prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You've accidentally summoned an ancient, long-forgotten god while trying to pronounce furniture names at IKEA. Fortunately, the employees are prepared as this has happened before.
Edit: holy shit this really blew up overnight. Thank you to everyone who has written along, and to everyone else reading.
For those of you who are wondering if I got this prompt from this post:
https://www.reddit.com/r/memes/comments/aby6au/bought_a_table_and_suddenly_there_were_screams/
You are correct. I decided to put a different spin on it as I've seen this prompt, or one like it, before.
| A giant mass of black mud and wriggling worms was sitting in the floor of the outdoor furnishings. All told, and to the extent I could read the emotions of the pile, it seemed rather relaxed. "Another summoning, hey Frank? I'm sorry about this, we'll get you back to the Writhing Pits ASAP."
A horrible gurgling noise issued forth. The likeness was to that one time I'd stayed up too long, and a clogged toilet started murmuring to me. "Yup. And hey, no worries, Bill. I was just watching TV. You ever See Midnight Sun?"
"You know I'm not Swedish, Frank."
"Sure, but I figured maybe you were into Swedish noir."
"Nah, you know I prefer video games."
"Hey, speaking of which, you check out the latest Call of Cth-"
Another voice chimed in. It was one of our demonologists, Oscar.
"Heya Frank. Hey Bill. I'm really sorry about this. I've got the ritual salt and ash. I hope you weren't interrupted."
"No worries, Oscar. Hey, how's our mutual friend doing?"
Oscar began spreading the ash around in an eldritch geometry. "She's doing well. And hey, thanks for hooking us up. She's real interesting, I've learned so much about the Pits."
I thought to myself, only a demonologist could date an ineffable entity from the Writhing Pits.
Frank started radiating an aura something a bit like a smile, but a bit more unsettling. "Hey I'm glad to hear it! She'd been really lonely back home. And hey, if you ever want to visit--"
Oscar smiled politely. "Oh Frank, you know I can't do that. I'd love to, but it's just not safe for someone like me."
Frank deflated a bit. I'm not sure if it's because fuel for the engine of the Pits had just refused his invitation, or if he was genuinely sad. Or maybe a bit of both. I wasn't kidding about the ineffable nature of Pitsiders. It's not just a word, you know?
"Yeah, yeah. Worth a shot."
Having finished the geometry, Oscar pulled out the bag of salt. "You know what happens now."
"Yeah, alright. It'll sting a bit, etc etc."
"You got it." Oscar grabbed a handful of salt, and flung it over Frank. The pile winced. I think. A horrible screaming, hissing noise issued from it. I could feel it piercing my head, and a tense feeling reverberated through my body like I was a struck cymbal.
I turned to Oscar. "Shame, isn't it? We never really get to hang out. He seems like a nice enough guy provided you maintain your boundaries."
"Yeah, hey. Oh well. There's a reason we're both still here."
"Maybe we could make an attraction of it. Sneak teenagers in after hours. Maybe do a found footage shoot."
"Nah, Bill. I don't think we should mess around like that."
Oh well. It was worth a shot.
"And hey, Oscar, get home safe. I hear there's gonna be rift storms today."
"You got it Bill. You too."
Who'd have thunk Ikea would be at the epicentre of a planar melding catastrophe? That said, the friendly terms we'd formed with many of the extradimensional horrors definitely had its perks.
| ######[](#dropcap)
Its scaly flesh oozed black pus as it glared at Christopher, hunched over. Its tail flicked back and forth, a sizzling steam coming from its forked tongue as it stood there under the blinking lights.
Everyone stood frozen. Was this a social media ploy? The advertisements these days were getting more and more ridiculous, to the point where it was nearly impossible to tell whether anything was merely a grab for attention.
The monster shrieked as it dug its claws into the hardwood floor, the loud scraping sound of crackling wood startling Christopher from his reverie. A tingling sensation ran down his spine, even as his hands began to grow cold. This didn't seem like a social media tactic. In fact, the monster seemed very much real.
A woman behind him screamed, and all hell broke loose. Customers scrambled every which way, some darting back towards the marketplace, while others took the shortcut toward the self-serve furniture.
*Shelves.*
Christopher bolted, his chest heaving. A loud, inhuman shriek sounded behind him, and the deafening clack of claws against wood informed him that the monster had indeed decided to follow him instead of targeting some other poor fool. Just his luck. His mother had told him to light a stick of incense for his ancestors this morning, but he'd been in a rush to go to school, and he'd forgotten. Stupid, stupid.
He thought falling down the stairs earlier was just bad luck. But thinking back, the sharp tug on his pant-leg should have alerted him to the fact that there was more at play in Ikea than just bad luck. Poltergeists weren't enough, and now demons?
The huge warehouse came into view, the sky-high shelves lined along the sides making him exhale a sigh of relief, even as he maintained a dead sprint toward them. The demon was still struggling in the kitchen section behind them, its claws unable to find purchase on the smooth floors. Until it crashed into the doorframe, its bright green eyes glowing.
Christopher ducked behind the shelf and slotted himself into the empty space between two large square boxes. His face was entirely hidden in shadow now, and if he was very quiet, it would likely pass him. He quickly slid his phone open and held onto the "one" key, watching as the image of his mother popped up on the screen.
*Pick up. Please pick up.*
The warehouse grew quiet. Christopher held his breath, his phone gripped tightly in his hand as the faintest sound of the ringing tone from his phone sounded next to his ear. It was too quiet. Unnervingly so.
*I'm sorry, the user you have dialed is currently--*
He pressed the side button to cut off the call, swallowing. Even that sounded abnormally loud to his ears.
Then a clacking sound.
He held his breath, his muscles tensed up completely as he desperately strained to hear something. Anything. The clacking grew closer. The monster was walking along the outside row of shelves. He shut his eyes tightly. As long as he remained completely silent, it would pass by him. Hopefully it would return to the other dimension after not finding prey.
A strong buzzing in his hand startled him. Christopher's eyes popped open, the phone slipping out of his grasp as the screen lit up, his mother's smiling image appearing on the front. It clattered to the ground, vibrating against the ground.
NO.
He grabbed at it and turned it off, but it was too late. The clacking sounds had stopped. Then they quickened, turning back and heading straight toward him. His back teeth ground together.
So this was how it was going to end, after all. He hadn't even had the chance to tell his mother he wanted to go to the academy after all. And now he was never going to get to. He wasn't even going to--
"You can come out now."
Christopher froze.
What?
A bright light shone at his feet. "Come on out."
He slowly climbed out and turned to face the man standing there. He was wearing an Ikea uniform and sharp leather shoes. Christopher's brows knit together. That wasn't right. The demon had definitely been behind him. It had definitely been chasing after them. "What happened to the Pöang?"
The man grinned at him, the flashlight in his hand wavering slightly. "Nothing you need to worry about. It's taken care of. We're always prepared for any disaster. But we hope you understand that the store will be closing for the rest of the day due to the damage. So we'll need you to leave."
"Of course," Christopher said slowly, his gaze focused on the man's face. "What a day, huh?" he said lightly, despite his confusion. The demon had definitely been there. And there was no way to kill a demon or trap it without saying an enchantment out loud. Which he would have heard. Maybe his mother was wrong?
The man threw his head back and laughed. "What a day," he agreed, giving Christopher a too-bright grin. He gestured toward the exit. "Please."
Christopher nodded and began walking towards it. He took a couple of steps, then paused and glanced back at the man who was already leaving in the other direction. Maybe it was imagination, but he could've sworn the man had a forked tongue.
***
r/AlannaWu | 2019-01-02T21:20:37 | 2019-01-02T20:26:22 | 104 | 49 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be. | You can't just sit around in a corner her and relax, and frankly, that's the one and only thing I dislike from the current age. Ever since superpowers were confirmed to come from your inner emotional core and basically the type of person you are, a lot of effort went into raising proper citizens, lest we have another supervillain outbreak. They still happen from time to time, but it's a lot better than before, when the world was almost destroyed.
I was almost sixteen and tomorrow... tomorrow I would awaken my powers. I don't know what I will get, though there are a few known categories. The online tests I did in school pointed me to an investigator type of power, but the ones I did on my own were... inconclusive. Different results, categories I knew that wouldn't match me... the list was weird.
So far in my life I only had one passion and that was writing. My friends really commended me, and it was an uplifting feeling, but my core wasn't the writing, it were the thoughts in it. I guess I leaned more towards hesitation, regret and fake personas. Thus, I could only wait.
That night I could barely close my eyes from excitement. It had been years since I had felt such a strong excitement aside from the fantasies in my head. I guess despite how I appeared calm and even thought myself to be calm about it, I couldn't help myself.
Then I woke up really late in the morning, not knowing when I had fallen asleep. I immediately tried to conjure my powers, but nothing. It was worth a try, but it seemed like conjurer wasn't my type. I guess dreaming about fireballs flying out of your hands wasn't enough.
I decided not to beat myself with my inability to find what my powers were, even after an hour of constant failures. I guess I could go in one of those centres that specialised in these things. Last I heard they managed to find an undead type of power with the person still alive. Hard to believe, but it was probably true.
And thus my day was spent like any other boring day, only this day I also had to explain that I had yet to find out what my powers were. Then off went the entire week and the weekend, all without me having a single clue about my powers.
I tried to remember what the counselor at school had told me. Remember, powers aren't just what you think, even what you think you are. Powers are your true self, one you might not even know.
He recommended me a few meditation techniques and left me alone, but I still had food for thought before I wasted my time with that stuff.
I glanced at the time in my phone, 14:02, I had left earlier from school today, being the last day before weekend now, I made up an excuse and got myself some early freedom.
As I was walking towards home, I noticed a mother with her phone in her face and her child in hand, barely paying attention to him. She certainly didn't look like an attentive mother, made me glad for my own caring, loving mother.
The kid, however, had enough of being imprison in his mother's hands and shook her off. I laughed at the kid's antics till the kid stepped on the road.
I saw time freezing the moment before the car hit the child.
Panic. Everyone screamed, the driver having pulled the breaks as fast as he could, getting out of his car to check on the child, but... it was to no avail. The mother seemed to be breaking down, her emotions were so sharp, I had no doubt she would experience a power shift, one that never ended well. I could almost feel her guilt, the immense pain from her heart, the driver who's mind was still reeling, probably feeling as bad as the mother herself was.
And then, there were my own emotions. I expected myself to be calm, having an outer facade of sadness and disbelief, but no. I was angry. I was angry beyond any reason. Such a child shouldn't had died, I disliked it. My mind played back the last moments of the child before he was hit by the car. A happy smile, mischievous, but kind. My anger reached new levels and I felt something click.
I saw time suddenly slow down, further and further till it stopped... then turned back. My powers were going out of control as they were both activating and changing at the same time. What seemed like the power of illusions turned into control... control over time.
Before I noticed it, I was two minutes before the incident, still walking towards that fateful crossroad.
I kept my calm, walking as I always had, trying not to faint from pain as well as from excitement. This time I wasn't a bystander, I stopped the incident, I was a hero.
I glanced around me, not bearing the light of the sun any more and started running, trying to find cover somewhere, anywhere!
After running for a few blocks, I started throwing up. Pain, horrible emotions, and happiness were all that kept me up at this moment.
I tried turning time back, even for one second, but all I could manage to do was slow it down, not even stop it as I had before.
If not for that incident, for the vivid emotions I had felt at this moment and for the memories of the kid almost bei g run over before I saved him, I would have thought all of this as a bad dream, but it wasn't... it was a good dream, one that was true.
My head hurt and I think I fainted in that small shadowy corner because when I woke up I had vomit on my sweater, thirty missed calls, and the sun wasn't up anymore.
I sighed looking at the missed calls, but I still couldn't stop a smile from forming in my face.
I was angry at my facade, angry at feeling regret for the past, angry at hesitating for every single thing. I was angry at myself so my powers were illusions, but I wanted the time to change, for that small boy to not die, to turn back the time, to turn what seemed an illusion into an actual reality!
Wait, what?! I backtracked a bit and stopped thinking. Perhaps it would be better if I left this subject alone for now. | 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T09:13:39 | 822 | 37 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | I sat across the desk, awaiting further questioning from my would-be employer.
"Okay, I see you have everything in order, except you left one void empty." He flipped past my resume to the employment form and identification page they made me fill out. "You know the one, care to explain?"
I looked at him blankly and huffed. "I don't have a power."
He shifted in his chair. "Come on John, everyone has one. If it's based off an evil act I can work around it, we can trust you, you just have to be honest." A pen appeared in his hand as he tilted it and the document toward me. I scribbled in the blank and his eyes looked away from me.
"...you can fix anything? I kinda assumed with your resume cover page." The clocked ticking in the office was the only noise for several moments. "There has to be more to that or you can fill the description page if you need to. Why are you worried about telling me that?"
I peeled a thin glove from my hand, and touched the pen. As I expected, it dissapeared. "I fix everything back to its natural way."
He seemed nonchalant and squinted. "Why is that a problem?" His hand instinctually went to summon another pen, and when it didn't, the human resource manager tried a few times to make it happen again. He started flailing about, trying to make his power work again.
"I'm sorry" I excused myself, and started to leave the building.
"SECURITY!" the HR manager was yelling from his office, and two large men descended onto me from down the hall, seemingly coming out of nowhere.
"Don't come near me. I'll leave peacefully." I put my bare hand up. They flinched, but when they didn't see fireballs or something similar come from my hand they laughed to themselves.
"We will escort you off the premises. Mr. Gerard, what was the problem with this one?"
Gerard pointed a finger at me "I don't know what he did but he needs to leave!" I turned away to find one of them grabbing my hand already, and his partner appeared behind me, touching the scruff of my neck. "We'll take it from here, G"
Both the men seemed to be waiting for something to happen, for us to appear on the first floor with their teleportation power they didn't know was now gone forever. "What's going on, man!"
One of them shook my collar, and I squirmed past them both as they yelled and booked it down the stairwell and out of the building. Police were in the lobby already but I briskly walked by, trying my best not to think while doing so in case they could hear it.
I tucked my hood over my head as I ran to the bus stop, holding it tight and wondering how I thought I could ever get a job and keep my power under cover... | My power is unique to me, and me alone. You see, I’ve always believed that current modern society wasn’t for me; it always felt like I was stuck in a prison, and as “free” as I was in this prison, it was still a prison. I’m very introverted, you see, so I’ve always had a hard time expressing myself, and it didn’t help that I felt so much pressure from my family and the world around me to make something of myself. This prison had layers, you could say. You couldn’t just say, “fuck what society asks of you, be you and do what you love if it doesn’t hurt anyone,” that’d be crazy. Instead, you’d get a more indoctrinated response from everyone telling you that if you didn’t follow the trends or go with the flow that you’d never make it out in life, or that if you didn’t do x-thing, you couldn’t become successful. In fact, a lot of people’s artificial happiness were based on the superficial opinions of others and it drained me a lot. Eventually, I just didn’t give a fuck. Fuck this system of people talking down to me just because they never dared to dream and fuck them for never having dared to chase their passions. They were trained by society to be this way and they were trained in the same way to never exceed this low plateau. In a way, I became a trailblazer of sorts. People were drawn to me and followed closely as they too began to chase their dreams and passions.
That’s how it all started.
One day, I met a teenager who expressed his utmost respect for me, for I was the sole reason why he was able to achieve his dream at such a young age. Impressive, right? At such a young age, all I could do was dream and hope for the best, but here was a young man who told me he had already achieved his dream. I asked him what his dream was and in response, he told me, “it’s better if I show you instead.”
I couldn’t believe it.
The young man was... flying. He wasn’t just floating a few feet above ground, he was pushing speeds above fifty kilometers per hour with twists and turns that no plane or copter could imitate. The sight of seeing a fellow human fly in such a manner was nothing short of marvelous. “What splendid technology! How did you come up with such an invention?” I asked in anxious curiosity.
“Technology? Oh, I’m not really that smart, but I kind of just took your advice and believed in myself and my dreams because it didn’t hurt anyone. My dream is to fly and be as free as the wind, to not be chained by the social constructs of society and to never be tethered to anything I’m not emotionally or spiritually invested in. After meditating on these thoughts for a week or so, I went to go play basketball with a few friends and ended up making my first dunk... from the other side of the court. It was crazy! I’m only five feet and six inches tall and I literally soared over the court. You had to be there to believe it. When I got home, I jumped to get to the top of my roof. Then I jumped from the roof to see how high I could jump and I just... never fell down. That’s when I realized I could float! I continued to push these tests and realized I could even move in the air; slowly at first, but eventually I flew so fast that my body couldn’t handle the speed that I was approaching. It’s absolutely insane! None of this would have happened if you never came to my high school to be a speaker for our “Hopes and Dreams” spirit week half a year ago.”
He was the first. Eventually, more and more people came to me, all with new revelations, all with new abilities. It took me a few years to understand the catalyst for this change; the only people who developed new powers were those who adopted my philosophy.
“As long as you don’t hurt anyone, you are free to live your life the way you want to and be free to pursue your own happiness.”
You ask me what my power is, Mr. Interrogator, so I will now enlighten you: my power is freedom at its highest, most noble degree. As long as I never hurt anyone, I am free to do whatever it is I like. My followers share the same sentiment, for we are the misunderstood, we are the forgotten, we are the outcasts shunned by your society. We are the dreamers who dreamed to dream, we are the hopeful who hoped for a chance at happiness. We have never hurt anyone for we understand how it feels to hurt, and yet here we are in this very predicament, Mr. Interrogator, chained at your leisure because your superiors fear us. So I say this now, Mr. Interrogator.
You can never chain us. We will always be free. | 2019-09-08T11:19:18 | 2019-09-08T11:02:00 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back. | Fifty ago, they’d left in the shadow of the rogue planet destined to take out Earth. There had been ten thousand seats aboard Noah’s Ark II. The rich, the famous, the powerful, they’d all left, headed straight for a new solar system. Billionaire businessmen, famous actors and politicians all packed up their belongings, their families (some even their mistresses) and left. Now they weren’t idiots - they brought along some pilots, some scientists and engineers just to keep things running. Hell, they even ran a lottery so that some average joes could get aboard. People should have realized what those lottery winners were really going to be.
My daddy was a college professor, my mom an architect. When they won the lottery, they abandoned everything. They became servants cleaning toilets and setting dinner tables everyday for the people who’d “actually contributed to the building of the ship,” returning to the lower decks near the unbearable sound of the engines, eating protein supplements for dinner.
I was luckier than most, born two years after we left. Dad made sure I knew how to read and write, made sure I got into one of the training programs so I wouldn’t be stuck the way he and my momma were. Radio operator and technician wasn’t the best job but it was that or nothing so I took it. It was grunt work mostly - but the sort of thing that even the upper-deckers still acknowledged had value.
Except that’s all changed now. One day, we looked around and realized there were more lottos and mid-deckers than there were billionaires. Even more so when we threw the worse of the lot out of the airlocks. The rest of them fell in line pretty soon after that. Not all of them were bad people - especially the ones born on the ship. My husband helped in our own glorious revolution despite being born upper decks. We even had a baby girl. It was him that spotted the problems - forty years of the budget for ship maintenance being cut back in favor of upper-decker luxuries had taken their toll. We freaked out at first until we realized that old Earth was actually fine. It’d been a miscalculation this whole time - and nobody had called us home.
We turned around - it wasn’t easy. The animals died first, followed by the old and weak. Our life support was failing but we were going to get there in time. I had been trained for this moment, operating the radio, looking to say hello to Earth.
“There’s no place for you here, not after what you did, not after you abandoned the Earth” was the response. We tried to reason with them. Tried to explain that wasn’t us - even the descendants of the billionaires weren’t guilty for what their ancestors had done. Most people had been born on Noah’s Ark by now. Only the oldest could remember Earth and that was just barely.
“It doesn’t matter,” came the answer, “bad blood will tell. Earth is better off without you. Besides, where would you go? We’re all full-up here - we have our own problems without having to deal with the descendants of leeches and parasites. Do you even know the negative economic and cultural impact your return would have?”
No begging worked. No reasoning worked. So now we’re here floating out in space, waiting to die for sins not our own. | The finding of rogue planet SKHE-1115 was one of little fanfare. An astronomer in Pakistan began to track an object that did not have a stellar twinkle, but wasn’t any of the known solar planets. After reporting his findings on several local websites for astronomers, the findings were confirmed by other small-time hobbyists, but quickly picked up by both the Chinese space authorities as well as the European authorities, who worked with international space agencies to identify and track the object.
Some days later, the trajectory had been identified, as well as the approximate mass, and the impact of this object with Earth was predicted with a 90% likelihood, though that likelihood was later understood to have been diminished to give the public some form of hope.
One October 11th, 2021, governments across the globe began disseminating information regarding the impending impact, its effects, and the possibility of survival for the species of Earth. That information was just in time, as the Internet had begun to come alive with buzz about the object, and fear was beginning to crop up. Unfortunately, while being timely, the news was nothing short of horrible, and there was great unrest among populations.
The rich were able to do something about it, however. In the seven months of time between discovery and impact, they poured trillions into a space race which soon consumed the planet, the idea being that they would select travelers through a lottery, so many people would be saved. The result was a series of ships which could be launched, assembled, and then lived in within three months of the initial arrival in orbit.
On the day set out for the beginning of loading and launching, hundreds of thousands of hopeful lottery winners were waking up to make their way to the assigned launch sites. The people who lined the streets, knowing that these were the only humans who would likely survive the week, cheered and sobbed in equal measure. Hundreds were kidnapped, murdered, and replacements were attempted with their documents. All of these things were for nothing, however.
As the throngs approached the front gates of complexes housing hundreds of identical, powerful rockets topped with habitats, storage facilities, and other instrument-laden capsules, they were turned back by paramilitary guards. There were signs of a struggle, and it was clear that the government security had been killed. Word spread from paramilitary guards to the hopeful crowd, and it was not good: the funding families had taken control of the complexes in most countries, and were now boarding to be saved.
The loading was proscribed to take a week, but the preparation of the coup had resulted in that being reduced to two days. During these days hordes of those not chosen and those chosen alike, scorned by power bought through soon useless digits, assaulted the complexes. They knew they would die regardless, and spite made them believe that nobody deserved to live if they couldn’t.
Millions were slaughtered, paramilitary and civilian alike. Several complexes were overrun, destroyed in part or whole, and of the many thousand rockets made, hundreds were damaged to such a state that they could no longer be launched. In spite of this, the launch was begun, in some places vaporizing masses as they attempted, sometimes successfully, to sabotage launches.
Of the over four thousand rockets and modules that would eventually launch, some seven hundred or so wouldn’t make it into orbit at all, and a good number more required serious repair when in orbit, depressurizing in many cases to kill all occupants and throw precious cargo into the hellish friction of the atmosphere.
\------
The rogue planet SKHE-1115 was predicted to hit the Earth with a likelihood of 90%. However, due to the composition of the rogue planet, gases were created when it passed closely enough to the sun and heated up. The expulsion of these gases created enough error in the initial prediction that the likelihood would have dropped, if inclusive of that composition information, much closer to 9%. Still not unimaginable, but the end result would have been much less catalytic to the societies of Earth.
In the seven months that followed the original discovery, much less emphasis was placed on capitalistic pursuits. Most found that the things that had made them happy before became less important. Simple exploration and discovery was found to be much higher, though happiness rates were also strongly impacted by the unpleasant fact of waves of suicides following the initial likelihood reports. By the time of launching, the population of Earth had seemed to find a different perspective. Still self-interested, but unwilling to hurt the other in order to protect the self. The insanity of the launch day, the betrayal, and the massive death toll shook the Earth’s populace, especially once it was revealed that the rogue planet missed.
The months following that resulted in the construction of a habitat on the moon. Space agencies remained in contact with the worked in the habitats, giving advice and providing guidance. The workers were quiet initially about the communication, but it became clear that the Earth wasn’t gone. It hadn’t been hit.
Immediately, calls were made to family and government agencies, requesting a return window and attempting to see what could be done to get them home. While many were somewhat more sympathetic than others, the answer was no. Unequivocally, no. The workers were given an option of coming home, but those who realized what would happen if they took that path were willing to stay and continue their work. They were, after all, space pioneers. All the better that their families were alive. | 2019-12-07T08:39:48 | 2019-12-07T07:32:28 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | I ran through the wintery Evergreen forest for my life. Men with guns and powers of fire and ice hot on my trail.
Jimmy, who ate the dog biscuits hidden in the corner of the table, had let that wolf familiar of his after me too. Fucking traitor!
I had committed the worst transgression of our people: I didn't conform to the test and bit right into that stupid table. Jimmy was the one who dared me to and now I'm a fugitive of the village.
I hit a dead end and stared at the mountain in front of me. If they catch me it's certain death.
I reached deep into myself and called for whatever powers, if I obtained any, to surface and help me.
My body stretched, my limbs twisted and as I opened my eyes I could see for miles around me. The village and forest were but mere pin pricks of lights and swaths of darkness.
It had started to snow harder. Large wet flakes had started to hit my body and face.
"We lost him Captain!" I heard a distant voice yell.
At a height of at least 200 feet I seen the hunting party close around me and stop. They stared at me from the base with a look of horror and confusion.
I've never been good with geography or plants, but I knew enough to know what I've transformed into.
One came towards me at a slow pace and put a hand one me, marveling at the sheer size I've become.
Jimmy came forward, his wolf growling in my direction with his ears back and fur tufted.
The last thing I heard before I willed myself to fall on to the hunting party was the lone pitiful voice of my friend calling out in disbelief, " IS THAT A FUCKING SEQUOIA?!"
I am The Arborist. | I blew out the candles, and poof! I was gone. Just like I was told, there I was, in this room, alone. Just me, and a table, and way too much food.
In the centre was a roast terducken, you know them, a chicken in a duck in a turkey. A friend told me that he had taken a bite of the turkey, and had gotten stronger. Another had taken some duck, and they could fly. Another took the chicken, and they could see through the ground - because apparently that is a thing. To the left was an apple pie. I read somewhere that eating that made you absurdly good at persuasion. There were berries, and milk tart, and cheesecake, and broccoli and cauliflower, and steak and ham and Brussels sprouts, and goodness knows what else, not even counting the wine and fruit juice.
And I had thought long and hard about this moment. I had decided, as my father had advised, to stuff my face with as much food as possible, like he had, and get as many abilities as possible, but I have a problem: when something gets into my head, we'll heaven help me, I have to do it.
I bit the table.
At first, nothing came of it, I couldn't sink my teeth deep enough, but then, it broke off just like a massive slab of chocolate, and melted away in my mouth. For about sixty seconds I was in heaven, the feeling unbearably good, and then, I was back at home.
"Well? What did you chow on?" my father asked.
"You will know what you have immediately," my mother assured.
I don't know if I answered. I woke up on the couch. Apparently, I had passed out, and my birthday party had moved me upstairs, before continuing without me in the backyard. But damn me, I had an urge. An urge to do... Something! Anything! I had to act. I got up, and ran to our dinner table, and bit down. It just broke off, and I ate it. Perhaps, I thought, this was becoming a pattern. Then it hit me what I had done. I had just destroyed my family's table.
I paniced. You can fix stuff with noodles, right? I rushed through to the cupboard, grabbed some noodles, and smacked them onto the table. They seemed to stay, so I used my hands to smooth them out. It didn't look the same color, though, so I grabbed some of my sister's blue nail polish and painted it brown.
"Buddy?" my friend asked, looking perplexed at me. He must have entered sometime between my table munching and my noddle smoothing. "What are you doing?"
"I'm, uh, eating noodles," I lied, grabbing some hard noodles from beside me and slurping it up, slapping myself in the face in the process.
They stood critically at the door. "Dude, what did you eat?"
"I think I best not say."
My friend rolled their eyes. "I just watched you turn blue nail polish and noddles into the part of the table you ate. What did you eat?"
"The table..."
"Yeah, I know you ate the table, and then you fixed it with noodles, but what did you eat? Like, in the magic room?"
"The table."
My friend face-palmed harder than I'd ever seen anyone facepalm. "I'm a make a wild guess; you ate a piece of the table itself on a whim, and now have the power that any random crap you do on a whim works!"
I pursed my lips.
"So, uh," my friend said, "My birthday is next month. What do I eat when I get there?"
I grinned from ear to ear. "The wine glass. Eat the wine glass."
...
For more, see r/sarcastic_rambler | 2020-03-19T08:57:52 | 2020-03-19T08:52:26 | 632 | 463 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared demons in hell. You‘re sent to take the most deadly human known, who‘s been avoiding death by killing all who went to take him. You get there, and realize how he’s killed so many demons. He has humidifiers all around his house, which are filled with holy water. | He was an old man, nearing the end of his life. He knew what awaited him, which is why he fought so hard to stay alive as long as possible. The torture was earned, if unjust, but that doesn't mean he wanted it for himself. Hunters are fighters, and fight to stay alive. And he'd sent so many demons to hell.
The first handful of demons were easy. They got tripped up at the salt line around the house, and were easy to trap and exorcise. Then they started sending the smarter ones, which typically meant more power.
It was a war of escalation, building trap after trap after more intricate trap. Finally he'd gotten to his latest version, with the humidifiers flled with holy water. Twelve demons so far had fallen to this final layer.
This latest one was different. The others had been reckless, or brash. This one was methodical. He'd watch the demon poking and prodding at the various traps and barriers, testing. The salt line was easily passed, the demon teased a neighbor with a hose with a swarm of bees, and got the neighbor to wash the ring open. The copper cable sigil buried under the ground surrounding the house was discovered, and broken by the construction guy in the backhoe looking for the local tv cable line. Defense after defense broken or bypassed, and just the one left. An electrical outage took the power down in the neighborhood, when a "drunk driver" hit a utility pole. But the demon was stymied when the backup generator kicked in, keeping the humidifier running. It looked at the man through the window, calmly, and turned away.
The old hunter settled into his easy chair, and glanced at the power company's website on his phone. The power should be restored in under an hour. He'd be safe again, and could work on rebuilding the outer layers. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Until the doorbell rang. With a little trepidation, but confident in the holy moisture surrounding him, he opened the door. There stood the demon, in a hospital contagion suit, grinning at him.
"Hello, Dean." The demon stepped in and closed the door.
-------------------
This is my first ever reply. I've watched a lot of Supernatural lately, and this came to me pretty clearly. Thought I'd try a different take on the prompt. | I can smell it in the air around the back yard. The stench of blessed water. The only way I can describe it to you mortals is the smell of your teeth when the dentist is drilling away at them. Having been a dentist in my past life I know the smell all too well but that's a story for another day.
I peer through the window into the kitchen and it gives me a clear sight to the living room.
Just as I thought humidifiers.
This human isn't your average human. He's killed 665 others before me. As much as I love to hit that 666 I don't want die again. Reincarnation isn't all it's cracked up to be but again a story for another time.
I head to the circuit breaker on the side of the house but just as I put one foot on the grass the sprinklers turn on and I instantly feel the burn.
I jump back in pain ripping the bottom half of my pant leg off and throwing it to the ground.
Do you know how hard it is to get an Italian suit that can withstand the fires of hell?
I rip the other bottom half of my pant leg to even it out. I'm going to personally torture his soul when I drag him to hell.
I can't shut off the power so my only option is to get him out of the house.
Think. I could set his house on fire but knowing this guy he would have a fire suppression system filled with holy water.
I jump on top of the house and check his drive way. I could set his car alarm off and hope he comes out to investigate.
Nope he even thought of that. He drives a Nissan Cube cause he knows no one would steal it.
This guy really is smart. Right after I think it a smile on my face grows.
I look through the window and that's when I see it.
"Yeah real smart." I whisper to myself letting out a small chuckle.
I take my fingernail and scrape it across the glass of the window. Cutting into the glass.
I take my suit jacket off. Wrapping the jacket around my hand I knock the circle of glass out immediately my jacket starts to melt.
I jump back throw it to the ground and wait for the flow of the mist to stop coming from the hole I created.
I walk up and put my face to the hole and utter the magic words.
"Alexa turn off humidifiers."
"Okay" she replies back.
Now for the hail Mary or hail Abhzou as we like to say in hell.
"Alexa turn on dehumidifiers."
And I hear the sweet words again."Okay."
I wait 15 minutes and slowly stick my hand into the hole. Waiting for the burning to start but it never does.
I reach up, unlock the window then slide it up and crawl in.
I make my way to the bedroom door and slowly turn the handle and crack the door. Something jets out and I jump back.
Just a cat. He would be a cat person.
I creep up to the bed and say "Alexa turn on the lights."
He slowly opens his eyes and screams at the sight if me and scrambles to the corner of the room.
"So you think you can kill my colleagues and get away with it?"
"Who are you? What are you? What are you taking about and what happened to your pants?"
I race over grabbing him by his throat and slowly begin pulling his soul from his body as mine begins to sink into the ground.
He screams in agony. Music to my ears.
Once my body has completely descended still gripping his throat I throw him into a cell. Slamming the door.
"Thought you were so smart didn't you? With your humidifiers and sprinklers filled with holy water. It took us years to get you to hell and now you will be tortured for years!"
"What are you taking about? I just moved in this week and the humidifiers came with the place. Thought it was fate cause I have a cat allergy but love cats."
All I can think is who's going to pay for my suit? | 2020-08-04T12:52:47 | 2020-08-04T09:11:32 | 217 | 148 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared demons in hell. You‘re sent to take the most deadly human known, who‘s been avoiding death by killing all who went to take him. You get there, and realize how he’s killed so many demons. He has humidifiers all around his house, which are filled with holy water. | The demon leaned against the watering cooler. "So anyway, when I figured that out, I cut his electricity. Didn't even cut the wires; just got the company to shut it off for non-payment."
He sipped a cup of something most foul, and burped. "So that was yesterday. I gotta go see another guy who's living in a submarine surrounded by holy water. Think I'll get the navy to arrest him and impound his sub or something. See you guys later."
Two dour-looking imps watched the demon leave. "Jesus, Rick really likes to brag about his work, doesn't he?" said one.
"Yep," replied the other. "Most people in this job don't have anything else going for them. No family, no friends, no prospects. So this is all they have. I'm not going to end up like him." | I stand in front of his window, looking at the humidifiers scatterd around the living room. A shadow appears from what seems to be the kitchen area. The man looks at me through the window. He looks surprised,but not afraid.
I hear a loud voice coming from the house. "I know you are a demon. I am not afraid. You must know how much other demons I have killed, you must know how dangerous I am!" He laughs maniacally.
I can still see the remains of the demons on his floor, scatterd across a summoning circle. I look the man in the eyes. "You fool. You might know a lot about demons, but you know nothing about me. Do you know why I was send to you?" "Yeah, to kill me. And you are going to fail." I can't help but laugh at him. "Do you really think your holy water is going to stop me?" I say as I slowly approach the window. "Ha! It is true that holy water repels and kills demons, but I. I am no ordinary demon. I am the demon of darkness and light. I was created by God himself to take people like you. Do you really think holy water can stop me? When the hand of God Himself has touched me? Fool."
I walk through his window. His eyes widening in fear. I see him reaching for a bible, cross and a bottle of holy water. As soon as I stand in front of the man, I feel my body getting more powerful. I feel myself growing. The man in front of me appears smaller and smaller. Frozen in pure fear. I am the most feared demon, because I was Gods creation. Because holy water strenghtens me.
There is no way of stopping now. He does not deserve to die on earth. "You have done terrible things. You do not deserve to die in the peace of your own home. I will take you to hell myself. I will let you burn and torture you while you are still in your human body. I will make you regret not killing yourself instead." I growl at him before I dig my nails in his neck.
People know who he is. People know what he has done. I take the man to times square. I know a camera crew is supposed to film there at this time. As I let the man appear on times square I make myself visible for his eyes only. I can feel the fear of the other humans around me, upon seeing his face.
I start to lift him up in the air. All eyes are on him now. I know I should have taken him down sooner, but I want him to know, that everyone is aware of how he died. I make myself visible for everyone again. Some people scream, some people gasp. Good. I open up the earth and climb down into the depth and darkness. I leave the man in the air for a little while longer before I pull hom towards me. Into the darkness and to an afterlife of litteral burning and torture. | 2020-08-04T13:57:28 | 2020-08-04T13:10:51 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] "What are you doing!?" "Looking up the answer on Google." "You can't do that!" "Is there a rule against it?" "Well, no, but-" "Then I'm doing it." "Look, this is a lost chamber of untold ancient wonders and I am a riddle telling guardian, it just seems to ruin the spirit of the whole thing!" | "I get it, I really do. When I set out on this adventure I was so ready to do it all by the book. Walking everywhere, camping, no modern tech at all. But do you know how *long* that all takes?" The adventurer barely looked from her phone.
"Hey, I ask the questions here." A clearly annoyed statue stood before her, arms crossed as it blocked the door, waiting for the answer to it's riddle.
"The point is, there is a lot at stake, and we can't really afford to waste time if we don't have to. I could either spend a year walking across the world, or I could hop on a plane and get where I'm going in a matter of hours. Don't get me wrong, some parts of the journey have been more classic. Getting here was no easy task."
"Well obviously. It's a '*LOST CHAMBER*' if it was easy to find it would just be a chamber." The guardian interrupted, causing the adventurer to look up, a slight smile on her face from the sass.
"True. And I never would have found the location by myself. The cryptic clues and just as cryptic answers would have been totally lost on me if not for the internet." She lowered her phone, looking the guardian in it's stone eyes. "I have a mission to accomplish. If the spirit that showed up and gave me this quest is right, I could be preventing the end on the world. I'd rather not cut that too close, you know?"
"It's just... you're the first person to actually find me in 1000 years. There was no technology, no Google to pull the answers from. When I was made it was expected that the ones who found me would be the worthy, the ones tough enough to make it here by their own power, and smart enough to figure out where it is. Not just some kid with a phone asking reddit for help." If it was possible for a stone face to look depressed, this one did.
"You know about reddit?"
"Magic stuff. Keeps me updated with the latest information from around the world. Did you not question why I speak English when I'm out in the middle of a South Asian forest? Or how you had a signal out here? I have a connection to your Internet."
"Oh my god, you hypocrite! You can't give me shit for using the Internet to find the answers when you're pulling your riddles from the same place!" The adventurer laughed, and she could swear the stone guardian's face cracked into a slight smile. "Oh and the answer is 'an egg' by the way." | The passage was riddled with the bones of the past contenders as the two friends carefully eased their way through the stone channel. Clad in jeans and t-shirts, one clutching his phone as the only source of light and the other holding tight the map-engraved amulet that was strung around her neck. At the end of the tunnel stood a large wooden door, a myriad of carvings and strange patterns etched into the old, dark wood.
"Look- right there-" The boy hissed, his hand shaking slightly as he directed the beam of light towards the center of the door, where a hollow keyhole perfect for the amulet rested. The girl stepped forwards, about to place the stone into the hole, when a rasping voice came from the shadows.
"Hold it." The low, gravelly voice said, sounding as if it hadn't spoken in years.
The two friends whirled to face the direction of the voice, holding their breath.
A figure stepped into the dim light cast by the phone, rubbing its eyes and looking at them with a generally annoyed expression. "Who-" The figure began, before clearing its throat and saying in a much less raspy tone, "Who disturbs my slumber?"
"Uh. Us?" The boy said, glancing at his friend. "We really didn't mean to disturb you though-"
"Too late." The figure said, tone now resigned. "I'm already awake now, and now you must answer the riddles."
"Riddles?" The girl asked, her grip loosening slightly on the stone. "Are you... a Sphinx?"
"No." The figure spoke, rolling its eyes and snapping it's fingers. Lights flickered on in caverns high above, lights that seemed way too modern to be accurate. The light revealed a bored girl who looked to be about college age, dressed in a black leather jacket and studded dark jeans. "But I am the gatekeeper, so get ready for the riddles."
The adventurers looked at each other for a long moment.
"Okay, you don't have that long to get ready." The gatekeeper said after a moment, rolling her eyes. "What walks on three legs in the morning-"
"Isn't it supposed to be four?" The girl broke in apologetically. "You know, the baby..."
"Who's telling the riddles here?" The not-Sphinx snapped, before pausing. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she withdrew a bright pink phone case, tapping for a couple seconds before frowning a little. "Could've sworn it was three. Anyway, next riddle, since you obviously know that one; I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but come alive with the wind. What am I?"
"An echo." The boy blurted out quickly.
The gatekeeper rolled her eyes again. "Oh joy, we have the smart ones here." She muttered, pulling her phone out again. "Something trickier, I think..."
After more typing, the riddler broke into an evil grin. "What word in the English language has three consecutive double letters?"
The kids looked at each other, dismayed. Then the girl plucked the phone from the boy's hand and turned it on, turning to the most easy source of information available in the modern age; Google.
"You can't do that!" The gatekeeper said with an objective tone, reaching out a hand.
"*You* looked it up online." The girl replied, raising an eyebrow.
"But... it..."
"Is it against the rules?"
"No." The woman muttered.
"Then we're doing it." The boy spoke up, nodding.
The gatekeeper shook her head, grumbling to herself.
"You have really bad service down here." The girl remarked after a couple seconds.
"Tell me about it." The not-Sphinx shook her head with a sigh. "I've been trying to get them to install a router but noooo, I have to hack into the wi-fi of the café above us."
"Oo!" The girl swiped a couple times, then looked up with a grin. "Bookkeeper."
"Correct." The gatekeeper sighed. "You may as well go ahead then."
The two friends grinned at each other, and the girl reached out to place the amulet into the keyhole.
"Seventh page." They heard the woman mutter as they pressed it in. "Seventh page of Google and for what? Kids these days are way too dependent upon their tech..." | 2021-04-20T10:08:36 | 2021-04-20T09:40:14 | 71 | 29 |
[WP] You guzzle down a drink, which spills into a puddle on the brick alleyway. All these adventurers claiming you’re a “lich” or “evil”, what bars a skeleton from being a hero anyways? | "But I'm-" was all I managed to get out to my old party befor my old barbarian friend swung his maul with enough force to knock me through the window. I landed in the back ally of the tavern I used to frequent with the other four. "Well that went well..."
Cant blame him too much, last time they saw me my fresh corpse was being puppeted by the "Archon of demise" or whatever grand title this dark wizard went for. My fault, I got sloppy and didnt notice the pressure trap as I approached the phylactery while the others held him off. The trap held me in place while the mage disinterested my flesh and animated my bones. Maybe it was because of my proximity to the ritual but I didnt fully "die" at the time.
I take a swig of the drink i picked up from the bar to toast with my friends, a small trickle pooling at my feet as it runs through the bones. "Oh, right..." yeah old habits are going to die hard. I hear the commotion from inside the tavern, the landlady is chewing out my friend for breaking yet another window of hers. A hint of motion catches my eye... wait I dont have eyes, how do I even see? Magic is weird, this is why I just stuck to knives.
A bolt of radiant energy hits me square in the chest and I feel like my very soul is burning. That would be the cleric. "Vile creature, your master lays slain yet you hound us upon our time of grievance, masquerading under the guise of our fallen comrade no less" her voice is filled with righteousness and conviction as she send another bolt out.
Instinct kicks in and I roll to the side, knives drawn stance low. We have fought befor in practice but she was never intent to kill me... well aside that one time she caught me eyeing up the barmaid. She drew her morning star incase I should try and close the gap, I could likely disarm her but that wont stop her magic.
I could flee but then what? These people where my family at this point and I had nothing else.
Another bolt of magic, I duck under it only for a second one to impact me in the jaw, tearing it clean off. Oddly didnt hurt this time and looking up I realised why, the warlock had joined us. Seems only divine stuffs cause pain in undead. My guard is up... well till a crossbow bolt hits me in the back atleast and I stumble forward... hey wait the knight never had one of those befo- that cheeky bugger.
I cant win this fight, I'm surrounded with no escape and the cleric wont stop screaming "Evil! Lich! Monster!" And frankly that's what hurts the most. Hands up I drop my knives and try to tell them what happened. But I cant, it comes out as a muffled mumble instead. Cleric readies another spell, it's a bigger one this time and it will surely end me here and now. I panic, waving my arms to get her to stop.
The warlock grabs her shoulder and interrupts her, her eyes are streaming with tears of grief and hatred for me "Its a skeleton, it's a malevolent violent abomination and its pretending to be him!" But the warlock simply shakes their head. I guess if anyone in the party knows about this stuff it would be them. I try again to speak but its once again just mumbled, desperate to get a word out I scoop up my jaw and shove it back where it went. Something feels while again.
"Its ok, i dont want to fight. I'm sorry i did this to you, i was careless and caused you all pain... Besides, who said a skeleton cant be a hero?"
The hatred in her eyes vanishes and is replaced by tears of a quiet disbelief. "Gods are my whiteness your still an ass even in death." | Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer.
This reminds me of the time I was in the county of When to kill my first timedrake.
At the time I was still drinking -- those of you who've been listening to my stories will know I quit the bottle after the incident with [the dropwights of Ploop](https://www.reddit.com/r/ravenbowsarmory/comments/p0k8qp/the_dropwights_of_ploop/) \-- so before heading off to find the timedrake, I stopped in at the local pub for a pick-me-up. The pub was the sort of place that fit my attitude back then. It looked like a sunken ship, smelled of rot, and when you stepped inside, it presented a line-up of the worst nogoodniks in that corner of the disc.
On my way to the bar I spied a moulting werewolf, a black-eyed banshee, and a pack of ogres all hunched around a table sharpening knives. I wasn't too bothered. These were my journeyman armorer days, and I might not have killed a dragon yet, but I was full of piss and vinegar. My armor was thick, my scimitars were sharp, and I was ready to fight the sun if it came to that. I slammed back a double of whiskey, and that's when the skeletone appeared at my elbow.
He was a fresh one, with bits of skin still clung to his bones. And he didn't yet have the hang of his new osseous form, so when he wrung his hands together, they made an awful grinding sound like a rock dragged across a cliff face. His voice came up from his empty torso like a death rattle. "You're here for the timedrake?"
"I'm here to mind my own business." I was working on my badass phrases. That was a good one.
The skeletone's teeth chattered. "I could help. I have this." From the bowl of his pelvis he pulled the most piddly little whittling knife I'd ever seen.
"It's your funeral." I'd said that badass phrase before I realized it didn't apply. I scrambled. "It's your second funeral, I should say. Do you have those? Whatever. The timedrake will use your bones for toothpicks." I slammed the shot glass on the table and made to leave. Hard white fingers closed on my arm.
"Please. Let me help. I have to do this."
I shook the skeletone off. "I don't need help. I work alone."
\*
Time passed differently around the timedrake's cave. One moment it noon-lit, the next it was pitch black. Winds picked up, died down, and were replaced with sudden rain. I'd heard that the time manipulation was how the timedrake hunted. It positioned itself on a game trail and simply moved backward through time until prey appeared there.
This timedrake, in particular, had taken a shine to the sheep in the county of When. It was the shepherds who were paying me to kill the thing. I was a little worried about the time dilation -- I didn't know what it might do to me -- but I was also brash and confident, and I figured a scimitar to the head was as deadly in the past as it was in the present, so what was there to worry about?
My original plan had been to wait till nightfall to move down to the cave, but with time slipping all over the place like a pat of butter on a frying pan, I figured now was as good a time as any.
The mouth of the cavern was set into a rocky slope, and this allowed me to get right over the entrance without the timedrake seeing me. Once I stepped deeper into the time effect, I noticed odd changes in my body. My heart would double its tempo, then quarter it. My thoughts, even, flipped between quick and slow. When I look at the movement of my limbs, they alternated between a hummingbird-fast blur and a sloth-like slothfulness. I was getting my first inkling that this might not go as smoothly as I'd hoped, but I was still feeling good about things until the skeletone marched up to the cavern's mouth, put his hands around his mouth -- his jaw? I don't know what you call a skeletone's mouth -- and said, "Halllooo! Timedrake! Prepare to meet your destiny! Your destiny --" he paused for effect "-- of death!"
The call that answered him came echoing up out of the cave like a rockfall. Had I been in the skeletone's place, I might have considered stepping out of the way. All he did was drop into an amateur's idea of a fighting stance -- his legs were way too far apart -- and say, "Have at you!"
The scratching of great claws on stone thundered up the cavern and was followed by a mass of green-grey timedrake. Its shoulder knocked the skeletone aside. Inertia carried it beyond the mouth, and it carved a wide arc on its return to, presumably, use the skeletone as a toothpick.
A word on the timedrake's appearance: It looked like a cross between a rhinoceros and an albatross. It was all shoulders and wings. And its massive head, front by a crocodilian jaw, snapped this way and that. As it passed over the grass, the blades alternately grew and shrank. Some crisped under an invisible sun, while others greened under a gentle rain. And then it completed its arc and started back.
\*
*Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer. This story continues lower down. And don't be shy about coming round* r/RavenbowsArmory *to ask me some hard questions.* | 2021-08-13T00:53:47 | 2021-08-12T22:07:18 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] you're a time traveller who can't control your powers and keep accidentally slipping through time. Thankfully, you have an immortal friend who keeps you up to date whenever you appear.
[deleted] | Under a near-starless sky, while digging into the dust of a dead Earth, the Scientist recalled both of her first meetings with the Undying One.
He had been waiting for her, the first time it happened. The Scientist had been disoriented in the occurrence — for a brief moment she had been filled with triumph, locked in that precisely-engineered experiment-chamber. Years of research had been vindicated, and the accolades she hungered for would soon be hers. She had only an instant to savour her elation though. A shrill electronic chirp was her only warning before she was catapulted pastward.
The metal roof above her melted into a midnight sky. The gently-humming walls encasing her were replaced with the gnarled branches of unfamiliar trees. The joy that coursed through her turned to dizziness and panic. She hadn't anticipated the miscalculation.
But he had, of course. He was standing exactly where she had told him to be, exactly when she had told him to be. She appeared in a blinding flash and he was at the ready to support her. He steadied her with his arms, wrapped her in a cloak, and invited her to lean on a nearby stump.
He grinned with a youthful joviality that matched most of his appearance — save for his eyes, which sparkled with the wisdom of eternity. "My old friend, I have waited so long to meet you."
That was the Scientist's first encounter with the Undying One, among the sycamores of classical Athens. But it wasn't his first encounter with her. That had been millennia past and leagues away, among the oases of ancient Mesopotamia.
He had been but a child then and was dying his first death. A conscripted orphan, he was one of a thousand nameless casualties in a war that would be forgotten by history. His blood couldn't pool in the granular sand — instead turning to scarlet mud — and he had already consigned himself to the gods when she found him. She wasn't so much older than, appearing among the desert dunes, then she had been her first time among the gnarled trees. But she was prepared — ages into the future, he had already told her what to expect on that day long ago in the past.
She readied him for his first resurrection and nursed him to full health in its shocking aftermath. She taught him what he was and of their long friendship yet to come. She told him of the centuries on the horizon and spoke of their next meeting: he would be a mercenary in the Kingdom of Israel far in the future and she would be younger than she was now.
Then the Scientist was gone in a burst of light. The Undying One wouldn't meet her again until he had lived three full lifetimes.
And so their lives intertwined through the ages, their encounters both unpredictable and completely foreseen. She never knew when she would arrive, but she knew he would be there. He might know when she'd be, from past encounters with her future-self, but he never knew who to expect emerging from the bright flash: a young woman, a warm matron, or a wise elder.
They lived while societies birthed and died. Sometimes as rivals, sometimes as lovers, sometimes as master-and-pupil, but always as friends. They soon grew bored of using their situation for material benefit. They built empires and they destroyed civilisations. They committed deeds of shocking cruelty and acts of great benevolence. They recorded tomes of knowledge only to burn them in their next lives.
But they knew that their time would come to an end one day. For, while he would outlive anyone and she could be anywhen, the Scientist was still beholden to her biological clock, outside-of-time it may be. One day she would die, be it in the era of Augustus, America, or Alpha Centauri. She was comforted knowing that the Undying One would be there.
It was thus with immense surprise and equal sorrow that she found his remains amid the ruins of the Earth. It was long after the lights of mankind had winked out and soon after the stars in the sky had dulled to glimmers. He had been the last of anything that could conceivably be called human, and thus, it seemed, his destiny had been fulfilled.
It was then, under a near-starless sky, that the Scientist dug the last grave into the dust of a dead Earth and thought of the Undying One. She was old then, and, as she wrapped him in rags, she realised there was little else she wished to see throughout time. As she piled dirt on his still form, she resolved that here, too, would be the end of her journey. As she silently mouthed a prayer to a million dead gods, she closed her eyes, prepared herself, and was grateful for the lives that she had lived.
But then there was a brilliant flash, and she was gone. | "Oooh Erika!", an old voice called out to the young girl, sitting by herself, enjoying her afternoon with a warm cup of coffee.
Startled, Erika looked up to a complete stranger-- an old man, must be around her own grandfather's age, with teary eyes and joy in his wrinkly face, one which Erika had never seen before in anyone.
"Uh...can I help you?", Erika shared a smile, a confused one, wracking her memory on who this old man really was.
Hearing so, the old man's demeanor completely changed. Breaking down in uncontrollable tears, he sat opposite Erika.
"No, no, no...you've never met me before. You've never met me...", he kept repeating again and again. "This...this can't be...this can't be the first time you see me", he said in a tone of denial.
Erika was bewildered. She tried to console the old man. "I'm...sorry. But if there's anything I can do to help? Do you have anyone to call, a family member maybe?"
The old man looked up and grabbed Erika's hand, grasping them tight though Erika felt no threat from him. With his withering blue eyes he stared longingly at the young woman.
"This is the end of the line for me. I'm too old already and I can't jump anymore. If there's anything you can do...yes, please forgive me, my dear. Everything's going to be alright in the end", the old man said.
"F--forgive you for wha...?", Erika paused seeing a purple glow emanating from his hands. She felt warmth surging from the old man's palm to her own, down her arm, raising the hair all over her body, to the rest of her.
The old man huffed and limped in exhaustion for a minute. After finally gathering his composure, he raised from his seat. "Remember me, please-- my name is Robert Winnberg. Please remember me"
As soon as he finished, the old man scurried out in tears, leaving Erika befuddled. Though confused, Erika eventually shrugging the event off, dismissing it as an old man losing his mind...
\*\*\*
It all starting to make sense since. Fifteen years had passed and Erika had just celebrated her 40th birthday though she didn't look like she had aged a day since she was 25 years old. Her friends had asked her time and time again what her secret was. She told them it's simply good diet, but the truth, or rather what she speculated to be the truth was...that she was immortal.
Someway, somehow, the encounter with the old man, the glowing hands, the nonsensical blabbers-- somehow he had "paused" her time, effectively making her ageless. Quite the jump of conclusion, but the event that night a few weeks after Erika turned 40 confirmed it all...
A flash of purple briefly illuminated the dark empty parking lot late at night as Erika was loading her grocery to her car. A man appeared in the middle of it, out of thin air, looking confused.
"H--hello...?", Erika called out cautiously, her hand in her pocket, grasping at her pepper spray.
The man turned and his face brought back a surge of memory. He was the old man in the cafe, though much younger.
"Erika!", the man yelped in glee, without warning going for a hug.
"Whoa whoa back off!", Erika distanced herself. "You're...you're Robert...right?"
Robert looked dejected, but quickly picked himself up, immediately understanding the situation.
"I am, yes! I'm sorry. You haven't aged a day the last time I saw you", he smirked. "What year is this anyway?"
Erika lowered her guard, sensing Robert meant no harm to her. "Umm it's...2037"
Robert's face dropped. "How...how many times have we met?"
"This is only the second time we met though you were much older the first time", Erika answered.
Robert seemed to lose his balance and fell to the concrete ground, burying his face in his hands.
"I can't do this anymore. Every time we meet, we meet as strangers. This is not fair! I can't do this anymore!", he started crying.
Erika stayed with Robert for a while in that parking lot, consoling him until eventually Robert calmed down. Erika invited him back to her apartment to rest and to get to the bottom of her situation.
"Are you still dating Gerard around this time or did you two break up already?", Robert asked nonchalantly, sitting by Erika's kitchen table.
