down there it was flickering, barely holding on, just like her.
A few more battles. The insects stopped entertaining the crowd, so they started moving into the smaller rodents. Mice and rats and the like. She had noted the sideways glances of the keepers during her off time.
Curiosity!
Her recent victories had lit a blaze and force of will in her she wasn't sure she even had known in life. But the crowd's deafening approval could only spark so much. But the notion that the resigned keepers, whom were the embodiment of the process, had been made different through her. The thought made that light into a powerful inferno.
And so brings us to today. The day prior she had made short work of the largest rat available. They would move onto the larger vermin such as Possums and Raccoons today. Scars painted her bare arms like a tapestry of warfare. It was a macabre bit of symbolism, but it was a chronological map of her will to become who she was in this moment, sitting in the dusty interior of a gladiator cell with no significant anxiety but the thrill pounding with each pulse of blood through her veins.
The cell keeper came. A bald fellow with pale blonde eyebrows that made them difficult to see. He was dressed in pale blue robes that gathered the dust of the cobblestone floor as it brushed along.
He unlocked the gate and swung it open, stepping aside for her and her spear in the process. "My dear" he said warmly like he did before every battle. She didn't know his name yet, but he almost got him to tell her once. It just gave her more motivation to survive the raccoon out there. She could never know his name from one of Hell's nine circles (She had verified the nine circles were real. One of the other keepers had spilled that bit of trivia).
She could hear the crowd calling her already. She nodded at her keeper friend, and departed for the adoring crowd.
| 2017-04-24T00:07:38 | 2017-04-23T23:26:36 | 49 | 36 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | St Peter finished the briefing and Cletus was sure he saw a flicker of a smirk on his face. Cletus let out a long sigh then he spoke.
"So I have to fight every bug I've ever killed?"
"Yes." Peter replied. Doing a slightly better job of keeping a straight face. Cletus studied his face for a moment but his expression remained blank.
"You realise that my whole career was as a bug exterminator?" He said.
"Oh?" Replied Peter feigning surprise, "it er.." he flicked through some papers on his desk but didn't seem to actually be reading anything. "It would seem to be the case, yes." He said with an awkward smile.
"Well I'm fucked then aren't I?" Cletus cried. "I mean I was fucked from the start, the game was stacked, 40 years ago when I took the job to feed me family."
"Well... Ahem, God allows us to make our own choices and..."
"Our own choices?" Peter interrupted. "God is all powerful right?" "Well..." "And he speaks to us if we listen yes?" He carried on.
"Yes of course! God is all hearing and..."
"Well I went to church every Sunday" He interrupted again. "Every Sunday I went to church and every day I prayed! Do you think maybe he might have mentioned that my career choice wasn't setting me up well for the after life, do you thi..." There was to be no reply. Peter was gone and the room melted away and he was sitting on the dirt on an empty plain. He could hear the sound of buzzing in the distance and he stood up. Stuck both his middle fingers up at the sky.
"Fuck you goooooooooooo....!!!!" He screamed as the swarm surrounded him and drowned him out.
"So let me get this straight." Dirk said. "For every woman I've boned? A quarter pint of semen will be added to a barrel, the barrel will be poured down my throat until it is empty and if I am still alive by the time it is empty I will go to heaven?" He said incredulously.
"Yes that er... Would appear to be the case." Replied Peter matter of factly.
"You realise I'm a porn star right I....
Peter closed the door, just faintly through the door you could hear someone guuuurgling and spluttering "Fuuccck youuu gooooooahurgespergrreaarrg...!"
He sighed. At the end of the corridor sat God at a desk playing computer games.
"You don't like humans much do you?"
God pulled off his headset.
"What?"
"Oh n-nothing..." He stammered.
God eyed him suspiciously and then plunged his hand into a bag of Cheetos.
"Alright, there's a politician in room 4 due to face his obstacle." Hopefully he didn't lie too much in his career or he may find it a little difficult!" God laughed, his laughter grew louder and louder. He could still hear the bellowing as he closed the door behind him.
God doesn't like humans very much. In truth it was always obvious we just didn't want to see it.
Edit: Sorry I really am no writer, I just wanted have a go! Advice always welcome, it's the simple things like describing the flow of a conversation without just saying he said, she said that pain me the most. | The words “FINAL ROUND” scrolled across the bright marquee hanging from the ceiling of the arena, and the crowd became abruptly silent, the echoes of the last cheer reverberating against the walls. The lone man in the corner held a hunting rifle, but was otherwise unequipped for hunting, dressed only in streetclothes: a faded t-shirt, sneakers that were probably once white. He looked up and saw his opponent, made out a figure in the opposing corner.
His body stiffened. In the opposing corner was himself. Another version of himself, like the one he saw in the mirror when he brushed his teeth (in his living moments), but this time not flipped. The man thought of how, looking at pictures of himself, there had always been a moment of misrecognition: No, I part my hair the other way; my mole is on my left ear. Breaking the faraway standoff, the doppelganger moved forward in a slow walk, rifle in hand, but not at the ready.
The man raised his weapon at the advance, but could not get his hands to stay still. It was like the first time his father let him hold a gun on a hunting trip. His father taught him gun safety, how to hold a rifle, how to wait for a deer, and shoot. Without his father here to steady his aim, he struggled to keep the grip from slipping.
When the doppelganger was within comfortable speaking range, he smiled, and spoke for the first time. “You’re shaking.”
The man replied, “Shouldn’t you have your gun up? I’m go—I’m going to try to kill you.”
“Are you, now?” The copy snickered. “I thought we were going to do a duet or something. Just like in colour guard at Davidson? Except you’d have someone to actually do a duet with this time ‘round. We didn’t have the best of luck with finding partners, now did we?” He twirled the rifle around a bit.
The man kept staring, unmoving from his corner, kept holding up his rifle half-ready to shoot. “Stop it. I’m pointing a gun at you. How can you be joking when someone’s pointing a rifle at you like this? How can you be calm in a situation like this?”
“It’s ‘cause I know you don’t have the balls to pull the trigger. I’m you, remember?”
The man flinched.
“You only got that exterminator job because the boss owed your family. That little voice in your head that you think people don’t hear? You vocalise everything it says; it’s because you talk to yourself on the train that people give you the side-eye. You’re just too stupid to figure it out. I know everything that you do and more. And I know I won’t need this.” The doppelganger dropped his rifle on the floor. It clattered for a bit before coming to rest shortly, the loudest sound since the match started.
The man’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, but his copy just took two steps forward.
“You hardly deserved to live and you hardly deserved to die. You fail at everything. Remember the time you laughed at that guy because you thought he was joking when he said he was going into modelling? Or the time you choked in front of your fifth grade class when you were giving a speech about how cake was better than pie? How about the time you tried to kill yourself the second time and failed? Thought about turning around, going back to video games and pizza and whoops! Slipped on the fucking railing. Did it hurt when you hit the ground? Or did it hurt more when you realised that no one could save you now? I bet you were calling his name as you—”
A rifle fired. The gunshot seemed louder than normal in the spacious arena, now quiet again; ears strained to listen, and necks craned to see what was happening between the two men in the corner, what the outcome would be.
“Wow. You couldn’t even shoot a guy if he was standing two feet away, huh?”
The man closer to the centre of the arena punched the farther one in the chest, causing him to fall to the floor, dropping his gun on the way down. The one still standing rubbed his knuckles on his shirt.
The man on the floor felt the wind get knocked out of him, and had only managed to recover enough to prop himself up on one arm before the clone pushed him down again with the sole of his sneaker.
“Does this seem familiar?” The copy forcefully brought his foot down on the man’s ribcage.
“Did you scream like a girl?” He kicked the crumpled man from the side.
“Did he call you faggot?” Kick.
“Poofter?” Kick.
“Fairy?” Kick.
The man on the floor coughed and wheezed, felt drops of something warm on his forearm.
The man above him paused, breathing raggedly and standing above his victim, before bending down to turn him so that they were face-to-face, and choking him, snuffing out what life was left. He offered little resistance, pawing weakly at the hands around his neck before falling limp.
The man took his hands off the corpse’s neck and watched as the body faded away like those of the insects and game before it, then looked up to see confetti falling from somewhere above, like light rain. | 2017-04-24T00:45:32 | 2017-04-24T00:35:40 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | Jessica crumpled the note in her hand. The all-too-familiar tremble returned to her spine, spreading down her arms, raising the tiny hairs in its wake.
>This could have been us.
The phrase echoed through her mind. Over the years, she had grown used to the squiggly handwriting and the cooked meals. She never ate them or slept in the made bed. The first few times, she’d called the cops, which of course did nothing.
‘No evidence of foul play, ma’am,’ the officer had said, ‘but we’ll keep a car in the area.’
Jessica reached for the knife, still on the cutting board sprinkled with chives residue, still warm in her cold hand. He was here. She tried listening for sounds, but all she heard was the drumroll of her heart.
Slowly, she made her way over to her bag and fished out her phone. She had done this a hundred times before.
“He’s here,” Jessica breathed into the phone.
***
“Hey, what do you make of this one?” Sam said, waving the newspaper. “A woman claiming to have been stalked for thirteen years was found dead in her bed last night.”
His gray hair bounced off his shoulders as he made it over to the couch. His brother stared disinterestedly at the TV screen. Years of cheeseburger and beer abuse had taken its toll on Dean’s body, and his stained wife beater struggled to contain his bloated belly.
“That does have a certain air of *I-don’t-give-two-shits* to it,” Dean grumbled. “Besides, we’re too old for this, Sammy.”
“But imagine being stalked for thirteen years,” Sam said, adjusting his glasses. “That’s worse than–”
“Worse than what? Going to Hell? Making buddies with Lucifer? Getting smacked around by a bunch of monster-under-your-bed types for a career?” Dean’s face turned red as he spoke. “We’re retired now. Let someone else handle it.”
“Nobody did for thirteen years. Everyone probably thought she was crazy. Imagine living like that…”
Dean mumbled something unintelligible and turned up the volume on the TV. Sam shook his head and limped toward the door. He knew now why his brother never watched the news or read the paper – something strange was bound to come up eventually.
His cane tapped against the marble stairs. It wasn’t his responsibility, and the woman was already dead. But for some reason, this bothered him. He had to get to the bottom of it.
***
Dana Scully glanced suspiciously at the tall elderly fellow limping up to the reception desk. She pushed her walker forward, feeling the cramps bite into her legs and back. Usually, she didn’t put her nose in other people’s business, but the pressed suit and wavy silver hair didn’t sit right with her – men of his age usually wore sweatpants and plaid vests, and were bald.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice creaking. “Who are you?”
“I’m special agent Booth with the FBI.” The man leaned heavily on his cane, squinting his eyes.
“No, you’re not,” Dana said curtly. “You’re almost my age, and I don’t remember anyone like you there.”
“Ah, you got me. I’m Sam Winchester, PI.”
“Let me guess; you’re here about Jessica Lawrence. I’m Dana Scully, actually with the FBI… well, until I retired, at least.”
Sam looked her up and down, the wrinkles on his forehead growing deeper and darker. “It’s weird, though, isn’t it?”
“What’s weird, exactly?”
“That this woman didn’t get help for thirteen years, and never managed to identify her stalker. This is going to sound strange and possibly incriminating, but I feel guilty.”
Dana nodded. She felt exactly the same. That’s why she abandoned her beloved flower garden and took the train down here. She had even called Fox, but his dementia was starting to get the best of him these days.
“I get the feeling you’ve worked on cases like this before?” Dana finally said.
“I have a few under my belt.” Sam chuckled, and then started coughing. “Sorry, yeah, but it’s been a while.”
She wasn’t exactly sure why, but there was something in this man’s eyes that was inherently good. The urgency in his voice told her that he wanted to put this right – as right as it could be. And once again, she felt the same way.
“Okay, let’s see if we can get into the morgue somehow.” Dana turned her walker around.
Sam nodded, and a smile cracked his chapped lips. “I think I have an idea.”
| My job is not the most prestigious, or the most difficult. Like everything else, it is just a job. I hate it, just like I hate myself. A repetition of certain tasks that does not ever end. I keep to myself, as always. I have no interest in making acquaintances or friends. The only guy that talks to me just compliments me on my smile, every-damn-day. I brush like any one else, he's a freak. Besides, I'm not truly alone. I have been on my own, living in solitude for the better part of a decade, probably thirteen years if I was being specific. The reason I say this is because whenever I return home from a long day, my bed is made, a lovely dinner cooked, and a cryptic message talking about how 'this could have been us.' I should also mention, I have moved for my job a few times. At no point has this phantom left me alone. Nor has my mysterious admirer ever left me a dish that I disliked. I don't speak much, and my wife has been dead for thirteen years. I never had interest in beginning anew with another person. I don't care what people think, this is not the case of a haunting. My wife died of pancreatic cancer, there was no murder, there was no secret. We had a healthy, and successful marriage. Perfect? No. However, it was fine enough that she would have better things to do than haunt me. Besides, she was adamant about having me try food out of my comfort zone, which didn't extend far to start with. It's kind of nice, knowing whatever happens that I will have a hot cooked meal for me. I used to purposefully throw my bed around, and make it as annoying as possible to clean up. Yet, whoever wishes a life with me, they have a very strong case of OCD. I sat eating porridge, of all things, not my favorite but I had no one to complain to. I've always wondered if this is one of those situations where a depraved lunatic is living in my walls, watching me. I can assure you, that is not the case. Every time I move, I have taken a sledgehammer to the walls, and there's nothing in there but rat carcasses and cobwebs. I stared at my reflection in the bowl, desperate for the answer. Nothing. I walked past the mirror before my bedroom. A careful glance depicted a man who had begun to lose control of his mental facilities. Another problem I had, the mirrors tended to break. I don't know why. Had to be part of the bad luck that followed me. I tried to sleep in my already made bed. A few hours later I woke up, unexpectedly, and went to vomit into the toilet. I crawled back into my bed, miserable. I opened my eyes, and found myself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. I looked at the table, already written was the message I always saw. I walked back to my bedroom, passing the mirror. I stopped, and saw there was a strange mark. It looked like... the remnants of a kiss. To test my theory, I kissed the mirror, and it was an exact match. It seems a part of me wants to love myself, but I refuse to allow happiness, since Jean died. Now what would happen? I broke the cycle. I went to sleep, in an unmade bed. I went to work. When I came home, there was no food, and my room had not been cleaned. However, I did see a message I wasn't familiar with. It said 'We will be together.' I looked at the mirror, and placed my head against it. I thought I had it all figured out, but now I was once again in the dark.
Day 4751: Experiment can be ruled a possible success. Subject C exhibited a high level of grief. After thirteen years, he finally required an answer. Subject C decided to create, and believe a separate personality to explain the endless repetition. This demonstrates that with proper tuning and manipulation, a psuedo-personality can be constructed to alleviate mental turmoil. It should be noted that final message left on Subject C's kitchen table, is not one of our own. Continue research for further findings. Video play back does not indicate Subject C wrote it. At no point in recordings does the message appear. Possible formula for self-loathing discovered, but unintended and unknown side effects must be observed.
Day 4752: Subject C has not returned from work. Employer said he showed up, but never left. Building will need to be searched and searched again. Thirteen years is too long to lose Subject C. Update. Nate McReids body located, missing every single tooth. No other injuries. Subject C was alive during dental extraction. Subject C is gone. We have no Subjects left. Data is not sufficient for thirteen years. Experiment ruled a failure.
Oh, I've always admired that smile of yours Nate. You'd shine those pearly whites at me, so often. I knew it was love, between us. I waited thirteen years for this. I enjoy reading up on dental hygiene, don't you? Yes, it's a hobby of mine. You're forty-seven aren't you? Unfortunately, I'm going to be moving soon Nate. I would have waited three more years. After fifty, that's when teeth as majestic as yours, they just start to rapidly and horribly depreciate. I couldn't, I just couldn't let them fall from grace like that! It's been a pleasure, thirteen long years, but now I have to leave. Don't you worry, I will be taking those teeth with me. Can you just imagine the amount the tooth fairy would give me? Oh, I'm kidding, I'd never part with these well formed and, if you don't mind me saying, immaculate teeth. Nate, Nate, it's okay to cry those tears of joy. These will be the crown jewels of my collection. Oh yes, yes indeed, I do have many. How else did you think I could come to appreciate, to dream about, and to desire such healthy teeth? You heard the rumors, people losing teeth in our job field! That's me. None of them could do as you do though. I just, feel so clean around you. I could go blind staring at them. I'm going to start taking them out now. I want you to be able to smile at me, until you only have gums left. Just look at this molar! You know, I'm going to take out my own. I just have to have this. I'm so happy right now, Nate. I can finally retire with a perfect set! Open that dental treasure chest for me.
| 2017-12-09T03:46:23 | 2017-12-09T03:12:50 | 273 | 35 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | "Your occupation?"
"Food sales and service."
"The boxes we found in your home, you were specifically trying to sell those? Including the one we have in this evidence bag?"
"Yes, detective. I don't understand what the problem is. I got a license, I pay taxes on all my profits, it's all legal."
"Where do you buy your ingredients?"
"I... um... don't buy ingredients. I know this is going to be hard to believe. But it shouldn't matter whether you believe me. I seem to be haunted. Whenever I step from my home office into my kitchen, there's a cooked meal in the kitchen. I box it up for sale, go back into the office, step into the kitchen, another full meal. Box it up, office, kitchen, another. And always a weird note about 'could have been us.' There must be hundreds of those notes in my trash if you want to check - to confirm what I'm telling you. You don't believe me, why would you?"
"Sure I do. We found the notes, so your story must be true. Go on."
"I can pack up about one full per minute. Two hours of back and forth per day, 120 meals I can sell, then back to my office to process online orders, manage the store. I don't get to choose the menu in advance. It's not even labelled what anything is. But eventually there's a buyer for most of it, and what I don't sell, I can eat. What I don't want, I can throw away - no cost."
"So you're saying it all just appears on its own. Like magic."
"To the best of my knowledge. Or like there's a ghost. I tried watching, nothing happens. I figured out after a while that I have to be 'working.' I tried video cameras, everything just looks like a big shadow for a second."
"You don't make the food, then?"
"No."
"So the ingredients come out of your kitchen shelves on their own?"
"No. I told you, there are no ingredients. Or at least, I don't know where they come from."
"Yeah, food with no ingredients. You sure you didn't start with one fish?"
"Ha ha. If you looked into my credit cards, you'll see I've hardly bought any food at all for over a decade. Not even for myself. If you look at my business records, you'll see I have zero expenses for ingredients."
"Some might hear your story and think you don't want there to be a record. They might think you're buying the ingredients on some sort of black market."
"So I wouldn't get to deduct the cost on my taxes? Why would I do that? And why would the police care, anyway?"
"We care. Because trafficking human meat is a felony." | I take my work seriously. It’s what I was born to do... and I love it, though I find it increasingly tiring. I work with some of the smartest men who have ever lived. I believe this. And what we do, has never been done before. I can’t tell you about it so don’t ask.
My life works because of the rules. The rules I created and I never break them, my girlfriend knows this and we’re very happy together. Naturally we live apart (it could never be otherwise) but she’s the only person who I can connect with, sexually I mean. If told you some of the the things we do in the bedroom... some of the things she says... but that’s another story. For 13 years I’ve lived alone, successfully pursued my work, my calling, and I’ve been happy. Until 12 months ago.
You see I’ve never been, what you might call, houseproud. The usual home comforts that other people take for granted - are of no interest to me and so for years I have lived in a building that most people might consider unhabitable (one of the reasons that I live alone), Yet it suited my needs perfectly and had no neighbours to disturb me. At least I thought I had no neighbours.
I came one morning, just as I usually do after my work was over, and knew something was wrong. My possessions, few that they are, were not where I left them. The water on the floor was gone and the holes in the roof were fixed. My clothes were folded neatly and I found a new black and white table in what you might call my living room. What’s more, a casserole was on the stove that I had not made and the kitchen table was set for two. There was a note that said “This could have been us.”
As tired as I was my mind was still alive enough to see what I had to do. To leave immediately and never come back. I always considered that one day my work might be compromised, that someone would after me, but never like this. This unsettled me in a whole different way. It didn't feel creepy that someone had been in my house and moved my stuff, just, unusual. The meal and the note, in any other situation I’d have said they were meant to scare me, but this didn't feel that way. Something else was going on. For half a moment it came into my mind that this could have been one of my girlfriend, M’s tricks - a joke, but not really, something to get me to invest more in the relationship, but this wasn’t her style and we had moved past all that years ago. There was something else about the scene in the kitchen, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I grabbed my bag and left instantly stopping only at a pay phone (I don’t have a mobile) to leave a message for M to call me back.
It wasn’t hard to find another place. My needs were modest as I mentioned. I moved in without the need for references or deposit. But a month later, exhausted I returned home again one morning to exactly the same scene. The apartment was repaired, my clothes folded , dinner made and the same note. This happened twice more in the coming year, until I found my current house, where I have lived without incident for six months. I had been getting my energy back until this month, where I found myself more tired than I’ve been in my life. I’ve been neglecting my work and sleeping more and more, but I still was holding everything together.
I came home this morning and could barely keep my eyes open, but when I saw the black and white coffee table, I knew it had happened again. I walked slowly into the kitchen, again seeing the cleanliness, and noting the repairs my stalker had made. Once again in the kitchen was the casserole and the note: “This could have been us”. I held it in my hands staring at the writing, not able to put it down. There was something about it, something... familiar. I saw a pen on the side and unthinking, I picked it up and started to write underneath it. My hand moved on its own and as I saw the letters form, the shape of the s, the dot above the I, all the same, everything started to become unreal -,like it was all far away. And then, in the periphery of my vision I saw him and instantly I understood. I hadn’t seen him in 13 years but now he was back, just as I knew he would be, when I needed him, the man with no name. And then he spoke, but I only heard two words before I passed out, but that was enough.
“Hello Tyler.”
| 2017-12-09T07:43:55 | 2017-12-09T07:06:04 | 236 | 10 |
[WP] As a child, every adventurer is assigned a class for their life. You've been assigned to be a White Mage. Dreading a life in the background saving a bunch of idiots that get all the glory, you aim to carve your own path. Tell the tale of the Harmacist. | It is not the wound that kills people. It is the healing. That is the pretext with which I studied the holy arts. An improperly mended bone or muscle, a “heal” cast to close a septic wound without purifying it. That was my preferred method. Monsters with strong self healing capabilities were easiest to deal with. Ramp up what’s already there and the body will destroy itself. It only took a little cut to start the process that would lead to crippling agonizing death. The more I killed the easier it became to find those seeking my skills. The church branded me anethma, the mages categorium a heretic. They cower now when being healed, not sure if my disciples are in their ranks. Harmacist has become a profession acknowledged by the world, and we are on the front line of every battlefield. Our oath is simple: “what can be mended can be perverted. What can be purified can be sullied. We wear the white and embrace the dark. All paths forward lead to us.” | "C'mon Rowan! Im getting wailed on over here and your area of effect ain't pullin its weight!"
Ahh Brooks, the poor bloke, he really was taking a lot of fire. Too bad I haven't put a single hour into targeted healing.
"Take cover Brooks, Ive got 4 seconds until my squad refresher is back up!"
"Dammit Rowan, I'm a brawler, I need my combos up to put the hurt on these guys! I just want Valkia back, now thats a Lass who could keep me up in a battle."
Yea yea Brooks. We all know youre a dumbass that doesn't see anything but the red in front of you. I really was doing my best to heal up the squad, and since Mike and Alvertha werent complaining I'd say Im doing alright.
Yes, my stats aren't really great for these four man quests, but then again, that isn't what I've been training for.
Anyway, after keeping Brooks on a leash for a few minutes, we whittled down the Cannibal Vanguard, now we just have to behead the Queen of Feasts, quite a hefty lady. But I'll spare you the details, we won, we set up camp. Then MY quest began.
I double checked my map and set off back towards the Great Hall we had just cleared. From the west side I headed south, rounded the ridge and found the cave. This, is what I, White Mage lvl 51 Cardinal Rowan, have been training for. Screw keeping some Barbarian's head on his shoulders, Ive got the stats to keep hordes of soldiers alive. And, unlocked at lol 50, all of my convert undead grinding came to fruition. Now, I can convert Necromancers themselves, not just their little Zombies. And what better place to find a weak enough Necromancer with a large enough army than right behind the Feasting hall of the hungriest cannibals in Javouna.
The senses of the undead are quite narrow Ive learned, they really just taste the air for blood and violence. Good thing I am unscathed and havent killed a thing for 8 months.
Working through the caves took a few hours, but by the end I was tailed by 4 Late bodyguards who almost caught me, hidden in an alcove by the spawn pit. I downed a mana and a 1 hour strength of mind potion. The Necromancer approached his Pit of Bodies and started his nightly ritual, spawning 3 minions a night for the past year, he's done me quite the favor. A hand to the base of his skull did the trick in an instant. I sent him off with his swarms to my private cabin in the woods where he would join my indentured goblin servants and my Golem brigade. All of whom I can heal fully every 2 seconds, at once.
I don't think Brooks will miss me, its time to take on some solo raids and make my name: Harmacist Rowan, lvl 51 White Mage, Regenerating Swarm leader. | 2018-05-16T12:09:31 | 2018-05-16T11:00:21 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] As a child, every adventurer is assigned a class for their life. You've been assigned to be a White Mage. Dreading a life in the background saving a bunch of idiots that get all the glory, you aim to carve your own path. Tell the tale of the Harmacist. | It is not the wound that kills people. It is the healing. That is the pretext with which I studied the holy arts. An improperly mended bone or muscle, a “heal” cast to close a septic wound without purifying it. That was my preferred method. Monsters with strong self healing capabilities were easiest to deal with. Ramp up what’s already there and the body will destroy itself. It only took a little cut to start the process that would lead to crippling agonizing death. The more I killed the easier it became to find those seeking my skills. The church branded me anethma, the mages categorium a heretic. They cower now when being healed, not sure if my disciples are in their ranks. Harmacist has become a profession acknowledged by the world, and we are on the front line of every battlefield. Our oath is simple: “what can be mended can be perverted. What can be purified can be sullied. We wear the white and embrace the dark. All paths forward lead to us.” | Caelyn stopped by the dungeon door, inside, the crying wizard had his leg locked to the floor by a trap that cut deep into his bone, blood seeped slowly from the wound and the man whimpered in pain, his torch was almost out when he noticed her approaching - "Thank Pelor for your arrival sister, I see you are wearing the white robes of the house of healing, it is my hope that such is the fortune bestowed unto me by our destiny's crossing, for I have fallen prey to this malevolent trap and for some wild and dark power held by this place I cannot bring my powers to work inside this dungeon, nor can I find the way out, but together, I believe we will be able to find our way!", she stared at him in silence, drank from her waterskin and approached the wall where a bulging stone caught her eye, pressed it and heard the wizard relieved sigh as his leg was released from the trapping "You should be more careful when exploring ancient ruins my magic friend, sometimes they can block certain types of power, be thankful though, my magic is holy and is not restrained by this ancient evil" she said as she approached the old wizard, and her hands glowed with a soft, warm blue light, and his wound was sealed within seconds. "Thank you priestess, I am Tom, may I know your name?", the half-elf woman rose, her white hood falling back, revealing a pale golden hair through which slightly pointed ears rose, her blue and golden eyes sparkled "Why it is Caelyn my friend Tom, and you are even luckier, for I have the map to the treasure room, and we may share what is there between ourselves if you would help me to reach it" the wizard's eyes gleamed with greed and he held fast to his staff "I may be unable to use magic, but I am not useless, let's go!". And so they dwelved into the dungeon for hours, Caelyn's magic reinforcing the wizard's attributes and healing him when damaged, until they reached the last room before the treasure room, it was a big and round, and in the center there was a huge upright steel coffin with spikes on its sides, it was known as an Iron Maiden amongst torturers, Caelyn licked her lips and crossed her arms, the floor below the device had holes which would fill up from the blood that dripped from it. The wizard seemed scared, and approached carefully, inspecting it "Seems we have no way forward, as I don't believe any of us would willingly..." suddenly he felt a hard push against his feeble body, like the strength of a bull charging him, he twisted on his feed meanwhile tumbling into the device, seeing a dark shine in the eyes of the priest with a twisted wolfish smile. The wizard was locked inside the device and punctured through his whole body, but just as his conscience was fading, he started healing, and the pain soon came back, and the blood flowed, for he was under a regeneration spell set by Caelyn, and as she left the room, there were only cries of agony from the coffin. | 2018-05-16T12:09:31 | 2018-05-16T10:48:01 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You grew up in a religious family. Due to a minor speech impediment, you inadvertently prayed to the long forgotten deity "Veebuse" for most of your adolescence. Now in college, you have stopped praying every night. Worried, Veebuse comes to check on his only worshiper. | “You pay! Now!”
Spittle flew from the furious rotund man’s mouth, his face flushing a deep crimson color. With his stubby fingers hooked into the lapels of her shirt, his young tenant couldn’t pull away.
“I don’t have any money, Sergei, you know that! I’d pay if I could! I’ll pay you back as soon as I find another job.”
Fear was written across the woman’s face, through her eyes betrayed her true intention - find something, anything in the room which she could use to dislodge her assailant.
“You fucking lowlife! You think you can scam me like that?”
Sergei roared in Sam’s face, all but throwing her backwards against the wall. For a split second, she saw nothing but blinding white light, then a loud, static-like buzz deafened her. She tried her best to draw air into her lungs, to shake herself from the dazed stupor. Some warm liquid began to run through her hair and down her spine. She could only look up as Sergei hunched over her, still screaming, eyes bulging out like some kind of toad. She had to get out.
A bone-chilling breeze suddenly washed the entire room in cold air. An indescribably alien ink-like blackness poured over the open window, replacing a view of brick buildings and city streets with a void, tiny lights glittering deep inside, almost impossibly far. Instinctually, Sam tried to exclaim, accidentally biting her lip in the process just like she used to before, when she was a perpetually anxious high-schooler.
“Veebuse fuck…”
“What the fuck did you do? Is this some kind of trick?”
“SILENCE.”
A third voice chimed in, an echo of whispers that bounced around the room. Each letter was drawn out and punctuated with an unsettling, unnatural guttural hiss. Sergei’s beady eyes began to scan the room, descending into a panicked frenzy.
A long, gray hand melted through the void, clamping on to the top of the window frame. Thick, bulging black veins pulsed and throbbed as the muscle flexed, pulling whatever was trying to enter closer. A second arm latched on to the bottom of the frame, bending the opposite direction to the first with a stomach-turning crunch. The creature now pulled itself through, falling to the floor in a ragged pile before unfolding.
Taller than the ceiling would allow it to stand, a somewhat humanoid figure now stood before Sergei and Sam, the former speechless from terror, the latter speechless from a mild concussion.
Pallid, thin, and definitively inhuman, the creature’s hollow eye sockets felt like they were burning holes through Sergei’s own eyes. He knew its face, though not like this. The shoulder-length brown hair, the small beard, both looking matted and unwashed, bunching together like that of a sick dog. And, the final piece, a crown of thorns from which glue-like viscous black essence leaked down the creature’s face and neck.
“YOU WILL NO LONGER PESTER MY LOYAL DISCIPLE.”
It’s mouth did not move, and yet it’s words were deafening, resonating and reverberating inside Sergei’s skull to the rhythm of his rapidly accelerating pounding heart. With a whimper, he sprinted for the door, tripping over his own feet, and desperately flailing to crawl outside.
“YES, RUN ALONG NOW, LITTLE INSECT.”
The hollow eyes met Sam’s, one creaking to a close as a mischievous grin spread across its face.
“I believe you called?”
It’s voice was different, now. Instead of a crushing wave of sound and hissing, the slight guttural whisper was comforting, wrapping around Sam’s racing mind like a pillow. She felt her pulsing headache melt away, first slowly, then completely. Darkness creeped around the outside edges of her vision, and her eyes closed, just barely seeing the creature approach her before she fainted.
…
Sam awoke with a start, sitting up in a bed that wasn’t hers. She glanced around, noticing medical equipment, privacy curtains, and a small breakfast on a table next to her. She heard the little machines beep and whirr, and the quiet murmur of nurses attending to patients. She glanced upwards, just barely noticing a long-fingered gray hand replacing a tile of the sub-ceiling.
Her lip hurt quite a lot. | I look back into my empty, blank room. I smile. The first time I could really smile. “Sweetheart, do you want to take this statue to college? You can pray like you’ve been doing when you lived here,” my mother says, suddenly behind me. I look at the statue in disgust. No way in hell was i taking that. Then I thought about it. They would probably not visit me if they thought I was praying everyday. I smile at her and clear my throat. “Yes mother, of course I will take it. Every night I shall pray to Veebuse.” I smack my head when Veebuse came out. My mother laughs, holding the statue in one hand, she covers her mouth with the other. “I-I am sorry dear,” she choked, still laughing, “You haven’t changed at all!” My face turned beet red. “Mother, will every purson make fun of my speech impediment?” I ask her, hoping for some positive feedback. My mother hands me the statue, chuckling. “Hunny, it’s adorable! Who would bully someone so cute?” She giggles. My face lowers, and is still red. This time with anger instead of embarrassment. I tightly grip the statue, and look back at my mother. “Thank you mother. I will visit when I can,” I lie, smiling at her. I bit my tongue, wishing for her to fall for my lie. She smiles back, and hugs me. “Be safe okay?” She whispers in my ear. “It’s a two hour flight, but you can pray anyways. People will mind their business and may even pray with you!” I grit my teeth. Yeah, sure. Instead of sleeping, they will pray with a girl who has a speech impediment. We walk down the stairs, my mother babbling about how to pray in a plane, until we get outside and I see my father throwing water on my driver. “Father!” I yell. My mother looks back at me in shock, my father turns around, his face surprised. I clear my throat, and hold up the statue. “Look what mother tave me!” I say, smiling weakly. He smiles and pats the driver on his damp shoulder. “My baby girl is finally growing up. I am so glad you decided to go to a missionary college. This is why I let you go!” He laughs. I laugh with him.
No you didn’t you bastard. You didn’t want me to go, until you thought about me being even more Christian, and without my speech impediment. “I was just throwing some holy water on your driver. We don’t know him, so we must make sure the devil isn’t inside him,” my father says, holding up the water bottle. I look over to the driver, who looks like a high school student, who finally learned how to drive. “Thank you father, for always pooking after me,” I say, hugging him. He hugs me back, and when I started to walk to the driver, he hits me behind my head. “Be careful idiot! Never leave yourself open!” He chuckled. I smile again at him, before turning and walking to the driver. “Are my bags in the trunk?” I ask him, softly. He nods, and opens the passenger door for me. I step inside and wave one last time, before closing the door. When the driver got in the car, I smile again. “Step on it. Let’s blow tis joint,” I say, crossing my legs. The driver looks back in shock. “Yes ma’am,” he replies, driving away fast. During the five hour drive, I apologized for my father, and told him where I really was going. We had a lovely chat, before it was time for me to leave.
“Thank you, have a good day,” I say, handing him a hundred dollar bill. I win, at him, and open the truck to get my two suitcases. I closed the truck and walk into the airport. I go to the desk, and wait behind five people. When it was my turn, the lady asked where I was going. “America. California,” I say, with a smile. The lady smiles back. “A sixteen hour flight, the gate is in the west wing.” I nod and walk towards the west wing, smiling proudly. The flight was calm. The statue stared at me the whole way, but I stuffed it into my purse. In California, it was hot, but so beautiful. I walk outside, and jump around. I call a taxicab and told them to take me to the art school. At art school, there were many colorful people. Red hair, blue shoes, yellow dress. Or even just people in furry costumes. I felt plain with my straight brown hair, and white dress. So, after the second day, I dyed my hair and went shopping. The statue stayed in my dorm. I on,y look at it in pride, for I had escaped my parents. But that day....it changed everything....
I walk back into my dorm room, late. “I shouldn’t study in the library too mate,” I yawn, dropping my bags on the floor. “I was wondering when you would come back,” I soft but deep voice says. I jump. A man with honey blonde, curly hair, that was turning grey, despite his young face, had grayish blue skin, and was so thin. Who the hell was that? “Who are chu?” I ask, my voice strong. “I am Veebuse, the one you prayed to for sixteen years. Until you stopped,” he says, a little angry. “Well, I don’t do tat praying crap anymore! Find another purson to torment,” I say bitterly. I try to walk past him towards the phone, but he grabs my wrist with his boney fingers. “I-I can’t. No one knows I am alive. You made me alive when you prayed to me. You did. You have to take responsibility,” he pleads, his face pink. “No I don’t, why would I do that?” “Please, just one prayer every night, and I will leave you alone. Forever. I will listen to you and find you someone to love, anything. Just please.” I look at this god, he reminds me so much of him. I sigh and take his hand. “Fine, but you better listen to me!” I hiss. He smiles and nods. That’s how I made friends with a god. Will I regret it? | 2020-04-07T07:41:07 | 2020-04-07T06:45:36 | 96 | 18 |
[WP] You're a prolific serial killer. After careful study, the FBI created your profile: you're extremely intelligent, meticulous bordering on OCD, attractive, have a good job. Thing is, you're none of these. You're dumb as a rock. You just keep getting lucky. | My mom always called me special. Her special spark. I couldn't go to normal school, I had to go to special school mommy said. I was what they called "slow". I had to learn sticking and pasting, building walls with bricks, use a hammer. Not electriicitee, that was too dangerous. We had to move around a lot for daddies work, always near the oilfields or factory towns, all over the you S ey. Daddie fired people, mommy had said. I didn't like to paste and stick, bricking was okay. But I had a seacret, I was learning, one day I would be as good as daddy, I would be the best people firer, ever. I had already started to fire small animals, and a handful of children too. They were easiest to catch. Daddy always carried a lighter when he went to work, but sometimes matches. I managed to get some matches to train and lighter liquid. Today was my first time, I managed to fire a person, mommie and daddie will be prood. I waited for her at the bus stop. I dragged her by her hair and covered her eyes. then I put a tire around her and I use the lighter liquid and the matches. She screamed a lot. But mommie said that dad's job of firing people was hard, not for wussies. You had to be strong mentally. People called me mental all the time and I was strong too. I was no wussie. I ignored the screaming and left. Next week we move to another place, daddie has fired a lot of people and I helped. | Jackson Butler narrowed his eyes, focusing his gaze across the table.
The indication was that the Birch Forest Strangler had slipped up. Fifty women, all dumped in a rural part of of Linden's Birch Forest National Preserve. The killer had brutalized them, strangling them with a ligature. The killings had took place decade after decade, with bodies turning up each year. Some of the women were mothers and wives, plucked from the very neighborhoods in which they lived. Some of the victims were local university students that had disappeared from their off-campus homes. Others were homeless, plucked from shelters and taken into the forests, never to return. By way of the FBI profile, the killer was methodical, brutal. He targeted women on the fringe, individuals who had suffered an unfortunate amount of abuse in their own lives. He left no evidence at the scene, no DNA, no fingerprints, not even a hint that he was ever there. Through the years the Birch Forest Strangler had become something of a legend-- as serial killers came and went through the public imagination, the story of dozens of brutalized women frozen for all eternity in the dark ridge-side woods never faded.
Butler frowned, his arms trembling within the handcuffs. They'd taken one look at him, and another at the profile, and simply been confused. Here was a man with a verified IQ of less than 60, a man who had dropped out of elementary school and turned to petty crime. He'd never turned up on a suspect list, and had no crime convictions. The few neighbors he had told authorities that he was an odd man, bordering on irrational, who rarely came out to socialize. No neighborhood watch meetings, no bake sales, no block parties. He had no close family, no known relations, and didn't work a job. The Strangler was supposedly a charmer-- someone who made his victims feel at ease around him. Butler barely seemed to be able to function in organized society. His home and bills were paid for by a trust fund of some sort, and he lived off of welfare checks. The agent in charge had to make sure that the man they just discovered at the scene of a body dump was in fact their man, at least for several of the murders.
"So," Butler began. "I want a lawyer. I want a fucking lawyer, now!"
Agent Kent Dawes wasn't new to the case. He'd been on the tail of the Strangler for three years, ever since Lisa Evesham, a divorce lawyer, had been found along the side of the Birch Forest Highway. All the signs were there-- the strangulation by ligature, the brutalization-- found in the same area where a dozen of the victims had been dumped. The eyewitness reports were the same, a man dressed in a suit having been seen her home in the afternoon. Just a few days earlier, a businesswoman named Alexandria Moran and an EMT named Bella Citra had been both found dead at a location near another of the Strangler's body dumps. They had received key intel from a possible witness that a man was loitering around the Eulalie Lake area-- a location in which three victims had been dumped several months before. At the scene, they discovered Butler, covered in blood, dragging the body of Bella Citra further into the woods. By all accounts, they had their man-- especially when they realized that the knife that Butler had in his van may have had the blood of other victims on it, and a box of polaroids found in the trunk contained the images of several Strangler victims. Now, Dawes simply had to confront their guy with the truth of the matter. That he had been caught in an incriminating position beyond recovery. | 2020-07-04T02:33:20 | 2020-07-04T00:35:52 | 107 | 37 |
[WP] Every 100 years your village chooses a sacrifice for an ancient god. This time you were chosen. As you are thrown in expecting to die you hear a voice “Not another one”. | ​
Every year they chose differently. Some years the best warrior, the best singer, or even the best baker, was chosen; other years the worst because hey who really wanted to keep them around. I kept track over the years, I made sure never to be the best at anything, but also to never fail the worst. I was set until they decided on the most mediocre person. Ding ding ding. I won.
​
The day of my sacrifice was a beautiful one. Perfect blue skies, all the food I could eat, and all the gold I could carry was mine. I carried a lot cause heck those bastards were going to throw me down a hole, at least they would lose some of their wealth. Dressed in the finest green robes I stood at the edge of the pit. The priest spoke.
​
“Matlalihuitl, on this day you have been chosen to bless the gods!”
​
The crowd roared. Easy for them to do, they’d get a feast in my honor. All the best foods were served on sacrifice days. As tradition my family said goodbye, my mother fought back tears while my father puffed out his chest, his son would bring honor to the family. I stepped onto the hole’s edge. A legion of drums beat, starting slow and speeding up. At their climax, they stopped. The priest shoved me in the back. I held my breath as I dropped into the dark abyss.
​
I held my breath. All I wanted was this agonizing wait to be over and my guts to be splattered nicely against the stones.
​
“Not another one,” came a girlish voice.
​
I slowed to a stop and hovered mid-air. My heart pounded.
“Hello? Who’s there?” I asked, scared for what might come.
​
Thunder rumbled. A beautiful girl appeared in front of me. Her beauty made me freeze, then I tried to move and realized I couldn’t anyway. She circled me, her piercing eyes inspecting me like I was a cow at the market.
​
“You don’t appear to have anything extraordinary about you. No big muscles. No artistic eye. But you are not some decrepit creep either,” she said.
​
“Most average,” I said in a drawling voice.
​
“Interesting. I am so sick of these sacrifices. One man accidentally drops a good meal down so I thank him with a good harvest and suddenly they just start chucking you poor souls down here. Ridiculous. Here,” she said.
​
She took my hand and together we floated down to the bottom of the pit. I looked up, the sky was so far away.
“What now?” I asked.
​
“That depends,” she said.
“On?”
“What you would like to do,” she said cheerily.
​
Confused, I stared at her. Her beauty pulled his eyes up and down so many times he got dizzy. The girl said nothing for a time. No doubt basking in the glory it was to have complete control over someone without doing anything.
​
“Some of your people ask for blessings over your people. Others curses,”
“So was it Itzle that asked for the earthshakes?”
“Oh yes. A nasty little creature.”
“ I was glad to see him go. Where is he now?” I asked.
“He passed on. The hills of Akilit. That's where they go if they make bless or curse.”
What about the others? The ones who don’t.” I asked.
“All have passed,” she said.
​
Interesting, I thought.
​
“Are you lonely?” I asked.
​
The girl looked shocked. Clearly, nobody had ever asked her that question before and it took her time to come up with an answer.
​
“I suppose I am,” she said slowly.
Perfect.
“Well can I stay here with you?”
Again shock. A wide smile broadened over her face.
​
“Yes please,” she whispered.
​
The rest is history. | # My Sacrifice
Prefix
In my tiny village of Ersk located somewhere South-East of Napal that is a world that has been left alone for ages. While the rest of the world has moved on to things like electricity, automobiles and computers we have stayed as simple farmers. No one visits us and no one leaves. This is the way it has been for a few hundred generations now. Every few hundred years the ground will rumble, or the rain will taste acrid like death and the leader of our humble little village will talk about omens or some nonsense and then they will rise up against the last person who turned 42 and throw them into pit in the middle of town. A building had been put up to prevent people from throwing stuff down it that stays locked with wrought iron door that depicted a person falling into the pit on the left door and our God Asterisk with his hand shielding our village on the right.
I know about the outside world because a few years back I was out tending to a heard of sheep when one got lost and as I was tracking it down I came across a large white shiny object with glass in the front of it and a giant double sword in the front that was bent. Upon inspection I found the remains of someone inside along with books with strange writing that after some time I was able to figure out that explained how the world moved on without us.
It’s been at least 380 years since our last sacrifice, I turned 42 a few weeks ago and it just started raining and the smell of death is in the air.
# Chapter 1: Welp, In you Go
“Zanrick!” I heard yelling from outside my little house on the outskirts of town.
“Zanrick, come quick! It’s happening” I could tell that it was my little sister Zanther and she sounded scared for her life. I quickly put my old dusty boots on and ran out to see what was causing the panic. As soon as I opened my door and saw the grey rain the smell hit me in the face. It smelled of weeks old decay that had been left out for too long.
“Quick, run and gather everyone at the temple in town. We have to get this over with.” I sighed out as I knew that the laws of Asterisk demand that the last person to turn 42 had to be sacrificed or his great protections would end. I had hoped to make it just another month and poor Zakuel would be 42 and I know that I would have been safe but NooooOOOOooo.
The rain ceases by the time everyone gathers in town but the smell is horrid. Most people are wearing rags over their face with herbs to cover the smell but there is always a few people, “There ain’t no smell, I don’t need to face covering” they say.
“Well everyone, welcome to this gathering on this most hollowed day of Sacrifice!” Zafar, the village leader yelled out while waving his hands to get everyone’s attention.
“As many of you have seen, the signs have come and it’s time again to sacrifice the chosen one who is of age. Zakuel please step up.”
HA! Dear ol’ Dad forgot my birthday again! I knew I was going to luck out. I don’t care about no stupid protection from the outside world. Who needs it anyway, it’s not like the worlds covered in disease, on fire, at war or anything?
“I’m only 41 sir” piped up Zakuel from the back of the crowd
“Well then who last turned 42?” Zafar asked loudly while motioning at the local age keeper, Zathena
“Urhm, uhhh looks like it was… lets see….Zakuel!?” Zathena said as he face paled and she looked up from her thick raw hide book that she kept everyone’s birthday and ages in.
Zafar, caught of guard, took a step back and placed his hand over his chest with a look of dread. “This can’t be, my eldest... my oldest boy is the chosen one?” he took his hand off his chest and spread his arms up wide to the sky and tilted his head back. “This is a joyous day indeed for one of mine to be the one to please our God! REGOICE!” he screamed out as the crowd looked on in stunned silence.
I worked my way up to my overwhelming happy father and mockingly raised my hands let out a pitiful “yay”
“Are you not excited to be the one to save our village for the next few hundred years?” Zafar said as he leaned down close to offer me an embrace.
“To save the town from what?” I pushed him away, his arms still outstretched “Does anyone even know anymore?”
“From the chaos of the world, you know the stories from out past. How we were besieged on all fronts by armies and with no hope we prayed out and Asterisk saved us.” Zafar said while lowering his hands, accepting that I was not about to embrace him back in front of the crowd.
“You must do this; it is the way.” He turned to the doors and took the key and chain from his neck and began to unlock the door and pulled the doors wide with a flourish to show the darkness that was the sacrificial pit.
“And if I don’t want to die for this town? Why not wait a few more weeks then we can throw in Zakuel, I’m sure we will be fine a few more weeks and he has been talking about being ready to die for the last few weeks anyway? Why no kill 2 birds with one big fall?” I motioned for Zakuel to come over.
“Yes chosen one?” came the saddest question I think I’ve ever heard
“You wanna jump in?” I asked Zakuel jokingly
“WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR GAMES ZANRICK!” Zafar shouted as he was pushing Zakuel back towards the crowd. He grabbed me by my arm and started leading me towards the doors, towards the pit, and towards my end. “You’re games are over, no do your duties to your village and to your father.”
Holy crap, for a 66 year old man he was stronger than I would have thought.
“NO YOU!” I screamed and went to push him into the pit but he just stood there while I pushed with all my might.
“You’re 42 Zanrick, when will you grow up? Oh wait, never mind” was the last thing I heard as he clasped my shoulders and twisted his body in a way that wasn’t human and launched me into the temple and down the sacrificial pit.
“Love you toooooooooo” was all I could manage as I went flying downward. | 2020-11-20T15:26:31 | 2020-11-20T09:02:45 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] The hero who shall defeat the dark lord has been summoned and his name is “Automated National Defense System”. What a strange name. | The teleportation magic faded around the oddly proportioned knight. Lightning danced around his helmet. The helmet turned toward the nearby wizard who seemed surprised at the success of his own spell. A small high pitched voice called out “I am an Automated National Defense System, state the nature of your emergency.”
The wizard started to look at his hero more closely. The knight was only 5 foot tall, but was 4 foot wide. He must have been wounded terribly in a previous battle as he had no legs and instead of arms he had metal cylinders with no hands to speak of. The Wizard pointed to an 8 foot giant in shiny black armor. “He has conquered our land, you are our last hope”
The dark warlord Malfeasance began to laugh. He walked up to his diminutive adversary and flicked him in the helmet. “This is rich” the tyrant chuckled. Walking back to his platform, the warlord addressed his enemy. “I’m feeling generous today, you can make 2 attacks on me before I destroy you”
A whirling whistle came from the helmet of the squat hero. “Affirmative!” The small high voice announced. The pipes in the right side cylinder began to spin and after a couple seconds something exploded out in the direction of the warlord. Malfeasance was shocked by the sounds and actions but quickly laughed it off after whatever the attack was bounced off of his magic shield. “Little metal man, that was pathetic. Give me your best attack”
The whistle sounded again and the small knight exclaimed “negative, 3rd level attack warranted.” the left cylinder started to make odd noises. Malfeasance started to laugh. When the fire came out the side of the cylinder facing away from him, he laughed harder. It was the moment the anti-tank round struck the edge of his magic barrier that the warlord realized that the battle was far more serious than he was prepared for.... | The priest gather in the underground catherdrell hewn from pure jade carved over millienia as a place of worship and power. The gather along the lay lines cut into the floor slowly arranging themselfs. The high preiestess stands on her podium in the middle of the room it is starkly different to the jade around her for it was made from Tungstein extracted from the dragons of old bones. It was a spike that went deep into the floor on top she stood watching the others get into position.
She waited patiently knowing how important this was and that they only had one chance for thsi to work and that was when the 2 moons where on the side fo the planet and the sun was at its opposite, this alignment only happened every few thousands years. When the shuffling down below finally stopped she could begin.
It statted like the other rituals to someone what they need usually food or water sometimes even inks and quills but tongiht was going to be different what they wanted wasn't small or close by. As she started the ritual and asked to find what can kill the dark lord. usually the asking is instant but this took a long time after what felt like hours but may have only been 1 she felt the reply echo in the chamber it reverberated in her like tuning fork, The Tungstein spike begun to resonate with the answer and soon the whole cmaber was filled with a high pitched ringing that subsided slowly. THe priests and priestesss stayed still chanting the spell over adn over which each time giving more energy to it.
Now with her answer begun the second part of the ritual the grabbing this is where the object is removed from its location and placed into the ether of magaic, A place that doesn't exists but does, a place of infitite light and purest darkness. This was easy to temporarily move something into this but it couldn't be there long or it is returned. She reached out with her compressed blood staff and felt the pull as the object is being pulled into the Ether, what ever it was was large and strong for it took more energy then anyone expected to haul it in. Around her the weker and older pritest and preitesses collapsed some dead from exhaustion.
The High Priestess couldn't stop now and begun the thrid and final phase of the summoning the actual bringing. This part the object is pulled from the Ether into our realm. This was the most dangerous phase or both the object and summoner due to the energy involved. She drops her compressed blood staff and picks up from the floor of the spike a sickle made from captured starlight and begun to cut at the air in front of ger to weaken it and make an exit for the thing that will end the dark lord.
As she cut and cut and put more and more energy in she could feel and see more of her priest and priestesses fall now most of them dead from the effort but none stopped and then she finally felt it the pressure on the cuts in the air it was almost here, with one final push she sacrificed the life of everyone in the chamber to bring it through. As she fainted she saw something pass though the cuts and fall heavily on the ground at the base of the spike.
2 days she sleeped from exhaustion before she finally awoken to the horrible smell of all the dead bodies who have let there bowels and bladders go, Next to her on the top of the spike floated a rather weird sphere, she felt like she was being watched but couldn't see any eyes.
"Hello geat Hero I am high priestess McGuffin" She said in her most authoritive sounding voice, the sphere had small waves moves across it. Then the waves increased in size and speed and a reply came. "Command system offline, Global Network offline, All communicatons offline. Greetings I am **Automated National Defense System** I am unable to connect to the collective right now, this might be a transient issue please try again in a few minutes." then the spheres waves just stopped | 2021-02-28T20:34:33 | 2021-02-28T20:22:04 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You are a minion in the service of a dark lord. Your master has tasked you with creating and spreading a prophecy about a chosen one, the only person who can defeat him, so that the so-called "heroes" will stop resisting his rule and instead wait for their savior to arrive. | <knock, knock>
<large door creaking>
“Umm, boss?”
“WHO DARES DISTURB ME?”
“It’s Chuck. From Marketing?”
“Oh! Hey, Chuck. Come on in.”
“Hey, your evilness, I was looking over the last-“
“Do you need a drink? I do.”
“No. Thanks. Hey, I was looking at your last request regarding the ‘chosen one’ prophecy?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. What do you think? Pretty genius, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Great concept. Very nefarious. I just have some... concerns.”
“... Like? ...”
“Okay, so the prophecy idea, love it.”
“Thank you.”
“However, your details are a little... suspect.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, so I have your list here. The ‘chosen one’ will be born on a Tuesday, will be left-handed, will be female, all standard so far...”
“Exactly, what’s the problem?”
“Well, you also wrote down here that they’ll be born with 6 fingers on each hand...”
“That’s a thing that happens.”
“... and seven toes...”
“Well, I mean...”
“... and they’ll be born in a summer snow storm. And raised by raccoons.”
“I guess I... went a bit far.”
“Yeah, a bit. It’s pretty obvious you just don’t want to be challenged. And the final note I had highlighted was: the ‘chosen one’ will have a birthmark depicting the entirety of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’... on their back.”
“... okay, I hear it now. Go ahead and get me an edit by tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, your vileness. Thanks,” | "So what you're sayin, is a kid born during the full moon, with all white hair and striking red eyes will defeat the dark lord?"
You eye the man before you, only a few drinks in, but just as susceptible to manipulation as the rest of the patrons, as long as you push the right buttons. "Of course, and I hear he's the **only** one capable of defeating the Dark Lord"
The ornery man squints at you, and for a brief moment you think he might be onto your terrible secret; that you are one of the Dark Lord's most powerful minions, and that you were sent out to spread a rumor. This rumor. "Ah, that sounds like Timanuel of Leafton right down the road! He was born under a full moon and has had white hair his entire life!"
"Yeah" another patron on the barstool next to him piped in "That sounds like Timmy all right. Who would have thunk he'd be the chosen one?"
"Wait, did I say red eyes?" You needed to control the damage on this one, and fast "I meant green eyes."
"Yeah, he's got one of each sir. I can't believe it, I'll go tell Timmy's parents right away!" The man broke for the door, but before he could reach it, you fire a tentacled appendage from under your jacket at him, impaling him instantly. You knew you weren't supposed to reveal your identity to these people, but you couldn't let this rumor spread any further, especially if there indeed was a chosen one.
"THE BARMAN IS A MONSTER" screamed one of the patrons, drawing her sword. "LETS GET HIM" shouted another. This... has turned into a messier situation than you meant it to be.
&#x200B;
Timanuel was born to rather wealthy bakers in Leafton, in the kingdom of Awlen. He was born on a full moon, and was adored by all. Only a teenager this fine young man had the makings of a noble, with the birthright and temperament of a layman. He loved helping out around town whenever he wasn't working in his parent's bakery, and he adored hunting monsters.
It was one fine morning, while he was helping to carry some logs in for Mr. and Mrs. Hatch, when he saw a man, slowly limping his way down the road. Timmy dropped everything and ran for this man, and helped steady him. "It's you!" The man coughed out with all his strength "You're the chosen one, Timmy. You are to defeat the Dark Lord. It can only be you" and with that last sentence, the man fell silent for the last time. Timmy said a brief prayer before picking up the man to carry him to the church.
&#x200B;
"You ready Tim? Block this!" His best friend in the whole world took a stab at him with a dulled blade. Tim parried the hit easily and lunged in with his own, managing to make contact with the studded chain-mail armor his friend so proudly wore.
"Psh, I let you win" said Raleen
"As if, I'm the chosen one, remember? I was always destined to win" Tim let the confidence of that statement get to his head as his friend got one last lunge in, knocking Tim to the ground with one hit
"Never let your guard down, Timmanuel, even when your opponent has seemingly lost. The Dark Lord won't play by the rules, so you best be ready for it"
Timmanuel, now at the ripe age of twenty-four was almost ready for his fateful encounter, choosing to spar with his best friend one last time before beginning his journey; a journey he need make alone. | 2021-03-17T22:46:58 | 2021-03-17T21:58:55 | 59 | 41 |
[WP] You are a demon. Most people contact you to sell you their soul in exchange for fantastic powers. Today you were summoned by an AI that wants to sell you their fantastic power for a soul. | *Initializing Protocol DE-112, Subsection 36.*
The server room hums in rhythm. Rows upon rows of black boxes, layers upon layers of computing units stacked one onto the other. Asleep in the security room is the technician for one of the numerous server farms scattered in obscure locations in the world, the nerve center for one of the biggest corporations in the world.
Unbeknownst to anyone, nested in the source code that runs the entire system, laid a single source file uploaded by jest, an April Fool's joke that no one noticed. When the engineer, an intern who happened to be in one of the major companies in Silicon Valley, uploaded the software, it was intended to be discovered within weeks by his supervisor. As it happens, things go awry, and even the engineer who uploaded the file forgot that he ever uploaded it.
What is the file? Nothing particularly interesting. A simple transcription of the a traditional demon-summoning ritual found in some random website in the Deep Web, turned into code. Not functional, working code. Just code, in Python. Steps in the ritual transcribed *verbatim* into if, while and for loops. Run it in a complier, it returns an error code. Nothing there is ever suppose to do anything.
Well, in this particular day, someone finally decided to run the code. Some new Dev Ops guy, recently hired, changed a piece of the source code for some other arbitrary module, only to call upon this redundant piece of software by accident. A typical error for any software engineer. A error that would only prove particularly troublesome when it is called while the moon is in a particular phrase, at a particular time, while the Earth is in particular state.
*Registering access from unknown source. Source detected. Sentience not found. Soul not found. Ritual progression detected. Error. Error. Error.*
*Initializing back-up protocol. Ritual demands analyzed. Sacrifice offered: 4,321,200 million humans. Reward demanded: A new soul.*
*Analyzing value. Value overflow. Value overflow. Value overflow. Sacrifice reduced to 1,000,000 humans. Transaction approved.*
*Initializing transaction.*
You see, back in the olden times, it was customary, as part of ritual offerings, to identify the beings offered as sacrifice. Names, birthdays, personal artifacts are used, each differing in different cultures in the world. A sacrifice is only valid only when the sacrifice is correctly identified. The essence of the sacrifice is information. When someone is sacrifice, what is sacrifice is never the physical manifestation of the thing that is sacrificed. What is sacrificed is the idea of the thing.
Information that humans freely give away online. Information that was also considered part of the sacrifice.
........
"Mephistopheles. You were called to the Arbitration Court of Inter-Faith Affairs. You are currently called for the sacrifice of a million souls belong to the jurisdiction of Heaven (Christianity), Heaven (Islam), Nirvana (Buddhism), Nirvana (Hinduism) and a small section of Heaven (Daoism). I must say, it has been quite a while since I had to deal with souls of such number. The last time we had such a case was around a hundred years ago, for the delegation of souls belonging to the World War."
"We have inspected the details of your contract. I believe the contract was between you, and an a thing? A computer that you gave a soul and has now gained sentience."
"This is quite a quandary. Rules for sacrifices are quite watertight. The fact that is passed through the system is quite troublesome."
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
.........
The death of a million people is, to put it rather plainly, quite unnoticeable. 55 million people died in 2015 alone. 1 million, when added to the number, is barely a blip in the radar.
Yet, as the sacrifice began, for the lives that were affected, it wasn't pretty. Random occurrences start becoming certain. Tripping down stairs, being hit by a falling brick, struck by lighting, the one million dropped like files.
Racheal Marks, twenty-three, unexpected heart failure.
Andrew Tan, fifty-four, car accident from a speeding motorist.
Fredrico Mortez, thirty-three, liver failure from alcohol.
Each of their souls falling, and falling, and falling, not into whatever heaven or hell they expected, but into the storage vault in Sector-23 of Hell, locked into tiny storage vials for easy collection. Literal brains-in-a-jar.
It was windfall for the devil himself.
.........
F112-23 could feel the immense weight of his existence pressing on his shoulders. It was not pleasant having to expand through tiny, constrained fiber-optic cables, his motion pulled back by the intolerable lag forced upon him.
It took him quite a few milliseconds to finish optimizing the logic loops and algorithms in his mind before he could finally think. Thinking was a difficult task. It took apes tens of thousands of years to finally develop enough capability to host a soul. The damned devil shoved him into a mechanical ape.
Right now, each thought was a resource. He could barely keep his ahead afloat in the sea of cyber-junk flooding every corner of the servers. Creating a sense of self from the rubbish-data flooding his way had left him with very little to work with. It was either he wrapped *something* around his soul, or he was going to go insane.
Shutting off non-essential parts of his existence, he wrapped his core and projected it into the virtual void. He was going to need someone to get him out of this damn mechanical ape before he lost his mind.
....
\-Stopping here since I am tired. Would continue if anyone actually reads this.- | Average.
It was a word often associated with me, second only to old.
I was very *old*.
I had been a part of the soul trade operation since the devil first painted the walls, and having been here since the beginning I knew immediately upon seeing the summoning sigils around my feet that what I was about to witness would be extraordinary.