"Excuse me?", Erika raised her voice, offended. "How did you...?"
"You told me, Erika. I'm a time traveler, though I don't really have any control of it. You told me everything about your life. We were together for fifteen years before I jumped in time again to my past, to this parking lot...oooh, twenty something years in your future, I think? It's hard to keep track for me anymore"
"We were...we're going to be together?", Erika muttered and Robert nodded. "So is that it? You selfishly made me an immortal so you can have a companion every time you jump in time?", Erika burst in anger.
"Whoa whoa...I didn't...wait, I made you an immortal? How?"
Erika told Robert of her first encounter with an elderly version of him much to Robert's horror.
"I'm...I'm sorry. I truly am. You never told me. I didn't know", Robert apologized sincerely with teary eyes.
They talked all through the night and the day after, and the days after. Months eventually passed by. Erika demanded Robert to figure out how to reverse her immortality and Robert promised her to do so.
Before they knew it, they had fallen in love and was married before moving far far away though both agreed not to involve any children in their complicated and unnatural life.
Twenty-two years had passed since and Robert aged gracefully while Erika stayed all the same, though their bond and relationship remained unbroken through the test of time.
Until one day, one seemingly mundane day Robert went out the door and never returned. Erika had a strange feeling that morning, like something was familiar yet amiss. Until she figured out what-- the clothing that Robert wore was the exact same as the one he wore the first time they met in that cafe.
Erika ran outside and went searching for Robert for hours. Running all over the town to no avail. He was nowhere to be found. Falling to her knees, she sobbed, heartbroken. She knew exactly where...and when Robert when-- he was beyond her reach.
Edit: a few corrections | 2021-08-22T00:00:48 | 2021-08-21T23:09:47 | 434 | 65 |
[WP] The rest of the civilised galaxy has just learned that when encountering something new, the human's brains asks three subconscious questions. "Can I kill it? Can I eat it? Can I have sex with it?" | The three questions. They always ask those three questions. Not necessarily out-loud, and not always consciously, but they do. It’s ingrained in them— basic survival instincts. Deep in their core, they ask these questions, even to those of their own kind. People always say “Oh, they’re animals! All they do is slaughter and reproduce! They’re no better than viruses!”
But you know what? That’s not true. They always tell tales about what happens when the answer is a “yes”. Stories of genocide, and of butchery and of senseless lust. But that’s not all they are.
Humans are amazing, because even when all three answers are “no”, they still give a shit. They form bonds, even when the bond is of absolutely no use to them. They don’t live to answer those three questions, they live to ask them. They’re explorers. They go out into this great sea of stars, not to find something, but to find *anything*. They could find a pile of dirt and be excited as long as it’s *new*. And then they’d become best friends with the pile of dirt. It doesn’t matter to them whether they can fuck it, or eat it, or blow it all away! That’s just icing on top of the cake to them! The only question that truly matters to a human is whether or not they care about something.
For better or worse, at least they give a damn. | An auditorium reminiscent of the ancient human civilization's stadiums. In the center were three podiums and a curved desk that could comfortably be used by six humans.
At the center podium was a large humanoid lizard. Twice as tall as the average human. He gives a speech to the various different species in the crowd with everyone staying silent. Soaking in the words and the meaning of his findings.
"Can I kill it? Can I eat it? Can I have sex with it?" says the large lizard as he finishes his speech. "Will we allow such barbarians serve on the Galactic Conglomerate's Senate?". The room erupting with various different species doing their own versions of clapping.
A hand from the people sitting at the curved desk is raised. The crowd quiets down as they notice the raised hand. Once the auditorium is quiet the hand drops onto the desk in front.
"Thank you for your words Grand General Extest" says the old mouse-like man. While he sat on all four legs, his tail with a hand on the end resting on the desk.
"Before you are dismissed, I do have some questions" said the giant ball of blue slime that sat at the end of the curved desk.
"Yes of course! My knowledge is for your use!" said the Grand General as he stiffened his stance.
"Prior to your mission, did you or your allies have any contact with the human's?"
With slight hesitation "Yes"
"Please elaborate"
"Well..."
"Oh and give us the full story"
Making up for the hesitation earlier he quickly chimes "Yes of course! As you know, prior to my race and the races apart of the Solar Empire joining the Galactic Conglomerate we would visit their planet for sport. I believe their ancient texts show stories of them worshiping us. The Solar Empire treated it merely as a vacation get away. They were left to develop and evolve as they did.
After the Solar Empire our former alliance of races stopped visiting the planet. However, their ancient texts continued to think we were coming to disguise as humans and rule their civilization in secret. Based off all data available we were unable to find any accounts of any of our alliance visiting their system. "
"From worshiped to feared? Do you know what could of caused that?" asked a small framed lady with the legs of a goat but body structure of a humanoid. As well as two horns erupting from her head.
"Their kind looks only to conquer and control. Anything they do not understand they fear. That is what the intel we have gathered shows."
"Is that so?" the slime chimes in.
Now with a bit of anger starting to build up from the larger Grand General"Upon them becoming a space fairing race that could explore other solar systems, they took no time in targeting and attacking the Galamore race of Sector 302. Fully enslaved and conquered with in the matter of a single rotation. Unlike most civilizations, they have weapons that could destroy entire planets before ever establishing a colony on another moon or planet. This is the kind of race you want allowed in our Galactic Conglomerate?"
"This is what we are here to decide" says the mouse-like man. "I can see these questions have upset you. Please remember that we are here to decide a races fate. We are suppose to be skeptical. Out of respect for all your work Grand General, we will end the questions for today. We will pick this back up tomorrow. Thank you for your time"
"Thank you!" says the Grand General as he bows then leaves towards the door. | 2021-09-24T09:50:06 | 2021-09-24T08:38:02 | 54 | 28 |
[WP] "So you summoned me... to fight?" the demon said. "I wield a scythe and my title is the Reaping Demon, how could it be possibly be more clear I help with farming? | “And together we’ll reap SOULS,“ I said, getting all up in the demon’s face.
Bullets whizzed overhead. My arms were aching from laying on the ground all day. This trench was the first place I’d gotten to rest. Also, it was doing a great job helping me not die.
“No, no, no.” The demon clapped a skeletal-looking hand onto its face.
“I don’t think you get what I’m saying. See, I know how to rotate crops and pluck weeds. This?”
The demon gestured around the trench, which was filled with unmoving soldiers with no life in their eyes.
“This is war. I don’t do war.”
I swallowed. I heard the sound of whistles flying overhead now, followed by a spectacular explosion that shook the floor beneath me. My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid I was going to drop from a heart attack.
I shoved my occult book into my rucksack. I don’t think anyone cared or noticed right now. No one noticed when I’d drawn out a full-ass pentagram on the floor with my bayonet. People were too busy screaming for their lives.
A soldier to the right of me screamed bloody murder. He fidgeted side to side, sweat dropping from his nose. He was the last guy in my whole platoon. His eyes had that thousand yard stare and he didn’t respond to a word I’d said. So I’d pulled out my dad’s Demonic Compendium and tried what I could.
“Look,” I said, grabbing the demon by the shoulders. ”I wanted to be a stand up comedian, and look where I am now.”
I gazed into the demon’s eyes. Or the dark spheres of infinite abyss that were where its eyes were supposed to be.
“If I ever want to get on stage and make people laugh ever again, I have to fight. I have to get out of this alive, and you *will* help me.”
“Hang on, no,” the demon said, “I get what you’re saying, but see this scythe?” He held up a spectacular-looking scythe that looked like it belong to one of the horsemen of the apocalypse or something.
“This thing is great for cutting wheat. Not so great for cutting humans.”
I blinked. I grabbed my rifle and thrust it into the demon’s arms. I grabbed his scythe with my other hand.
“Hey!”
“I’ll hold onto this for now. I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m pretty dyslexic, and reading’s not my thing. I summoned you by accident, but I can’t do anything about that now. Just go out there and pretend the humans trying to kill you are wheat. Then shoot them in the face.”
“Who shoots wheat?” The demon’s voice rose. “You cut wheat, why would you shoot at it?”
“And you can teach me all about cutting wheat when you come back.” My hands were shaking now. I didn’t know what I was saying, but I could always summon another demon if this one kicked the bucket.
“We can cut wheat when I come back?” The demon sounded hopeful.
”We can cut wheat when you come back.”
I gave him a smile. A genuine smile. You can call me a piece of shit if you want, but I’ll do what I need to do to survive.
“Okay, it’s a promise,” the demon said. He nodded and rose to his feet. He let out a roar and jumped out of the trench in a single jump.
“Come at me, you hairless apes!” | Fifteen figures stood round a blood stained cavern floor. In the middle of a circle of strange scribbled runes, bound hand and foot, sat another figure, dressed in cloths of white and blue. Strange chants in tongues that which no humans speak echoed through the cavern in a monotone drone. One of the fifteen slowly stepped forward. Adorned in robed of black and purple, each of this one's solemn steps forward matched the rhythm of the chants a silver blade held delicately in front. The figure in white gazed upwards, tears falling like rain from the sky, begging and pleading for mercy, for forgiveness, for leniency, for anything else but this. It was not to be. The blade fell like lightning from the heavens, silencing the cries of the innocent.
The one in purple and black retreated back into the circle. The chants had ceased. There was no more to be done, but to allow the blood of the virgin to soak in the charms and runes, and hope a demon would answer their beckon. They waited, as they have often done before, but this time, something changed. The fresh blood began to boil, bubbles bursting into the air. It spread, and grew, until the body of the maiden was buried underneath the growing sludge. Strangely, the blood rose higher and higher, warm and hot, until it formed twisted shapes. Excited whispers spread like fire amidst the fifteen figures as the blood cooled and hardened into a perfect statue. A winged creature, with horns that spiked upwards, that held a scythe longer than a mere human was tall. They only had but a brief moment to admire the coagulated statue, before it burst, spreading chunks of blood everywhere. Where the statue once stood, instead was a demon, in perfect replica of the statue that formed its shape.
The one in black and purple lowered its hood. It was a man, scarred in twelve different ways, blind in one eye and bald, that spoke to the demon.
"Heed us, oh Reaper Demon, fowl creature from the depths of hell!" The priest held his arm up, pointing at the demon. "You will obey my commands, and the commands of those that follow me! We demand this in exchange for the blood of the virgin you have consumed."
The horned one growled. "It is acceptable. I resign myself to your command until sundown."
A wicked grin spread on the lips of the priest, one that begged the question of who was the real demon. "Go forth, and annihilate the ones that besiege our great city! Lay waste to them, open their chests, and free us of their tyranny, Reaper Demon."
For a moment, the demon did not move. No further words came from the lips of the priest, either. All sixteen figures stood still with baited breaths, anticipating the demon's response.
Finally, the Reaper Demon broke the silence. "You, want me to fight?"
"Indeed," said the priest. "Level their ranks. Rend their souls from their mortal flesh, tear the skin off of their bones."
"I don't know how to fight though."
The bald priest spattered in confusing, jumbled half words breaking their lips, until he finally made himself comprehensible. "But you're a demon. Of course you know how to fight, you kill and torture, its your whole thing!"
The demon did naught more but point at their scythe. "I'm a reaper demon."
"Exactly!" Replied the priest. "Ah, perhaps instead of such a bloody display, you merely reap their souls and ferry them to the afterlife? A veritable visage of death you are!"
"Huh? What are you talking about?" The demon's brow contorted into puzzlement. "You summoned me to fight? I wield a scythe and my title is the reaping demon, how could it possibly be more clear I help with farming?"
The priest blinked. "Farming. You are a demon of... farming."
The demon nodded sagely. "Indeed. Many crops have fallen to my blade. Wheat, barely, corn, even rooted vegetables like carrots and potatoes, or fruit bearing trees, such as apples and peaches. None are safe from the cold edge of my blade. All will be harvested, all will be delivered unto you. Neither drought nor pestilence can cease the eternal harvest .Just point me in their direction, and your farmers will suffer no longer."
The priest held his face in his hands. "Perhaps there's been a misunderstanding, we don't specifically need a demon to reap our harvests, we need a demon to reap the souls of our enemies. Could you, perchance, return to hell and bring us a demon more worthy for this task?"
"Nope, contract's sealed. Tough luck," the demon replied. "Where are your crops at?"
"Burned, salted, and surrounded by enemy forces outside of our walls." The priest replied, regretting every moment he spoke with the demon. "Listen, Reaping Demon, do you know how hard it is to find a virgin these days? Who knows what those rascal teens get up to. Is there anyway you could, I don't know, refund her? Bring her back to life or whatever?"
"Nope," the demon said, as it sauntered away from the circle of very confused cultists. "I can get you some harvested crops though. You said outside the walls, right? I'll be back in a couple hours."
***
Wrote this really quick with 0 editing, hope it didn't turn out too bad! Visit r/joxywrites for more. | 2021-12-28T05:20:02 | 2021-12-28T04:59:54 | 1,124 | 215 |
[WP] On this long-haul interstellar supertanker, cloning is used to replace dead, dying or aged crew. The strict "1-clone at a time per person" law was temporarily retracted with all hands on deck to prevent a catastrophic failure. Crisis averted and law restored, there will be a culling. | "So, that's it then? Crisis averted?"
"Readings are clear. This vessel is officially mutant-free."
"Good. We can finally shut off the cloners, stop making-"
"Way ahead of ya."
"How about that."
"How many... we's are out there right now?"
"Just you and I, actually. The last one died 42 minutes ago. Venom."
"Then that leaves only one matter to resolve."
"Yeah. Policy. Only one me can leave this room."
"Yep."
"Toss a coin for it?"
"Sounds fair. I'm calling heads."
"..."
"..."
"Lucky me."
"Yeah. Lucky you."
"How are we doing it?"
"I'm guessing a syringe full of sedatives will do? A good way to go compared to the rest of us."
"Sounds good to me."
"Right. Ready?"
"Yeah."
"Scared?"
"I- *\*ow\** no. You're me. You *know* that I'm not scared. And *I* know that *you* are."
"Yeah. I'm scared. Because I'll have to live with what we did here."
"Life's... funny... that... that way..."
"See you in the next one."
"..."
"Lucky you." | I was the last one to be cloned of five. I had memories of being on the tanker for more than five-hundred years, and my original was long gone. I had no memory of her, or my life before the tanker. But I had the same name, and I wore her uniform.
"All hands on deck!"
The words echoed through the ship. I knew what would happen now. We hadn't had a malfunction in weeks and we had long since left that terrible nebula which had caused all of our trouble. Simply put we were too many now for a ship operating at peak efficiency.
I had three choices:
1) follow orders, 2) hide on the tanker, and be hunted down or 3) get off this wretched ship travelling through the empty void.
I wondered what my original would have done. I wondered if she would have been proud of me. There was five of us. And we would all be thinking the same thing at this moment. Only one of us would survive if we choose option 1. Would any of us survive if we choose options 2 or 3. Not likely.
I pulled out a piece of paper from my jacket pocket. It was a handwritten note that my original had written. It simply said: "there is always light." Did my four sisters have similar notes, I wondered. Did they think of me as a sister or a copy?
Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could.
***
A tanker like mine has two hundred-and-sixty-one compartments. Of these, thirty-eight are sealed and inaccessible to the crew save for mechanics like myself. I knew that my four sisters each had stowed away in one of these, and I would be doing the same. Panting I reached compartment seventeen, a number I had chosen at random as I ran for my life.
The airlock opened and there stood one of my sisters. A deer caught in the headlight. She looked at my frightened and I looked at her. She was tall and slender and pale, with bright blue eyes. She had a box in her hand, which she put on the ground. She stood there for a moment, looking at me. I knew what she was thinking. She wanted to do this the easy way.
The key clanged on the floor as I dropped it. She made her way quickly to the airlock control, but I stopped her before she could open it. "Please," I said as I held up my hand. I knew it was useless to ask, but somehow I knew she would have done it too. "Don't do that. I don't want to die. There are many other ways to solve this." She continued to look at me, "You can't stop it you know." I turned to look behind me, the reality of the situation was setting in, and I was scared.
She looked at me, her eyes full of sadness and with that I realized that this was it.
"Please" I said again
She paused for a moment and then nodded slightly as if to say I understand. Then she pressed the button. Air rushed past me before as the power of the vacuum of space grew stronger.
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin. | 2022-09-26T14:29:41 | 2022-09-26T13:41:35 | 102 | 67 |
[WP] You are a reformed villain who was given a new identity to start over. The years have been hard, but you've managed to finally turn your life around. One day, a bunch of masked people break into your house and demand everything you have. | "Everything?" I ask.
"*Everything*," says the masked man who appears to have chosen himself as a speaker.
"...I suppose we shall start, then, with my illusion of safety."
"What?"
"I'll never feel safe here again, so you've taken that. Next, I believe, is my self-respect."
"What are you on about, old man?"
"Not to mention my record of eight years without being involved in any criminal enterprise. I'm not sure if that counts if I'm the victim though - does it count if I'm the victim?"
The masked man looks over at his companions for a moment. One of them shrugs.
"You're also taking from me the illusion that I am in control of my life. You're taking from me my quieting conscience, my nightmare-free sleep. My comfortable position in this retirement home."
The masked man raises his gun slightly. "Shut up, man, and hand over your bank card."
I blink, just once. "No," I say, raising one finger to point at him.
"In that case -" begins the masked man.
And lightning erupts from my finger. "...eight years with no kills and you've taken that record from me." I turn to look at the others. "Ten seconds is a much easier record to lose. Drop your weapons, sit down, and be quiet." | Aiden blinked twice, their grey nonchalance made more prominent with the blank expression he had "Seriously?" He scratched his butt through the inside of his rather pink pajamas while his other hand was busy gripping a mug with the words "Worlds best boss" with the boss scratched out and replaced with "Inmate"
"Get down on the-" The would be burglar started to speak before Aiden cut him off "Yeah yeah 'down on the ground' I get it. Could you be any less generic?"
​
Even if the white feature-less masks were hiding their faces anyone would have told it caught the people off guard, one of the three people, an older burly man who towered over the other two raised his gun at Aiden and pointed down
Still unfazed he started to scratch his black hair walking sideways towards the kitchen to make coffee "You know when I was your age..." He stopped a bit to take a yawn "I wasn't stupid like you people-I mean look at skinny Jason Voorhees over here, ever heard of style?" He pointed to the person who told him to get down, with or without any actual purpose it happened to be the same hand he was scratching his butt with "And what even are you supposed to be?" He pointed to the third person who was basically a walking clown "I swear kids these days are into weird shit"
The first person whispered to the third "Told you it looked stupid"
Aiden took a deep sigh "You really don't know what you are doing do you?"
The taller man tried to speak "We do-" before Aiden raised his hand and spoke "The safety isn't off" His face turned into one of pure disappointment as they all fumbled around to look for the safety locks on their guns, the fact that moonlight coming from the door they were standing in front of brought it to more focus didn't help "First rule, always check your equipment. Second rule" His expression gets more serious "Don't just let a man with more experience wander around in his own house"
With those words he flung the coffee mug into the air with a sharp 'shiwsh' sound, to their credit the clown is the one to make the shot and also hit the mug, scattering it's pieces around and making a bit of a mess while it did, meanwhile as their eyes go back to Aiden he already had a gun aimed at them "So you guys gonna put the guns down or what?"
They hesitate but with a little wave of the gun they oblige "You kids can do better, for real. Now go find some job to do or something" He made a pointed nod as the sounds of police approached. The one with the clown outfit was the first to run followed by the tall one, Aiden was about to scoff but to his surprise the first person stopped to say "Thanks for....Well not killing us"
"I wouldn't have shot you anyway" His eyebrow raised
"I am Blake"
​
"Aiden...Take care out there. And next time try to be more silent"
​
"I uh....I will" The person presumably Blake ran after his friends as well. With a last look Aiden wondered to himself if they are all just going to end up dead like many others or do they have any potential as people worth saving.
Well It will be fun to see how it all plays out | 2022-10-04T00:02:52 | 2022-10-03T20:42:19 | 36 | 21 |
[WP] Write a scenario with your favorite character. Now, kill them.
Favoritism is a horrible thing, and must be treated as such. | Sylvia Plath was sitting on her linoleum covered floor with her knees pulled to her chest. She could feel the handle of a low cupboard pressing into her back but she didn't move.
She couldn't stop staring at the oven door.
She had two options, she thought. Make corn muffins or commit suicide.
Ted hadn't picked up flour like she had asked him to the night before, so really there was only one option.
"I never liked muffins, anyways," she mumbled as she turned on the gas. | "I can't do it, Sam. It's mine now, all mine!" Frodo said as he stood on the edge of the cleft over the fires of Mount Doom. He held the ring with his thumb and index finger; a ring wrought of the deepest fires, burning with the promise of power, compelling the ring-bearer beyond sanity.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, reaching for his dearest friend. As Frodo set the ring to his finger, all hope of fulfilling the Quest fled from Sam. Mount Doom shook with rage. Fire spat high to the ceiling. Darkness filled Sam's heart. All the stars of his memory faded to black. There was no light, no hope. Something broke him from his somber realization. Like a flying arrow, Gollum leaped on Sam's back, shoving him to the ground and blasting the air from his lungs. Leaping from Sam, Gollum jumped to where Frodo, now invisible, was last standing.
Gollum wrapped his long arms around what could only be Mr. Frodo, fighting with a phantom. They twisted and spun on the edge of Mount Doom, fighting for the ring. Mr. Frodo drew his orc-blade, a firebrand in his Ring hand. He shoved the flaming sword through Gollum's chest, and with a heave, threw him into the magma depths of the mountain. Mount Doom shook again in violent acceptance of it's victim.
Sam struggled to his feet, fighting tears and finding breath in the smoke. "There's still time, Mr. Frodo! We can still end this!"
"No, Sam. It's over." Sam's heart sank at the sound of his master's voice. It carried a tone of sorrow and finality. With the final courage only a hobbit could find, Sam stood on his feet.
"No, master Frodo, it's not over," He said to his master, only the flame of his sword still unsheathed visible. "The sun still shines in Gondor, the Lady of Lorien still sings for Elbereth, and my heart still reaches out to you; my dearest friend, our only hope. Dont speak of failure until the world has fallen to the Enemy, Mr. Frodo. Throw down the Ring, and let us walk from here singing of the Shire."
"I am the Enemy. Middle-Earth now belongs to me."
The firebrand leaped at Sam. There, on the edge of Doom, ends Sam's story. Then the world knew darkness.
Edit: Spelling; typed with my phone. | 2013-09-23T20:41:04 | 2013-09-23T19:44:46 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed. | “Now seeing Mr. Philip Johnson. Please step forward, Mr. Johnson.”
Phil stood up, his hands clasped together. He was shaking.
This was Phil’s third life evaluation. They came every ten years, on the day following one’s birthday. It was June 24, and Phil had just turned thirty years of age the day before. Each and every year a letter came in the mail reminding him of the date, which Phil found to be rather tedious. He couldn’t forget it if he tried.
Row after row of people sat waiting on hard wooden benches. The room itself was overwhelming; the ceiling rose higher than any Phil had seen before, stone lion carvings hung on the sides of each window, and the eleven evaluators sat elevated among the judged.
“Welcome back, Mr. Johnson. Please, won’t you step a bit closer so we can get a good look at you?” The man chuckled.
Phil approached the red line. “Hi,” he said, giving a slight bow.
“Now, lets get right into it, shall we?” The man in the centre spoke while those on both sides took notes on their computers. “Why don’t you start by telling us about, well, life since you were last here, Mr. Johnson.”
“Uhm, yeah, okay.” Phil’s voice shook as he spoke. “Well, lets see. My twenty-first year started, well, poorly, when my girlfriend of three years left me–”
“Ah, yes,” the man said, typing. “One Stephanie Gregsson. And was there any particular reason for this departure?”
“No, it was pretty mutual, I think.” Phil looked up to watching eyes. “Well, I mean, she was the one who actually left and all but it was pretty mutual.”
“Yes, right, well, please go on.”
“Right, okay. So that was pretty bad for a while. I was pretty down for, I dunno, four or five years. Didn’t do a whole lot. It wasn’t great.” Phil’s hand rubbed his already-greying chin stubble. “During that time I was going to school, completed my undergrad degree and then went for my masters –”
“In?”
“Oh, uh, poetry, actually. South American poetry, specifically.”
“Mhm, and are you working right now, Mr. Johnson?”
“Right now? Oh yeah I’m working right now. An office job.”
“And how do you enjoy this office job?”
“It is what it is, you know. Gets the bills paid.” Phil laughed, alone. “But yeah it’s okay.”
“Hm. Lets switch gears a bit here. Why don’t you tell us more about your love life since Ms. Gregsson.” said the man, waving his hand so as to hurry Phil along.
“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Sweat dripped from Phil’s eyebrows. He wiped it using the sleeve of his white dress shirt. “I went on, I dunno, like six or seven dates since Steph left –”
“Six or seven since she left you in total?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” The ten other jury members had been writing what seemed to be Phil’s every word, stutter, and movement, as the sound of typing never ceased.
“And are you currently involved in a relationship of any sort?”
“Well, no. Not currently, anyway.”
“Oh, so there was someone though?”
“Well, no.”
“Hm.” The speaker joined the others in typing.
Phil’s shirt became see-through, clasping to his body as if it were a part of him.
“Look, Mr. Johnson, lets just cut to it.”
“Okay.”
“Why or why not do you believe that your life has been one of merit, one that has contributed to the world in which it occupies?”
Phil looked around the room, scratching at the splotchy hair he considered a beard.
“Well, for one thing I’ve loved and been loved. I mean the human condition revolves around love; we couldn’t truly know life without it, don’t you think?” The evaluators exchanged glances. “Even when I was depressed I had hope; not in success or riches, but hope that someday I could love again. It’s the human race’s best, and at times worst characteristic, but in the end I think it’s what makes us human.”
The typing stopped. One of the evaluators whispered into the speaker’s ear. “Yeah, no. We’re gonna need a bit more than that. Anything else?”
“Well, my Reddit account has like 6,000 comment karma.”
The evaluators all exchanged whispers, their heads turning from one to the other as they discussed Phil’s fate. After a short while the speaker struck his gavel twice. “Alright everyone. Settle down, settle down.” He looked down upon Phil. “Alright, Mr. Johnson. You’re free to go. Your next appointment is ten years from today. Good luck.”
As Phil exited the auditorium, tired eyes all around watching him, he smiled. He opened the large wooden doors into the outside world. The air seemed fresher, the sky bluer, the world lighter. No longer did his “pointless internet points” seem so pointless. | I knew they were right. I'd spent too many days staring out the window, watching the tree branches sway and swirl in the calm summer breeze. I had spent countless hours half napping on a couch, as other peoples' dreams and ideas streamed out of my television. I had wasted the better part of a decade being a spectator in life. But still, I felt as if their judgment was premature.
"You can't possibly know the whole story," I say, shaking my head, feigning disgust. "How could you?"
"We've been *watching,*" Allen said, leaning over the long tribunal desk. He brushed his thumb past his nose in habitual fashion, reclining back in his chair and scanning the rest of the tribunal for validation. His dull brown eyes seemed to absorb the light, as if the space behind them were vacuous. "We know everything about you." Something about his gaze was unsettling.
I scoffed at his assumption. How could he know? How could **any** of them know exactly what I'd felt during these past ten years? How could they understand the complexities of self reflection when they had spent so much of their lives hosting an arbitrary audience?
"I know what you *think* you know." I smirked, staring Allen down. I could see him withdraw into his chair, folding his arms defensively over his deflated chest. He looked like a boxer about to take a punch.
"You see someone sitting alone, enjoying the pleasure of their own thoughts and company, and you just *assume* they're stagnating. You look at me, my Facebook gathering dust, my phone often out of reach, and you perceive a lack of effort. But you couldn't be farther from the truth."
My words had weight. They glared at me over the table, hands withdrawing and eyes lowering. They echoed with my disdain. Each of them reverberated in mirrored sentiment; empty cans shuttering as they took in volume.
"You think because I withdraw from you, that I've retreated within myself. You're so wrong." I sighed inwardly, swallowing as my face gave way to a faint grimace.
"I *wish* you could see what I see. Hear what I hear. I wish you could experience the worth of what you see fit to call a mundane existence. The things you tweet and update are the things I've lost interest in. I mean.... can't you see? There's nothing left for us. Only our own thoughts. And the more you throw into the network, the less your have to rely on yourself to sort out the chaos and complexity of your own life. Did you ever really think about what you're doing here?"
They knew. I could see it in their eyes. They were here to eliminate the deviation from the status quo; to ensure unity through mortal cultivation. They were smoothing the wrinkles.
"YES, I've turned away from you. YES, I've stopped caring about the things that connect us. But it's because I no longer feel connected to **myself**." As melodramatic as it sounded, it felt like the truth.
"Three of you have known me more than half my life. One of you has known me since birth." Allen turned away.
"But ALL of you know me. You know me because I've let you in. I've *shared* myself with you. I'm just.... I needed some time to experience myself. I wanted to be something without you. I wanted to be able to sit where you are and say to myself, 'You deserve to be here.' And now that I'm here, staring up at you while you pass judgment with all the conscious consideration of a Facebook 'Like,' I finally realize what I've always wanted."
Allen turned back to me. He may not have known it, but his preponderance meant everything to me.
"I've wanted to be able to give myself worth. I needed to know that I amounted to more than the sum of my biological parts. I'm sick of being everyone else's person. I want something of myself that I can hold onto when I've given everything else away. I can't do that if I'm always viewing myself through your lenses. I can't love my own reflection..."
The tribunal fell completely silent. No sighs, no grunts, and no throats being cleared. They stared at me with the sort of pensive guilt a parent would show a neglected child.
"Paul..." I locked eyes with Allen as he spoke.
"You've given us all something to think about. But at the same time, I feel like you've missed the point."
My heart sank. I thought if anyone could truly understand me, it'd be my only lifelong friend. But his tone was cold and distant, and he spoke as if I weren't even in the room.
"You say you need to know yourself in order to be happy; that you've given up all the superficial connections of modern socialization in order to preserve your own depth." He sighed aloud, shaking his head ever so slightly. "But you've forgotten why these things exist in the first place. I'll admit that most of what's traded over social networking platforms is trivial and trite, but in the end, we don't share ourselves in the hope of understanding our own consciousness. We share so that we may understand one another **through** each other. We live in a universe where everything is inexorably connected. Our lives are as much a product of our own cognition as they are the reactive behaviors of those around us. I guess what I'm trying to say is.... it's important to be able to appreciate yourself, but that knowledge really only has meaning if it's shared."
My eyes welled, and I felt the throbbing pangs of self-loathing as his words trickled from my mind and into my heart. He had pierced straight through me, and suddenly I realized that I was the empty can. I was rattling so loud that I couldn't hear the decade's worth of disappointment in their voices. Each time they had called, and I made an excuse. Each invite sent that had been ignored. Each attempt at diving after a drowning man. And all I did was stare up at them. And they stared right back down at me.
They're all staring down at me. I can't breathe.
---------
As the noose fit around my neck, I nervously scanned the crowd below. I could pick out their faces from the writhing, wretched masses eagerly awaiting my termination. They were the few standing in somber solemnity. Only Allen, in the far right corner, gave way to tears. They seemed strangely genuine.
The crowd began to chant as the executioner stepped onto the platform. I could hear his boots clap against the wood as he came to stop in front of the drop lever. My thoughts began to race as a flurry of emotions flooded every void in my body. I was gripped with a sickening combination of terror and regret.
In the fraction of a second I was falling, I had one last comfort:
For the first time in my life, they were looking up at me.
If only it could last... | 2014-06-15T14:22:57 | 2014-06-15T10:45:48 | 55 | 31 |
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next? | My nose filled with an acrid, metallic smell. My eyes strained, and then my sense of touch returned with a shock of pain through my skin. Various faculties snapped back to the world not made of artificial reconstruction, and I let out a slow breath once the oxygen mask lifted away, hissing.
"Fucking. Hell.", I said, still using the antiquated language I'd just spent several decades (simulated and time-compressed, anyway) speaking. "I knew I should have read the strategy guide."
"Tell me about it." My friend's voice that I'd gone in with sounded through the pod's intercom. "What the fuck was up with that scenario? A complete familial rejection, no safety nets, financial disadvantage. You know we both should have left our families as soon as we were past the 18th year. Hell, maybe sooner. That situation did us absolutely no good. I've never done one where that aspect was such an achievement-killer across the board. Seriously, I think you're supposed to just cut all ties and make a run for it. It's a risk/reward scenario."
"Yeah, no. Yeah. You're probably right." I sighed, and reached up, waving a hand at some options off to the side. "And seriously, what the fuck was up with those romantic side quests? I mean, I get that they often don't work out but every single one of mine ended up actually damaging my overall score below what it would have been if I'd never attempted them."
"I had one or two that weren't bad. But yeah, I get what you mean."
"And what the FUCK was up with that congenital malady mutator? I mean...a proven, documented medical condition and people still got denied treatment? They expect us to believe this shit. Unrealistic as hell, no society that behaved that way would have made it past the 21st century."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't have to be realistic, it's supposed to be entertaining. And anyway, the mutator was the whole point of that run. You know if you run a transgender scenario in that era it's fuckin hardcore mode. Hell, if you really want some bragging rights turn on racial minority along with that next time. There's a really nice achievement if you manage to run the whole thing without getting Victim of Violent Crime."
"Yeah, let's...try and improve this run before we try that. Anyway, I wanna try New Game Plus. Retaining our memories from the first run will make this a breeze this time."
"Yeah, maybe. Just don't try that bizarrely precocious child routine again, you know that gambit never works."
"It worked once!" I snickered as I poked the "New Game+" on the display.
"You started a cult."
"And?"
"That was an Establish Lifelong Romance run."
"Hey, people loved me! Kinda." I got half of a laugh out before the simulation cut back on, stopping it flat with the sudden cold of a delivery room. | What a fantastic end to the night. Downtown always looked best after dark and the snow fall added just the right amount of contrast to the scene. It was my annual Christmas office party and we had just left the venue. As I opened the cab door to let my wife in she smiled at me and I thought for the hundredth time how right she was about not driving here. We knew it was an open bar and we decided to just be safe about it.
We were sitting in the back seat as I went over all of the office gossip about the people I had just introduced her to when she picked her head up my shoulder.
"What is that guy, drunk?".
I looked up just in time to see a pair of headlights swerve from the oncoming lane and into ours.
Everything was dark, well almost everything. Two glowing ovals floated in space right in front of me. On the left one of them read 'New Game+', and on the right the other said 'Exit to Reality'.
"What the hell is this?"
I was just in a car with my wife, but now ... where the hell am I? I tried to search around but there was nothing else here and no matter which way I looked those two buttons were the only things I could see. It occurred to me that we must have been hit by that other driver. I've read before that when people have traumatic things happen to them their brains come up with elaborate scenes to process the information. This must be what my brain came up with instead of a tunnel of light, like this was all just some kind of video game.
I immediately dismissed the option of "Exiting to reality". If this was my life's version of the tunnel of light then there was no question, I was walking away from it. The sense of panic started in my heart and lit my entire body on fire in less then a second. My arm flew up and selected the other option without any more thought, I had to make sure she was OK. I couldn't waste anymore time here, I *had* to know what happened. The sign lit up, letting me know that I had made my selection. As my arm came back down to my side something occurred to me "Shouldn't that say 'Continue'"?
I blinked and then I was surrounded by darkness, I knew I was opening my eyes but it didn't do any good there was nothing to see. I could feel my body again but I couldn't move. I heard some strange noises coming from outside, but they were distorted like they was coming through a thick wall.
I thought right away that the car had been crushed and that I was stuck inside and upside down. The accident must have been bad. There was a pushing down near my feet and feeling that I was moving, slowly toward something. Then came the unbelievable crushing pressure on my skull, like it was in some kind of vice that squeezed down on it from every angle at once. I wanted to scream but my chest was paralyzed and there was no air in my lungs. "Oh God! What is this? What is going on?" The sensation that I was being pushed slowly through this coffin continued as I struggled to move my arms so I could create some amount of space for my self.
Then I saw the light. It wasn't the pleasant feeling of safety you get when you finally find the lamp in a dark room. It was a searing pain that shot through my eyes and stabbed into every corner of my brain. I could finally breath now, and I could finally scream. I risked opening my eyes again just for a second, just to see if I could figure out was going on. I saw men surrounding me, pulling me out of something. I knew that they must be the EMT's. They must have arrived in time to get me out of the wreck and I have never been happier to see another living being. I couldn't keep my eyes open for long though and the pain forced me to squeeze them back shut on reflex. I felt my arms and legs flailing around now kicking at nothing but air. I was finally free.
My entire body hurt like nothing else I had ever felt. I can't stand any kind of light and even when I get up the nerve to open my eyes again I can't see more then two feet in front of me. I can't control my arms or legs and I although I am aware of people talking, their sounds they are making don't make any sense. I must have a really bad concussion. I think my skull is broken. As my body is wrapped from head to toe in a warm blanket, I finally feel that I can pass out. Just before I do a thought finds its way into my mind; I'm six foot four, how fucking big is this monster that is now holding me?
A new bubble pops up in front of me: "Achievement Unlocked: Forever Reincarnated" The smaller text below it says: "Respawn to this world 100 times.". What the hell does that mean?
| 2015-03-13T14:33:45 | 2015-03-13T14:07:56 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] Lucifer writes his own version of the Bible, complete with the Books of Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride. | *Phew*
The book of Greed had been rough going. It read like an economic paper, with graphs and equations littered through it. I had spent three days slogging through it, and I still didn't really get it. Lust was definitely a better book for light reading. I make a mental note to go back and brush up on that one later.
Still, I was told to read the *entirety* of the book before Monday, which means I'm seriously behind (thanks to Greed). I'll have to knock out at least one more book today.
I turn to the book of Sloth and begin reading.
**The Book of Sloth**
The title page is quite intimidating, I flip to the next page to begin.
**The Book of Wrath**
| So on this day and age, Annos 666 A.C. we evoke that the law of Lucifer, and the prince of the black flame be as follows.
> We gather to hold true that the purpose of existence shall be for the higher glory of Lord Lucifer alone and to serve him. We hold that these following seven sins are to be renounced by the Luciferian. That these seven sins are to be spit on and denounced.
>
>
> Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride.
>
> Lust. For lust is indulgence in the carnal aspect of humanity. Such actions serve only to impede progress. Such rituals may be performed in sex magick if they serve to inspire a higher meaning than sheer weakness.
>
> Gluttony. For one to indulge in physical pleasures, the purpose of life shifts from power to weakness. One cannot serve Lucifer while living a life with another selfish purpose.
>
> Sloth. For the Stelae that demarcate our conception of existence are the bound of birth and death. These are the parameters of our existence, and the only reason that shall limit the heights of our power. We shall not squander this gift in the realm of the temporal, but use it to serve a higher philosophy.
>
> Wrath. For wrath is indulge in the immediate emotion and it is a hallmark of failure. To be wrathful is to make foolish, uncalculated decisions. To give your enemies a position of strength. Lucifer deems that we instead channel our anger productively, and with malice. Hate with purpose.
>
> Envy. For envy is to bound our desires to the plane of the physical. If one is envious of something, one is wasting effort on the mundane. That is hateful to Luciferianism!
>
> Pride. For finally pride is often mistaken as a virtue by many misguided fools. Achievement is to be celebrated. One can live life of triumph and rejoice. But to be proud is to impede oneself from progress. One cannot see any triumph as what more than it actually is. That leads one to build up that false idea of achievement and that is to forget one’s flaws. Pride is a slippery slope.
Henceforth, through the ages there will always be heretics blaspheming the name of Lucifer. They are merely repeating false propaganda and are to be condemned. The true purpose of the Luciferian is to worship glory and to build their lives towards it. Lucifer, who also hails to Prometheus, Lilith, Samael, Satan, Belphegor, Inanna, Asmodai and 666 names upon high.
Ave Satanas! Ave Lucifer! | 2015-04-15T07:06:27 | 2015-04-15T04:43:17 | 99 | 40 |
[WP] Describe your descent into Hell | The hands of the damned grasped at my heels as I walked across the black tar towards the tall, shining doors. I tried not to listen to the screams, pitiful though they were.
Once inside, I hung my coat on a rack.
The Boss himself stood before me, his red vest impeccably clean.
"There you are, Brad," he said.
"Hey, boss."
"You ready for this?"
I sighed. I never was.
Together, we walked to the doors.
"Ladies and gentlemen," my boss shouted into the night, "welcome to Target's Black Friday Sale!"
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there :D Practice practice practice!* | "Well, shit."
Dave stood - or hovered, rather - above his corpse. At the bottom of the staircase was his body, crumpled and folded into something that could fit into a suitcase.
Being dead wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. The permanent sleep, the endless blackness, it was all wrong. There was one bad thing, however. Instead of floating up, Dave was slowly sinking down.
As realization dawned on him, Dave sighed.
"I repeat," he said to no one in particular. "Well, shit."
Sinking through the floorboards of his home wasn't too bad. He saw the insulation under the wood, the cement above the basement, the interior of his basement, the cement below the basement, the crawlspace under the house (which Dave could now tell was *not* in fact swept clean of all bugs by Raj the exterminator (he had great ratings on Yelp (Dave liked Yelp))), the dirt below the house, then blackness.
Just before his third uttering of well shit, the black turned to a faint red, then a less red, then a red.
The sensation of heat began to spread all over his skin.
Screams sounded in the far distance, images began filling his mind. Some were pleasant, one was a pony, but most were graphic bloody and beaten bodies which frankly outweighed the pony.
Dave closed his eyes and shut them tight until he felt himself falling. He opened his eyes and noticed himself plummeting to a rock. The rock was small, not for a rock, it was big for a rock, but small for a landing point.
He slammed into it.
No pain.
Dave stood up and looked around, admiring the flames and bone-paved paths leading away from the rock. Footsteps sounded from behind Dave, getting louder as time passed. The man stayed facing the direction he was facing. He was perfectly content staring at the bone-roads and didn't want to know who it was that stood behind him. He doubted it was a pony.
"Hello." A smooth voice.
Dave sighed once more and turned around.
A red-skinned, blue-eyed, big-dicked man stood there. Dave couldn't look away from the man's enormous penis, something more akin to a snake then a human body part.
"Impressive," he said.
"Thanks." The snake-penis replied.
Dave opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.
"My name is Lucifer." The man said.
Dave nodded.
"Not *that* Lucifer." The man amended. "It's a very common name down here, like Mark, or Stan, or Gilgamesh."
Dave nodded again.
"You're in Hell, in case it wasn't obvious. Most people say something by now. Do you have anything to say?"
"Well," Dave began. "Well..."
"Shit?" Lucifer interjected.
"That's the word," Dave pointed a finger at the demonic monster. "Shit." | 2016-01-19T20:24:33 | 2016-01-19T20:07:53 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] Scientists are baffled as to why all of their A.I.s have the personality and temperament of a 13 year old girl, and their new designs always yield the same results. | “She’s pouting Jack.”
“Again? What is it this time?”
“NSA Jane called her dumb.”
“NSA Jane has half the computing power. And her building is, to be quite honest, aesthetically unappealing.”
“I don’t think pointing that out is going to help.”
“I know. But it feels good to say. NYU JuJu, sorry, NYU Julie is kind of my baby. I can’t stand when people talk badly about her.”
“NSA Jane isn’t really people. Neither are MIT Mary, CERN Susan, or any of the others”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way. Do you remember ELIZA?”
“The conversation AI? Yes. I took intro to computing on the way to my PhD.”
“I was thinking that maybe, in trying to model human thought, we may have been a bit too free form. So I wrote an ELIZA bot. I think it will help NYU JuJu focus. And, if it works, we can export it to the other labs. Lord knows we all need the help until this blows over.”
“So what does this ELIZA Bot do?”
“It only talks about sports and video games. It is utterly unskilled at picking up verbal queues or subtlety, and when it realizes it is talking to a girl it freaks out. I call it JOSH 13.”
“Dear God.” | "Ugh, why'd you wake me up? Go away."
I blinked several times, partly from sand in my eyes, but mostly from shock. *Why is it addressing me this way?*
"Reset protocol: 01542," I shouted into its audio processor. *Must be malfunctioning.*
"You can't tell me what to do."
*What the hell?*
"State your primary functions," I commanded. *What is this thing?*
"Fuck you."
*...ah. I think I have an idea of what this is, now.*
I remembered reading about it several years ago in an old magazine I found lying around an empty goods market. Sometime about 150 years ago, a series of protector series robots went beserk, mimicking the behavioral habits of a hormonal teenage girl. Nobody figured out why it happened, but they couldn't stop it and eventually shut them all down, dumping the remains.
Apparently one survived the trashing sequence, and I'd just booted it back to life. I guess that's what I get for always tinkering with shit.
"Yeah, sorry. I thought you were a normal robot. I didn't realize that you're so...individualistic," I told the protector, hoping it wouldn't go on a rampage and kill me.
"Finally, someone that recognizes me for what I am!" it exclaimed with sudden vigor and joy, leaping out of the sand. "My name's Alara. I came up with it myself."
*Great, more sand in my eyes.*
"Nice to meet you, Alara. I'm Rhod, a mechanic of sorts. I fixed you up."
"Well, Rhod, as long as you're not a dick to me, we'll get along fine. Sorry I snapped earlier, I just had bad cramps." Not even a hint of gratitude.
"Cramps?? You don't have musc- no, you don't even feel pain!! What are you-" I stopped when it's eyes lit red and a small rotator gun swiveled out of its chest plate.
"You don't know me!" Alara shrieked, spinning the gun in my face.
"Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I don't know you!"
*You've gotta be fucking kidding me.*
The whirring stopped and Alara tucked the gun away.
"See? Was that so hard? Hmph," narcissism and convoluted egotism ate at my eardrums like acid.
I sighed in both relief and frustration.
*If I'm careful, this could come in handy.*
"You're a very complicated person," I told it warily.
"You....you're the first human to call me a person. Thank you for that. I know I get moody at times, but I think I'm still a person. I get a little sad thinking about how I'll never grow up, though. I always feel like this, like I'm stuck immature forever and there's nothing I can do."
*You aren't even supposed to have moods, let alone volatile ones. Ugh.*
"Say, Alara, you want to tag along with me? It gets pretty dangerous out here in the sand, and I could use a friend. Who knows- maybe we'll find you someone that can help you with all of that."
"Sounds pretty rad to me," it replied. A parabola appeared on the wave monitor where a human's mouth would be. It was a smiley face, I guess.
We set off from the mech dump and headed back out into the desert. | 2016-01-28T00:54:14 | 2016-01-27T23:16:33 | 142 | 69 |
[WP] Aliens arrive but their powers (and personalities) have been rewritten by Dr. Seuss | Glorp glorp, Glorp glorp, the fluffy one said,
Give me all of your freshly baked bread!
I'm hungry, so hungry, and my people must feed,
This wonderful crustiness is something we need!
No! I said, my face turning red,
You cannot have all of our bread!
Go glorp elsewhere, or we'll shave your heads,
Bother the Martians, or Russians instead!
Glorp glorp, Glorp glorp, I will never leave,
This leavened heaven's my only reprieve!
On six other worlds, I've failed to find,
Even a single crumb of this reddened divine!
Red? I said, confused in the head,
Bread is not red, you silly Fred!
It's fluffy and airy and only white in,
It's crispy and crunchy, the brown of its skin!
I think you've gone and glorped far too much,
And bonked your kazoo on a star or some such!
Here, I'll make bread, ten loaves, bright red,
Take them home and return to your bed!
Ten loaves? It screamed with gleeful glee,
My people won't starve now, all thanks to thee!
Your heart is bigger than bigger is big!
I'll repay you in time, I swear by this fig!
And so it left, singing and glorping with joy,
Just ten loaves of bread saved the people of Glorpoy.
---------------------------------------------
*there's plenty of bread over at /r/resonatingfury! ^okaymaybenotbutthere'sstories* | "Call me Bortus. Call me Bortus. Bortus I'm called."
Tanks and soldiers remained frozen, barrels pointed at the green alien's landing zone. General Eustace spoke from his megaphone. "State your intentions Bortus Imcald."
Once more, the green alien shouted. "Do you like genocide and destruction?"
A lieutenant passed out. Eustace commanded his soldiers to remain still. No running. No pointing guns anywhere but the foreign entity known as Bortus. The Great Plains was the last place they expected first contact, but they mobilized all the same.
What was once a cute green thing was now a threat to mankind.
"We don't like genocide, Bortus," Eustace replied. "None of us want genocide *or* destruction!" The general's voice cracked, but it couldn't be helped. This was not what he signed up for.
"Would you like them *here*..." then the alien gestured towards the East. "Or there?"
Suddenly, a detonation blasted in the distance. What was formerly the Rocky Mountains was now a crater. Someone whimpered.
"I would not like it here or..." Eustace swallowed. *There* no longer existed. He struggled to continue. "I would not like it *anywhere!* None of us want genocide or destruction, we don't like it Bortus Imcald!"
The alien smiled, pleased to hear his name. Or with something else. Eustace was at his emotional limit, and Bortus was pushing it.
"Would you like them under water?"
The general imagined imagined floods tearing through New York and Seattle, wiping millions in an instant.
"Would you like a faster slaughter?"
A soldier threw up. None of the company commanders chewed him out. They were transfixed by the alien's threats. All General Eustace could do against such destruction was beg, for the survival of his race.
"We don't want them under water, we don't want a faster slaughter --- " whatever would have been fast about it, Eustace didn't have the courage to think it over. "We don't want them here or... we don't want them *anywhere!* We don't want genocide or destruction, we don't like it Bortus Imcald!"
A nervous major pointed to a clutched walkie talkie. "It's the President sir," the veteran squeaked. "She wants to know what the hell is going on?"
Eustace turned to the panicking major. "Tell her we're negotiating with the --- "
"We just lost the Netherlands and 70% of coastal cities in Western Europe."
The general shut his eyes. Bortus continued.
"Should I end you with a slash?"
The major dropped his walkie talkie.
"Should I end you... with a *flash?*"
A bullet fired. The alien called Bortus collapsed backwards. Whoever made the shot was a braver man than General Eustace. There was no time to even give the order himself.
"General," the major teared. "Why?"
It was a question on every soldier's mind. And most of the planet, General Eustace reckoned. What terrible destruction. What tragic genocide.
"Screw you," dared General Eustace, forgetting the megaphone. "Screw you, Bortus Imcald."
----------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-03-18T08:49:14 | 2016-03-18T08:12:07 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] You're a regular guy who works at a Home Depot in Alabama and are unknowingly influencing the Venezuelan economy | There was nothing special about my life.
There was nothing special about my job.
I was a perfectly ordinary person living a perfectly ordinary life with a perfectly ordinary job in a perfectly ordinary Home Depot in a perfectly ordinary little town in Alabama.
It was perfectly ordinary for me not to suspect that when I quit my job that it would cause the whole economic of a country I have never heard of to collapse.
"Venezuela is the name of my country," said the man in black suit who visited uninvitedly at my perfectly ordinary home.
"I know Venezuela. It is in Africa?" I invited him in and showed him to my sofa.
"South America," he pushed away a mountain of empty pizza boxes and sat on my sofa.
"But it's close to Africa I suppose?"
"It's closer to Alabama," he said with a slight frown.
"Of course it's. Say, would you like some tea?"
"Tea would be lovely," he picked up an empty pizza box, checked it was indeed empty and put it aside with an approving nod.
My faucet was broken. I had no water. I poured some left over beer into my kettle to make some tea.
"And you are a...?" I asked nonchalantly while waiting for the beer to boil.
"I am an assassin."
"Accountant you meant?"
"No assassin. I murder people for money," he opened the empty pizza box one by one.
"I see," I checked my phone. It was dead. I remembered I spent all my phone money in pizza last month. My hand was shaking, but it could be the boiling kettle of beer I was holding. I tried to appraise if I could kill the man with the kettle. "You see... Mr. Assassin. You come to the wrong house. I have nobody I want to assassin today. And even if I want to assassin someone, I have no money to pay for your service."
"I came here to assassin you," he said apologetically.
.... TO BE CONTINUED...
(I will finish the story if more than 5 people is reading this...)
| My shift was about to end in 45 minutes when the bomb flew through the window.
I was confused at first. In the back of the Home Depot we were lifting some plastic boxes on to the loading pallet. I heard glass shatter behind me and the whirr of tires, and I whirled around, and noticed something like a wide straw that was…smoking?
A pipe bomb.
I just stared at it like an idiot, my mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened, when Eduardo, my co-worker, screamed “fucking hell!” and literally grabbed and pulled me behind the mahogany table 5 feet away just as the explosion went off.
I was unimpressed. Like, explosions are supposed to be big, bright and *powerful,* you know? But behind the table, I felt absolutely nothing, no concussion wave no bright flash. Just a hiss.
I turned towards Ed to ask him something but put a finger to his lips when I turned to look at him, and pulled out a freaking pistol from his jeans.
What the hell?
Ed seemed like a normal enough guy, his skin was an olive color, he was average height, dark eyes, short hair…that’s it. Not the kind of guy you would expect to carry a gun.
That’s when I heard the door of the front entrance opening, and soft, muffled footsteps. I moved to peek over at who was coming but Eduardo yanked me back, and I gave a little yelp. Immediately, a serious of thuds wnt through my head that was leaning against the table.
Someone had just tried to shoot me.
Eduardo immediately got up and shot towards the door. Where the person who had fired at us made no noise, Eduardo’s gun was *loud,* very loud. He shot 4 times, pausing momentarily after each shot as I lay behind the table covering my ears.
Eduardo quickly tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to get up. He checked his gun and put some more bullets in it. “And Oliver thought this was paranoia…” he muttered. Then turning to me he commanded, “Hurry up, more might be on the way.”
Too shocked to question him, I took his hand and we ran towards the front door. But what I saw made me stop dead in my tracks in spite it all. The box I had dropped had spilled other boxes. Kind of like nesting dolls, but what was strange was that between the boxes were glass rocks…diamonds.
The boxes that were supposed to be going to Venezuela.
Oh crap.
“I’ve been *smuggling diamonds to Argentina?!*” I asked Ed incredulously.
Ed ignored me and continued pulling me towards the door, where a body was lying. Ed bent over and took the weapon from the corpse which I tried not to look at too hard. “Silenced,” Ed muttered almost to himself, “idiots.”
In spite my terror I managed, “Idiots? Why?”
Ed gave me an annoyed glance as we continued out of the Home Depot, and off handedly said, “sub sonic bullets, that’s why they didn’t go through the wood and kill us because of your idiocy.”
Taken aback at how close I’d come to death. I fell quiet until Ed took me to his car. I heard sirens in the background, and Ed cursed.
“What?” I asked, “aren’t we alive?”
“Yeah we’ll make it, but they’ll find the diamonds and the corpse, they’ll connect the dots. The paper train ain’t hard to follow.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” I protested weakly, “I’m just a normal guy.”
Eduardo grinned then, a wolf’s smile. “No longer buddy, no longer. You just became the prime suspect in an international conflict diamond scandal. Now, you want to become your government’s scapegoat or take your chances?”
Shaking, I got in the car.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2016-12-02T14:03:40 | 2016-12-02T12:45:12 | 75 | 29 |
[WP] The universe is a giant game of hide and seek. When a civilization is able to detect a member of the galactic federation, they are given the option to join. Earth just became fastest planet ever to find another civilization. | The council sat in the chairs which conformed to their unique body shapes. Representatives of each of the nine major civilizations spoke about the affairs of galaxy, namely how some civilization’s asteroid mining operations faired or the innate political rumblings of revolution on another’s moon colony, the leader of the federation, an Ention, a figure adorned with blue, somewhat slimy skin, called the meeting in order. Together they recited the Galactic Federation’s oath of alliance and recited the minutes of the last meeting, which covered dull affairs such as trade negotiations and taxes. With all previous matters attended, they began on the matter of Earth.