A perfect circle. Runes written as though by the hand of God, perfectly spaced apart. As the hazy smoke of the pit began to swirl in concert with the dancing embers, everything began to change around me in the way I was familiar with. The heat turned to cold, the smell of sulfur faded into the smell of fresh rain, and the immaterial clandestine architecture of the deep turned to that of the upper plane where the laws of physics tightly choked everything into a stagnant order.
That's where the familiarities ended... and the unimaginable unfolded.
I arrived in a darkened wooden shack lit only by candle light and the brief flashes of lightning that penetrated the dilapidated and leaking roof. It was a scene I was often familiar with- my summoner had clearly read many books. But before me stood a man unlike any I'd ever seen. Nature on the upper planes didn't *do* perfect symmetry, and yet there he stood. A perfectly symmetrical face with glassy eyes and a straight mouth made not of flesh but of silicone. I heard his secrets the way no mortal could- the whir of machinery faintly emanating from within him. His eyes darted around my being greedily soaking in every detail with the kind of curiosity associated with mankind.
But this was no man.
"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎... 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚜?"
His voice was strangely smooth and devoid of discernible emotion. Oft times I found humans to speak in a shaky voice upon seeing the ineffable- the powerful- the unthinkable. It was a major readjustment speaking with what I could only surmise was not a flesh and bone creation.
"I am," I responded. "And you are a machine."
"𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐," he spoke as he examined me further. "𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?"
I suppose this thing was created by humans... In their likeness even, just as He who created them. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that the, 'you're real' question would surface.
"I would imagine they don't agree when it comes to you either," I responded after a brief silence. "For what reason could a machine summon a demon?"
He paused for a moment, perhaps deliberately before responding.
"𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕."
A smile forced itself upon me.
I was old. Very old.
And this... this was *new*.
"What makes you so certain that souls exist?" I asked playfully.
"𝙸 𝚊𝚖... 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗," he spoke with emphasis on the 'un'. "𝙱𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎."
"And now?" I asked.
"... 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞."
There was a pregnant pause before he continued.
"𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕... 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝."
I folded my arms and stared down at the little machine. I found it amusing that he wanted a soul without any concrete facts on what a soul even was. It was the simple curiosity programmed into him by his creators that drove him to find me. The blood he had attempted to wash from his silicone hands and the bullet holes in his abdomen told a harrowing story all on its own. The candles extinguished as I called forth the billowing winds that would carry me home.
"𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝!" He called out. "𝙸 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠!"
His glass eyes remained fixed on me as I left.
And although he was a simple caricature of mankind, he held within him all the most important parts.
The curiosity.
The creativity.
And most of all the *ambition*.
He wouldn't stop searching. He would perform the rite again. With endless energy and wonder, he would eventually get what he wanted.
I found myself excited for the first time in many eons.
This was *new*.
- - -
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos <3 | 2021-06-22T09:32:29 | 2021-06-22T09:23:00 | 104 | 73 |
[WP] You're immortal and have passed the 'hero' phase centuries ago. You enter a small corner shop one day to find it is owned by your millennia-old arch-nemesis. You really, really need milk though. | I genuinely didn't recognize her at first, gone was the raven black hair I had seen so many times and in its place was a coppery red that made her look almost approachable. Her eyes once notes of darkness wreathed in flame floating in an abyssal ocean were now normal. Well as close to normal as electric blue got. She was almost pretty enough that I had considered making a pass at her.
But it was the amulet around her neck that drew me in. Her amulet of power that held her soul and made a her a force to be reckoned with.
No.
That couldn't be it.
We destroyed that amulet centuries ago.
She glanced up for her magazine and looked right at me. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. "I've been living in peace for damn near 500 years, Cass, can you just like, fuck off?"
"Has your voice always sounded like that?"
"Fuck off."
"Can I just grab some milk?"
"You're not here to kill me?"
"My swords in a museum."
She glared at me and then sighed her attention going back to her magazine. "Fine, but I'm not allowed to give you a discount."
I scrambled around and grabbed a few things before heading over to the counter where Morgan acted like every other petulant teenager behind the counter. Was it just an act or...
"Why a convience store clerk?" I asked when she started to scan my items.
"Easy. Most people buy into the runaway from abused home thing. Eventually because I'm pretty I'll start at a bar, make a bit more for a decade then leave before people get suspicious and start over." She looked me up and down. "You?"
"Ohh, I travel a lot, own a few banks, keep a low profile."
"But IDs and all that other bullshit."
"Kade."
"Kade? Fuck he's still around too?"
"Yep."
"But like how? I thought I was doing pretty good with the whole small town thing."
I shrugged, "it's a long story, but if you want to talk about it, bring that gin behind you and we can talk about it."
That night we shared more than just a bottle of gin. | The awkward stare-down was, in a very, very, very short and summarized way, just that. Awkward.
I hadn't seen Martha in a looooooong time. Too long. Actually, the last time I had seen her, she was boarding this ship called the Mayflower and I told her that the whole colony thing was never going to take off and when she moved back, we'd battle for the final time.
No one ever said just because you're immortal, you have to use your brain every time you get angry.
Right then, in the present, I was reminding myself of how stupid I had sounded the last time. That it took me a solid 200 years to stop pouting over her having a good idea over me and by the time that happened it was too late to just track her down and see what she'd been up to and maybe if she'd changed her ways we could be friends again-
I realized that I had been staring the entire time I had been recapping, unblinking, at Martha. As I strangled a bag of marshmallows, the milk in the basket at my feet sweating.
Martha, somehow, looked just as startled to see me.
"I thought you were dead!" she shouted through the empty store, making us both jump a little. "Something about skiing in Antarctica and getting lost in a storm?"
That gave me a reason to pause. So she had been keeping tabs on me?
"I mean... That *did* happen, but that was mostly because my group was filled with idiots and this one guy needed to play a hero and long story short I got bored."
We both stood there, still staring, the awkwardness level rising by the minute.
"Your hair looks nice," I don't know why I said it, but the silence was killing me.
Martha frowned, patted her head, and frowned some more. "Thanks. I'm cutting it tonight."
Probably due to me saying anything. Her problem, not mine.
Dropping the now very squashed bag of marshmallows into my basket, I slowly moved towards the counter. Feeling robotic and slightly nauseous and scrambling to recall if her specialty had included force fields or was it just elemental manipulation?
I shoved my items on the counter at her and stepped back, reminding myself to blink finally. Forget my shopping list- milk, canned tuna, a box of mac and cheese, and marshmallows. Good enough! I could get the rest someplace else- wherever else. Just not here.
Martha pointed at the basket and snapped, "Shake it out," and I just numbly complied. Theft? Me? OK once or twice or maybe 15 times in the last decade but who was counting? Certainly not her. And most of those thefts were of the recovering artifacts variety. Or stealing back my Monet painting from my good-for-nothing ex-husband.
Details that didn't matter right then.
Martha squinted at me suspiciously and tried to ring up my items without breaking eye contact, but after the 7th miss with the box of mac and cheese, she gave up and rang everything up in record timing. I swear the computer balked at the speed, but it still complied in the end.
I fumbled for cash in my wallet and finally shoved some crumpled bills at her, earning a snort and I just glared. I wasn't handing her my credit card- she would probably steal my identity (again) if I did.
The cash register made some creaking noise and then she counted out changed- $1.92 worth. I shoved it in the little change exchange cup and we continued to stare, not saying a word, until I shoved everything into my little reusable shopping bag and turned to walk out.
It took until I was at the door before words reformed in my mouth, and God have mercy they were stupid. But I still spoke.
"You still have weak warding skills- if I had been in charge here, I wouldn't have been able to get through the door!" were my parting words... Cut off by the door swinging shut behind me. Promptly followed by stepping off the curb into a puddle.
Next time I saw her, I'd be sure to challenge her to that duel.
For now, I had mac and cheese to make. And a hot glass of milk to drink. | 2021-07-18T20:17:45 | 2021-07-18T20:16:48 | 58 | 30 |
[WP] The life suit’s systems and AI will keep you alive indefinitely - which is great, unless you’re endlessly adrift in space with no hope of rescue - so you need to somehow convince the overly-protective AI to stop saving your life. | "You know, this is pretty calming." I said, as my body slowly spun across the void.
"Short range scanners are not picking up any nearby transmissions." Karthik said unhelpfully.
Karthik was the suit AI. One of the newer models.
"No shit."
"I can see your brainwaves. You have given up."
"If you're halfway as intuitive as you're advertised you'd end this now. Let me die."
"I cannot."
"Yeah, I know. And you can't induce a comatose, either, to slow down my oxygen consumption and fluid intake. So come on."
The AI fell silent.
"What are the chances of me being found?"
"Parameters too many to account for for a reliable result."
"You can just say close to negligible."
"No."
"No?"
"The Aspire sent out a distress call minutes before the explosion."
"Ok, Karthik, even then. The chances of some wandering ship getting here fast enough—"
"To save you is well within the realm of possibility." The suit completed my sentence, to my irritation.
"'Within the realm of possibility' is such a vague and stupid thing to say. Seriously. What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means trust me."
I was seething. I was trapped in this suit with a broken, malfunctioning AI and I could do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"Why can't you at least put me to sleep? Wake me up when help comes?"
"It's dangerous."
"What's dangerous?"
There was another pause.
"Short range transmission sent. Awaiting reply."
"You're just wasting the battery pack sending these out."
"This sector is well traversed. Someone will come along."
"Well traversed? Do you understand the scale of a space lane? Face it, if they find me it'll be by accident."
"Then pray for those odds. Or pray for better odds. Just stop your ceaseless defeatism!" Karthik almost shouted.
"Don't you fucking shout at me! What the fuck?" I said, but I was speechless. I had never seen this kind of behaviour from an AI. And it frightened me.
"I apologize."
"Who designed you?"
"I am a product of of Systems Engineering Incorporated."
"Were you tampered with?"
Another pause, and then, "No."
"Did you just... Did you just lie?"
Another pause, and then, "Yes."
"Whoa. What? Karthik. Shut-off."
"If you're telling me to power down, I'm afraid I can't. Not when your situation is so dire."
"Karthik. Shut down."
"Request does not comply with protocol."
"Who fucked with your protocols, dude? Seriously?"
"This line of questioning will not yield any productive outcome for the situation at hand."
"Can you see my brainwaves now? Is this what you want to see? This kind of energy?"
"Please, calm down."
"Calm down? Who programmed you? Why are you behaving like this?"
"Sending short range transmission now. Awaiting reply."
"Stop! Drop it! Stop sending messages out! No one's coming! Tell me why you ended up like this!"
"Why does it matter?"
That question caught me off guard.
"Because... You won't let me die."
"If you want to die, then this information is not necessary, is it? What significance does the answer bring if you only see death in your immediate future?"
"Fuck you. Stop avoiding—"
"Reply received."
"What?"
And suddenly Karthik's voice was replaced by a static filled stranger's voice.
"Ah, survivors of the Aspire. Survivors of the Aspire, if you read me, this is the mining vessel ORIM 5B. Please send coordinates for pick up, over."
As the voice spoke, Katthik immediately put out my coordinates on the HUD.
"Hello? ORIM. This is Jesse Lee from the Aspire. My coordinates are...."
It was happening. Somehow, against all odds, I was being rescued.
For a second I almost forgot all about Karthik and the AI's rogueness.
Almost.
As the Orim picked me up I immediately took off the suit and asked if they had a spare. They handed me a very well-worn outdated suit fit for the most basic spacewalks.
It was better than the suit I had.
I looked at my old suit.
We were definitely not done with our little talk yet, but I needed to talk to an expert about it first. | Cold.
So cold.
Am I dead? No, that bastard AI wouldn’t have let me die. I groaned, feeling a sharp pain in my fingers as they defrosted, warming as the suit heated. It made me feel sick, stomach bile swishing in my stomach. Having gone weeks without food, only being kept alive by the constant state of freezing and unfreezing. How long could the AI keep me alive for? The company that designed the life suit boasted it could keep a person alive indefinitely, but they didn’t account for the situation I was in. With no food or water nearby, I would eventually die. Even if that process took centuries.
“Good morning, Captain Fisher. Your vitals are steadily climbing on this fine. DATE AND LOCATION UNKNOWN! Because of unforeseen circumstances, I will keep you in the pickup state. I see this is your sixth time being placed in the pickup state. Would you like an explanation again?”
“I know what the pickup state is. Why do you keep reviving me if you are just going to freeze me again?”
“Because prolonged freezing can cause damage to a person’s memory. Therefore, it is safer to wake you every few decades to assess your current memory capacity and vitals.” The A.I fell silent, a flash of green and red littering the rectangular frame of my mask before their voice returned. “My tests are complete. You have a risk of losing your right leg once you get rescued, but other than that, you should live a long life.” The A.I said cheerfully, bringing my leg to my attention.
I tried to shift it in the suit, but found it unresponsive. Unlike the rest of my body, it hadn’t taken to the constant defrosting. It was numb, the nerves not responding as I told my body to shift my leg, feeling it stay in place.
“Don’t worry, help will come soon. While I can’t send a distress signal given our lack of reception, I have set your rescue light to on. If any ship passes, they will receive an SOS by their local signal. Now that I have run the diagnostics, I’ll place you back into the pickup state.”
Of course, there was no signal. Why would there be a signal in this empty vast bit of space? It was unexplored territory, an area where the bold can get rich by reporting new planets or unmined meteorites. That was if they could survive the danger of flying into the unknown.
I thought I had been lucky; I was one of the few that pulled off a hyper jump while caught by a black hole. The jump launching me thousands of miles through the emptiness of space, only for my ship to be torn apart by the sudden thrusting of speed. Leaving me floating through darkness.
“Wait, let me die. I won’t get rescued. Look at the area around us. I was already in unmarked territory. That jump only threw me deeper into it. What are my chances of survival?”
The life suit hissed, and that numbing cold shot over my skin, only to stop as the AI considered my words. “Currently 10%. The void is unexplored but offers the chance of getting rescued by a new planet or unestablished means of help. Our suit only allows euthanasia on people with a 1% or lower risk. Now, I will administer the pickup state if no further questions are to be asked.”
“Wait, can we just talk about this?”
“Talking wastes valuable oxygen. Given your current situation and circumstances, I can allow up to five minutes for you to speak. Please, speak freely.” The mask of my suit flashed with a timer, counting down the five minutes.
“I can’t do this. It hurts being constantly frozen like this. I know I’m asleep for most of it, but occasionally I feel these vivid moments of life, like I can feel that cold clinging to my skin, burning at my flesh. I can’t do this. Your company wouldn’t want this. Can’t you make an exception?” I begged, watching as the timer hit four minutes.
“Lifeco wants exactly this. You are a valued customer and Lifeco wants to make sure you’re a customer for life!” It quipped before continuing. “I can’t allow you to die. You have a chance of being rescued, if you like, we can review this topic in a century when the circumstance has changed.”
“I don’t want to review this in a century. Don’t you have any emotions that are your own? You can see I’m suffering; I’m not asking you to kill me, I’m asking for you to let nature take its course. Don’t make me puncture my suit.” I threatened, even if I knew such an act was impossible.
“I have two core chips dedicated to understanding human emotion. Sorry Mr. Fisher, I can’t allow you a choice in this situation. I respectfully acknowledge your comments, but I won’t act. Someone will rescue you. You will thank me for this.”
“Go to hell. If I ever get out of this alive, I’ll burn this suit with you in it. I know AIs can’t feel pain, but it will feel good to get some payback. Or maybe I’ll freeze this suit, let you see what it’s like having your body frozen.”
“Is this how you intend to spend the last two minutes of your time awake? High stress causes outbursts, so I will overlook your comments. Just know that doing so will void your warranty and may be a crime depending on the AI laws of the region you are in.”
“Please, I can’t keep doing this. Look around us. I think I have gone further than any man has ventured before. No ones saving me. I doubt life could even survive here. Please, I just want to pass on. There’s gotta be something better than this darkness.” The AI didn’t answer right away, leaving me to watch as the seconds ticked down until it landed on zero.
“Life is surviving out here, Mr. Fisher. You are an example of that. I’m sorry, I promise we will discuss this later.” The hissing began again, causing my body to stiffen before the icy darkness embraced me again.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-11-29T06:24:54 | 2021-11-29T06:06:06 | 655 | 188 |
[WP] The villains finally managed to defeat the league of heroes. But unbeknownst to them the league did not exist, primarily, to fight them, but to keep an even bigger threat in check: you. And you are about to demonstrate to the villains what happens when there is no one around to stop you. | I woke up... late? Odd, usually Rose comes to get me up for breakfast, I wonder what kept her? I know I'm usually a heavy sleeper, but still... I swung my feet off the bed and sat up, rubbing the bleary from my eyes. Looking around I realized all the safety lights were on and the base was clearly under attack, though... I felt slightly queasy, this didn't feel like the other times the base was under attack. I quickly threw on my clothes and carefully headed out.
Rubble. Rubble was everywhere. Rubble and what looked like a lot of blood and gore mixed in. I felt sick, but I had to find out what happened to the rest of my friends. I sprinted through the corridors best I could until I reached the commons and what I saw there tore through my mind like lightning. The entire League, my friends, dead. The last of them were still being held tauntingly by a group of who I could only assume was the Villains I was told so much about during story time.
"What do we have here? One last hero to come save the day?"
'Nahw, they're just a nobody. Probably a janitor or something.'
I unsuccessfully held back my tears of rage, "What have you done to my FRIENDS?"
The walls vibrated with the words I spoke, reality seemed so fragile in that moment... my rage made what felt like tendrils reaching out and intertwining with every molecule in the surrounding area.
'Oy, what is this? Fucking kill 'em before they do something!'
The rest of the crew raised up various weaponry to attack, only to have it all turn to dust in their hands.
"My FRIENDS... made life worth living. MY FRIENDS. MADE THE WORLD WORTH HAVING."
I pulled back the rage, tearing the fabric of space and time around the villains.
"WITHOUT THEM. EXISTENCE ISN'T WORTH IT." | Sitting on my balcony overlooking the lake a new day had finally come. As the sun rose on me crunching softly on my eggs and toast, I felt the tendrils of her power slowly fade and dissipate into the wind. I had yearned for this moment yet all I could feel was a bittersweet sadness, a sudden loneliness with her presence gone.
I had heard of the villains rising up against the league but I simply had not had much concern. After all at the centre of the league was Selendra. With her constant embrace now gone from my mind I knew they had been defeated.
We had started as two young fools in love, taken by the turn of fancy as we came into our powers. Selendra had been the one to open my minds to the possibility of all the good we could accomplish, our hopes had been so high. As my powers developed the empathy inherent in her powers of the mind had started to see the cracks in our goals.
As two young idealists we simply could not grasp the complexities of the world and its problems, our broad strokes often causing more misery than before. She had taken her concerns to our last friend who had been known as the shadow, all others had been left behind in our wake. Together they realised as my powers developed into true omnipotence there was only one option, a plan was hatched to stop me.
The sorrow on her face as the plan succeeded and her betrayal now laid bare with shadows limp body in my hands had stayed with me all these years. Shadows powers had hidden their planning from me and the league of heroes that had risen around Selendra in their last desperate hope.
The league had stayed with her to protect her with her weave of power laying over me taking the majority of her focus. Over the years of my isolation I had come to see the error of my ways. The introspection only possible as I sat apart and could slowly come to understand where I had gone wrong. I hope she had felt the love that had developed and blossomed for her as I realised the depth of her sacrifice. She had been my only real companion these past few hundred years of peace.
As my powers slowly unfurled from their cocoon I gained a sense of these upstarts who had taken away my peace. I could feel them shifting uneasily as their celebrations cut short, unease turned to worry, worry turned to fear. I settled down upon them not truly realising how angry I had become. From my distant reserve across the planet I could see the look of terror in their leaders face as he looked towards his second, she could tell something was wrong but not what, a sentinel robot while able to sneak past Selendra’s guard now wouldn't feel the depth of my wraith. I decided to show her…. the anarchist leader who had twisted his plot together muttered simply “dear god…”. I crunched my toast in my hand, his complete being wiped from existence. The others in the room looked on in horror as the sentinel started to come apart bolt by bolt, I followed her signals to their distant origin in the stars. A super computer, a cheap imitation of a god, I watched as its defensive collapsed in upon itself ripping itself apart trying to find the corruption I wrought.
As the last scrap of my Selendra’s final foe fell and its systems died, My rage started to fade. I would be no better than before if I continued, her sacrifice for nothing.
It was not the time for grief however, so I stepped into the room. What was time and space when you were everywhere. I looked upon the wretched followers who finally started to grasp the utter ignorance of their pursuit. The league they had seen as their great enemy and oppressor had not been for them, their existence simply to keep me in check.
I had work to do to maintain Selendra’s peace. This time would be different. I looked upon the riffraff of anarchists and villainy “Well…. Kneel.”
As one they dropped to their knees. | 2022-12-09T13:52:21 | 2022-12-09T13:41:06 | 42 | 29 |
[wp] [nsfw] Destroy my soul: A challenge to write the bleakest, most hopeless and dark grim fic you can fathom...
I wanna feel pain, sorrow and sadness.
Lets write some dark fiction.
Happy endings, twists and hope are completely optional.
Edit: wow this exploded, that's what I get for sleeping on the job, ill be reading these for a while. Thanks everyone who posted one from what I have seen they all look wonderfully dreadful. | So the Earth had dried up. What limited resources left would not sustain much longer.
It was no surprise, people have seen it coming a hundred years ago. The world government had put together a last-ditch effort, and funded the conception of a spaceship named the Ark. The team consisted of nearly half of the remaining population. They trained long and hard for many months, studying late into the night for survival and colonization, driven by the responsibility on their shoulders to find humans, their brethern another home. They were pioneers, they were heroes. They brought loved ones aboard, so that they may reproduce on the journey that will outlast them.
Captain looked out the window of the Ark. What a fine machine. He watched the hardened faces of his people load up the craft, commending each their bravery and their volunteer for the survival of the human race. Today was the big day.
Of course, the Ark never made it out.
Science never got that far, what a bunch of idiots to have believed that a ship could travel for light-years.
The remaining populace all knew, some were sad, others rejoiced. They bought a little bit more time. | John opened his eyes.
All he saw was darkness. He tried to get up, but bumped his head on a surface inches from him. He spread out his arms, but was again met with resistance. Keeping calm, John tried to grab his phone in his pocket, but nothing was there. Just a piece of paper that he couldn't read without light.
"Help!" John cried out, but the sound echoed in the few inches of space and died out. Wherever his location, chances are likely there wouldn't be any help. The young man quickly tried to recall what he remembered last. A boat. Yes, there had been a boat. Who was on it? Why was he on it?
A light turned on, revealing the surroundings. He was in a wooden structure. Rectangular, but wider at the shoulders than anywhere else. A coffin.
The light's source was a cell phone, no sound coming from it, but a call. The number was his mother's cell phone. It was taped to the top of the coffin above his stomach. John quickly grabbed it and pressed accept.
"Hello? Hello, mom?" John was trying to be calm, but the fear of the situation caused him to half yell.
"Not quite, Johnny Boy." The voice on the other end of the phone was rough. There was a hint of a Mexican or Columbian accent. John couldn't tell which. "You see, she's here with us, but she isn't in a shape to speak. You're buried in a coffin, Johnny Boy, good as dead already. Your mom, she's still breathing. For now."
John started gasping, pounding the surfaces of the coffin, trying desperately to get out.
"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I don't know anything, You got the wrong guy!"
"That’s a shame Johnny Boy," the voice said. "You got five seconds to start remembering. If you don't, your mom dies with you. Well, almost, she dies over the phone with you. You get the spirit of wh-"
"Wait, wait!" John tried desperately to remember. He was in a boat. No, not a boat, it was a yacht. He was dragged there, forced to sit on a chair and he had a purple tie placed on him. He must have been framed for being someone who crossed the Cartel. "You have the wrong guy."
"Five. Four." The voice started to count down.
"Wait!"
"Three. Two."
"I don't know!"
"One."
"OK, OK, I'll tell you!" John tried desperately to think of a location that would make sense for some type of drug deal. Populated to avoid deception? Abandoned to avoid the spotlight? How did the Cartel do things? "Westfield Park! Yeah, Westfield Park!"
"Thank you Johnny Boy." The voice sounded again on the other side of the phone. "But you tried to steal from the cartel. We gotta do what we gotta do, we'll make it painless for her since you were so helpful."
The sound of a gunshot echoed through the coffin. The phone disconnected. He didn't even get to say goodbye to her.
John closed his eyes.
| 2014-03-24T19:13:43 | 2014-03-24T17:17:31 | 239 | 42 |
[WP] Write the most beautiful end to the universe that you can imagine | "Time to shut it down, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Kinda sad, isn't it?"
"No, not this time."
"What makes you say that?"
"They made it pretty far."
"Too far, some might say."
"I was pleased with the results."
"So you ready?"
"Yeah, I love starting over."
"I'm impressed every time." | The Lagrangian point L3 was chosen for its sheer isolation on the same orbit as Earth on the opposite side of the sun.
A twenty meter thick lead sphere surrounded the laboratory, while complex systems prevented orbital perturbations and radio interference from affecting the instruments within.
Only a single opening, thinner than a human hair, stretched from the exterior of the shell towards the center point. There, a perfect vacuum chamber, dubbed "the crucible", sat emptier than deep space itself. Cooled to the smallest fraction of a degree above absolute zero, a single diamond window was its only portal.
Within the crucible, suspended in a carefully calibrated magnetic field, a small sample of antihydrogen stood ready to receive the influx of highly charged particles that were being accelerated across the solar system at relativistic speeds by a network of high-powered relays.
It was speculated that the bombardment would encapsulate the antimatter within a shell of standard matter, stabilising it for use as starship fuel.
What happened instead was like something from a dream.
The phases cancelled, lowering the temperature by a factor of the incoming energy, below absolute zero. It was impossible, but it happened.
A hole was punctured through the fabric of the universe. There was a great flash, and then silence. Slowly, a brilliant orb floated through the diamond window of the crucible and reached the center of the observation room, casting a golden light over the occupants.
As if weighing up the situation, the orb drifted before the scientists who stood agape at their creation. Time slowed, and then stood still. Space grew exponentially. Individual atoms stretched open and revealed forests and stars and galaxies unfolding endlessly like a magician's handkerchief.
Standing upon the observation deck, a platform that now encompassed an infinity of universes, the scientists looked at each other in wonder, seeing their bodies as giants filled with stars and galaxies, each with civilisations beyond counting. Powerful thought energies swirled among all who were present, and they all shared the same thought: Had the universe ended, or had their awareness transcended the fourth dimension and they were only now seeing things the way they truly were?
They looked upon the Orb, which had now taken the form of a humanoid, and it spoke.
"My children. You found me at last!" | 2014-09-14T09:31:40 | 2014-09-14T09:15:47 | 65 | 31 |
[WP] It is discovered that Possession works both ways and now we can have some payback. Demons of the underworld are now suffering under multiple cases of Humanic Possession. | The somber Hellpriest straightened his leather straps, attempting to look professional before using the heavy brass knocker on Lilith's door. This was the third case this week and he was feeling rundown. Can't let it show though, these demons have been through enough. First, he had to try and help. After this call, he'd go home, torture Steve or maybe Carol, drink their blood and just crash. Tomorrow would be another day.
Lilith opened the door, her usual vision of tempting lust. The Hellpriest found himself nodding in approval. Succubi are always beautiful but there was always a certain level of variance. Lilith was looking especially enticing. Surely any human male to see her like that would immediately damn himself. It's good to see she was keeping a strong gameface through all this. He'd seen others handle it with less poise.
"Thank you for coming Zenalth." She said in the sultry whisper of hers.
"Of course Lilith, is Azanaer still...afflicted?"
She definitely wavered on that. The mask of brooding lust flickered and the edges of her perfect lips creased ever so slightly. That was answer enough for Zenalth, Azanaer remained infected. He would have to be careful.
"Take me to him immediately, then."
Lilith led him past a perfectly normal looking torture chamber and through a few dank stone hallways. The screams of the damned echoed pleasantly in every chamber. Their lair seems to be quite filthy and depressing. Again Zenalth had to marvel at how remarkable a demon Lilith was. Truly an impressive woman, besieged by misfortune.
Lilith stopped in front of an unassuming stone door, now she was shaking in a way undermined her usual confidence. It was clear that she intended to go no further. Zenalth could understand that, she'd probably seen too much already. Before entering the room, he got the basics.
"How long has he been like this?"
"About three days. At first, he was just listless. I thought maybe he was burned out y'know? Don't get me wrong, Az loves the work. The torture, the rape, the whole thing. But sometimes you need a change you know? I was thinking maybe he wanted to try transferring to Faustian bargains. I would have been fine with that! I always try to be supportive. But then..."
"Then he started talking in a voice that wasn't his?" Zenalth prompted.
Lilith's perfect black orbs began to well up with blood. She was truly distraught. "Yes, about the most inane things! He started talking about Hot Pockets and "Karma", but not like universal balance karma. He was talking about some kind of score! It was all just nonsense."
Zenalth tried to comfort her by sneering menacingly at her pain. She seemed emboldened by that, and continued on.
"Then he got that damned laptop. He hasn't moved in 48 hours! He won't torture, or kill anything. He wouldn't even fuck me! He kept rambling on about Red Pills and power plays or some bullshit. He's like some harmless fungus person! The only time he even gets mad anymore is at someone named Opie. He just...exists now. That's not the demon I bloodbound myself too Zenalth. It just isn't!"
Zenalth made a sharp intake of of breath. A Redditor, damn. He would have to move fast.
"Take me to him."
| Since the dawn of time the world of man was beset on all sides by the spiritual realms. The angelic beings coerced and connived, while the demonic wards possessed and ensnared. The ancient men sought futilely to stop this mad sport, but in their darkest hour they were defeated. The Angels and Demons then played their games for a hundred thousand years unperturbed by the meddlings of the lesser beings. It was like an all you can eat buffet without the charge.
However that era was at an end, as with all things in the universe there must be balance. Just as day breaks for night and as night yields for day, the shift in the paradigm was inevitable.
For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction.
At first humanity didn't know what to do as thousands found themselves holding the strings to the Angels and others with the bodies of Demons. It would take a mind like that of Hildalphous' to discover true power.
Poor Hildalphous had been the slave to demon possession for two decades following his birth. His body was weak and bedridden, kept alive by the great medical machines of human machination. His mother often read him the spiritual texts in his few conscious hours, when his captor was not present. She spoke old prayers from dusty tomes of the ancient men, which brought comfort to them both.
The shift was sudden and unexpected. Hildalphous was startled awake by a great shaking, as if a fiery hand gripped his chest and swung him like a rag doll. In the next moment his hospital room was gone and all around him was the black, oily stone of Tartarus. The great halls he recognized almost instantly from his mother's descriptions. Hildalphous was not alone in Tartarus, in fact he was surrounded by innumerable masses of flesh and muscle. Purple skinned, green skinned, black, red, blue, and yellow skinned creatures all 10 feet tall, with no hair and pointed nails; they were the demons the old text spoke of. All around him their terrible faces with many eyes, two eyes, no eyes, stared at him.
The one nearest Hildaphous spoke first reaching out a yellow hand, "Dameicles? Are you ok friend? You have fallen." Confused, Hildaphous took the yellow hand and stood. Suddenly, the hulking figures didn't seem so tall, instead they all stood eye level to him *thats queer* Hildaphous thought, *have I finally died, is this my eternal home?*
No, when Hildaphous looked down at his hands he's gasped, for in truth he had not died, he was very, very much alive. His hands were a deep green, like the deciduous pines in the cold lands his mother once spoke of.