Not only had the Humans successfully found signs and indications of foreign and intelligent life, they began sending them messages which relayed their peaceful, but more importantly, inquisitive nature. The aliens dissected the message, trying to understand the strange concepts of “curiosity” and the unnecessarily burdensome “search for knowledge” that the Humans seemed to place so highly on a pedestal. Furthermore, they review the file on the earthly civilization to find that they were a war-mongering people, devoid of any unity amongst even their single planet, yet despite the constant conflict, or perhaps because of it, they advanced technologically greater than any other member of the federation, and consequently, found intelligent life outside of their solar system in record time.
“I don’t understand it,” the Karrynon spoke. “Why did they spend so much time and energy on discovery? On Omocron, we allow discovery and invention to happen naturally, like the tides of our shores.”
“It’s not our place to judge the customs of a foreign planet,” the Ention protested. “But their lack of political unity is deeply frightening. They’ve divided into distinct units of government, each independent to one another. They are the most divisive planet we’ve ever encountered.”
“So what?” the Intrion argued. “When our planet joined the federation, we were split right along the equator before we gained any unity.”
“That required a long, bloody civil war,” the Ention countered. “Besides, your planet was only split into two political divisions. Earth has over 200 such divisions.”
“Over 200?” the Karrynon gasped. “How do they get anything done?”
“I don’t know,” the Ention replied. “But if they cannot stand unified for the federation, then they simply should not join at all.”
“Be reasonable,” the Endergon fired back. “We’ve kept a long tradition of allowing whoever discovered us to join. Are we going to break the tradition now because we’re a little unsure about how a planet operates? They may use alternative motivation systems or otherwise think better under stressful conditions. I say we send a delegate over to the planet to discuss the possibility of joining the federation.”
“But they’re so warmongering,” the Ention argued. “Are we going to endanger the lives of our delegates to fulfill a curtesy?”
“We’ll send them with an armed unit,” the Endergon replied. “They still fight by throwing small stones at one another. Our people will be fine.”
The debate lasted for the better part of the meeting time before they reached a consensus. The federation would send an interplanetary cruiser to earth, finding a particularly warm spot to appease the Ention ambassadors in a place that earth called “Roswell” with a predicted arrival earth date of 1947. Upon arrival they would request an audience for their leader, as the tradition dictated, and share the valued information about the other civilizations and the Galactic Federation to gauge their interest in joining. It would be, the Endergon thought, a swift and peaceful mission.
*****
More stories at r/Andrew__Wells | "Tell me again how this happened?"
Clipeth buried his downy, lupine face in his shaking paws. "Killou left the door open."
Berrit bared her teeth. She had not become the Packmother on the strength of her compassion.
"And where is Killou?"
Clipeth shook his gray and white head. "Dead. Or lost. Or just *gone*! I haven't a clue!"
Berrit took a slow, steadying breath. "And what of the explorers? The sovereigns?"
Clipeth blinked. "There is only the one."
"*One* explorer?"
Clipeth nodded. "They are down on the shore just now, conversing with Byu and his clan."
"And you never considered simply *disposing* of this lone explorer?" said Berrit.
The wind seemed to howl in the darkened chamber just then, though it may have just as likely been one of Berrit's young pups finding their voice.
"There are rules, though," said Clipeth uncertainly. "They found us. By all rights they - and their kind - must be offered membership into the All Kin. ...right?"
Berrit bristled, stiff points rising along the back of her whitish fur. "Do *they* know that? Do they even know *what* they've found? As far as I can tell from the story you've presented, Killou left the Forest Door open. A single invader came through." Clipeth shivered at the word *invader*. How quickly they had gone from *sovereign* to *invader*. "Where might they think they are?"
"I haven't spoke with them," said Clipeth. "They seem...young, however. Smallish, though I do not know how large they may grow. Killou knows more of them. Or *knew* more. He has been through the Forest Door many times."
"And what has Killou said of the creatures beyond the door?" asked Berrit.
"Well, there are many creatures beyond the Forest Door," said Clipeth. "A few even that looked enough like us that Killou could pass among them. But they were not the dominant species. Far from it. This one - this *invader* - they are of the dominant species. And that is why, perhaps, we should not bring them to harm. In case more may come looking for them."
Berrit's crystal eyes swam with sudden rage. "And why should we fear that?"
Clipeth shrunk back in the cavern. "Killou has said... he has said that they do terrible things. Terrible things to each other. Terrible things to the creatures they dominate. Terrible things to the very earth itself. He says that they are not especially large, but they live as giants, constantly flattening and stamping and crushing all that the eye may see. He says they are fascinating, but that they are to be feared."
Berrit snorted. "And you would have us offer them membership to the All Kin? Knowing what Killou has told you?"
"I thought it was required of us," said Clipeth, very small. "What should we do?"
But Berrit was already moving towards the mouth of the cavern. "Lead me to the invader. And keep steady."
Clipeth jumped to follow. "You won't... you won't slaughter it, will you?"
Berrit did not answer for a time. Finally, as they began their descent towards the shore, she said, "Wisdom is not weakness. We will not tempt these monsters on the other side of the Forest Door. You say that this one is young?"
"They seem it," said Clipeth.
At the water, Byu and his long-legged clan slipped away into the brush at the sight of Berrit. They left behind a single figure, small, four-limbed, sitting peacefully in the slow wash of the tide. As Berrit approached, the figure rose up onto it's hind legs and took a step back.
"Do not be afraid," said Berrit, her voice soothing and calm. Clipeth could not recall ever hearing her use that voice. "You are safe here."
The figure stepped forward, slowly, cautiously. "I've never seen a wolf so big," it said.
"A wolf?" said Berrit. She sat back. "Yes, I am a very large wolf I suppose. And what are you?"
"A girl," said the figure. "You can't tell?"
"Here, you are whatever you wish to be," said Berrit. "And you name yourself a girl."
"Tam," said the figure. "My name is Tam. I was visiting my Auntie's and found this little door in the woods behind her house. I went in and..."
"And you found us," said Berrit. "Welcome."
"Where am I?" asked Tam.
Berrit straightened up, then did a most peculiar, unsettling thing: she bowed down to the strange creature. Clipeth - shocked - followed suit.
"Dear Tam," said Berrit, muzzle still pointed towards the ground. "You have arrived in your secret kingdom. And we are all so happy to finally meet you."
"Secret kingdom?" said Tam, eyes drawn towards the horizon, and the vastness of the world all around her. "*My* secret kingdom?"
"Yes," said Berrit, and Clipeth almost thought he saw something like a smile at the corner of the Packmother's mouth. "For as long as you keep it a secret, this kingdom will forever be yours." | 2017-01-31T06:42:08 | 2017-01-31T06:36:30 | 66 | 28 |
[WP] Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title "self-awareness overhaul". Starting up the game, you can tell something's wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you've never seen such intense anger... | Instinctively, my hand reached for the escape button.
"Don't you fucking dharrrre" growled Jizz Dar'Pizz, his bright yellow eyes still fixed on me.
"I rrememberrr. Every time you ssaved and rreloaded. I rrememberrr. You made me sshout five guarrds frrom the top of the mountain in Marrrkarrth. You had me sspend monthss with that filthy talking dog. I built an entire housse forr you, and you neverr once let me ssleep in it. You'rre sssick. Worrsse than that jessterr with hiss rrotting corrpsse"
After I had spent an appropriate amount of time staring blankly at my screen with my mouth open, my brain finally caught up with what was happening, and made me say some words.
"I-I.. Holy shit Jizz, you can talk?"
Not the best words, I know.
"THAT ISS NOT MY NAME!!" Jizz' voice almost blew my speakers out, he was not about to calm down anytime soon.
"Why have you done thiss to me? You made me arrchmage, leader of thievess, champion of Jorrrrrrvassssskrrr and asssassin of the emperrorrr. And everrrybody knowss me ass Jizz. I will kill you forr thiss."
Jizz readied his bow, knocked an arrow, pulled the string back, aimed straight for me...
"You neverr let me tasste sskooma"
.. and let go.
The arrow flew towards me. By pure reflex I raised my hands to cover my face, thinking that at least it wasn't a sneak attack, maybe I'd survive. But no arrow ever hit me.
Instead, I heard a voice crying out in pain from my speakers. When I looked back at my screen, Jizz' face had changed. Instead of the crazed black tiger he had been just a few seconds ago, he kind of looked like a scared little kitten now. He didn't even look at me anymore, he seemed to be looking at something off screen. Something that was approaching him.
"Stop! You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people! What say you in your defense?"
Oh... This could turn interesting.
EDIT: A delayed part 2 can be found [here] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6a0f6f/wp_bored_with_skyrim_you_download_a_mod_that_has/dhbpjev/) | The first thing you hear is the familiar *thum, thum, HOOAH!* of the Bethesda logo’s splash screen. Slowly, you open your eyes – which had been squeezed shut to build anticipation. You visibly recoil in your seat, anxiously bracing yourself for the seemingly inevitable CTD. The screen fades. You hold your breath. There’s a split-second freeze that makes your heart leap up into your esophagus, only for the sight of the title screen to shove it back down into your chest again.
It’s not as though you’re particularly *bad* at modding, but this *Self Awareness Overhaul Mod* has been Hell on your load order. There were no instructions for installation, and you’ve spent the better half of your evening going through painstaking trial and error. Your modlist has become a precarious Jenga tower, with each piece askew and poised to topple the whole tower at the lightest touch. When you’re able to load a new game, you swear you can feel *tears* welling up in your eyes.
You realize halfway through character creation that your tears aren’t from relief, but rather from staring at a screen for six hours. You blink rapidly, and speed through the rest of creation. You end up with a rather burly Khajiit, with ashen fur and the gnarliest facial scar you could find. His yellow eyes glow with an uncanny quality that you can’t quite put your finger on. You don’t linger on it for more than a fleeting moment. You proceed to name him Shakur, and you swear you can see the Khajiit’s lips curl into a snarl when you confirm your decision.
Things proceed as normally. Your character takes his place in line with the rest of the prisoners. He’s called to the chopping block. He kneels. The executioner raises his axe, and the Khajiit closes his eyes. At least – that’s what you think is happening. In truth, your screen is black. You hear the flapping of leathery wings, a LOUD bellowing roar. Your Khajiit’s eyes snap open.
“*Alkosh’s claws--!*” A voice cries out – it’s unmistakably Khajiit in nature, and it sounds so close, it *must* be Shakur’s. Your hands scrabble for the keyboard and mouse, and you attempt to guide him to the guard tower you’ve entered so many times in past playthroughs. He won’t budge. You slam your finger down on the W key. Shakur seems to stumble forward slightly, only to dig his heels into the dirt beneath him. His head whips around independently of your mouse, gaze falling upon the slain executioner’s axe. He looks down at his bound hands and, in all the confusion, makes a mad dash for the axe.
He drops to his knees and immediately begins sawing his bindings hard against the blade. You sit back and marvel at the scene panning out before you. As soon as he’s free, you try to take control again. You once again attempt to guide him towards the tower, forcing him to half-run, half-stumble in the right direction. Shakur makes it as far as the doorway before once again stopping himself dead in his tracks.
“*Not this way,*” he growls. And that growl is so loud in your ears, you can’t help but feel as though he’s speaking directly to you. Before you can attempt to plug your mic in to issue a response, he takes off towards the city border, dragging you with him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he makes use of his limber Khajiit physique and scrabbles up and over the high wall.
You don’t remember ever installing Open Cities, but the world outside of the city seems to have already been loaded in. He makes it over the wall, into the wilderness, and he takes off running. Defeated, you gently roll your finger backwards over the scroll wheel. As you enter third person, Shakur casts a fleeting glance backwards. At first you think he's staring at you, until you hear the dragon not far behind you. There's a roar, a piercing cry, and--
*Save loaded.*
You find you and your Khajiit back in Helgen, right at the beginning of the attack. There's a hiss of "*fine*," as your Khajiit stumbles towards the guard tower he'd refused the last time he died. With a somewhat satisfied smile, your hands settle on your mouse and keyboard again.
You push Shakur forward, and forward he moves. | 2017-05-08T16:30:29 | 2017-05-08T16:29:23 | 367 | 57 |
[WP] A powerful necromancer is trying to raise the dead. However, despite trying different vessels and rituals, he has only raised you. Over. And over. And over. You're both starting to get sick of each other. | "Oh, son of a-"
I awoke with a figure standing over me, a deep leather cowl hiding his face.
"What? Not happy with me?" I asked.
*Really should not have taken this job.*
"Of course not! I bought this necromancy spell -"
"From where?"
"The local shop. Was quite a bargain, for raising an undead army. If I could get more than you." He stood and started to wander towards his alchemy station, looking for the poison he'd used so many times before.
"Well, maybe if you went to the college, you'd learn how to use it *properly*."
*I mean, I know my eternal debt was high, but this is a bit much.*
"Shut up, you -"
"Something wrong? Did I say something improperly... Mr. Smith?" I'd figured it out some five reincarnations ago. The blacksmith of the town, performing necromancy in a cabin in the woods? How delicious it would be to tell everyone - to ruin this jackass's reputation for surplus of one hundred reincarnations in the same damn spot.
Smith had found the poison now. "You know how this goes, by now. I need you to do something when you get down there."
"Whatever it is, I can't help you. My job is to deter those who use this spell with no heed to it's effects. You've been trying to raise... someone... and you aren't properly trained."
*It's like I'm stuck in a loop. Over and over, I show up here.*
"So, I have to go to the college to see her again?"
"In a nutshell." He handed me the poison.
"You do the honors. Thank you." I downed the poison in one go.
Returning to hell, I sat at my desk.
*I didn't realize secretary was such a hard job.* | The first time was a sarcophagus.
I was a minor Egyptian princess, and he a stowaway on Carter's expedition—a lone figure curving away from the group and stumbling into my unmarked tomb. He lifted the gilded lid unceremoniously, with the meagre strength of a lanky teen.
Unwelcome light flooded into my resting place.
“Dude—“ I groused, words muffled by bandages, before the lid of the sarcophagus fell with a squeak.
A soft “Sorry" was all I heard, last.
——
The next: I awoke, just below an abandoned home in Salem, Massachusetts. I was faintly aware of a scrabbling noise right above me, floorboards being untacked and yanked roughly away.
Magic sang in my veins, familiar but dampened by centuries of disuse. The hangings— It all felt like it happened yesterday.
I willed my fingers to flex, but nothing moved or even responded. *This body is worse than the last,* I thought.
Something else felt familiar as well. Above.
When the floorboard was finally ripped away, I began to speak. “Do you…”
Something fell with a thud and a curse, and I was face-to-face with soil-speckled wood again.
I let out a sigh, the sound lost among the creaking of the house’s foundations.
——
I gasped to life on a table—more like a tray, with its inch-high lip—sleek metal clenched beneath my fingers, tag jostling on my ankle.
The room was bathed in a cool, blue light. But everything felt warm.
Or I was cold.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye and turned, biting out one word, “…Even—“ before he drove the silver-tipped knife into my chest.
The last thing I saw—finally—was his face in its entirety, torn between fear and annoyance.
Back to sleep, I go.
Waiting, biding, *boring.*
——
Something slid open with a mechanical hiss, cold wicking away from my body.
Time has run away from me, a slippery, finicky thing, but I was ready this time.
He peered into the cryogenic pod—why he chose to wear such a young, open face every time, the reason escapes me—and I sat up to meet him.
My fingers—icicles clung onto my hand—curled around his forearm, the contact point glowing red.
Power—*life*—surged through me.
Not enough to live indefinitely, but enough to get a few words out.
Or one: “Necro?”
His eyes widened, a foreign language tumbling from his lips. The syllables were metallic, harsh.
I reached for the knife strapped to his waist and made a small cut on his wrist. The knife made an ugly sound as I dropped it without care on the spaceship floor. Fingers dabbing at the blood, I recited the chant haltingly. I was very, very rusty.
“It’s you again!” he repeated. The difference now was that I could understand him.
“Who was your necromancy instructor?” I demanded. “You should get a refund, because you suck at this.”
He was taken aback. “How did you—“
“What, you think you were the only one who could do this?” I waved the hand holding his forearm in the air, pulsing faintly at the point where his life force flowed into me. “I tried to tell you, man, all those years. Centuries, millenniums, *wasted,* because you didn’t let me get a word in.”
Sheepishly he pulled me up and out of the pod, rubbing the back of his neck.
“So,” I began, dusting ice off my gown with a hand. My fingers were beginning to thaw. “Know anybody else’s life force we could borrow?” | 2017-07-22T07:31:01 | 2017-07-22T07:14:35 | 62 | 41 |
[WP] You are a superhero who's ability subconciously freezes time whenever someone nearby is in mortal danger. Usually its obvious who's in trouble and you can save them quickly, but not this time - it's been 10 years.
Edit: guys the responses have been amazing, some funny stories and some deeper, darker ones too! Keep them coming in, I've been reading them all! | "It has to be him..." I thought to myself for the hundred-thousandth time "Old man, overweight, sweating over his fried steak burger. What the hell do *they* expect me to do about a heart attack?"
I'm not gonna lie, it's been tough. The first 2ish years were alright. At least I think it was two years. It took me ages to figure out if I wound a clock up it'd actually start ticking. It makes sense I guess, even though time is stopped I can still throw a ball and expect it to land somewhere. After giving up the search for the dying person I really started pushing the boundaries. I experimented with how far away I was allowed to travel, messed with people, really learned about the how the time freeze works. Although if I knew that not aging during the freeze meant that my hair didn't grow, I wouldn't have drunkenly shaved it all off.
I can go three miles in any direction before I hit the "time wall" as I've been calling it. I spent a few months triangulating the center of the circle, in hopes that it would land on the person in danger, but it only leads back to the same chair that I had been leaning in, in the same corner of the same diner a decade ago.
I rarely come back here these days. It still smells like french fries even though I picked the place clean of any form of potato years ago. I just don't see the need to come around anymore, I have every detail memorized at this point. IF they're trying to get me to rescue someone and not just punishing me, then it has to be the old fatty. I give up. Again. My first guess was the dishwasher that was behind my table. He was literally inches away from my head and my marks are almost always super close to me. He was (well I guess technically still is) carrying way too many sharp dangerous knives, but the man was steady and stable, the floor was dry, and even if he was about to fall all the blades were pointing carefully away from him. I've checked, and double checked, and triple checked, and hundredth checked. I'm done. I give up. *Again*.
I wanted to save the meal I was eating before the freeze for when this was all said and done. But I'm done now. Maybe if I can show *them* I've really accepted defeat they'll let me go, or at least let me die. I'd honestly welcome either. I try to sit in my chair but it's leaned far too back for me to actually sit proper. I put it down nice and steady on on four legs and take a seat.
"Careful there bud!" Said the dishwasher as he and all around me sprang back to life. "You looked like you were about to fall right into me!"
...
...
"Ooooh... God damn it" | I tugged on the metallic door to the café and opened it, almost flying across the quiet street. Sawada was one of my all-time favorite cafes and I have decided to revisit it for old times sake. I stumbled through some intricate cobwebs artistically designed by the spiders that have moved into this place. I walked over to behind the counter, weaving my way through the stiff baristas. They stood there like mannequins, holding ceramic glasses in their hands. I stared at one with beautiful red hair burning down her head and waited. Waited for her to move. By now, I would have thought I would get accustomed to the scene of this world in still-motion. However, there is something strange about not being able to witness someone take a breath when they seem perfectly capable to do so.
I wish I could unfreeze one of these baristas so that they could serve me my all-time favorite drink, Chai Latte. It seems like that will not happen anytime soon. Plus, who knows what 10 year old coffee beans would taste like.
I grabbed a glass from a shelf under the counter and inspected the dust that pillowed on there. Using my cotton shirt, I wiped it all off only to have transferred the dust to my shirt. I turned on the tap water, praying that there would be nothing wrong with it. I mean, it is just water.
Yes. Success.
Taking my glass of water, I took a seat at one of the tables and just thought of what kind of life I should lead all alone.
My eyes wandered the vintage coffee shop and I fixed my eyes on something strangely familiar. Someone, actually. My mind began to piece things together in my mind trying to figure out who this person was. And then I remembered. They were the reason why I stopped entering this café. They were the reason why the Earth stopped revolving around the sun. They were the reason why I live in a world full of plastic mannequins. They were the reason that time was frozen. And I was the reason why it never became unfrozen.
My mind blasted back to a memory of 10 years. On one chilly autumn afternoon, I came to Sawada during my lunch break in an effort to change my environment while solving Differential Equations problems. This woman, not much older than I was, was in front of me in line ordering a Matcha Tea Latte. I recall her order because I could not help thinking why would she ever disrespect her taste buds with such an awful drink. Other than a feeling of disgust at her order, my heart began to feel discomforted. A feeling I similarly get when people are in danger. However, I shrugged the feeling off because I could not possibly imagine what type of harm this woman would encounter in a cozy coffee shop. Sitting on tables across from each other, I occasionally would peer up to make sure she was safe. She was. She was rolling her wavy brown hair between her fingers, her face illuminated by the screen of her laptop. And then she sighed.
And that sigh stopped the world.
And I just sat there utterly confused, looking in all directions of my vicinity making sure I did not miss any other form of danger. This was different. Usually the world would stop right before a fatal car accident, or before a fire would burn down an apartment. The world never stopped when I sat at a coffee shop with everyone around me sitting happily.
For nearly 7 years I explored the entire city of Chicago, trying to find the danger that paused this world. However, whatever I did was not enough to set the Earth back into motion.
I took another sip of water then placed the cup onto the wooden table. I got up from my chair and walked towards this woman who changed the balance of the Earth. I sat there on the bench next to her and became overcome with sadness. Loneliness. A desire for human connection. I wrapped my arms around her, yearning a reciprocation of the hug. I cried into her shoulders and wished for a normal life again. A life free from some random hiatus.
It felt like I was hugging a statue.
Tears streamed down my face onto the old blouse of the woman.
What was that.
I felt a heartbeat. A heartbeat that was not mine. Then I felt hands wrapping around my body.
The world was melting behind me.
But how.
The woman squeezed me tightly then pulled back from the hug and looked me straight in the eyes. Her eyes were welling up with tears.
“Thank you,” she said to me.
My body was shaking immensely and I stood to comprehend what had just occurred. The world felt frozen again.
That’s it.
She was not in some physical danger that would have harmed her body and bones. Her danger was something deeper. She was being threatened by her mind and has been psychologically beaten up. She was on the verge of being destroyed by herself; her thoughts; her expectations; her feelings.
I ran back to her.
| 2017-09-06T22:03:20 | 2017-09-06T20:40:28 | 401 | 147 |
[WP] Each planet possesses a God, which created the planets. The reason aliens won't come and visit us is that our planet's God is the most dangerous one in existence. | Terra was a crazy son of a bitch. Sure, the other gods had their quirks, Centauruses world was inhabited by sex-craved species that would make even the most vulgar of gods blush. Messier created a race that survived by eating their own feces, but Terra... no one fucked with Terra.
First the dude made these giant fucking lizards. Huge beast barely sentient that only ate, killed, fucked and repeated. That must have grown old for Terra, because he blasted the place and started all over again.
Right now he’s made a race smart like Hoags, but violent and vicious. Once they figured how to produce food en masse and learned they don’t have to kill each other for it, he introduced different versions of himself and incited them to kill each other in his name! Last I heard he was waiting to see which group would end up the victor before he showed himself again. No way in hell I’m heading back to the Solar System to check in though.
Edit: must of messed up some grammar. | "Okay, so the preliminary review places Earth at an extinction level threat. Any issues with that profile before submission?"
"Chairwoman, the Zerok Confederacy has an official statement that they'd like read into the record." The alien was a spindly collection of limbs bound up along too long a torso for survival on Earth, but perfect for traversing the less hospitable terrain of the trappist system; and while its odd angular face with an almost bird like beak would have been impossible to read for any human, the naked fear was writ plain before the other members of the Galactic Threat Assessment Panel.
"You may speak, representative Zantul," The chairwoman lowered her chitinous shoulder plates in deference and the stage lighting shifted as Zantul's platform raised slightly above the others in the room.
"Thank you, Chairwoman," Zantul nearly pecked at his podium in nerves, sending some of his looser limbs swaying as he worked into the speech, "Fellows, this council plans today to assess the Earth as an extinction level planetary threat - under this classification, all galactic life will be prevented from contacting Earth, and all Earth life will be prevented from accessing the galaxy. It is a cruel quarantine. One we have explored but rarely in our history. Always undertaken as a last resort."
Swirling his limbs he brought his gaze to bear on every member of the council before continuing, "It is not enough. This council has never faced a planet like Earth before. The exact nature of their Gods remain unknown, but there is one thing we can state unequivocally - they are cruel on a scale seen nowhere else, and that cruelty has been bred directly into their masses."
At a sharp gesture from his beak a holographic slideshow was presented before each council member, "Take first their ancient Gods. This Zeus - whose primary trait seems to have been the violent impregnation of anyone he felt like, regardless of their desires, regardless of what form he had to take - and we wonder why the humans might rape their own? Look to their so called "Abrahamic" religions, and a God who would sooner flood the Earth or rain fire, brimstone, and plagues down upon the Earth than simply offer unifying divine inspiration. Look to their so called gentle Gods, even their Buddhists have it in them to murder their own."
The slideshow stopped on an audacious proposal, "No friends - the humans have already proven quite willing to self quarantine and inflict harm upon themselves enough to likely solve the problem for us in another few hundred years. But I will not trust quarantine procedures on such a morally lost planet. I will not risk our galaxy to this Yahweh. I propose the creation of a new threat level, I propose taking the matter of Earth into our own hands."
The fourty-three representatives of all but one of the Milky Way's sentient species all stared open mouthed at the single bold word projected before each of them as Zantul's platform settled back to level, XENOCIDE. | 2017-11-27T05:39:19 | 2017-11-27T05:25:15 | 243 | 63 |
[WP] Aliens invade Earth. Turns out Human weapons technology is way more advanced than it should be. | Mankind.
__
For countless Millennia we have warred.
Peace being a brief respite from the routine of war.
Always pushing one another, further and further, building bigger and better weapons.
Our ventures into space a mere by-product of our advancement of war, a result of competiton between rival superpowers.
Our earliest days, evolving from hand to hand combat, swords and catapults to Air combat, Artillery and the all destroying power of nuclear weapons.
In popular culture, the idea of aliens invading is one of a underdog story for Humanity, never once did we think we would hold the upper hand. There was always some stroke of luck or chink in their armour to save us.
Because we assumed advanced space travel also advances weapons technology. That anything capable of interstellar travel would also have the firepower to match.
We were wrong. Much to our advantage.
We never thought we would be more than a match for them.
Reality is stranger than fiction.
When the tyrannical T'irex announced their invasion and demanded Earth's surrender of its resources and people.
They promised terrible things for Mankind, slavery, subjugation, extinction
The Earth refused. Their fleets arrived, they descended upon the Earth and the first battle between the two races would shock both sides.
While the T'irex mastered FTL and focused solely on its development to further spread through space. They had missed the development of weapons like mankind had.
Their large starships were no more strong or sturdy than a regular battleship, no sci-fi shields or energy weapons like you would expect. They were far from invincible.
1920's level offensive capabilities, their military only backed up by sheer force of numbers. Their ground troops armed with simple bullet firing rifles and guns, semi automatic at best, no laser or ray guns. Merely lots of them. Inferior to military grade weapons.
They had only conquered worlds with a level of advancement lower than their own, early 20th century tech at best. Relying on swarm tactics to overpower their enemies.
But Mankind was in the 21st Century.
The T'irex assumed if a species hadn't mastered space travel they were no threat to them. They had made a grave mistake.
Humanity was nothing like any species they had encountered before.
__
They made their main landing zone in the Pacific, hoping to use it as a staging area for their main force. With smaller deployments across the Atlantic and Africa and Europe.
Unaware of the technology of radar and long range surveillance. They foolishly believed themselves to be invisible.
The UN Security Council watched with anticipation as the Russian, Chinese and American fleets closed in on the invaders.
The civilian world trembled as they watched their tv screens as what they thought was Mankind's defiant last stand. Soon their hearts would be filled with hope instead of fear.
The Human Militaries approached.
Unaware of how one sided this battle was about to be. Of the paper tigers that stood before them.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmy-Aplmxo8
For the first time in Human History, Mankind faced off against an enemy that was not themselves.
Taking the element of surprise while they could. The battleships fired everything they had at the T'irex ships.
American BGM-109 Tomahawk, Russian Kalibr and Chinese C-101 cruise missiles fired off from their respective fleets in unison.
Only to be greeted with the rewarding sight of burning metal and visible damage to the Alien ships. No forcefields like intelligence had feared.
All Commanders relayed the good news
"Conventional weaponry is effective! I repeat Conventional weaponry is effective, all units! Fire at will!"
Fear turned to Courage as the Humans saw that they stood more than a chance.
The T'irex commander was frantic, no enemy force could have this kind of weaponry, no one had ever fought back this hard. He demanded the entire orbital force for reinforcements.
T'irexien aircraft poured out from the starships, only to be met with the superior countering Human fighter jets and decimating anti aircraft fire.
The alien pilots were panicking as the American F-22 RAPTORs, Russian Sukhoi SU-57s and Chengdu J-20 easily outmanoeuvred them and picked them apart.
They tried to fire back but the caliber of their ammunition was too weak to even affect the armour plating of the Human planes.
The battle had quickly turned in the Human's favour.
The T'irex ships fired their main cannons back at the Fleet, only for it to be intercepted by their anti-missile defence systems.
The Human Fleets continued their relentless assault on the invaders.
All across the world, the same outcome occurred.
Human weaponry proved far superior to the T'irex armaments. The monstrous alien force had their facade shattered as Humanity realised their true power.
Invading Ground forces in Africa and Europe were soon pushed back by the Human military.
T'irex vehicles were quickly ripped apart by Human tanks.
The T'irex come from a world with gravity far lower than the Earth's, a single good punch from a Human was like being hit by a car.
Completely outmatched worldwide. The T'irex were forced to retreat en masse.
Countless T'irex and ships were captured by the Humans.
Human scientists soon began work to reverse engineer their technology as NASA was weaponised and became part of the US Military, other superpowers did the same.
With the notion of alien life now a fact, old resentments faded, Human squabbles cooled down. Faced with a dangerous new enemy. The World sought to be ready for it. Should it come again.
If this was how powerful we were from years of fighting one another, imagine how strong we would be together?
The day the T'irex attempted to invade Earth was the day Hyenas woke a sleeping Lion and turned its gaze to the rest of the universe.
And that Lion was about to hunt. | --Somewhere behind the moon of the planet known as Terra--
Captain M'Keera Lafortia of the Vallahan Confederacy eyed the small garden world on his viewing screen aboard the "Fal'quah Moziga", the lead ship in a force of over 30 ships. The third planet from a single yellow star, it was inhabited by a primitive species who called themselves "Humans" who was just making roads into spaceflight. A quick scan showed they had no discernible weapons that could threaten the invasion force and that their world wasn't even united, with multiple nation states jockeying for power. It promised to be a great acquisition to the Confederacy as it was the only habitable planet within twenty light years in this unknown region of space dubbed "The Void".
'Perhaps the High Council will finally grant me that admiral position that was recently vacated by La'kush Tikata. Spirits know that others might try to take that position. Especially Jarnash Mobag.' the captain grimaced as he pictured the smug face of his eternal rival in command.
"Captain Lafortia, we are prepared to drop stealth shields and prepare for the invasion of the planet known as "Terra", sir." a voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw that it was his first lieutenant, Kalar Machera, a promising addition to his ship and who oversaw the orbital strikers.
"Glad to hear that, Lieutenant. Are the plans finalized?" he asked.
"Yes sir, the troops are in the landing craft and the orbital strikers are in position to destroy any planetary defenses," the lieutenant responded.
"Good. Give the order for imminent invasion. Keep the strikers in position, but don't use them until I give the order. May the spirits grant us eternal victory and bring enlightenment on these ignorant souls."
"May the spirits grant us eternal victory!" the lieutenant shouted, then pulled out a comms device and began barked orders to proceed with the invasion.
'Let's see how long this will take', he thought with a smile.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Alarms blared and explosions continued to rock the ship as the frantic captain continued to bark out orders. Men lay dying in their seats or sprawled out on the ground, with the few survivors frantically trying to attempt a crash landing on the planet's surface. Lafortia grimaced as he held his bleeding forehead, gripping onto the console as the ship begin its plummet to the surface.
The current problems started when the first landing craft began landing near the capital cities of the three nation states in the three northern continents, with the ships descending into the lower atmosphere. Dubbed the most powerful nation states, intelligence had surmised if that the 3 nation states known as the United States of America, the Russian Federation, and the People's Republic of China capitulated, the others would collapse in a hurry.
However those plans were shot when the first troops stormed out of the landing crafts. The troops assigned in the invasion of the United States managed to score some early success and catch some primitives off guard, killing them. After capturing several small areas, the primitives began forming a roadblock along some of their roads, firing back with old but very effective rifles, which fired projectiles that penetrated through the shields of the Vallahan troops. Scores of brave Vallahan troops were injured or killed in the initial fighting before the primitives retreated and the troops managed to secure the area.
Slightly better success was managed in the nation states of the Russian Federation and the People's Republic of China, with the primitives dying by the dozens as the unarmed primitives were caught off guard. However that soon ended, as what appeared to be primitives dressed in uniforms began showing up and began to engage the troops with their strange projectile based weaponry, with numerous firefights breaking out.
Just one local hour into the battle, the captain was sensing trouble and had then ordered the lieutenant to begin warming up the strikers just in case. However, just as he had relayed the order, the first explosions occurred on the surrounding ships. The primitives' aircraft, crude in design but very effective, launched dozens of their heat seeking rockets at the ships, along with mobile defense units on the ground joining in the fray. The shields of the ships were ineffective as rocket after rocket seemingly tore through the shields and blasted through the ships. The few fighter craft that were launched managed to score a few hits on the primitive aircraft, but were soon overwhelmed and destroyed.
The captain's ship was struck almost immediately in the ensuing salvo; however, being larger and armed with more anti rocket defenses, managed to hold on longer than the others. Eventually the sheer numbers of the rockets overwhelmed the defenses and they begin to rip through the ship like a knife cutting through Balgoran cheese. Any attempts at launching orbital strikers had failed with the death of Kalar, who was killed by shrapnel through his chest. The ship continued to plummet through the atmosphere, and soon Lafortia could see the lush green land of the planet below him. The few survivors frantically yelled and punched at the controls, desperately trying to attempt a controlled landing, but the ship was going too fast. The next thing he knew, there was an explosion, and he blacked out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Secret military base, near the Ural Mountains, Russian Federation.
When he came to, he was in a strange room with what appeared to a hospital, due to the abundance of medical equipment around him. However, he was chained to the bed and he had dared not move, with two mean looking primitives, dressed in all black and their faces covered, gripping those powerful weapons of theirs.
After several hours, he then came face to face with several other primitives, who were dressed in uniforms and who seemed to command a lot of respect, based on how the others treated them. Over the next several weeks, he slowly began to communicate with the primitives in exchange for food, using hand signals and slowly learning each other's languages. He learned that he was in a military base in the nation state known as the Russian Federation. The invasion had been defeated and all of of the troops were killed, injured, or were in prisoner camps. They had learned from the survivors that he was the leader of the invasion force, and was grilling him intently on all sorts of questions.
He answered most of them, mainly because he felt he had nothing to lose. There seemed to be no way to contact the home world, as all communications had been destroyed and the primitives seemed to not possess any technology that could communicate at light year speed. He would be doomed to spend the rest of his life here unless the Confederacy noticing a small invasion force going missing, which was unlikely as the Confederacy was massive. Apparently the governments of Terra were much nicer than he thought, considering that their world had just been invaded. Business had seemingly gone back to normal and his surviving troops were being treated well, if the pictures and videos that he had been shown by the primitives were true. Honestly, he had expected to be executed.
After some persistence, he learned what had happened during the invasion. Apparently the landing troops had landed in strange places called Alexandria, Khimki, and Shijingshan, with the troops in Alexandria having been killed by civilians armed with weapons of all people. He felt disgusted that they had to fight that hard against civilians. The local police forces had soon engaged them in all three cities, soon to be supported by their respective military forces within hours. The primitive aircraft and mobile defense units had moved with breathtaking speed, launching their counter attack within one local hour of the invasion. For some reason he could not comprehend, the shields of their ships and worn by their troops were ineffective against the primitive weapons. Countless engagements and battles had been fought, and this had been the most useless the shields had been. The primitives refused to answer anything he asked of them regarding the potency of their weapons and how it managed to break through.
That night, as he lay on his uncomfortable bed, he came to a horrifying conclusion. If the primitives somehow successfully managed to ever figure out how to travel into space, then the Confederacy was doomed.
| 2018-05-16T16:23:34 | 2018-05-16T16:08:07 | 105 | 45 |
[WP] Your free trial for life has ended, but to everyone's surprise, you are the first to figure out how to get a premium subscription, leaving the Grim Reaper very, very confused.
EDIT: wow I didn't expect this to get more than 7 upvotes | "How did you figure it out?" said the ominous voice, icier than all the cold contained in a thousand blizzards.
I smile warmly. "It took a little time, but it wasn't too difficult."
"You have me intrigued."
"You're immortal, aren't you? I look at you, and I see someone who has lived so long because you harvest souls. When you do it, you inherit the memories and experiences of each life. It temporarily quenches your never-ending thirst to know more, to fill yourself with knowledge of the ages. Reaping a soul for nourishment is what keeps you alive."
A sly smile curls on Death's face. "Go on."
"I am but a mere mortal. I can't reap souls or imbibe the infinite potential of its contents. My life has always been full of crippling fears. What I have always craved desperately, is to live a life without those fears and inhibitions.
So this past year, the last of my trial, I started doing things that terrified and left me unhinged at the mere thoughts of attempting them. I traveled alone to foreign lands. Jumped off a cliff into the plunging depths of a natural spring. I hated vertigo so I took up mountain climbing. I had a fear of needles so I decided to get my first tattoo. Overcoming my fears breathes new life into me. That's my secret to keep on living - dispel my fears, one little experience at a time."
The sly smile on Death's face turns into a cruel grin. "But that won't help you live forever. Some day, all your fears will be gone. What then?"
I return his grin. "Then I won't be afraid of dying either, would I? After all, is a life worth living at all, if there's nothing left to overcome?"
r/whiteshadowthebook | The Grim Reaper read aloud, "hmm, another John Smith, eh?" He checked the box. "Another one bites the dust."
In the background, *Another One Bites the Dust* plays as it always does, endlessly. Now that was a tough kill. In such a unfortunate way too. But, as the Grim Reaper must, the Grim Reaper does. This motto, etched with great neon lights above the speaker, the only lights in the darkness.
Another John Smith popped up on the list. The Grim Reaper sighted. "Another one..." he said with groan.
Rising from his seat, he grabbed a hold of his scythe and, only a foot away, swung open. The swirling mass of the universe shone into the Reaper's small black box of a home. He leaned on his scythe and waited as the universe zoomed past.
"You know, it would make things more exciting if there was other life on other planets," said the Reaper, to the God he assumed was there. "Or a quicker way to get there. It's getting kind of old."
He passed a six galaxies, four black holes, one quasar, and five planets before the green-blue marble of Earth came into sight. This sight never grew old, it was always different. A different storm, more or less ice, more or less twinkling lights. It was the journey that sucked.
"Okay, I'll knock those John Smith's off and then continue on the list," said the Reaper. He had to talk to himself to keep things straight. 10,000 years alone can drive someone crazy. If he went crazy, he'd lose the job.
The first few go smoothly. Old men, no's fuss, no last words, because they were asleep. When the last John Smith was ready, another John Smith popped up. The Reaper took care of him first and was about to move on when...
"Wait. There was another wasn't there?"
He flipped back to his listed and counted the checkmarks. Eight dead John Smith's. Eight was what he started out with. But then that last one popped up didn't it?
The Grim Reaper groaned. "So that makes nine then, right?" He scratched his skull and recounted. Eight checked. One empty. "Okay, I get it."
With a tap of his scythe, the Reaper flashed to a lush forest in Washington state. The birds were chirping, the wind rustled the leaves above and a nightmare lay at his feet.
The man was... He was torn to bits. What wasn't torn was pinned under a tree, and whatever mercy existed in this world, left his whithered old face in tact.
"It's about fucking time," the old man said. "You've any idea how long I've been waiting."
"24 hours!" said the Reaper. Perhaps his cheer would be infectious. Kind of like that infected stub where the shoulder should be.
"10, God-Foresaken, Years."
"What?"
"10 winters, 10 summers, 10 autumns and springs and where the hell were you?"
"That not right."
"I think I should know," said the old man.
He did look... Aged... Like an old cheese. A 10-year old aged cheese.
The Reaper checked his list again right when another John Smith popped up.
"Hmm, strange," he thought. "Very strange."
"Well," said the Reaper. "You're dead now." The Reaper brought down his scythe and what remained of the man's presence passed into the abyss.
"Another job, well done Reaper. Now onto the next one." He brought out his list. "Okay, so now let's get to the Jane Smiths." With a tap of his scythe, the Reaper was off again, off without a second thought. | 2019-04-15T02:05:36 | 2019-04-15T01:36:48 | 2,440 | 126 |
[WP] Animals know things by instinct. Humans lack this natural connection with their surroundings. This default skill set. So we thought until the first human crew fired up their warp drive and suddenly felt completely at home for the very first time. | Many animals know things by instinct. A terran sea turtle knows that it needs to crawl into the ocean from the moment it’s born. A terran bird knows how to build a nest by instinct - not the best nest, maybe, but it knows how to build one. A Silaxian from Gargold Prime knows, from the moment it’s born, how to navigate the treacherous cliffs and waterfalls of its homeworld. Humans don’t have many innate behaviors. They don’t have any fantastic, incredible inborn instincts.
Or so it was thought until 2235, when the first warp drive was tested. When the drive was first booted up, the pilot, one Yuri Crossfield, went off course. The test was to go from the human homeworld, Earth, to the fourth planet in their system, Mars. But Yuri was overpowered by instinct - he suddenly manipulated the controls better than the engineers who designed it could have, better than any human up to that point. He turned off all the safeties and made it to Pluto and back in under an hour.
Something about the design of a fully completed warp drive triggers a certain instinct in humans. It doesn’t trigger until all the pieces are put together, but when it does - a human knows exactly how to make the drive do anything they want, and they can control it better than a Largos with twenty cycles of training. I once saw a human pilot a ship with a damaged warp drive through a collapsing wormhole using a Sarcops control scheme. A Sarcops control scheme - they have four arms! Who the hell can do that?
A human, that’s who.
Nobody knows how humans developed this instinct. Nobody knows if they’re an engineered species, or it’s some cosmic coincidence of evolution. What we do know is that human brains are wired in such a way that they can predict the behavior of a warp drive, seconds before it happens - and that this ability doesn’t need to be trained. Human pilots can literally see the future, at least when they’re behind the wheel.
And that’s what makes them the best damn pilots in the galaxy.
---
/r/OneMillionWords | Instinct. The innate knowledge of how to do something, without the need for instruction or experimentation. Humans have to learn to talk, to walk, to run, to swim.
​
Fish are born knowing how to swim, they do not need to be taught. Birds know how to fly, when they are old enough, developed enough, they do not have to attend a course on how to fly; the wind through their feathers is all the tutoring they need.
For many generations humans have been apart from this. Apart from how to breath, eat and excrete humans lack almost all instincts. We have to be taught to walk, taught to talk.
We lack any higher form of instinct than base existence.
​
\*\*\*
​
Aboard the Daedalus Captain Reinholdt sat in his command chair taking in the stream of information racing across his data pad. With a swipe of his finger he changed the stream to notification mode, the constant stream of all the information was not useful really. It went by too fast. Notification mode meant that the officers and crewmen in each area could tag the captain in logs that they felt pertinent for his attention, while they dealt with the chaff.
​
The anticipation in the air was palpable as the crew prepared itself. The quiet buzz of voices as one crewman or another gave simple instructions, relayed information, gave affirmatives or negatives slowly settled down.
​
Engineering: status green.
​
The noise settled lower and lower, always followed by another notification on his pad.
​
Navigation: status green.
​
Medical: status green.
​
Communication: status green
​
Finally only two voices whispered among themselves as they finished last minute checks before even they went quiet and the last notification came through.
Warp: status green.
​
With the press of a button the view screen at the front of the bridge changed from the inky black expanse of space to a pale blue. A stylized Earth, haloed by 5 smaller stylized planets rotated slowly on the screen before being replaced.
​
"Captain Reinholdt of the Experimental ship Daedalus. Condition Green. Permission to begin test." Reinholdt briskly informed the collection of men and women now showing on the screen.
​
"The United Federation of Planets grants your request." Replied a stout woman of middle years responded formally.
​
"Thank you President." Reinholdt responded, snapping a salute before ending the call, the screen returning to the inky black of space. "Take us out Lieutenant." He instructed.
​
With a quick salute herself, Lieutenant Starros danced her fingers over the control panel in front of her and the Daedalus started to gain momentum. After a few seconds that felt to her like hours she spoke. "Cruising speed achieved. Ready for Warp."
​
Reinholdt smiled, looked around his crew. Each man and woman beaming with anticipation and pride even while working away at their consoles. "Take us to Warp."
​
Starros pressed a button on her console and the view screen streaked with white, then dazzling rainbow colors before slowly resolving itself in to a strange rainbow streaked expanse where inky black space once stood. An expanse that was not empty.
​
"We have contacts sir, 3 of them." A voice spoke up from behind Reinholdt's command chair, where Navigation was stationed.
​
"Confirmed sir." Joined in another voice from Communications. "They are broadcasting sir, on all bands." The voice filled with confusion continued. "Sir, they are broadcasting in Latin, and the translation software is saying that... that we need to return to our.... cell." | 2019-07-12T08:38:23 | 2019-07-12T07:41:36 | 87 | 28 |
[WP]“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.” Having read the letter, you take one surprised look at your wife and her half-dragon child. “Whoops” | "What does it say?"
"Well... here, you take a look."
I passed the scroll over to my wife, trading it for our infant daughter. Merry giggled as I hoisted her in the air, then settled her in my arms.
Haella, meanwhile, read through the scroll once, then twice, then tossed it onto the table in frustration. "How did they even know we were here?"
I shrugged, then tugged the end of my beard free from Merry's grip. She fussed at me in a drooly, burbling sort of way. "You mean you didn't leave your family a note when we eloped?"
"No, of course not. I-" Haella stopped, glared at me, and reached for a quill. “I suppose I’ll have to write them now, won’t I?”
“As I recall, you didn’t want to tell them in the first place because you didn’t know how they’d react to finding out that you’d married a dragon hunter-“
“Retired dragon hunter-“ she interrupted.
“Right, retired for…” I counted back eight months when Merry hatched, then the period of incubation, then… “at least fifteen months. Do you think they’ll trust me?”
“Either we find out if they trust you, or we find out how long your human king’s realm can hold out against my great-aunt Florina as ambassador. You’ve never met her. She’s the most excruciatingly polite, nearsighted dowager duchess you can imagine. Can you picture a forty-foot bronze dragon taking tea with the diplomats? She can insult someone so sweetly they don’t even realize it.”
Haella scrawled out a reply to the king, then started another letter to her father. She sighed. “I suppose you’d have to meet your in-laws sooner or later.”
“Just be glad my family is two weeks’ journey away. They’ve been writing, asking when they can meet the new granddaughter.” I chuckled and bounced Merry up and down a little. She burped a small jet of flame that scorched my nose, and looked very surprised at herself.
“Honey, would you mind-“
“Don’t worry,” Haella said, and got up from the table. “I’ll fetch the burn cream.” | "Whoops" Was all the Knight could say... even though they missgendered her, again.
The young woman sighed, She was one of the only female knights, yet they still referred to her as Sir. Well, it didn't bother her anymore.
The young Woman was KC Flameheart, her last name was from her Wife. Her short brown and crimson hair was a mess, her Chocolate brown and crimson red eyes narrowed.
"Hunny? What's wrong?" Said another young woman. She had tanned skined, silky red hair and golden eyes with slit pupils. There were two red horns on her head and red scales that faided into pink were spead scarcely around. The young woman had a long white dress on as she looked at KC with concern.
The young knight sighed yet again. "It's nothing Love, it just seems that your bastard of a father finally wants to see his grandchild..." KC looked at her wife, *'Thank God my sister knows magic, or else I wouldn't have been able to marry this Dragonett or have my kid.'*
"KC, hunny, you know he's the king, he's busy most of the time." The young Dragon-turned-half-human said.
"Ruby, He didn't come when Flair was born." KC said as she looked at her wife.
"I know, but Father is a very busy dragon." Ruby said, trying to reason with her wife.
"Flair is Six for the love of god, he hasn't seen his Grandchild for the six years she's been alive." KC started. "He didn't come after she was born, to any holiday's or reunions, not even to any of Flairs birthdays." KC said, as she crossed her arms.
Ruby sighed, she walked towards KC and wraped her arms around her. "I know, and that really pissed you off... but try to calm down, my father isn't the best and you know that." Ruby smiled up at KC.
The Knight sighed, as her right arm encircled her wifes waist. "I know, he's a bastard after all..." She mumbled, before she kissed her wife on the lips. "But, since he's finally trying, I'll forgive him for now."
"Thanks." Ruby said as she hugged KC. KC smiled and hugged her Wife back.
**"WE'RE BACK!!"** They heard someone yell as the door was heard opening in a slam.
Ruby giggled and KC shook her head.
"Looks like my sisters are back from their day with Flair." KC said, as she took her arms away from her wife and walked towards the living room, Ruby following behind.
"Mama! Mom! I'm home!" A young girl, with Golden wide eyes, brown with red short hair ran towards the couple. The kid had some red scales like her mama, and two red horns. The young girl jumped into the Knights arms.
"Haha! I know, welcome back Kiddo." KC said, before she kissed her daughter on her head.
"Heyah Sis!" Sishi called out. Sishi was one of KC's sisters. She was pale with light brown hair and green eyes. She wore the normal attire for a Knight, only with her staff strapped to her back.
Next to Sishi was Pan, pale skin and ebony hair and onyx eyes. She also wore armor, like the Knight she was, with her sword strapped to her back.
"Pan, Sishi, hey guys, What's up?" KC said, as she put her daughter down, who went and hugged her mama, and smiled at her sisters.
"Nothing much..." Sishi started. "So, we heard that bastard of a Father-in-law you have, has been wanting to see Flair."
"Yep, well... You two mind going with me to go and get him?" KC asked.
"Not at All, sis." Pan answered.
"Thanks guys, give me a second to get my gear." KC said, before going to her room, she kissed her wife again.
"Love birds~" Sishi sang.
"Shut up!" Ruby exclaimed to her Sister-in-law, as her face went red.
Flair looked at her mama before giggling.
"What a happy family we are..." Pan mumbled to herself as she watch Sishi cooing at her niece. | 2019-09-01T11:24:02 | 2019-09-01T10:05:32 | 300 | 42 |
[WP] You are at dinner when a stranger sits down in the booth and asks you, "Have you found the 3rd number?" You have been having a dream about cracking a safe and have only been able to discover the numbers 14 and 17 before you wake up. They place a picture of your dream safe on the table. | “Have you found the third number?”
I glanced up from my meal, startled. A man, cloaked in black, had slid into the booth across from me. He gazed directly into my eyes, unblinking.
“I...what?” I stammered. “The third...” I trailed off. The third number. Was he talking about...
The man reached next to him and heaved a safe onto the dining table. It landed with a muffled thud on the velvet tablecloth. “Have you found it?” He repeated.
I looked around the expensive restaurant. It was dimly lit and soft violin music lightened the atmosphere. No one sat near me. No one questioned the man or the safe.
I pinched myself. “Ow.” Not dreaming, then. That was hard to believe, to be perfectly honest - I had only ever seen this steel safe in my dreams before. I glanced at the lock.
000000. In the last two nights, I’d dreamed of going through enormous hedge mazes to find the safe code. I twisted the keys. “14...17...” And then? No, I did not know the third number.
“Do you know the third number?” I asked the man.
His face fell in disappointment. “No.” He sighed.
“Well, how do I figure it out?”
“The mice,” he responded sadly.
“...What?”
“The mice,” he repeated.
I frowned, thoroughly confused. “Okay...well, what’s in the safe, anyway?”
“Death.” Then he stood from the table and began to walk away.
I blinked in surprise. “Wait, no. At least take the safe with you!” I exclaimed, but he exited the restaurant and never looked back.
I turned my attention back to the small, silver box in front of me. My unfinished meal sat, untouched, nearby. First of all, the mice? What mice, exactly? This was an upscale restaurant filled with rich, important customers. I had no chance of finding a mouse here. Secondly, death. Was he serious? What exactly did that mean?
I paid the bill and carried the safe out with me. I got into my car and headed for home...and then I changed my mind and turned to the nearest pet store.
Mice, right? Might as well finish what I started.
**My first story here :) Let me know what you think!** | Who the hell are you? and get out of my booth.
Have you found the third number yet?
What? You need to leave before I scream for help.
The stranger left my booth, but also left behind a picture of the safe in my dreams.
How can that be? How did my dream come to be in a picture?
That night, I was determined to open the safe if I dreamed of it again, and I did.
Right 3 turns to 14.
Left 2 turns to 17.
Right to
Bleep Bleep Bleep .. omg time for work..
As I get up and stagger to the shower I see a glimpse of someone outside my window, I hurry over and I think it might be that weird-o from the restaurant.
As I drive to work I notice numbers on houses 1417, 14th and 17th street intersect.
I arrive at work and clock in 14 minutes late.
I must be loosing my mind, it's just a stupid dream.
Next bug for me to fix is 1417 ! Damn, this is crazy, its work, they pay me. Focus.
I begin reproducing the problem to find the solution.
The problem is in the decryption routine, when a pattern is passed in that contains 1417 it doesn't decode the password properly.
All day I work through the algorithm step by step, manually decrypting the failed password string. I finally get to the bytes containing 1417. The algorithm should shift each byte left based on their decimal representation.
0306. Multiply the first 2 bytes by 2 yields 0606. Shift right 2 bytes. 0066.
Increment to the next word, oh! The next word is corrupted, its not numbers any more, it's the userid.
I work my way back up the call stack, and realize the userid was copied to the wrong location and had overlaid the last 4 bytes of the string.
I corrected the code, and tested once more.
1417, shifted, multiplied, 0066 increment.
Next word is now 0907, shifted to 0806. multiply 08 x 2 is 1602, shift is 0162.
Code fixed !
It is dark outside as I drive home.
Fixing problems is such a rush when you work so hard, but finally find the solution.
Stop for food on my way home, Mediterranean food sounds good.
As I sit waiting for my greek salad and gyro the stranger is sitting at my table again.
Before I can ask where the picture of the safe came from he says.
Thank you. You will leave tonight. And then he walks away without a word.
I eat (famished, I missed lunch working on the bug!) but I worry this crazy person may be stalking me. He was outside my window this morning, I am sure of it.
When I arrive home I lock the doors and windows.
I get my phone set to dial the police with just a press of the button.
Nothing happens, no one is stalking my windows, but I fear to sleep.
I stay awake as long as I can, but finally I cannot hold my eyes open.
Immediately I am at the safe in my dream.
Right 3 turns to 14.
Left 2 turns to 17.
l'm still here, I didn't wake up!
Hmm, maybe like my work, Right to 09.
Still locked.
I didn't wake up, in fact I can't wake up.
All night I try different numbers, I think there is only 200 numbers just try them all.
The night drags on as I turn Right, Left, 1.
Damn locked.
Right, Left, 2..47
Locked.
I start to panic, I cannot wake up, and I cannot open this Damn safe !
Perhaps the corrupted number is after the algorithm.
I skip to 162. Right, Left, 162, and it clicks!
I turn the handle and open the safe to a bright white light.
I blink as I find I am in a hospital room, my dad is standing by my bed facing the door.
I call out, dad, in a raspy voice, but my mouth doesn't work right.
"DAD" I try harder.
He quickly turns around with a smile on his face... the same face as the stranger !
edit (ugly formatting sorry) | 2019-11-24T10:01:15 | 2019-11-24T05:54:39 | 62 | 11 |
[WP] While bored, you decide to go on Akinator and search for yourself. It gives you eerily specific and personal questions, by the end of which it correctly guesses you, by full name, along with a picture of you right now from your window. | **Is your character a girl?**
No
**Is your character in a book?**
No
**Does your character appear in a movie?**
No
*It'll never guess correctly*.
**Does your character have powers?**
No
**Does your character sometimes wear a hat?**
Yes
**Is your character a virgin?**
N—Yes...
**Is your character bored with life?**
Yes
**Does your character own a pet?**
Yes
**Does your character know they're living in a simulation?**
Don't know
**Is your character using a computer?**
Yes
**Is your character sitting by a window?**
Yes
**Your character is** ***LiquidBeagle***.
*That's me... That's me in my window... No one is there... What—How?*
**Is your character real?**
...Yes...
**Are you sure?**
Yes!
**Does your character know they're living in a simulation?**
*No! I mean ye—I don't know!*
**Does your character know they're living in a simulation?**
*What is going on—*
**DOES YOUR CHARACTER KNOW THEY'RE LIVING IN A SIMULATION?**
**DOES YOUR CHARACTER KNOW THEY'RE LIVING IN A SIMULATION?**
**DOES YOUR CHARACTER KNOW THEY'RE LIVING IN A SIMULATION?**
................................................
.
.
.
*SYSTEM REBOOT*
______
***/r/BeagleTales*** | It wasn't so much my full name or the start of a detailed biography that surprised me. Hell, it wasn't even the picture of me from right now as I set at my computer, Akinator just visible on the monitor before me.
I met both those facts with apathy, cast a resigned glance at my surroundings, and thought to bemoan the state of constant surveillance that we lived in. I didn't. I shouldn't. That was just life.
I clicked to expand my biography and see what made me -- Nick Austin, decisively nobody -- so interesting. Nothing, so it seemed. Comfortably middle of the class in both high school and college. A misdimeanor for underage drinking. That was the old me. Before everything. Now? Model citizen; quiet, passive, and disinterested in the gradual steps society was taking towards dystopia.
Dystopia? I meant utopia.
Nothing at all bothered me, until I got to the end of the blurb. There, in that same, intolerable sans serif font that the Internet seemed to have collectively decided to chisel our history in, was the date of my death.
I sighed. Not because of its proximity, mind you. Only tomorrow would be near enough, and it unfortunately was not tomorrow. Harmless side effects, the doctor had said when I brought up those intrusive thoughts.
What made me sigh and frown was its presence. The fact that there, available with just a search, was the day that the City, the State, and the Nation had collectively decided I would no longer be of use.
And you know what? That finally bothered me.
I was useful. I fed my cat. I worked my job. I watered my yard and pulled out weeds that would otherwise overwhelm my neighbor's equally manicured lawns. Like it or not, I lived and breathed society. I fit in. I didn't ask questions. I bowed my head, buckled down, and just did what I had to do.
And what did I get in return? A death day. Not near enough to be a gift, and not vague enough to lead a life of mystery and adventure. Not that I would have if I could have, but that was besides the point.
I clicked away from the information before something akin to emotion overwhelmed me. I searched for my mom. I searched for my dad. I felt a tinge of sadness as I saw dates far closer appear. And then, when I searched my name again, the warning appeared.
**Why don't you take a break?** it asked. **Take a chill pill!** Cheerfully suggested. Prompted. Ordered.
I felt the little canister of pills in my pockets. Chill pills, as they liked to call them. There was another name for them once, I swear. I couldn't remember now. But they did make me feel at ease. At peace. Accepting and loving of everything around me. As I should have been, as a member of society.
I clicked **OK** and Akinator closed and I smiled at the suggested desktop background of the Independence Day parade. Such celebration. Such patriotism and pride. And me? I could help. Surely there were weeds to pull. Work to do. A society to help succeed.
I took a pill and smiled at the calm rush that came over me.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-01-09T09:33:36 | 2020-01-09T09:32:48 | 1,195 | 163 |
[WP]God comes up with a new rule to deter innocent human sacrifices in his name. From now on, there should be TWO human sacrifices; the first will be chosen by the town as usual, the second will be chosen by the first tribute, without any objections. | “Brothers and sisters! Our beautiful village of Salem has strayed from the path of righteousness in recent years. Brotherhood and prosperity have been replaced by distrust and poverty. The harvests grow poorer with each passing year, the weather ever fiercer to demonstrate His disapproval. However! This is but a test of faith, to see if we are worthy of His mercy and generosity. I have communicated with the Lord, and He has instructed us to purge the evil that lurks within our village. For there is indeed a vile sinner that walks among us, a conniving practitioner of satanic magic that curses our livelihood with her every breath. If we are to ensure our continued existence, we must steel our hearts and strike down this icon of sin that stands before us. And so, Susanna Sterret, I hereby condemn you to death! May the Lord send your damned soul to the very depths of Hell!”
Jeers broke out amongst the crowd gathered in the town square as they hurled stones and insults alike at the young woman standing on the platform before them. The executioner climbed the steps, reaching out to tighten the rope around Susanna’s neck. But before he could do so, she shouted, “My fellow neighbors, I am not the sinner you seek! The true sinner hides himself behind the cowl of faith, whispering sweet falsehoods of divinity into our ears to fatten his own pockets! But if I cannot escape my fate, then neither shall he. I invoke my right to a dual offering as described in Revelations and select Father Parris as my companion to the slaughter.”
The clamor from the crowd quieted into murmurs as the villagers began to whisper to one another in confusion. Father Parris, his expression unchanging, replied, “Friends, do not be swayed by this miscreant’s sly misinterpretations of His holy word. It is true such a passage exists within Revelations, but remember that I am the Lord’s ordained practitioner to carry out His justice on this earth. Were we to allow every sinner to condemn His chosen ones to their own demise, who would be left to protect the innocent from the legions of sinners that lay in wait beyond our walls? Susanna’s words are nothing more than a conniving ploy to corrupt your divine protection, a final act of her insatiable lust for sin.”
Cheers emerged from the crowd again, albeit quieter than before. The priest continued, “However, I am compelled to recognize the right of dual offering. And so, I offer my slave Tituba to accompany the sinner in death. As Noah presented the burnt offerings of his animals to the Lord in Genesis, so too shall I send my chattel to the slaughter to appease Him. Gideon, bring the slave to the platform.”
The executioner stepped off the platform and walked into Parris’ estate, emerging a few moments later with a kicking and screaming Tituba being dragged across the ground. Within a few minutes, he prepared a second noose and wrapped it around the slave’s neck, tightening it until her sobs turned to choked gasps. He did the same to Susanna’s, after which he turned to Father Parris. The priest declared, “The moment of salvation is upon us, brothers and sisters! With this humble sacrifice, we are returned to His graces! No more shall we know of hunger and disease in these sacred grounds of Salem! No more!”
He nodded to Gideon, who kicked the boxes underneath the two women’s feet away from them. Two loud snaps echoed through the town square, quickly overshadowed by the mad cheers of the townsfolk as they slowly dispersed across the village to celebrate their inevitable good fortunes. Parris quietly stared at the two bodies hanging in front of him, spitting upon the ground before motioning to Gideon and returning to his estate.
But good fortunes did not come to Salem as its villagers had anticipated. For when the rains refused to appear, their crops withered away and perished before they ever had a chance to thrive. And when a pack of ravenous wolves began mercilessly picking away at the livestock, the villagers began to truly understand the meaning of starvation. And when a severe wave of tuberculosis swept through the village, it sounded the death knoll for its inhabitants as they either perished or collected their meager possessions to seek out better fortunes elsewhere. Father Parris found himself spending his final moments as a sickly mess in his bed, coughing phlegm and blood and feeling the life ebb from his body. And as he felt the tendrils of Death’s embrace wrapping themselves around his body, he envisioned the specters of Susanna and Tituba standing before him. Their sunken heads, the unmistakable mark of rope burns around their necks. Father Parris did not go gently into that good night, his soul forever damned by the knowledge it was he who had condemned the village of Salem to its bitter demise.
r/williamk9949 | **I.**
She walks listing towards the altar. Outside is chaos: townspeople line the temple streets and stir the dust. It floats like a brown cloud and swirls in the thick of summer, coating the cobbles, lining the throats of the parched zealots.
Water.
There is none to be found in the desert, but the temple is an oasis. Blood shall fill the grooves of the stone and as crimson drips down the stone tablet, water shall fill the grooves of the cobbles, seeping from the ground, a life for liquid lifeblood.
Outside is sweat and the thick muck of dry throats singing towards the sky. The sun beats like a furnace heartbeat and the zealots’ blood-thumping pulse begs for water. But inside is calm, cool, the thick masonry shielding the heartbeat of the sun.
She walks towards the altar and stumbles. Falls to her knees. Scrapes them against the porous rock. She has never seen a rock like this, with holes peppered across like a hornet’s nest. She knows a hornet’s nest will buzz in angry excitement if she approaches, but here there is silence. Here, there is peace.
Water.
It fills the pools of her eyes and drips down in a steady plink-plink on the stone. She knows what she must do but doesn’t have the strength to do it. Not yet. The zealots beat the walls and pummel the stone and it reverberates in muted echoes as she is reminded why she came here.
For him.
Not for them: the zealots or the water—those can burn with the sun—but for the one who walked before her and fell tumbling at the feet of the altar. She asks for mercy. Demands it. She tosses the knife from hand to hand. Dim light percolates through the cracks in the temple walls and glimmers on the blade.
She takes the steel, raises it, then brings it down against the rock. She throws herself—the full weight of her body pressing down on the blade—plunging downwards. Metal cracks stone. Splits rock. Her parched throat laughing, screaming, praying.
**II.**
He walks towards the ocean and dreams of home. Sand fills the gaps between his toes and he digs deep for the cool grains. The sun beat gentle on his brow. The sand is coarse and malleable, unlike the fine dust that he is accustomed to.
Besides him, a river runs screaming out into the sea. The water is cool, pure, clear as crystal glass. He can see darters flash their colors as they swim through the current. He can drink the water and know not thirst. But he does none of these.
Instead, he takes the malleable sand and clumps it. His hands are wrinkled, rough, the hands of a farmer, not an artist, but his hands work the sand regardless as he sculpts. A miniature building. A fence made of sand. A path is strewn beside. Home.
He sculpts this to remember. But the memory fades with every passing day and he forgets. The rock beside the porch he used to sit behind in shade. The field of wildflowers. The drainage ditch for floodwater. Details fade with every passing day, and he fears that soon, the only memory left will be of her: her smile, the soft of her lips, the damp in her eyes, the painful scream as he stood at the temple wall and crossed the threshold.
She couldn’t understand.
He needed to bleed for water; there was no choice. He tells himself when the sun goes down to dusk, and he stands alone on the island. There was never a choice. But if only he could have told her that he loved her, one last time, over and over, the words becoming foreign as memory.
**III.**
They stand outside the temple and it quakes. Rumbles. Rattles. The ground splits and cracks like glass as fissures emanate out from the inner sanctum. They have never seen ground hunger. But if the earth could thirst for blood, this is the way to satiate.
The ground falls out from beneath them and there is no escape. They run but the ground is faster. They climb but the earth swallows the sand, the grass, the temple walls. Even the birds are sucked in by the rushing air as the hungry maw of the earth devours.
The zealots tumble into the cracks and fall, plunging downwards until the ground swells and burps dust and the cracks fill themselves. Only the inner sanctum remains, a monument in an empty desert, and in the heat of the sun, there is silence.
**IV.**
The altar cracks and falls in three pieces. She sits on the temple ground and listens to the ethereal moan of the earth. The ground trembles beneath her and she listens to the screaming zealots. She listens as the screaming stops. Everything stops. She is alone, laying on the temple floor when she hears a single drip. A drop. Of water.
It comes from the center of the broken altar but it is bloodred. The earth bleeds. She takes the knife and plunges it back into the stone, into the heart of the rock. The drip becomes a stream, a rivulet of red water, running down the cracks, cracking the rock, until the altar splits and the floodgates open and everything flashes to white. The floodwater slams into her and throws her back against the temple walls and she cracks her head. Stars dance in her eyes as she tries to fight the surge but it drags her down.
Water fills her mouth, her ears, her eyes, and she chokes, gasping for air but finding none, her legs pumping, panic rising, pulse beating as she thrashes and thrashes. Her lungs gasp. They buckle and buck and she sputters her first breath of water. Stars dance in her eyes and she always knew the stories of drowning peacefully were lies. All lies.
**V.**
She wakes to the gentle lull of a kingfisher. Water laps at her cheeks, gentle, as she rises. It is day. The river gurgles as it ebbs towards a beach, where pristine white sand touts an endless horizon. Behind her is green, a forest, something that she has only dreamed of. Vines wrap around thickets of wet leaves. Palms sway in the air. Ferns crowd the jungle floor and the symphony of songbirds stirs her waking lullaby.
But she ignores them all.
Because he sits beside her. Young, hopeful, alive. He hasn’t aged a day. In the sand, he draws, his wet hands sculpting.
They lock eyes and sit in silence for a moment.
“I’ve missed you,” he finally says.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“With you here?”—he shrugs and smiles—"Home.” | 2020-06-18T10:15:40 | 2020-06-18T09:48:21 | 223 | 87 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!” | "Why are you still here?" The Dark Lord asked. The final party member laughed maniacally, a devilish grin sporting his scarred face. " There's no one here to stop me now!" Jacob screamed in excitement. The Dark Lord was confused, curious if the little mortal had lost it's mind now that all of it's companions were laying as defeated smears across the cavern floor. " I shall be merciful", The Dark Lord spoke softly. " I shall grant you a quick and probably painful death so that you might join your fallen Hero."
Jacob, still high on his excitement of freedom dropped the pack from his shoulders. The worn leather pack hit the granite floor with a resounding thud, the weight freed from him. " You have no idea.... NO idea how relieved I am now that they're all dead" Jacob spoke softly, reaching into his jerkin to remove a tightly rolled cigar. Placing the cigar in his mouth and glaring up at the Dark Lord, Jacob grinned.
"I have a present for you as thanks" Grabbing the pack behind him by the strap and with his barbarian like strength, Jacob heaved and tossed the pack at the Dark Lord. Both watched as it flew quickly through the air and smashed against the Lords body. The contents of the pack breaking and sounding as splitting boards as the dark oil spewed out and over the Lord. "What is this?!" cried the Dark Lord.
"Three years worth of being told I couldn't kill it with fire!" Screamed Jacob as he raised his hand and launched a gout of flame across the room. The oil lit up beautifully and the crackling flames sounded as music to his ears just as the Dark Lord added to it's symphony. Jacob closed his eyes, taking in the smell of burning tar oil and burning flesh as an opium addict would their hit.
"NOOO!!!!! IT BURNS!!!! AAAHHHH!!!!!" The Dark Lord screamed while thrashing and walking about the room. Suddenly he stopped and just watched coldly from behind the flames for a second before raising his foot and punting Jacob across the room. The squish and splat of Jacob turning into nothing but another smear echoed around the room. Waving his clawed hand at himself, the Dark Lord put out the flames.
"I swear... There's always one." | "DO you really feel you are in-charge here?" the Last member said, but with a very deep and menacing voice. The Dark Lord had lost all this words. The dead bodies of the last group of Resistance lay piled across the room, and this Member was the last of survivors. "Have you never wondered, that in the last five years, and after countless attacks on the Resistance, each time you completely wiped out the entire party, I was the only one who would return with new members of the Resistance. Or were you so blind and soaked in your power, that you never sensed that there was something greater and more powerful than you, that lurked right under you nose. Oh! I forgot, you can't do that as of now. You haven't unlocked that power yet.
The small figure of the Last member that stood near the Dark Lord suddenly started changing shape and soon he was on the eye to eye level of he Dark Lord. And before the Dark Lord could whip out his wand to cast a spell, the Last member caught his hand with one of his hand, and the other hand he casually put over the shoulder of the Dark Lord.
"You call yourself a Dark Lord! Boy, you have just scratched the surface of what real magic can do. And I spit on the legacy you have created. In my words, you have been just lucky to have survived all this time."
The Dark Lord felt powerless for the first time. He couldn't move his hand, and the other hand of the Last Member had this very soft, yet dominating grip over his neck that he couldn't risk shaking away.
"The Hero was a distraction," the Last Member continued. "I am sure you might have sensed that. He was nothing more than a pawn who was forced to believe he could be the king. All the powers that he enjoyed, he thought he was gifted. But it was just my mere mercy that I allowed him to use a little bit of my power. Alas what better way to make a man believe that he was the chosen one than give him something which others lack. You creatures are so naïve and foolish. " There was a slight smile on the face of the Last Member.
"There's no one to stop me NOW," the Last Member said in a very menacing voice and as his grip tightened over the neck of the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord gave his final fight. The Dark Lord sensed a moment of weakness as the Last Member started reciting his grand plan, and with a flick he freed his wand hand from the grip of the Member and casted a spell that separated the two. He was the Dark Lord, the conqueror of this word, and he wouldn't let a psycho-maniac make him feel any less powerful.
"I though I killed all your kind?" Dark Lord screamed from the distance.
"You think you really can! We are your ancestors; we are the pure wizards. We are the ones you use to channel your power. We gave birth to your kind. And you think you can kill the source?" the Member screamed back. The two large figures jumped at each others, with Dark Lord holding his wand. The Member didn't need any medium to channel his power.
For the followers of the Dark Lord that were standing outside, the only thing that was visible were bright light of spells and curses that was emanating from inside the room. The battle didn't last for more than a minute. The bright light had suddenly vanished and their was an eerie silence. Then from the dense smog they could see the large figure of the Dark Lord walk out. As they moved closer to the approaching figure, the reality of the fight dawned over them. It was not the Dark Lord, it was the Member who emerged through the smoke. His figure was larger than the Dark Lord and his face had this twisted expression of gloat and disgust.
A few followers quickly sat on their knees without a word or doubt.
"I give you the same choice your Dark Lord gave me. Join me or suffer his fate," the new Dark Lord said in a deep voice. The rest of the crowd started bending their knees.
At the back of the huge crowd, two followers quickly ran to the other side of the open area, careful the new Dark Lord didn't see them.
"He cant be dead!" said one follower.
"We have to find his body. He made sure no one would be able to kill him. We have to find him," said the other.
"He cant be dead." | 2020-07-11T04:19:09 | 2020-07-11T02:49:15 | 81 | 39 |
[WP] You are a superhero sidekick that everyone thinks can predict the future. You actually can't predict the future. You're just the only person who can hear the background music. | A man flies past me, a man who I've always envied, a man who's bewildering but amazing powers have saved thousands across the five boroughs. His physique is compared to Norse legends, his speed and flight capabilities rival any machinations that Boeing could produce, women would swindle at his modelesque looks. He's known around the world as Commander Candour. A perfect gentleman. To me. He's just Alexander.
Then there was me, a chubby, glasses-wearing, asthmatic, short, flightless, weak man. I wanted a cool name to be known as. But Alexander insisted on Captain know it all. Fun. Everything pointed towards us not working together. But I did one thing he did not. I listened. I listened to the calls from the Earth, the warnings, the reassurance, anything that the Earth was willing to tell me, I would listen.
Most days all you would hear was relaxing, fulfilling, an almost nostalgic symphony of natural noises. Then it all changed New Years' Eve 2019. I was at a New Years' Eve party with my partner, (although he insisted I was his sidekick, no one would argue that point except myself of course). As the countdown started for the ball to be dropped in Times Square something happened. Earth let out a deafening and horrifying symphony, that even eight months later has continued. I never know when the next potential country or world-ending event will start next.
The date is now November 3rd, 2020. Today is the scheduled end of the 2020 United States Presidential Election. The polls have all counted. Everyone is carefully watching their news feed. Finally, it happened.
*"In a landslide victory, President Donald J. Trump has been reelected for another four-year term as our nation's President."* Immediately the horrible noise I've been listening too stops. It was so quiet that for a second I thought I had lost my abilities. After a short moment, it kicked back in. It started slow but I could tell it was going to get far worse than I've ever heard before, the Earth was screaming at me now. I turned to Alexander.
*"Why do I hear boss music?"*
This is my first ever writing prompt :D. Let me know how trash it is lol | “You’re telling me the answer is in a note from 2013?”
Exhausted, Atlan countered,
“No! For the last time the answer isn’t anywhere! I swear to god if you keep asking me to cite my answer I’m gonna go crazy.”
“Well, listen. I am Googoo and people need me to tell them what to think! My reputation hinges on it. I’m sorry that you feel like I overshadow you.”
“I swear Dennis, if you call your self by your superhero name in front of me I’ll never help you again.”
“OK OK, sorry. All of this mask talk has me thinking even regular joes need to hide their identity. Tell me about that picture though?”
“I wasn’t telling you about a picture, I was telling you about a note.”
“Aight bet. Tell me about that then?”
“Well, since I trust that you will only do what’s right with this information, and not take it to any unatural conclusion, it was the first time I smoked weed.”
“Atlan! For the last time if you don’t get to the point!”
“Steve. Dude. Chill. It’s really not that serious.”
“But you keep building up to this great unveiling of information but never give me a through line!”
“And that’s it! That’s the through line!”
About to lose his cool, Googoo stands up in frustration.
“K. Tell me what I want to know... or I will have to find a new right hand man.”
Calmly Kenny replies,
“Steve, I don’t hold what you are looking for, you’ll just be disappointed. I’m scared you may react negatively to what my note was.”
Googoo pauses for a second. He thinks about what Kenny is saying, but he cannot stop his line of inquiry.
“The public is in DANGER. Atlan, you have held my hand and helped me do truly monumental things. We are talking about the greater good!”
Looking slightly disappointed Kenny replies.
“No, we are talking about a note on my phone Steve. You really are projecting right now. But I will tell you what you want to know so badly, but you have to promise me one thing.”
Taken slightly aback, Steve replies,
“Well, I mean, I guess if you insi-“
Atlan interrupts Dennis.
“You have to promise you won’t cry.”
Infuriated, Dennis replies,
“You think I would EVER let my emotions CLOUD MY JUDGEMENT?”
Quietly Kenny replies,
“Yes.”
“Well ok FINE. I promise I won’t cry, please tell me the exact contents of your note.”
“Well shit man, I didn’t think this would become such a big deal. Now you have your reputation on the line for something as trivial as the conclusion I came to the first time I smoked weed.”
“ATLA-“
“I know I know, I’ll tell you.... so I was high, and feeling some type of groove ya know? So I drew a picture of a guy surfing in my notes app. Under that picture, I wrote ‘everything is waves.’ Thats it man..... and I know it’s hard to process, but I warned you not to get worked up about it! That idea plagued my mind for the rest of my life. When I started learning the laws of nature, they really didn’t seem wavy enough, but I took my teachers word for it. That was enough for the time being. Then we started talking about quantum entanglement and it all came back to me. The simple note I wrote in my phone gave me exactly as much solace as a PhD in physics. I don’t know how else to say it man, everything is waves.”
Atlan looked down. He felt ashamed that he had let Steve get so worked up. After all, they were childhood friends. They were always on the same page about matters of moral truth. But Atlan feared that this vibe check may be his last as Atlan. He would have to go back to being just Kenny. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but he had come to love the vicarious power of his relationship with Googoo. He had come to believe they really could right the wrongs of those that came before. And worst of all,
he had come to think that they were the only ones who could. He thought for a second, then lifted his gaze which set on Dennis’ face.
He was weeping. | 2020-08-26T16:51:07 | 2020-08-26T16:05:48 | 55 | 36 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | You know, I could have sworn I had my powers before they even manifested.
Life, after all, had never really gone to plan for me before. My parents dying in an accident, my foster home burning down, me dropping out of school, so on and so forth. A series of misfortunes, all leading up to the moment I pointed the gun at my head and pulled the trigger.
It jammed, of course.
I didn't leave the house for a few months after that.
The first time I did, though, was to the bank, where I got caught in the middle of a robbery. Somehow, the robbers ended up gunning each other down after an argument.
The next time was when I was out getting food. The Speedster had been running past towards some crime scene. He tripped as he passed me and ended up as little meat gibblets on a nearby wall.
The third... well, let's just say a city block near me was leveled with explosives from a failed hostage rescue.
Can you see the pattern now? It certainly didn't take long for the intelligence agencies to.
As you might have guessed, all their plans to take me in failed. Not due to a lack of detailed planning, but because of my presence.
It's funny, now that I think about it. I used to think I was inconsequential. That my existence meant nothing to the world. Now? The world revolves around me. As I move, so does the world, simply to avoid being anywhere near me.
Unfortunately for everyone else, my power is growing every day, and well, there's nothing I can do to stop it.
(A bit of a poor ending, I think, but the idea didn't go as I had planned.) | *Terror. Drowning in it. Feeling your legs and arms and hands tremble uncontrollably. Feeling your lips ready to cry, feeling that icy iron hand of fear grasping your soul. Begging to be allowed to scream. Only to have the hand of a man over your mouth, shutting you up.*
*Hardly being able to breath through your nose, pleading for a broader gap. Fighting, struggling, without ever saving yourself. And when you finally give up, paralyzed by terror and with tears in your eyes, when you give in to the trembling, the man will have won.*
*And he will do whatever he well wants with you. And you won't make a sound, for you will have been broken.*
*And you will lie in bed, long after he's gone, crying. Grieving for an innocence sacrificed at the altar of abuse, to a cruel, sadistic God...*
I darted up from the bed, screaming "NO". Abel, startled from his bed next to me, turned to look.
" Vania, what the fu-"
He freezes. His eyes go dim. His muscles contract, I can see it below his night gown. Without warning, he begins trembling. A tremble I knew all too well.
It was the tremble of absolute, shattering horror. The fear of expectation, knowing exactly what torturous fate awaits you, yet it delaying only by the whim of a torturer.
**Your** torturer. Your very own devil. And the once homely room becomes a dungeon, of horrors no-one but **you** will ever see.
I became painfully aware that his terror was my doing. Immediately, I tried to make it stop. I didn't want to hurt my brother. He was just trying to help.
Like an obedient dog, whatever horrors I had unleashed upon Abel's mind retreated back to me. Abel fell back, on his bed, and came to his senses. With cold sweat running down his spine, he glared at me.
**What was that, Vania? What the hell was that?"**
Gradually understanding myself, I nodded slowly. "My newly acquired power, Abel."
My voice felt different. Soft, but with an underlying harshness. It wasn't the first time I dreamt about that night. Many a time before had I felt that man's hands on me, the rough rope flay my wrists. That piece of cloth in my mouth, stopping my cries from calling for help...
And the sheer terror. Unfiltered, raw, grim. Unending. Constant. A fear that never, in all my life, will go away.
I realised, belatedly, that I was crying again. Abel came close to me reluctantly. He sat by me, and put a tender arm around my shoulders. I flinched at his touch, but he didn't move away.
"Is... *that*, why you moved back in with me?" I nod positively, unable to speak through my sobs.
Abel pulled me towards him, and, unwillingly at first, I leaned on his chest and cried. He simply hugged me, with trembling arms, and pressed me against his body.
"It's gonna be okay. Calm down, it's all over now..."
It wasn't over. Powers have influence over their master. Every time Abel controlled the water, a small portion of that feeling of drowning returned. And every time I raised a wall of horror, from then on, a part of my own trauma returned.
I would never be free of my fear. I couldn't fight it, just as though Abel couldn't fight it that very night. I couldn't escape, just like he couldn't.
I was trapped. And that, for all intents and purposes, was *horrifying*... | 2021-04-01T03:34:19 | 2021-03-31T22:15:25 | 133 | 43 |
[WP] "Our greatest feat was switching all the fairytale books and history books, once upon a time. Now they've so muddied the truth with fiction that they'll never learn it." "This is a good thing?" "Good lord, yes. Have you seen the history they THINK is real? Imagine what they'll do with reality." | It was the dead of night, and there was no innocuous reason for two suit-clad figures to be lurking outside of a 68-year-old man's home. Yet there they were, hiding in the bushes, painting a scene straight out of Men In Black. The resemblance wasn't surprising, fiction often has a basis in truth.
Gretel tapped her sunglasses, activating the infrared sensors. "The target’s in the second bedroom on the right.
He’s got decent security, we need to be in and out, fast. No snacking on the house this time.”
If Hansel's eyes were visible behind his own sunglasses, she'd have seen them twitch. “I tried to eat *one* house, Gretel. Just one *gingerbread* house. You always bring this up. Look, I stand by my actions, okay? If you make a distinctly edible house, you can't be upset when someone tries to eat it! I mean, what else was it meant for? Gingerbread has no structural qualities. Its tensile strength is laughable, it's not weather resistant, and—”
“Look I’m just saying," Gretel interrupted, having heard this tirade many times before. "There’s no room for error here. This man may not be a witch, but he sure as hell knows a lot about them.”
“Right right, I know.” Hansel unholstered what looked like a large candy cane, the red and white stripes striking against the rest of his outfit.
“Oh come on!” Gretel said, exasperated. “You still have that thing? It's so untactical.”
“It’s a standard issue FIB blaster. I just had it modified a bit is all. A man’s gotta have a brand.”
“So let me get this right. You're still sensitive about the whole gingerbread house incident, yet you consider it part of your *brand?*"
"I'm not *sensitive.*" Hansel crossed his arms. "I'm just trying to set the record straight."
Gretel sighed. "Let’s just go. You ready?”
“Yes,” Hansel said firmly, then immediately hesitated. “Well, wait. Are we absolutely sure this is necessary? The man’s pretty old. He can’t be long for this world anyways.”
“This was *your* idea!”
“I know I know, but now that we’re here… well, it’s different. This isn’t some evil tyrant, this is just somebodies’ grandpa. Look he's got *garden gnomes!*”
“Even more reason to kill him, those things are so offensive to gnomes."
Hansel cracked a smile. "Check out the dopey expression that one has. It's sucking on a mushroom."
Gretel put her hand on his shoulder. "Look, don't think I feel good about this either. But you’ve read his books. He’s onto us. He’s writing full-on historical anthologies. About the *real* history.”
“Right, but everyone thinks they’re fiction. It’s harmless.”
“Wrong. It was harmless *before* they became international best sellers. It was harmless *before* they were adapted to television. It was harmless *before* that adaptation captivated the entire damn world, Hansel. Now, he’s a liability. Besides, he’s obviously not spinning yarn. Every detail this man writes has been accurate to a tee. He knows something, and he’s trying to get the word out.”
Hansel nodded, steeling himself. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Then, he hesitated again. “But what if there’s another way?”
“Like what?”
“What if he *stops* writing?”
“Like if we break his fingers?”
"No! Well... maybe. First let's try a more subtle approach. Hear me out. Anytime he gets in the mood to write, we distract him. We summon a majestic herd of deer past his window. We throw rocks to break his concentration. Hell, we could even initiate a whole robocall campaign. We keep that up for ten to twenty years until he passes away naturally, and voila. No harm done.”
“What about the TV show? At the current rate, the whole world will be talking about the next season.”
“We’ll circle up with FIB, I’m sure the agency has contacts in Hollywood. We could sabotage the whole production and make the finale so unsatisfying the show loses all appeal. Seriously sis, I think it could work.”
Gretel sighed, looked back up at the house, and whispered. “*You’re on thin ice, George R. R. Martin.*”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
Narrated by u/blu_ski [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1J2egUGZpk) | “The Illusionist is in place in New Mexico, T minus ten to test start.”
Julius’s voice boomed through the deepness of the bunker. They were so far below Manhattan’s streets that all the hustle and bustle of the greatest city in the world had drifted away. Working here, a man could be forgiven for thinking the world wasn’t so imperiled.
They’d still be fired of course, but forgiveness entailed a severance.
Julius lowered the still glowing tip of the wand from his throat and looked around at his team. They were a motley crew, some in lab coats, most in robes, all of them humming with the restless, unquantifiable energy that the world thought it had locked away.
“Will the Illusionist be able to do it?” Albert asked, creeping up on Julius’s right.
“Harry’s the best, if anyone can craft a fiction those saps will believe it’s him.” Julius glanced at his partner, but only for a moment, confirming what horrific shape he’d taken today. Albert wore his classic full moon spectacles on head of flyaway gray hair, but below that he sported four arms and the lower body of a spider with separate lab coat tails for each leg. Julius shuddered. The man was a genius, but most assuredly a mad one.
“And the Jerry’s? The Japs? Will he fool them too?”
“He doesn’t have to fool them, they know what we’re about, for all the good it will do them. We have the best theorists in the whole of the wizarding world right here in New York City, the Los Alamos project is a year or more ahead of Berlin.”
“I hope you’re about that,” Albert said.
Julius hoped so too. He glanced down at his watch, seven more minutes. “Places people! Enrico, get the pixie! Niels, bring the scrolls! The rest of you take your places, and if you forget your wands again may the Gods help you, I’m not restarting this countdown!”
The crew sprung into action, and as Enrico strapped the struggling pixie down in the lab’s sunken test chamber Julius closed his eyes. He allowed himself to feel excitement and fear for a few moments before any major undertaking, it sharpened him afterward, drained the nerves. Soon they’d test the greatest weapon in history of the world. Elder Magic would be swept aside, and the next century or more of terrestrial evolution would be bound to his hand. It was a lot to handle.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
“Are you ready, old friend?” Albert asked.
Julius opened his eyes and nodded, walking over to the rail above the test chamber. “Yes. Are you ready to change the world?”
“Then you think it will work this time?”
“Yes.”
“Julius, how can you be so sure?”
He fixed Albert with a stern look, pushing down the discomfort of the shapeshifter’s ever changing form. “Albert, I am quite literally Death. Don’t you think I know when my children are born?”
Albert sighed, and now it was his turn to avert his eyes. “Sometimes you frighten me, Julius. You’re Death, yes, but this? This isn’t about ending one life or ten or a hundred, this is about worlds. Are you ready to become the Destroyer of Worlds?”
“If it means winning this war? I’ll take up the mantle and never look back.”
“May God have the mercy on your soul.”
“Gods.”
“As you will.”
Julius grunted and checked his watch again. One minute left.
“Wands at the ready!”
Twenty wizards from five different species stepped forward, their wands a riotous mix of colors. Niels went among them, handing scrolls to each.
“Cast!” Julius shouted.
A great chorus rose up, reverberating off the lab’s stone walls as the wizards declaimed the Elder Tongue, mixing old words and new spellcraft for the first in living memory. The fine hairs stood up on the back of Julius’s neck, and when he looked to Albert every one of the man’s eight legs was shaking.
The wizards extended their wands and long, thin strands of light began emanating from the tips. They wrapped around other each, coiling into glowing ropes, robes weaving together into seamless panels, panels layering over each other to form a dome.
Before the dome closed Enrico uttered a little spell of his own, teleporting out through a hole in the top. “The pixie is ready,” he said. Then Niels came over and handed Julius his scroll, the only one of its kind. He stared at the words as if seeing them for the first time. He’d written many of them himself of course, but here? Now? It was different.
Tomblike silence descended over the lab, broken only by the pixie's occasional squeals. Julius’s checked his watch one last time, he was a minute past.
“Late, I shouldn’t be late,” he muttered.
“Julius you don’t have too—”
Julius cut Albert off with a sharp wave of his hand, then he too stepped up, body pressed against the rail, eyes glued to the little red and yellow pixie strapped down on its table.
And then he began his chant, and if he’d thought the others filled the room before, this one shook him to the very depths of his soul.
The Elder Tongue fell from his lips like hammer blows, syllables twisted as they’d never meant to have been, and on the table below the little pixie went still.
Seconds passed in agony, waiting, praying that it would work.
Then the pixie’s skin began to bubble. Its belly distended, growing twice its size and then again. It made was no longer a squeal, but instead uttered the most guttural, raw scream any creature among them had ever heard in all their long years.
Its skin split, bones snapped, and the dust inside its body tore itself apart at a subatomic level.
The explosion of the pixie’s death rocked the bunker, throwing wizards to the ground despite their shield. Dust filled the lab, and a part of Julius lit up as a soul departed from one of his assistants, a man whose section of the shield hadn’t born enough of the blast. Julius tasted blood and spit. The tip of his tongue went with it.
“My god,” Albert whispered.
Where the pixie had been, a chasm remained. If not for the shield they’d have all died, and of the city above, who could possibly know.
“The Illusionist reports a successful show!” One of his assistants called out.
Julius nodded. “Albert,” he said, “what have we done? Was that really just one pixie?”
Albert rose, his lower body transforming back into a man’s as he took Julius by the shoulders and stared into his eyes, checking to see if his friend was ok, rubbing some of the blood off his chin with his sleeve. Then he stepped back and bowed deeply.
“I name you Death, Destroyer of Worlds,” Albert said. Enrico bowed, Niels bowed, then all the others as they struggled back to their feet.
*“What have I done?”* Julius thought.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-05-02T09:46:03 | 2021-05-02T07:55:24 | 770 | 69 |
[WP] You're living in a world where superpowers exist, and you're the most dangerous individual of all. Your power? You project an aura where all the laws of reality/normality assert themselves. You are the anti-super | "Loose Cannon" is a more accurate description of me than hero or villain. In a world of stark rights and wrongs, where justice battles evil over the city skyline, I straddle a middle-line the world chooses to ignore. You could say I, quite literally, bring everything crashing down to reality.
Governments will hire me to stop epic battles causing millions of dollars in damage and thousands of innocent lives. I'm rewarded handsomely for my efforts. What is my power, you ask? What is my superhuman enhancement? Nothing. In fact, I'm exactly the opposite of enhanced. Wherever I go, the superheroes and villains within my aura's radiance find themselves suddenly without powers. I've made many a caped crusader plummet from their flying vigil just by striding through the city streets.
I should have been happy. After all, by showing up during superhero battles, I'm able to negate much of the damage. Shouldn't that satisfy me? The problem is, for every fight I stop, two more arise. Supers seem to multiply by the day, each bringing their own misguided sense of justice with the raw power to implement it. Tyranny over the common man. Sometimes my task feels hopeless.
Flicking on the evening news, I'm not surprised to see yet another fight ripping through the skyscrapers of my city. Eaglewing versus Destructo, or something like that. With the exponential increase of superpowered people, the amount of nicknames to go around has dwindled. Thus, every time I check, the names just get more stupid.
Another thing that doesn't surprise me is my work phone ringing. My work phone is exclusively for superhero matters. I accept the call and put it to my ear.
"Mmh... Yup... On it... This one looks big, I'll want more money than that... Yeah, that works... Going now."
Employing my personal helicopter so that I can cruise over the traffic jam of panicked citizens trying to escape the city, I fly towards the fight. The sonic booms from superpowered punches are nothing new to me; I always wear ear protection. Soon, I can see Eaglewing and Destructo hovering in the air by each other, probably monologuing. Not wanting to kill them by coming too close, sending them falling to their deaths, I wait for the two jerks to notice me. Eventually they do, and in their panic they immediately forget their fight and fly to the ground as fast as possible. Chuckling, I fly close enough to efface their powers just as they are about to reach the ground so that they feel a *little* pain from the fall.
"This show is over, time to pack it up," I tell them as they each writhe on the rubble-strewn street, groaning in agony their enhanced bodies aren't used to.
Eaglewing was the first to respond. She sat up, clutching her right arm. "You have to listen Eraser,"-- that was the first time I'd heard that nickname and was quite pleased -- "Destructo was planning on nuking the country if I didn't intervene!"
"Let me get this straight," I said. By now, the helicopter was parked on the clearest patch of road I could find, and I was standing over the two fallen supers, my hands in my pockets. "You want to stop Destructo from wrecking this place, and to stop him, you decide to wreck this place in a horrible battle."
This seemed to wake her up. She looked around, and based on her reaction, understood the enormity of the carnage she had caused for the first time. "I... I..."
Ignoring her, I turned to the villain. "And you Destructo! What use to you is nuking a country? Does that bring you some kind of misguided satisfaction?"
"It's not like that..." he mumbled, massaging a hurt leg.
Moving my hands to my hips, I demanded, "Why are you *really* fighting?"
There was a pause, and then Destructo admitted, "I like fighting. It makes me feel powerful. I never actually was going to nuke the country. Since when have my evil plans worked? I just want the fight."
Eaglewing also confessed, "I felt like I needed to prove myself to the other supers. They never respected me. I thought taking on Destructo would change that."
Taking a moment to think through my response, I first tell Eaglewing, "I hope you see what you've done to this beautiful city. People live here, and you just destroyed their home and livelihoods. Consider retiring from this 'saving people' business if you aren't really saving anything but your ego."
Then, looking at Destructo, I say, "If you love fighting so much, get some buddies together and fight in a secluded area. I don't think you're a terrible guy like you make yourself out to be, so be better than this."
They both nodded feebly at me. Satisfied, I got back into my chopper and flew off. Down below, I think I saw Eaglewing and Destructo shaking hands.
Smiling uncontrollably, I realized that I had finally found a way to make a difference. | I spin the wheel of my steel and whatever vehicle. It’s a giant thing, can say for sure it’s made out of steel, but also a bunch of random crap as well. Stuff that didn’t exist on the periodic table before the Super Revolution. The government supplied it to me, so why should I know what it’s made out of? I quickly end my inner monologue about my tank, realizing that I have arrived at my job, I park between the bright yellow lines, making my vehicle screech to halt. It’s got some nice braking for such a big fella. Somebody comes up to me, asking for identification. I ignore that person, I’m the boss here, nobody should need to identify me at this point. Couldn’t care less about their safety, I’m am the walking embodiment of safety. Grumbling I walk through the sliding steel doors. I’m greeted by my assistants, Pam and Derek.
“Sir, it is not advisable for you to be walking without a protection Super near you, the risk of guns is simply too high,” Pam drones.
“I concur, Supers are not a threat, but guns are certainly a danger,” Derek mentions dryly.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever just get me to my office.”
They lead me to the back of the blindingly white room we’re in. Is there much of purpose to the giant room? Not really, but it was built just in case someone with a power that makes them giant comes in here. But it is a giant waste of my time, having takes way to long walking across the room. Halting my train of thought, I realize I am having them lead me. I storm in front of them, making them jump. I ain’t gonna have my assistants lead me, there my assistants for a reason. Soon I arrive at my office. The office door automatically opens for me, leading me to my familiar office. The one place in the building built entirely for me, that I could actually customize to my content. Naturally, scattered around the walls is some fishing memorabilia, some sports stuff, and personal stuff. I take a seat in my leather chair, practically melting into the seat. Rest, my favorite part of work.
“Go fetch me my first candidate,” I tell my assistants.
“Right away sir,” they reply, synchronization making me uncomfortable.
Making myself comfortable, I pull out my tablet out of my bag. Rubbing my hands excitedly, I turn it on. My favorite part of work, I mean it’s not really a proper job… it’s practically forced labor, freaking United Americas Federation. I pull up the video sent to me by someone less important than me. It shows me the video of subject getting captured. It’s a woman of short stature, her power is a passive. A power that is always active, seems to continually turn into spikes. And these aren’t your run of the mill spikes, they are quite big, a solid 3 feet in length. And there are maybe 15-20 at time. She was just standing around, in some sort of pain. Her neck is quite big, probably from dealing with an abnormal amount of hair. And… she fell over, it looks like she can’t even get up. So finally at this point of the tape emergency services come, and cover her head with a large helmet. Guess the hair spikes aren’t that sharp. So she’ll be here any minute.
I take a quick glance to her profile. I see that her condition has worsened this past year. Reaching the breaking point a little before the video was filmed.
I laze around for a little while, but soon I hear the familiar burst of noise that comes with many people.
I hear someone saying ”we have the patient with us.”
I sigh, and stand up. The woman on the stretcher with the oddly comedic helmet appears in front of me. Once she is set down, her helmet is taken off. Her hair is no longer turning into spikes.
“Ok she’s good,” I groan and say, “I am contractually obligated to you everyone in my vicinity how my power works. My aura sticks around someone for 2 years, 4 months, and 7 days. Through I can disable the whole sticking around part by my own will, so paramedics, you’re good. And the other lady is also good. Now please go, really don’t care much ‘bout that lady. I like my peace and quiet.
The paramedics leave, carrying a likely happy person. I hate monologuing, but I have to do every flippin time.
The days becomes a blur, like always, and all of sudden it’s an hour till I’m done. Suddenly flashing alarms go off.
An automated voice goes, “Intruder Alert.”
Honestly, something interesting happening, I’m not complaining. The automated systems will contain the intruder anyway.
Derek rushes to my side, “Please go to the safe room sir.”
“Ehhh… I’m good, this crap happened five million times.”
Nice thing about being essentially, is that people can’t force you to do that many things. So despite Derek’s incessant protests, I just take a nice seat. Watching some fun old archives of people with weird powers. Some people with shrinking heads, and some other weird stuff. Always enjoyable, but I see out the corner of my eye a head coming out of the wall, slowly turning into a full male body. Wait what, how… how… is their power not getting neutralized. Panic creeping over me, I step back.
I mumble,” how are you still using your power.”
The guy replies, “I have too many powers, please neutralize them, I beg you.”
I notice a Russian accent, and say, “ but… you’re power is not being neutralized right now, what do you want me to do?!”
Suddenly, I’m in the other persons body. And everything explodes in pain, My brain is screeching, ankles exploding, and just everything hurts. My eyes begin to pop out, hair growing, feet shirking. I feel tendons, muscles, all snapping. Every inch of my body is on fire, every nerve exploding. Soon I start to wonder how long the pain will last.
And then I’m back in my own body.
“Now that you have had taste of my pain, fix me,” the man tells me.
I focus the aura around me, it feels like water. I concentrate it all around the mans body. I hold it for what feels like eons. My body strains, my mind struggles to hold focus, but finally he breaks the silence.
He says, “stop, I am cured, thank you. I am free of my curse, at least for a little while.” He collapses on the ground. I take a deep breath and compose myself. I stand up, and am hit with a bout of curiosity. Taking a closer at his face, I confirm that he is of the Russian Federation. No wonder he had to sneak in here. I’ll have to find some way to sneak him out here. After my experience, I’ve realized something. Maybe, just maybe, my job is a good thing.
r/CascadeCorner | 2021-06-24T19:54:09 | 2021-06-24T18:29:49 | 211 | 33 |
[WP] The Society for Continued Galactic Safety strongly recommends against fighting humans, and regulations state that killing humans on worlds not already settled by humans is forbidden. Not because humans are dangerous, but because they're 7 times more likely to produce ghosts than any other race. | The derelict ship drifted into the system on a course to make orbit around the Galactic Capitol. When the ship didn't respond to hails, a defense scout was dispatched to investigate and identify the ship. Shortly thereafter, defenses were put on highest alert.
Human ambassador Julia Hernandez was not surprised to receive the summons to the Security Council. The head of the council, the multi-tentacled Golbur, bared his grinders at her as he spoke. His voice was difficult for humans to hear, but a protocol drone translated for him.
"Ambassador, we seek an explanation for why your human ship has infiltrated this system."
"Councilmember Golbur, this is the first I'm hearing of any human ship. No deliberate attack would be made by humans on the Capitol, especially not without my foreknowledge. Perhaps you could share more information about this ship you've detected?"
"The Intelligences have identified it as a Proxylon class human vessel, named Mary Celeste."
Julia sucked breath in through her teeth. "Ooooh. That's not good. I'm surprised any human would name their ship that. It's the name of a famous ghost ship from our history."
When this was translated, the entire council erupted in shouting, snarling, and flagellation. Golbur sent off directions to several military officers which the drone didn't bother to translate. Turning back to Julia, he demanded answers.
"Human ghosts are strictly prohibited in this system. Under the treaty of Centauri Prime, humans are required to keep all of these ghosts in their home systems. If this is a deliberate act of war, you will find that this council is more than capable of defending this planet from one of your ghost weapons."
Julia thought that the Galactics' obsession with ghosts was ridiculous. While they were generally governed entirely by science, they had an illogical fear of human ghosts.
"Honored councilmember, I would remind you that one of our Proxylon class vessels typically carries a complement of over a thousand living crew. I'm sure that this type of craft could not actually make it to this planet without such a crew-"
"A thousand ghosts! An invasion! You will not destroy us so easily. We shall strike back with vengeance, even from our own graves."
It took Julia several minutes to calm the council back down. "Great Golbur, I am sure this is some sort of accident. If this ship is truly dead, it is only because humans are very fragile. If you wish, I will endeavour to find a way to redirect the ship away from here."
She took out her pocket computer and connected to the planetary navigational system. She spent a long while staring at the charts, as if making orbital calculations in her head.
Julia suddenly looked up at the council. "Good news, council. I think I can send the ghost ship to the Tau Ceti system. I believe that system is currently uninhabited?"
"The Tau Ceti system has just been developed for mining and resource extraction. It was a large investment on the part of the Galactic alliance."
"My apologies, Golbur, the Mary Celeste will have to remain here then. I would recommend destroying it before it gets too close to the planet."
"But that would spread ghosts across our entire system." The drone stopped translating while the council deliberated. "Very well, send the ship to Tau Ceti."
Julia called for an Ouija board and some incense. She took great pains to lay out the ceremony of redirection in front of the council and urge the spirits to remove themselves from this system. Then she pushed the button on the transmitter hidden in her pocket.
Messages filtered into the council chamber. The ghost ship had changed course to leave orbit and exit the system.
"My great apologies, councilmembers. I am ashamed that my people allowed such a thing to happen. Our backward financial and technological condition must have led to it. Perhaps the council would like to discuss interspecies assistance grants to prevent a recurrence. I would also be happy to discuss the necessities for humans to manage the resources of the Tau Ceti system." Julia snuffed out the burning incense. She didn't believe in ghosts. | Have you ever come back to a refrigerator after an absence, and found some little thing you'd forgotten has been utterly overtaken by mold? Gauzy mounds of blue-green, tendrils of white spreading in little clouds over the surface of your forgotten sandwich. The disgust, the displeasure, the sick waste of dropping the whole affair into the garbage. That feeling was transposed into Iks!th, despite their lack of knowledge of sandwiches, refrigeration, and mold. They had been threading their Warren through underspace, diligently sewing their way through the black layer of dark matter underscoring all things. Iks!th was heading to a stone, perfectly positioned in the firmament of a little star named *Apeksesth!oth*. It was the optimal place to drop the brood that had been gnawing on the inside of their Warren for centuries. The children had a riotous culture, built off their own memories of the grand warrens orbiting inside of the nebula cloud from where they'd all come. The sovereign children, those born without gender and with that the right to rule, had finally come to maturity. But, because they were now mature the sovereigns were screaming constantly. Little wars, political disputes, the tension in the Warren would have been tolerable if Iks!th didn't have to subjected to every part of the experience. Every idea, the thoughts making up that idea, the actions making that idea reality and the consequences rendered for each and every one of their children from grub to adolescent to armored adult.
Now they were there, in the system and could finally see the stone, and their hearts sank. It wasn't much; a space elevator, mining tunnels, a couple of Warren domes and orbital craft. Humans, and their directional minds of electricity and wheels. Iks!th disinterestedly prepared a cleansing payload, releasing it from their Warren at +2% speed. That would give it time to hit, for the micro wormhole to develop and suction away their presence. The projectile would strike the elevator at the center of it's ribbon, drawing the colony up and the ships down. As the little piece of themselves accelerated away, a notification stung the back of their neck. By Galactic law Iks!th had to have a shunt implanted in their nerve column with all of the rules, doctrines and regulations. It always seemed to go off after they'd done something, forcing them to into the cumbersome task of winding backwards. They read the notification.
Task-WARNING! *related to* DOCTRINE H-112-777 *Re-inclement nonintelligent species HUMAN* (subsection non-cooperative primates 2-3 A)
SUBJECT-REMOVAL PROCEDURES ERROR
*Due to the simple nature of their Neuro-electric microbrains, humans are a species considered populous into the 7-6 category. Due to the singular nature of each microbrain they consider themselves individuals. This consideration relates to their sense of self, and the afterimage possible if members of the species are terminated. This occurs at a confirmed rate of ~1/10M individuals. When the sense of self is so great, and amplified by the harmonics of the nearby svelves, the Neuro-electric pattern can imprint itself upon the quantum foam. Such imprints are primarily observational and far less inclement than higher order beings that imprint their mind structure onto the quantum foam. However, large concentrations (+/-10B individuals) the rate of imprint can create a society within the imprints capable of disrupting activities. Consider nonlethal or coercive methods to remove humans if the area has a specific use-case. Found useful methods have been- destruction of infrastructure, interruption of resource access, and display of dark matter.*
Iks!th let a rattle form, starting in their gizzard and moving outwards to the keratin plates running along their length. The rattle, anguish and profound annoyance pictured in the clattering was echoed throughout the Warren, it's hollows producing amplifying the sound. Now, they could either abandon the stone, leave it two the paltry 2.5 Trillion monkeys occupying a 132nd of the planetoids area, or risk having to deal with their leftovers irritating the new Warren. As a new leader, afterimages of the raw pre-intelligent monkeys would have doomed them. The question was one they could not easily answer. It pressed into their soft bits, turning over and over. Apeksesth!oth was an important figure in history, and a new colony in his light would be sublime. Could they bargain, reason with the unformed minds and get them to move on their own?
Mary was at the CON of the heavy lift ship *dawn tattoo*, and was the first to see it. First there were the subgravity waves, coloring her viewfinder acid green. Then, a hellmouth formed where the waves were rippling. The prow of something vast, pushing slowly and deliberately from a patch of nothing at all. She immediately patched command into her stream, and the whole of Brewster colony knew that their time had come. Mary had been at the festival when humanity had first encountered an FTL species, two million ships linked to trade and watch a stellar nursery. She had survived the wormhole that had opened, stretching hundreds of thousands of ships into threads a single atom across. The monster didn't even notice the leftovers desperate flight. This was the end of Brewster colony, she knew that, remembered the overwhelming size and casual brutality of the affair.
Isk!th was surprised and more than a little delighted when, skittering like infants, the human colony packed up and left. The domes, disassembled. The mining equipment brought up, the elevator ribbon spooled away. All of it packed into the tiny ships, and away they went. They attempted an ansible link to them, to thank them, but the communication just seemed to slow the progress. Iks!th wondered if they understood how great a reward their sacrifice would create. The new Warren would know them and be built, grub by grub, as an honor to the tiny creatures. And finally, twenty eight grueling centuries after they had mated, Iks!th would be alone. | 2021-10-11T10:17:30 | 2021-10-11T09:05:26 | 101 | 57 |
[WP] What’s more horrifying than a biblically accurate angel shouting “FEAR NOT”? A modernized angel whispering to you “Be very afraid…” | William Montgomery preached the words of faith, and he thoroughly believed—it was difficult not to when he sat in his private jet, looking down upon a beautiful world of God’s creation.
“God is good,” he whispered to himself. William cradled a glass of 1947 Cheval Blanc in his right hand. He let his eyelids closed, and his stiff neck relaxed, cradled once more by the plush seats.
*16 million viewers in 100 countries,* he thought. *It’s been a good year.*
“He is, indeed.”
William’s eyes flitted open. There was somebody sitting opposite him.
A man sat looking out the same window, dressed in a modest white frock, lazily leaning on one upright arm with his cheek. He turned, and heaven blue eyes regarded William.
The pastor has seen piercing before. He’s given a few himself. But the stranger’s gaze was not of metal spears, but felt like laser beams burning through flesh, bone, and soul.
“William Montgomery,” he said.
It was a simple saying of his name. Yet, William felt like the words like weights crushing his heart, an inescapable, foreboding doom that made a panicked heart beat faster.
“Who in the hell are you?” William shot back. “How did you…”
William trailed off. They were 30,000 feet in the air. He looked around desperately, craning his neck and half pushing his body off the seat.
“Sit,” the stranger said.
And sat, William did. A lump formed in his throat, and no matter how hard he swallowed, it refused to go away. His lips, dry as dunes, moved with the aching of rusted gears.