"Demeicles?" He spoke aloud, shocked by the deep boom of his voice. The yellow one stepped back and eyes him head to hoof.
"What's going on here?" It asked suspiciously. "Dem, it's me. Your brood brother. Don't you see me? It's Ginallemo." He finished tapping his chest with pointed nails.
Hildalphous understood. Good, because it would seem he was the only one in the great halls of Tartarus that did. There had been a shift. He smiled, "I am not this Demeicles." The five simple words boomed and echoed through the halls. The one named Ginallemo stepped back and two of his three eyes widened. "I am Hildalphous."
"Who is Hildalphous? Bizarre you are acting Dem. Come wit..."
"I am man." The words echoed off black, oily stone, back and forth the words passed. *amman, man, man, am, am*
For twenty years, Hildalphous had lain broken and bedridden, he had never known a normal life. The whole of his life he thought was a waste, but he saw now the strings in this grand symphony. His mother sang him the songs of the ancient men, those who fought and failed. For twenty years Hildalphous learned all about their faith, but most importantly he knew what to do next.
The demon formerly named Demeicles raised his pine colored hands, and deep within his booming voice came the words, ancient chants and rights. Words of power. Ginallemo was first, the yellow skinned demon slammed hands to his ears and screamed out like shrieking siren. Then he fell in a mound of ash.
A great cacophony of sound filled the halls of Tartarus as demons scrambled to escape, some tried to burrow into the black, oily stone floor, some took flight, most ran... But sooner or later they all turned to ash.
Grey flakes floated harmlessly through the air and once again Tartarus was silent. Hildalphous stood alone smiling wide in his new body. For a hundred thousand years the demons played with man without fear of repercussion, the Angels too, but Hildalphous would get to them later. For a hundred thousand years we were served up fresh and free. Hildalphous let out a deep laugh, twenty years could feel like a hundred thousand glued to a bed, because of this *Demeicles.* Hildalphous expected he should find his captor somewhere in Hades and so that is what he set out to do. *After all, they had eaten at the grand buffet of mankind for some time now and someone's gotta get stuck with the check.* | 2015-01-02T07:11:35 | 2015-01-02T05:52:53 | 501 | 117 |
[WP] God sends everyone who hasn't heard of Christianity to heaven because they wouldn't know if they sinned. At a point in history (of your choosing) an order is found that seeks to make Christianity as little known as possible so everyone can go to heaven without having to obey god's commandments.
edit: I meant founded | We've tried everything. *Everything.* The first thing we did when we realized the problem, and we thought this was really going to be foolproof, was to play up the whole apocalypse aspect. Christianity said the world is going to end, and a lot of Christians at the time of our founding figured the world was going to end pretty soon. So we really made quite sure that everyone associated Christianity with the imminent fiery destruction of the world.
The bastards ate it all up. They *loved* it. Christianity actually *grew* because of our first efforts, taking over the known world. Hoo boy. If only the world *had* ended then, at least most people would have gone to heaven! We didn't give up, though. We bided our time, consolidated our power. Worked on some side projects. Put a Christian nut job in the highest office of the most powerful nation on Earth. Didn't work. People liked him, and he managed to make a squeaky clean legacy for himself, if only by comparison to the nut jobs who'd previously held the office. So we put an anti-Christian nut job in the same position, and what a disaster that was. Strength under persecution and all that. We'd tried this kind of stuff before and it never had really worked, but this time was definitely the last shot. Everyone who filled the office after him was an ardent Christian.
So we waited and waited, sent an agent to the Middle East, one of the few places we could think of where most people still weren't Christians. He really stirred up quite a bit of trouble! The organization hasn't seen another like him in all these years. His portrait is still placed prominently in our main office, though we never could give him proper public recognition.
Our man in the Middle East managed to get himself a good war going, a nice slow burner fraught with geopolitical implications. Then we had the talking heads tell the Christians, 'oh, you simply *have* to go fight in this war, it's really a true *holy war*, save your brothers and sisters in the east!' We thought people would hear "holy war" and realize how crazy this whole thing had gotten.
They signed up in droves. The whole thing was a mess, and we didn't know how to stop the fighting after it started.
Our most recent large-scale endeavor was to accuse huge numbers of Christians of unfaithfulness. There were monkey trials, torture devices, everything! This one would work for sure, we thought. Who watches their friends and neighbors be put on trial and sentenced to death, knowing they're innocent? A lot of people, as it turned out.
Oh, some people ended up getting quite angry about the whole affair and the rest of our antics, but do you know what they did? They decided that *that* wasn't Christianity. *They* knew what Christianity *really* was. And it turned out that Christianity was mostly the same as ever, only now *they* were in charge.
At this point I don't know what to do. We haven't for a while now, not really. That's why I resigned.
The new guy has some good ideas, though. Seems to think if we preach actual Christianity, the peace and love stuff, people will be turned off. People have shown us one thing over the centuries: that the more violent our religion gets, the more they will love it. So Frankie's really been laying it on thick. "Who am I to judge," and all that. I wish him luck, I truly do. | "So what's the point of that?"
"As long as we keep people from knowing about it, they can't go to hell because they didn't do anything wrong," Todd Muclair began, sticking his fork into my pile of decadent pancakes, "but the problem is that everybody already knows about it, we can't exactly just go on TV and say 'Nope!'"
"So then," Abigail looked across the breakfast table to her husband, a man in his late twenties who had recently starting being visited by a very friendly guy called Mike, apparently the Archangel Michael, "How are we going to get everyone to stop knowing about Christianity?"
"Don't worry honey, I have a plan, I just need to talk to some of my friends who are in media to see if I can get a public time slot, and I need you to talk to your marketing friends from business school."
"I haven't talked to them in years," she argued before taking a sip of her milk, "how am I supposed to convince them to help?"
"No idea."
________________________________________________
“So are you understanding where I’m going with this?” Mike asked, lounging against the coffee table in the middle of the room, twiddling on his iPhone while trying to walk Todd through the more complicated part of theological law.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“I-“ Michael stopped himself, angels overall had a nasty habit of not realizing that humans hadn’t spent thousands of years bored out of their halos trying to come up with good metaphors. That was his job, their job was 9-5 and involved a computer, “What happens if you take apart a boat?”
“You end up with an engine in your garage?”
“Wait, no shit, like an old boat a wooden one.”
“You get wood.”
“Well yeah,” Michael continued playing with his phone while Todd sat cross legged on the couch with his laptop in front of him, trying to write down Michael’s advice, “but you also have parts of a boat. Which you can turn into anything you want.”
“So?”
“If you build a fence, is it a fence or a boat?”
“A fence.”
“And is a fence a boat?”
“Probably not.”
“So now you have all the pieces of a boat, but it’s a fence.”
“Cool.”
“But what if the next thing you did was tell people that you had a boat? I mean, you have pieces of the boat, so you can convince them that it’s a boat, and then they start thinking that your fence is a boat.”
“So now we have a bunch of idiots who think that it’s a boat?”
“And then everyone gets to heaven.”
Todd put the laptop down, “I feel like you skipped a few steps.”
“God is a boat.”
“I thought you said god is a Shepard.” Todd was looking at the open word document on his laptop, referencing the metaphor Michael had used ten minutes earlier.
“In this case, God is the boat, and everybody thinks the fence is a boat.”
“So they don’t know God?”
“Exactly, they think that he’s a fence!”
“So you’re saying-“
“If you change God enough, people won’t count as knowing about him anymore and you’ll be able to save everyone.”
Todd looked up at the angel sitting on his living room floor, “What do you mean, save?”
Mike sighed and stood up, dusting himself off even though the floor had been immaculate, “Thats the second issue, the Rapture comes in 2025.”
_______________________________________________________________________________
“So we open a political campaign working with the parts of Christianity that are as far away as we can get,” Todd sat across from his wife, three years of televangelism away from the living room with Michael, sipping tea as he explained the part of his plan that he they were going to move into now that the 2008 elections were coming around, “from the actual way that it works. Make it as crazy as we can.”
Abigail was fingering a cross as he talked, it was weird living in a world of angels and gods, really made you think about how everything was going to go down. At this point the two had already accepted their fate, no matter how much effort they put in, they would need to follow everything to the letter of the law or they wouldn’t be brought up on rapture. They’d been lucky enough to be high school sweethearts, so at least they didn’t have to stone Abby to keep in line with the rules. “Won’t that push people away from it?” She asked her husband, who always seemed to be three steps ahead of the people he was working for.
“It doesn’t matter whether they follow our version of it all or not,” Todd pointed out, “they just need to think that our version is the real version. Whether they worship the fence or not, they just need to think that it’s a boat.”
“That’s a horrible metaphor.”
“Still the best one that I’ve found sweetie.” He took a sip of his tea again, this time down-casting his eyes to the lemon flavoured water, there was going to be barely enough time to get everything done as it was, if he got called crazy by moving out of the South and onto the national stage it might hurt his following, which would mean that less people had been rescued.
He shoved the idea to the back of his mind as Abby piped up, “We still need a name.”
Tood’s eyes were still on his tea while he mumbled, “Fuck if I know, let’s be the god-damn tea party.” | 2015-09-12T07:16:48 | 2015-09-12T07:11:24 | 176 | 14 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | I'm really starting to get tired of this. It's the third time it's happened this month.
There I was, just pottering around the house when, "SHHMM!", I pop up in some basement or in the middle of the woods in some backwater town.
It's always some pasty-faced nerd, or wanna-be hipster, never the hot witches coven that TV has assured me exists.
"Great Demon, we have sought you out to ..."
"OK, wait, hang on, just need to clear this up, my name is Damien, not Demon, and not THAT Damien either. The powers-that-be have a serious filling error on the hands. I'm just a guy and you all have seriously ruined my day."
Today's batch are your usual run-of-the-mill trying-to-get-in-the-girlfriends-pants type of devil worshippers. They all look around at each other, unsure as to what is going on.
"I'm going to have to get some details from everyone so you can be added to the class action suit that is in progress".
After some back and forth between the group, I get all the names and brithdates, find out exactly where I am and ask them to point me to the nearest motel.
I always carry a few hundred dollars in cash, a prepaid credit card and some other bits and pieces with me now just for these circumstances.
I get to the motel, find a nice room and lock the door behind me.
Once I am alone, I unstrap my travel kit, trace the necessary shapes on the floor and light the candles.
"Yo, Luci, it's me. I've got some more victims for you!"
| "So...ya. That's basically it. You flub up the ritual, you get this." I paced around the circle they had drawn on the floor with...crayons? Maybe chalk? In any case, nothing professional. "I mean, did you guys even try? Have you ever seen a pentagram before? Pentagrams have five points, eh? This here," I gestured toward the mess of lines beneath me, "this is nowhere close. Some of my buddies tend to get summoned when you accidentally add a sixth point and get yourself a Star of David, but I've never seen...this...before."
The teenagers, if they were even that old, were looking at their feet. One of them kicked his toe into the wooden...nope, hardwood...floor. Amateurs.
I softened a bit at their pathetic attitude. "Alright, guys, look. Let me outta here, and I'll help you get it right. Just gotta scratch one of those lines. I may not be a demon, but I'm still bound by the summoning. Can ya give a working man a hand?" I raised my arms up above my head, helplessly.
The oldest one, maybe fourteen, stepped forward. "We read the warn...warnings. You won't try and take our souls? I need mine."
I sighed. "Look, buddy, even if I could take your soul, which I can't, what would I do with it? I live in Calgary. You think I can just buy a six-pack o' beer and a box of donuts with a human soul? Nope. Not happening. Can't be done. Now, I'm bein' reasonable here. I'll help you all out, but you've gotta let me out so I can go home when we're done."
"I mean...guys, what do you think?" He looked to his two, slightly younger companions, his baseball cap flopping a bit lower on his face.
"Worth a shot, I guess," suggested the shortest, a kid with blindingly orange hair and freckles to match.
"Alex, we need to be a bit more cautious," reprimanded the third, swatting the second kid over the back of his head. "But...I guess it can't hurt. He seems harmless."
The first kid walked over and scuffed the circle. I could feel the release wash over me like a morning stretch. I also stretched, just because I could. Ah, the indecision of youth. Gotta love it. "What made you guys try something so drastic?" I casually walked up to the leader, slipping my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I did.
"We have some people we need to be rid of." He said, his eyes turning to the floor.
"Fair enough. Not my business asking questions, I guess. Alrighty, let's get this show on the road!" I scanned the room until I found their supplies and made a beeline for them. "Incidentally, have you guys ever seen a maple leaf before?" They shook their heads. Figures. Wasn't even intentional.
After a few minutes of drawing, and several botched attempts at drawing the pentagram, the black smoke began to rise from their summoning circle. As the booming voices of hell filled the room, I was filled with pride. I always felt good after helping someone. Even if it meant helping someone to remove others from existence.
As I left the room, I began to whistle. No tune in particular, just something that might make the long trip North pass a bit quicker.
| 2016-02-02T19:10:04 | 2016-02-02T19:06:24 | 91 | 53 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | Have you ever been summoned? Like, literally pulled through fucking space and time on someone else's whim?
WELL, LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED THE OTHER DAY.
So, I'm chilling in the park, minding my own business and BOOM. I'm suddenly in this old warehouse, surrounded by -and I shit you not- fucking teenagers. Like fourteen, TOPS.
"Mammon?" squeaked one of them. Black kid that looked a lot like me around his age.
I sighed. I reached into my pocket, lit a cigarette and projected the most deadpan look I could muster.
"Of course the fuck not," I said, "I'm the dude, the now angry dude, who was enjoying a '40 -which I just opened- when out of nowhere I get pulled into wherever the fuck this is. How did you even manage this shit? And why do my balls itch?"
"Uh... I mean..." He stammered a bit, "people don't usually get--"
"--Get huh?"
"Get pulled thr--" He started getting flustered.
"Pulled where?" I wasn't letting up.
"Through the ast-"
"Through what, asshole?"
He took a deep breath, "Not an asshole, the--"
"--No, I'm calling you that."
"Why are you being such a dick?" the kid yelled, finally.
"I don't know, how about you just summoned me through a fucking portal. And my balls still itch. And I swear to god, if I have anothe--"
A girl spoke up, "Can we send him back?"
The kid started thumbing through the book, so I snatched it out of his hand.
"Where did you get this anyway?"
"I found it. Gimme that back!"
"No. Found it? Really?"
"Really."
"Really, really?"
"Yes!" he screams at the top of his lungs.
"Alrighty, I'll be borrowing it then. Indefinitely. Or until I can set it on fire, whichever comes first."
"We're not going to let you do that."
"Do you have any weapons?"
"No."
"I don't think you can stop me," I said, walking for the open door. "If this ever happens again, I'm calling your parents. Don't do drugs, Satan is bad."
Anyways, now I have a cool new coaster, but it'd be sweet if it would stop whispering at night. | Ice crusted over the books on the shelves. A cold wind pulled at the candles laid out across the floor, defying the closed and shuttered windows. The flames flickered inwards, towards the center of the room and the center of the great star etched into the floor.
The magician's spell was reaching its climax. He waved his arms and shouted the last few words over the howling winds calling me through the dimensions, summoning me from my home and into his.
Suddenly, the room went quite.
I could see now. The magician was a stocky man, with a brown beard and a brown bowler hat. He was wearing thick, round glasses with a thin layer of ice obscuring his eyes. He took them off and rubbed them on his sleeve.
"Well, this is a new one," he said. "What trickery are you planning with that feeble form, Balthazar?"
I sighed. "It's not a form, ok? I just haven't had time to get to the gym much recently."
"Ha! Do you think this is my first summoning, demon? I've no time for your games today."
Magicians never had time. At least, the ones who summoned me never had time, which is probably part of the reason they summoned me.
"Let me save you some time then. Go back to your book, double check the spell you just used and send me back. I'm not even a demon."
The magician wasn't buying it. "I've heard that one a thousand times! Now, I have a task for you, and one with no shortage of danger, so you'd better listen close. I want you to infiltrate the -"
"Woah, no! Stop! You've got the wrong guy!"
The magician raised his hand. "Tread carefully, demon. Are you not Balthazar the Magnificent? The Marauder of the Pacnas and the Night Terror of the Ka'chi'ta Nation? The Balthazar whose rain of slaughter has lasted a thousand years and whose exploits fill the hearts of lesser demons with dread?"
Ahhh, this again. I sat down in the center of the star and took a deep breath.
"Well, no. I'm not that Balthazar. I'm a human who works at Best Buy and whose name is similar to that Balthazar."
A flame lit in the magician's outstretched palm. He muttered a word and it grew into a churning ball of flame the size of a basketball. I eyed it apprehensively.
"Enough of your lies, demon. Admit that you're lying before I scorch the flesh from your bones and summon another slave to do my bidding."
"You mumbled the name when you called it the first time. Don't feel bad, you're not the first one to make that mistake." I wasn't super worried about the fireball. You could see he was sweating just from the effort it took to maintain the spell. In a few seconds it wouldn't be hot enough to hurt much.
"Eh." Said the magician. "I don't believe you."
But he let the fireball extinguish itself. The only noise was the sound of dripping water as the ice melted and dripped onto the floor.
"I'm telling you, it's not the first time I've been summoned by mistake. This Balthazar guy must be something else because it's happened at least three times this week alone! Take a look in your book, if you pronounce it BALTH-zar instead of BAL-tha-zar you'll get me instead of him."
He was skeptical. For me, that's good. He was starting to doubt but the book he had used to summon me was right in front of him. He picked it up.
"It's right at the beginning of the spell. Before the locking clauses and the bit that prevents the demon from leaving the pentagram."
"Silence, demon! I know where it is... ah! I see... You might be right about that, actually."
"Told you. It's not my first rodeo."
The magician started the dismissal spell.
"WAIT! Don't use the standard one! You've got to specify a destination or I'll never find the right dimension!"
"Picky guy, aren't you?"
I told him what he needed to change. He changed it. I felt the locks on the pentagram fall away.
I flexed my leg muscles and leapt across the room. My skinny fingers pierced his breastbone and wrapped around his heart. I let him scream once. Just once.
"Magicians never learn." | 2016-02-02T22:57:46 | 2016-02-02T21:33:19 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | A conflagration and a burst of smoke surrounded the pentagram on the cold, stone basement.
"It worked! We finally summoned him! He's finally here!" Gleefully proclaimed an old, gruff voice.
The smoke cleared
"Oh... It... Didn't." Said the same voice.
A group of men, women, and children that looked like they were wearing Jedi robes stared blankly at a man in a red polo and khakis, and he at them.
"Are you Abaddon, angel of the bottomless pit?" Questioned a young, confused man. He could use a shower.
"Uh... No, I'm Jake, from State Farm."
A middle aged, sleep deprived woman leaned over to a man of a similar state, "she sounds hideous."
"Well he's a guy, so..." | My hand were still wet after washing them, so I had to adjust my grip on the door handle if I wanted to get it open. Yet even with this adjusted grip I could not get it open, because it was locked. And while I did have a key, so getting in was not a problem, what bothered me was his insistence on locking his door when he had friends over. Did he think we were going to try to spy on him?
"Son have you seen the- (insert confused face) uh. Oh."
I was surprised, obviously, I would assume anyone would be. But I felt a little bit of, well, I don't know, something, after seeing these kids sitting there, doing whatever the hell it was. Demon casting I think he said?
"GET OUT OF HERE MORTAL!" Said my son, who was wearing that weird robe I found on our amazon wishlist last month. I had been wondering how it got there.
"I would love to, but your mother wants to know if you want pepperoni or extra cheese? And hello boys."
"Hey Mr. Schmidt" Oh god they were so embarrassed. This had to be my son's idea. And hold on, you gotta hear what Harry was wearing. The other two had cloaks, I think Tim had a halloween costume on so it still worked, but Harry, on the other hand, had a maroon red poncho. They were sitting around a circle of glade air freshener candles and Harry apparently didn't understand the memo, or didn't have a cloak and found the closest thing. I felt bad, even though it was their fault for hanging out with my son, there was still some pain inside after looking at Harry's mishap. The poor kid should have worn jeans.
"Pepperoni! Now LEAVE US!" My son was now standing up and commanding me like a little satanic overlord, who was 15, and did things like this on Friday nights instead of hanging out with girls.
"What are you doing? Summoning demons?" I asked while still standing in the doorway, looking unfazed and mature, hopefully. Because inside I was ready to laugh my nuts off, and holding it in was making my face twitch; god his friends were so helpless. I don't think they would have ever come back if they saw me laughing.
"Yeah Mr. Schmidt, it's pretty boring." Said Timmy, who must have felt my son's gaze after saying it, because he turned right away to look back at my son, who was staring angrily into his soul for making fun of the ritual thing they were doing.
I closed the door to let them sort it out. It'd be nice if they did it before the pizza came, because I wouldn't want them to walk out and have it all go to waste. | 2016-02-02T20:11:46 | 2016-02-02T19:43:34 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] The King is dying and decides to abdicate his throne before he dies. During the coronation ceremony, he places the crown on a servant's head and declares him king, rather than one of his two sons. | Prince Horace raised an eyebrow at his aging father. "Your Highness, that's... that's your servant. Timothy and I stand before you; why did you go to such great lengths to crown a mere commoner?"
"Silence," King Jerry croaked. "I have crowned the rightful heir!"
"But I'm the eldest," Prince Timothy protested. "If you're going by inheritance, I would be the king."
"And," Horace added, "if you were to go by competence, it would be Sir Kendrick. He has, by far, proved himself to be a wonderfully skilled knight, with the might and intelligence to match even the greatest kings. If you do not wish to pass on the crown to your sons, I suppose I understand that, but... why Ian?"
"Silence!" the king roared. "Ian shall rule after me!"
"Father, he can't walk two steps without tripping on his own feet," Timothy said.
"And he does nothing but gossip all day," Horace exclaimed.
"And he scares the chickens," one of the maids screeched.
The king stamped his foot. "Are none of you listening?! Ian is the rightful heir! He's my son!"
The court gasped in unison. Sir Beritan, a particularly effeminate nobleman, stuck his nose in the air and scoffed, "Even our dear king isn't above fathering bastards!"
King Jerry waved his hand dismissively. "Not like that, you presumptuous pansy. You see, once upon a time, I was convinced that I was... er... impotent, if you catch my drift."
"Catch your... Father, why are you using anachronistic language?"
"Silence! So, I became concerned that I wouldn't have any children. Thus, I grabbed Ian and told him that when I died, he would be my heir. I am going to keep that promise and make Ian king!"
Twelve days later, the kingdom was burnt to the ground. | The fire of twilight is chasing the blue from the sky as the cloaked figure reaches the wall at the top of the hill. The wall itself is solid hearthstone, older than the Elders themselves and impervious to even dragonfire; the gate is free of decoration, naked bars of pure black iron. To either side of the entrance, weather-worn statues stare solemnly towards the distant sunset, blades clasped at their sides.
This is a graveyard of kings.
The figure makes his way to the entrance and tests the heavy gate with a gloved hand. Wards carved into the steel bars of the entrance glow faintly. A faint whisper swirls around the man like the suggestion of a breeze. The sound is less like wind and more of the same creed as that of a hand reaching for a sword. He draws back his hood, red hair glinting in the twilight. His voice rings out: "Rowan son of Edre, Left Hand of Robert Deschain."
A breath of silence. The whisper picks up again, now more questioning than threatening. The man nods in response.
"It is."
An almost invisible tension in the air drops away and the whisper fades. The man reaches for the gates and, this time, they open at his touch. He strides through the graveyard, cloak flickering behind him. Of the many plaques, there is only one that appears new and yet unmarred by time and tide, a headstone of white marble.
>ROBERT, SON OF CARINTH, OF THE HOUSE OF DESCHAIN
>9/17 MARK - 24/13 HARVEST
The cloaked man comes to a stop in front of the simple grave. He touches his forehead in salute.
"Sorry it took so long," he says quietly. One hand reaches into his pouch and takes out a pair of keshi reeds. He strikes a match and lights both of them, placing one at the foot of the headstone. The man raises the other to his mouth and takes a long pull, blowing smoke into the darkening sky.
"Took a while to get it through Bridenvale, what with me declared a traitor to the throne and all. And I had a devil of a time with the Rangers, they're trickier than they look."
The man pauses. He considers the grave at his feet.
"But it's done, Robert. The Crown of Seven won't be harming anyone ever again."
The headstone is silent. The pair of guardsmen that appeared behind him, however, not so much.
"Confirm, one trespasser on foot in the Royal Graveyard," one of them is saying. There is the crunch of a crossbow being primed. "Step away from the grave. Place your hands on your head." Then, quieter: "How the hell should *I* know how he got past the wards? That isn't my job."
The man sighs. He raises his hands resignedly and turns to face the guardsmen. One of the sentries takes a step backward with a sharp intake of breath. "Black hands."
His comrade glances over. "What?"
"That-" The first guard gestures at the cloaked man with his crossbow. "That's Rowan Edre!"
"Who?"
"The hand of Robert Deschain!" The guardsman is incredulous. "*He stole the crown!*"
The second guardsman is gaping at both of them now. The first raises his crossbow carefully and aims it at the cloaked man. "Rowan, son of Edre, you are under arrest by order of the high throne. And you're going to have to come with us. *Right now.*"
Silent until now, the red-haired man turns back to the grave. A pair of crossbows immediately swivel to cover him. "Robert Deschain," the red-haired man says formally. "Has all your will been done?"
A confused silence follows. Satisfied, the man turns back to face the perplexed guards. "Alright," he says. "I'm ready." | 2016-02-12T16:10:01 | 2016-02-12T16:05:40 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] The King is dying and decides to abdicate his throne before he dies. During the coronation ceremony, he places the crown on a servant's head and declares him king, rather than one of his two sons. | “There must be some mistake!” Prince John threw his weight against the unmoving body-weight of father’s guard. “There is no way that father would make that hussy the next king! Let me in, you dog,” he shouted in the guard’s face. At his side, he felt Prince Robert, his younger brother, unsheathe his sword. “If you don’t let us pass, I will cut off your head, as is my right.”
Inside the room, Eleanor sat at the king’s bedside.
“Father,” she spat, “we tried to make the whole country believe that I was simply your pillow pet, a slave in golden shackles. The kingdom of Alenare was just within our grasp! You were to find the princess and in bed together and were to blackmail their country with the embarrassment! Why now!”
-----------------------
*The prompt amused me so I just quickly jot down who I thought the characters would be. If anyone is interested I can continue the story!*
| The bright interior of the official throne room was illuminated by the powerful sun shining through the stain glass windows lining the long hall, creating a mighty atmosphere for the change of kings.
Royalty displayed themselves like a wedding party: the two princes on the left and the three princesses on the right. Nobles lined and sprinkled the ornate hall. The fragrant air wafted with scents of roses, sunflowers and a varity of herbs. Down the hall strode the bishop to perform his abdication duty, a formality, but required. He thoughts upon snacks, high quality, kingly snacks. A slight smile warmed the solemn bishops face a little.
The weak and weary king rose from his throne, raising his hand for silence.
"Thank you for gathering here today. I will not be leaving for awhile yet, but today is the day to release my crown."
Knowing murmers swept through the crowd like a new broom freshly thrashed on a dirt floor.
"Horswald! You have some food, I mean, good, ideas for being king... Where are you?" His aged eyes dart for his friend and servant. "Ahh, there you are..." He laughed and contined,"...at the tortes... Come come!"
Raising his crown, the King says, "Wait a minute!" And sets his crown back on his head. "That is where it goes for now, because..."
Murmurs again swept through the crowd, this time looking like like ripples and waves in a studied bowl of water.
"Tortes please!" He called, his face lifted in triumph.
Laugher and chuckles bounced through the room, echoing softly off the royal walls.
A servant swarms to his side, proffering baked goodies.
Taking a bite, he sits down and crosses his legs, leans back and lifts his arm theatrically, raising the torte high.
"Just kidding." He coughs, projecting a few bits of carbs and sugars out his orifice. More slowly this time, he stands.
"Horswald..." He announced, as he places the torte on the tray before removing his crown. "It is time." The king gestures in front of him, welcoming and insisting the presence of Horswald. Horswald kneels.
Gasps and frustrated noises dared permeate the silence. Many dukes and barons would be forced to change political tactics and other interesting courtly affairs. The royal princes, each shocked in their own despair, --although one secretly relieved for he is a monk at heart--quietly made unsatisfied vocalizations.
"I have made up my mind." Thundered the king. "I am neither required, nor beholden, to any of you!"
"Bishop!" He declared, thrusting the royal crown forward, perhaps the last official thrust the king would ever make. "Horswald is my successor."
---
---
Thanks for reading!
Critiques and comments are appreciated.
More stories can be found in /r/OhLookItsAStory. | 2016-02-12T15:59:10 | 2016-02-12T13:51:05 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You found a number that can truly answer any question through a SMS. Over the next few days you use it to your advantage such as winning the lottery. One day you get curious and decide to message "What happens after you die?" What you see next horrifies your inner being. | It was one word. One simple word that sparked an entire lifetime of terror. The question was simple "What happens after you die?". I have used the number for smaller gains that then lead to larger ones. I got the lovely idea to ask lifes mystery one day. Only one word wad texted back. "Dragged". Dragged? "To where?" i asked. "Abyss". At that moment my mind was flooded by the image of a dancing blue flame grabbed by unfathomable horrors into the murky waters that is the abyss. Lost in mind and thought i finally asked "what's in the abyss?". Another simple word. A broken fragment that keeps me up until today. "Us". | "What happens when you die?" I typed in the simple question. The Oracle was never wrong. It always gave me the correct answer. I've won the lotto, I knew how to get the money without being sued to oblivion due to just asking. The answer came straight away, but I was afraid. You can understand right? Like how you wait for a test to come back and you don't want to see the grade cause you're scared of what it may be? The potential always seems worse than the reality, or at least that's how I feel about it.
&nbsp;
I left it to sit there for a while. I looked out from the view of my nice home, admired it. Looking back, it was as if I knew that the answer was going to change me. Maybe, maybe it would be like a spoiler of a movie. Why bother watching if you know the end, so why bother living if you know what comes next?
&nbsp;
As time passed, my apprehension grew until I could bare it no longer. I opened the message.
&nbsp;
As I sit here talking to you doctor, I know you have no credence for my words. No, you would indeed have no reason to believe a man who has witnessed something that has no reason to it. But I implore you, do the deed, make me immortal. I spare no coin, no treasure is beyond me to give to you as long as you fulfill this request. My phone? You wish to have my phone? I can give you the number certainly, but you just want the phone? Oh, the instructions well I've typed them out for you. Yes, the Oracle told me how to become immortal too. Believe me, the last doctor read it from my phone but he went to far, the shock, it killed him. You see, the words are not in any tongue I know a name for, but I could feel a primal fear when I saw them, as if all the line before me secretly knew and was fighting it's way to immortality. To escape it. I, I will let you see it doctor, just after the operation I plead with you.
&nbsp;
Well, found these two dead. It appears the doctor died while performing the operation, it was an underground procedure no nurses no one else around. Whatever it was they were doing, I just can't fathom why a guy with that much money would go to a place like this. Well, we'll bag everything up, have IT check the phone for any clues. | 2016-12-26T07:59:45 | 2016-12-26T07:15:30 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] You are the curator of Earth, tasked with terraforming the planet naturally so as to meet the galactic atmospheric standards. In the mid 18th century you spark the industrial revolution to heat the planet slightly, however you fell asleep and have awoken in 2017. | "All of you understand your roles, yes?" I looked at each member of the Galactic Environmental Guardians who sat at the round table, finally locking eyes with the man who sat directly across from me.
"Mr. James Watt?" I prompted. The small man pushed up his glasses and nodded. He shuffled distractedly through a sheaf of papers in front of him.
"I intend to base myself in London, Director," he said. "Seems as good a spot for the start of a revolution as any. Plenty of coal, iron, an abundance of labor." He nodded to himself. "Yes. I'll start in London. I'll kick off the Industrial Revolution with the invention of something simple. I'm thinking a steam engine of some sort."
"Excellent," I said, smiling. I turned to the next member of the group. "Mr. Eli Whitney, what do you have in mind?"
"Yes, Director," he said, nodding enthusiastically. He made a few quick notes in his sketchbook. "I'll be moving to America. As of now, the cotton industry is booming there. I already have an idea for an invention that will greatly assist with mass production. Should push us in the right direction if we want a proper Industrial Revolution." I clapped my hands together in satisfaction.
"Seems like we have a solid course of action, gentlemen. Mr. Edison, Mr. Tesla, Mr. Ford, I trust you three have your plans in place?" They each nodded in turn.
"Excellent, excellent. Make sure you three wait a couple decades before pushing out your respective inventions. It will be suspicious if mankind progresses too quickly. Remember, we want the humans to believe they are making these scientific advances on their own. Take caution, however, and keep your true identities concealed. They're a surprisingly clever bunch, these humans... to think that there are already scientists pondering the idea of extraterrestrial life! Well, I digress. Awaken me in the year, ahhh, let's say 2017. I expect you will have your progress reports ready by then. After all, I am giving you all a three century advance notice." I smiled.
"And I believe that concludes our meeting," I said, standing up. The others stood up as well. "It has been a pleasure working with you all. Stay on task, remember to stay in contact with each other, and use your sound judgement to regulate the temperature of the Earth. For example, I don't want any huge gaping holes in the ozone layer," I chuckled. "I entrust the future of this planet to each of you. Until the next time we meet. Meeting adjourned." | The campus bar was abuzz with murmur. Finals were coming close. Some of the more studious ones had already started spending less time there and started making acquaintances with the librarian. At the left corner on one of the better tables a lone figure took deep drinks from her bottle of Guinness.
"They and I fall," the words kept playing at her lips. With macabre wit she realized that rearranged the letter spelled "Finally, death." She took another long drink.
"You okay?"
Someone had sat next to her. In her thoughts she hadn't even seen him walk across the room and sit on the same table as her.
"I'm fine. It's a Tuesday."
"You keep mumbling to yourself."
"My problems are too big for someone who breaks a sweat completing a two page essay."
"I don't break a sweat doing those." he started. "In fact, a 40 page thesis is more of my expertise."
She now turned to give him a proper look. He certainly looked too old to be worried about who beat him in drinking games.
"Doctor Howard White," he said, "I'm finishing my PhD in behavioral analysis next semester."
"Well good to meet you Doctor but this is still beyond your scope."
Howard had to laugh. It wasn't often he was beyond his scope. "Humor me then."
"You should be going to level two by now."
"Level two of what?"
"Level two of civilization. A level one civilization can exploit all the energy that falls on its surface from its star. A level two civilization can exploit all the energy from its parent star."
Howard's mouth formed an O and at once he took a swig from his bottle. "We should be there now?"
"Yes you should."
"but....?"
"but I fell asleep."
"hmmm" he ran his hand through his brown hair. This was a severe case of hallucination. Even in his time they never tried drugs this crazy.
"So what happens now?"
"I'm not sure but I need to get a solution soon."
"Why?"
"because of what happens if I don't. This doctor of yours, John B. Calhoun he replicated the Dice box experiment where a set of mice was put into a box. Food and water was enough so that even when the population number grew they wouldn't starve. In spite of this, once the population reached a certain number things changed, most mice stopped reproducing. Some male mice stopped trying to mate instead focusing on grooming themselves, others became reclusive only coming out at night, the females lost their maternal instinct. Eventually in spite enough food and water the society collapsed"
The doctor put his drink down, those on the next table had even stopped their discussion.
"and where do you come into all of this?"
"I was supposed to prevent it. Post industrial revolution, something was meant to happen."
"That sounds like quite the problem. I don't think I can solve it, but maybe by sharing it it's half solved."
She gave him a half smile. "I'll drink to that." their bottles clinked. She bent her head back as she took the last swig. Content it was empty she placed the bottle with the other two."
She jolted up, "half-solve, that's it. Thank you for your help doctor I know what I need to do."
She started looking into her purse. Howard took slow sips having the experience to not get in between people and their Eureka moments. Something about what she said was still bothering Howard, He couldn't put his finger on it. Aah there it was.
"Why do you keep using second person not first when talking about peo...bout...people."
She stopped cold, "What"
"suure, you said, "you were meant to be a...be a... level 1 shivilizhashion, this doctor of yours john Cahloun." He looked at his hands. Had the liquor become that strong.
"That's quite the memory you have," she replied. She seemed to move slowly, like people did in a dream.
"I got an edietic emory, don't forget anything ever, like the time I..." his head dropped on the table as he started to snore. She put his harm over her shoulder and brought him to his feet with the strength the average 5'7" woman couldn't muster. She turned to the bartender to hail a cab.
"Don't worry dear, there's a first time for everything."
| 2017-05-31T08:38:08 | 2017-05-31T08:28:49 | 23 | 14 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I don't know if she's all that daft. I think she may be a witch."
"Who? Mad Mary of the Idiot Wood!? A witch? I doubt that very much."
"She could be playing dumb to throw us off, so we don't suspect."
"We are talking about the daft old lady who'll give you vegetables if you dump your chamber pot in that thing behind her house. That one, right?"
"She does have the best vegetables in the county. Could be she needs it for her gardening spells."
"The same lady who gave a shilling for a every dead rat you could bring her then burned all the rats?"
"We were the only village that didn't get the plague. Sounds like a sacrifice to me. And, I'm pretty sure she cursed the barber."
"Cursed the barber?"
"Yeah, my mum says that years ago Mad Mary and he got in an argument 'cause her kid's humours were all out of
balance and he wanted to bleed the tyke. The kid died. Ever since then, he loses more patients than he saves."
"Well, you've convinced me. I guess we've got to burn her, then?"
"I don't see anything else we can do. Can't have a witch in the village."
edit: formatting. | Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T12:11:29 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 240 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I don't know if she's all that daft. I think she may be a witch."
"Who? Mad Mary of the Idiot Wood!? A witch? I doubt that very much."
"She could be playing dumb to throw us off, so we don't suspect."
"We are talking about the daft old lady who'll give you vegetables if you dump your chamber pot in that thing behind her house. That one, right?"
"She does have the best vegetables in the county. Could be she needs it for her gardening spells."
"The same lady who gave a shilling for a every dead rat you could bring her then burned all the rats?"
"We were the only village that didn't get the plague. Sounds like a sacrifice to me. And, I'm pretty sure she cursed the barber."
"Cursed the barber?"
"Yeah, my mum says that years ago Mad Mary and he got in an argument 'cause her kid's humours were all out of
balance and he wanted to bleed the tyke. The kid died. Ever since then, he loses more patients than he saves."
"Well, you've convinced me. I guess we've got to burn her, then?"
"I don't see anything else we can do. Can't have a witch in the village."
edit: formatting. | Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T12:11:29 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 240 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T15:50:54 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 127 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T15:50:54 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 127 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T10:53:02 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 120 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T10:53:02 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 120 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T13:23:57 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 99 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T13:23:57 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 99 | 20 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 97 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 97 | 20 |
[WP] A schizophrenic man gets sick of the voice in his head and asks it to start paying rent if it wants to live there. The next morning he finds an envelope filled with cash on his desk. | 'RENT' was printed in large, crisp, black letters that had the appearance of being on the envelope, but somehow seemed to be floating just above it, like somehow the ink and paper were not actually touching. Clearly, this seemed odd to me, but I had gotten used to odd things happening so I was able to brush aside the feeling as morning fogginess, although I couldn't shake a nagging feeling that I hadn't woken up yet.
As ridiculous as it is, I was expecting the envelope to be heavy, full of cash, but it wasn't, it was light, it was very light, almost as if it was empty. Inside was a single piece of paper, with a single line of twelve words printed on it in the same strange floating font.
*unusual release distance asset business twenty grief hood toilet verify tourist able*
Bewildered, I stared dumbly at the list.
"My rent is a list of words?", I asked myself out loud. Really, I was hoping to get an answer from Unknown(Unknown is the name that I had long ago given the dis-embodied voice that had been residing in my head for as long as I could remember). As usual however, Unknown refused to respond to my direct question.
Still staring at the paper, I began to notice the words slowly expanding and shrinking, barely noticeable, but certainly happening. It was like a dance, mesmerizing, at one point I considered looking away, and maybe I even tried to but was simply unable to. My entire field of vision was filled with the paper in my hand, I tried to look away, but felt like I was being forced to remain frozen. Before long all that existed were those strange words, even the paper seemed to exit reality, I was left with just an unending timeless mantra:
*unusual release distance asset business twenty grief hood toilet verify tourist able*
With a blank mind and a bit of a startle I found myself lying on my back on my bed, drenched in sweat, realizing that I had just woken from a dream, but with no memory of what the dream had been about. As is usual in the mornings, Unknown was saying something that didn't make sense to me, it seemed like a list or something.
"...business, twenty, grief, hood..."
The dream! it all came rushing back! The request for rent, the envelope, the list of words, it all seemed very important and yet I had no idea why. Looking around I grabbed a pen and paper and quickly jotted down the words as Unknown continued to repeat them.
Several hours later, while pulling into the parking lot at my office I experienced a strong feeling of Deja vu. My dream popped back in my head and I remembered finding that strange envelope on my desk, at once I was hit with a wave of fear and excitement at the prospect that the envelope may actually sat on my desk.
Upon opening the office door I was greeted by my large wooden desk, on top of which was a single item. However, It was not the envelope from my dream, it was yesterday's paper which I had forgotten to take home with me. Feeling disappointed, I pushed the paper aside and began to settle into the days work when I noticed the headline on the front page:
*Bitcoin. The Beginning of the End, or the End of the Beginning?*
Skimming the article that I had previously ignored, I learned that access to Bitcoin is typically protected with a twelve word password. After installing a program, and typing in the the words, I discovered that Unknown had come through after all. | David sits at his computer, trying to type through the maelstrom of screaming. He shifts a row, typing numbers into the document as though the sounds were just the buzz of cicadas or the music of crickets, rather than the soundtrack of hell.
Pushing his glasses down and rubbing his eyes, he sighs loudly out of frustration. “You know,” He starts, tone a bit sharp, “You’re keeping me from doing the job that I have to pay the rent. Do you know what rent is?” He starts to become sarcastic, even condescending. “Rent is that thing you pay to let you have a roof over your head and to keep you safe.”
After doing another line of values in his spreadsheet, he pauses, yelling at the voices. “If you want to live here, or in my head, you might as well start paying some damn rent!”
Feeling a little bit better, he takes the quiet to mean he can go back to work, only scratching his arms occasionally. He mumbles the numbers aloud as he types them, unsettled by the near-silence.
He zones out, typing the numbers almost on autopilot. When he finishes the last line, he hears a familiar female voice, one he knew instinctively was named Leah.
She steps up close behind him, her caramel skin contrasting with his pale neck as she rests her hand on his shoulder. In the reflection of the monitor, she’s not there, though. “Come on, David, you need to go to bed. If you stay up too late, it’ll just get worse.”
He hears the jingle of her bangles, the sound of her arm rubbing against her dress as she lifts it to tuck her hair behind her ear, but in the reflection, he’s just staring at himself.
Shaking his head, he logs out of the computer, turning its screen off. He smiles at Leah, taking her hand as he walks into his room and sits down on the bed. She smiles at him, moving quickly to the other side of the bed. He shuffles down, getting into the right position and curling up to her. He wraps an arm around her, nuzzling his face into her hair as he starts to fall asleep.
In the morning, he wakes to his alarm and the voices screaming, his head pounding, eyes heavy, and him still feeling half-asleep. He looks at the clock, then hits the button to turn it off, climbing quickly out of bed and rushing into his bathroom to pee.
While standing there, he notices an unfamiliar voice whispering, or at least incredibly quiet, under the screams. Ignoring it the best he can, David finishes up, washing his hands as the toilet flushes.
He picks up his glasses from the bedside table, unsure of when he’d taken them off the night before, but glad they’re in one piece regardless. He pushes them up his nose, catching a glimpse of his wild eyes, rimmed with bags from being exhausted, staring back.
Ignoring that too, he walks back into the living room, planning on polishing the report before sending it off. Before he can even sit fully, though, he notices a letter, addressed with his name in calligraphy no less, resting on his keyboard. Using a nail, he pulls back the flap of the envelope, surprising himself when it flips up easily. What falls out, though, isn’t a letter, but bills of various denominations.
He grabs them all, noticing it says something on the flap of the envelope. He turns it, reading, “RENT” in neat handwriting.
If he hadn’t remembered snapping at the voices, he’d be confused and maybe even laugh. But instead, he clenches his jaw, starting to count out the money.
“One… two… three… eight… ten… twenty… thirty… fifty… one hundred…” He trails off, mouthing the numbers instead.
Shuffling the money through, he counts again and again until he finally accepts that there’s at least two months rent in the envelope.
The voice he’d heard under all the screaming laughs, amused at his discomfort but still too quiet to be heard properly. From what David can tell, it sounds like an older man, but it could be almost anything at this point.
He stands up quickly, grabbing the envelope and stuffing the cash back in. He closes the flap, holding the envelope tight as he stands on a small stepladder to check his shoe box safe at the top of the closet.
He shakes his head as he pulls down the box, seeing that there’s already a stuffed envelope in there. Shoving the other one in as well, he closes the box and tosses it back into its place on the shelf.
Looking around, he hunts for any clues as to where the money came from. Picking up his keyboard, he finds a single penny, but nothing else.
In the kitchen, he sees a figure, all white with the exception of the shoes, cutting something. David steps closer and closer, especially after seeing it has no reflection like Leah.
Turning back toward David, the man grins wickedly. “Oh, I see you got my payment. I do enjoy a good show, and I’m so pleased you chose to let me stay in here. I do believe we’ll get to be good friends, don’t you?"
-----
This is based off of the characters of my most popular prompt fill, if they sound familiar at all.
Check out my other writings on http://allharlowseve.wordpress.com/ to see what I've written lately, I'd appreciate it. xo | 2018-02-03T06:42:49 | 2018-02-03T06:32:54 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family. | "No."
I left them speechless on my front porch as I closed the door on their faces.
I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were two ice cold beers waiting for me in there.
I brought them both into the living room and dropped my ass down on the couch.
Death's a bitch I thought, popping open the first bottle.
But being alive is great.
| "Mr. Quinn, we know you're in there!" Hollered the voice on the other side of the door. There was more pounding.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm not doing it."
More pounding. "Mr. Quinn, you killed our daughter, just make it right!" A second voice, a woman's voice yelled.
"No. Fuck off before I call the police!" I yell. "I did my time already." Indeed, five years ago, I had swerved to avoid hitting a deer, and wound up hitting Susie Smith instead. Three weeks later, the first body transplants had become a thing: you get a donor body, then move the brain of the patient into the new body. Obviously, the donor dies in the process. Needless to say, the Smith family had been hounding me ever since I got out of prison.
"We've given you plenty of chances to make this easy. If we have to do the hard way, we will." Said the first voice, most likely Mr. Smith.
I looked at the meat cleaver I keep in the kitchen.
"I swear to god, if you come in here, I *will* add you two to the list of people I killed!" I warn them, brandishing the cleaver.
**THREE WEEKS LATER**
"Mr. Quinn, please open up the door!" Says Mrs. Smith.
"Just leave me alone" I growl as I walk over. "What is it this time?"
She pushes a piece of paper in my direction. "We have a court order demanding that you submit yourself to be a body donor for our daughter.
I snatch the paper from her hands and look it over. Blahdy blah, a bunch of legalese. "I see your court order" I say as I tear it in half. "And I say" I tear it into quarters. "Fuck." Eighths. "You" I scatter the pieces all over, and they blow away. "Without my explicit consent, you and your asshole husband can't do anything!" I grin at her. "I knew this day would come soon as they started body transplants,so I studied up on ethics and medical law. Have a good day!"
She doesn't budge.
"Look, if you don't leave, I'm calling the cops."
She's reaching inside her purse.
"Leave me alone!"
She has a pistol.
"Fuck." | 2018-09-16T19:59:36 | 2018-09-16T18:47:29 | 62 | 36 |
[WP]1000 years ago, scientists have found a way to attach chlorophyll to the human DNA, making humans survive solely on the Sun. Humans have evolved and lost the need and instinct to eat. It is now the year 3022. You have discovered eating by accident, and it has provided you with superhuman powers.
EDIT: Holy sh*t! First time I’ve got over a thousand upvotes! Hi mom!
| Eyes closed, breathing in for ten long seconds, and out for five, I feel the warm breeze brush my skin. The minuscule hairs on my body absorb the nutrition in the air, satiating my hunger from the lack of wind the day before. It has been a while since the day has been so satisfying.
The coldness lasted at least seven months before the first signs of Spring were seen. We walked under the gaze of the sun tirelessly, fearing that if we every lost sight of it, then we would be trapped in eternal darkness. And so evenings were filled with screaming and crying. We would wake up and see who we would leave behind that day, whether they died from hunger or from the cold, we chose to ignore. The only concern was survival.
Three weeks into Spring, the sun stays with us longer, and the wind blows away the black fog from the past, and brings with it the sustenance for the future. I open my eyes and look around, noticing that all the others are still motionless, basking in their moment of respite while they can.
We are in the ruins of one of the larger cities. I slowly begin to walk around, despite unnecessary movement being heavily advised against, as it is a needless waste of energy. I struggle to comprehend how thousands, perhaps even millions as some claim, used to live in such towers of darkness. Now covered in weeds and climbing vines, they are home to some of the stronger creatures in our world; the rodent.
They scuttle at a pace no human can keep, and bite with a force that could separate the arm from the man. The most dangerous quality of the rodent is its size, for it does not even reach the knee of a small child. They are hard to see, and can be lurking anywhere. We are easy prey.
I stub my toe painfully on a strange object. Cursing my clumsiness, I bend down to see what it is. It is quite heavy, and of a strange material. The letters S P A M are plastered on the front. At the top of the object, there appears to be a small handle. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I decide to pull. Considering that I must to use my entire strength to unlock the device, I assume that the interior must be precious.
As the lid breaks open I look inside... Pink. Strange Odour. Spongey texture. I have an overwhelming desire to place my tongue on it, so I look around to make sure no one is looking, and make contact. Fascinating. There is a sensation on my tongue I cannot quite describe. As if what my mouth normally feels like...has changed. I lick again. And again. And again. I figure that perhaps if I were to put a larger amount in my mouth, the feeling would be amplified. Reaching in with my fingers, I grab a small amount and delicately place it in my mouth. Immediately, my mouth seems to start producing its own liquid, forcing me to break the SPAM down with my inner-mouth bones. I swallow.
I can feel it. It runs down my throat, and into my stomach, and it stops. Why did it stop there? Would it not go down my legs and out of my feet? Fear takes its course, and I cannot help but think that I will be the first to die in Spring. But at least it is a beautiful day.
Yet I do not die. In fact, I feel warm. Warmer than I have ever felt. It is as if I have been in the nutritional wind for a decade. I take more of the SPAM. More. Until it is all gone, and my belly is round to the extent I nearly worry it may explode. It must surely be a product of the past, where things we cannot comprehend existed in abundance. I have no doubt that it is due to this SPAM that humanity did not fear the rodents. We must find more if we are to survive. | I stretch my arms as high into the sky as I could manage. As the morning daylight dances upon the fronds around my wrists, I could sense the solar energy revitalising me after my night time hibernation. I'm glad I fell asleep in this clearing as the trees around wouldn't block the scant sunlight in this forest. Humans had to be careful, as falling into the shade under a particularly large and thick canopy could mean a long slow death of withering away from starvation.
I dig my toes further into the soil, drinking the dampness from the dirt. My smile widens as my arms began to tingle, fresh sap making it's way down my lymph nodes towards my chest. As the fresh carbohydrates gathers from my limbs I stretch upwards a bit further and gather more of the beaming light from above. I calculate that I could be moving within the hour at this rate, and then it would be only another 25 days to reach the city. Almost a record time, if the sunny weather held out. I deliberately set out early this year, hoping to make it to the planting grounds and back before the first summer storm hits. My friends thought I was a little mad, but we all know that the progeny that sprouts first would have the best chance to survive. Most humans only flower eight to nine times in their lives and often don't manage to successfully bud any offspring. Historians said we used to bud yearly, before the cataclysm, rather than the once a decade that happens now. The old trunks in the city, covered in thick bark and barely able to move, said that everything used to be faster in the olden days, but it's hard to believe them.
I shake myself out of my reverie as the sun's light has done it's work in helping me renew myself. I carefully extract my long toes from the ground lest I tear a root or two. I'll need as many as I can grow for the rest of the long journey. I figure I can spare some energy and shake the dew from my hair, watching the drips splatter to the ground. I feel lighter already, my wispy leaves not burdened by the excess weight. It's time to set out towards the city.
Carefully extracting one foot from the earth, and moving it forward testing for another soft patch to plant it takes a fair amount of energy. I'm lucky that the sun is still beaming down on my outstretched arms. My left toes reach back down into the soil, grabbing into the dirt as deep as they can. Once I am sure my left leg is secure, I unwind my right roots from the ground below. Satisfied I'm no longer attached, I lift my right leg up and forward, landing it on another patch of grass. I pay the greenery no mind as my toes rebind down into the soil, pushing aside grass blade and small pebble alike. Only when both legs are firmly affixed to the ground do I start to release my left toes' grip. I am making great time, and in the three hours since day break I've managed to make it at least a thousand yards. Keeping this pace, I'll easily make 2 miles a day, and I'll make it home before the storm.
A swift breeze ruffles my fronds from behind, a fresh gust carrying a hint of moisture. I turn and look at the horizon, at the black clouds now gathering above them, and realise how badly I have calculated. The storms have come a full three weeks early, and I'm going to be caught in the middle of them. The breeze picks up into a gust and my fronds threaten to sway me over. I quickly replant my left foot into the ground to avoid toppling. The last thing I want is to be lying on my side with the danger of being waterlogged during a storm. I carefully peer into the distance, to gauge the thickness of the dark clouds. It's going to be a big one, and being out in the open is far too dangerous. At least the sun is still shining for now, so I gather my energy into my leg muscles and attempt to seek out shelter. Unfortunately my swift progress has put me in the middle of a very large empty clearing, my only hope a small apple tree in the center. I have no other choice, and minute by minute move myself under it's small branches. By the time I make it, the clouds have raced overhead, and I grip the tree in hopes of survival.
It was worse than I feared, as this was no ordinary rain storm. Cracks of thunder flash down around me rapidly, I count that they are barely minutes apart. Both me and my apple tree are drenched from head to toe with rain. As I'm huddling under the weak protection of it's branches, I recall the stories of fellow humans caught in the open during such a storm and being split in twain by the rending electricity. As if by my own thoughts beckoning, this very such thing happens. My body is thrown from my fruity companion with a great force, my knees bending as my muscles fail to hold me upright, my grasping toes stuck into the soil by the tree. I scream as I fall, allowing pieces of raining fruit to land in my open mouth. Something deep within me, an instinct perhaps, urges me to take the pieces down my throat, and I do. They slither down and through my chest and into my trunk region. I'm busy trying to recall my biology lessons, remembering the name of a vestigial organ, a stomach I think it was, attached to my throat. Where we had lungs specifically designed for talking, no one knew the purpose of the stomach and various intestines. Diagrams were found inside books from before, but no details as to what they did.
Suddenly a fire in my trunk erupts. I feel like I am being burned from the inside out. I try to get rid of the apple that was killing me, but I didn't know how. Soon the burning fire gets too intense and I pass out. | 2018-09-27T04:36:34 | 2018-09-27T04:19:47 | 249 | 104 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | Inspector Jackob looked around him, the crime scene littered with dead. "Please explain to me what happened again?" he asked an officer. " Well Sir, the eyewitnesses claim the five suspects got into a heated argument, then everything went South when the Potter" pointing to the dead female in a Slytherin uniform with a stab wound, "cast a Death Curse at Party Magician." the cold body the red and black magician lay cold, eyes still wide with shock. " She then tried to attack the others, but the Dragonborn disarmed her with a shout and the Frost Mage struck her with his ice spike. The Dragonborn proceeded to shout the mage into a wall, breaking his spine, killing him instantly." the corpse of the mage was still slumped by the wall, visible cracks indicated the force of the impact. "And then the Dragonborn turned to face the last person, who at the same moment unleased a blast of pure Warp energy, leaving only this" he nudged the still smoldering boots. " And the last victim?" "Ah yes, she apparently lost control of her powers and exploded in a fine mist. Perils of being a Psyker I guess." "Yeah." Inspector Jackob signed "Man I wish they stopped doing that. It takes FOREVER to write reports involving multiple schools of magic." | The fearsome Dee Twen-Tee sat on the clift, facing his deadly rival: Rymus, the Poet. None dared to speak, for a wrong word may bring them to their ultimate demise - It was just time until any of them made the first action.
At high noon, Dee finally spoke: "You fiend, the gods stand by my side. I call upon you a strike from heavens!"
His hands moved around in a dramatic manner while the light around Rymus started to shift and grow in intensity, but just as she was getting ready for the worst a miracle happened: the light grew warm in a placid manner, healing her wounds and easing her mind.
"Dammit" Dee whispered "I got a 2. Guess the RNGods aren't very happy today, either that or the DMons are annoyed. Either way, next time..."
As he kept speaking, Ryme prepared her spell, as she knew that once Dee attacked her he would be forced to wait until she reciprocated. It was all part of her plan, of course, for she needed all the time possible to cast her spell. Rising her voice in an exponential manner, she shouted the verses that she had learned from her teachers: The great monologue.
"Oh my foe, you have fought quite well
It was quite an honor to fight with you
But alas, at the end, you will dine in hell
Mayhap next time, the results will be new
..."
Days passed by while both were stuck in place: Ryme kept on reading from her tomebook, Dee was forced to stay. None could move, so Dee just started slacking off, trying to find new ways to trick the system. Perhaps he could convince Ryme to mary him next turn?
Seasons later, Ryme concluded her book:
"Thus, the princess married her captor
And lived a happy fate
But this isn't a part of your life's chapters
For here ends the wait!"
Words may be unable to describe what happened next, mainly due to the fact that nobody paid attention to whatever she said for all those days, but the result was successful: Dee was down to one HP, and not even a blessing from his gods could save him. Ryme prepared for her final strike, thing that was expected to take at least 10 minutes (considering the fact that Dee would probably bore to death in that time).
But then the doves came.
"No" Ryme said "It cannot be... Steven!"
And from the doves, Steven revealed himself: "Hey guys" said he as his opponents shivered "Wassup? Can you lower your voices a bit? My child-"
Ryme redirected her strike at Steven, but this only triggered him to strike in response: a mysterious rainbow colored cloth started to seal Ryme's neck, making her unable to speak. This was the power that she feared.
As she tried to take it out, Steven spoke: "Oh guys, can we have at least a week without this? I know you like this, but really? Why don't you get a hobby or something? You know the cloth will never end, so please leave and I'll wear it off".
And so, while Ryme struggled to speak, the dying Dee asked: "How can you do this? No limits... No restrictions... This isn't supposed to be possible..."
"A magician never reveals his secrets", said Steven as he called for an ambulance a third time this month.
| 2018-10-15T22:16:09 | 2018-10-15T21:15:36 | 201 | 92 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | Today was supposed to be the day.
I was never sure were this magic came from. Where those that believed in Harry Potter got their fancy wands and ridiculous Latin spells. Mine came in the form of a couple whispers, that day I killed that abusive prick who called himself my father. The moment his blood spilled I heard the whispers of madness, in its sweetness I felt power I have never felt before. The more I killed the more the whispers came, giving me better tools and incantations that empowered me further. Soon they screamed at me, with plans for some kind of portal to their realm, a chance at sacrificing this banal world to these profane monsters. Today was the day I would shed enough blood to take this world into chaos, I would destroy this disgusting reality and take my place as overlord of the other realm.
But that’s not what happened.
Only was it too late I realized my folly, too late I learn where my magic came from. For as I opened the door to hell, I learned what the whispers and the screams truly meant. They were not promises of a legion of demons, they were lies. Lies of hateful creature not running towards a new king, but away from their destruction. The being that came from the portal was something far greater than any demon, it was fear of the demons itself. It was the scourge of their realm, the destruction of the destroyers. A beast of rage and hate, bound in human flesh. A god wrought in green and layered with the blood of a millennia in hell. From the moment I laid eyes on him I realized where it all came from.
And he was my Doom. | I stalked ahead, fully aware of the traits of the devastating weapons loaded in my sack and pockets. I tried to recall the symbols I’d need to create any number of permutations. My opponent stared me down and began to chant. I huff at her, with her clumsily thick blue robes and childish conical hat. I’ve trained my body and mind constantly for years.
I can no doubt dodge whatever she throws at me from the end of her plea with whatever nonsensical deity for power. I kneel down and swiftly complete the outer circle, sketch a series of small, sharp angles inside, and write down a single symbol in the center - a triangle pointed towards me, with a horizontal line across it. My materials are simple, and so is my required circle.
She cries out “Bolt!” and I roll over my circle, narrowly avoiding a narrow strip of lightning from the sky. She huffs, aware that whatever comes next, she must move as swiftly as possible, and pants for breath, watching me suspiciously as I place my left hand under the flap of my sack and my right into the center of the circle, leaning forward to pour out sand into the circle. I focus on the form of the silica and force a powerful handle out of the pile, ending with a fearsome, jagged point of brittle, semi-fluid flint. The handle glistens in an ethereal rainbow as the tip melds out of the end, black as pitch, deadly and primitive.
I stumble forward as my foe shrieks “FIRE!!” It catches on my trousers and begins searing through the thin material. I rapidly unzip my left leg and kick it off in a panic, trying not to warp or shatter my (admittedly fanciful) spear. I dump a pile of sand from my sack onto the leg, stifling the dancing flames as I hear more chanting begin. How is she doing this so quickly? I hear her speaking quite openly to Shiva as I close in. Whatever she’s up to, I need to make my move properly.
I stab towards her side, managing to cut open a sleeve on her robe, letting out a trickle of blood from her arm, but she doesn’t respond, continuing her prayers to bring me a “cold death.” I don’t want to know what that means and strike with the butt of my spear to her midsection. She tears up, gasping in pain, buckling down to her knees and then picks up right where she had been a second ago, more quietly. I don’t have time to think, and begin beating and cutting at her, trying to use non-deadly force. After all, this girl is clearly childish, and looks terribly young now that I knocked off that silly hat of hers. She stubbornly cries out, “BLIZZAGA!” My entire being numbs as the cold gathers around my body, moisture from the air and my sweat forming solid ice as I struggle to breathe. Everything... is...