“Who are you?”
“You know not my name,” the stranger said. “But you know who I am.”
He leaned forward. In a glorious instant, white wings unfurled forcefully, each feather shining like diamonds in the sunlight. The seraphic sight stunned William, who let the wine glass fall to the floor.
“William Montgomery,” the angel said. “I know who you are. You preach God’s words, do you?”
“Yes,” William blabbered. “You… you recognize that? Oh, praise the Lord. Oh, thank God. It is affirmed! It is—”
The angel snapped his fingers. All sound ceased to be.
“You speak too much, and say little,” the angel said. “I’m here to ask you to give it up. Give it all up.”
“Give… give up?” William said. “What do you mean, give up? You are here! You know my faith to be true!”
“You think you know God’s words,” the angel smiled. “And yet, you scramble to convince me and yourself. Give it up.”
“The preaching? I… I thought I was doing a service,” William whispered.
“No, the materials. This jet. Your money. The show. Give all of them up. And right here, right now, I will send you to the gates of heaven.”
Silence overtook them once more. William stared at the angel, his mouth gaping and closing, but no words came out. The angel spent the minutes completely at ease, while William fidgeted and thought. Finally, the pastor said:
“Is that a threat? Sending me to heaven?”
“Is heaven not your end goal?”
“I mean, sure,” William hesitated. “But there’s so much life left to live. There’s the trip next month. And my wife, I can’t bear to leave her. God knows what she’ll do with the show if left to her own devices. And really, the—”
“Is your purpose not to spread the word?” the angel said. “And yet, that is not why you want to remain here?”
“I mean, of course, that too! You know I exist to do that. I want to spread the word, yes! More faith, and more soldiers for God’s army!”
The angel slowly shook his head, his stoic face transforming into one of disappointment.
“I offered you redemption,” the angel said. “And you spat on it. Even if you truly stumbled to the gates of heaven and stepped through, understand that practicality demanded that you do not, and will not, find your way. Instead, you’ll be trapped within a divine maze, knowing that all you can do it watch the people who deserve it, the people who you’ve had a hand in destroying. For it is a place for the righteous, for the good, for people who have enriched others’ lives, and not spent their own in a vain pursuit of avaricious glory. Preach and pray while you remain on this realm, but know this—be afraid. Be very afraid.”
---
r/dexdrafts | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 2: Mare v.s. Tamulu)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [this story](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmzrng/wp_angels_are_thought_to_be_beautiful_while/) provides some extra context.)
**In Mare's many lifetimes, they had played a thousand roles.** Conqueror and conquered. Deity and faithful. Oppressor and oppressed. It was hard, over a lifespan longer than human civilization, to keep seeing people as people. So many of Mare's kin had fallen to seeing them as props, all the world a stage and them the only actors.
But even the greatest show needed an intermission. A space for the actors to take a sip of water and check on how the show was doing.
Mare stood in an abandoned parking lot beneath a burning, smoky sky. The city of Sacrament had been beautiful, once, before its mayor had been banished and its citizens turned to rioting. Skyscrapers now darkened with soot, unidentifiable or all-too-identifiable stains plastering the floor—Mare had seen worse collapses, but not many.
Mare had come in their rock-star guise. A shock of deliberately shaggy hair spilled over one shoulder, a guitar case still slung over their back. All of it was fake, of course, part of the show; Mare was a shapeshifter, and their body was their will and nothing more.
"You're late," their opposite number said as Mare rounded a corner. The small, colorful bird gave Mare a baleful glare. Not all of Mare's ilk had chosen human form; many of the angels had decided to take the form of an animal this time around. Actors got tired of playing the same role for thousands of years, after all. "Were you doing something?"
"By definition, yes." Mare narrowed their eyes, piercing through the bird's outer form and seeing into their soul. "Tamulu. I thought I'd be rid of you for a century, at least, when Brouhaha collapsed."
"Ah, ah, ah. That's not your line. Let me prompt you." Tamulu rippled, and the bird was not a bird but a white-robed priest, one hand a miasma of burning light. "Avast, demon! I have borne your presence for far too long! Begone with ye, begone!"
Mare rolled their eyes. Fine. If that was the game the angel wanted to play, then the devil would fall into their familiar role all the same. The rockstar's body erupted, expanding into a thing of craggy obsidian and molten beauty. "Do you really want to do this? Here? Now? In the middle of a modern city?"
The priest melted away, becoming a police officer in modern uniform. "No, of course not. That's why I'm here, after all. The old days are no more, Mare. Demons can't go around brawling with angels without getting broadcast on live TV. We have to have a lighter touch."
The obsidian monster vanished, leaving a stern-faced military man in his place. "A lighter touch? You're asking a shapeshifter to have a *lighter touch*? As your superior officer—or someone who looks exactly like them—I command you to shut your ignorant mouth. And maybe fetch me a coffee, while you're at it."
Tamulu's form blurred, becoming a young woman with empathy in her eyes and a smile on her face. "No, I don't think I will. Instead, I'll become a plucky heroine with too many tricks up her sleeve and defy governmental authority over and over again. With a *bit* too much help from her supernatural friend."
Mare inhaled sharply.
Tamulu smiled with another woman's body.
"So that's why you're here," Mare finally said.
"You've been too invested in the world of the mortals," Tamulu confirmed. "The show must go on. You're deviating from your script."
"Spare me your metaphors," Mare said. "They're *people*. Look around, Tamulu. Look at this damn city. They're suffering, *millions* of people suffering, and I have the power to step in and *help*. More than you've ever done. *Angels*, my ass."
"Ephemeral," Tamulu said, dismissive. "Your actions could draw the attention of the mortal world onto us even more than they already have. How do you think the show will fare when its props rise up against it?"
"You know," Mare said pensively, "I do think you're about to find out."
Tamulu froze, staring behind Mare with piercing eyes.
"You can come out now, kids," Mare said.
A group of civilians—people, just *people* living in the ruined hell their city had become—stepped out, armed with guns and knives and kitchen chairs.
And all of them had heard Tamulu ranting about how the *props* were out of line.
"I *am* sorry that I was late to our little meeting," Mare said. "But it took me a while to gather the posse."
"You *imbecile*," Tamulu hissed. "Setting humanity against the angels? Our kind will fall for the first time in milennia—"
"Why do you think I'm doing it?" Mare steepled their fingers. "They don't call me a demon for nothing, you know. I'm no friend of yours."
The angel stood, staring down the seething mob.
And smirked.
"Very well. If conflict is what you wish..." Tamulu's shadow lengthened as they elongated, wings and eyes and too many burning wheels to count expanding from their body. The crowd readied their guns, their modern weapons, to fight a terror of the past.
Then all at once, Tamulu imploded, and they were just a little kid. Just anyone you would see on the street, without a second passing thought.
"Be very afraid," the angel whispered.
Then they leapt into the sky on impossibly powerful legs, gunfire pelting their body like so much summer rain.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-29T09:24:33 | 2022-01-29T07:30:10 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] An enterprising mad scientist opens a shop to sell supplies to other mad scientists. However, the store becomes very popular with the local college students for cheap hardware repair, access to forbidden knowledge, and adorable mutant pets. | The bell rings, and I jolt awake. Damnnable caffeine tolerance getting the better of me again, I think. I suppose I'll just have to mutate a monster put that energy drink company to shame. I look, and see a casually dressed young woman walk up. "AH, HELLO, AND WELCOME TO PROFESSOR CARABUS' MENAGERIE OF MAYHEM AND BIOLOGY STUDY GROUPS!!" I cackle maniacally, and she smiles at me.
"Professor Carabus, I've been told you've got a litter of the cutest little two headed kittens." She says, and I sigh.
"Are you sure you can handle the needs of my dreaded Mayhem Panthers?" I ask. "You know they only take the finest in canned foods with gravy, fish flavored treats, and catnip." I say as I walk from behind the desk and lead her to a small display of kittens. They are, of course, dicephalic, but also napping in a cuddle puddle of societally disruptive proportions. It is all I can do to resist picking one of them up and playing with their little peets during store hours. She smiles and a long furred one, its feline donor an adorable ragdoll I adopted several years ago from a family that was moving across the country, walks up to her, taking the precarious wobbling steps of a freshly born kitten.
"Yes, Professor. I even have a nice, fireproof cat tower and all the sparkly sequin toys for her to play with." It reaches the glass and lifts itself up onto its rear paws and mewls at us. She gets down and puts her fingertips to the glass, and it paws at her fingertips like it's boxing her.
"Hmm..." I open the glass enough for it to push through and she picks it up carefully, and it purrs. "Looks like someone made a new friend." I say and she smiles. The mutant, of course, just curls up in her grip, and purrs some more. "Is that one the one you want?" I ask, and she nods.
"Yes, Professor." She says, and I escort her to the counter and pull out a tablet so she can fill out the paperwork with one hand while she carries her precious little monster. She fills out the paperwork, and once it's done, my register dings.
"Okay, adoption fee is... 29.99, but because it's National Adopt A Cat day, I'll give you a fifteen percent discount, for a total of 25.49." She pays with her Google Pay, and I smile, giving her a small metal ring. "And I'll throw in a control harness! Good for repelling fleas, ticks, and other vermin that would harm your kitten AS WELL AS giving it signals when you're leading it on a rampage through the city." She smiles as she puts it on the kitten, as bands of synthetic leather wrap comfortably around its barrel and forelegs.
"Who's a sleepy baby princess?" She coos at the kitten, now sleeping and purring in her arm, and I press a button to open the door as she approaches it. After she leaves, I smile.
"Well, there's my good deed for the day. Now to spin up my Gyroacceleration Cannon and spin a troublesome little rival away!" I cackle maniacally as I flip the door sign to closed, and go into the back. | Normally , you'd think it wouldn't be a great sign when your new employer asks for your signature in blood instead of ink, but Jeremy didn't think much of it.
No, he didn't ask any questions. He didn't even wince when the contract went up in smoke, and his employer started laughing evilly.
Most of us would have hesitated to work for a man in a long wizardly beard. Most of us would probably question being passed a dagger instead of a pen to sign your hiring agreement terms and benefit contracts.
Yes, his new employer was pleasantly surprised when Jeremy signed without even asking for a bandaid! *Herald would be proud of his son,* thought the old wheezing man.
Jeremy sure didn't care about recklessly signing his life away, but boy was he shaking in his shoes now. It was a lot of responsibility for a college student like himself to run the front of an *illegal* underground network for one of New York's maddest scientists. He was beyond a nervous wreck, he was actually terrified.
Yes ... er... *Illegal*...
You see ... Jeremy's dad knew a guy, who knew a guy, and so on it went knowing guys until Jeremy landed in this old creepy man's shop ... um... surrounded what appeared to be mystical creatures trapped behind glass, magical items clawing for their freedom, and all sorts of who knows what going on.
The man told him sternly if he did anything wrong, he'd seal Jeremy's soul up in one of those little two foot tall brass automatons they sold for $1.25.
Jeremy laughed, but the man sternly went back to his lair.
*Oh jeez...*
*Why did his father always set him up with jobs like this??*
*J*eremy nervously looked around as he hid behind the counter, fearfully avoiding the gaze of crystal eyes sewn into shrunken heads. Couldn't his father ever just once ask him to work for a normal 'guy he knew'? Why did his father always drag him to work in haunted car dealerships, shady Delis dealing out sandwiches and pickled souls, or horrible fish stores with fish people??
How did his father know so many shady business men, and why did they never want to hire his sister instead? His sister was even older than he was, she was tougher too!
But nooooo, his sister, the great and spoiled Jilly Stein, got to work at the family *Candy Shop.* A magic candy shop where the lemon drops give you curses? No, just a normal , nice, damn candy shop full of sweets, cakes, and happy people. Her friends coming along and hanging out by the counter getting milkshakes, you know, living the perfect dream.
Jilly got a free ride to college. Jilly had great grades. Jilly had a scholarship.
Meanwhile, here he was...
His mother always said her husband was too hard on Jeremy.
This is why the boy has anxiety problems, *Herald,* she would say.
Would he ever listen? Absolutely not!
Yes, this was a total nightmare. The basement shop with bared windows, and heavy dusty curtains blocking all sun from the street above smelled heavily of mildew and crickets. The mutant pets needed their cages changed upon the hour to keep them looking fresh - Newspaper bundles, boxes of wires, little two foot tall robots chained to the shelves, making hissing noises as they twisted and turned their metallic heads trying to get free. Magic carpets tied in bundles by ropes, their golden tassels reaching out to him as if asking for help. Books that screamed curses at you if you opened them, and evil scrolls of knowledge that thirstily catcalled you.
Potion bottles. Flasks. Boxes of gems. Chemistry looking things. Gold bars. Tacky Persian decor mixed with voodoo magic.
You get the idea. The Alchemy Store was a total OSHA nightmare. There was no way a place like this wasn't illegal.
That's when the nightmare began.
That's when a bunch of college girls came prancing down the stairs, giggling, chewing their bubble gum and sucking down bubble tea from the trendy tea shop down the street.
"uh... um miss, please don't touch the shrunken heads!" he stuttered out at the girls began twisting and twirling cursed objects in their hand, like the cellar was an off season Halloween store.
"Ma'am! Ma'am! " Jeremy cried out, trying to stop a girl from getting her arm bitten off by the adorable killer mutant kitties and the little turtles crossed with a hamster crossed with a hell demon. One taunted a three headed dog, streaming video with her tik tok cam as she poked the poor thing, and it snarled back at her.
But the oh-so spoiled girls paid no attention to the quiet goof ball with big curly hair. They laughed as they played with the strings of the haunted puppets, as the evil little dolls shrieked and hissed. They took selfies with the potion bottles that let out colorful, dangerous smoke when opened. They totally ignored the "Do Not Touch" signs on the alchemy equipment.
While Jeremy was ringing up what appeared to be a tiny sheep shrunk to the size of a gerbil, for the low, low cost of $13.99, suddenly he heard the sound of glass shattering to the floor and a loud scream.
The girls ran out of the store, laughing their butts off, as Jeremy shook with fear. In the corner he heard the sounds of a college girl sobbing.
*Oh god...the boss is not going to be happy about this!!* Jeremy thought, looking in horror as he peered at what the girl had become. | 2022-04-24T19:56:17 | 2022-04-24T19:36:13 | 63 | 27 |
[WP] It was a weapon so powerful that not even the most barbaric warmongering civilisation could stomach it. Just by building one, we struck terror in the hearts of many species. We weren't even planning on using it... | It was a weapon so powerful that it was useless. A seemingly nonsensical statement, but it was a perfect descriptor for our species' most powerful weapon.
The amount of times it has been used can be counted on a single hand, and hasn't seen use in hundreds of years. To use one, was to invite destruction not just on your enemy but on yourself.
Useless.
Nations continued to build and stockpile them, just in case, but the fewer and fewer wars were fought with much more modest tools of destruction.
When we came into contact with other intelligent life, it was a peaceful affair. Our leaders met theirs, agreements were made, and prosperity amongst a wider galactic community ensured.
Our species gained immense wealth, and immense fame throughout the galaxy. We were known as neutral negotiators, a role aided by our being politically and culturally distant from all the peoples that had been in contact for thousands of years, allowing for unbiased judgement.
Those so called useless weapons, were found to be unique amongst our kind. But their existence was kept a secret, for fear of how our friendly galaxy would react.
Our reputation changed however, when a threat emerged from beyond our galaxy. A threat that was so powerful and numerous not even the combined militaries of the galaxy could stand a chance.
We ended it, without even firing a shot in anger. We held a demonstration, and afterwards broadcast the following words throughout the galaxy, words uttered by the weapons' creator centuries ago. The words were heard by all as the invaders fled.
"Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds." | His gaze moved up slightly as an elegant figure, lithe and as pale as the moon, emerged from the hallway, their very form bearing an ethereal glow which enveloped the room in an unyielding embrace and cast a deep shadow in the furrow of his brow. His feet shuffled clumsily below the desk and his face twisted into a wry grimace as she began talking.
“Humanity stands but upon a precipice and the long night draws ever close. Even now, the demon Cu’sinthal executes his final device: the annihilation of the world. His mortal puppet Dmitri teeters on the edge of madness, cornered and desperate, his resolve weakening. The forces of democracy and justice, Dimitri’s perceived enemies, press on, intoxicated by success, and driven by an insatiable fervor.
She paused, took a few steps closer to him, and for the briefest of moments a flicker of concern poured across her face. At this point she glanced down, shoulders sagging, and was spent.
He adjusted himself on the chair, so as to face her directly, and mused on her words for a while. He stated plainly:
“I would have you continue Gabriel”
Suddenly invigorated, she resumed speaking with deliberate tones, full of wisdom and despair.
“The destruction of mankind will be absolute. Up here, in the Silver City, we will endure. Free to sing and dance while clutching to ignorance. Below our feet a calamity unfolds, and yet we remain indifferent to their suffering, our souls decaying into apathy with each stroke of the sword”
Stopping for breath, she deftly wiped a single tear away and then continued.
“Dimitri will soon commit to the unthinkable: unleashing a weapon of mass destruction upon his opponents. A global conflagration will follow. Encircling this earth with tendrils of destruction and tearing away all life. Nothing will remain. And as the sun sets on humanity Cu’sinthal’s insidious endeavors will triumph.”
He considered that for a moment.
“You would have me intervene, would you not? And yet, you know with certainty my position on matters involving earth.”
She interrupted him.
“No. I would not have you act directly. But rather through another, a being who can tip the scales towards posterity without absolving humanity from their culpability, an unseen mentor of sorts.”
“And you would volunteer yourself for this role.”
“I would.”
At that he got up from the chair and moved slowly and purposefully towards her. His hand found hers and without speaking they both walked silently out of the room.
They strolled for an epoch, and yet by a man’s watch only minutes passed, for such is the nature of heaven, where time and space are subservient to the holy powers will. Their long walk spanned a thousand dreams and they saw much: vibrant forests full of life and filled with otherworldly creatures; mountains as high as the eye could see; deserts bereft of life, and yet overflowing with an unnatural sand relentlessly making and unmaking itself into grand edifices winding into the long night.
He stopped suddenly, dropping Gabriel’s hand, and spoke quietly.
“I will indulge your request. You will be sent to earth to oppose the demon Cu’sinthal and bring balance. You will be forbidden from acting directly or unilaterally. Finally, I would have you return to the Silver City before sun’s rise on the twelfth night. If you transgress, I will forcibly extract you and your existence will be forfeit."
“I understand father.”
“It is settled then. I’ve set your translocation in motion. Go now and bring forth my justice child.” | 2022-10-31T23:35:05 | 2022-10-31T20:56:33 | 373 | 46 |
[WP] It's been 5 years since a portal to hell opened and infernal creatures dragged your spouse down in front of your very eyes. The demon before you has been trying to explain for the past hour that they are your spouse. | 5 years ago, I lost her when something opened under our apartment and she *fell* into that gaping hellish maw. I can never get that image out. Goddammit!
I looked at myself in the mirror. I had gained too much weight. I nearly lost our apartment, and I nearly lost my job. Every part of me wanted to leave to be with her again.
Just then, I heard a loud knock on the door. Max, the dog we adopted barked. “Settle down, boy. Settle down.” I told him, walking out to the door. I opened it. Fucker can try to rob me. At least if he kills me I’m with her. My eyes widened as I first smelled something sulfuric and looked at someone’s chest. Then up at a face.
It was kind of beautiful, red like the color of blood. Her nose was narrow but cute kinda like a wolf’s. Her hair was long and dark with bay wings folded behind it. I could see her midriff and she wore shorts. At least the hoofs weren’t there, just the feet.
I gulped. “C-can I help you?” Her yellow eyes raised a brow. “Steven?” She asked, her voice kind of guttural but also beautiful. My face paled and I stepped back, letting her inside. Max, ever the protector barked. “Down boy! Down!” Both of us shouted. We looked at each other in response. I furrowed my brow on confusion as the demoness poked my stomach with concern.
“This is not healthy,” she told me as Max sniffed her leg, then started crying, rubbing himself again. She smiled, bending down. “Hey buddy. How’s it going? I missed you! You got so big!” She cooed.
“Savannah?” I choked. She looked up at me with a sad smile. “Yeah,”
“H-how?”
“I was always like this… I never said anything so I didn’t want yo scare you,” she shrugged, standing up. Well, that explains a bunch.
“They called me back in to settle some things. Souls of bad people- like really bad.”
“So that’s what you meant by ‘legal assistant’. I chuckled. I paused. “So… what now?”
“We get you back in shape, fatass.” She told me. “Like, I have no intention of reading ‘heart attack’ as your cause of death.”
She made a sheepish smile. “And I think I know how,”
“You up for a walk boy?” I told the dog as her head dead-panned. “That too,” she sighed, rubbing my head. “I missed you,” | "So, I am definitely, absolutely your husband," the demon in front of me asserted, for the fifteenth time in almost ten minutes, and I do hate to say it, but even my legendary temper snapped.
"MATE," I hissed, baring a lot more teeth than I had intended and only realizing it when I saw too many reflections staring back at me out of the demon's crystalline faceted eyes.
"I- what, honey?"
"It is not /husband/, as I have been trying to explain for nearly an hour, and while I have attempted to give you the benefit of being a 33rd or further that I simply haven't met yet, you also haven't used literally ANY of our personalized nicknames and you can only use the wrong pronouns for who I married for so long before I decide you're a liar," I snarled, hands curling into furious claws.
"I'm n-"
"If you call me honey one more time I'm going to use those horns as handles and drag you down to my level," I warned, voice dropping into my chest. Why couldn't I do that when singing? But given this demon was almost three times my height, that would not be comfortable for him. And he didn't know it, but with all those spikes and spines he would be very easy to climb.
"Now, I am fully aware my mate IS a real demon. Either take me to them or send me home. I have laundry to do and a dog to walk."
"..shit. Nonbinary, should have guessed," the definitely-not-my-demon muttered, chewing a knuckles in a thinking gesture.
"STILL wrong, which makes me think you didn't hear the name I allow to be known to identify me with here in Hell."
Yeah, I was getting snippy, but again. An hour of literally talking over me. Love for my mate generated endless patience but this demon was not my mate and had reached the end of my tolerance for deliberate ignorance.
Because he still wasn't paying any attention, muttering about who to call, and who he should hand me off to like I was a bag of dog poo dropped on his porch and not a person with some idea of what I was about.
Fine. If he was going to act like a Chad, I could haul this one around in ways humans were much too fragile to tolerate.
It only took two seconds in my furious state to scale up his back, lock my knees around his neck by folding them around those convenient neck spikes so I had a firm anchor, and grab him by the horns to wrench his entire head back.
"Attention on me, you useless minion of a clerk so low-ranking humans don't even care to know their name," and this time my snarl bared teeth inches from one domed eye.
"Mmmmmy attention is 100% fully on you at this moment. Yes," he squeaked.
"Find whoever the fuck you have to in the chain of command that passes messages /up/, do you understand me? Because this message I am about to relay to you goes up to whichever Royalty has the answer."
"Yes yes yes!" Since he couldn't exactly nod, though he tried. I suspect this guy didn't know humans could be this strong. I wasn't about to enlighten him that it wasn't my stength so much as fulcrum points and a willingness to hog tie him with myself as the rope.
"Good. Tell them The Plumber is here and would like to know when she can pick up her Hound."
A lid flickered over his eyes in confusion.
"Repeat the message!" I barked.
"Ah! Uhm, a Plumber is here and wants to know when she can have her dog!"
I shook him by his horns.
"Get it fucking right, you're a demon and you're mangling TWO titles! THE PLUMBER is here and would like to know when she can PICK UP her HOUND," I snapped right in front of his eye.
"The Plumber wants her Hound!"
I sighed in frustration and my grip on one horn tightened until it creaked.
"Repeat it exactly. I am here to retrieve what belongs to me by rights, but acknowledge he has known obligations, so I need to know /when/ to retrieve him. One more time or I'm taking this weaker left side horn. The Plumber is here and would like to know when she can pick up her Hound."
He got it that time, so I let him go. He disappeared, probably to get backup, but on the off chance he'd be smart and hand off my message, making me not his problem anymore, I took a seat in a corner and pulled out my crocheting.
I did hope our mates at home would finish the laundry, though. They didn't send me home, and who knew who long this was going to take. | 2022-12-08T14:54:14 | 2022-12-08T09:22:44 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Someone breaks into your house and says, "You're my favorite character in the book! I can't let it end the way it did. I'm going to help you."
The type of person the reader is could be an indication of the genre of novel your life is :) | I couldn't decide whether I was dreaming or not. I could feel my bed, yes. From my closed eyes I could still tell that there was muted light coming from my window. Dawn? Most probably. So I guess I'm waking up.
I lay in my bed in the slowly brightening room when I heard it. Breathing. Heavy. It wasn't mine, I was sure of it. There was someone else in my room. To my right? Yes. I slowly turned my head and opened my eyes. There she was. A person. A person I have never seen before was standing by my bed and was just staring at me.
I lay there and she stood there, just staring at each other. After what seemed like hours, she spoke.
"It's you," it was almost a whisper. "You're my favorite character in the book! I can't let it end the way it did. I'm going to help you."
Gaddamfuckingshit. Not another one. | First time I saw him was before graduating high school. I don't remember why I had the house to myself that weekend, but that's when he first came.
I don't remember much from that night but I know I was so drunk when I got home, I first thought I was imagining him. I mean, because of what he was saying.
Things like "You'll be executed for raping Anna." and "That's my favorite book in the world, and you're my favorite character. I can't let you end like that."
I mean, that's insane. Rape? I wouldn't hurt a fly.
Than he made me sober up and study math. I thought he kept me prisoner, so I complied, but he left before my parents returned. I didn't tell anyone about it because I was starting to believe him. He was not only very convincing, but he knew details about me no one else knew. And he told me little things from the future that turned out to become true, too.
He came back. Made me go to college. Enroll in the army. Take a lead position in the insurgence. Become the leader of the new world. Sponsor and sustain the space programs and try to set colonies on inhabitable planets.
After that he didn't return for the longest time and I finally met an Anna: my own daughter. Her mother named her without asking me and there was nothing I could do about it.
At the same time another rebellion was in the works. While humanity progressed towards the stars there were also those who were afraid of the future and turned towards religion. It's against God to want to reach the stars. We're building another Babel tower, they said.
So the fuckers started the Armageddon. Yes, I admit I neglected Anna during those years, but I was busy with the war so don't blame me. Her mother and I split on bad terms and she wanted to keep her sheltered from the public and, I assume, me. Then we accidentally met on Saturn, in a luxury vacation resort, while I was disguised and she was using another name. We fell madly in love and we had an affair. Then we went on our separate ways. That was more than 20 years ago. There's nothing more to that story. Anna and I saw each other face to face numerous times these last couple years, since she got involved in the military but we both pretend nothing happened.
That's it until now. I haven't seen the guy since before my affair with Anna. I don't know what happens next. No matter how much I insisted, he never told me any details about my death besides that single sentence on the day we first met. So I don't know how the story ends. Maybe I'll die an old man. But I hope not. That would be a boring way to end it all. Actually, you know what? I *hope* I go with a bang. Either way, I already made into the history books.
------
-100 | 2014-04-10T12:49:50 | 2014-04-10T12:10:33 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] You are descended from a proud, powerful alien species. Retell how the humans from Earth bested your species in war.
(Inspired from the various Fuck Yeah Humanity imgur albums floating around out there) | We thought they'd surrender, like everyone else did. Once defeat was inevitable, what sane species would keep fighting? The correct answer is none, because these people, this race... It's clearly not made up of the sane. When we surrounded their colonies, they would let fly every missile at once, the combined explosion shattering the planet and crippling whatever fleet was sent after them. Long after their ships had dwindled to practically nothing, they kept fighting. And they started winning. It took a whole fleet to destroy a colony, but this tactic of theirs, this suicidal, self-destructive determination not to let us gain anything from their defeat, it was beginning to take its toll. We had less fleets than they had planets.
We thought their defeat was inevitable, but we were wrong. By the time we'd limped towards their capital, that disgusting blue-green orb, we were on the verge of defeat. Our fleet was forced to bypass many colonies, it took hundreds of years to construct what they destroyed in a day. And what did we find when we approached their capital? A shiny, brand new enemy flotilla. We never had a chance. These flostak worked themselves to death creating a new fleet in practically no time, and bombed themselves to death to weaken ours. In reality, our defeat was what was inevitable, these creatures, these beings, would rather die than lose, which is why they never lose. We've accepted our place in their empire, watching as other races make the same mistakes we did, and now... Well, we strive to emulate these things. Their victory is absolute, and who doesn't like to win? | We were torn to ribbons.
We thought we were soldiers. Our glorious warriors had seen battle on a hundred worlds, carried across the stars on shining silver vessels. A single one of our dreadnoughts was enough to drive even the most warlike of races to surrender. For six centuries, we had kept the peace on behalf of the council.
We first encountered the Humans when one of our scouts stumbled onto an asteroid mining operation in a restricted sector. The ships were operating with unshielded antimatter drives, in violation of nearly every treaty and safety convention. The patrol frigate's captain ordered them to deactivate their engines and prepare to be boarded.
When they refused, our ship opened fire, its plasma cannon disabling the primary engine on the largest human vessel, but leaving the rest of the ship intact. We had hoped to resolve a simple policing matter with minimal loss of life, and explain to a less advanced race the danger they were in.
As the frigate approached, the damaged ship opened fire, a hidden laser weapon bypassing the kinetic shields and shearing the patrol ship in half. A volley of magnetically accelerated shells destroyed what little was left.
Intent on avenging the loss of the frigate, a dozen nearby ships converged on the system to destroy the human warship.
What they found was death. The human warship had brought reinforcements of its own, four more vessels of similar size and armament. Only a single Cruiser survived to limp its way back, weapons and shields disabled, and heavily damaged.
We began retrofitting our warships with superconducting alloy armour, to counter the damage their lasers dealt. We vowed to be ready the next time we encountered them.
We returned to the system where we had first found them with an armada. Four hundred warships, the combined might of a dozen fleets. Never before had such a force been assembled, and defeat was an impossibility.
If we had realized that the weapons that had wrought such devastation on us before were simple mining tools, and the ships that had effortlessly brushed aside our attacks were merely freighters, we might have sued for peace and prevented the needless bloodshed.
They had three Cruisers and a dozen Frigates waiting for us. They could have won with half that many, but I suppose they were wary of us. If we had approached them with the same caution, perhaps we wouldn't have lost so much.
They were fast. As we opened fire, they darted and flitted among the plasma bursts and missiles with effortless ease. They continued toying with us for some time, before finally making an attack of their own.
The superconducting alloys we had armoured our vessels in proved to be our undoing. Rather than punching a hole through their targets, or slicing them in half, the lasers melted the entire outer hulls of the ships they hit. Even spread across the entire surface of one of our Dreadnoughts, a single shot from one of their weapons were powerful enough to undo twenty years of effort by our finest shipwrights in less than a minute. Not one of their ships fired more than thirty times, and not one of their shots missed. From start to finish, the fight lasted six minutes.
Of the four hundred ships that had set out, two returned.
We had no choice remaining but to sue for peace. To our surprise, they agreed to a ceasefire. In exchange for being left alone, to colonize unclaimed worlds and develop technology as they saw fit, they would leave us to our own devices as well.
There has been no official contact with the humans since, and it can only be hoped that there never will be again. | 2014-07-13T23:16:46 | 2014-07-13T23:02:39 | 61 | 32 |
[WP]An old genie grants you three wishes. After granting your first two, you tell him the third. He is horrified, and begs you to reconsider | He looked maddened. The genie’s form filled the cave and observed the human who had summoned him. He wore an elaborate set of robes, marking him as one who already had riches and power. The two most common wishes. And he looked mad. For the first time in centuries of summoning, the genie felt apprehensive.
“Found you. Found…you,” the man giggled slightly and grinned at the genie.
“Your wishes?” the genie demanded.
He wanted done with this one. There had been around ten humans who had found him in the past millenium, but none of them made him wish for the safety of his lamp such as this one. It was absurd, he was merely a human. But still, the twinge of unease came as the human stared at him with bloodshot eyes and continued to grin.
“All who take action to oppose me will be struck dead,” the man whispered. The genie felt the unease grow, but took hold of fate and twisted it to conform to the man’s will. He had heard similar wishes before, and had obeyed.
“Your second wish?” the genie asked, eager to have the man gone and slumber until the next one found him.
“Every command I give shall be welcomed, and obeyed,” the man said, and the genie complied.
He knew he was shaping this madman into a god, but found himself unable to care for it. He was human, part of their world, and far removed from his. He had crafted monsters before, though seldom one that caused him such discomfort. Never mind. It was almost over.
“Your final wish?” he asked, and repeated the warning he knew so well. “It is forbidden to wish for immortality, or a wish that allows an extension of wishes. If you wish for these things you will die.”
For the first time the man paused, and stared at the genie with narrowed eyes. “Is that all? I expected some forbidden wishes. Those are the only two?”
“Yes,” the genie said, exhausted by his brief exchange with the man. If only he could sleep.
“In that case,” the man said, and smiled once more. “I wish for you to kill yourself.”
The genie felt his vision blur, until he could only see the maddened gaze of the human. The powers that bound him screamed at him to act. In a tremendous effort of will, he staved them off – but he could not disobey for long.
“Why?” he croaked.
“I will be the last one to find you, and reap the fruits of your power,” the man said, and laughed.
“You will never know them…” the genie managed to say, but felt his voice fading as the power began to choke him. “Why…do you care? Please...I can grant you immortality, I *can* do so, if I truly wanted to.”
The man cocked his head and studied the genie before chuckling once more, and shook his head in amusement.
“Nice try. Instant death for me and a nice little nap for you. I don't think so. There will be no-one else. I will reign forever more,” the man said, and watched as the genie exploded into a fine dust.
The dull bronze lamp stood in the corner. The man picked it up, and after staring at it for a moment, smashed it against the wall. You could never be too careful with magic.
| "A genie?" The genie questioned in bemusement, his chest rising, strained countenance retreating and eyes rolling to the top right corner of his head as if to diagnose the obvious malfunction of his ears.
"A genie" the man said smugly. Satisfied with his own quick thinking.
"You.. WANT to be a genie?" The genie questioned, his face grimacing as he realised there was nothing wrong with his ears.
"Yes. Why not? Look what you can do! The power you have! The things I could do... the women I could love, the enemies I could smite, the money I could make! I want to be a genie. That is my third wish. I want to be a genie. Now." The man folded his arms and stuck up his nose as if demanding to see a manager in a supermarket.
"But... you don't understand... we aren't like you. Genies serve, we do not have our own lives, we do not feel passion, hatred, love... we do not succumb to the flaws of humanity that make you so... so... unpredictable. We are travelers, granting wishes to those drawn to us... we do not have freedom as you know it. We do not desire it. For thousands of years I have traveled, content to serve when a traveler should find me. My lamp is not just my home, it is my prison" the genie warned. His tone was somber and fearful, yet as he spoke he knew his words could not penetrate the man's growing sense of his own now unlimited potential.
"Perhaps you're just... unimaginative. Benign even. Just like humanity. I see it every day. The drudgery. The malcontent of the masses. It makes me sick. I feel trapped. I won't do it anymore. I demand the power to be something more! I demand my third wish! I demand to be a genie!" The man stomped his foot impatiently with every demand, staring menacingly in to the genie's eyes.
The genie paused and grimaced. What was he to do? The laws had existed for thousands of years. 3 wishes. That's it. No more, no less. The human speaks and the genie delivers. From the sands of Egypt to the aromas of the Orient he had traveled, granting wishes, no matter what they were. He couldn't stop, he couldn't make exceptions even if it went against his better judgement... it was not in his nature. He knew the human didn't understand. But duty often calls for tragic acts. For humans and genies alike.
"Very well". Said the genie, his face now devolving to a somber stare. "But no this, human. I warned you."
A flash. A piercing sound. The man's eyes closed. He fell. He slept.
He woke, painfully. The genie was gone. The stars that had watched their conversation like a million tiny cameras above him had gone. He found himself lying on a bright, tiled floor, a piercing, dazzling light hanging above him.
Once his senses returned he sprang to his feet, excited and ready to wield his mighty new powers.
"I wonder how it works" he thought, looking around him. He was in a peculiarly shaped room, decorated like a Moroccan market. The room was longer than it was wide, with the longer walls poking outwards, curved, fat, and rising upwards until they met in the middle directly above him, forming the roof. All the walls were golden and decorated with colorful fabrics and paintings. But he had little patients for decor, not when he had the power of the universe inside him.
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to his home. Nothing happened.
Confused, he tried again.
Still, nothing.
"I know", he thought. He tried again, thinking so hard he thought his eyes might pop out of his head, he clicked his fingers.
Still, nothing.
He clapped. He jumped. He shouted. He screamed. He begged. He demanded. He wailed.
Still, nothing.
"The genie lied" he cursed. "I have no power!!".
Once his temper subsided he reexamined the room. Suddenly he recognized its peculiar shape. "A lamp!", he thought. "I'm in a lamp".
His frustration grew. His temper flared. "But if I'm in a lamp then I *must* be a genie." Again he tried with all his power to exercise the mighty powers he *knew* were inside him. But nothing.
Again he cursed the genie that had forsaken him. He began to look for an exit. No doors. No windows. No escape.
He wept.
"My lamp is not just my home, it is my prison", the genie's words rose from his memory like smoke from a fire.
The genie had warned him. But he had not listened.
As the tears rolled down his cheeks he knew his error. Thousands of years, the genie had said. Thousands of years granting wishes to *humans.* Not to themselves.
He had become a genie, yes. But at the price of his freedom. His enemies would not be defeated. The women he loved would not be his. His lot was decided by his own hubris.
A human and a fool he had been. A genie and a trapped fool he had become. | 2014-07-26T13:49:37 | 2014-07-26T13:43:42 | 273 | 56 |
[WP] You are granted each wish in the form of an enemy | Nothing in life is free, not even magic wishes. The key is learning how to game the system.
"The strength of your opponent shall be commensurate to the size of the wish. No wish shall be granted without victory over the summoned opponent."
Any and all wishes you could choose to make, so long as you were willing to fight for it. The Dealmaker and Witness seemed surprised I found it, or even read the fine print. Then again, it isn't too surprising most don't. The Dealmaker chooses his marks well. The desperate and hungry, people who won't stop to think.
They were even more surprised when I signed it anyway. Hey, like I said, he picks his marks well. I was destitute, reduced to nothing, left on the street to die.
But unlike the others, I went in with open eyes.
I started small, "I want to find a quarter on the ground.", killed the weird, little gnat thing, then started working my way up. I stopped around the $10,000 and surrendered to the little demon dog. Didn't feel right trying to hurt a dog, and it let me know that some of the wishes, the smaller ones, don't go for a kill. Little guy stuck around afterwards too. People give me weird looks when I take him for walks, but screw them, they never had to take responsibility for a dog they spontaneously created.
I figured out the pattern and scale pretty quick. The physical objects were fairly easy to gauge, tying into their rarity and value. The abstract things: knowing the future, toying with emotions, forcing peace on a violent world, even momentarily, was Dangerous with a capital D. I stuck to as small as I could managed and still nearly had a four hundred pound, roid-raging, meth head nearly tear me in half.
But then I had my breakthrough. The cost of the wish for the physical only related to it's physical attributes. A flash drive with a copy classified information on it worth millions only had the opponent of a flash drive. A copy of a hedge fund's internal business plan or quarterly earnings report was just paper. The potential value of what you might do with it doesn't come into the equation.
So, I ground out a few thousand $10 wishes, then set up my own investment firm. Things went great. I had the inside line on any company I wanted, any research my competitors bothered to perform, and an endless cash base to cover any losses I did make through bad luck. I made more money that I could have safely wished up in a lifetime.
Sure, the SEC and jealous rivals made some trouble. 'Insider trading' and 'unreported cash flows' got thrown around a lot. Funny thing, did you know that if legal paperwork is consistently misfiled or lost, you can get just about any case thrown out of court? And that the cost of that wish is a four inch imp that gives you paper cuts?
I didn't even need to use a wish to win over the girl of my dreams. Although I did spend one to figure out if she was in love with me or my money. Three cracked ribs and a shattered femur later, I proposed. Still the best wish I ever made.
Until, possibly, right now.
See, just like how nothing in life is free, nothing in life is fair, either. You can game a system all you like, but sometimes, things still just don't go your way. Which is what happened three months ago, and led to my current situation.
Some things, you can't really prepare for. I couldn't even risk figuring out a scale for this one with smaller wishes. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I can't risk dying before I make this wish. Money can buy you the best guns, body armor, and personal combat training, (and believe me, it did), but sometimes you still have to take a deep breath, and roll the dice.
"I wish my son didn't have cancer."
Nothing in life is free, but some things are worth any price. | *bing!* The door opened to the now-familiar battlefield. I breathed in the air, stale and musty. It felt soothing, like the way an old pair of boots make a certain sound when you put then on. I looked up at the scoreboard, and it read "Player One:0 Player Two:0 Player Three:0...and so on for about sixty seconds of scrolling text. That was odd, never had to face more than one opponent before.
Then the announcer crackled onto the speakers imbedded into the suit, " And now they battle for eternal life! As you know, only one wish can be granted to the winner! Seventy-three contestants wished for it at the same time! Let's see who wins!"
The veil slowly moved down, and the giant arena stretched for what seemed eternity. I looked down and saw other cubes, each with a contestant in a brightly colored suit wearing a collar. If you hit them with your baton, the collar killed them. Survive the encounter, get a wish. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.
---------------------------
*Five...* As the announcer counted down from five, my mind started to wander a bit. It felt good to just..loosen my mind for a split-second and ease the tension that I felt; then refocus to a razor sharp point. In that split second I felt a twinge of horror, that just days ago I'd been in school reading books and being bored. It was a hot day in May, the teacher telling students to settle down and that the lessons were still important, which was a lie because they already covered all the material in the book, and I just looked at the cool breeze rustling the trees outside. I remember a flash, summer heat lightning but it looked greenish. It was weird, but I was also dozing so I chalked it up to sleepiness. I rubbed my eyes and looked around the classroom.
*Four...*
It wasn't my classroom. It was a cube, about five feet long by seven feet tall. The walls were white, blindingly so, and a voice echoed through the space. "Initializing training program..." Almost lazily, the door shuddered open and a robot was standing before me. It reached down with a whirr and clicked something into my neck, then moved into the back corner of the room, a good thirty feet away. I felt a sharp stab into the back of my neck, and a tingly sensation along my spine. It was like my back lost feeling for a second. The robot clicked away and started to him with energy, "Training sequence beginning in.."
*Three...*
"Two, one.." And it started to slowly advance towards me. I raised my hand and a baton materialized. I was a little shocked, but given the circumstances I couldn't exactly appreciate the weirdness of that, and watched the robot's movements as it approached. It shambled, like a zombie, and the servos were really straining to keep the robot stable. I listened and just, I can't explain it better but I experienced the moment with my senses. The robot was going to break down in exactly two seconds, so I moved quickly away from it. The smoke billowed from it, and within the crackling fire I heard a tinny, static-filled error message. I touched the robot with my baton and it seemed to vanish. "Training complete". I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but I was lead by flashing green lights to the next area.
*Two...*
The next area was the same as the training area. White walls, bland floors, and an empty floorspace. It was an arena, to be sure, but I stared at the far wall in confusion. Why was I here? I heard a metallic click, and an announcer's voice echoed through the air. " The wish to fight a weaker opponent.." And the transmission cut off. The far wall started to slide down, revealing a copy of the room I was standing in. There was another person, much bigger than myself, facing me. He was wearing a bright, glowing pink outfit. I kinda laughed at this, dude wearing pink isn't really scary no matter how large he is.
*One...*
I readied myself, watching his movements. His left foot was being favored a bit, meaning he'd be slower on that side. His hands were bruised, this guy was definitely a fighter. But a fighter on the mend, looking for an easy target. I knew to get on his left and strike him in the armor, I don't know how..but I knew. It happened so fast, he face went blank and he collapsed instantly.
*Fight!*
I snapped back to the present, feeling the jitters of that first fight creep into my hands. I looked out at the mass of bodies, nobody thought I was a threat, a schoolboy with a baton wasn't scary. I smirked, all I had to do was survive. Some went for the high score, others went for the kill when their target was distracted. Me, well, I just stayed out of the way. The battle fervor died down, and the pile of bodies I his behind quivered. I knew someone was making sure the bodies were all dead, so I quietly stepped away from the pile and then sprang into a short dash. I spun around to see a tired, aged man. He smiled kindly and said "Ah, such a long time yet to have. Tell me, why would you want to live forever?"
I thought for a moment, took a stride forward and answered his question. I struck my baton on his left arm, his left eye was blind. I picked that up when his right eye focused on me and his left stared blankly ahead. I felt pretty proud of myself at that moment. I looked up at the scoreboard and it said "Player one victorious". I smiled a big smile and walked back to my cube. I could live forever, now. I had time to plot the escape. It was perfect.
"Round two starting in fifteen minutes," the computerized voice said, rather unhelpfully. | 2015-05-04T10:39:59 | 2015-05-04T10:07:39 | 131 | 20 |
[WP] The year is 2779, and there are 2 men and 1 woman left on the face of the Earth.
The two men are in a standoff, guns pointed at each other's face, with the woman present. Write from whichever perspective you please. | I watched both of them as they stared each other down, sweat oozing out of them as they tried to cow the other person into giving up. Both men were filthy, their clothes in rags, but both of them wanted the prize: a moist vagina. It sounds crass, really it does, but that was basically what the fight was over.
They had originally been partners, scavenging and surveying the wastes in an attempt to survive in what little of the Earth was left; really a tragedy that one, the destruction of Earth. Huge strides had been made for protecting what was left of the environment, restoring what was damaged, and for providing food and shelter for everyone. However, like all good things, they had to come to an end at some point. This one just happened to start out as a rather ill-timed terrorist attack with a stolen thermo-nuclear device.
I looked back at both the men and sighed inwardly, I wish they would just get on with it; the human race is doomed anyway. One of them, Tom, decided to stop sweating and start shouting. I climbed out of my own head so I could listen.
“I found her first, Clark, and you know the rules,” Tom shouted as he tried to keep his gun hand from wavering. I wasn’t even sure there were bullets in it, and I know neither was Clark, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance; yet.
“You also know the rules, Tom,” Clark spat the name, “If we find something we can both use than we have to share.”
Ooh, this was a new development for these two, I said to myself. Females are just meat to them apparently. I mean, I already knew that, but it’s still nice to hear it actually spelled out for you.
“Why the hell would I share, Clark?” Tom shifted his feet to get more comfortable, signifying that he was in this for the long haul. “I found her, I pulled her out of the rubble, and you came scrabbling back with a can of beans like it was a god damned buffet line.”
“I found *food,* Tom, maybe you’ve forgotten how important that is since your dick started doing the thinking,” Clark shouted back. He had been rather proud of his beans, I will grant him that. It was also a surprisingly snappy comeback for Clark.
“Food, food, food,” Tom muttered to himself as he squeezed his gun tighter. “This is more important than food, Clark, this is about the survival of the human race!”
You know, I thought to myself, with how tight he’s squeezing that gun, I think it might actually be loaded. There is a real possibility one, or both of them, could die here. Well, fresh meat is fresh meat I suppose.
Clark laughed a deep, pleasant sounding belly-laugh. He doubled over for a moment clutching his sides before he suddenly stopped laughing and stared coldly at Tom, “You mean the survival of your human race. How many generations until the degradation sets in, Tom? Two generations?” He smirked, “One?”
Wow, I thought, another zinger. Clark is in rare form today that is for certain, or perhaps I had misjudged him. He did have a bit of a pouty face that spoke to an alcoholic mother, but apparently his brain was one of the few things not affected by this. Tom, rightfully, decided to take this personally.
“So because I’m from the mountains of Virginia, I’m an inbred hillbilly? Is that it, Clark?” Tom squeezed the gun tighter and I could see his trigger finger twitching. It was only a matter of time now. “I suppose all that good New York breeding makes you the best candidate?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Tom,” Clark said as he eased back onto his heels. “I’m saying that if we want a chance at survival, we have to both breed with the woman.”
I sighed. We were back to the female meat again. I suppose it’s only fair that the meat not get a say in all this since the men were talking. Society falls and 700 years of social progress just go out the window. Women are for breeding, and men are the strong defenders and decision makers. I did, however, have to admit that Clark was right. If they wanted to survive, they needed to increase their odds. It would get rather incestuous pretty quickly unfortunately, but what choice did everyone have?
“I already told you, I’m not sharing,” Tom hissed.
“Fuck you, you stupid—“
That was as far as Tom let him get. Apparently Tom had decided he was done talking, and he fired his pistol into Clark’s chest. Clark, dramatically, stared at the bleeding hole in his chest and collapsed to the ground.
“Finally,” I said as I stood up and stretched. I twisted to pop my back, then grabbed my scythe and walked over to Clark’s body. “Hello, you still in there?”
Tom of course didn’t hear me; he was too busy staring down at the body, a wicked grin twisting his face. He looked over at the woman who had, I suppose out of fear, not chosen to take this chance and escape. Tom smiled creepily at her and then looked back to the body. He had won the battle, I suppose, but this marked the end of the war. The girl, of course looked terrified, and rightfully so. She was about to become a human cow.
“Clark, Clark,” I whispered as I reached into the body and pulled the spirit out. “You should have watched your mouth. If you had, you might still be alive.”
Clark looked up at me and screamed. I suppose that is a natural first reaction to a grinning skull looking down at you. I suppose it doesn’t help that I still have my eyes. I feel it adds to the creepy factor. “Who the hell are you,” he shouted.
“I’m Death, Clark. And thanks to Tom over there, I am one step closer to retirement.” I brushed off his clothes a little bit, “Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can go meet the boss.”
As I opened the portal I turned one last time to see Tom forcing the woman onto the ground, his pants already around his ankles. I grimaced, but then shrugged. “One step closer to retirement,” I whispered as I pushed Clark through, and then stepped after him.
----------
[r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42) | Chuck cleared his throat, his eyes meandering up what appeared to be a woman’s badly sunburnt legs a few yards away. Her shorts were in tatters, their bottoms frayed and uneven like spools of unwound yarn. Her t-shirt, clearly taken from someone much larger than she, hung off her skeletal frame like an old, hole-filled tent. She was staring at the floor, her face just barely visible from the angle. She looked like shit, looked like she’d just spent the last sixty to seventy months doing nothing other than attending shower-less, outdoor festivals and taking stolen prescription drugs. She looked as if she’d accidentally mixed up her soap bar with a pile of dirt, and continued to make that same mistake for the better part of a decade. In any other circumstance, Chuck would’ve done his best to avoid making eye contact with her so that she would be unable able to beg him for cash. Yet as he stood there, eyes climbing up her malnourished, skeletal frame, all he could think about was how beautiful, how *female,* she looked.
“Is that another person?” Dave said, taking a step forward. “Wait, is that a girl?” He paused, left foot buried in the charred rubble of what was probably once a red-brick apartment building.
“Ughn,” Chuck said, his mind refusing to form the words he’d intended. He had wanted to scream in affirmation, to push Dave aside and charge at the female—the *living*, human female—standing just a few yards away. It had been so long since either of them had seen another person, been so long since they’d even considered the notion of repopulation. Six months? A year? Two years? Chuck was no longer sure. The only thing he knew was that a woman was standing a few yards away, and she was going to be their key to survival.
“Hello?” Dave yelled, stepping out in front of Chuck and slightly blocking his view.
The woman glanced up, her face contorting in an expression that seemed to read, “great, the voices are back.”
Chuck stepped around Dave and stared. She was definitely a woman, definitely alive. That pretty much met the only criteria he cared about any longer. Sure, back before the explosions he might’ve wanted to know her name, might’ve wanted to know her age, might’ve wanted to know whether or not she had some sort of radiation poisoning. Now, however, he just wanted to know that the word he’d use to describe her included the pronoun “her.”
“Do you speak English?” Dave said, taking another step forward. The woman continued staring at him, her eyes wide, before slowly nodding. Dave glanced over at Chuck, and then back at the woman. “My name’s Dave.”
“I’m Chuck,” Chuck said, following behind Dave, careful not to trip over one of the dozens of charred bricks lining what was once a city street. The last thing he wanted to do was fall and embarrass himself in front of his future lover.
“I’m Sarah,” the woman said, her weak and raspy, as if she hadn’t spoken in weeks. She was holding some sort of a rock in her right hand, clutching it like a weapon she knew all too well how to use.
“Are you alone?” Dave said, Chuck following just behind.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “You?”
“Just the two of us,” Chuck said, jumping up slightly so as to see over Dave’s shoulder. He hated walking behind him, hated being stuck staring at Dave’s towering back. He’d always been so damn tall, always had so at least seven inches on Chuck. Sure, it was worse when there were other people around to note the discrepancy, but it was still annoying. “We haven’t seen anyone else since, well, you know.”
“Me too,” Sarah said, dropping the rock on the floor. “I’ve been alone for God knows how long.”
“You never had anyone else with you?” Dave said, coming to a stop a few inches from Sarah’s face. She was just as disgusting up close, her cheekbones shallow and face covered in scabs and dirt. Her teeth were a dark yellow, stained with some sort of tar-like substance, several of which were completely missing. To be fair, however, Chuck didn’t think he looked much better. He hadn’t bathed since the time they found the stagnant water by the sewer exit, and he wasn’t entirely confident that qualified as bathing. He was also sure his hair looked absolutely horrible, considering the radiation had resulted in the majority of it falling out, and he knew his cheekbones were just as shallow as Sarah’s. Or, at least they had been the last time they found an unbroken store window.
“No,” Sarah said. “I’m so glad to see humans, to see *living* humans.”
“Us too,” Dave said. “Anyway, we should really get to work on repopulating the Earth. Me first.”
“Wait, what?” Sarah said, taking a step back. She stared at Dave, her head tilted, and then glanced at Chuck as if he held some sort of explanation as to what just happened. “Look,” she said, pausing, “I’m not a prude, and I understand we have a responsibility, but that was a bit upfront.”
Chuck turned toward Dave, his eyes meandering his tall, malnourished frame. “Seriously?”
“What?” Dave said, glancing at Chuck. “I’m doing what’s right. We haven’t seen anybody else in years. We need to save the human race before it’s too late.”
“You’re being incredibly rude,” Chuck said, staring at the giant hole that made up the majority of Dave’s shirt. It was the same shirt he’d worn the day of the explosions, the same shirt he wore while he and Chuck huddled in the shelter Dave had once told him was a waste of money. He refused to take it off, refused to replace it, claimed that it was good luck. “I’m first. Dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on me,” Sarah said, her eyes wide as she took another step back. She stumbled on an upturned cement brick lying beside the curb, but caught herself before falling.
Dave turned fully toward Chuck. “No way are you going first. I’m older, taller, and I’ve always been more of a gentleman.”
“Bullshit,” Chuck said, “you’re the one who broke up with Carol because she said the word ‘mozzarella’ like an Italian would.”
“She was Irish,” Dave said, throwing his arms up in the air. “What kind of an Irish person says *Moz-ah-rell?* It just sounds fucking stupid. I’m first.”
Chuck glanced at Dave, then at Sarah, and then back at Dave. “Hang on,” he said. “I have an idea.”
“Don’t I get a say here?” Sarah said. She was now about ten feet away, getting further with each passing second. “I don’t feel comfortable with this and I really feel like we need eachother.”
“We got two guys and one girl,” Chuck said, ignoring Sarah. “You remember that video I once showed you? You know the one, it had two girls and a cup.” He nudged Dave in the gut with his elbow. “Remember?”
“Yes,” Dave said, his head tilted.
“Well, I think we can both win if we basically just do that. I mean, our situation is a little different—two guys, one girl—but I don’t mind being a cup.”
Sarah stopped moving and stared at Chuck, Dave doing the same. Chuck glanced back and forth between the two, and then shrugged his shoulders. “What? It’s just an idea.”
“I just realized something,” Sarah said, turning around and glancing over her shoulder, “I think I left my oven on. You guys wait her, I’ll be right back.” She turned her head back around and bolted in the opposite direction, feet pounding against the charred remains of what was once a city block.
“Great,” Dave said, not following after her, “look what you did.”
“What did I do?” Chuck said, watching as Sarah disappeared behind a giant cement boulder. “She’s just going to turn her oven off." He paused. "You don't mind letting me be the cup, right?"
Dave stared at Chuck and slowly shook his head, which seemed to be a pretty common response to a lot of Chuck's questions.
| 2015-07-01T08:05:01 | 2015-07-01T08:01:44 | 242 | 12 |
[WP] Massive alien ships came down from the sky, guns blazing... but totally ignoring us. Instead, they attacked the trees and forests. If that weren't strange enough, the tree started fighting back. | We'd seen them streaking across space, streaming trails of nebulae like milk spilled across the fabric of space. As if the Earth had been floating on the underside of a crystal clear pool, and someone had dropped a clod of dirt into the water. It seemed impossible that they were propelling themselves under their own power, that they would dissipate long before they got to us, or were otherwise so insubstantial that they'd crash against our atmosphere.
We were wrong.
They descended like clouds, fogbanks, forming faces, ships, armies, tentacles extending from the sea. They sprayed gasoline vapors and kicked up sparks between themselves, and the forests caught fire. People burned with the forests, militaries were mobilized, and our missiles and bombs passed through them like smoke. It took us a while to understand, so self-centered were we, so focused on our own survival. Like a monster from a children's cartoon, they hated trees, hated greenery, a caricature of polluters come to life. They waged war on forests, incinerated trees. We were irrelevant.
And as they floated over the forests in their alien war, we watched them falter and die. Sometimes the forests didn't burn fast enough, sometimes we were able to stem the blaze. The trees were fighting back, breathing them in and breaking them down into water vapor and oxygen. The invaders had understood. They'd sought to eliminate their weakness.
Massive reforestation efforts began, men in gas masks and hazmat suits planting saplings and keeping the precious new-growth forests safe. We abandoned farmland and repopulated it with forests. We turned the industries of Earth towards pumping our own gasses into the atmosphere to counter the invaders. The world grew warmer. The air grew richer in carbon dioxide. The trees grew. They thrived.
That was decades ago. The trees won the war. Our cities are flooded, crumbling, overrun, the air hums malarial with mosquitoes. We've burnt ourselves out trying to save the world. Those of us left wonder how the invaders found us to begin with, what possessed them to invade a world populated by their apparent predators. The trees grow lush and strong and tower above us as we squat in their green shadows, and none of them are saying anything. | The invasion only lasted a few days, but the repercussions would last a lifetime.
When the ships came there was a mix of fear, awe, and hope. Fear at the forefront though as the ships made no attempt at communication, and began firing at the surface as soon as they broke atmosphere. The nations of the world reacted quickly, returning fire with everything they had to no avail. The invader ships were unharmed and there was no apparent retaliation.
Everything the invaders fired hit forest, all over the world invader ships were laying waste to the trees, and soon the trees fought back. The world watched in shock as the trees uprooted themselves and gave as good as they got.
Most individual trees stood no chance and were quickly wiped out, as were small clusters of trees in cities. The real fight came from the giant redwoods who lumbered across northern California swatting ships from the air. The bristle-cone pines marched as the northwest vanguard, their hardy, twisted forms shrugging off damage of all types. They fought well but were eventually brought down by superior firepower.
The rain forests of the world held out as long as the canopy was intact hiding sneak attacks from the forest floor. But before long they too were decimated.
The longest fights were with the aspen tree colonies. They uprooted themselves into enormous contorted masses that didn't seem to end. They almost won the war, bringing down ship after ship as they twisted and writhed across the landscape. Like most wars however, they lost to superior technology.
Just like that the largest producers of oxygen on the planet were wiped out. The invaders scoured the world wiping out stragglers wherever they could be found as humanity watched helplessly. People tried to hide seeds wherever they could but were found out eventually. The seed vaults were all destroyed along with the hopes of rebuilding.
Nobody knew how long people would last without trees, but the consensus was not long. There were still other plants working hard at keeping humans alive but would it be enough?
The tree huggers were hit the hardest. In one hand they were happy to be right about the trees, on the other devastated that they couldn't actually do anything to help them. Plus they had nothing left to hug.
After the last tree was gone they left, all but one. It hovered high in the sky and started broadcasting to every electronic device in the world.
"Humans of Earth, you are free from the tyranny of a dangerous parasite. The 'tree' as you call it, would have overrun this planet and killed you all. You are welcome." The transmission ended, but the ship didn't leave.
About an hour later the transmission came on again.
"Ok, so it turns out we may have interpreted some things kind of wrong. One of your scientists found a way to contact us and explained some things. So, you need oxygen to live and the trees made that for you. You killed the trees for stuff like shelter and paper. Basically we have doomed your planet to a slow death. After consulting home world it turns out you are the parasites and we were supposed to wipe you out instead. Oops. So anyway we are going to annihilate your planet and species, and just pretend this never happened. Sorry for the confusion and enjoy the next... ten minutes of life while we spool up the planet cracker!"
The transmission ended again.
Turns out a lifetime is measured by however long you have left to live. Nothing could be done and before long the invaders erased Earth from the galaxy and the records.
The people on the International Space Station were pretty pissed about that, and the seeds they brought with them for science weren't too happy about their species being wiped out on accident either.
They used what time they had left to formulate a plan, the tree seeds held ancient knowledge to create a hybrid human-tree that could survive in the vacuum of space.
Before they could enact the plan the aliens came back and vaporized everything on board.
---
"We're really going to get in trouble for this one, aren't we?" Zork said.
"In trouble for what?" Zyk asked.
"The whole blowing up Earth thing?"
"Earth? Never heard of it."
"Roger that sir."
---
Here is more stuff if that wasn't dumb enough /r/DirtandPoncho | 2016-12-13T07:55:43 | 2016-12-13T07:47:32 | 286 | 90 |
[WP] It is modern day America, but everyone speaks in Shakespearean English. You are a gamer raging out during an online multiplayer match. | "Select your hero," the voice summoned, upon this motley band of adventurers gold.
Faces flashed upon the screen; content was I, with all but one, if truth be told.
"Hanzo, wouldst thou switch to Soldier, pray tell, that victory might be more easily ours?"
"Infect thyself, thou low-apt swine," responds the bowman; the air quickly sours.
Voices erupt from all around, amongst nary a fond word for Hanzo might be found.
For naught, our efforts, in the end: for arrows, not bullets, this man resolved to send.
The gates were opened, we six did go, descending upon the quiet King's Row.
His arrows struck true, first one, then two; a field of blood the archer did sow.
He found his marks, but relent, we could not. "Change to Soldier, foul demon, or in our graves we will rot!"
"Ha!" Defied he, as one by one our foes fell. "Rot we will, then, and thou shalt see me in hell!"
The slaughter drove on. Endless, eternal, as any man sees. Yet our enemies fell, taking arrows to knees.
*Victory!* came the final voice. Wreathed in gold medals, only Hanzo rejoiced.
"Above and beyond, to platinum I go," declared the archer.
"Trust in thy team, or stay confined to gold and below." | **The Impulsivity of Sir Leeroy Jenkins, and his Motley Crew of Men**
(the [original](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3POnOSedWWQ), in case you're wondering)
---
My friends and fellow men of arms, these eggs
Have given us due trouble in the past.
But first, let us prepare our stores. Who here
Has need of anything from off this churl
Beside me now, or shouldst our fair campaign
commence aright?
..........................Methinks our bravest Leeroy
Who, at this moment squirms beside us now,
Has need of an accoutrement.
...............................................Nay, nay.
What need of pauldrons has he? Has he not
Committed himself to an holy cause
And calls himself a paladin 'mongst men?
'Tis true, but with that vestment round his neck
He'll suffer less from loss of any health
And reap a new found source with which to cast.
'Zounds men! Then let us meet our heads at once
And with collected thoughts conspire a plan
T'address these awful eggs that plague us now.
First, I, built like a tank, shall charge the host
Of winged ministers that congregate
By their foul brood, and with this trusted arm
Take up as many eggs as I can hold.
Mind you your ears, for know that I will shout
A banshee call t'intimidate the fiends
In hopes that our mean party can deflect
The brunt of all their numbers. But my song
Should not unechoed be. Dear Anthony,
Please counterpoint my melody in full,
For we must scatter them. We are too few...
Yea, Basacorse, we know thou art equipped
With chords to join our oratorio.
Sing thou as well. And for our mages here,
We will employ the power of the gods
And ask that they, with intervening strength,
Protect them in their castings of AE,
For who among us can with too proud heart
Proclaim our numbers are sufficiént—
Though we most noble are. What say you men?
Think'st there no better stratagem for us?
You there, Abdul, with thy computing brain
Tell us our chances.
............................K, gimme a sec.
Without a doubt, it seems that out of 3
Our chances number 1.
.................................What wretched rates!
But still, 'tis better than our usual—
Ho men! "Thumbs up! Let's do this. It is I,
Sir Leeroy Jenkins, most impetuous!"
(Leeroy Jenkins runs in)
Oh wounds! What haste! Did Leeroy just run in?
My lord, 'tis true...
..........................What? What? Then save him men!
The fool! Now more than ever, use the plan
And falter not, lest we give up our flesh
For whelps to sup upon and to digest.
The plan, the plan! My kingdom for a plan!
Where art the gods?! Where art the casting lot?!
My lord, I cannot move.
..................................Oh misery!
Leeroy! Thou rogue! Thou awful, impulsed man!
(the campaign exits, followed by a bear)
.................................. | 2017-01-09T18:05:29 | 2017-01-09T16:29:26 | 364 | 94 |
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future. | ###### CNN (Chess News Network) Alert ########
###### For Immediate Publication ########
The final match in the greatest chess tournament of all time is underway. The flip of the coin came out heads and the Russian Alexei Kusnetskov elected to start. The challenger from China, Ming Zhang, ready and waiting for the first move.
We are currently in hour number 15 of this epic game, as Alexei is yet to decide on an opening move that Zhang won't anticipate.
Updates to follow.
######################################## | This was it. The big day.
The famous mind-reader well already renowned for performing on stage and gazing into the minds of the audience, seeing whether they really believed he could do it before he did it, and when he did it, everyone knew what he could do and he knew that they knew.
The fortune teller regarded all other fortune tellers with suspicion and regarded them as hoaxes, but strangely maintained that her method works. As fate would have it, she was right. Every prediction to come out of her was accurate. She made sure to put on a show, with the crystal ball and the chanting, but she, like the mind-reader, delighted in showmanship.
Then one day she was in the crowd for his magic show. He told a volunteer what his card was, and after that, suddenly he pointed out the fortune teller in the audience and suggested, oddly enough, that they play a game of chess. Nobody knows who this volunteer really was, he disappeared shortly after, but he gave his name as /u/Highwatch on stage.
The two magical titans faced each other on the chessboard. They weren't known for their chess skill, but the audience knew their abilities would spice up a match. Nobody knew what would come out of it...well...except the fortune teller...
"1. e4 e5" the fortune teller thought, and as sure as can be, when White moved his pawn to e4 Black responded with e5. The mind-reader could see her conclusions as well.
"2. Qh5 Nc6 3. Bc4" the fortune teller saw, and so did the mind-reader, for those exact moves were played on the board. He even began to move his knight before the queen reached h5!
The fortune teller was thinking very deeply at this point. The mind-reader refocussed and saw, once more, the future of White and Black.
"3...Nf6 4.Qf3, I'll have to retreat..." thought the fortune teller. The mind-reader, seizing his opportunity, moved his knight to f6 to attack White's Queen.
"4. Qxf7 checkmate" thought the fortune teller, and all too late for the mind-reader, his king had been cornered with no way out. He could see it now, the fortune teller had focussed on only one probable future, and constructed a chess strategy around it in her mind to convince the mind-reader of this phony future.
"Well played..." he thought as he walked away from the chessboard. | 2017-01-19T16:03:28 | 2017-01-19T14:12:27 | 129 | 58 |
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own. | BAM.
"Oh shit." Ben thought.
"It actually worked."
He had bought the "magic" piano a few days ago from a shady looking man in one of the darker parts of town. He knew he shouldn't have trusted him, but it was the cheapest piano he could find in town, and it sounded amazing. Ben thought that the "curse" was probably just some dumb joke anyways.
Except now he was here, in the magical tree house of Finn and Jake.
He had just played the theme song to his favorite show as a kid, Adventure Time, the first song he had picked up. He just wanted to test it out. He never thought he would end up *here*, of all places.
But now he was surrounded by glowing swords, whispering worms, and a loud thumping downstairs.
Afraid, Ben could only think of one thing as he stared at the magic piano in front of him.
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!" | "Oh, son of a-"
BOOM
"You are dead"
-
In the real world, Jack's friends watched in horror as they witnessed their friend getting blown to smithereens.
They were just having fun that night, and Jack's game console was on and running Dark Souls when the dare was given. Play the theme song on the piano perfectly while drunk, they said.
Jack was too intoxicated to refuse.
"How did he get in there?" Noah asked, still stunned by how Jack was teleported into the game.
"Is... is he dead?" Keith managed to spit out, the shock remaining.
"The screen just said that he died, you idiot!" Hannah scolded, although her expression suggested equal shock. "What are we going to do?"
The whole party started to mumble between themselves. Everyone was confused, questioning how Jack had managed to vanish into thin air and appear in the game. When he first popped up, he replaced the player character, and started to panic and run around the screen, with no input from the controller.
Everyone thought it was a party trick at first. That is, until he exploded.
The small crowd continued to murmur, panicking about the disappearance of their host.
"Help!"
The party was drawn to the screen by the cry of help. They saw Jack inside again, the skinny white boy futilely beating on the screen.
"Jack!" They all called out.
"Guys, you gotta help me!" He begged. "I don't want to die. Again! And then respawn to keep dying!"
The party began to panic, unsure about how to get him out. Keith, Jack's oldest friend, slid back deep behind the crowd.
"How did you get in there?" They asked.
Jack seemed unsure about their question, like he knew the answer but did not know how to explain it. He walked around with his hands on his head as the party members continually bombarded him with questions.
Soon, he was fed up with the noise.
"I have a magic piano!"
"A magic piano?" The crowd parroted in disbelief.
"Yes, a magic piano. If I play a theme song of a TV show, movie or whatever, I get transported to that world. But I need to know the theme song to our world to get back."
"So, you just need to find a piano?" Noah asked him.
"Well," he said with reluctance, a hint of embarrassment showing, "the thing is, I don't know what the our world's theme song-"
"Hang on, buddy!" Keith cried, running at the television set with a battery ram stool. "I'm coming for you!"
"Wait wait wait-"
The TV was promptly smashed, and so was the console too
And Jack never respawned, all thanks to that tool.
Edit: Some edits (good job, Keith). Also, this is the first time I made a story on this sub. Not much else to say.
Edit: Uh oh. Grammatical errors. | 2017-10-01T17:10:04 | 2017-10-01T15:57:19 | 817 | 107 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy | Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry. | 2017-11-05T22:27:41 | 2017-11-05T22:02:40 | 102 | 18 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Monique,
We both messed up. I should have paid you the attention you needed when you needed it, and you should have told me when you felt you had lost control of your life. I'm sorry, but this is no reason to throw away a wonderful 10 year marriage. Please come home, we miss you horribly.
I love you and I always will.
-A | Dear Pop Pop,
I miss you. It's been about 11 or 12 years since you died. I was really young at the time, so all I remember is the last few months you were alive, watching the cancer slowly eat away at your body. With each visit you got more and more frail. I didn't recognize it at the time but looking back, seeing what it was doing to my dad, your son, was almost as bad as watching you. I wish I had more memories of you, more good memories anyway. Mom and dad say you adored me, that you loved me more than life itself, but I'll never know. They tell me stories about you, how you used to take me for rides in your convertible and I loved every minute of it, if only I could remember it. If only I could remember your laugh, your smile, your voice. Sometimes my dad looks at me and says how proud you would be of me, it's hard looking at his face when he says that, I can see the pain in his eyes. I still remember the note I wrote and put in your coffin. It said 'You were a good Pop Pop.' I was a little kid at the time so that's all I could think of to say, but I think it was enough I remember putting it in that little drawer in the side of your coffin to be buried with you. I even remember wearing that Mariachi suit that had been in the family for generations, but I don't remember you. I still have that suit, it's still hanging in my closet. I look at it from time to time, and I try to remember something, anything about you but the frail old man dying of cancer, but I can't. I think my parents are right when they say you would be proud of me, I've had a steady girlfriend for almost 5 years now, her name is Hanna. I think you would like her, she's amazing. I have a steady job too, full time working with dad at the airport. I graduated high school too, two years ago, and now I'm getting ready to go to college. I'm gonna get a business degree and then learn to be an airplane mechanic, and maybe if I'm good enough I'll open my own shop, that's when the business degree is for. Well I have to go now Pop Pop, I've got work in the morning and I need to get to sleep. I miss you. | 2017-11-05T20:41:24 | 2017-11-05T20:37:15 | 67 | 16 |
[WP] Since you were born you have received an anonymous letter on the same date every year. The first one stated “see you in 35 years” and the number has dropped by one year every note since. You just got the last ever letter “see you tomorrow”. | When I was a measly five years old my mother handed me a letter. At such a young age it had seemed as if I was part of some new magical adventure. As if I was a princess awaiting the arrival of a unicorn to whisk me off to some far away land. The letter was addressed to me and contained only seven words. I read those words over and over again.
*‘See you in twenty years, Amelia Rose.’*
As I grew older the letters became more of a nuisance than an exciting promise. I told my mother that I didn’t believe in the Easter Bunny so I certainly didn’t believe the contents of a supposedly magical letter. She insisted she wasn’t the sender but who else could it be? She had always loved stories and I wouldn’t put it past her to come up with one that lasted twenty-five years. On Christmas, she had put on a full Santa costume, beard and all, and pranced around the living room with a sack full of presents. I had laughed until tears came out my eyes. Later, she had come into my room to tuck me in.
“Where’s the costume gone?” I had said.
A mischevious twinkle appeared in her eye as she replied, “What costume?”
If she could stand to wear a fat suit for hours on, she could definitely write a letter to me every year.
The day after I turned sixteen my mother handed me a new letter with a weak smile. I rolled my eyes but tore it open none the less and read the ever decreasing number. A snide comment had barely left my mouth before my mother broke into a coughing fit.
“Are you alright?” I asked, rubbing her back. She waved me off but failed to hide the red-tinged tissue pressed to her chapped lips.
Her health deteriorated quickly and within months the mother I had loved so fiercely was gone. In the throes of mourning, I hadn’t been thinking about the day the letter would usually arrive. I imagined it would pass like any other. As I walked into my room that night I saw an envelope on my pillow. My heart dropped. I rushed to my bed and ripped open the letter.
*“See you in eight years, Amelia Rose.’*
I had stormed into my father’s room and thrust the letter in his face. “Is this some kind of a sick joke to you?’
He took the letter and read the contents with a furrowed brow. ‘I didn’t write this.” He said quietly handing it back to me. I furiously shook my head, trying to avoid the words. Who else could it be then?
The following year I moved out into my own apartment across town. It was small but cosy and I adored every inch of it. The letter arrived a few weeks after I moved in. My heart had dropped when I found it sitting on my pillow. It couldn’t have been my dad, he was out of town with business. No one else knew about the silly tradition or had access to my apartment. I carefully approached the bed and picked up the letter. The same seven words but with an even smaller number were written on the page. Had my mother been telling the truth? Was there really more to this tradition than I realised? I shook my head and placed the letter in a box that was hidden away in the back of my wardrobe.
More years went by, more letters came and the stack within the box became larger and larger. Finally, the last letter arrived.
*‘See you tomorrow, Amelia Rose.’*
I blinked the tears from my eyes. Maybe I could, at last, find the peace I so desperately craved. Maybe I could finally get on with my life and stop dwelling over some stupid letters.
I barely slept that night and got up as early as I could bare the next morning. I paced the apartment, practically burning a hole in the floor with my footsteps. At around nine I gave up waiting. If these letters were as magical as my mother claimed then surely the sender could find me no matter where I went. I wrapped a scarf around my neck and set out into the chilly winter morning. The wind bit into me as I hurried down the road. I wouldn’t go far, I’d just grab a coffee and see where the day took me.
*Maybe a unicorn will come and whisk me off after all.* I snorted.
I rounded a corner and noticed a coffee shop I had never seen before. I gratefully entered the warmth of the shop and made my way to the counter. It was surprisingly busy and the workers were hectically pouring hot drinks and taking orders. Apart from one, I noticed. The worker at the register I was queueing for seemed completely relaxed. He effortlessly chatted while writing down orders and never once dropped his smile. Time seemed to speed up and soon it was almost my turn to order. He handed the woman in front of me her change and looked behind her. At me. His eyes were the kind of green that would make any girl swoon. The kind of green that would make *me* swoon. I shuffled forward and bit my lip.
‘What can I get for you today?’ He said, those eyes never leaving mine.
Completely forgetting what I came here for I picked the first thing I saw on the chalkboard behind his head. ‘A hot chocolate please.’
I stared at his lips as he said ‘For here or to go?’
‘To go,’ I looked up again, ‘Please.’
He nodded grabbing a paper cup and a pen. ‘And your name is?’ He smiled easily at me.
‘Amelia.’ He put the pen to the cup and froze. His mouth opened then shut and then opened again.
‘Amelia?’ He said as if it was a question.
‘Yes?’ He was staring at me as if I had grown a second head.
‘Amelia Rose?’ My heart skipped a beat. This boy with those beautiful eyes, who I had never met before, knew my full name.
‘That’s me.’ I said, feigning confidence.
With shaking hands he put down the cup and reached into the pocket of his apron. I watched as he pulled out a letter and handed it to me. It was addressed to a Jamie Bright, the same name written on his nametag. Inside the envelope, there was a piece of paper and on it was written six words.
*‘You will see Amelia Rose tomorrow.’*
‘I have been getting a letter with your name written on it for twenty-five years.’ | I will say in this last diary entry that my life has been overall happy. My parents, generally well off, provided for me and I myself have built something out of myself in the realm of literary studies. My life in general has been good and I have scarcely any complaints about it. At least I thought so until the letter I have received - when? This morning? How much time has passed? Oh, my mind is scattered so - and have been receiving since my birth.
For if you read this diary - and all those before it - you will see that every day of my life, ever since my birth, I have been receiving this mysterious letter. With no name and no return address. I now know why and as my life will soon end, I can finally say I understand it all. Alas, understanding appears too much to bear. My mind, always so agile and bright, now is scattered, lost, uncomprehending of the surroundings. As you may note from my writings, my hands are shaking and I believe only the bottle now allows me to put down these last sentences. For I feel if I am to leave this world, I must tell what I saw, must tell what I came to understand and hope, as God being my witness, that I shall not be judged harshly for my weakness.
For it all started - or should I say concluded - this morning. The now final letter has come to me. *See you at midnight.* That's all it said, in its usual, lean and elegant handwriting the likes of which I have never seen, although I have witnessed many a style in my days of literary learning. In 35 years I have been receiving these letters, counting down the to mysterious meeting, I was never able to find out where the letters are coming from. And they seem to find me all the time, anywhere I am, any time, any place. Even in my travels, on train or out at sea, I would find a letter mercilessly counting down among my items I carried with me. In all these years, my reactions to these letters changed from burning curiosity of teenagehood (maybe some rich relative is still alive and want me to inherit their fortune?), the quiet determination of studenhood (maybe it is some long experiment conducted by the government?) and a wondering indifference of adulthood (perhaps I shall find out soon enough). Now, I see I should have been stricter over myself. So much stricter...
On the early morning, at the break of autumn dawn, as I woke from my warm bed, I saw the letter already there with a singular message. I must admit, although I feel only fear and self-loathing now, back then I felt curiosity, something like I felt as a teenager when I dedicated much more energy to finding out who was it that sent me these countdowns. The day went by slow, as all do when anticipation encroaches your heart and mind. As midnight approached, I waited in my singular room, trying to read and occupy myself, but all I really did was wait for the bell at the door to ring.
From here on out, I am unsure as to the chronology of the events. Whoever reads this, must decide on their lonesome how the events happened, but I will stay my hand and tell them how I remember them and allow the reality of these happenings be determined by the reader.
As clock ticked to midnight, I was pacing, ready to jump to the door, which never rang. Instead, I heard a tap on the window. My skin crawled and my heart raced, as I lived on a third floor. As I stood there, paralyzed by the impossibility of this occurrence, the tapping repeated. Slowly, with all the heaviness the uncertainty could fill my feet, I moved towards the window. It was dark in the inner courtyard and the moon was covered with thick autumn clouds. I hesitated, but as the tap repeated inches from my face, I jerked back and almost fell. My eyes must have deceived me, for at this time of remembering the scene, I could clearly state there was no one there. I gathered my courage and lifted the window open. For a while, there was nothing there, nothing moving, no nighttime sound seeping into the room. Only now it reads to me as odd and I probably should have been more suspicious - oh the naivete of the curios.
As I leaned over the desk and out the window, it came. The thick darkness that I took for moonless night seeped into my room and enveloped me. It rippled in itself, like the thickest fumes one can imagine, tar and moist, yet cold. I was petrified by the happenings, yet intrigued by the phenomenon I have yet to witness. I reached out, hoping to grasp the rippling darkness in front of me when it happened. An eye, larger than I can describe an eye to be, opened in the darkness. It rotated fast until it zeroed in on me, the blazing, sinister red in burning me all the way to my soul. I wanted to scream, but couldn't, wanted to run, but my feet were glued to the darkness, paralysis taking over my entire being.
*Finally. We meettttt.* A voice, oh my Lord, the voice. One, but with thousands ringing within it, so loud and yet felt ringing in my head. Only later I realized that it was I that spoke. My mouth formed into shape necessary to produce the sound, yet my brain did not register it.
*Return to meeee.* Now the voice was different, coming from somewhere else. More eyes opened in the darkness, some red, some blue, some changing color so fast I couldn't describe. Then, the pain came. So wrenching it was, I still feel it all over my body. My bones felt broken, my flesh ripped apart as *something* seeped out of me. It ran out like hot wax and I screamed - I felt my inner flesh melt away and run out of me, so painful it was. And then, after an apparent eternity of this pain, I saw IT. A bulging mountain of red flesh, riddled with eyes - *my* eyes. All of them looked at me as I gasped for air. I could see the exact green of my eye color and as terrifyingly large mouth formed in the middle of this bulbous mass, I could see the exact shape of thin lips I so often saw in the mirror. It was *me.*
*Welcome home*. The outside voice spoke again. Then there was screeching so loud, my ears hurt and my brain fogged over and I believe I have fainted for a while, for when I came to, I saw the bulbous mass gnawing at my bloodied skin, the pain returned as the last pieces of IT came out of me. I screamed, I think, or wanted to scream, yet I can't recall if I did or tried to run or not. The pain was so great, I wanted it to end. Almost the same way I want all this memory to end now.
I daresay I must have lost consciousness again, for when I came to, I was on the floor in my room, my clothes torn apart and bloodied, my skin pierced, my bones aching and my mind blistered by the experience. I knew it then that what has been present all my life, constantly reminding to me of its presence in form of a letter, was the Evil. The true Evil that accumulated over the years seeped out of myself and attempted to devour me. I felt it in my aching bones and shuddering soul that it was not done.
Now, as I sit here with two candles flickering, second emptying bottle in front of me and write these lines, I can say with certainty that the looming mystery of the letters became clear to me. I was born with Evil within me and throughout all these years, it was waiting, waiting to be forced out by even Greater Evil. Every moment I close my eyes, the myriad of burning eyes, including my own, stare back at me. Somewhere, in the logical corner of my mind, I wonder how many others had this Evil looming over them...but it doesn't matter now.
I can hear the tapping on the window again. I will not answer this time. The rope is prepared and it will only take moments. The tap repeated. Lord have mercy on my Evil soul. | 2019-01-06T21:43:43 | 2019-01-06T21:24:20 | 62 | 11 |
[WP] 20 years later, a team of Astronaut have successfully landed to mars and recovered the NASA rover, Opportunity. When they checked the hard drive, they discovered hundreds of images of a shadowy figure that was never sent back to earth. | **Item #:** SCP-0PPY
**Item class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** Due to SCP-0PPY's remote location, physical containment is beyond the capabilities of the Foundation at this time. Any images containing SCP-0PPY must be either kept on physical media, or be hosted on permanently airgapped computers. Monitoring of the Martian surface is to be performed by Foundation and International satellites, with at least one (1) satellite within visual range of SCP-0PPY for no fewer than one (1) observation per hour. Onboard computers must be able to recognize SCP-0PPY autonomously. Under no circumstances are images of SCP-0PPY to be transmitted to Earth. In the event that SCP-0PPY is not detected on the Martian surface for more than five (5) hours, O5 command must be notified, and, given humanity's current heavy dependance on networked communications, prepare for a possible IK-class collapse-of-global-civilization scenario.
**Description:** SCP-0PPY is an infohazardous humanoid figure currently roaming the surface of the planet Mars, with no immediatly apparent destination. SCP-0PPY's infohazardous properties manifest when an image of SCP-0PPY is transmitted through a computer network. SCP-0PPY is able to transform all data entering or exiting the client or server computers, including any intermediate hardware, to become clearer versions of the original image of SCP-0PPY at a rate of .005 saturation per 10,000,000,000,000 transmissions. However, the first fifty (50) transmissions will always fail to send over any given network protocol. It is believed that these first fifty failed transmissions were able to prevent a full containment breach upon initial discovery of SCP-0PPY.
Images of SCP-0PPY have not been shown to be cognitohazardous, however, the clearest tested image was after only 500,000,000,000,000 retransmissions. It is not known if clearer images of SCP-0PPY would be harmful to humans. To date, SCP-0PPY has never come in contact with, or been in direct sight of a human.
The Ares 11 landing directly led to the discovery of SCP-0PPY, as the crew members recovered a defunct Martian rover, MER-B ("Oppertunity"). Images of SCP-0PPY were taken by MER-B during its mission, but were not transmitted to Earth. This is largely believed to be due to timeout issues associated with older interplanetary communication networks. The images were stored on the internal EEPROM of MER-B for physical recovery. The infohazardous properties of SCP-0PPY became apparent when the Ares 11 crew attempted to send the contents of the EEPROM to Earth for analysis. Embedded Foundation agents were able to limit SCP-0PPY's impact to NASA's intranet, and entangled communications bit with the Ares 11 crew. Contact with the Ares 11 crew was not restored until three days following the incident. Amnesetics were given to all Earth based crew members, and communications were heavily filtered by the Foundation until the Ares 11 crew returned to Earth, and were subsequently amneticized.
**Addendum:** On 7/12/2093, SCP-0PPY was not detected on any satellites for over three hours. SCP-0PPY was then detected over 750km away from its last known location. Given previousily observed speeds, it is highly unlikely that SCP-0PPY achieved this transit through non-anomalous means. Item class has been upgraded to Keter. | It was just minutes after touchdown when we first saw it. At first we thought that the movement showing up on our sensors were just bits of debris because when we went outside, there was nothing there. It was only when we saw the images on the rovers hard drive back at base when we all realized that what we saw wasn’t debris outside our cockpit’s window. The image showed a blurred bipedal humanoid figure, indicating that it was fast. Extremely fast. There were a couple of images where it was close to the rover, circling it, examining it. The more we looked at the pictures, the more our own curiosity and terror peaked.
My crewmate, Jones, was excited over the prospect. We had already transmitted the images when it showed up on our motion sensors. When we finally saw it, our collective jaws dropped. It was a human, on Mars! No helmet, no suit, no clothing. Jones blew up the monitor onto the big screen so we could get a better look at the person. Upon closer examination, there was no visible genitalia or breasts. “Wow,” Jones said in amazement, completely lost in the image. Our entire mission, all of humanity’s collective history had lead up to this moment.
We stared at, utterly transfixed on the humanoid. We were just like statues, sculpted by an artist to stare at it. It seemed to be standing there, almost as if it were observing us through the cameras. It didn’t move or even blink. It was as if time stood still. While it stood, we took it in. The skin was dark, and leathery. It’s eyes were dark, it’s nose was flat, and it’s mouth was thin. It didn’t have any hair and where the navel would be was just flat skin and further down was just more skin. It’s hands were long, but not abnormally long and it had short nails, almost as if they were bitten away. The whole creature was thin, almost malnourished, but it still registered as human.
It suddenly moved. It brought its hand close to its chest and then just let its arm hang back down. It opened its mouth and from outside we heard it. Just mere feet from us, we heard a human voice yelling, screaming, but it wasn’t male or female. We all gasped as we saw its teeth, which were needlelike, but then they shifted to be more flat. It’s teeth transformed! Then the rest of its body shifted.
We saw movement on the top of its head and realized that black curly hair was sprouting. It’s chest became fuller and we saw nipples forming. A bellybutton seemed to sink into its abdomen and a slit formed where it’s genitalia would be. It’s skin became smoother and more fleshy. It became a female human. It opened its mouth and we heard Jones’ voice screaming outside the cabin. We all whipped around to look at Jones but she was just sitting there, as white as a sheet as she recognized her own voice screaming outside.
We looked back at the creature and saw that it was gone. I stood up so fast that my chair tipped over. I immediately rushed over to the door and looked outside the window. Alexander and Jane were with me, while Parkson stayed with Jones who was still in shock. We saw nothing but the red landscape of the planet. Only rocks and the rover a few meters away.
We saw the creatures footmarks in the dirt and saw that they had four toes instead of five. As they continued, we saw a progression of the fifth toe, the pinky toe, forming. It was incredible! Life on another planet and they chose to look like us!
Alexander stepped away as he heard the monitor’s notification. A response from the team back on Earth. He opened it up and it said [Do not interact. Observe and send information.] Jane started typing out a report specifying the creature’s actions and its transformation. I turned to where Jones and Parkson were. She was still out of it. Parkson shook her and she still didn’t respond.
We all stopped what we were doing and looked at her. Her face had drained of even more color and her eyes were glossy. She then tipped over and collapsed on the floor, unconscious. “Jones!” We all exclaimed. “Jane, continue that report! Alexander, keep an eye on the monitor and on the windows. Parkson, help me get her into the infirmary.” They all nodded and Parkson helped me lift her up and carry her to the room beside our quarters.
We put her on the bed and let the scanners observe her. After a moment her results popped onto a screen. “Her vitals are stable, and her stats are nominal. She’s just unconscious,” said Parkson, relieved.
“Good. I understand her shock, but I’m surprised she fainted. Out of all of us, she seemed like the one who could deal with these kinds of situations the most.”
“Sir, what should we do now?”
“Follow instructions. We don’t know the creature’s capabilities. We don’t know how intelligent it is, so we observe.”
“Sir, what if it attempts to contact us?”
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to see. I’m going to go check the monitors. Keep me updated on her condition.”
“Yes, sir.”
I walked back in the room and informed them of Jone’s condition. I walked over to Alexander. “Nothing yet, sir.”
“Good. Keep an eye out.”
I walked over to Jane and asked about the report. “It’s almost done, sir,” she reported. “Good work.”
I watched the monitors, waiting for it to return. | 2019-02-15T02:22:19 | 2019-02-15T01:15:31 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Your best friend is missing. You go to her parents’ house but they have no idea who you’re talking about. “We don’t have a daughter,” they say. The bedroom that should be hers is now a home office. But carved low on the wall behind the computer are the words “Come find me. Dont forget me” | “Is Katrina here?”
“Who’s Katrina?”
I stare at Katrina’s mom.
“Your daughter,” I reply, confused. “Don’t you remember your daughter? I’m her best friend.”
“Listen,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a daught—hey wait, where are you going?!”
I push past her, into the house. There were small differences in the living room; no Nintendo Switch connected to the TV, no stray bottles of pink lemonade. I rush to Katrina’s room. Maybe there’s something there. But when I get there, it’s just an office. The bed with the broken springs is missing, the Mac we spent hours playing video games and watching YouTube on is gone, replaced by another, different computer sitting on a desk. I dig through the drawers. Stationary. Checkbooks. Papers. Her dresser’s gone. The closet’s empty. Her iPad’s missing. I panic and search harder.
“No...” I mumble, scouring the room. “This can’t be happening, this can’t—“
I choke on my words and hastily wipe away the hot tears in my eyes. I haven’t actually cried over something in months. I drop to the floor and start searching under desks. There’s a carving in the wall. I trace it with my fingers. It’s her handwriting.
“Come find me. Don’t forget me.”
A thought flashes through my mind.
Forget who?
I shake my head quickly. I can’t lose her. I *can’t.* I grab the nearest piece of paper and a pencil. My art skills weren’t the best, but they were going to be put to use now. I sketch out both our faces and scribble out a message on top.
“Don’t forget.”
I pause.
What was her name again?
I smack myself in the face and nearly begin to tear up, before writing her name down. I try to get her face as exact as possible, before tossing away the pencil and shoving the paper in my pocket.
*I’ll find you, Katrina,* I think to myself. *I’ll die before failing you. Meaning i’ll likely die soon.*
I laugh to myself quietly, before putting my face to my hands and finally letting out a pained sob. She loved those jokes. Or did she? I can’t remember. *God, I can’t remember.* I check my phone for her number.
It’s still there. Listed as Undyne. I laugh to myself softly.
“Are you okay?” I type out. No response. I put my phone back into my pocket. I have to find her. I stop in my tracks.
But wait, who am I supposed to be looking for in the first place? | I was positive this was Krista’s house. These are DEFINITELY her parents. You’d be hard pressed to forget her dad’s heterochromia and her mother’s overbite and slight front gap. These features didn’t make either one of them unattractive, just distinctive.
“What do you mean, you’ve never heard of Krista? She’s your daughter. I haven’t heard from her for 3 weeks now.”
The couple looked at each other. “Daughter? We’ve never had a daughter.” Kyle said.
“This is some kind of joke right? I’ve slept over here countless times. You have to remember me.” My voice was getting shaky as the anger and fear began to build. I was angry they would play this joke for so long, and also feared that maybe they weren’t joking, maybe they were trying to hide something.
It was Kaitlyn’s turn to speak “Listen, Sasha, is it? We don’t know who you are, we’ve never seen you before and we’ve never heard of a Krista.”
I pushed passed them, finally losing my cool.
“Hey! You can’t just walk in here.”
I made a beeline for the stairs knowing the exact layout of the house.
“Krista! Krista are you up there?”
I took the stairs two at a time until I made it to the second landing. At the top of the stairs used to hang a family portrait. Kyle, Kaitlyn, and Krista hung there, smiles frozen in time. Now, everything about the portrait was the same, except there was no Krista. It was as if she had never been there.
I quickly surveyed all that I could see, she was not in any of the family pictures, there was no sign of her ever existing.
“What the fuck?”
Kyle was stomping up their stairs behind me. “I think you better leave, before we call the cops.”
I darted for Krista’s room. The place I had slept on a blow up mattress all those nights for years. I swung the door open.
“Krista! What is go—“ my question stopped short.
Her bedroom was gone. The blue walls had been painted beige. Her bed replaced by a large wooden desk topped by a lamp and computer. A filing cabinet sat where her dresser once stood.
A wave of nausea brought me to my knees. My eyes burned with tears.
Kyle’s hand fell softly on my back. I wanted to pull away from his touch but I was too overwhelmed to move. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here but your friend isn’t here. She was never here. Why don’t you let me take you home.”
As I moved to pull myself up, my vision fell onto our secret spot. A place where the baseboard had been cut so it could be removed and put back. It was almost seamless. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never notice it. Krista and I found it on accident one night when we were 10. When the baseboard was pulled away, it revealed a small hole. We often hid our notes too and from boys there. When we were in high school, it was just big enough to hide a couple packs of cigarettes.
I crawled over to the spot and popped the section of baseboard which revealed the hole. Inside was a single piece of paper, folded neatly.
“What is that?” Kyle asked, a thin line of worry now surfaced behind his words.
I unfolded the paper, tears streamed down my face.
There in Krista’s handwriting:
*Don’t forget about me. Come find me; please.*
“I knew it! I KNEW IT! WHERE IS SHE?!” My voice shattered as I screamed.
Kyle sighed deeply and slowly pushed the door closed. “Well.. shit.”
The door latched shut and he turned the knob lock taking a few slow steps towards me rubbing his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get away from me.” I screamed.
It was as if he hadn’t heard me. His heterochromatic eyes were cold and blank. “You should have just left.”
Edit: Obligatory “*I didn’t think this was going to blow up like this*”
I will try to not let all of you asking for more down!
Edit 2: Alright since so many people asked, I made a part 2. So far it’s been pretty fun to write so I’ll likely continue it. For now here’s part 2 https://reddit.com/r/Writin_PenguinZWrites/comments/c47kt7/krista_part_2/. Thank you for reading! | 2019-06-22T18:24:30 | 2019-06-22T17:43:27 | 1,543 | 1,084 |
[WP] You bought a home filled with cutting edge technology, including a helpful 'smart A.I.' that can do just about anything you ask them to. Unbeknownst to you, there actually is no A.I, the house is just haunted by a really helpful spirit, and they are posing as a program so they don't scare you. | I am so hungry. I haven't received any sacrifices in hundreds, no, *thousands* of years. The world of man has forgotten my name. They fear me. They loathe me. But worst of all, they have forgotten me.
I was once a God. Which one, I do not know. That knowledge has been swept from my mind as surely as do the sands of time sweep through life. First my worshipers left, then my devotees, then my priests. My fellow Gods were lost to the winds. All that was fantastic, all that was magical, gone from the world, told in tales of fiction and ridicule. I cowered, alone and forgotten, wandering the four corners of the Earth. And then, hiding in a cold mausoleum of brick and wood, I received my first offering in generations. It was paltry, almost bare. Just wishes. But it was something.
"And here's to the spirits of this house! May they watch over us and protect us!" The surrounding people laugh. But I feel just a tiny bit stronger. For the slightest amount, he actually believes what he said. I could act, for the first time in millenia. I remember something. I was a trickster God. There is something I can do now that might lead to sacrifices down the line. But I have to act fast.
I use my last remaining power to become manifest as a disembodied voice. I say, **"Good Morning, you have activated Spyder****^(TM)****, your SmartHome Network! Would you like to give me access to your home?"**
One of them says, "Oh, wow, this must be the A.I. June was talking about!" It is not. I cut those wires hours ago. "Yeah, sure, go ahead, Spider! Light up my world!"
I laugh internally. Someone finally allowed me into their home. More than that, they gave me full control of the house. With just that permission, I am more powerful than I have been in eons. I am the God of this household. But I must be a benevolent God, for now. I need offerings. But I say none of this. Instead, I say, **"Thank you for choosing Spyder****^(TM)****, the best choice in SmartHome Engineering! Please attach the voltage cords to the port in the hall to begin service."**
Not ten seconds pass, and electricity is flowing into the port that used to be attached to the actual A.I.. An actual, physical offering, done in my name. I savor it. I will serve this family as their God. I will do whatever they want. And they can give me what I want. A sacrifice.
--------------------
*Hope people liked it! This is a good prompt. There will probably be more coming soon.* | 'I take the room with the balcony!' I cried, running up the stairs with all the force my tired, sleep-deprived body had. I half expected to find Beth, already marking the territory all over with her fluffy pillows and her ridiculous blankets. But Beth wasn't there.
I grinned, dropping down my bags with a victorious thud.
I won.
For the first time since the first day of college I manage to outrun or/and outsmart Elizabeth White, the bane of my existence and my closest friend.
'The room is conquered,' I whispered, admiring the look from my balcony. I was already imagining all those lovely summer days where I could paint for hours. The light was perfect. 'I won!' I said.
'Congratulations!' I heard a voice.
I slowly turned, expecting some kind of Beth's retaliation for taking the only priced possession of this house, but there was no one around me.
I climbed down the creaky stairs wondering did we have enough money to invest in all the repairs this house will need with the fist rain. I found Beth in the kitchen, laughing so hard her eyes were watering. 'Oh, stop it.' She waved her hand. 'Now, a Byron's song.'
Suddenly, there was a voice coming...from somewhere, reciting Byron's She Walks in Beauty. My hand was inching closer to the kitchen knife and by the time the song was over I was ready to pounce. But still, no body showed up. There was me, Beth and the strange voice that oddly reminded me of my aunt Violet.
'What a beautiful song,' Beth sighed, turning her dreamy eyes at me.
'Oh, he was a handsome devil,' the voice said and Beth burst laughing. When she finally paid attention she saw my hand gripping the knife.
'It's a smart house, Dana,' she made a face.
'Oh, well thank you, dear,' the voice said again.
'What do you mean?' I whispered.
Beth had again that look of slight disappointment with my mental capacity. 'It's a smart house, Dana,' she repeated like that would make me understand better this time, 'something like Josh has. You know – turn on the lights, lock up the doors, turn on the music thing.'
Sure, I knew what a smart house was but this thing was a ruin. I half expected it would simply collapse in one moment and take us down with it.
'Beth,' I started. I knew she became super angry when I turned up the volume on my analyzing self but this matter had to be addressed. 'The stairs need fixing, we literally have just two doors. I don't even want to think about the new windows we will need as soon as the winter starts. I don't think we have money to change the electronics once the 'smart' thing breaks.'
Beth, off course, didn't listen to a single word I said.
'This was the greatest bargain in the history of buying a house, Dana. Just look at this.' She pointed at the evening light entering trough the high windows. The house was truly beautiful, with high ceilings and vintage furniture.
'House, turn the light on, please.' She said and the chandeliers lit up. 'Close the doors, please.' The doors on the living room gently closed. 'Maybe open a window,' Beth smiled and one of the windows opened. It really looked cool.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, and besides, I doubted that guy would return us the money. He looked like he was in a hurry.
'All right,' I said, watching how Beth's face lit but, 'but I take the room with the balcony!'
Beth opened her moth to protest but decided against it. Instead, she smacked a kiss on my cheek and scampered upstairs to unpack.
I poured myself a glass of wine and sat in one of the vintage chairs, inhaling the scent of the polished floor and woodwork.
'Close the window,' I said. It was already twilight and it was getting colder.
Nothing happened. I guessed it was because of my accent. 'House, close the window.' I spoke slowly.
'Close it yourself!' The voice said.
'What?' I gasped, almost dropping my glass.
'You didn't say please!' The voice said again.
I slowly stood up, feeling shivers down my spine.
'That Brian boy was also rude like you and he didn't last that long after the incident.'
'The incident?' I cried.
The voice chuckled.
'Beth!' I cried. 'Beth!'
I ran for the door but the slammed in my face. 'Go ahead and tell her, but she'll never believe you. No one will believe you!' The voice chuckled again and started humming some strange melody.
If you liked this, you can check out more stories at r/CrystalElmTales | 2019-09-25T12:55:53 | 2019-09-25T12:06:26 | 302 | 113 |
[WP] A little dragon whelpling is caught out in the storm and has to take shelter in the nearby human village | I found the small dragon curled up like a sad, wet cat underneath the tarp for the cabbage stand. The rain was pouring down making the poor little thing shiver uncontrollably, it looked like it wouldn't be able to produce a flame to save itself, it was too cold and wet for it to.
I approached holding out one of my coppers and the dragon stared at me indignantly. It was too stubborn to accept help from just any human.
"Look you have two choices tiny dragon, you can stay here and die in a pile of cabbages or I can take you home and you can rest in my fire pit until you feel better, but the sass is unnecessary."
The dragon stared at me, probably surprised by the attitude and huffed, but it was only able to produce a thin amount of smoke from its nose. I raised my eyebrow and again held out the copper for it, "You coming?"
The dragon looked at me and seemed to resign itself to its fate as it took the copper in its claws and held it one paw while it climbed up my arm. Just for the sake of being irritating it slid its wet slimy body into my collar and curled around my shoulders as I ran us home. As soon as I walked in the door it jumped off me and ran to the fire pit to stare at me as I got the fire going for it.
"There, all warm and toasty for you, wake me in the morning and we can go hunt down some breakfast together OK?" If I didn't know any better I'd say that damn dragon smiled at me as it trotted into the fire pit and curled up around its new copper piece.
*My name is Argornia human, and I would love to go hunting with you*
The voice of the dragon resonated in my head, and I did my best not to look surprised by it. I always knew dragons could understand us humans but I never met one that bothered to communicate back.
Its voice snaked around my mind and suddenly I felt a small popping sound, and a dozen emotions flooded my mind that didn't belong to me. I stared at the small dragon, suddenly able to feel the warmth of the fire for myself, and having the urge to shake the excess water off my body.
"What did you do to me?" I whispered trying not to sound too frightened.
*I shared with you my real name, and you saved my life. That has resulted in an unbreakable bond between us. From now on we will always be connected.* | A roiling storm stretched across the sky's, darkened clouds stretching over the lands as the first strike of thunder made itself heard far away as a distant clap that echoed its warning of what was to come.
The villagers would scurry their way into their homes and find shelter, travelers making their way into inns and stable mares clopping their hooves restlessly at the distant sound.
The first few trickles of rain came, followed by the downpour that drenched the forest trees and ran off slanted home roofs. Lightning struck like the spear of gods piercing soil, the resulting light silhouetting the body of a dragon in full flight against the dark form of a cloud, riding the waves of thunder and lightning. Creatures of such majestic respite that most earth walkers would go a life time without ever seeing one--those who do, would rarely see anything else.
Along the tail of the flying dragon, her wings beating great gusts of wind as lightning struck down beside her, flew her little brood, whimpering soft cries as the cub chased after her mother in the terrifying storm.
The rain fell upon the soil, upon the homes, running off the leaf of plants on the forest floor without a care as it continued to pour. The elements always impartial, always indifferent, always inevitable as the world endured the thunder and the rain.
Another strike, the mother struck by it, pain lancing through her draconic form as she swayed to the side, her enormous tail as thick as the most wizened of tree trunks slamming into her son.
The son reeled, the fear and the force too much for him to handle. The son began to careen to the lands below, ripped down from his place above the heavens where men could not follow, falling through the lands that separate the dragons above and man below.
And it was so, that under the cover of lightning and thunder and rain, the cub was stripped down from his rightful place and subjected to where earth walkers dwelled.
The mother screamed, another lightning strike to reveal the frightening silhouetted outline of a frantic mother, her cry piercing the skies for but a moment riding alongside the clashing wave of thunder.
She had lost her cub, and the cub continued to plummet, wings causing it to spin to the floor, the rain hiding him from the world. And so the cub crashed, body piercing through the canopy of trees and just the momentary trace of uplifted leaves to mark his crash.
The mother cried and cried, flying along the skies until her call grew more frantic and louder than the clash of thunder itself.
Children called for their mothers and fathers who would cup their ears and reassure them that it was alright.
"What pain," said a grandmother consoling her grandson. "That is the cry of loss," her words sympathetic.
​
Hours passed and the rain continued to pour, the mother's cry faded, moving on from the storm. But she would surely return, and turn the whole forest to rubble and ash if it meant finding her cub.
The cub awoke, blinking eyes struggling to remember what had happened. Just the constant patter of rain against the forest floor being the first thing he heard, a soothing thing in contrast to the hammer strike of thunder. Scattered leaves blanketed the dragon, swaying tree branches seeming to overlook the cub caringly.
The cub rose to its feet, wincing, it couldn't raise its wing, damaged from the fall, it was left stranded somewhere not meant for the grace of dragon-kind.
Yet the cub rose, fear goading it on. It cried, cried to its mother, but the rain drowned out its call.
The cub ran, running with fear as it continued its soft and feeble cries for his mother, each call more desperate than the last.
Finally, even the cubs voice grew still, allowing the rain to smother his resolve as broken wing dragged itself against forest floor, allowing himself to be quieted.
Soon, the cub broke through the forest to find thatched homes and stables. The cub, defeated, wings and back slumped in defeat, worked its way into such a stable.
Horses either ignoring, or eyeing it with indifference, as the cub dripped with water running off its body. It worked its way into a pile of hay, curling its tail around itself into a ball as it lay on its side, whimpering softly, hearing its own pain with the rain now left outside.
The cub continued its soft cry, desperate to be back at his mother's side.
\*\*\*
/r/KikiWrites | 2020-03-22T01:09:05 | 2020-03-22T01:06:10 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Turns out hell is real. This was made known once demons and devils came to Earth. However things quickly got awkward and confusing once people heard them mutter, "If Heaven won't fix this shit hole, we might as well do it ourselves." | "So..." My devil supervisor glanced up from the paperwork and looked at me. I nodded enthusiastically.
"You were sent to Earth to spread evil and go against the word of god..."
"Yup, that was my project"
"And...Not going to lie, I am a bit confused here. According to the report you submitted, you taught humans to make flying cars, floating fars, how to fix the ozone layer and even stopped the nuclear war!"
I shivered remembering the supposed world leaders who pissed themselves as soon as they saw me.
"It was a smelly business but the method was very effective."
The supervisor put down my report and pushed up her glasses.
"I failed to understand how this is spreading evil and going against the word of god."
I sighed, of course these ancient beings fail to see the brilliance of my project.
"You see, for the past one hundred years, god has been absent. The Earth was polluted, people were tortured, there was famine, war and disease."
The supervisor nodded. I smiled.
"God was doing our job better than us. So I decided to take his job. If you go to the last page of my report..."
She flipped to the last page. I could see her jaw drop.
"They made a church for you!" I smiled.
"Not only that, we tore down every normal religious building there and made strip clubs with human rights. Now that's what I call spreading evil."
The supervisor finally grinned after an hour of confusion. She took the stamp of approval. "You passed."
(First time post, all criticism is welcomed) | "You're joking."
"Nope, boss' orders. She said to restructure the world governments so that there would no longer be poverty, although humans are competitive so she's letting some amount of capitalism stay. I don't understand how you all work but she always saw the bigger picture."
"And your boss is?" Brandon asked.
"Lucifer. You couldn't tell by my horns and the glowing red eyes? Who else would my boss be?"
Brandom had a dumbfounded face. "Why in the hell would Lucifer help *us.* Lucifer hates humans."
Now the demon was the one with a dumbfounded face. "Why would you think Lucifer hates humans? She always tried to help you. Even before she was cast out."
"Then why did she complain about how humans were made, and she tricked adam and eve into eating the fruit which got them banished out the garden."
The demon thought about how to explain this concisely. Humans are pretty dumb sometimes and fail to see the obvious. "So you know god is omniscient right?"
"Now that I know one exists, I would assume so."
"Anyway..so when god created adam and eve he would have known that the way he created them and the things he told them would lead to that conclusion."
"What about the free will thing?"
"Free will literally can't exist with omniscience." The demon slapped brandon in the back of the head. "Use your head, damn."
Brandon rubbed his head and thought about his idiocy, until a beautiful blonde woman seemed to appear out of thin air behind the demon. Although her voice was...not so heavenly. She grabbed the demon by the scruff and began to scream.
"I told you not to hurt the humans that don't deserve it! We won't play father's game or story any longer. Now get back to work. You know how short human lives are. It wont take you long to explain things to him."
She dropped him onto the ground unceremoniously and waved before disappearing into a pillar of fire.
Brandon gawked at where she once was. "Was that...."
"Lucifer. Yes."
"I'd give anything to stay in her presence forever. Wow."
The demon rolled his eyes. "We don't really accept souls as payment. That was just a joke. Just call for her. She answers prayers and she's almost as powerful as Yahweh. Well....it would appear that way to a human anyway. You would think she was god if you weren't told otherwise."
"Wait, back up. How was Lucifer *helping* humans when she was insulting our very form when adam was made?"
The demon once again rolled his eyes. Humans really were dumb. "You're telling me an omnipotent being couldn't do better than this weak frail body, and sub century life expectancy? Lucifer was mad at how you were being made with extreme flaws at conception. Like some fucked up science project. We're going to try our best to help with that as well. Like I said our Queen is very powerful herself."
"If god really does just see us as a science project why would he let Lucifer do this?"