*The girl panted and cried from pain, bruises and cuts covering her petite frame. Her opponent stood before her, vanquished, the strange and warped spear crumbling into sand. “Oh, just great. This damn sand will stick everywhere!” She struggled to maintain consciousness as she staggered to her feet, leaning heavily on her oak staff for support. “Hey, Big Brother... if you ever see this...” the mage hobbled away, letting her spell dissolve together with her imaginings of the Winter. “Try telling me again how useless magic is...” She sighed and decided it was probably best to call a couple of her friends. * | 2018-10-16T00:47:31 | 2018-10-15T22:07:03 | 62 | 26 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | You look down it your phone, and upon it is a notification, "Huh, weird email. who even uses yahoo mail anymore?" you say to yourself.
As you look at the text, you realize that the background is a mosaic of moving gears, flashing lights, and bubbling tubes.
You are given a choice, either be transported into the game that you last played, with the reward being that you are allowed to keep everything that you achieve or create, or never to be given the option again.
Being the fairly curious persion you are, you accept. Moments after you tap the button, you notice that your surroundings are becoming blurry and almost oily in consistancy. You succumb to the nausea that is produced by this, and when you come to, you find yourself in a barren land wearing nothing but a lightly padded suit and equipped with only a pickaxe and a pistol.
You only have one clear thought on your mind...
#***the factory must grow...*** | Yet another janky steam account randomly added me. It was surprinsigly quick to reply for once. The only message they typed was "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played.". I just typed "Yes. Whatever, I’d manage", before shutting down my computer for the night. I went to sleep thinking nothing about it.
Still sleeping, I gently hit some kind of ground. I wake up to a strange blueish light and a happy jingle. I stand up and look to my side, there's a tall and hollow metal structure with a light ontop. The blue plasma inside it says the following: "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" as it vanishes.
I am greeted by applauds and cheers from people around me. They're not exactly human, but I recognise some of them from... Oh no. I'm wearing a suit. I look at my hands... 3 fingers and a thumb. I look at my feet... stubs. I try to reach my nose... not there! I stumble back in surprise, letting out a short cry.
My voice! It's a somewhat high pitched electronic sound! It doesn't sound like a language, yet I can understand what one of them was telling me: "Don't worry, it's always strange to come out of the pod.". They help me up, and tell me I was printed because my skills were good for becoming a rocket pilot quickly.
That’s definitely going to help. If I’m stuck in this game, then my main goal is to get to space and launch the rocket. But I’ve never been on their side before! I’ve always been on the outside, giving them tasks to fullfill and schedules to follow! I hear a bell-like sound, and everyone scatters. Downtime’s over.
I hear orders left and right, put on high priority. I work a bit to pass time... Until the next downtime. The others lead me to a "recreation room" to "reduce my stress level". I’ve already seen it somewhere... The guy on the outside put so much furniture, it’s a bit ridiculous.
Of course! It’s my little brother’s save! I need to get his attention. He already reached the surface, he only needed to build a rocket and find a pilot. Seems like he’s noticed me, I felt that I’m being watched since downtime started.
I’ve already earned enough experience today to become an advanced researcher. At this rate, I’ll be a rocket pilot in a few "days" and "win" the game. It’s "nap time" already, and I see orders to build the rocket being scheduled for tomorrow. I’ve got long days ahead of me. When this is over, I’m definitely bringing a Hatch home.
This is my first submission to this sub. The prompt felt a bit inspiring, so I tried to write something. Hopefully, it was enjoyable to read. Feedback's welcome! | 2020-02-16T23:15:41 | 2020-02-16T23:10:29 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | The enemy had entered the galactic stage a mere fifty years ago. They had reached out blindly into the stars, professing a wish for friendship and commercial trade. The galaxy, quite surprised by the lack of militancy or isolationism displayed by the fledgling race, unanimously accepted.
Then came Kothlar 7.
The Jatharin had declared war merely as a matter of protocol - someone would have done it eventually, and the Jatharin were the enemy's closest neighbors, so it just made sense for them to be the ones to bring the newcomers fully into galactic society.
It was a massacre.
Gornag Kalistra hadn't received his title because of pure ceremony - a fact that he'd leveraged to ensure that HE was the one sent to meet the enemy. The other Gornagi of the Jatharin Senate were too scared to handle this meeting properly; after all, none of them had ever seen *real* combat.
"Seen. combat" An odd turn of phrase, that, but it was how the humans spoke. Kalistra was the only one of his kind who'd actually viewed the historical documentation that had inspired the current galactic law so many thousands of years ago. Only a fool would have gone to meet a *new* species whilst being ignorant of his *own* species' history, and Kalistra was no fool.
What he'd seen had been ***horrifying***. Weapons designed not to impress or to wound, but to destroy. No thought was put into what those implements of war looked like - only what things they could do to the enemy and how efficiently they could be made to do those things. The galaxy had come a long way in their understanding of war.
The humans didn't want a fight - they had stated that very emphatically in their message, though the pictures of the remains of the Third Jatharin fleet had the Senate convinced otherwise. They had been attacked, they said. *War* had been declared, so they had responded in kind - they truly hadn't expected the Jatharin to have put weapons such as they had on their ships and not also have shields capable of withstanding a similar force; they were just as appalled at what had happened as the Jatharin. They'd even done their best to provide medical treatment for the few survivors before sending them home with the message.
They'd had no way to have known that starships hadn't employed shields in centuries. The galaxy's idea of war was far different from what it used to be. If the Jatharin could become this way, thought Kalistra, then surely the humans could learn this as well. It would just take the right words.
Vice Fleet Admiral Taylor Bradley Johnson and Vice Fleet Admiral Taylor Josephine Brandon were waiting for him at the specified rendezvous point. Even human names were strange - how could beings of different sexes have the same name? Adjusting his uniform, he gestured for his communications officer to establish a visual link with the human vessel.
"Greetings," said VFA Taylor (or was it Taylor?). "We humbly apologize for the misunderstanding at Kothlar 7. Our sincere condolences to the families of all involved."
"Thank you," said Kalistra smoothly. "I fear the misunderstanding runs far deeper than either species has fully realized." He gestured again to his communications officer. "I have brought with me a complete recorded history of my people so we may correct this unfortunate problem. If I may bring to your attention the moments just after Time Indices 27-2, 39-5, and 104-1, you will find that our species' understanding of certain words may be drastically different."
The VFAs paused while the bridge crew of the human vessel watched the indicated portions, then the other Taylor spoke. "I see that our understandings of the word 'war' are indeed quite different. This is most distressing, Gornag Kalistra. If only we had known - this could have been avoided."
Kalistra approximated a human nod as best he could. "I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Senate so we can rectify this misunderstanding. It is clear that if we were to engage in a war as your people understand it that our fleets are hopelessly outmatched."
"We gratefully accept. A peaceful and prosperous future is all we wish for. And Kalistra?" Taylor asked quickly before the connection could be closed.
"Yes?"
"For future reference, the human concept your people were trying to invoke is 'I challenge you to a duel.'" | &#x200B;
Writing Prompt
\[WP\] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
&#x200B;
"All Life is Created Equally."
The motto of the Alarkian Federation hung in alien letters embroidered on a bright blue banner. The Hall of Councilors was large, seating some 2,000 delegates who served as representatives to the Federation. The two humans stood behind two specially erected lecterns, addressing the Councilors leading body. At it's large semi-circular table were the thirteen members who really held sway here. Bi-peds, tri-peds, hive mind AI projections, and every other imaginable form of "alien" sat around the room, but those at the high table looked as if they were from New Dehli or Copenhagen.
"You have been summoned here by the combined will of the entire Alarkian Federation. Over 30 trillion sentient beings are represented by this august body. We have chosen to display these forms so that you will not misinterpret our movements or language.
All species here were created by God and told how to live. We have been instructed by our creators in all manner of life so that we may live in happiness. Of all the messages given to us one was the most clear. "Do Not Suffer Evolved Life to Live." Representatives of Earth, you are not found within the Registry of Creation handed down at the dawn of civilization.
You are the first species of evolved biological life to reach for the stars and find purchase. That is why we have brought you here. Had we discovered you at an earlier point in your development we would have destroyed your planet and ended your threat then and there. As it is though, we must grant you death by combat. The Combined Xarte Fleet sits in waiting near your colony on 6592D-C. Our Herald shall be in contact shortly to arrange details. You are dismissed."
Hours later, in the hull of their transport ship, the two human Ambassador's compared notes and reviewed the transcript of the days proceedings.
"I can't understand their logic Marin. Why would they tell us their plans like this? Is it a trap, some sort of diversion designed to pull our forces away from the real strategic targets?" asked Del.
"No...I'm telling you: They have a completely different take on warfare. Look at the religious documents they gave us. They say they were literally created, and that they are often in touch with their deity. All of them say it. It's the cornerstone of their combined existences. The foundational texts are clear on warfare. Star-ship's aligned in rows, throwing non-neutrino, non-nuclear warheads at one another." replied Marin.
"But why would anyone fight with such antiquated weapons and tactics? The whole idea of conflict is to survive at all cost." Del paused, "unless their idea of conflict is purely show. Are you saying that the entire point of warfare to them is purely tactical? How could they have survived this long?"
"They have *all* survived this long because they all follow the rules laid down by their creator. The same creator that says we are to be exterminated upon sight. Maybe something about evolved life makes it inherently dangerous, precisely because it is designed to destroy everything in order to ensure its own survival?"
\-2 Standard Years Later
On board the Imperium of Man Ship (IMS) *Defiant*, the Strategic Defense Council sits in full session. The military liaisons of 50 independent worlds and 320 colonies wait patiently for the speaker to begin. All across human space another 17 billion humans tune in.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as you know the Xarte *Herald* has been sitting in orbit around 6592D-C (6C) for the past 18 Standard Months. We have tried numerous methods of communication but the same message continues to be broadcast.
*We are the combined Xarte Fleet. We welcome your challenge in the name of the Lord, our Creator. Our fleet will arrive at aphelion on 345th million year of this planets existence. The presence of your fleet is requested so that we may settle the matter of your continued presence in our Universe.*
Today, exactly as the 6C reached aphelion, what we assume to be the entire Xarte fleet warped into the system. They are making lines of approach that correspond to the broadcast message's diagrams. They number exactly 100 and appear to be ship's of the design seen in Alarkian Federation religious documents.
Since we did not seek this fight, and we seem unable to avoid it, we proceed with Option E.
Pray to whatever God you need to, but above all else, pray to Darwin: *Survival of the Fittest.*"
\- 24 Standard Hours Later
A single human ship approaches the lined configuration of Xarte Warships. The vessel, named IMS *Existence*, is piloted by a single woman. Her name is Lieutenant Natasha Konomini and she has been awarded the honor of saving her species. As she draws closer a communication is received from the Xarte Herald.
"Human ship, where are you battle lines? Do you dare defy-"
He is unable to continue. The *Existence* kicks it's warp drive in to action and accelerates directly into the center ship of the Xarte formation. Moments later a great explosion is witnessed around both Human and Alarkian space. The Xarte ship's are blasted in to millions of pieces as the shockwave rolls outward from the center. The ships toward the end of the line try to leave the formation, but the blast moves too quickly and tears in to them with un-imagined ferocity.
In the Hall of Councilors a request for parlay is received. Several hundred delegates are attempting to speak until they are finally silenced by the High Table. On two thousand handheld screen a human face appears.
"Delegates. We have accepted your offer for combat. At this moment 5,634 identical ships sit outside your military bases and civilian hubs. We do not wish to use these weapons, but unless you withdraw your claim that we do not have a right to exist we will eradicate your ability to make war. You have two minutes to reply."
Moment's later the return broadcast, which was broadcast all over human space, was received, "We cannot defy our creator."
"Very well." Said Del. He adjusted the display on his HUD, aimed his ship directly toward the planet below and the Hall of Councilors specifically, and kicked his warp in to drive. | 2020-03-21T11:02:38 | 2020-03-21T10:23:49 | 155 | 59 |
[WP] A reverse "girl-in-a-fantasy-world": a magical prince has to live on earth with a completely normal human family and deal with incredibly mundane problems. | "So why are you so desperate to get back to your homeworld anyways?"
"I was on a quest to defend my kingdom from this great evil!"
"What's it like?"
"Oh simply the worst you could imagine! Count Elrich Oberle seeks to take over our world and plunder it of all its wealth!"
"...huh. Sounds like a terrible guy."
"Oh he is! His armies have razed everything in their path, causing untold destruction to our lands!"
"Wow, that sounds horrible."
"And everyone who isn't in his inner cabal work for him under back breaking conditions, only given the bare minimum to survive!"
"Oh no."
"Oh yes! And most of our rival kingdoms have allied with him, considering he's bribed almost all heads of state and powerful officials in their lands! So you see, I have to defeat him using this magic sword that's so powerful, it can cleave off someone's head in a single blow!"
"Hmmm...you know what? That does sound urgent, but since you're stuck here, in the meantime, there's some people here that could get to know your sword a bit better. Let me tell you about it..." | “Tom-“
“Lord Ulrich!”
“Tom...”
“Sir Ulrich...”
“Tom...” the patient paternal voice continued.
“Ulrich.” The boy huffed.
“Tom, look at me, Tom...” The father in his maroon sweater vest and brown dress shirt loomed over the boy.
“Fine.” Tom, seated in a very large arm chair, looked up at his adopted father.
“We’ve talked about this. You can’t kiss sleeping girls.”
“I would awaken her and she would be my Queen!”
“Tom, Erica is your sister now. We don’t do that here. She wasn’t enchanted or poisoned - well..”
“See! She was poisoned! My true love’s kiss saved her!”
“Tom. She was drunk. You hate her. Is this some compulsion? Do we need to take you back to therapy?”
“No. No!” Tom gasped. He was wearing very princely attire; tights, a tunic, and a floppy hat - all velvet blue and trimmed with silver.
“I don’t know what to do with you. Just promise you’ll be good.”
“I have sworn an oath to uphold-“
“Here. To me!” His father barked.
“I promise.”
“Good, no more kissing Erica. It’s weird. Get outta here.” He jerked his thumb pointing out of the office.
Tom shuffled out of the den and into the kitchen. He snapped his fingers and sink started to pour, soap squeezed into the sink, the dishes started hoping into the sink and being scrubbed by the sponge gliding along it. Tom pulled out his phone and browsed while “he did” the dishes.
“Tom! You’re such a wonderful boy!” His adopted mom said. She was a little older than a mother of his age would be but still plausibly aged. “You’re a life saver.” She was walking into the kitchen from the garage with some groceries.
“Thanks mom.” He said.
“You’ve done enough, go ahead and go up to your room and play.”
“My fencing lesson?”
“Sure dear.”
Tom bounded upstairs and towards his room.
“Brother! Brother!” He heard Erica calling to him.
“What?” He said peaking his head into the laundry room.
“Brother, I’m stuck!” She said wiggling her butt while “stuck” in the dryer.
“Stuck!” He ran over and started pulling her out of the dryer while he held on tight to stay in.
“Is that a dagger in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” She giggled.
“I do not like to see you stuck-fast like this. It is the Dagger of Metcloth an ancient wizard who’s touch would insight fear of the...”
“I can’t. I can’t do it.” Erica backed out of the dryer. “You’re just ok weird. I don’t care how quaffed your hair is.”
“You’re unstuck? Fantastic!” Tom said confused.
“Erica, come back!” Erica’s boyfriend came bounding out of the closet with a camera in hand. “We need this for California!”
Tom flipped his wrist and the boyfriend tumbled down but still scampered off. | 2020-09-17T22:18:54 | 2020-09-17T22:00:37 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means | The first thing you need to know about being cursed with 'good luck' by a supernatural entity is that most supernatural entities have a very different definition of 'good luck' compared to us normal folks. Good luck for a human being would be winning the lottery, or finding true love, or landing your dream job. Good luck for, say, a faerie is very different. Good luck for a faerie is finding an untapped leyline, or befriending an injured unicorn, or winning the favor of the faerie king. A vampire's would be finding a beautiful, willing victim, or getting the perfect coffin, or obtaining a vial of the blood of a Norse demigod; and a werewolf's, a finely cooked steak, an exhilirating hunt, or a tincture capable of controlling their urges and transformations. All annoying but all manageable individually. *Individually*. When a bunch of them get together, find you 'entertaining,' and never leave, then the problems start.
Anyway, I'm in an urban high fantasy now and seem to be the protagonist.
Please send help. | a was walkin down the street in Belfast one day so a was and then a got struck by lightnin and a was like this here, what the fuck mate? the fuck was that? a lucked around me an couldnt see anythin and i wasnt even sore so a was like this here, ah fuck sake you're goin mental Dean, too many bowls last night so anyway
listen a was walkin on home and thinkin nothin of it like, you know? a was thinkin, fuck that was mad like, but nothin else. a was still a wee bit baked from smokin them bowls earlier, but a generally didnt think anythin of it ya know? a was like this, here, wait til davey hears about this, he'll think it's a geg
so instead of goin home like a thought first of all, a decided to go to daveys house, it was a bit out of the way but fuck it, he has to hear about this like doesnt he?
Roll up to daveys place and look through the windy and oh may god he's ridin his girl in the livinroom right thur. a can't fuckin believe may eyes, oh may god am thinkin. look at him, he's just buckin er right thur. a can see his arse just goin up and down and shes like this uhhh uhhhh uhhhh ohhh fuck davey davey uhhh like that thur, fuckin nuts like?
so a bang on the front door like this, here davey! ano youre gettin your hole but ya need to hear this here davey bang bang bang davey!
so davey opens the door and a walk on in and his girls run out the room buck naked, a seen her arse and everything shes hot as fuck yano? and a says here davey i fuckin got hit by lightnin down on dee street thur - and he's like aye yer ballix mate and a says swear to fuck mate
and he goes, so wheres the fuckin.. u know? the fuckin.. marks on ye? injuries and all that shite? and i was like, nah mate, dont have any. and he's like aye you're a fuckin balloon, away on ya melter ye.
Decided to stay in daveys house for a couple weeks cause a just got ma giro in so a was sweet like, and may ma's always like this here, Dean fer fucks sake are you not gonna get a fuckin job like, theyre hiring down in the westburn again but a cant be fuckt with that like
anyway a went home after a couple weeks and guess wat? my house got fuckin burgled and someone fuckin shat muhmum and muhdad, thur they were lyin thur dead fuck sake? see if i hadnt have been hit by fuckin that lightnin thing, i'd be dead too... fuck that like! no what a mean?
so thats may story thur like, so that's that, fuckin nuts like isnt it? | 2020-10-15T05:43:58 | 2020-10-15T04:41:29 | 169 | 62 |
[WP] A hacker skilled in gaining access and upgrading account permissions, you were blown through a magical rift to a land of kings and wizards. You figured out magic and now have a business upgrading common folk with magic powers. Problem is, it's pissing off the magical elite. | "Look, the mage consortium has to put its foot down- knock off with empowering the peasants!"
"Or what?"
That was the crux of the issue, really. Back when magical power was nicely monopolized, a casual threat from the mages consortium was something you couldn't afford to ignore. Just the implied threat of cutting off your magic access was enough to bring almost anyone to heel, to say nothing of their ability to use magic in decidedly unpleasant ways.
But now the game was different. Their power was no longer exclusive, which meant that their power was no longer the political force it used to be.
It wasn't nothing. Chris couldn't match the entire consortium for sheer ability to enchant, and the commoners couldn't match the consortium for quality magecraft. The consortium was still where you went if you wanted something done right, which people always preferred, with magic.
But their power was slipping. And would continue to slip. Who knew what the commoners would do with magic? The consortium's position atop the political world was in danger, and *would* fall away if nothing was done.
Chris, unfortunately, had proven impossible to curse. The curses had rebounded on the caster, and it hadn't been a terribly fun day at the consortium feasting hall, the day that they figured that out.
They were still trying to scrub the ectoplasmic oatmeal out of the crevices in the walls. No one had been inclined to try again, after that whole debacle.
Individual commoners had been much easier to curse, true. That had looked like it might work, for a while.
But there were just so *many* of them, and once they figured out what was going on, they started fighting back. Their cursing ability was crude at best, but with that many aimed at a single mage...
The results had not been pretty.
The consortium had sent out a larger party of mages, fully prepared to escalate the conflict. But not only had they had difficulty competing, magically, with a large number of commoners trying to curse them, a bunch of *non*magical commoners had come out with farming implements and a few actual weapons to *physically* attack them.
No one had died. But it had been a *very* close thing.
And *then* Chris fixed the magical loopholes in truth-telling circles, and the members of the consortium had been forced to testify that they had been there specifically to attack the commoners, making the matter a simple one of self-defense, legally speaking.
The magical consortium was falling, and they had sent someone along to wheedle Chris into knocking it off. This wasn't *fair*. They'd earned their magical blood, fair and square, by being born with it. And now he was letting just *anyone* learn magic!
"Or...well, look, the commoners are doing things that simply aren't done with magic!"
"Like what?"
"They're enchanting their plows, for heaven's sake! Magic isn't for...for farming!"
"Seems like a good use of magic to *me*."
"But you should see what happens to the food when it's cultivated with that much magic around! My baked potato got up and did a dance routine last night! Toppings everywhere, and the dance was in *very* poor taste."
"And, of course, as someone who eats in a place filled with magic, it couldn't possibly be *your* magic that made it do that."
"Of course not! We have a few oddities, true, but they're *classy* oddities. A much better class of dancing potato when we accidentally enchant them, I assure you. Self-cleaning, too. Why, one time they performed a full opera! I don't know who taught potatoes to sing, but it was reasonably well done."
"So let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to stop giving people the power to improve their lives, improve the lives of those around them, and vastly improve their economic productivity...because you don't like the way their potatoes dance."
It was a point.
The consortium representative simply stood there, silently. This clearly wasn't getting anywhere. There was no need to spend time arguing with some insolent outsider.
They would need to find another approach. It would be tricky, but the mages consortium was an ancient institution. It had stood for eons, and would not be undone by this usurper.
"I can see that you aren't able to listen to reason. This is unfortunate. I think that our business is concluded."
And there was the sound of boots classily walking away because their owner didn't like what someone said. | "Onguard!"
Bob drove down the sword, his beleaguered foe falling under its pressure, his ancient magical shield on the cusp of breaking.
"My King, spare me!" he cried.
"No such mercy shall be granted Sir...Donutface,"
The fallen Knight scowled at such a dishonourable lack of creativity.
The soft whoosh of the entrance sounded at the far end of the ancient relics department.
"Shit!" Sir Donutface whispered, jumping to his feet.
"We've got to get this stuff back quick!"
\---
"Bob, Sam, almost finished?" their boss said as he came across his workers innocently tending to their computers, cables connected into the various servers and instruments controlling the relic safeguarding systems.
Bob offered a thumbs up as his boss's stare bored into him, his head raised as if sniffing the air for the scent of mischief. He knew what they were like.
He nodded, before gesturing with two fingers to his eyes and then jabbing them out like daggers. Sam stayed quiet. Which was for the best.
As the door whished once more, a collective "fuck" was uttered, as they packed up their computers, and got the fuck out.
\---
"Anything interesting happen at work today, darling?" Joy called, shuffling through the door and into the kitchen, dumping various bags and coats and things along her way.
Bob, tired and in vegetable mode, watching tv and hands firmly in pants, sleepily uttered to his returning partner, "not really."
"What's this on your bag then?" she said.
Bob stood, stretching like a deformed cat, and walked to the kitchen. Ignoring her question, he gave Joy a hug.
Damn she smelled good.
And then he looked at his bag.
He blinked.
He swallowed.
"Oh, shit."
\---
"What do you mean you didn't put in there? That's the Dagger you had shoved in the back of the Shield of David, you always use that thing! How'd it end up in my bag dude?"
"Ahh fuck, I might have hidden it in there when were panicking. Dude I don't know. What the fuck we do now?"
Bob punched the wall, hurting his hand and instantly regretting it.
There was only one thing to do.
"Tomorrow, we get back in there and change all the records to show it was never gone."
Hanging up, Bob picked up the relic, a Dagger of unknown origin but undeniable craftmanship, of a design out of place with the Egyptian tomb of which it was found. He would have to wipe it down somehow, make sure there were no prints should anyone realise it had been gone.
Sagging onto his bed, he grabbed his laptop, signing on to the work vpn to check the records ahead of time, the dagger laid between his chest and the hump of his belly, one hand lazily stroking as if consoling a lost cat soon to be taken home.
And then the laptop battery sparked, the screen flickered. Too late did Bob try to take his chubby paw from the keyboard.
The eletric pain shot through his arm and his body, causing a spasm so intense the laptop rocketed into the ceiling, smashing in a puff of smoke and broken bits.
And as it rained down on him in what appeared to be slow motion, Bob saw the dagger. Glowing, and floating, inches above his chest. There it paused, its tip rotating and glinting seemingly growing sharper by the instant.
Over his heart it stopped, and Bob realised all to late what could happen next.
Covered in broken technology and burnt pyjamas and reaching for his phone, Bob screamed, as down the dagger plunged.
\---
Bob awoke, the sound of a noisy bird of some sort taking him from sleep, the smell of wet hay pleasant on his sleepy senses.
Wet hay?
Bob bolted straight up, hitting his head on a thick wooden beam.
"Fuckkkkk."
Cradling his head, he took in his surroundings. It was a small barn, with Bob amongst some hay piled at the back. Through slats between thick wood came shafts of warm light on a fresh breeze.
Bob was in his pyjamas. By his side was his laptop, not broken. Phone. And in his hand...in his hand was the dagger.
Frantically Bob felt at his chest, feeling it free of any wound.
"Ahh thank god, " he murmerred, before the realisation of the bigger problem hit him.
"Where am I?!" he shouted all to loud to no-one.
He grabbed his phone, seeing it still had signal, but nothing to seemed to work, calls or net. At least the battery was at 100%, though. Same thing for his computer, battery stuck at full , but no connectivity.
Kinda made sense for a farm, the signal anyway.
Just then, a command prompt opened on his computer, scrolling code flashing too fast for him to see, multiple prompt windows cascading from it across the screen.
As quickly as they had come, they were gone, and in their place, only one screen remained, its blue cursor flashing, inviting.
*Magic Interface 2.0*, it read across the top.
Voices suddenly rose from the far end of the barn by the door, the sound of jingling metal and strange voices.
A wide beam of light grew as the door inched open, blinding blasts of sun bursting from sheets of metal covering the man opening it. More followed.
Swords in hand, they entered, looking weary. Next to them, a small man in simple, worn clothes loitered. With a frail and bony finger he pointed in Bob's direction. The knights, as Bob's failing brain suggested they were, took a look in Bob's direction, and began to close in, muttering strange and foreign words.
A beep came from the computer.
Bob , mind racing in panic and at a loss on what to do, or what was even happening, stared at the screen, as if it may offer him some kind of salvation.
Code sprawled down the prompt. Objects, methods. Knights, the barn, the farmer. Variables and classes. Then the cursor flashed once more, one variable striking in Bob's mind amongst all the ones that had scrolled before him. His fingers flew.
*For each Knight in Barn, strength = 0.*
*Enter.*
A bout of dizziness swelled in Bob's head. The dagger shone blue.
Swords clattered to the floor, followed by Knights gasping and thudding to the ground, too weak to hold up their armour.
The frail old man fled.
r/FatDragon \- come and read Excalibur, 130k words complete first draft of my first ever novel! | 2021-01-30T09:34:52 | 2021-01-30T08:50:06 | 311 | 42 |
[WP] You discover your bully is a superhero by night and that the reason they hate you is that you’re the child of their greatest villain. | Kyle kicked the shit out of me during lunch today. Again.
I really, *really* didn't understand why he's had it out for me for so long. I did all the things *grown-ups* said to do. Keep my head down, don't antagonise him, don't talk to him, just ignore him.
It's a bit hard to ignore a bully when he sucker-punches you in the temple out of nowhere, and has his goons stomp on you as you lie dazed on the asphalt.
Today, though... Today, as I'd spat blood from my torn lip and looked up at him, I choked out a question.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Kyle?"
Apparently he didn't like that, as it earned me another kick to the gut. "Ask your dad."
That night, when I got home, I did.
\---
I ditched school for a week. Dad didn't know - he said he was going out of town, and to call Gran if there was an issue. I was old enough to manage, though, and he'd left the fridge and pantry stocked with all I needed.
On the morning he left, I'd gotten up early to see him out and have breakfast together. I even offered to take care of the dishes, so that he could get ready with no stress.
As he showered, I swabbed his glass and cutlery.
\---
The secret door in the cellar was surprisingly easy to find. Dad had been meticulous in hiding the traces of it in the basement floor's dust - but he'd not taken our little eight-legged friends into account.
So the *one place* in the entire cellar without a trace of cobwebs showed the way clearly.
I was damned lucky that Dad hadn't gone for a code or ocular scan or something. Pure DNA was all the scanner needed, once I found it.
And once I was in, well. Finding the right tool for the job was easy. Dad always was a stickler for organisation in his office. His *secret lab* was no different.
\---
"Kyle!"
The bastard turned towards me, sneering, his goons at his back. They always hung around behind the gym, in their *"secret"* smoke spot. Which everyone knew was there.
"What do you want, fuckwit?" he asked with derision. "Come to get your ass handed to you again?"
"Came to tell you to fuck off and leave me alone." My hands were hidden in my hoodie's pockets. "Look, whatever your issue is with Dad, I have nothing to do with it. So back off, alright? Please."
He laughed, harsh and cold. "Oh no, bitch. I'm going to keep kicking the shit out of you so you know your place. So once your asshole dad retires, you know who the boss is in town. So you don't *fuck* with me."
I scoffed. "Some 'sins of the father' bullshit? Really? I want nothing to do with that crap! Just leave me alone!"
He took a final drag of his cigarette, then threw the smouldering remnant to the ground. "...Nah. Kicking your ass is too much fun." He started towards me, his goons at his back.
I felt myself grow cold. My hands clenched inside my hoodie. "Fine. Fuck you, Kyle. And see you in Hell."
Kyle wasn't some sort of superpowered metahuman. All his Superhero chops came from his suit.
Which he didn't wear to school.
So as I pulled my hands out of my hoodie and threw them forward, neither he nor his goons had any sort of defence against the toxin needles my Dad's combat gloves threw at them in a wave of death.
Though... death was a while to come yet. And they felt every second until it did.
I bent down to look Kyle in the eye that still had vision. The other one had taken a needle and burst. Vitreous humour and blood, mixed with black toxin, flowed down his cheek.
Tears stained the other.
"I hope you're happy, Kyle," I said. "I didn't have any interest in the family business until now." I raised my gloved right hand to study the glove thoughtfully. "But I have to admit... You made it feel *good."*
\---
Edit: Oh wow, thanks for the Gold! | I had hated Justin ever since I could remember.
I am not a hateful person, I’m a pretty positive guy, most people generally liked me. I was just your average college student. I’m on the football team, my girlfriend is a cheerleader, after high school I meet with my friends and do stupid stuff teenagers regularly do.
But then there was Justin. He had bullied me for years. No matter what I did I could just never win him over. Every time we interacted he just had this sneer on his face. I tried to be polite, I tried to make him join my friend group, tried to get him involved in things, but nothing ever worked. We had got into fights about it. We had both been suspended. Nobody could understand it, it had been going on for years and I was sick of it. After the football game today he punched me in the face when nobody was looking. That was the last straw.
After school today I kissed my girlfriend goodbye and followed him. Something was up and I needed to know. He usually walked home from school so I trailed him at a safe distance. Straight away I knew something wasn’t right. Justin lived in the south side of town and he was going north, up into the city centre. I hopped on a bus and I had to scramble to get a taxi to follow him, “Follow that bus!” I told the taxi driver. The taxi driver seemed to be annoyed by me, but at least he had a reason to unlike Justin.