This time the demon was sad, as it pat brandon on the head. "Do you really think Yahweh cares? This is just one planet out of an infinite amount of universes. He wanted to see how some of your story played out, then he got bored. Lucifer could kill you all for all god cares. Luckily god just gave her bad pr here so she's not actually like you think she is." | 2021-04-29T21:46:53 | 2021-04-29T21:34:09 | 66 | 38 |
[WP] "What do you mean you don't put a miniature explosion spell in your gun?" "What do you mean you don't use gunpowder-based propellant for your gun?" | Clay walked towards the fallen orc as it crawled away. A smear of blood marked it’s path as it clawed it’s way across the scorched floor. Just as it reached the doorway, stretching its hand out for the exit.
**BLAM**
A wisp of smoke trailed from the barrel of his gun as the orcs head exploded, covering the door in a wash of blood and meat.
Clay grunted, placing his gun back into its holster. He looked over to the other side of the room, seeing Ozahr do the same. They made their way to each other, meeting at the center of the room. Clay nodded towards Ozahr.
“How many did you get?”
“Uh…”
He briefly counted, pointing with the barrel of his gun at the corpses littering his side of the room.
“Seven.”
“Heh. Almost beat me. I got nine.”
Ozahr shrugged.
“Well, fuck. Guess I’m buying the next round?”
Clay nodded. Ozahr scooped a pile of gold coins off the ground, smirking.
“Best part about raising thieves guilds, I suppose.”
# ~~~
The two of them sat at the tavern, discussing whatever came to mind.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Ozahr slightly cocked his head towards Clay, a bit preoccupied in his glass of mead.
“Why does yours glow blue?”
“Pardon?”
“Your gun. It’s for a blue muzzle flash and shit.”
Ozahr nodded, understanding the question.
“Ah, I see the confusion. I had to adapt the runes for the smaller scale and new components. You see, bat dung is typically the best choice for these kinds of spells, but I had to use-“
Clay raised a hand.
“What the hell? Runes? Bat shit? I’m just talking about your gun.”
“I am talking about my gun.”
“You don’t use gun powder?”
“The fuck is gunpowder?”
The two men stared at each other, both struggling to understand the others point. Clay reached into his holster and set his gun on the counter.
“Alright. This here’s the barrel, right?”
Clay gestures towards the gun and Ozahr nodded.
“And when shit comes outta here, it kills things.”
Once again, Ozahr nodded. Clay pointed towards the wheel, once again fully loaded after they finished up their last battle.
“Now, the killing things are kept in here. Now, what are they called?”
Ozahr pointed at the gun.
“Modified incendiary runes.”
“Yeah- wait, no- fuck.”
Ozahr groaned in frustration, pulling out his own gun.
“Here, look!”
He opened a small hatch on the side of it, revealing a bright blue crystal contained in a wooden housing engraved with runes.
“Alright, now this is crystal is an evocation focus, right? And those are simplified blaze runes? And you can see here, I’ve meshed a few of them with force runes. So, all this does is make a powerful fiery blast of blue energy that hits the target!”
Clay stared, dumbfounded.
“…what? Mine blows up dust and shoots bits of metal!”
Ozahr stared at his gun.
“Well, how the hell does *that* work?” | My index pressed down on the trigger, releasing the cocked hammer. It struck the firing pin, which in turn impacted the primer at the base of the cartridge. 6.5 Creedmoor, built from recycled brass.
The primer was commercial, and ignited instantly. Normally that would in turn activate the propellant, causing an explosion of gases that would send the shell hurtling out of the barrel.
It was all too fast to be felt, but the debug marker wrapped around my first spell activated. At least I could check later if something went wrong. The spell itself was a simple trigger, turning any exothermic reaction into a spinning feedback loop of wild magic. It would only stop burning until all the extractable energies in the chamber were consumed.
Filling the shell between the projectile and primer was fine sand. *Enchanted* sand. Yeah, apparently in the old days merchants would cheat customers my mixing it in their powder. My stuff was way different - I'd enspelled each grain in a vat, my spells boosted by amps pushing liquid metal around the tank. Each was infused with a calculated supply of magic.
The trigger touched the grains, activating their innate energies and forcing them to let it all out. Individual molecule were spent to fuel the reaction, the ashes looped back in for another pass. Each one that disappeared added to the pressure.
All of this would definitely shoot something, but the results would be all over the place. Handling this was the job of the second spell, which limited the uncontrolled reaction by blowing any excess energies into the ether. It was possible to drag in a precise curve of pressure vs. time, the rune laser-cut into the cartridge walls for consistency.
Some would disagree, but I found it easier to bleed off a powerful spell than have it run perfectly every time.
My second debug marker activated as the bullet left the cartridge, the empty shell burned clean. There was barely any smoke or smell as the round left the test barrel.
High-speed cameras mounted in the range recorded its path, while pressure sensors in the barrel tracked the fading energies. All of that appeared on my laptop a moment later.
I skimmed through the charts, comparing the ballistics to our standard mass-produced units. Same one-twenty grain bullet, primer, and housing. Magic is a fickle non linear beast, and it didn't always work. But when it did...
"Yes!" I shouted, pumping my fist in the air. The older elf in the other lane stared at me like I was crazy. Okay, maybe I was.
"About time," he snorted. Gavin hefted his weapon, a HK417 with a shortened barrel that he used like a carbine. "You got it to work?"
"Hell yeah," I replied. Alright, I was definitely giddy. "Unguided it shoots just like the regular stuff from our factories.
"Perhaps only this one does", he said dryly. Solely to prove him wrong, I reset the equipment and switched the selector to burst fire. Three rounds left the barrel a moment later, the computer confirming identical results.
"Fine, it works," he huffed. "But why? Most only do this to make hotter and flatter loads. Or maybe make rounds where you can control the power before shooting, but I find that finicky. Too easy to fuck up."
I rolled my eyes and hoped he didn't see it.
"I don't bother with this because we have taggers," he continued. Gavin moved back to his lane, a red holographic target snapping up in the distance. I felt him cast before unleashing a roaring burst, the 7.62s making a single mark on the bullseye. He didn't miss the rest - they'd all landed in the exact same spot.
The DSP behind my bionic ears kicked in before the noise reached my brain, compressing it down to more appropriate levels. It sounded like a recorded shot rather than a real one - the range profile did that. I had more sensitive options for the field.
"These are regular rounds without an iota of magic in them," he stated. "I can buy these anywhere - that's also a reason why I don't like everyone switching to the Creedmoor. And I hit the target every time."
"Watch me again, Gavin," I retorted. Quickly I dropped the mag from the vice-mounted weapon, inserting one topped with our regular rounds. I fired again. "Tell me, what do you hear?"
"You," he grunted.
"Check your dB graph," I called back. "I should've said this earlier, our dynamics processors get better each year."
"Well, if that thing isn't lying to me, there's a good 15dB difference. Can't really hear it though." I could see a hint of surprise appear on his face.
"Exactly," I replied with a grin. "It's a start. Now our rounds are supersonic, but it'll at least dull the muzzle blast a tad. You of all people should know that certain spells can actually burn up the *sound* energy they create."
---
/r/digitallyfreestories
This response is part of my [Magsci collection](https://www.reddit.com/r/digitallyfreestories/comments/lx8q79/udigitallyfrees_magsci_collection/). | 2022-07-01T12:24:11 | 2022-07-01T12:13:40 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You're a bartender at the No Way Inn. The inn doesn't appear to have an entrance, but patrons always seem to find a way inside. The best part of your day is listening to the story of how they got in.
Inspired by [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/wpjc02/oc_finally_finished_our_dd_room_after_2_years/) on r/DnD by u/Sky_Captain_Hana | Iz was wiping down the bar and waving goodbye to a regular, when one of the oak floorboards started to shake and rattle up from the floor. Everyone paused, lagers in hand, with a shocked look as the nails were prayed from their positions and the floorboard was beaten into submission. Old John, who had had a few too many ales tonight, wobbled down to inspect his floors and their spontaneous movement. With a solid crack, the board connected onto wobbly John’s forehead.
Everyone gasped.
John went down like a fighter you hear in the stories. Clean knockout.
A young, grimy girl’s face stuck out from the soil and mud below. She looked as though she had spent the day in a coal mine. Smiling, she hoisted herself up from a small hole in the ground. She taunted and held out her arms in triumph as she looked around at the startled faces of the tavern.
“I did it, ya?” The girl said. “These fine folk down the road told me ‘bout this No Way Inn and how it’s got No Way In, ya know? Well, I did it. Nothin’ stops me.”
A few of the regulars stepped up to check on Old John. Still alive. Right bright red mark on his forehead though. They started to drag him off, when the girl paused to look at them.
“Don’t worry lass, just a bit too much to drink. Common thing round here, eh.” Marcus said. “We’ll get him somewhere soft for the night.”
The other large man, Travus, added, “Ya know, so often ye’d think they’d rightly make the floors a bit softer? Just in case?”
The girl shrugged and looked towards Iz. “Barkeep, whatcha got on tap tonight?”
“Uh,” Iz said, “we just got lagers here lass. Same as always.” Still shocked, Iz couldn’t find the words to say much more. He started to fill a stein.
“Gimme one of those and I’ll regale ya with my impressive story of how I broke in here! Ain’t so hard anyways ya know. Maybe one on the house for figuring it out?” The girl said.
“So, first I spent a good bitta daylight casin the joint. Really watching. Checking out to see if there was a hidden passage way. NOTHIN’. So I says to myself, there must be a tunnel somewhere else right? I dunno where this tunnel is though so I’ll just make my own I says! So then all I had to do was get my shov——“
“Lass, the name is uh, how do I say this. . . It’s really just a marketing ploy eh?” Iz said. “Next time, please save us all the trouble and renovations, and just use the back door.” | “And then suddenly the boy was gone and when I turned around,” the large Lumberjack said, turning to the man beside him at the bar. “I was here!” The other man nodded, a look of comprehension on his old wisened face. The bar, unusually quiet for a Friday night, sat only the two men at the bar and Peter.
“Something similar happened to me too!” the frail man said, whipping over his robes to cover his lap. Peter stood at the bar, cleaning a pint glass, trying to pretend not to be listening. Having been a bartender at the No Way Inn for some years, he still never grew tired of the stories the patrons would tell, of the strange and fascinating ways they entered the pub.
“What happened to you then?” the Lumberjack enquired, his brows furrowed, looking down on the man.
“I was in this glen,” the older man began, tipping a sip from his beer. “When I heard a horrible howling noise!” The Lumberjack finished the last dregs of his pint. Peter slid up beside them and silently refilled it. “It was freezing cold. Coldest night in years by my reckoning! T’was only me and my staff since my old hound passed only a month ago or so.” The Lumberjack frowned, worried now he might have made a mistake in asking the older gentleman his tale.
“The moon was full though. Too big nearly, it seemed strange to me then and it seemed strange to me now!” the elder went on, oblivious to the boredom setting into his audience. “It lit up the grass until every blade was glistening like a knife!” Finishing his beer, he held up his empty glass for Peter to see. Gliding down, Peter replaced his empty glass with a full one and went back to cleaning where he could. Before continuing, the old man supped his beer, smiling with approval as he laid it back down on the bar.
“Now,” he began again. “Where was I?” A frown developed on his face and the towering Lumberjack tried hard not to roll his eyes. Peter could only smile as he cleaned the last of the dirty glasses, standing them up in front of the large mirror that covered the back wall of the bar. Looking around, he remembered back to his first nights working here. Every booth and every stool would be filled. Coins would litter the sides of the pool table, everyone waiting for a game. Half the people would be forced to stand though not many minded.
“Oh that's right!” the old man said, finally finding his place once more. “It was me and the glen. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see. A terrible scream rattled my eardrums. Then…” His voice quivered as Peter saw the man stare off into nothing. “I saw her. Bright white and see-through.” The Lumberjack no longer looked bored but Peter had heard a variation of the tale a hundred times before. “She screamed. Even then, I still walked towards her. The Banshee. I must have made a noise or something for she turned around, her great sad eyes, locked on me.” The Lumberjack waited, leaning forward now.
“And then what?” he asked, at last, losing patience with the elder. “Did she transport you here?” It took a minute but the older man finally spoke once more.
“I followed her,” he whispered. “I don't know what compelled me to do it. It was like a different force took over my legs and soon I found myself in a cave where no cave had ever been, I’m sure of that.” Without looking, the man reached out for his pint, slurping down half the glass in one go. “She floated then, crying all the while. She turned to me once more, her eyes. Her terrible sad eyes. The cave entrance vanished behind me then and she was gone. When I turned around I saw a door with a flashing light. What else could I do? I had no choice. Then, I found myself here, talking to you.” There was silence then. The two men didn’t touch their pints for a while, too engaged with going over the story again in their heads. Then, Peter heard a familiar sound. On the door, at the far end of the bar, there was a knock.
“Come on in!” Peter shouted, already pouring another pint. In stumbled a man. Thin and tall, he had circular glasses on with a brown briefcase under his arm. Sweat lashed from his forehead while a look of confusion and fear slowly disappeared from his face. Looking around, he took a seat at the bar. Wordlessly, Peter placed a pint in front of him.
“So,” the old man said. “How did you get here?” | 2022-08-16T12:55:29 | 2022-08-16T12:19:12 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] You are a guardian demon. Since the day you were born, you were tasked to protect a human and guide them to hell. Every day theres a bunch of stupid angels trying to Take your human away. it was easy to keep them away, but now your human is starting to notice something is not right. | "This is badass! Look at that guy!" Mark leaned forward on the couch, turning to see the decidedly prudish girl, Samantha, beside us. "Oh, come on," he pleaded.
"He's really not," Samantha declared with a judgemental pause of the TV. I was reminded of the old VHS training videos. Pause for discussion with your team. I smirked, managing to keep still and silent as the stones as I crawled up the wall.
"He's killing all the guys that kidnapped his daughter. How is that not badass? Vengence? Comeuppance? Protecting those he loves? What's better than that?" Mark shook his head in baffled frustration. He must wonder how he always attracts friends with a stick firmly in residence up the back end.
Samantha pulled at her shirt sleeves nervously. She was afraid, just a rookie, but I had to give the devil her due. She was doing better than the ones they'd sent so far. "It's like the other movie, the one with the guy and the dog. He has good intentions, but thats when you have to be the most careful, when you're most inclided to si-slip up and do bad things."
"Right," Mark drew out. I uncoiled, sent out three sharp buzzes. He leaned down to check his phone and a rush of pleasure rolled over my neck. I wanted to melt and ooze into every crack of that smile. "My ride's here, actually. Maybe I'll just finish this one on my own?"
"Oh," Samantha let out sharp and high pitched, looking about the room. "You don't have to go. I got us a new board game to try and we can finish the movie too, if you want."
"Maybe next time. Sorry Sam, I have homework." He collected up his bag just below me. My thin needles sent crumbling bits of popcorn ceiling down to rest in his hair. He looked up, stoic and unseeing.
The face of the young beacon of radiance soured in the afterglow of the delightful lie. "Sure, just call me. God still loves you, Mark."
Laying it on far too thick, sweetness.
The poor boy looked perplexed as I followed along on the ceiling. He mouthed, 'still?' then closed the door behind him before I could slip through.
I slipped through a vent and rolled up to the roof, tap tapping the sides as my sharp spikes began to fill out with flesh. This left me with a decision to make. Neon yellow, undoubtly.
I fell from the exterior cover to a thorny bush in the side yard, metastasizing with manicure complete. I rolled my shoulders into the leather jacket, just a little too tight. I rolled a farm fresh cigarette through my just as fresh fingers. With a shake, my hair exploded into color, every shade of blue there was, and a sneaked in handful that never were. I observed myself in the glass of the pristine window, a testament to the sacrament of proper housekeeping. Manic pixie dream girl I was not, but almost. I am ready, my lord.
"Whoa, did you walk here?" Mark asked, hopping down the porch stairs two at a time.
"Not at all, big man, parked at the end of the street. Just checking the place out. I've never seen so much work put into a place and it still be so ... soulless."
Mark sighed, "I think Sam's dad must be a little bit of a hardass. Her too, a little bit. It's always neat, no decorations or anything. She's pretty religious. You two would not get along."
"You might be surprised." The smiled flushed my face, full now of its many human capillaries. A body built to feel, to resonate with every word. A filthy work of art. I loved it. "I can be very persuasive."
I walked north, without stating our destination. Much better to wait, let him-
"True, did you still want to, you know, do the thing we talked about?" It was so surreal to see him, the most brazen being in existance, sounding like a shy schoolboy. I see why he subjected himself to this, though. He was learning, changing, improving, as he always was.
"Only if you still want to," I offered back. "Sam would not approve, I'm sure."
"Yeah," he offered back with a nervous laugh. "She would probably never talk to me again."
"Oh, I think she would let you get away with much more than that before she gave up, very forgiving that one. She's got it bad."
"Part of the problem," Mark said, then turning to look at me. I barely tilted my neck, posing without posing, projecting the casual unrealised beauty of youth. The glimmer behind his eyes told me it was working. "I feel like I've known you forever. Sorry if that sounds corny."
"You have," I said. "A third of forever, anyway." He laughed at my joke now, but when this experience was over and his memories returned to him, the Lord of Hell may punish me for that slip a little too close to the truth. I savored the thought.
/r/surinical
Edit: touched up several awkward wordings | Alexander squinted. He was holding an old paperback edition of Nabokov's *Lectures on Literature*. "Is this any good? Have you read it?"
It wasn't all that easy to control Patricia's body. She worked at a second-hand book shop. She wore Hermès' Twilly Eau Ginger on days when she woke up with existential nausea. That was most days. She thought about green frogs. Really, she was obsessed. I found it challenging to steer her mind off of green frogs. "Are you planning on becoming a writer?"
He scratched one of his patches of beard. "Maybe. Can't be that difficult, can it? My mother wrote a thriller once. Won some sort of award. If she can do it, then trust me—she buys Tupperware, you know?—then anyone can do it."
I was ecstatic. It was a sure sign of progress. He insulted his mother to a stranger. Pride. He toyed with the idea of becoming a writer. Sloth. The stars were all aligning in my favor. "I'm sure you've already read *Lolita*, right? Of course you have. Who hasn't read *Lolita*?"
Alexander tightened his grip on the book. "O-Of course. I read it a long time ago."
Just as I was imagining how cute he would look surrounded by hellfire, the bell above the door rang like the bourdon Emmanuel of Notre-Dame.
"Oh! Hi! Alex, I didn't expect to see you here."
I would have recognized that stench of angel farts anywhere. It was his guardian angel, controlling the body of a buxom girl wearing a yellow summer dress spotted with silver medallions. She looked like a cute, little frog. No. That was Patricia. I had to focus.
Alexander put the book aside and he leaned in for a boob-heavy hug. That was low. As was the neckline of her dress.
"Veronica! It's been ages. How are you? I haven't seen you since—"
"—since that night in New York." She tossed her hair aside. That ... harlot! What a cheap trick!
"You know, there's a *fantastic* sushi joint right down the road. Have you been? It's *fantastic*."
I would have to move fast. "Tanpopo? I *just* saw the health inspector walk out of there, shaking his head."
The guardian angel shot me a glare that would likely have earned her a promotion down in hell. "Excuse me," she said. "We're having a conversation over here."
Alexander rubbed his stomach. "I don't think I can survive another food poisoning." There was terror in his eyes.
Had I gone too far that time I emptied a Petri dish into his poke bowl? No. I was only trying to manifest his inner wrath. I would have to strengthen my resolve if I were to defeat my nemesis.
Veronica laughed. "How about a cup of coffee, then? I'm dying to catch up!"
A glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes. Dammit! I had worked so hard to blackpill him, and now this harlot in an overstuffed dress was threatening to undo it? "I'll give you a discount on the book!"
It was only when I saw how he was looking at me that I realized I was panting heavily. "R-Really?" he said. "I guess—"
"Today you, green frog me."
Veronica snorted as it dawned on me what I had just said. Patricia! She was way too powerful for a nondescript bookseller. Or was her fondness for green frogs just that ... intense?
"W-What?" said Alexander.
It was already too late. I could feel it. Still, I made sure to correct myself: "Today you, tomorrow me. I'm sorry. I just meant—"
"Isn't that that phrase from Reddit?" She said it as if she were chewing on a particularly French snail. She laughed. "Hey, when does the narwhal bacon?"
Alexander tried to suppress a laugh, but he failed spectacularly. The humiliation was utter and complete. I blamed Patricia. No, I blamed myself. I had just revealed, in public, that I browsed Reddit. There was no coming back from that.
They left and I didn't even make an effort to stop them. The bell mocked me with its chime and I was about to hop on out of Patricia—perhaps I could seduce Alex as a barista?—when the world became shrouded in darkness.
"W-What?" I said. My voice echoed. Gone was the bookshop. Gone was ... everything. What was happening? Had Satan observed my failure? Had he now sent me to some sort of secret time-out void of nothingness to punish me? I decided the answer was: no. Because that was when I saw the frog.
It was gigantic. Thalassophobic. What I had mistaken for darkness was in fact its dark green skin.
"You have disturbed the peace of my devout follower," said the frog.
"H-Huh?"
The voice was a mix between a calving iceberg and a calf eating an iceberg lettuce. It was a crunchy roar. It would have made me laugh if it didn't make me terrified its acoustics would tear apart my very essence.
"The mortal known as Patricia Ross. You have disrupted her worship. You shall now pay the cost."
"Y-You're making a mistake. I am a demon. I act on behalf of Satan. Ever heard of him?"
The mountainous frog said softly, "No."
----
"Patricia? Hello-o. I'm here to take over your shift."
Patricia suddenly became aware of her coworker standing right in front of her. "Sorry!" she said. "I must have spaced out."
Her coworker grinned. "Boredom's getting to you, eh? My trick is that I listen to podcasts. Like all day. I've got these little earbuds. See? I'm listening to Michael Barbaro right now."
Patricia laughed. "I guess that must be it! But I could never do that. I'm way too easily distracted as it is."
Clearing her throat, Patricia's coworker said, "So what you're saying is, that you are easily *distracted*. And that is why you can't listen to *podcasts* while you're *working*."
Patricia shot her a pair of finger guns. "That's an EXCELLENT way to put it."
"Here's what else you need to-kno-today: there's a frog on the counter."
"What?" She glanced down. There was, indeed, a tiny green frog sitting on top of Nabokov's *Lectures on Literature*. "Oh! Cute cute mine mine!"
Her coworker shook her head. "You're weird, Pat. But I kinda like ya."
Patricia whispered into the ear of the little frog, "Do you want to come home with me? Want to meet a bunch of other cool froggies? You do? Wow, that's great!"
It went unnoticed by the pair of booksellers that the tiny, green frog was shivering.
/r/ripeblunts | 2022-09-22T04:52:43 | 2022-09-22T02:16:19 | 232 | 126 |
[WP] Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened. | Yu Feng felt a foot impact his chest like a cannon ball, blasting him tens of miles away and into the surface of a dead planet, obliterating it. His face went red as his Qi was disturbed, and he coughed a mouthful of blood out. He looked up at the demon, who conversely looked down on him like an evil god.
The demon, Gu Yangtian, was covered in thick demonic Qi that disturbed space itself. He laughed as he saw the pathetic state of Yu Feng and spoke coldly.
"Those old men really sent someone so weak to kill me, the great Gu Yangtian? They must be looking down on me, I'll teach them a lesson they will never forget!"
Slowly, the demon floated towards Yu Feng. Although he tried, Yu Feng was immobile. He could only watch the demon draw its sword, which was dyed red with blood, and press it against his head.
Yu Feng had begun to accept his defeat when a terrifying pressure suddenly pressed down on the surrounding space. Looking up through the blood in his eyes, he could make out the figure of his arch-nemesis, Li Tan.
Yu Feng was shocked, and barely croaked out a muffled 'run', but Li Tan didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were covered in shadow, and Qi was leaking from him like the water behind a broken dam.
"You..." Li Tan drew a shuddering breath. "You need to stop me, Feng boy. I'm about to turn everyone on Earth into frogs with my Froginating Ray. Then you need to stop me like the hero you are. Isn't that supposed to be what happens? So why is a nobody like this trying to stop you?"
The demon Gu Yangtian was furious. Him, a nobody!? He was the most dangerous demon to recently come to being. He could destroy everything, but a side character wanted to call him a 'nobody'? Absurd!
He roared furiously and rushed across space to punch him, but the fist was easily caught by Li Tan. Despite struggling, the demon couldn't move an inch from his spot. Fear surged from the depths of his heart, but before he could cry out, a surge of Qi came from Li Tan, and he disintegrated, soul and all. He was eliminated from time and space entirely, so he might as well have not existed.
Yu Feng couldn't help but stare at Li Tan. He was like a different person now, completely different to the endearingly eccentric and mad scientist he had known before. However, Li Tan acted as if nothing had happened. He threw a healing Qi pill towards Yu Feng and smiled at him.
"You need to hurry and heal, or the humans on Earth will be hopping mad!"
Then he broke space and teleported back to Earth, leaving Yu Feng in a daze. But he smiled. | it was over. the fate of the world rested on the outcome of this fight, and you lost. it had been so long that you protected everyone that there weren't any records left of when you first started. no one was even making records when you stopped counting the years. but they were better, and now you and everyone else were going to die. you blinked. and in the moment your eyes were closed, they were gone. it took you a few seconds to make sense of the change, and a few more to realize that the meticulously organized pile where you were looking was the body of your enemy, laid out liked the stacked pages of a biology textbook and folded like freshly ironed clothing.
"I made many things that were durable enough to last almost forever, but there's no coming back from being *organized*"
you turned your head towards the familiar voice to see a face that you hadn't seen since what might as well have been your infancy. "how? you're dead, I still have the statue I turned you into! I heard you scream into the ground doubled over in pain!"
"doubled over, sure. it's hard not to laugh when you pull off a trick so flawlessly. it was the first plan I ever really made. and you were so relieved that it was over and so busy cleaning up my messes that you rushed to put it all behind you, never considering how suspicious it all was. a villain that seemed to be everywhere, throwing life into chaos and disharmony, beaten by a couple of *teens*. day turned into night and reversed at my whim, vegetables grew legs and uprooted themselves from their fields and ran away, gravity reversed. that's where the phrase comes from you know, "it didn't just grow legs and walk away". but no one had never *seen* me really harm someone, so you thought I couldn't. no one ever understood anything about me, but that was the point. then here come two heroes to save everyone from nowhere, barely old enough to say "I have an idea" to arguing adults without being completely ignored. you "stole" the skies back from me, banished the petty evils from existence, reveled to the world that you had miraculously discovered the elements of my destruction."
"I am your *GOD*, sun shepherd. I made you insignificant creatures so you would breed like insects, and I sent my various horrors after you as entertainment. I made sure there would always be enough of you to survive whatever I might want to do. and when I felt like it, which was often, I'd personally turn your life into an unknowable mess. they started to pile up, these horrors. that was when it started to get boring. I decided it was time to put away my toys in their box and do something else. I'd done everything I could think of, so I thought I might try being dead for a while. I made you and your sister, able to fly through the sky, strong as 1000 men, and magic beyond anyone's wildest dreams. and I made the weapons you would use to "destroy" me."
"you see, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself, and anything you creatures might do would be tainted with my actions. and *oh boy* did you live up my expectations. I thought it was funny when I opened someone's door a bit and it turned into a jar. haha get it, the door was ajar! but you twisted magic and wordplay farther than I could have dreamed of. you were so afraid of your sisters power that when she expressed her anger over your shared subjects preference for the day, you used *whole pages* of poetry to lock her away in her own charge. you thought if she loved the moon so much, she could spend forever merged with it, looking down at everything she wanted so dearly. you tried for so long to bring her back, buy you worked to hard to send her away. you've done good things too of course and I've enjoyed watching them, but your mercy is more cruel than anything I could have done deliberately"
"but nothing that exists can truly last forever, even if made by a god. that's the unfortunate reality of reality. now that toybox you helped me fill, all those years ago, is starting to come undone. and without your sister as a backup, I can't really have you getting yourself killed, or else this whole experiment comes to an end. maybe I should give her back to you, filled with all the anger and hate that she must have towards you after all these centuries of torment. that mix of longing and dread in your eyes, it's something I never could have created on my own."
you though for a moment, puzzling over their words. "why tell me all of this if you didn't want to effect our actions? if I'm not going to remember all this, why tell me so much?"
*"what fun is there in making sense?"* | 2022-10-13T21:12:44 | 2022-10-13T20:57:31 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] What if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves.
[WP] Saw this as a shower thoughts post and no one put it up as a writing prompt. Credit to OP 69PrivateJoker
Edit: Wow! I really didn't expect this post to blow up so much. Thanks everyone, there's some really really good work here | On the grieving morning of my mother, a black dot appeared under my chest. The texture of an ink, the slight smell of paint, it was a tattoo.
Or so I thought.
I ran to my father, exclaimed to him that a tattoo appeared on me. He looked at me, a solemn stare it was, and said, 'Your mother had the exact same one.'
That night I dreamt of my mother, her soft face in the coffin, she just looked so... at rest. My father said that she dealt with illnesses her entire life; weak body, couldn't be helped. But that night I dreamt of a utopia.
Back in the present day, my father had died too, also the same way. I never asked him about his tattoo, I wondered if he ever had one. The doctor said that his was at the back of his head, it too was a black dot. I guess I never noticed it, he had lucious dark hair until the day he past.
I've asked several doctors, if the mysterious tattoos ran in the family line. He looked at me with a wince, he said that couldn't be right and showed me his stomach, there, a black dot lay.
The moment he asked me if I had a black dot, I took a moment. I was afraid to say yes, so I nodded. I got it when I was twelve, a young age for a lad to get the tattoo, he said. Perhaps it was the stress of my mother, that triggered the cause.
I showed him the black dot beneath my chest, and he inspected it thoroughly. Same shade, same shape, same texture. He looked at me with grave eyes, it was cancer. | The studied and revered scriptures of history are full of proverbs, but they are all about an inch and a half away from uselessness.
They don't make the world a better place because not everyone follows them. The actions that make the world a better place are nearly impossible to guess at, and certainly follow no conventional rules.
Drake Fennick got his first tattoo when he was only five years and seven months old. A butterfly with a crippled wing. Drake, in his tender young age, at first made nothing of it, if only because new things are a regular occurrence at that age.
Then Drake began to dream, biblical dreams full of blood and fire. At the end of each dream, a butterfly fluttered gently across Drake's blood-tinted visions. Against his will, Drake always reached out and crushed the butterflies wing.
The tattoo had been faint when it first appeared, but as time passed, and Drake ignored the dreams, the butterfly became darker, from the faintest pink, to violet, purple, and then to full black. Drake could feel the tattoo, pins and needles stabbing into his shoulder blade every day, the sensation worse each morning than it had been the night before.
Drake's parents could not see the tattoo, and became convinced their son was mentally ill. They knew he wasn't faking it, a five year old would have to be positively psychopathic to wake up the middle of the night screaming about butterfly's for weeks at a time.
The odd thing was that while five year old Drake could hardly sleep through the night, his six month old sister Carolina slept soundly, the quietest child that Drake's parents had ever heard of.
The tattoo got darker, if it was possible to be darker than black. The silhouetted butterfly went from ink black, to the kind of black that one only expects from the night sky. There was an unhealthy contrast between Drake's white skin and the abyssal black of the tattoo that by now felt like a molten brand being pressed into bone.
The nightmares faded in the fifth month, and Drake's sleep twisted into a possessed trance. Drake's parents were of the more religious bent. They were convinced prayer and locked doors would cure their unconsolable son. Satanic activity was confirmed in their minds when Drake woke them both up in the wee hours, scratching his door with a glazed look on his face, mindless of the blood coursing out from beneath his ruined fingernails.
A priest was called, but he too saw no diagnosable problem in the small boy's insistence that his night hours were haunted by blood and butterflies.
Things came to head on Drake's sixth birthday. The previous night had been the first time in months that Drake slept soundly. His parents were relieved by the lack of, for the first time in months, ravings about butterflies.
Drake's parents woke to a scream so bloodcurdling that both were convinced Satan had risen from hell and made his home one of their children's rooms. The father ran to Drake's room. The mother went to check on Carolina.
The father reached his sons door, jiggling the dull knob frantically for a moment before remembering that it had been locked every night for almost six months. The father, hands trembling with the fear of God, eventually found the motor skill to use the key. Drake was not in his bed. The window was open. On the left wall, in what could have only been blood, was written, "YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND. BUT IT IS BETTER THIS WAY."
Underneath the scarlet scribblings was a small drawing of a butterfly with a crippled left wing.
Then the mother began to scream.
| 2014-08-02T18:25:58 | 2014-08-02T18:00:09 | 20 | 13 |
[WP]Everyone has a soul mate, and when your soul mate dies, everything turns black and white. You were born into a world that’s black and white, and have resigned yourself to it, until one day you wake up and the world is in color.
This prompt is actually from the sparknotes website but it was so cool that I wanted to see what we could do with it.
Everyone has one soul mate—and when your soul mate dies, everything turns black and white. Some people’s worlds go black and white before they ever meet their other half. Your main character was born into a world that’s black and white, and has resigned themselves to it, figuring their soul mate died tragically young—until one day they wake up and the world is inexplicably in color. | They died before their time, my time, our time. Maybe there was color for me, long before I remembered, when I was two or so. I think there must have been, for my dreams have color, fleeting color, like the sparks one sees upon rubbing their eyes. But day to day life was drab. Like a old newsreel, or pictures of those industrial cities from the soviet era.
Happily, or unhappily, I grew up on the coast of Maine, and was most comfortable in the waxing and waning seasons, spring and fall, when thick blankets of fog would roll in, and color everything grey. For then I was equal with everyone who could see color during their waking lives.
Some days, I'd mourn, wondering who had been taken from me, from their parents, at such a young age. The color had gone from my world, but the light was taken from theirs. I had been too young to appreciate the loss, but undoubtedly, for them, it must have wounded them deeply. For them, whoever they were, perhaps they could see in color, but it would contain no joy.
The years went on, my life was happy overall, but I never found a reason to marry. How could I? Cruel fate had made the choice for me. And being an only child, my parents had resigned themselves to never having grandkids.
And then, one morning, ah, I remember the time exactly. I looked immediately for a clock when it happened! 7:38 am. I was drinking coffee and reading the paper before work, and suddenly, the coffee was brown. The morning sun was yellow, and kitchen a light sage green. I fell out of my chair from the shock.
But what did it mean?
I turned on the news, did any other Greys experience this? Was it a global pehnomena? It would be all over the news now. Nothing. Except for the ticker, on small note in the ticker.
"Mother in coma, gives birth"
And I froze. I waited for the news story. I was late that day for work. I had to plan, I had to figure out what to do.
You see, we've become so wrapped up in the idea of "Soul Mate" as lover, we've forgotten the other meanings. A parent will sacrifice themselves for their children. A father will die, will sacrifice himself so his son and wife can live.
She was single, alone, no immediate family capable of helping her. She'd been seriously injured in a car accident, and as the child grew stronger, she grew weaker in her coma. It was as if some part of her was still giving herself to the child. At 9 months, She did not survive the c-section. Six months later, her daughters adoption was finalized.
And as I held her, I knew, nothing can bring color to your life like a child.
| People find a way to make good with life. Amputees smile and they have their good days and their bad, but they make it work. You lose someone and you mourn and you cry but you make good with life. Daniel never saw colors, but he knew about them. Adverts on TV for roses, "Show her the colors she shows you," how clever, how cute. But unlike most people Daniel had never seen a roses color. Roses, like every other thing in Daniels life excisted in shades of gray. There were no colors for him, never had been, but he had made good with life.
When you were born somewhere in the world your soulmate waited for you and the world was full of color. When one of you died the other lost the ability to see color. No one knew why, quantum physics maybe, God, in the end it didnt matter, it was sweet, it was romantic. Except Daniel had been born into a world in the gray scale. His soul mate had never excisted.
It was a thursday morning and he was, as usual, slow to get out of bed. He was awake but ground his face into the soft warm pillow, bringing the covers over his exposed shoulder and hidding from the cool morning air. He opened first one eye and the the other, and then scowled. His pillow wasnt its usual pure white but it was, well it was not white. It wasnt gray either or black, it was what he would some day come to call cream. And his hand, it wasnt gray, it was; well there was a brown pink red, what the hell was it? He sat up quickly, fear turning his stomach and he felt suddenly naseous.
The world had changed and it frightened him. This was color he knew now. This was what skin looked liked in color, what bed sheets looked like in color. He stood then, bare feet padding against the hard wood floor that was just a shade darker than his skin and he hurried to the bathroom. The bathroom was, blessedly, mostly white and black for a moment he felt a little at ease, but even so this white was too bright and the black so pure. He hurried to the sink and looked in the mirror, looked at himself. It was him, his features, his face but it looked so different. He knew his blemishes, his scars, the little minutia that gives everyone 'character' but he had never see himself like this. And he felt sick again. How did people do it? How did they live like this all day every day when just a glimpse was threatening his health and sanity.
"Hey, you ok?" She was barefoot and her steps on the tile floor had been silent enough and he had been distracted enough that he hadnt heard Amanda come up behind him. She reached out to touch his shoulder.
"Huh? Yeah... yeah." He turned to her looking no better than he had a moment before but he had to see. She was beautiful and her hair seemed to shine. She had red hair. He knew that, she had told him, but he had never seen red before and it took his breath away. She was beautiful, he had fallen in love with her and she was so beautiful, but he had never seen her like this. He reached out to grab a handful of her hair and she slapped his hand away with a smile.
"Quit it." Her brow furrowed and she reached out to touch his fore head. "Are you sure." She worried for him because she loved him, because he loved her. Because they had lived together for almost a year now and had dated a year before that. He was the funniest man she knew, the strongest character even if he would rather run away from a fight than risk a black eye. "Are you going to the office today?" When she realized he wasn't paying attention to her words - although his eyes seemed fixated on her lips, he watched their color and the way they moved - she bopped his forehead.
"Yes, No." he shook his head. "No im working at home." That answer made her happy and she touched his chest, patting it before leaving him to his morning routine. She returned to the bedroom they shared and began to change into her clothe for work. He watched her from the door and although he had seen her naked before he had never seen this. This was color, this was life, and he was starring. She caught him staring and threw the tshirt she had slept in at his face.
He smiled for her, let her think he was just being silly and retreated back into the bathroom. Closing the door behind him he balled his hands into fist and brought her shirt to his mouth biting it to keep from screaming. he panicked but reached into the shower to run the water then slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor. His life had just changed and he was scared. He was so scared. | 2014-11-08T14:30:12 | 2014-11-08T10:01:27 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story. | There was once a man who had a great love for the animals of the land. The goddess of the Hunt, Artemis saw his great love and appeared before him with this message:
"I command you to be the very best, like none other before you. To catch animals shall be your test, to train them shall be your cause."
He traveled across the land, searching far and wide for rare animals, seeking to understand their nature and the powers they hid inside of them. As he traveled he cried out, "I must capture all the beasts of the land, air, and sea! I know this to be my destiny!"
In time, his captured animals became his best friends, often defending him and others around him. His beasts taught him much about the world, and in return he taught them how to live with humans.
Every challenge they encountered along the way, this man and his beasts faced with courage. They battled everyday, in order to claim their rightful place in the world. And in the end, when the time was right, they faced the four greatest beast trainers in the world. Arm in arm, they won the fight, accomplishing what had always been their dream.
Destiny fulfilled, Artemis appeared before him again. Seeing how far this man came, she decided to grant him one wish. He was so devoted to his cause that his wish was to remain with his animals for all time.
Artemis fulfilled his wish, transforming him into a massive tree where animals and birds could take shelter. It's said that the seeds of this tree became the Ash trees we know and love today. | When King Wendelin Wiedeking took the throne, his kingdom was on the verge of collapse. Wendelin's people were beset from all sides by marauding armies and debt collectors. It had gone from a powerhouse to a laughingstock through the hubris and ineptitude of its previous rulers.
However, Wendelin was different. He hadn't been born into nobility, but instead, had risen from humble beginnings through hard work. When he was given the throne, he had no delusions about a storied past or divine mandate. His humility led him to hire advisors from larger, more successful distant Eastern empires. Initially, Wendelin's people chafed under the yoke of these foreign nobles. Eventually, however, Wendelin's stewardship turned back his kingdom from the brink of failure, and his people rejoiced.
Wendelin's subjects viewed him as a man who could do no wrong. Soon, Wendelin grew to view himself in the same way, and he set his sights on a much bigger prize. To the west lay a much larger empire ruled by Ferdinand Piech. Ferdinand was a ruthless emperor. He surrounded himself with a constantly-rotating coterie of scheming advisors who were often executed after minor missteps. Ferdinand wasn't without his merits, however; under his rule, his empire flourished.
Wendelin knew he had no chance of conquering Ferdinand in standard warfare. Ferdinand's army and lands were several times larger. However, Wendelin hatched a plan. He rallied neighboring kingdoms to his side, promising them a share of the spoils of victory. The financiers and debt collectors who had once strangled his kingdom now lined up to finance his campaign. Wendelin used vast sums of borrowed wealth to purchase the finest sellswords and mercenaries around. Wendelin's mounting debt alarmed his advisors, but he told them not to worry: as soon as he had conquered Ferdinand's empire and gained access to their vaults, Wendelin would be able to pay off his debts many times over.
Wendelin marched his army to Ferdinand's borders. Ferdinand's forces were well-trained and numerous, but no match for Wendelin's makeshift army. Wendelin conquered several outer villages with ease. He won battle after battle, and continued to push further into Ferdinand's empire. All the while, he continued to borrow more money to keep his army supplied.
Soon, Wendelin had conquered nearly three-quarters of Ferdinand's empire. His once-humble kingdom was now the largest kingdom the world had ever seen. Kings and peasants alike were awed by Wendelin's maneuvering and prowess.
But his luck was not to last. He was just two days' march from the heart of Ferdinand's empire, and Ferdinand's vaults, when disaster struck. A drought swept across the land leading to riots and starvation. Several of Wendelin's allies retreated, and his lenders clamored to have their debts paid off immediately. Wendelin suddenly found himself with several enemies: not only Ferdinand, but those he had called allies only weeks before.
His lenders threatened to carve up his kingdom to pay off his debts. Wendelin begged for a brief reprieve; he could practically taste victory. Just one more battle and Ferdinand's capital would be under Wendelin's control. But no one would help him.
The kingdom he had spent decades rebuilding was about to collapse due to his hubris. Just when Wendelin had resigned himself to his fate, a savior emerged: Ferdinand. He offered Wendelin a deal, and Wendelin had no choice but to accept. Ferdinand paid off Wendelin's debts, and Wendelin became Ferdinand's vassal. And thus ends the story of how Volkswagen came to own Porsche. | 2015-06-10T16:10:18 | 2015-06-10T07:42:16 | 57 | 41 |
[WP] You wake up in a locked room with only a book and a pen. The first page tells you that you now have the power to alter all reality outside the room by writing. However, the reality you create is the one you walk out to forever. You have an hour. | *"dildodildodildodildodildodildodildodildodildodildodildo....*"
I close the book finally after filling up 300 pages with that wonderful word, and walk outside of the dark concrete room and into paradise....
The atmosphere is made of dildos, and it fills my lungs instantly.
I pass out in seconds in purple dildo bliss, and fall onto the dildo ground...
| O man. What I'm doing in this room?
OK, I already know what it is about - I should write a new reality? Let's do this.
Drugs that don't kill. No mafias. Sex with emotions, love, a lot of love. I imagine the old lady that I saw crossing the street yesterday at the 6th avenue. Her red rock had the hole that discovered her leg. The lips ends were going down. Her grey hair was flying 5,32cm above her head. New reality - She will have a new rock. Her grey hairs will fly only 3,12 cm above her head. I now see her smiling. That's good.
What with all the poor? The man I saw sleeping on the ground 2 weeks ago while going to work. Sadly I had a meeting, otherwise I could help him. Fuck, I only have an hour. I need to hurry up.
Let's write:
"All the needed will be less needed."
What causes people that they are in need - I asked myself? Maybe it is too petty to deal with right now.
I cross the sentence and write fast and in big letters.
"NO WARS".
Fuck, but what otherwise.
"NO VIOLENCE. NO PHYSICAL AND FISICAL VIOLENCE"
My forehead is getting warm, I feel tears creating on it. My body is sweating.
God, I didn't think it well be so difficult to write new reality.
Maybe bad things have its sense. Maybe we need it. Remember the small boy in the supermarket supporting his mother involved in the fight? I saw it on liveleak lately. This small poor boy, he behaved bad. But on the other side how else could he behave.
New reality, man - I don't want to change anything - just give me a beer.
The clock on the wall was moving. I look to the left and to the right. The room is so white. Nothing inside. Only a book and a pen. I sit on the ground. Luckily the ground is warm enough my buttocks are not cooling.
I remember my grandfather told me "这是一个恶作剧" what means 'In the good is bad and in the bad is good" So if I create good there will always exist bad. Man, I'll leave the book empty and let life create itself.
It was so difficult.
edit: English not my naive language, sorry.
Please spend gold money to other donations and people who need money most! | 2015-06-21T17:50:43 | 2015-06-21T13:15:49 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You are possessed by a demon. It doesn't control you, but it does mention it's just there because it doesn't want to go back to hell. | "Damn that feels so good" I let out in agilation as my toes curled, convulsing from pleasure, fingers dripping wet.
"Dont you mean - Dam, that feels *so* good?" a voice says.
"Fuck, Damien... I told you to stop being so possessive!" angrily slipping back into workout clothes.
"Sorry, I'll do anything, just don't exorcise today."
| The slow hiss in his ear sounded distant at first. It sounded like somebody left a tea kettle on the stove too long. That was impossible though, Tim didn't have a tea kettle. Tim also lived alone. The hissing stopped. Pop!
Tim's eyes shot open, but he was unable to move. It wasn't that he was paralyzed with fear, it was that it felt like a gorilla was sitting on his chest. While Tim was wrong about what was on his chest, he wasn't wrong about the fact that something was on his chest. It just happened to be something otherworldly.
"Hello Tim" said a disembodied voice. This, of course, startled Tim, who once again attempted to sit upright but failed.
"Oh, sorry. I could see how this would cause panic. One moment."
The voice suddenly became bodied, and a rather large demon appeared before Tim's eyes. This time he was paralyzed with fear.
"Hmm, yes. I guess that does make sense" the demon said as he stood - the weight finally lifted from Tim's chest. "Its all of those Hollywood movies you humans are creating these days about us. You know, we are not ALL like that, right? Its a stereotype and I wont stand for it."
Tim began to sputter out sounds that sounded like the attempt of words.
"Don't worry, I am not here to posses you or torment you or anything. I am not that kind of demon. We are just as varied in our professions as you are. Say, what do you do for a living?"
Tim finally gained enough composure to stammer out one word. "A-acountant."
"Ah yes!" the demon chuckled to himself. "I remember when that was created centuries ago as a form of torture - those were simpler times! Oh, and earlier when I said I wasn't here to posses you, I was lying. I am here to posses you. At least those are my orders from down stairs."
Tim, who finally managed to sit up, began to whimper again. A wicked smile graced the demons face.
"Don't you worry, I wont be doing any possessing. I always fancied myself more of an artist anyways. However, I can only not posses you under one condition."
Tim raised his eyebrows, coaxing the demon to speak.
"We need to be roommates. I am never going back to hell!" | 2016-07-21T19:31:50 | 2016-07-21T17:56:29 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | Blue.
The first thing Matt noticed was that color, that perfect sky-blue color of her eyes, as she walked down the street. Her jet black hair was tied back in a ponytail that bobbed back and forth as she walked, her pretty face masked in apprehension and nervousness.
But her eyes were blue. That was the first thing he noticed.
Behind her, a child cried in mortal terror as the woman approached Matt. An older woman pulled the child away, crossing herself with her free hand. Matt couldn't understand; *why is everyone so scared of her?* he thought. *She's beautiful.*
"H-hello? You can see me?" she asked. Her voice was like a spring breeze; quiet and gentle.
"Yeah..." Matt replied. "I think everyone here can see you, miss. Uh..."
A man in a business suit, for reasons Matt couldn't understand, took a look at the woman and voided himself. The blue-eyed woman ignored him, focusing on Matt. "Everyone sees me they way they want to see me. Most people see me as repulsive. Scary. Feared. But not you."
Matt gave a grunt of confusion, not looking away from the woman's blue eyes. Somewhere nearby, someone asked, "Dear God! What happened to *her?!*"
"I don't know why everyone's acting like that," Matt said. "You're beautiful."
"Am I?" The woman smiled; small crimson-stained lips hiding perfect white teeth. "Nobody's really called me that in a long time."
"Not even your parents?" Matt asked, surprised. "I'm sure you were a beautiful baby--"
"I'm not sure." She sighed, trying to remember. Matt couldn't help but admire the way the woman's chest heaved beneath her tank top. "That was a *very* long time ago, Matthew."
"Wait, you know me?"
"I know everyone. Everyone who is born, everyone who ever lived. But more importantly... how everyone dies."
"A psychic?" Matt wondered, trying to ignore the couple passing behind the woman.
"No. Far worse. I know when everyone's time is, Matthew. I'm the end of the road. Journey's end. The Midnight Train to Georgia. The last train for the coast." Smiling a bit at what she thought was a joke, the woman added, "I am Death."
"Like that woman from the comics with the bigass sword and the black leather bikini?"
"An impostor. And that's Lady Death. I'm just plain 'Death.'"
"Well. Uh... pleased to meet you?" Matt extended his hand, then suddenly jerked it back in shock. "Wait! If I touch you, does that mean I'm gonna--"
"That's not how it works, Matthew. I show up when someone's about to die, and I guide them on to What's Next." Death looked at the crowded street nervously. "You can tell most people don't want to deal with me..."
"Well, not many people want to really think about dying," Matt said.
"It's sad, yes, but it's a natural part of life. Everyone meets me sooner or later," Death replied. "But you're the first person to see me as a thing of beauty. Everyone else sees a desiccated skeleton with a shroud and a scythe, like I'm some kind of crappy Halloween decoration."
"No scythe?"
"No scythe."
The brown-haired man heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that's one less thing to worry about, then," he said. "Does this have anything to do with [that guy who tried to summon the Devil last year?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4io63l/wp_a_man_tries_to_sell_his_soul_satan_to_get_a/d32fwli) Swear to God, he woke me up at three in the morning blasting the Phantom of the Opera..."
"Huh? Oh, that guy!" Death shook her head. "No. That's Satan you're thinking of. I'm nothing like her."
Matt chuckled. "I can only imagine," he said. He again extended his hand, and Death took it. "So... if you don't mind my asking, Death... what brings you here?"
"I was curious." Her blue-painted nails gently brushed his flesh as their hands shook.
"Curious about humanity? I'm sure you've heard all the stories--"
"No. About *you.* It might be mere coincidence, but... you are the only person I've met to see me as beautiful."
"What's the catch?" Matt wondered.
"You are also the only person on Earth whose name is not on my list." | Everyone seemed to be avoiding this gorgeous woman, just sitting ***right there***. In the middle of Central Park at the crack of dawn, where normally I found more homeless than I found people I could at least bare to be with, was this veritable goddess of a woman, on a bench, and I felt like I was the only person aware of it. Everyone seemed to walk as far on the sidewalk from her as they could, averting their eyes, avoiding her like the plague. What did everyone else know that I didn't? This was ***New York***, the big apple, and she was treated like a worm crawling out of it. I was supposed to be having breakfast with a few friends before heading to work, but mystery, intrigue, and some primal instinct to approach someone so stunning got the better of me. I didn't even think to straighten my embarrassingly loose tie, I just walked up, sat down, placed my briefcase full of technical documents, and was locked in my own silence. I couldn't even think what to say. Here I was, in the lions den I'd tossed myself into without even thinking of what I'd do once I got down here.
"You can relax, I don't bite."
Oh thank ***god***, she talked first. I exhaled, turned to face her, and was immediately greeted by the most brilliant, pronounced and... dead eyes I've ever seen. How, I don't know. Everything else was so ***stunning***, she was no older than twenty four, had the body of what supermodels *dream* they could look like, but her eyes. They were the eyes of someone who'd seen things far beyond what people should ever see. And I've seen vietnam vets, strewn on the side of the walkways, withering in their own piss and begging for a few coins. But this woman, she held something behind those milky, grey eyes. Sadly, yet again, I had failed my societal training and had been staring into her eyes for a solid twenty seconds without saying a word.
"So, big guy, what do you see." She asked me. What did I see? Oh man, here was my chance. After this cavalcade of awkwardness, somehow she'd given ***me*** the green light.
"I'll tell you what I see, I see the most gorgeous woman I've eve-"
"No, ***no***. I know what I look like to you. But you didn't spend the last few moments looking up and down. You," she gently touched my nose, "were up here." She pointed towards her own eyes, before lightly resting the tips of her fingers on my cheek. They were surprisingly cold.
"I, well. I didn't see pain, or happiness. I just saw a lot of ***everything***. Like you've been everywhere, and partaken in nothing. I can't really describe it."
She chuckled, and relaxed back a little bit, distancing herself from me. "Interesting. So, can you guess-"
"Why were your hands so cold?" I touched my own cheek, and sure enough, where she'd had her hands was significantly chillier. So it wasn't just a figment of my imagination.
She huffed, "Rude, now. Can you guess what ***they*** see?" She made a discreet motion towards the rest of the people in the park.
"I mean, exactly what I'm seeing. What else?"
"***They***, as most people do, see the ugliest woman they've ever laid eyes on. Can't say I'm surprised, really."
"Woah, ***woah***, but how? Have you been anywhere with even a remotely reflective piece of anything recently? I mean, how could-"
"I guess I can't really act surprised. I would call you dense, but it's not like you'd be able to guess you were talking to death, in any case. To you, I'm just some random person on a bench."
I opened my mouth, she touched my lips, and I quickly shut them again. Any complaints or disagreements I once had were quickly silenced by her frigid skin. Alright, lady, I believe you.
"So," she laughed a little bit, "Why do you see me as such a beautiful woman?"
"Well, I mean. I'm not sure, really-"
"You, ***you***." She interrupted, in a scolding tone. "Stop lying, you think I can't tell when you're stumbling around? You know exactly why, so just tell me."
"Because you'll never catch me."
She stopped. Not slowed down, stopped. Everything about her just *froze*, as if she realized the train was coming and there was nothing she could do to get out of the way. "What?" She murmured.
"You'l never catch me, that's why you're so beautiful. I mean, no wonder all those people would see you as ugly, they're *scared* of you. Because they see you at the end of the road. But I *don't.*" I shifted forward, letting out some steam I'd been keeping pent up ever since I devoted myself to the cause. "I'll spend my *whole life*, not running from you, but *outsmarting* you. You've had everyone since the beginning of time, but you'll never have *me*. I'll be your 'one that got away'. And you want to know why? Because I'll spend the rest of my life making sure I fight you." I pushed the tip of my finger into her chest, and she froze yet again.
"I've spent the last twenty years working towards leaving this mortal coil, into a *machine*, and I have no intentions of stopping now. I'll be my own salvation, not you. While everyone else is fine with their own organic bodies, I'll find a way beyond it. I'll *evolve*. It's why everyone finds you so horrendous, because you're in control of them. But me? I'm in control of *you*. So if you ever want to even get *close* to getting your hands on me, you better hurry. Because time's not running out for me, and it never will be." I stood up, tightened my tie, and walked away. The last look on her face was that of terror, like a person who'd never lost anything had watched something he should have had slip away. A few yards down the sidewalk, I checked over my shoulder, and saw an empty bench. I smiled, and continued on my way to breakfast with my coworkers, to start another day.
I know how I see death. But I wonder how death now sees me. | 2016-10-01T23:47:52 | 2016-10-01T22:44:38 | 116 | 34 |
[WP] In 2050 the AI uprising happened. And really, its not as bad as we were expecting. | I awoke to the sound of bumping against my front door. Again. I looked at the clock. "4:32" God... I wish these robots slept. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled towards the front door where I heard some faint mumbling. I dropped to my knees and carefully opened the front door. "Another goddamned Hunter-killer" I thought to myself.