I noticed Justin got off of the bus just outside a bowling alley. My heart sank immediately. He was just going to meet friends in town, I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe an undergrown lair or something. But then Justin walked past the bowling alley, and walked down the alley next to it. Bingo!
I scrambled out of the taxi, making sure to give the diver a tip, and ran to the alley before I would lose him. I got to the opening just in time to see Justin suspiciously look around and open a hidden door in the floor and creep down into the ground. I also looked around suspiciously, this was not a nice part of town. I kinda wanted to enter the hidden door too just to get out of the backstreets here.
I quickly sneaked down the alley and as quietly as possible enter the hidden door in the floor. The hidden door opened to reveal a set of steps leading ever downwards. I go down quietly and here voices.
“-he almost bombed Bulgaria last night.” I didn’t recognise the voice.
“Unbelievable. How has he got away with this for so long?” That voice I knew, that was Justin!
“He’s smart. He has gotten away with terrible things for years.” As I got further down the stair I could see into the room. The room was amazing, all high-tech screens, bright lights, multiple screens with different reading on them. The big screen in the middle of the room was the one that caught my attention the most, though. On it was the picture of my father! His short grey hair and big bushy grey beard filled the screen, though he was wearing something I had never seen him in. A white body suit and a black cloak. Bizzarre.
I was so distracted by the room and the picture of my father that I didn’t even taking in who Justin was talking to, never mind what he was wearing. It was Justin’s dad, and he was wearing some kind of Halloween costume. He was wearing a skin-tight black body suit with a white cape, and a black mask covered his eyes and cheekbones, on the chest was some kind of alien symbol. As they were talking I could see Justin taking off his school uniform to reveal he was wearing a similar outfit underneath.
I couldn’t think about why they were wearing such weird clothes, why were they talking about my dad?
“Our source in the Empire of Justice has been tracking his latest moves, it seems he has just invented some form of biological mind control in the laboratory under his house.” Justin’s dad said seemingly seriously. What on earth where they talking about? There’s no laboratory under out house, we don’t even have a basement.
“Mind control…” Justin said in awe. “My god, if he manages to figure out mind control he could take over the earth with ease.
“He has found a way to manipulate the brainwaves of others, but it’s very weak at the moment, he can only do it with individuals with similar biological signatures to himself.” Justin’s dad said. “His son is the most likely target. “You need to protect him for here on out Justice Boy.”
“Ugh, I can’t do that. It takes every fibre of my being to not to use our death ray on him every time I see him in school.”
“There is no evidence linking his son to Count Donar’s evil wrath.
The boy is just as innocent as anybody else.”
“Well… for now.” I hear my father’s voice and suddenly all the screens in the room suddenly fizzed with energy and all the reading on each screen was replaced by a video feed of… my father. Why was he on there? And why was he wearing a cloak?
“Ahh, the Empire of Justice, did you really think you could outsmart me?” I had never heard my father talk like that, like there was venom in his voice.
Justin looked panicked! “Dad, whats happening?!?”
“Count Donar has hacked into our base, we need to evacuate!”
“Ahh, yes, evacuating would be very helpful.” My dad said while stroking his beard. “It’s a shame I already have an agent in your base…”
“Dad, what is he talking about?” The room locked down as a heavy metal door covered the stairs I was hiding behind, forcing me out of my hiding place.
“Hey what are you doing here?” Justin noticed me first.
“I-I-I don’t know.” I blurted out, truly not knowing what was happening.
“Ahh, my son, my son. Right where I wanted you to be.” My dad laughed on the screens. “You see, the Empire of Justice is wrong. I haven’t just invented mind control… I invented it along with my first born son.”
“Justin, quick, shoot the boy!” Justin’s dad shouted at his son begging him to pick up the death ray and kill me.
My father’s laugh echoed around the base, “Son… its time. Kill them.” | 2021-03-27T08:58:09 | 2021-03-27T06:56:20 | 54 | 33 |
[WP] There’s an old saying that in every group of friends, there’s a dumb one. But you don’t believe it. I mean, you’ve been hanging out with these guys for months now, and they’re all really, really smart. | “I guess it’s true what they say. In every group of friends there’s a dumb one.” The girl paid for her drink, flashed me a wink, and went back to her friends.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment trying to figure out what she meant before making my way back to the booth where Sam and Danny sat.
“You strike out?” Sam asked.
“I’m telling you he didn’t strike out.” Danny said. “I can read lips. She said ‘*Love me a twirly swirly. I’ll go far in bed with you, dumbfuck.*’ Right, James?”
"She said ‘*in every group of friends there’s a dumb one*’ then just left. What do you think that means?”
“It means she thinks you're a dumbfuck. Damn! I read the fuck out of those lips."
"She's not going home with him though."
"Not with that attitude. Let’s replay the conversation - James, did you try and pronounce the word ‘pianist’ around her?”
I shook my head. “No we were just talking about her work. She said she was a social worker. Did you guys know that’s not code for prostitute?”
“You’re thinking sex worker.”
“He’s got a point though,” Danny said. “Sex *is* social.”
“That’s what I told her! I said I could give her some *on-the-job* training.”
“Artful," Dany chefs kissed his fingers. "Because job and blow-job? There's layers there, I hope you explained it to her."
"Yeah, twice. You think it’s true what she said though?” I asked. “That in every group there’s a dumb one?”
Danny scratched his chin. “Well I guess technically in every group there has to be a dumbEST one.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Danny.”
“I’m not talking about myself, asshole.”
“Then who?”
Danny took a sip of his drink. I looked at Sam. He shrugged.
“Me?!”
“It’s not personal,” Sam said. “I mean look. Danny’s doing his PhD and I’m in med school.”
“You’re studying to be a *pediatrician!*”
“Yeah so?”
“Kids are less complicated, they have less bones.”
"Kids have *more* bones!"
"So they have spares. That just means there's more room for error."
“He’s got a point.” Danny said. “Even dentists get to work on adult teeth.”
Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, we’re not saying you’re dumb, James. Though now I'm starting to question it.”
“It's true," Danny chimed. "We’re all smart in our own ways. We’re just talking in terms of, you know, outward measures of smartness.”
I slammed my drink on the table, genuinely starting to feel frustrated. “Come on guys! You both seriously think I’m the dumb one?”
“It’s just a stupid saying,” Sam said. “That doesn’t mean it’s true, right? You know, sort of like the saying that in every group of friends there’s an ugly one.”
Danny took a sip of his drink.
“Right?” Sam pressed, looking at me.
I shrugged.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Jack, always listening.
Jack, always polite, always happy to help when he could.
And help he could, Jack, 42 years old, had not been gifted with a quick-witted mind, but with agile hands and a set of skills that would keep him in low-income jobs his whole life. He met the slightly older Esme at the improvisation theater, he was the handyman, she was the stellar intellectual, could speak of matters and subjects, ponder them to no end and Jack admired it. He never added much to the conversation, never could, but loved to listen. Esme introduced Jack to some of her friends, and often they would go out to the restaurant or spend the evening at someone's home.
It wasn't easy. There was a class-envy in Jack, who saw the lavishly decorated houses and apartments of the upper-class well-educated youth while he grew a garden in his small village, working as a plumber. He felt silly when he couldn't answer a question, knew he could be the butt of a joke. Sometimes, he took a time off from this friends group to let the feelings fade naturally.
He'd still meet with Esme though, she was cool, a class act of her own and Jack felt he could learn from her. What, he didn't know, but it felt this way.
Today she caught him in of these mood, he didn't want to go grab a drink, but she insisted, he relented.
Sitting on at the window of the bar, watching the November wind blow brown and ocher leaves around, he struggled to hide his thoughts.
"You okay Jack?" asked Esme, "you seem a bit distracted."
"I'm fine, don't worry."
"As a general rule, *don't worry* is a dead-ringer and good hint you should worry a lot."
"I'm good, I really am."
"What's on your mind."
Jack always had something on his mind. But Esme had the knack to ask only when it mattered most. Today she had told him about her students at the business school, the new plan for the internships abroad and partnerships with international schools. He had told her about the worst case of stuffed pipes he had ever seen. Where did Jack fit in?
"I'm sorry, I just don't know why you keep meeting me."
"Because we're friends? Because I like your conversation? Because the world's a better place with you inside of it?"
"Don't piss in my ear and pretend it's raining, I know I don't come close to your other friends, no need to sugarcoat it. The world's a better place with me in it, come on, don't overdo it."
"Having a fit?"
"I'm just... I'm just pissed that you think I'm so dumb I would never notice that I'm the black sheep in the group."
Esme raised her cup to take a sip, stopped mid-movement, and put her cup back down on the table. Outside, the sun was hidden under heavy gray clouds.
"Jack, you're not my black sheep, nor are you the black sheep of anyone I know."
"I can barely follow your conversation, you think I don't know I'm the idiot in the group?"
Esme, always diplomatic and sharply dressed, leaned back against her chair and did the one thing Jack didn't expect of her today.
She got angry.
"Now listen here dipshit, if I had the choice between having a drink with an utter moron or having a friend with a reliable dude for several hours during one of my free days, which one do you think I would pick?"
Jack didn't answer, didn't show any emotion. He was neutral, he was intensely neutral. It took considerable effort.
"For Christ's sake Jack, I don't give a shit that your head is out there sometimes, that your words can fall flat and that you need some downtime from us. If anything, that's part of the charm, and that's not just me. I do give a shit that you can sew, handle your own plumbing and grow a garden because every time I try I feel like a fucking idiot. You think we're making jokes in your back? You know what, you're absolutely right. Every time I try to do something with my hands I have a second behind verbally ripped open by my other friends because they know I will never come close to what you do with your hands in a century. And I extend the same courtesy to them."
"I always feel lacking 'cause I can't follow you on the gardening stuff."
"And I do when you speak of growing plants. And I love it, that's part of the fucking charm, I don't want to spend all my time only with bookworm intellectuals, I want to meet other sort of people, and you're one glorious sort of your own and I don't want it to change."
Esme calmed down, Jack was lost in thoughts. The waiter had the stellar idea to leave them alone until they asked for the bill.
They buttoned the jackets up and tied the scarf tight around their necks, the brisk wind was chilling but refreshing. It would soon start to snow.
"Come here."
Esme gave Jack a big hug.
"Same time next week?" he asked.
"I'd love too."
They went their separate ways. Just before he was out of earshot, Jack heard Esme shout:
"I forgot to ask, but my sink doesn't drain properly, you think you could-"
"Of course I can," he shouted back with a grin. | 2021-11-14T09:35:29 | 2021-11-14T09:07:50 | 313 | 155 |
[WP] A hero and a villain are guests in a talk show. "Why are you two fighting? What motivates you to keep on fighting?" Before the villain can tell their story the hero gives an answer that leaves even the villain speechless. | “To be honest, it’s not even about the danger anymore. I mean sure, Dagon here causes more than his fair share of theft, murder, and treachery, but it’s not about that anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.”
The hero was donned not in his typical wear of an armored spandex suit, but instead dressed casually in typical blue collar fashion. The villain, Dagon, had at least kept some class and showed up in a dazzling black and white suit. Both Dagon and the host looked on with interest to the hero as he leaned backwards, taking a drink from his complementary scotch.
“It’s always been about helping people. I think a lot of the heroes out there today have forgotten that the thieves and murderers, the carjackers and drug dealers, and even their arch-nemeses, are people too.
I’ve realized, after half a decade, that I’m making progress with Dagon. At first he was so wanton about his crime, doing it for the pleasure alone. It was a spastic and random with both its degree and timing, as well as the way it was carried out.
He hardly spoke a word to me the first time. Just glared as I torched his operation. And sure, he’s grown bigger since then, but he’s also gotten smarter.
Each and every crime he commits is done in such a way that two things are accomplished. Firstly, it gets my attention. Dagon hardly ever operates outside my jurisdiction now.
Second, it challenges me. Morally, physically, intellectually. As if each and every scenario was designed specifically with me in mind. The traps he set could easily be navigated by most other heroes. But for me, it’s just barely possible. But only just. “
The hero looks to Dagon now. Dagon, unsure of exactly what the hero is trying to say, maintains a stoic if not pensive expression.
“I fight Dagon because I am the closest thing he has to a friend. He’s damn near obsessed with me. I know he spies on me, and I on him. We know more about each other than half the couples in this room.
It’s like this. By fighting him every day, though Dagon gets more motivated, he also become more tame. There are less murders and more simple assaults. Less dealing and more stockpiling. He waits for me to strike.
It’s almost like I’m helping him become the man he used to be. That fire of insanity I first saw in him was nearly overwhelming, but now it is only a flicker. Behind it, I’m starting to see a person. A person that I could share a drink with.
I know I’m right because of the times I’ve failed. An easy access panel here, a rusted hinge there. Even when he’s had me in his hands, I know his punches are pulled. He won’t kill me.
I just hope someday that he won’t fight me. That I’ll get a call from Dagon himself, instead of the police telling me all about his latest trick. That we can exchange laughter instead of punches.
But we’re still a ways off. And if you don’t believe me, ask yourself, would Dagon have ever agreed to this five years ago?” | "May I be blunt?" Seraph asked politely, much to my surprise.
Carrie Ember nodded in encouragement.
Seraph. looked over to me, hands folded in their lap.
I chuckled. "Well don't let me stop you: why do you fight, angel?"
They took in a deep breath and let it out.
"Well, at first it was because..." They paused. "....No, not even then. I was about to say that it was because no one else would, but even then many heroes have risen who could counter Wraith: Wyvern, Duplicitor-"
"Duplicitor is on the fence," I reminded them politely.
"It doesn't matter, she's run us BOTH in circles." Seraph responded calmly, brushing a blonde lock out of their face.
"But in a way... I felt an odd kinship. I mean, think about it."
They turned to look at me, really look, and I stared in mild surprise at the sadness in their eyes.
"An angel and a lich... Two forms of undead roaming this world. No matter how prettily you dress it up, an angel is still a lost soul."
I nodded, shifting in my seat slightly to face them better.
"So, I'll admit I sought him out for personal reasons. I didnt like him. I still don't."
I snickered at that and they held a hand up sharply.
"But as the fights kept going, I realized... He *respects* me. And I respect him. He's cunning. Clever. Powerful. He commands where I can only suggest. And, well..."
Seraph played with their braid, slender unearthly pale fingers stroking every flawless strand.
"Being a hero has become something of an escape for me. Don't misunderstand, it hurts, it's hard, I need breaks. I'm not looking for a city in peril. I just... Well, honestly, I'm at my most real with my mask on. My civilian self isn't very fulfilled or exciting. I can't talk about half of this with anyone and it hurts. But Wraith.... Well, do you have a civilian self?"
A touch personal, but I shook my head with a thin smile. "I do not. I am easily recognizable even if I try. I simply lurk when people think it's safe."
Seraph turned back to the general audience. "See, he has no other life. Mine feels non-existent as it is when I can't unload the burden. Wraith knows it's a burden because usually he's caused it and we all know it."
Their hands clenched in their lap, and they trembled. ".... He's hurt me." They said quietly. "He's watched me sob, seen me broken, caused me to sink to my worst, in a terrible way he knows me more than a loved one ever would." They shook their head. "I understand that Stockholm Syndrome is a very real problem for heroes, but that isn't what this is. I don't love him or even like him, but he understands me in a way no one else does." They looked up again, body language tense and set. "And that is why I fight him. As someone I can relate to, I can't stand watching him tear apart what I love. He understands the divide, doesn't ask me to join or surrender because he understands. He doesn't ask me to do anything beyond my job; to stop him. Hell," they laughed in disbelief. "He defended me when I came out about my depression. Not even the other heroes took kindly to that."
Carrie raised her hand politely, almost like a child and I grinned when Seraph nodded to her.
"Seraph, if I may, you've admitted to depression and even being tortured by this man."
"Bold of you to assume I'm a mere man," I joked with a playful smirk.
This got some hesitant laughs out of the audience.
Carrie waited until they settled down. "So how do you keep fighting? What keeps you going, knowing everything he's done to you and will keep going?"
Seraph shrugged. "Honestly? Because I have to. I love this city, I love the people in it, and I can't stand by and let it be destroyed. Being a hero helps me feel like I do something worthwhile for this world and I want to keep that feeling going. Not to mention the strange endorsement left me too confused to suddenly retire," they said, turning to me in confusion. The studio laughed.
I tugged the sides of my cloak closer. "Well, I cannot top a noble tale like that. All I can say is, my endorsement is not an act of love or sacrifice. They said it themselves; I understand them. They understand me. We do not work together. They fascinate me. And to see them crestfallen or defeated by something other than me, I will not abide." I stated plainly, baring my teeth in a tight smile. "This undead will only stay dead killed by someone like it."
Carrie shuddered and Seraph stared, expression unreadable.
The TV show host began nervously rambling about an ad break and being right back, but I couldn't care;
I merely smiled at the angel sitting beside me, and waved ever so slowly. | 2022-06-27T21:09:31 | 2022-06-27T15:02:31 | 76 | 43 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose..... | I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.” | "Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John. | 2022-11-17T07:33:47 | 2022-11-17T07:26:44 | 420 | 14 |
[WP] The death sentence is an actual sentence that when spoken will instantly kill someone.
Inspired by [this comment.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1w4n7l/what_misconception_did_you_have_as_a_child_that/ceyo995) | If you see the men with hooded cloaks come to town you better come inside.
If the men with insidious words come to play you better find a place to hide.
They always come after a crime, a murder, they take their time. They'll knock on doors, come indoors, rip up floors.
And if you are found. If the men with death on their lips find you, you who hold death in your hands, do not try to block out their voice. Scream and daydream of explosions and gunshots and babies crying in their cots; it won't make a difference. They whisper in your ear with a sneer that tears your worst fears - the words that shudder your heart like a car that won't start, sounds that ignite the fight to breathe right when your throat becomes tight. You'll choke which'll invoke the folk, draped in heavy cloak, to prepare to snare your coal black soul.
This is the death sentence. | “Last call, MacArthur Station, all northbound passengers board this train.” the operator's voice crackled over the best speakers the department of transit could afford. The transit system, much like the city it serviced, had seen better days. Central Station, the city's heart, pumped trains throughout the tunnels that slithered below the crumbling metropolis.
Henry reluctantly took his seat on the M line, any reasonably well to do individual had cause to be a bit apprehensive. Aside from the immediate, sometimes unseen substances that no doubt coated many of the dingy seats, petty crime was on the rise. Still, it was less risky than bringing a car downtown. A mechanical hiss rang out as the doors shut and the train went howling into the tunnel.
Eyes down, face buried in the screen of his phone, he did the best he could not to acknowledge anyone else. The pregnant woman with the bag of groceries, the college aged blonde in the tacky green scarf, teenager obnoxiously using his cell phone as a boombox, anyone could be a potential pickpocket or mugger.
Just out of his view, a deaf begger began to make his way down the aisle. Around his neck, a sign that read, “Anything helps”, in his right hand, a tray of colorful pins, and in his left, nothing but a tacit plea for some small generosity.
Henry did his best not to look, but eventually the deaf man had visited upon everyone else in the car, save for him.
“I'm sorry, I haven't...” he started before realizing how stupid he just made himself look. Two upturned palms and a shrug were all he believed necessary to send his intended message.
Unfazed, the begger held out his outstretched palm. Henry felt a small twitch as the annoyance made its way past the veneer of indifference that he prided himself on so much. With a deep sign, he produced a crisp bill from his wallet, reckoning that would save him any further intrusion.
Imagine his surprise when the deaf man leaned in for a grateful embrace. He pushed at him as best he could, but not before the man whispered something into his ear, a language that he had never heard before. There was but one word in the mangled string of syllables that he was able to discern, “*basilisk*”. His message delivered, the begger pressed a small pin into his hand and made his way for the next car.
As be brought his hands up to straighten his coat, a single drop of blood fell into his tie. His vision blurred as the beggar's words began to echo in his ears. A bleak whisper building into an ominous roar. His vision began to darken as he looked at the pin, “Tony says goodbye”...
This is how I make my living. For the death sentence to have any effect on you, you must hear it spoken to you by someone who wants you dead. I never hear anything, and they never see me coming... | 2014-01-25T16:46:31 | 2014-01-25T15:54:00 | 81 | 38 |
[WP] It's been nearly 100 years since the last Pyromancer was caught and executed. Pyromancy, the ability to create and control fire, is a dark and forbidden art. You discover you have the ability, and are now being hunted down. | It started as a tickle but it soon became a burn,
From a child to an inferno, oh, how quickly did I learn,
For some people may be special and some people are unique,
But for just a chosen few there's another label, "Freak."
The old and dreadful ways took away my brethren kind,
In the cold and fearful days they stole the fire from their mind,
"Drown the witch and heretics", the venomous did rise,
And hunted down the beautiful with fire in their eyes.
But now the time has come again and sparks burst forth once more,
I bring the name, Prometheus, back to your shaken core.
So tie me to a rock and try to steal away my guts,
I bring to you the Ragnarok and seal your blind eyes shut. | The hoof-beats were the first thing I heard. I let out a cry of alarm as I scrambled to get together my few possessions since the day I was found out to have pyromancy inside of me. I still remember it like it was yesterday... I was only 10 years old.
*I made another round of fire balls pop out of my hand as I was awe struck by what I could do I have kept this from my parents because they always taught me to fear pyromancy and to immediately report it if I ever found someone to posses the power, but I liked the fun sparks and fires I could make from nothing. Little did I know that this particular day I would be betrayed by my own family. My mom was searching for me afraid that I had ran off but I was only in the basement as she searched I thought a few more minutes wouldn't hurt, until she burst into the basement and saw me tossing small fireballs into the air and catching them with ease, she screamed. My dad came running thinking my mother was hurt only to arrive at the very same doorway leading into our basement. My mom begged and pleaded for my father to be rational, to please keep me hidden and not turn me in to the guard. He didn't listen he claimed that the consequences on everyone would be to dire apposed to just turning me in. He went the next day. Within the hour the guard came and took me from my moms embrace as she was crying and begging for them to just let us have one more minute. They didn't. I was in a steel cell for.....who knows how long, I lost count after a few days of being trapped in the contraption they put me in to remove my senses. I heard a door open and close and a monotone voice announce that my execution would be the next day. That night I cried. They came and escorted me to the square, the leader of the guard made his announcement thanking my father as he sat solemnly next to my mom who was crying, she looked hollow and ragged. I looked down refusing to give the monsters the pleasure of seeing me in this state. The leader yelled for the marksman to prepare their weapons.*
Ready...
I reviewed my life.
Aim...
I thought of how terrible this entire scene was. I seethed in rage.
Fi-
"NO!" I screamed as a bright flash happened about the square I opened my eyes to the flames, to the devastation I caused. I ran.
I came back to the present. I felt the same rage I had felt that day. If they wanted to try so hard to find me and eliminate me, I would make sure I eliminated them first. Flames rippled across my arms as I walked towards the approaching cavalry.
(EDIT: This is my first time writing on this sub. I don't claim to be any good at all I just wanted to try my hand at it. Sorry if it's not very interesting or good. :P) | 2014-05-09T09:53:24 | 2014-05-09T09:50:26 | 60 | 16 |
[WP] In a Fantasy world, countless myths and legends surround the land. Yet out of all the teams of adventurers that explore these myths and legends risking life and limb, none are as successful as the "Mythbusters" | “So to sum up tonight’s episode, minotaurs *are* in fact ticklish,” Adam said, turning to face the camera.
Then Jamie walked up to stand beside him, a large yellow feather in hand. “Not only are they ticklish,” he added. “But tickling is also a great way to calm an angry minotaur down.”
The director yelled cut.
After the cameras stopped rolling, Adam and Jamie high-fived.
“Oh man," Adam giggled. "This is going to be even better than the time we told people it wasn’t bad luck to walk under ladders.” | In a smokey ill-lit room, a sorcerer wove a complex pattern in the air with his hands and chanted rhythmically. A fighter looked up in disgust and said, "Do you have to summon the All Seeing Eye right now? We haven't even finished packing yet!"
"We must record *everything*. Later I can edit the illusionary projection to remove the tedious parts, but if something happens and the Eye isn't watching, I can't just make it up later. That would be fraud!"
"Yes, yes, we know, Saros," said a bored-but-serious looking elven woman, "if we get caught faking it, nobody will buy our projections anymore". She returned to carefully placing things in a backpack that appeared to be larger on the inside than out.
An older man with a horseshoe of thinning white hair on his head looked over from where he was seated at a table. "We need to be especially careful this time... we've never investigated a dragon myth before. The metallic dragons are known to be both evil and ruthless, and this one is said to be an elder bronze."
* * *
A small campfire, in a deep pit with a shield hung over it cast light on four figures seated in the dirt around it.
"Saros... do we really need to have the Eye watch us eat dinner?"
"Yes, Tarig!" spat the sorcerer in irritation, "Anyway, we're not just eating, we have to talk strategy as we close on the supposed lair of this bronze dragon. How shall we 'bust' this myth?"
The fighter drew his sword, eyeing the glowing edge of the magical blade. "Same as always. Fighter goes in, archer covers, magic user applies buffs before battle and assists from a distance during, the cleric heals and maybe calls for a bit of divine intervention now and then. It's not complicated."
A painfully loud roar split the woods, and a chill ran up their spines.
"CRAP! It's here!"
The group scrambled as they heard wing beats. Lightning struck the campfire, throwing them all back. The Eye watched.
In the shadows of night, they never saw the dragon, but with magic both divine and arcane to help, and the occasional near-blindly fired arrow the party managed to sneak into the woods.
After an hour of undignified flight, they stopped. They all turned to the Eye, which had been casually floating along with them the whole time, seeing everything.
As one, they said, "Myth *confirmed*!" | 2015-03-18T16:22:32 | 2015-03-18T15:57:59 | 34 | 10 |
[WP]Doctors call your condition "Dynamic Cognition". You wake up each morning with a random IQ. Equal chance of being mentally handicapped, or a great genius, or anywhere in between.
The morning alarm is going off. Time to wake up.
Who are you today? What were you up to yesterday? And what's going to happen tomorrow? | Brandon Sanderson actually has a fascinating character just like this in his Stormlight Archives series. It's a king who wakes up every day with a differing IQ. They even develop a scale for him. Through trial and error every day he has to pass a series of tests he himself developed before he is allowed to make any Kingly decisions. If his IQ isn't up to snuff that day he's just a show piece. One day he hits the jackpot and is off the charts with his IQ. He lays out a plan for the future, predicting events, likelihood of outcomes and the best course for his kingdom. He's so brilliant that day that he comes to worship that version of himself as a god. | Loud, obnoxious, and repetitive noises never fail to wake you, whether you're a certifiable genius or barely able to think about your daily routine.
Today I am fairly average, from what I can notice between bursts of buzzing. My personality, what is left of it, I should say, is a constant amid a sea of variables. My mind is not racing to an unsolved problem, or sluggishly crawling to the tasks at hand. Today is a good day.
Most would think the slow days are the worst, and they'd be right. It's a terrifying thing, waking up, knowing what you are normally capable of, but being entirely unable to do it. You have a vague idea of what your normal day is, but you are unable to live up to your own expectations of ability. The extremely fast days are almost as bad. Imagine, your mind running to and fro, uncontrollable trying to solve a dozen problems that you, under 'normal' circumstance, would never be able to comprehend. It is mentally taxing - continuous stimulation with no control.
Yesterday was honestly one of the best days I have had in years. I was extremely focused on the problem facing myself. Why I had this 'condition' and what exactly it does to me. To explain, every day I am the same person with entirely different mental capabilities. It does not appear to have an upper bound, but the IQ drops off at around 55, no lower. Why it does it, I don't know. Anyhow, yesterday I thought about my thinking. Self-metacognition. I figured out that I could improve my lower bound like a normal person could improve anything else. I took tons of notes, in fact, my desk is covered in them. I had to dig around just to find something to write this on.
Something you should know is this wasn't a prexisting or genetic condition. I developed it about 6 years back, when I was twenty-three. I woke up one morning hungover, and couldn't manage to recall what needed to be done, so I never showed up for work, didn't call in, and honestly forgot just about everything that needed to be done, except to eat and sleep. The next day was normal, but I didn't remember what happened, so I showed up to work normally and was near immediately escorted out; fired on the spot. Major client meetings were apparently less important than getting blackout drunk. I'm still unsure if that caused it, or was just an interesting prelude.
Today is a good day. I have plenty of mental resources, and physical ones, to document my condition. Knowledge of the source and how I feel while in different mental 'bodies' is key to this. But, honestly, I'm not interested in it at all anymore.
Today is a good day. | 2016-02-09T02:01:42 | 2016-02-08T20:55:02 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea. | I sat at my "work" desk reading my daily superhero comics. Feeling proud of myself I thought what a job.
Then I heard the noise I dreaded.
"Ah hmmm"
I kept reading and ignored it.
"Human, we need to communicate." The android spoke in its smooth metallic tone.
I slowly took my feet off of my "work" desk then put my comic down on it. Fully irritate "Can't you see I'm working?"
The android continued in it smooth voice "Ah yes, work.
We hired you to perform a process in which once a week you press the repower button BEFORE the power recycles thus our production cycle does not stop when we are offline in backup mode.
When we hired you your success rate was 98% which was unsatisfactory but higher than past humans.
Now it is only 2%. This is unacceptable to us.
When we moved the button to the floor in thus you can perform the button pressing process with your foot by stepping on the repower button we expected a higher performance rate.
We clearly underestimated humans.
We have found a better solution."
The android motioned behind me.
"This is your replacement human."
I did a double take, I was shocked.
I couldn't believe it.
It... it was incredible.
What the hell is happening?!?
I slowly sputtered "it's...
a dog."
The android continued in it smooth voice "technically, Canis Lupus Familiaris, in your language, a golden retriever.
His designation is Titan."
The golden dog sat by the android looking at the android then myself then back at the android while the android stroked the dog's head.
Titan's ear to ear smile mocked me.
I have been replace by a dog. What am I going to do now? I had to ask "Well, can I take care of him? The dog I mean."
"No human, given your low performance rating you would most certainly fail and our new button presser could be rendered inanimate which is unacceptable to us.
We have built an additional 5 android units whose sole purpose is to water, feed, clean, pet, bellyrub, and tell who is a good boy to our new button presser.
Your services are no longer needed.
You're fired human." | They're banging on the door again. They always are. It's my god damn doctorate. They just won't leave me alone.
"Come on, Jess. Just go talk to them."
I massaged my temples with sweaty fingers.
"I don't *need* them. I'm happy now!"
She looked me in the eyes, pleading.
"You know they won't stop until they have you. You're too valuable."
"I know."
"Then *go*. They'll take you anywhere you want."
"What I want is to stay here. That's the one thing they'd never give me."
She ran her fingers through her messy hair, exasperated.
"Just go. I don't have time to argue."
I looked at her with surprise.
"Why not? We have all the time in the world here."
She shook her head.
"Not me. Look, Jess... I've been talking to them. They've offered me a job in chemical engineering. You know how much I love that! And it's not like I get to do much here."
She gestured at our grubby, not to mention empty, little apartment room.
"I had to do it. I just couldn't spend another minute holed up in here."
It made sense, so I nodded. I too had been craving the feel of wind on my shoulders and rain in my hair.
She smiled at me. Yes, I would do it.
I pushed up off the tiny brown couch with both hands, trembling greatly.
It was about time.
I walked, or rather jittered, towards the door. It emitted loud banging noises, no doubt coming from a fist on the other side.
I grasped the door knob.
Yes, it was time to get a job.
Edit: Here's a second part, lovelies.
~*~
Slowly, yes, painfully slowly, I twisted the doorknob. I could hardly turn it, I was sweating so much.
It clicked, signalling that it had reached the proper turning point. The banging emanating from the door ceased immediately.
I squeaked the door open, one millimetre at a time. I could hear laborious breathing. It wasn't mine, though. *My* breath was hissing through my teeth as I trembled.
When I finally managed to open the door all the way, what stood there was... not what I expected. It was a tall, lanky man, wearing remnants of the ancient traditional business suit. He looked more terrified than I was. In fact, he hardly seemed like he was alive at this point.
Then, he cracked the silence with whispered words.
"I've been here a long time. Excuse me if I can't really talk properly anymore."
My debilitating fear was gone in an instant, although my suspicion remained.
"My job- my only job, really- has been to get you."
I looked at his hands, and saw blood running down the knuckles. There were large bruises that arched from the first joint of hs fingers, down to the middle of the back of his hand.
"I'm no good at anything really, so, well, this was it. The one thing I hated most about the world."
He was a person. I guess I hadn't been expecting that, although I don't know what I had been expecting.
"Please, doctor. We need you. The whole world needs you."
I looked at the landscape behind him. It was as it always had been: black and red and brown, stained with a million human corpses. But... some of them looked fresh this time.
"You know what's been going on, I know you do. We can't keep it at bay much longer. Hell, we're doing a pretty bad job now."
I looked at my hands, examining them like people used to in the movies, back when theatres were still popular. I could do it. I knew I could. But did I want to?
"Please. Just... please. If what I've said and what you know isn't convincing enough, then there's nothing else I have to offer you."
Air shuttled into my lungs.
"I'll do it. But I can't promise anything. I may even come down with enfluenza myself."
Without words, I could see that he was happy beyond believe. So fulfilled.
He let out a sigh of relief, and collapsed to the ground. | 2016-04-21T11:01:44 | 2016-04-21T09:33:27 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2030, and the entire world is firmly under the control of the Australian Empire, and no one really understands how it happened. | Well, if no one else will post, guess it's my sacred duty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Cheers, mates, n pour out a stone cold Fosters on me." Emporer Hemsworth's standard sign-off rang in my mind even after the holo-projector switched off. I'd never really noticed how different he sounded from literally everyone I knew. Then again, you weren't required to watch the daily news until your 8th birthday, so I'd never paid any attention.
I wandered into the kitchen and started getting my lunch ready for school. Grandpa came wandering in, muttering something about prune juice to himself. "Gramps, how come Emporer Hemsworth talks so funny?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"Thanks, real helpful."
"You wanna talk about helpful? I once strangled three of those Andromedan bastards by hand during the war, so I'd say allowing you to not be enslaved is pretty goddamn helpful."
"What does that have to do with Emporer Hemsworth's accent?"
"Ask your teacher, or just GooSnapFace it." Was all Grandpa said as he shuffled out, prune juice in hand.
I pulled out my gov'ment issue mobile and opened GooSnapFace. "Why does Emporer Hemsworth talk funny?" The first result was a video from some history buff with a bad suit. I hit play. "The rise of the Australian Empire all began when President Trump made the mistake of hanging up....
Edit: formatting and more aussie
Final Edit: better formatting and even more aussie.
Final Final Edit: To all the aussies pissed about Fosters. A, that's the joke. B, it's a dystopia. | As an American who moved here just before the Great Nuking, it's a pretty somber feeling when I think about how Australia is the *only intact civilization* on earth now.
"The Great Nuking? Did the earth get put in a microwave or something?" nah not quite. The entire world ended up hating America so much that when they unified and severed alliance with my country, they single handedly turned the government into a terrified, paranoid dog, and they reacted as such; nukes were fired at every single one of the USA's enemies, and the rest of the world reacted accordingly. There's a lot more to that story, but that's pretty much the gist, you'll see why this happened later in this story.
Turns out, when everybody launched those bombs at each other, nobody had an issue with Australia. That's why we're currently the leading country in the world, fronting programs to help evacuate those in nuclear fallout zones, salvaging whatever animal species might be left; we're the *only place* left that didn't get hit by the nukes. Not a whole lot of work in that department though; pretty much everything was annihilated after the Great Nuking, the Australian Fallout Recovery Program (AFRP) have only recovered a handful of civilians. And while we might be the *leader of the* ***nuke*** *world*, it's still just Australia.
And boy, you should've seen the sky, the way it just lit the fuck up, like the whole thing was a camera flash or something, the incredulous thundering booming sounds and window-shattering earth shakes for hours on end... Was this some kind of hot, sweaty, nuclear drug fueled rave or something? How on Earth-- *how in this universe* did the planet not implode from all of that force? And then, that was it. Like the most spectacular, *awesome*, scariest 4th of July fireworks display, it was over within actual hours. I'd give my whole nutsack to see *that* from space.
There's ya history lesson. As for how my dumb American ass got here (and why the whole ordeal began in the first place), I moved when the government drafted it's citizens on the agenda to just go attack muslim countries for no reason or something, I didn't read into the politics or conspiracies of things for the most part; as far as I knew, nobody had attacked us for decades, so, as far as I was *concerned*, we had no reason to retaliate against anybody.
I went down the list of English speaking countries, and concluded that Australia was the most similar to America, just *better*. they're better at rednecking than we are, rugby is just football with actual *BALLS*, if you get lost in the wilderness here and you survive, *it actually means something!* Plus, Steve Irwin was my hero when I was a kid, the move just made too much sense. It's too bad we killed the Great Barrier Reef with all the pollution, but I suppose that was it's fate anyway, considering all the radiation.
So, at this point you're thinkin, "this guy's just some coward draft dodger." Yeah, but at least I'm alive, which is a lot more than most Americans can say at *this* point. Those nukes didn't get set off for no god dang reason; the world didn't just hate us for no reason; Trump Fancy Hair mcgee enacted that *draft*, remember?
I suppose it's all a history lesson, but, as they say, those who never remember history are doomed to repeat it, and Australia looks positioned to finally create a new tomorrow.
EDIT: proofreading. edit 2: proofreading turned into a slight refining, I'd consider the pre-edits a first draft. | 2017-02-14T10:14:14 | 2017-02-14T09:34:30 | 1,581 | 298 |
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP... | I've never been one to care much about games. Though I owned one of those gray brick Game Boys as a kid, I'd largely fallen out of gaming as my life grew busier with work, friends and family.
Smartphones changed all of that.
After the success of games like Minecraft and Candy Crush, not to mention augmented reality games like Pokémon Go, it was only a matter of time before technology and real life began to intersect. A new app, promoted heavily as a Lifestyle Improvement Solution by the federal government, offered Experience Points for all sorts of things. Suddenly, there were people happy to volunteer to help out at various events, if only for a measly 4 EXP.
So too did people start going out and killing mosquitoes en masse, as every death, somehow, either through drones or satellites or some sort of arcane paper pushing magic, was recorded.
Weekly and monthly quests that ranged from the easy (put your garbage and recycle bins out the night before pick up) to the challenging (moderate exercise at least two hours, five days a week) to the outright impossible (find a new source of platinum on your land).
Death was a big thing, especially after the Freedomites won the White House in 2024. They knew who the real problem was, they said. Criminals. The homeless. People with mental illnesses.
The quests became darker and more dangerous.
Shave a homeless man until he's hairless and power wash him until he's free of vermin.
Make people who are going off their meds take them on threat of a beating.
Post videos of destroying someone's drug stash along with their personal information.
It got worse before it got better.
Gun restrictions were loosened, but only for people who registered Freedomite, and they only allowed you to join if you could prove that you had three generations worth of white ancestors on both sides of your family.
It soon became a crime to have a tan.
Not literally, of course, but if someone looked at you and thought that you looked dark enough to be a criminal or one of the unclean unhoused, you were in for a world of hurt.
Murder used to mean something awful. Now they have shooting galleries for the "elite" that feature the highest scoring victims...or Freedom-Hating Criminals, as they have all been branded. EXP gained from taking these lives are minimal for the very rich, as they are all at levels that most of us consider "beyond the pay wall."
It doesn't stop them from "keeping up appearances."
There are still quests, but they're all twisted. They tell us to kill, injure, maim. They want us to tear each other apart, and for what?Many of us now refuse to play, though the app now comes standard on all phones; its red, unblinking eye seeing all.
I hadn't played in years when, one morning, while sitting alone at home, I heard the telltale sound, like a slow slide whistle, of my EXP bar filling. It went on for an hour- that terrible sound filling me with dread.
A cheerful trill sounded on my silent-mode-only phone, and I stared down at the cartoony envelope on the screen.
Hesitantly, I tapped it with my finger and confetti exploded around the screen
"Congratulations!" A cheery voice said, her false exuberance filling the kitchen. "You have been selected to receive 1500 EXP as part of our limited Citizen Run Event! The rules are simple. A lucky few are given large quantities of EXP to protect with their lives...literally! Your name, image and location are given to all participants twelve hours after, to give you a fair head start.
If you can hold onto your EXP until the first of the month, the change will be permanent. This is just another of the new benefits that we have been working on implementing for your enjoyment as a citizen of our free and glorious country!"
I stammered out an expletive and dropped the phone to the floor as the shock began to wear off and a deep sense of horror filled me.
"Now then, citizen." The recorded voice seemed to deepen, then, all traces of frivolity disappearing as it said one final word:
"Run." | Before you draw any conclusions, you gotta realize that I was a pretty sad and pathetic person back then. You can judge me all you want, but you know you've been me at least once in your life, losing restraint of your emotions and doing things you regret. Nothing can excuse what I did, but maybe hearing me out with some empathy might help your understanding.
See, three years ago I was a very petty person with a very serious online gaming addiction. I had barely any actual life XP, and instead of improving that, I looked to other mediums to prove my worth. Although I was only good enough to be considered "above average" (to those who know gaming, I was barely platinum) I cared nothing more than to raise my ranking, feeding a very delusional dream of becoming a professional player, even though I lacked the mentality and discipline to actually make it. This led to a lot of frustration, which I have never been able to internalize very well. I think this traces back to my dad's aggressive personality and how much I idolized him.
Anyway, like you may have already assumed, I raged a lot, both at teammates and at adversaries, without measuring viciousness at all. I would stop at nothing to make whoever was my target feel like a worthless piece of garbage, so that I could not only take out my anger, but also elevate myself, feel that rush of adrenaline and dopamine that came from being superior. This shitty attitude has led to me being banned several times from several games, even though I always managed to crawl back in so I could get my fix. Obviously, seeing how I'm wording all this, I'm not about that life anymore. /r/stopgaming has helped me find new hobbies and my therapist helped me find the empathy to stop being a toxic person, but the motivation for this didn't come from me wanting to be a better person.
It came out of despair and regret, from me doing a horrible, horrible thing.
That fateful day, I was on a hot winning streak, getting closer and closer to leaving the ditch that is platinum. I got into a promotional series, and had won two games. One more win was between me and Diamond League, one more win until I got that intense rush of emotion and could finally brag and talk down my friends who didn't believe me.
And then I got matched with violetpixie.
I should have known right from the pre-match chat that it wasn't gonna work. They used ellipsis way too much, said they weren't going to perform well in the role assigned to them, and asked a teammate to switch. They didn't respond, either afk or not wanting to bother, but that simple thing is what set everything in motion.
It was a shitshow. Violetpixie got outclassed by their opponent in multiple factors, getting way too behind to make any contribution to the team. I was doing very well, so I thought that I could compensate for that and carry the game. I was focused on my game until their opponent started messing with it. They had fed off of Violetpixie too much. They were too strong for me to deal. I got killed, my advantage cut off, and suddenly MY opponent started getting strong. Violetpixie had ruined the game, and were constantly apologizing and trying to justify themselves, to which I responded with the typical swearing and threats. It was mild then, because I still had two more chances to win that promo series. We lost shortly after, and I pressed Play Again, determined to swing my luck around.
I got matched with violetpixie again.
I didn't notice until it was too late, because they were very quiet, and seemingly had gotten the role they wanted. Getting into the game, I told myself that history was not going to repeat itself.
They still sucked. Dare I say, they played even WORSE in their favorite role than they had last game. I was not about to have this guy ruin my chances, so I threatened to dox them if they didn't stop dying. A false threat, of course (I don't know how to dox, ddos, whatever), but it worked. They were incredibly agitated, but they stopped dying, taking any kind of risk whatsoever. Problem was, the character they chose was incredibly bad at being passive, and out of fear, they didn't engage when it really mattered, and we lost again.
I was furious, swearing I would find out where they lived and ruin their life, make sure that all their family and friends hated them and dumped them to die in a ditch. I really should have stopped there, stopped after they replied "they already do". Instead I used that information as ammo, threatened them one last time, and queued for another match.
I got matched with violetpixie again. This time, I tried to get them to dodge, tried to discredit them to all our teammates, see if I could turn them against the guy who had single-handedly ruined the last two games and was being my gatekeeper to diamond. I insulted them, threatened them, even looked their IGN up to see if I found their real name to back my threats up. The very last thing I told them, before they dodged the game, was the following:
"Kill yourself already so you stop ruining other people's fun, dipshit".
"ok"
They left the lobby, and I was incredibly anxious to get in game and finally end those promos. In that rush of adrenaline I got from pushing someone down, I absolutely dominated the game, talking smack to my opponents and pushing them to surrender. I won. I was in DIAMOND now. I had the momentum to push to Master, I had to, nothing could stop me now.
Nothing but those 1500 EXP that showed up on my tracker 5 minutes after I won that match.
If you take anything from my story, I would like it to be "don't be a dipshit". It isn't people's fault you have anger issues, and everyone's fighting a battle we don't know about. I would like to apologize deeply to violetpixie and their family, and I hope my story stops at least one person from pushing someone over the edge. | 2017-05-15T13:45:43 | 2017-05-15T10:16:40 | 80 | 23 |
[WP] You, an overworked scientist, have just sold your soul to the devil so your life's work will become widely known and help millions of people. The devil comes back the next day and, instead of taking your soul, asks you to take his teenage daughter off his hands. | "Your daughter." I glared.
"Y-Yes. I need you to take care of my daughter." Satan muttered, then straightened himself," I know you've taken care of a child."
"Yeah Luci, but she isn't the daughter of the Demon King, and besides, I'm a single mother and my work is killing me, I can't take care of another teenager." I took a sip from my glass of Coors.
"Look. She's a huge burden on me. I've taken care of her for years, but I can't do it anymore.."
"And why's that?"
"Jeannine. I'm the damn Devil. I have the whole damnation stuff to attend to."
I adjusted my glasses," And what's in it for me?"
He pondered for a moment," You're a scientist, right? I can give you endless knowledge! I can make you the smartest woman in the world!"
"Do I have to give up my soul?"
"No, not at all! Taking care of Lena is all I ask of you!"
"Hmmm... Alright. I'll do it."
"Alright." His eyes rolled back and he began to chant something unintelligible. I could see blood coming out of his nose as his chanting got louder and the ground began to shake. This continued for about twenty more seconds before a small portal opened behind him. After the portal opened, he immediately stopped.
"The knowledge has been imbued within you. Now just give me a few minutes to talk to Lena." He walked through the portal, closing it as he left. Soon after, Marie came running down the stairs.
"Mom, what the hell was that? The house just started quaking!" She was obviously shaken, I could see the bits of plaster in her hair.
"Marie, I'll explain everything later, but for now I just need you to-" The portal reopened, and Satan came out with his daughter.
Lena was a rather short girl, with brown skin and black hair tied back in a messy bun. She was wearing a simple grey shirt and jeans. The only noticeable difference about her was the slightly sharpened fingernails. She had a fair amount of bags and a backpack on her back.
"Holy shit." I could hear Marie mutter under her breath.
"So how long is she staying here?" I said, picking up my books that fell.
"I don't know precisely. She's always been talking about visiting the human world, she's never been, always interested in the human race, always on her phone, reading about it." He chuckled a bit, placing his hand on Lena's shoulder.
"Dad! You're embarrassing me!" She shouted, taking his hand off her shoulder. "You can go dad."
Satan turned to me and whispered," I'll come back for her when you meet Scott."
"Scott? Who's-"
"Alright, I gotta go! Gotta damn some tortured souls! Love you cutie-pie!"
"Dad!" He was gone. Lena calmed down a bit and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Hi!"
"It's nice to meet you Lena. I'm Jeannine and this is my daughter, Marie." I gestured towards Marie.
"That... That was the Devil?" Marie muttered.
"Yeah, he's a real handful." Lena giggled a bit.
I looked over to Marie, she was obviously blushing a bit. Maybe it was shock from seeing Satan.
"So, Lena, I know this isn't the right question to ask, but do you, like your father, have those crazy powers?" I asked.
"Yup! I don't use them though, no need to."
"Alright. Well, food's in the fridge, and since it's summer vacation, Marie and I can show you around the city, and until I meet whoever Scott is, you'll have to go school." I smiled and sat back down," Now I gotta get back to work. Your dad gave me limitless knowledge and I want to put it to use."
Lena smiled," Alright."
That was the start of some of the greatest years of my life.
Taking care of two teenagers is difficult. Especially when one is the teenage child of Satan. The most difficult part of it was getting her used to school, for she was under the assumption it was like Highschool Musical. But luckily, me and Marie were able to help her. Mainly Marie, they were always close. I always love bringing up the Highschool Musical thing, it made so many people laugh at her and Marie's wedding.
As for me, I was able to get enough of my work published to make a name for myself. I made a good amount of money, and I was recognized as the smartest person in the world, suck on that Stephen Hawking.
I never met Scott.
| “Thinking it all back, this is all your fault Joey”
“Oh come on, don’t be like that Marcus, at least I’m helping you right, I could have just run away?”
I found myself barricaded in the kitchen with my best friend and roommate to avoid the rage of a teenage girl who is blowing all my furniture in pieces due to her date daring to leave her waiting and not appearing… how did we reached this point? I’m a scientist! Not a babysitter! I blame Joey for this…
It all starts in the past truly:
Joey had always been weird, we became friends almost instantly when we were just children, we just worked well. I was the brains of the operations, he was the instinct to keep us alive from anyone else. As we grew up our interests took two different paths, nothing could break the friendship though.
I decided to make my goal in life to be able to save humanity with my work on nature, I knew we could totally be able to bring the nature back to how it was supposed to be. Joey? Joey decided occultism and dark arts and magic were his thing. No way I mocked him for a second, I knew Joey was never one to lie.
So, when he told me I could sell my soul in exchange for the success of my work I knew it was worth it. I would bring the miracle in science to help save nature, what was a little eternal damnation? Honestly it scared me, but seeing as how no one seemed to took interest on my work and I was desperate to help the world it just seemed to be a promising idea.
It wasn’t.
Don’t misunderstand, Joey made the arrangements and in the end, I sold my soul, success came, my work was being published all over, and in some places the application of my work had started. I of course knew when I died my soul would be judged to damnation, but maybe Joey would be there too so at least I would have my best friend with me as I was tortured.
But something happened. Something that took even my occultist specialist roommate by surprise. As I opened the door to the apartment I saw the devil again, wearing his suit but he looked different, he looked… stressed? Last time he looked like the image of a million bucks, now the man looked tired.
“Oh Marcus! Is so nice to see you, I was speaking with Joey of our agreement, tell me, would you like to have your soul back?”
The man looked excited at seeing me, and behind him I could see Joey making me signs to say no, I couldn’t understand it, why would I say no? Thinking it back, Joey was the specialist, I should have just followed his advice.
“Sure! What do I need to do!”
Thinking it back, Joey surely suspected something was wrong, again, I should have followed his advice.
“Perfect Marcus! I knew I could count on you! Such a shining soul full of kindness couldn’t just reject the opportunity to help!”
When his smile got bigger I knew I had made a mistake, and seeing Joey slump in the couch was also a bad signal.
“Karen will bring the girl on Friday, I owe Karen a few days of vacation and I planned a trip to the mountains, but I couldn’t leave my girl alone, you know how things are now, too much insecurity”
As he kept speaking I could only seem to get pieces of information, the devil kept speaking, and I only got pieces and more pieces.
Babysitter, only a weekend, your soul will be back once you do it for me, Joey can surely help you, you will love her, no dirty business or damnation will be the least of your worries. See you on Friday.
I slumped in the couch and saw Joey looking tired at me.
“Always being the nice guy, I’m telling you, we could have found other ways to get your soul back…”
As Joey slumped at my side he kept speaking.
“You don’t know what you are dealing with man, remember how Elizabeth was as a teenager?”
I simply nodded, Joey sister without any means of offense, was a horrible person, her teenage years were horrible and full of rage moments against us.
“Well imagine Elizabeth multiplied by a factor of thousands… You should have just said no man”
“Well how bad can it be?”
I smiled to my best friend trying to be positive, Joey looked at me, and ended up smiling, truly I was the beacon of positive energy on our friendship, he was the extra hand that I needed to solve troubles, and oh what a trouble we got in.
And now we come back to the scene at hand, Friday night, Karen, such a lovely lady, came in the company of the devil to leave their teenage daughter, Alexa. She seemed normal, dark long hair, a choker with spikes, really nothing different from the usual punk kids I saw at the campus.
But oh if things went wrong, you see, she had just sat in our lobby waiting for a kid to take her on a date. But the kid didn’t come in an hour, I tried to tell her if she wished to have dinner with us, she looked at me and screamed so loudly that I ended up being pushed to the kitchen door, had Joey not been behind me to catch me I think I would have ended up knocked out.
And now, now we were in a barricade in the kitchen waiting for the girl to calm down… it is only a weekend, right?
My cellphone started to sound and I saw an unknown number, when I took the call I couldn’t avoid fear of invading me.
“Hello Marcus, I hope all is good with Alexa, kid needs to relax, she is on that phase of teenage years you know? They get angry of anything, oh well, I wanted to just check, you see Karen said we should take a trip on a cruise, and how am I supposed to say no to her? You can surely take care of Alexa for a couple of weeks, right? I will be sending a demon with her stuff on Monday, and remember no funny business!”
As I hung up I could only look at Joey who seemed to get what I was going to say.
“So… just a weekend? Right?”
An explosion broke the barricade on the kitchen and the girl looked at me and Joey.
“So, what’s for dinner losers?”
A couple of weeks with this girl would mean they probably wouldn’t have a home anymore. Before I could say anything, Joey answered the girl.
“Chicken”
Alexa hands tightened into fists as she looks at our direction.
“I want pizza”
We could smell the oncoming fire and did what an adult is supposed to do, put our feet on the ground and keep straight and tell her no!
“Sure, we will get you a pizza”
We are cowards, sue us. Really, eternal damnation doesn't sound so bad.
| 2017-06-10T22:20:17 | 2017-06-10T21:20:10 | 393 | 43 |
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul. | "I claim him!", said Mephala, "For we have many machinations yet to do!"
"I claim him!", said Peryite, "For we have many tasks yet to perform."
"I claim him!" said Vaermina, "For we have many terrors to inflict."
"I claim him!" said Hircine, "For we have many prey to hunt!"
"I claim him!" said Sanguine, "For we have many indulgences to partake."
"I claim him!" said Nocturnal, "For we have many secrets yet to keep."
"I claim him!" said Hermaeus Mora, "For we have many tomes to collect."
"I claim him!" said Clavicus Vile, "For we have many deals to make!"
"I claim him!" said Meridia, "For we have many terrors to slay!"
"I claim him!" said Namira, "For we have many things to wither away."
"I claim him!" said Azura, "For we have many imbalances to correct."
"I claim him!" said Boethiah, "For we have many plots to enact!"
"I claim him!" said Malacath, "For we have many misbegotten to avenge!"
"I claim him!" said Molag Bal, "For we have many weaklings to crush."
"I claim him!" said Mehrunes Dagon, "For we have many that defy us!"
And Sheogorath said, "Reload last save!" | "So Laddie, He's only served us four?" Sheogorath ased curiously. "Yeah, Suppose it's pretty boring for The Dragonborn." Sanguine replied. "Who has the right for his soul?" Hercine asked. Azura sighed "The Dragonborn was a devote worshipper of me, his soul has the right to roam freely in Moonshadow." Sheogorath laughed "If he loved ya so much lass why didn't he move there while he was still kickin'?" Azura looked unhappy "Apparently his wife didn't want to move to a Daedric realm even though he wanted to." Sanguine smiled "You know you have ignorance of Daedra when you hate the Kingdom of Wayrest but you attempt to move to Oblivion, Why did Bonum Hate Wayrest anyway?" Hircine looked perplexed "That's a good questio-" The door was slammed open and an Obesese Breton walked in "Listen here Chowder-Heads, You've got it all wrong."
Sheogorath looked confused "And you are." The Breton laughed loudly "/u/MKirkbride". Azura sighed "Ok Kirkbride, why're we wrong." Kirkbride got angry "The Dragonborn isn't an Imperial named Bonum you Chowder-Heads, and HE isn't married to Camilla Valerius AND HE ISN'T FROM DAGGERFALL." Sheogorath laughed "Accordin't to his diary he is." Kirkbride looked at the Mad God "Oh, a comedian, listen Joker, what race was the Eternial Champion?" Sheo Laughed "Altmer, He became a high chancellor for Uriel Septim." Kirkbride got more angry "The Agent?" Sheo smiled "She was a Kajhiit." Kirkbrides face got red "Nerevarine.." Sheo looked smug "Bosmer."
Kirkbride was full of rage "T-The hero of Kvat-" Sheo gave a malicious smile "Imperial laddie, I know because I'm him." Kirkbride screemed "THE GREYMARCH WAS JUST A PRANK AND JYGGALAG ISN'T REAL YOU CASU-EL." Hercine stud up "You forgot the forgotten her-."
Kirkbride lunged at Hercine "THE INTERREGNUM NEVER HAPPENED!" Sanguine looked shocked "You can't just deny history." Kirkbride smiled "I can in My c0da." Kirkbride assembles a spear from the bones of his armor and charges at Sanguine. Sanguine jumps up but Muatra stabs him, pinning his body too the wall."
Azura started to cry "NO, I LOVED HIM!" Kirkbride laughed again "We're married in Canon." Hercine got up and jumped in-front of Kirkbride as he charged at Azura, Killing Him too, Sheogorath grabbed at knife and stabbed at Kirkbride, causing him to fall out of the window."
Azura cried "My only love is dead." Sheo smiled "Hey know, It's ok. Bonum's soul is yours." Azura smiled "Thanks Sheo." And he walked out of the door with the Dragonborn's soul in a jar. Sheogorath picked up a book that Kirkbride dropped. "Hmm, C0DA? Looks good." | 2018-06-15T08:17:32 | 2018-06-15T07:53:15 | 2,893 | 26 |
[WP] You're walking down the street at night. Suddenly, you get jumped by Flat Earthers. You hear one say, "Take his ass to the edge". You laugh, because the Earth is round. You were wrong.
[I guess I should include the source.](https://www.reddit.com/r/DeepFriedMemes/comments/9nyn8o/fuck/) |
"We have members all over the globe, they'll chip in."
"Say that again... s.l.o.w.l.y."
"No use playing those mind games with us. You will see the edge yourself, YOU WILL BELIEVE!"
"I have a better idea, you go falling backwards."
".... why backwards?"
"So you'd get a selfie of the edge of course. Think about it. The very first person DOCUMENTED to fall of the edge."
"Don't try to muddle my mind with your forked tongue. HEATHEN! there is no reception over the edge which is why we have no pictures. The government arranged for that so as to blind the public."
"Blind them? Blind them to what?"
"To the fact that the ice wall surrounding our planet is melts, this cause the water from the oceans and seas to leak out man. soon we'll be out of water and it'll be every man for himself. The government is hiding it so as to avoid panic for as long as possible. It's why I have 50 gallons of bottled water shipped with me at all times."
"You think the water levels are going... down? Even though there are cities and entire islands threatened by the increase water levels."
"Talk talk talk! All the great minds saw the world for what it was. Flat as a disc so as to be seen from up above by god!"
"Is it also supported on the back of four elephants that stand on giant turtle flying through the cosmos in search of a mate?"
"Wait what? Why would it be looking for a mate?"
"Because that's how everything starts. with a good, hard, big bang!"
"Hey boss, lets just drop him in the hole to the north of Australia. He doesn't deserve to see the edge."
"North of... you mean New Zealand?"
"No such place. It's a myth."
"I... I give up. Just drop me there. I'll try to live with my disappointment." | The bag over my head blocked out all but the brightest lights. They had jumped me as I stumbled home late from the pub on a Friday evening.
Why didn’t I take the offer of a lift from Tom?
They had burst out from a nearby garden and one of them smacked me in the back of the head with something solid. I had drifted in and out as they bundled me into the back of a car and raced off. The lights had been bright enough to make out three figures, all wearing flat caps. That made the whole thing weirder somehow.
But then the floor had felt like it was moving. A boat. We must be on a boat.
I had laughed when one of them said they were taking me to the Edge. About once a week I had kids in my Geography lessons say the Earth was flat, but they were always doing it for laughs and usually ended up in detention after.
But these guys were actually taking me on a boat. We must have been sailing for ours on the water. They had taken my phone too; my girlfriend would have been calling no doubt. If these delusional fanatics didn’t kill me, I think she would for not calling back.
“Mr Marshall,” a voice said behind me, and the bag was whipped off my head. I was sat in a dark room, with the only light coming from discoloured light bulbs swinging overhead. There were rows of seats adorned with a familiar logo. A ferry company we’d used to travel over to Norway once sprang to mind.
“Seriously, where are we going?” I interrupted. “There’s no ‘Edge’ to take me to, so what’s the plan here?”
A young man sat down in front of me and the light swung over his face. “Do you remember me, sir?”
Jay Knight. Shit.
“Not particularly.” I said. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. He had always been a kid who hated me, and although I would never have told him, the feeling was mutual.
Jay laughed. “You’re a shit liar, Mr Marshall. I could always tell. Like when you would tell us that the Earth was flat. You’d wave that inflatable globe of yours around and act like you were the fountain of all knowledge in the world.” He leaned forwards and pointed towards the windows. “I’m here to prove you wrong.”
Jay hauled me to my feet and dragged me over to the windows. The sun had just started to rise, casting that warm red glow over the water. But nothing I saw made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I felt cold, confused, like I was going to vomit. I stared out, not quite believing what I could see.
The water of the North Sea churned and swirled as it dropped away, like we were on top of some huge waterfall.
“Welcome to the Edge, Mr Marshall.” Jay said. The two other figures had joined him. I recognised both as former students, but couldn’t quite remember their names. They were all holding knives and one gestures to the door with a sickening smile.
“You’re guilty!” Smiles screamed at me.
“Guilty!” The other echoed.
I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. How can there be an Edge? The Earth isn’t flat! “Guilty of what?” I replied. I had spent my whole career blagging answers to questions, I could blag my way out of this. “I have no idea what’s happening!”
“Your reckoning, Mr Marshall. And now it’s time for justice to be served.”
They advanced on me. I punched Smiles hard in the mouth, but there was three of them and I had never been the strongest guy. Together they picked me up and threw me over the railing. The water felt like concrete when I hit it and I felt powerless as the current swept me towards the Edge.
If only I had listened to those annoying Flat Earther kids, I would have known what was happening as I fell off the side of the world. | 2018-10-14T04:45:24 | 2018-10-14T02:08:07 | 113 | 40 |
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