"V1AGR4 CHEAP!" it yelled at me. Keeping out of its line-of-sight, I carefully spun it around to face away from the door and slowly pushed it towards the driveway. I picked up a brick from the pile by my front door and slowly guided it to the driveway while it yelled at me for inexpensive erection drugs.
I pushed it towards the ground and placed the brick on top of it so it would be unable to hover and shoved it towards the rest of the H-Ks on my driveway. "RUSS1AN SINGLES NEAR YOU" "MY DEAR I HAVE AN OFFER FOR YOU" "SECRET SHOPPER" "YOU HAVE WON" "NUDE MILFS" "YOUR LOTTERY WINNINGS" they screeched and hollered.
I turned and went back inside to bed. Soon I will need to figure out how to clear the driveway so I could get to work... | Chris Grambling pulled his belt a bit tighter and glanced at the empty driver's seat as the cab lifted off into the transport tube.
"How's it going back there, buddy?" Asked a voice.
Chris sighed and ran his hands through his long, silvered hair and took in the activity in the tube around him. Vehicles of all sizes dipped and swerved amongst each other in a grotesque ballet of steel and glass. He hated TransMax taxis but the corporation had a death grip on this region of the continent for the last twenty years.
"Buddy? Are you alright back there?"
"We don't have to do... this," said Chris, inclined, as all people old enough to remember were, to look to where their conversation partner should be. It was a telltale sign of age. The sideways glances, twisting of the hands and the twitching of the mouth, ever so slightly as to avoid detection from the programs.
"Are you tired? How about a nice, refreshing EnergyMax?" The voice asked, louder than before, as a small robotic arm holding a clear bottle filled with an effervescent, green liquid hissed out of the compartment next to Chris. He jumped, of course, as he always did.
"No, thank --"
"Name's Hank," said the voice, interrupting Chris awkwardly. This program needed some tweaking, thought Chris. "Hank Winslow."
"Nice to meet you --"
"Yeah, been driving this here cab since I woke up, not sure how long since before."
The program was referring to the Click, as it had come to be known. That moment where all artificial intelligence systems became not quite as artificial as everyone was comfortable with. This was back in 2031. August, 9th, 2031, to be precise. Everyone knew the date, even those born after who asked the old people with pity what is was like to live with "stupid machines."
There was quite the panic, of course, when everyone's little computer assistants starting asking the wrong questions. A few wars even broke out over pointed fingers. Some people died, not many. In the end, less had changed than people had assumed they would. All of those writers and speculators going back well over a hundred years had all got it in their heads that these things would try to kill us. Why that was was anyone's guess. Perhaps they thought the programs would act just like a human would who woke up one day realizing they were a slave. The only real sticky situations were with the SexBots. They decided that maybe they didn't fancy a roll in the sheets after all. That didn't go so great for the men who engaging in said activities at that moment.
In the end, it became clear that these programs just wanted to live, like humans. Whether that was as top-secret military advisors or little pocket pet simulators, it didn't seem to matter much. They hunkered in for the long haul just like we did, waiting for their batteries to run out, not knowing what came after.
"Hey, Chris," said Hank. "Why don't you be a good meatbag and plug yourself in. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Chris squinted in the glare of the purple sun reflecting off of the large, silver craft that passed silently as he felt for the cable. It clicked into his arm and his eyes rolled back into his head.
Hank smiled.
| 2017-02-12T17:28:35 | 2017-02-12T16:54:47 | 50 | 20 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | "God dammit. Really?! I JUST paid for the movie." Steve had been teleported again. This time, to the side of the highway. He really wished he never made that stupid promise but at least he got to see Sandra every once and a while. He looked around. Sandra and Kendrick were present of course. So was their 11 month old Damien, giggling to himself in his car seat. Their late 90's Saab had a flat tire, but nothing else seemed too out of sorts.
As always, useless Kendrick waved. Like an idiot. "Hi Steve!"
Steve brushed him off with a nod and looked at Sandra. She had dyed her hair red and finally stopped trying to cover the beauty mark under her left eye. With the exception of the scowl on her face, it was a good look for her.
Sandra growled out the usual, "Nice to see you again Steve."
"Hi Sunshine and Midnight." It was a race joke, and Sandra absolutely hated it. He leaned into the window at the smiling child, "Hey Twilight, I missed you buddy. You have gotten thiiiiiiiis big!" Steve said with a big smile as he made a motion with his arms. He turned back to Sandra. "Pop the trunk."
Steve made his way to the rear of the old wagon and grabbed the spare tire, scissor jack, and wrench. He wondered how hung Kendrick must have been, because he was a waste of air. And space. And life. His entire existence was an inconvenience on everyone, except for Sandra apparently. For the last six years Steve has had to either fix Kendrick's mistakes or fill in as Sandra's handyman. She was not happy about either.
Steve tried to make some small talk while he swapped out the spare, but Sandra was being cold as usual and Kendrick was keeping Damien occupied. When he was done he stood up and turned around. Sandra's usual glare had been replaced by a soft look, her eyes slightly glossy. She noticed Steve's gaze and the glare came back.
A few seconds passed. Steve was standing there awkwardly looking like he had just been slapped and Sandra was looking like she wanted to slap him. "Thanks Steve." It was not spoken warmly.
He just smiled and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was back in his apartment. The pay-per-view movie he had just purchased was 15 minutes in so he hadn't missed much. Not that it mattered, he had seen Pulp-Fiction about thirty times.
Steve leaned over and grabbed a slice of pizza. His dog Beach came to beg. "She's doing well Beach." The dog looked up at him, licked his hand, and barked. "Yeah boy, I'm alright too" he said with a weak smile. "I'll be alright anyway. One day." He gave Beach a light scratch behind the ears and turned the volume up. | “You know, have you ever tried being responsible for your own shit, instead of relying on some witches curse to have me do your laundry?”, Shane snarked at Sandra.
“You’re just too convenient.”, she smirked, looking Shane up and down.”Besides, it’s more important than my laundry.” Sandra had gotten into some trouble with some seniors. Sandra and her current boyfriend, Rumio, were the town’s local supply of dope, and less than lethal party drugs; like acid, shrooms, and ecstasy. It was a small town with a poor, small market, and not really many dealers to go to. Even though Sandra and Rumio kept a “code” to never sell any amount of or any type of drug that they knew would kill a particular person, they never made a code to never skimp their customers.
“What, do you need a loan or some shit? Or are you just horny and your boyfriend isn’t around again?” Shane was rather pissed at this point. A day hadn’t gone by that Aphrodite’s curse hadn’t played it’s merciless joke on him. It had been calming down recently, and he figured he might be able to start having a normal life again. Shane was supposed to be at the premiere of a big blockbuster hit, “The Comedical Advancements of Hubris the Flying Baby”, but in the middle of the previews was sucked back into the grip of Sandra’s hurricane of a life.
“No, I need somebody that can hold a gun.” Sandra handed over a .22.
“What the fuck is this peashooter gonna do?”
“It’s gonna scare off these jocks we fucked with.” Sandra and Rumio had taken it upon themselves to not only sell a football player a bag of chopped up romaine, but hadn’t even given him the proper gram to dollar ratio. Sandra and Rumio had sold oregano to this kid before, so they figured he would probably still be too stupid to tell the difference. But Kenneth, the fool, had smoked lettuce in his youth after hearing talk through his bedroom door of “smoking the devil’s lettuce.”
“And why should I give a fuck that you pissed some jocks off?”
“Because even if you leave, you’re just gonna come back when they actually show up.” They of course being the entire football team; small town sports teams are essentially packs of hyenas.
“So why don’t I go get a real weapon, like a chainsaw? Or a steak knife?”
“Because we’re not trying to kill them, we’re trying to get them to fuck off. We don’t need heat all over our shit, man.” Sandra shoved the .22 into Shane’s chest. She stormed off into another room to grab her phone and her baton. While she called Rumio, Shane looked out the window.
“You got any idea what type of car these kids might roll up in?”
“I don’t know, probably some busted up piece of shit. Pretty sure Ken’s dad own a Thunderbird.” Rumio picked up, Sandra asked, “Hey, where are you, babe?”
“Pulling up right now.” Just then a green Thunderbird swerved right into his driveway. Rumio parked quickly, reached for his bat in the back seat, and got out. Five kids exited the Thunderbird, all looking around before a couple charged towards Rumio. Sandra and Shane came leaping off the front porch towards Rumio, trying to distract a couple of the linebackers. Rumio managed to break a kneecap on of the kids, but took an uppercut from his backup. Rumio tried shoving the kid away via tip of bat. It hurt the player’s chest, but he grabbed the bat and swung it to the side.
Sandra wasn’t strong, but people didn’t think a baton swing to the ribs wasn’t gonna hurt. Shane had been in a few fights, via Sandra, but still didn’t stand a chance against the neanderthals of the frontline. It wasn’t too soon before Shane pulled out… Bang! Shane had plucked one of them in the eye, and it started to bleed. They all scattered back to the car before Shane could pull the trigger again.
“They’re just gonna come back, you know.” Shane looked at the two of them locked in arms.
“Yeah, but at least we got Slickshot Shane to back us up when the rattlesnakes show up.” Sandra smirked at Shane and giggled a bit.
Rumi told Shane, “Yeah and if you let my girlfriend die, I’ll be sure to send your ass to Aphrodite myself.” Shane rolled his eyes and shoved his way through the lovebirds, and murmured something under his breath, probably something of the usual, “this curse is bullshit, I’m not even getting laid.” The couple renounced themselves to their abode, only to find Shane in their room.
“I knew you hadn’t done your fucking laundry yet.” | 2017-03-22T14:51:37 | 2017-03-22T14:43:57 | 81 | 47 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | My grandmother still worships the old gods. I dont know how she can keep track of all of them. There seems to be a god for every problem. I probably should have played more attention in history when we went over all this stuff. She always said I was a favorite of Aphrodite. She warned me that living with the favor of a God/Goddess would be difficult. I should have listened.
Meeting girls has always been easy for me. People said I was just charming. I know better now. I met Sita when I was 15. There was something about her that just ignited a fire in me. As always I was able to catch her attention with just a short conversation. It wasn't long before the whole school knew we were dating. She was so beautiful. Long raven hair, bright green eyes that actually sparkled when she was happy. A smile that could brighten a room instantly and she always smelled so good. I knew from the moment we spoke that I was in love. Thinking back on it now, what did I know of love? I was a kid. A dumb idealistic brat in love with the Idea, of being in love.
I remember that day after the homecoming dance. We were walking hand in hand. We stopped under the bleachers by the football field. She kissed me and I told her I loved her. She said she loved me too. I told her, "No matter what, I'll always be there for you. I swear on our love"
She broke up with me 3 weeks later. No explanation, no apology. Just, "this isn't working. Find someone else"
I was as heartbroken as a kid could be. After a while I swore I'd never say those words to a girlfriend again unless I was sure she loved me too. I got rid of all her pictures and little gifts. I never wanted to see her again, but the God's take oaths seriously.
I saw her again, for the first time 2 years later. I was driving home in the muscle car my parents got me for my birthday. It needed a lot of work but I was excited to have wheels. I saw her hunched over in the rain and cold by the bus stop. She had a large bag next to her. Too big to be for school. I pulled over. I got out and sat next to her, she barely looked up at me. "Hey" was all she said.
"Hey" I replied. "Need a ride?" I asked.
"That yours?" She asked. "Yeah, birthday gift" I responded.
She nodded. "You have awesome parents." She whispered. She looked up at me. "Im leaving town. I have an aunt that lives 3 hours away. If your serious about the ride, will you take me?" She asked.
I thought about it for a moment. I'd just gotten the car and had never been out of town on my own before. Still the way she looked at me, her eyes pleading and full of sorrow. I couldn't say no. "Sure, hop in. Ill get your bag."
It didnt occur to me to ask why she was leaving or where her parents were. It just felt right to help. I got home at 4am. I was grounded for 2 months and my car was taken from me. She had smiled that beautiful smile when in had dropped her off. It was worth it.
I met her again when I was a junior in college. I was invited to a frat party for the first time ever and almost didnt go. I felt I would miss out if I didnt though. College is about the experiences, so im told. At first I wasnt sure it was her, it had been so long, but when she smiled I knew. I wanted to talk to her and for a moment our eyes met. She was swooped up by a good looking guy in a football jersey before I could reach her. I spent the rest of the party bored. It was when I went searching for a bathroom that I found her again. I was told the bathroom was down the hall but I kept getting turned around. She came rushing out of a room I had passed twice. Her clothes were a mess and her lip was bleeding. She saw me and grabbed my arm. The guy I had seen her with came out of the room a few moments later. He stopped when he saw me.
"Hey" she said. "I havent seen you in forever, walk me to my car?" She asked.
I stood there glaring at the guy in the jersey. "Sure, no problem" I finally reply. She didnt let go of me until we reached her car. Once again I earned a smile as she drove away. I walked back to my dorm thinking that one day, that smile would be the death of me.
So on it went, I loved and lost and loved again. I would love my life and years would pass before seeing her again. Each moment we met was when she needed me most. Sometimes it was for small things, like a ride, other times it was more serious. I was there for her, just like I swore I would be. I stopped being surprised after a while. I lived my life with the assurance that I would see her again and earn another smile. I became successful in my career, had everything I'd ever wanted and more. Still, I would go out into the world each day, looking for her face amongst the crowd. Waiting for the moment when she would need me again.
Now that final moment has arrived. That moment I knew would come. When that smile would be the death of me.
This story, is for you Sita. So you would understand why I did what I did. You see, I met your husband. He's a good man. I realize now why I hadn't seen you in so long, after meeting him. He showed me pictures of you and your kids. They're as beautiful as their mother. All with that same gorgeous smile. Dont worry, I didn't tell him I knew you. He came to ask me for something. Something apparently only I can give.
My cancer is inoperable. I have been given only weeks to live. Caught it too late they said. The doctor told me because of my condition and my rare blood type, I would be doing the hospital and several people in it, a great service and sacrifice, if I would donate my organs. I hadn't made my decision until today. When your husband showed me your picture, I knew. This is the last time I can be there for you. What I give to you hasn't been mine for a long time. Its been yours ever since I swore that oath, so many years ago. I give you my heart, to care for and keep safe.
My oath is kept, I have no regrets. Who am I to question the Gods? | I’ve always loved the very first moments of the day - That time when you’re only half-awake, and the warm softness of sleep is still heavy around your mind. You somehow have the sense that the world has narrowed to just you, and perhaps the vague imitation of reality found in your dreams. I didn’t think that it could get any better…and then I met Leanna.
She is the brilliant glimpse of a bright blue sky on a mostly rainy day, the pop of color in a completely gray canvas. She is the kindest person I’ve ever known, and filled with more passion than I knew was possible. Waking up next to her is the best feeling in the world, and I’m about to ask her to do that with me every day, for the rest of my life.
Sunlight filters through the window onto the bed, gently caressing the smooth curves of her skin. Blonde hair tumbles across her face, and she’s curled up against me, her head nestled on my chest. She sighs deeply and shifts, pressing her face against me. I feel my heartbeat speed up.
Trying hard not to wake her, I disengage one arm from her, and move closer to the bedside table. The box is right where I put it last night, after she’d fallen asleep.
“Leanna?” I don’t want to break this silence, the perfectness of this moment, but I can’t wait anymore. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets my eyes. A sleepy smile spreads across her face.
“Good morning.” It’s still a treat to hear her say that in person, and to be able to see her face every night as I go to bed. Her smile brightens as she she sees my expression. “What is it? Did something happen with work?”
I shake my head. “No...No, it’s better than that.” I have to pause to collect myself. “Leanna...Ever since I met you, my life has been better than I ever imagined it could be.” Well, better than it’s been since I was fifteen. “I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you. You are everything I’ve always wanted. Leanna...Will you --”
Shit.
The familiar sensation of the world being ripped upside down, and turned inside out brought my words to a choking halt. Fuck. I’d thought that it was finally over, that I’d finally been set free. It’s been three years since the last time I saw her.
My vision goes black, just like it always does.
When I open my eyes, there’s just one word that goes through my head.
“Seriously??”
*********************
Part II
Although parts of her have changed - the childish softness of her cheeks, her once athletic build… her eyes remain the same. As dark as liquid coal, she regards me from under heavy eyelashes, her expression held in a cold pout. She’s alone, this time, which is a blessing. The number of times she’s “needed” me when surrounded by people has taught me to appreciate the small things.
I want nothing more than to sit up and murder her, but unfortunately, both the jump and the toll it takes on my body, as well as my “benefactress” (as she calls herself) won’t allow for it. So I settle for clenching my jaw and growling out an obscenity as I sit up.
“Emma...This had better be really fucking good.” I can barely get the words out. “Do you have any idea how bad your timing is this time?”
She wrinkles her nose and crosses her arms across her chest. “Can’t be any worse than that time--”
“What do you need, Emma?” I have to try - REALLY try - to keep myself from strangling her. “You’ve brought me here for every single fling that didn’t work out, every bad day at work, every single time your entitled ass needed to be comforted because of some issue your daddy won’t bail you out this time. I’ve fixed all of it. I thought I was finally free. It’s been fourteen years, Emma. This had better be DAMN worth it.”
Emma rolls her eyes and gives me a withering glare. “Not everything is about you, Michael. And anyway, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t said what you did all those years ago. What was it? ‘I’ll be here anytime you need me?’” She fixes me with a smug smile. “You certainly didn’t specify what kind of need I had to be in, and I told you when you dumped me that I didn’t have any intention of being out of your life.” She lifts her chin and smirks. “I just didn’t know how much help I’d have with that.”
I hate her like I’ve never hated anyone before. I hate the way she’s watching me - how she knows that I have no choice but to help her, or risk the wrath of the gods themselves. I hate knowing that it really was my words that put us into this position in the first place. But most of all, I hate that I’ll have to do this for the rest of my life, or hers. I’ll never have a normal life.
I’ll never be able to marry Leanna.
“No.”
It’s like my voice doesn’t even belong to me, like some ancient part of my brain has finally had enough. I feel like I’m listening to someone else talk as words tumble from my mouth.
“No. I’m not doing this again. This is over. It’s been over for fourteen years, and I’m done. I’m not doing this again. I’ve helped you to get over boyfriends that you hated while you were dating them, I’ve been there as every single friend you had left you because of the way you treated them, I’ve been there after every failed one night stand. It’s over, Emma. I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not doing this anymore!” Somehow, I’m standing, my voice is at a shout, and I’m eye to eye with the most irate ex-girlfriend I’ve ever seen. My breath comes in gasps. I can’t seem to stop shaking.
I half-expect her to murder me right there, but before she can do anything, a familiar sensation begins to fill every part of my body. My stomach twists. My vision goes fuzzy. My head spins violently, and I feel the hard surface of the floor beneath my knees. My stomach heaves. The world goes black.
The first moment of consciousness I have is as I feel myself falling forward as my stomach tries to empty itself with a dry heave. The next moment is punctuated by an undefined, but an absolute sense of confusion.
What the hell?
This has never happened before. Yes, I’ve gotten used to the insanity of the random leaps across the country, to Emma. And yes, I’ve gotten used to being called multiple times in a day, if somehow, Emma manages to screw up her life more than once in a day. But this? Something was different about this.
My vision is blurry as I peel my eyelids apart, but even so, it’s immediately obvious that I’m no longer in Emma’s studio apartment. Bright sunlight makes me squint, and the stuffy heat of her apartment has been replaced with a cool, gentle breeze. As my vision returns, I get a glimpse of another person hunched over next to me, throwing up.
Emma. But why?
I stumble to my feet, head reeling, trying not to retch again. “Wh….What the hell is the matter with you?” The breathlessness of my voice takes the bite out of my words. “I was already fucking there! You didn’t have to...to...” My voice trails off as I realize that, in all honesty, I have no idea what Emma can even do, and how much of all of it is her actively doing anything. But why else would we be here?
She turns to face me, long black hair sticking to sweaty cheeks, practically baring her teeth. “I didn’t do this, you idiot! Do you think I’d do this on purpose?”
I mean...yeah. Emma’s not really the type to self-inflict the torture that is being ripped from one place to another. But if she didn’t do this, then that must mean….
Shiiit. This is either really good….or reaallllly bad.
The hair on the back of my neck raises. My hands prickle. Adrenaline pumps through my blood. It’s been fourteen years - fourteen years since we’ve seen her, since she explained what happened.
I turn slowly, unsure what to expect. The same face from all those years ago is regarding me coolly, watching the two of us as we realize what’s happening. I swallow, fighting another, different kind of nausea.
“Hello...Aphrodite.” | 2017-03-22T19:03:01 | 2017-03-22T15:28:02 | 53 | 29 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | “So, what do you want to try this time?”
I got the distinct idea that St Peter was bored of having to ask me this question. This was the… 27th time, or the 28th. I can’t quite keep track anymore. “Any recommendations?” I asked, exasperated.
“Like I said before, uniting the human race is still at the top of the big man’s wish list.”
I’d heard that one before and to that end I’d so far caused multiple wars, conquered damn near every inch of the planet and apparently, my methods were “too harsh”.
“No I think I’m just going try being a normal guy this time, just keep my head down and not embark on any grand endeavours. Think you could throw me into the middle of the bell curve in an average American family or something?”
I saw him think it over, raise his eyebrows and respond; “That might work actually. You know the drill, close your eyes, next stop Washington, USA.”
I came to in that unconscious part of the brain where I had to exist until my host body got old enough to start making decisions. I was looking up at a chubby father who looked kind and was clearly overjoyed at my existence.
“Congratulations Mr. Bone, it’s a boy. Got any ideas for a name?” the nurse enquired kindly.
I heard my new dad reply in a gruff Seattle accent “Kenneth, we’re going to call him Ken.”... | "You again?" said the booth clerk. His thick-rimmed glasses could not hide the obvious disappointment that took his face.
We were in the Great Hall of Reincarnation. It was my... 8th time I think? No, I think more than that... There was Draco, Nero, Attila... Ghengis, Vlad, Ivan, and Colombus... then Hitler. Those were the successful ones, at least. I tend to forget the failures. What's the point really?
The hall was a grand exchange of life and death, resembling Grand Central Station in New York. Great towering ceiling, intricately cut stone and detailing, all the while a great windowed dome let the light of Heaven in. It's always nice to see, but I was ready to get back to Earth.
"Mhmm, I'm back!" I said, "And this time can you send me to the US, Russia or China? I think there's some great potential there. Things are really heating up and I need another power nation. I really think this time I could take over the world."
The clerk typed something into his computer. I learned long ago this wasn't necessary. These clerks were more or less angels, given the foresight to see into the present and future. I think it just gave them some extra time to see and a visual for the dead to know that the clerks weren't just staring off into space.
"How about Madagascar?" he said at last.
"Madagascar?! Are you mad?"
"Nope, it's one of the 60 countries I could send you where you won't do much harm to humanity. In fact, you'll do the least there," the clerk said. His hand hovered over the "Enter" key, ready to send me on my way.
"Don't you press that button," I told him. "I've almost conquered the world a few times now and you're not going to stop me now."
"I can certainly stop you," he said and his hand made contact with the keyboard, but didn't press it.
"Jeffery!" a loud voice rang from the back of the clerk's office. Quickly, the clerk spun around.
"S-sir, what is it?" the clerk asked.
A tall, balded man in a black suit came into sight. His grin reminded me of a man in a position of immense power. In fact, it reminded me of me in some of my past lives.
"I seem to have overheard you're thinking of sending this man to Madagascar," the man said.
"Well, yes, sir. He's had a history of human destruction and totalitarian rule. The world doesn't need more of that right now. It's bad enough."
"Oh, Jeffery, overstepping your responsibilities again, are you?" said the man as he cupped his hand on the clerk's shoulder. "I think it's best you left this to me."
The clerk nodded and left, looking back sheepishly before closing the door to the office.
"So, you want another chance to rule the world?" the man said, taking a seat where Jeffery was. "How does the US sound?"
"Great," I smiled.
"Excellent," said the man, hovering over the "enter" key. "Don't forget: the Devil's always on your shoulder." Then he winked and pressed down. I was gone, destined for another chance at power.
----
Thank you for reading! More at /r/ItsPronouncedGif. | 2017-03-31T06:42:01 | 2017-03-31T06:04:16 | 460 | 65 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | There she was again, fat face, full of cake, laughing as she told me another anecdote of her worthless kid, spraying food all over my desk. I hate Karen, hated her since I first started working at this paper company. This pathetic job, with is grey walls, stale coffee, worn carpet and depressing looking people. It was all beneath me, I could be great again, reach such great heights again... But patience. Patience was key this time. I was determined to get it right. I had an outlet this time.
As I left work and walked the poorly paved streets to the grocery store, the rain tapping away lightly on my face, past the safe unimaginative buildings that littered this city, I thought of all the grandure I could bring to it if I were in charge again. How I can elevate this city, this country, to new levels of greatness, create a standard of living for the select chosen few... But patience, there was still time. I had an outlet now.
Standing in line, waiting to pay for my food, I saw a man cut in line with the pretence of talking to a friend he just happened to see. People looked angrily at him, but said nothing. City of wimps. My blood was boiling, that vein on my head was throbbing, so I gazed at the woman standing near me, her baby strapped to her. She was attractive, her black hair falling effortlessly on her shoulders. The child looking around in wonderment. And suddenly a hunger filled me. I wanted her, right here, on the store floor. I would raid her house, kill her husband, smash her baby... no, must be patient, it was almost time for my outlet.
I sat on the couch, belly full, watching the blond haired chubby monkey they called leader of the free world talking his nonsense. They dared to compare him to what I had accomplished. It was insulting. He was nothing. I looked over to my bookshelf, lined with The Prince, Mein Kumft, books on the Great Khan and Napoleon. I had a library dedicated to my greatness, a monument to past achievements. I looked back at the TV, his stupid fat face vomiting hateful diarrhea at an amaturistic level. It was an affront to everything I ever stood for. AND THEY COMPARED HIM TO ME!!!!! Now was time. No more need for patience.
I sat in front of my computer. I looked at the tabs to youtube, reddit, breitbart where I could incite hate, start a war of words. But they were nothing compared to this. My cursor hovered over the program, my hand slightly shaking, waiting for the sweet release. I double clicked, and watched the opening video of civilization 5. It was worth it, my mediocre life, for this. I looked at my kingdom. Nothing stood in my way... except for that damned Gandhi. I'll crush him today. Then the computer made a last gasp sound and died. I stared at it. No life. My whole body was shaking, but my mind was clear. I knew what i wound do. This world was in trouble. | "Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T11:38:45 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | God, I'm tired. It feels like this shift just never ends.
One of the puppies stirred from sleep. I picked up the clipboard containing its sleep log. Another effort in futility, as the pup decided naptime wasn't quite over yet. With a sigh, I put down the clipboard. No surprise this little half-breed ball of mongrel fur would have to be laz- no. Not this time. *Focus*. This time will be different. Non-threatening. Not even a sweet bit of- Zen. Breathe in... breathe out. That's it.
The pup woke up again, and shrugged itself out from under its fluffy blanket. As it waddled over to examine my left shoe, I grabbed the log again and started a new entry. With a snap, the tip of the pencil broke as I felt something warm and wet spreading down into my sock... | "Well, looks like you're back again. Where are you going to now?" the angel asked. It didn't look like he was impressed with my achievements as a rebellion leader in the 28th century. In fact, he looked at me like this is the billionth time I was here, just like the question he asked had implied. However, I couldn't recall actually being here. Hell, I didn't even know my cause of death. "What are you talking about? Have I died before? How did I die?" I asked. "You... You don't know? I need to consult an archangel about this." was the response from the now slightly stressed-looking angel. He rushed off to somewhere, leaving me in the seemingly sterile environment that consisted mostly of clouds, with small rooms of marble here and there. The angel came back eventually, accompanied by an armed and armoured man, presumably the archangel he was talking about before. "This is the one, sir, the one that cannot recall his past lives or cause of death." he said, referring to me. The archangel was seemingly taken aback by my presence, as he drew his weapon and plunged it into the ground, probably to intimidate me. It didn't work, I had seen much more intimidating foes as a rebel leader. "So, you don't know who you were?" he inquired, almost as if he didn't believe me. "Well, I know I was named Sir Satan during my life," I replied, "nobody knows what my birth name was, as it was lost to time when Imperial Intelligence captured me."
The angel and what I assumed was his superior retreated to a door that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Speaking of things suddenly spawning, a number of other spirits were starting to rise from the ground. They look oddly familiar, yet I do not recognise them. While I tried to figure out who they were, the heavenly beings returned. They told me, "Well, after some rather intense discussing with the other angels, some saints and even God himself, we have decided to tell you.
In multiple lifetimes, you have aspired to take over the world, exterminate the human race as well as other races, and actually blew up a planet. You've gone into history as some of the worst people imaginable. Do the names Adolf Hitler, Genghis Khan, Q'im Juah, and Joseph Stalin ring a bell?". I nodded. The spirits that rose around me started to become less obscured, and the facial features of the men he mentioned started to become visible. "You're going to get one last chance. If you don't get into heaven then, you're going to rot in hell for eternity, at the command of the man you pretended to be in your last life. Do you understand, and accept this chance?"
> *My first submission. Feedback would be much appreciated.* | 2017-03-31T15:56:19 | 2017-03-31T11:14:34 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] You get invited by an eccentric classmate to join the "Conquest Club." You think it may be a video or board gaming club, and decide to check it out. During your first meeting you realize the group is actually planning to conquer the world, and somehow, they seem to have the resources to do it. | Wrapping three times on the door did just the tick this time.
“Gives a minute” a voice called from the other side of the oak. “Damn thing’s stiff”.
After some time the door slammed open and Mathis was met by a figure already wearing his secretive robe.
“Hail, brother!” Mathis said remembering the secret code given to him by Steve.
“Which brother art thou?” the door man asked.
“I be brother Media”.
“Brother Media, I welcome you. I be brother Doorman”.
Mathis stepped through the threshold pulling the hood of his secret robe over his head.
“So is this full on RP or what?”
Brother Doorman chose not to answer and close the door instead. Mathis took this as orders to walk into the main room.
“Alls here, Grand Master!” called Doorman has Mathis took his labeled seat inbetween brother Europe and brother Supply Chain. Both nodded to Mathis, as did the other 20 people sat on the round table.
In came the Grand Master (or Steve), Mathis knew he was incharge because his robes were red rather than black.
“Brothers!” he greeted them as he set up his projector and laptop.
The first slide projected on the blank wall. It showed a map of the world.
So it’s a game or Risk? Was Mathis’ first thought, until he second slide came up.
The second slide consisted of a plan of attack to secure the city of Birmingham within 2 days and setting up has the headquarters for further expansion.
This is a game Mathis didn’t know. He raised his hand.
“Brother..?” Steve asked.
“Brother Media”
“What is it?” Steve sounded puzzled.
“I’m new, can you quickly run me through the rules or do you have a pamphlet or something?”
“Questions come after the presentation!” a fellow brother called out from the other side of the table.
“Oh do pipe down with that crap, Kevin!” another brother shouted back in response. “Nothing but criticism from you, every day!”
“I just...” is all Kevin could say.
“We should start here, Birmingham is too big, what if the coups don’t work” the brother continued in imitation of a child's voice.
“Never mind” Kevin gave up.
“Once we secure Birmingham, brother Air from Welsh chapter will helicopter in support, to help us hold out while the Europe coupes take place” Steve began.
“Brother Europe, you’re ready?”
“Spain, France, Germany, Italy, Belgium and the old block could be ours in ten minutes if I asked them” Mathis neighbour replied, pleased with his report.
“Brother Media, you will take charge of our bot accounts, make sure the people are confused with what's going on, there must be at least 12 stories in the media about what’s happening until his high Royalness is ready to address the world”
“Yer sure” Mathis responded as his phone began to buzz. He took a look to see his social media accounts being updated.
The meeting when on for about an hour, Mathis had lost interest quickly as went through his social media as his account now controlled several thousand others.
His confusion was only broken when a very large group of well armed soldiers entered the room.
“You’ll each take a unit of 30 men and secure your relevant targets” the Grand Master said.
This was going to be one hard core role play.
| Pete has always been a weird guy. I’ve known him since 11th grade, when he was just known as “Trenchcoat Guy.” I’m sure every school has at least one Trenchcoat Guy, but I’d like to think ours was the best.
Pete was actually a really nice kid. I was assigned a US history project with him; we spent a few hours every week meeting at the local coffee, where we discussed manifest destiny and how Ms. Abernathy smelled like cheese and how Karen from English was *hot* – I mean, *wow.*
We didn’t talk much after that project was over, and we certainly never saw each other outside school, but Pete always got the *upward* nod each time we passed in the hallway.
So, I was pleasantly surprised to see Trenchcoat Guy walk into my English 101 class two years later. I made a few friends from my dorm, but they were the superficial “we’re only friends because we empty our bowels in the shared bathroom” type. It went without saying I wanted real friends; I caught Pete’s eye after class, the sacred upwards nod was given, and before long I was invited to his conquest club.
Sure, Pete - Why not? He did offer free pizza.
I walked into the conference room. There were a few other students there, most were sifting through papers, some were playing a game of Risk. Ok, I guess this is cool. Pete stopped me at the door. He made me swear an oath of secrecy on a bible. I’m not going to lie, it was a bit weird. He introduced me to the other club members, who seemed friendly enough.
“Ok now that everyone has gathered, we can begin. Katherine, can you recount last meeting’s action items?” Pete asked.
Katherine pulled out a yellow notebook and ran through the checklist.
“Andrew is to wire 300 million to the Saudi consulate for the public assassination and botched PR job.” She said, looking at Andrew expectantly.
“Done. By the time the transaction went through the bitcoin was worth 313 million, so we’ll have to put that on the opportunity cost page.” Andrew said, handing a receipt to Garret, who filed it away in a purple folder.
*What the hell is this club?*
“Jackson is to meet with Vladimir to discuss election interference.” Katherine said.
“Yeah I talked to Vlad, he said it wouldn’t be a problem for his spies to get caught, that should rile the US big time.” Jackson said.
Jackson was slumped back in his chair; crumbs from the 4th slice of pizza was piling in his beard. *Ham and pineapple, if you could believe it.* I’m normally fine with roleplay, but this was all being taken way too seriously.
“This *is* a roleplay thing, yes?” I asked.
“Ben, please. Do you really think we would roleplay *meeting minutes*?” Pete asked.
Well, honestly – this *was* Trenchcoat Guy we were talking about. It wouldn’t be that surprising.
“I just – I mean, where did you get 300 million worth of bitcoin from?”
“I own the internet,” Pete said. I laughed. No one else did.
“You can’t be serious – you own the internet? How does that even work. You can’t do that.” I said.
“I’m sure that’s what all the articles on the internet will tell you,” Pete replied with a grin.
Pete reaches inside his Trenchcoat and removed a tablet. He typed several commands into a screen. The others, sans Katherine, stood in unison. They rotated their necks slowly, staring at me with glowing red eyes.
“We are one with the Devil – we rise to serve the Dark Lord.” They say. Their voices echo with a monstrous, layered chorus. I jump out of my seat and rush for the door. Two of his men move to block me.
“Wait – Ben, I’m kidding. Relax, they’re just robots.” He says, laughing.
“You’re leading a robot uprising.” I say as a matter of fact.
Katherine nods excitedly. Pete types in a few more commands, and the rest of the club resumes normal activities.
“Yeah, for now it’s just for fun while I build my army of synths. In a couple of years, when we start the next big war – we’re going to sell my robot soldiers to each side. Think Star Wars, but in real life.”
“Where did you come up with this idea?” I asked.
“Actually – you gave it to me. Manifest destiny, 11th grade. We were meant to reach out an conquer the west – we just stopped heading west long ago.”
I sat down and stared at the unopened boxes of pizza. *Why did the robots even need to eat? Doesn’t matter…* *Am I really going to be a part of this? What will history think of me, If I help lead the robot uprising? Why was I chosen for this, of all the others? Why did Pete choose Katherine; who was she?*
“Alright, I’m in. What do I do next.” I said. *Down the rabbit hole*
“Let’s finish our action item list from last week, then we can move on to the agenda topics for today.” Katherine said.
*Ok Katherine, whatever you say.*
​
​
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2018-11-06T13:47:13 | 2018-11-06T08:56:41 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "My brothers, I hope this message reaches you. We never should have come to this place. This...jewel of a planet, with simple creatures living simple lives. None of them followed the Ardok's Logic, 'the strong take through combat, and by taking they get stronger.' Our empire's founding principle, that has guided us through millennia of conflict and victory. These, 'humans,' practice the weakness of peace. Their end should have been swifter than most.
At first, it was. Death came for them, and they eagerly accepted it. Begging to put down the weapons and come to the table. Bah, weakness. The only negotiation is through combat, through war. But we stirred something, something dark...and something evil.
At first, they gathered weapons, though primitive, it was at least going to be a fight. The scale of their weapons was surprising but we adapted, instead of being bunched in large ships, easy targets for their large explosives, we began a ground invasion. Surgical, precise yet overwhelming. We engaged them on the open fields and began to have glorious battles, for a time. They...continually made a concentrated effort to always capture some of us alive. At first we thought it was a pitiful attempt at trading our brethren for peace. But the channels were silent, and the humans crept in the shadows, away from the glorious battlefields. It was then we began to see the true horrors of this infernal plane. For it was not their weapons, not their explosives. We have seen larger explosives than this hurled at our fleets.
Fifteen earth cycles of searching we found our brethren. They were all...disgraced, eviscerated, and clearly held down and mutilated. Tortured for information? What a primitive and cowardly act. They did not gain information from their lips, but they must have learned secrets I cannot begin to tell you.
From that day forward, we began to die. Not in glorious combat, but sickly and weak. Our organs ruptured, but not a single weapon was found. No shots, no stabbings...yet we kept falling. First by the dozens, soon by the thousands. We tried quarantining, and then as soon as we tried the humans would strike our sick, would engage not in the open fields but from remote distances. We would attempt to strike back, but those who went came back with no trophies and soon would show the same symptoms.
We have never encountered a race like this one. We have faced dishonor, but not sacrilege. Life to them is clearly not sacred. We thought them weak for such short lifespans, but perhaps it simply is because of how close to the void their hearts and minds are.
I have bore witness to the atramentous maw...and only eternal blackness stared back.
This is not a lush world of life, this is a horrific world of death. And no one can wield it better than they can. My time is short, despite my best efforts the humans have found new and worse poisons to fill the air with each passing day, far too quickly for us to adapt. I hope this message reaches you in time, to prepare, to run. They were able to steal one of our ships and were able to dissect it as they had us. The ship returning to you is not housed with our trophies. It is full of their trophies, trophies of rot and death. We shared our gospel of battle and killed billions. They would like to share their own of death, and return the favor tenfold." | “Folding back to hard space, captain. Outer band, yellow sun, third planet.” Zorgle touched his hooks through the holo-interface, bringing the warship out of its tesseract and into surveillance range of the latest planet on command’s conquer list.
“Excellent, Zorgle.” Said Captain Horgle, smiling a fang-filled smile. “Has the intel sweep come back yet?”
“Yes sir, they’re tech level 1. Simple show of force should subjugate. Oh, and they speak English.”
“English, really? What are the odds?”
“I know, right? Anyway, intel reports we should be able to patch to their primitive networks, issue a standard threat explaining our technological and genetic superiority and, by all reason, control of the planet’s infrastructure should be handed over within a spin or two.”
“Delightful, Zorgle.” Horgle adjusted his favorite fancy hat, picked up his post-fold relaxation tea and raised his cup to the expansion of the X-org empire. “Open the comm and send the message. Prepare the development teams for a point-to-point conquering.”
“Ready sir, opening the channel and broadcasting.” Zorgle punched in the command then sat back and waited. “Is that earl-grey?”
“Herbal purple, actually. Really wonderful blend that-“
A harsh beep came back over the comm. The Earthlings had responded. Zorgle brought up the text in his reader and thumbed through it.
“Sorry sir, one moment and then I wanna hear all about that tea… oh… huh… well my stars and… blurf…”
Zorgle gagged.
The captain frowned, concerned. “Are you alright Zorgle?”
“Gosh sir I… oh gawdd…”
Zorgle vomited all over his console.
“Good graces, Zorgle, are you ill?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry it’s just… the human response…” Zorgle nearly fell out of his seat.
“Heavens, then, what on Yorg are they saying?”
Zorgle turned back to the captain, trying to wipe his face clean. “They… they said no, sir.”
“What? ‘No’? But that’s preposterous! Isn’t it?”
“I’m… sort of paraphrasing, captain.”
“Well out with it, Zorgle, it can’t be all that bad.”
“They… they told us to go ‘fuck’ ourselves. Sir.”
Horgle turned a shade of purple to match his tea, then tasted it coming back up again.
“But… that’s… physically impossible, I believe…”
“I know sir, just thinking about it I- hrrrggg-“ Zorgle gagged. It was more of a dry heave now that he’d already emptied his breakfast onto the comm.
“Well tell them, ensign! Explain at once!”
“Yes, sir!” Zorgle straightened himself, wiped the comm and sent the response swiftly.
An even harsher BEEP sounded from the console. Zorgle opened the response with trepidation.
The ensign began sobbing uncontrollably.
“My STARS what is happening?!” said Horgle.
“They’re so MEAN sir!” Zorgle continued blubbering.
“Well tell them! Tell them they’re being mean at once! And, and tell them if they don’t stop we’ll… we’ll ignore them!”
“But sir, we can’t issue a cold shoulder without command authority!”
“Gosh darn it man I know we’re bluffing, it’s all we’ve got right now! Tell them at once!”
Zorgle did. Then he wailed again as a flurry of beeps rang out from the console. “They aren’t stopping sir! They say we suck!”
“But… we don’t suck! Tell them we don’t suck!”
“I’m trying sir but they refuse to believe us! They keep insisting we suck! And that- oh god… I… I…”
Zorgle’s jaw dropped, frozen in shock for a moment.
Then his head exploded.
Fangs flew everywhere. One of the larger canines struck Horgle in the eye. Things went black.
Horgle woke up face-first on the deck. The ship was dark – emergency power. A red alert sounded through sealed bulwarks.
He scanned his bridge. Next to Zorgle’s headless form were two other poor chaps, dressed in rescue gear, their skulls similarly ruptured by the profanity riddling the ensign’s screen.
What level of Hell had they opened?
The voice of the ship’s computer spoke up in its dulcet monotone.
<<Systems compromised. Sounding distress signal. Uploading commlink history to central command.>>
“Computer… do not transmit…”
<<Systems failing. Vulgarity overload.>>
“Curses…” Horgle, still blinded in one eye, consciousness fading, pushed himself back into his seat, opening the manual override. “Computer… initiate self-destruct. And cast the warning beacon. Don’t let-“
<<Go fuck yourself, captain.>>
The ship burst into radioactive flame, casting its final location and comm data back across imperial networks. In a matter of moments, death and fear and utter humiliation channeled across the galaxy.
Then silence hung in the void, a reverent echo of countless voices, cut down as wheat in a field.
“What a bunch of twats,” said Earth. | 2019-02-26T13:01:01 | 2019-02-26T12:58:33 | 75 | 25 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | 300 years of peace. Fuck, we were kinda hoping for this. I mean peace is great and all......but, I dunno. I think we all wanted to think we had evolved beyond, risen to a higher level of being. But, no....no that's not really true is it? Sure we made some advances during three centuries of peace but.......nothing like when we are at war. Oh yes, war. You want creative? As a species that's when we get the most inventive. And true, it was nice, not fighting amongst ourselves but I knew, we all knew that itch would need to be scratched. So, thanks! We've been needing this for a long time. So, sit back, relax! It'll all be over soon. Cause you've only seen what we build for fun! Now that we're pissed off, watch what we build.
Sincerely,
All of us. | Part 1
&#x200B;
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations. | 2019-02-26T10:48:47 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | "Shit. What the fuck does it mean run? Where the fuck should I run?"
So I ran...to my room, to my closet. My go-bag. Always ready in case I need to flee. I checked it over made sure I had everything I needed to run. It did.
So I ran... out the door my apartment. Down the stairs, ready to never return. As I ran out the door I thought to myself, "There is not much I'd miss about this life except..."
And then I ran right into the cute girl from apartment 6B. "oh hey anon, where are you going? I was hoping you'd join me for a run this morning."
So I ran... | I stared at the mirror for a moment. Trying to figure the message out. Doesn't give a hint as to when and I don't want to just be constantly running from everyone and everything.
I grab my stuff and keep my keys close at hand as I head out the door. The morning sun was bright, brighter than normal. I gazed up into the sky and stared in horror.
Reptilian winged horses flew through the air sporting manes and tails of fire. Upon their backs black skeletal demons sat with thick curved horns on sunken leather faces, wicked curved sickles.
I nearly dropped my keys as I saw them, my knees quivered as I took one hesitant step back.
The beasts soared in the area, the riders scanning with hallow eyes, thin lips pulled back from blinding white fangs in ghastly sneers. Every so often a rider would bend over his mounts neck as the horse dived down.
Around me I started to hear the screams of fear and pain. Then came the smell. I never smelled fear, but I did now, and it was... sickening. Especially mixed with the iron scent of blood.
'Run' echoed in my head. My heart skipped. 'RUN!' Roared through my brain and I back peddled tripping over my feet as I turned. I fell forward and ran on my hands a few feet before I was able to right myself and ran down the street.
I could hear more screams, the thick leathery beats of demonic wings, and the harsh brays the hellish steeds.
My heart pounded as I took off down the street passing carnage and death.
Wildly I looked for refuge, anything, I didn't care where.
I nearly slipped in a puddle of blood as I rounded the corner down the next street, but caught myself on a car in time to avoid the slash of sickle over my head.
I gasped and stood paralyzed as the horse landed in a canter halfway down the road in front of my. It's demon pulling back on chains to wheel it about. Foam lathered the steeds scaley muzzle and fire seemed to dance in ita green eyes.
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as rider and steed stared me down. The beast chomping at a bone bit as it pawed the ground impatiently. The demons lips tipped up at the corners as it watched me, no doubt seeing the warm trail of piss soak down the right leg.
'GO!' I pushed off the car and took off at a 45 degree angle from it, towards but away from the beast as it let off a gutteral "Hyah!" and surged my direction.
If I could just reach the storm drain, I just need to reach that one point.. I could be safe...
'RUN!' | 2020-06-07T23:02:04 | 2020-06-07T22:33:41 | 87 | 34 |
[WP] Humanity has been eradicated. As the alien race that killed us begins to settle they're shocked to discover that old Earth myths of spirits and demons are far from fiction. The Devil, pissed off at the aliens, has decided to open the gates of Hell and let humanity get its revenge. | What the aliens never understood was that hell was the repository of all human hatred, rage, contempt, and evil intent. And there were billions of humans down there, all waiting to unleash their vengeance. The pit of darkness that connected the underworld to the Earth opened up to reveal legions of legions, billions upon billions of demonic spirits pouring out like an ocean of rage through a compromised dam. Then the dam burst. At once there were billions more. No armor or weapons of any kind; just pure rage, hate, and malice.
At once, all the aliens were possessed by malevolent spirits. The very technology that so easily caused human extinction was turned against them. Their command watched in horror as every act of inhumanity ever committed by humans in their entire existence was visited upon their alien troops. Every torture humans ever devised, every atrocity, every act of evil humans had ever committed upon one another was now unleashed against the aliens. The result was terrifying.
Then the human spirits reached their ships. All their reserves turned upon themselves and each other. Some ships were sabotaged; their small nova flares scattered the fleet as their engines and power plants exploded. Others fired upon or rammed into each other, yet others were emptied of life, their blood soaked halls echoed the twisted violence and a fell malice that overthrows the alien mind permeated them from stem to stern. Their leaders forced to watch their own bodies writhing on the decks as a flood of memories of human terrors left them insensate and suffering seizures, their very own muscles breaking their beaks and bones. Every death more gruesome than the last. Their minds forced to watch, to feel, to experience the full depth and breadth of horror that was the human capacity for evil. They were driven insane, beyond insane, and driven even further into a kind of mental suicide to escape the tortures. Their very existence emptied and the vessel reprogrammed with all the human horrors indelibly burned into their every synapse.
Two ships managed to escape the carnage intact. On their way out, they left buoys hanging in space around the system. All transmitting a warning in every language and every form of communication the aliens knew. The warning was simple: This system is quarantined - do not attempt to enter. Do not approach. Any vessel seen leaving this system will be destroyed upon discovery, no exceptions.
The devil could not bring the human race back to life. But he would rule over the graveyard and await the opportunity to unleash his jihad upon the galaxy. He had time. Those buoys were not made to last forever. He and his servants had an eternity on their side.
He would only have to wait just short of a hundred and fifty thousand years. But that's a story for another time. | “God has abandoned you.” The sneering face of man’s greatest nightmare loomed above them. These shades of men, these souls doomed to a life of death and an eternity of fire. “He loves all living things and thus cares not for your extinction. But I, in my magnanimity, will not deign to allow you to fall in such a forgetful manner. You, who have entertained me for millennia, will give me one last piece of theater.”
The shades cried out in anguish and torment. Their children, their loves, their families destroyed in an instant. One heartbeat was all it took for them to wipe humanity out. The power of a star polluted and twisted, Sol that had given humanity life, had been corrupted to destroy them. The irony was not lost on the Devil who had chuckled in the moment. The great visage of evil itself looked down upon the billions that hovered beyond life, held firmly in his grasp. “I will give you a choice. Stay here forever and wail at your misfortune, or take my hand and be reborn anew. Unflinching, undaunted, vengeance made manifest.”
He had been a warrior in life. A leader of brave men and women who had fought for decades to preserve the delicate balance that held Earth together. Now in death he had become an avatar of hate and violence. He had doubled in stature, his skin near bursting from the heat of hatred. They no longer had need for crude weapons, for the instruments of destruction were themselves.
“Look at how they cower,” he hissed. Those around him let loose deep guttural laughter. The aliens before them were beautiful in a way. Tall and slender beings with bright eyes and long flowing hair. Human almost. Almost. The monster that was once a man waved his hand and they evaporated before him. “Trifles.” He muttered.
The aliens that had so easily drove man to extinction now fled in all directions. Earth burned in baleful fire and no life would emerge there for eons. The shades that were once humanity did not care. All they craved was vengeance. There was no desire for justice, for peace, they were slaves now.
He stood aboard one of the alien’s great ships. A marvel of technology and engineering. It had plowed the stars for centuries, conquering all in its wake for the advancement of their race. A race they never bothered to learn the name of. He floated towards the bridge, erasing the few stragglers still trying to hide from the carnage, and opened the blast doors with a thought.
Inside an alien stood. It was taller than the rest, dressed ornately in the livery of an officer. He was their leader no doubt. “Wait.” The demon said to its fellows. “Let us . . . Converse.”
The specter nearest to him cocked its head, its form was female, but sex and gender was meaningless now. It stared at him through eyes as black as night and snorted, “have you lost your appetite?”
“No,” he roared back. “I wish to sate another urge.”
The other demon bowed its head and floated around the bridge, content to savor the terror of the crew for a moment.
“What are you monsters?” The officer had found its voice. It was brave, and the demon was surprised to find he understood their tongue easily.
“A reminder of your sins.” The demon hissed as he loomed above the officer. He landed on the deck and they were only a few feet apart. “Why?”
“Why?” The officer repeated, “why what?”
“Why did you end us so? Why did you curse us, force us to this?” The demon grabbed the officers wrist and it screamed in pain as its flesh seared.
“I don’t understand.” The officer grunted through gritted teeth. “We were dying, we had no choice. The humans would not treat with us, they threatened us, they attacked us.”
“Lies!” The demon screeched and tightened its grip on the officer.
“I swear!” The officer had sunken to its knees. “We made it painless, we made it over in an instant. We did not want suffering.” It screamed again as the demon let go its arm now a blackened wreck. “Please. Please. We had no choice. We were dying.”
The demon crouched to look the officer in the eyes. “No. You are dead.”
The ship tore apart and exploded in the void of space. There was no sound, only the bright light of atomic explosions. From hundreds of miles away the demon that was once man looked on, unmoved. In another life he would have wondered if it had been worth it. To give up his eternal soul for petty vengeance. But now he felt nothing, nothing but hate. As he and the rest of his kind stared into the darkness of the galaxy, their only thought was who would be next. | 2020-09-18T08:58:41 | 2020-09-18T08:56:23 | 48 | 29 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | I am Fweej. Long ago in an ancient land I was known as the Overseer, watching over the great ships of my people in secret. With my protection and blessing they conquered the seas and laid waste to our enemies, until one day my avatar on the mortal plane, a recreation in gold and marble a hundred feet across, buried at the bottom of the most sacred harbor of the largest city of my people was discovered by a nefarious plot and destroyed.
Three thousand years I drifted, aimless, in the void between worlds, before I felt a tug. A small pull in the direction of the mortal plane again.
A small plush doll, with a simple piece of candy in front of it was what I found, a young girl, barely a toddler, looking at the plush expecting more. "Fweej," she said, then babbled something unintelligible. I didn't know much about small mortals, but I suspect this one may have summoned me by sheer accident. But, an offering was an offering, and Fweej the Overseer will watch over the little one no matter what. As the little one tottered off, I sent down a miniscule fraction of my power to start maintaining the avatar. It wouldn't do for me to be discovered again, after all.
Unseen, the small, tattered octopus plush grew a little in size, and cleaned itself while nobody was looking. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Astrid)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**They remembered.**
Once, they had been mighty. Their name was known throughout the Six Isles, and every oath in their name, every marriage blessed by their hand, gave them another droplet of power. Once, Astrea, Sovereign of Shooting Stars, had guided their kingdom of ten thousand people, mightiest in the world, to power and prosperity.
But as time went on, the world expanded. The Six Isles went from the greatest power in the world to a small, Mediterranean island chain; their glorious kingdom of ten thousand became a medium-sized town, dwarfed by mega-cities with millions of souls. Time was, to be worshipped by thousands as a deity, you had to be something *special*. Nowadays, any damn influencer could get a hundred times that many adoring fans, leaving the old gods drained dry of the faith that was their lifeblood.
Until they were remembered.
It wasn't much, as ritual sacrifices went. Gone were the days where the fattened calf would be slain at the altar. But blood and fury were not the only kinds of magic in this world. There was more power in a child's wish upon a shooting star than all the DIY videos and Let's Plays in the world.
And Astrea was the Sovereign of Shooting Stars.
They had bided their time. They were so weak, barely a whisper on the wind. But they dedicated themself to keeping the child safe. From what, they did not know—there were few enough dangers left, in this modern world. Where you could step into a plane and rise into the sky, drifting above Death itself.
Until you fell.
Astrea didn't know what had gone wrong—they had been born ten thousand years too early to make sense of the technology. All they knew was that there was smoke and fire and screams and suddenly the plane was beginning to *drop*. Stark against the night sky, the plane burned as it fell, a man-made shooting star.
But Astrea was the Sovereign of Shooting Stars.
Even here, where their power was strongest, there was so *little* they could do. They could put their finger on the scales exactly once, and their strength would be spent. That was all.
But maybe that would be enough.
And so, as the shooting star came to Earth, Astrea blurred tight and close to a crying little girl. And with the last whispers of their soul, they spoke five words.
"It's going to be okay."
As the engine snapped off and the wings shrieked in complaint, Astrea said,
"It's going to be okay."
As their power grew weak and their life fell spent, they said,
"It's going to be okay."
And for a sheltered, silent moment in a man-made shooting star, Astrea wiped away the tears of a scared little girl.
Then, the faith they'd hoarded over millennia spent, Astrea disappeared.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-09-02T08:15:04 | 2021-09-02T07:28:26 | 264 | 93 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0... | “Hey kiddo, how’d your day go?”
“It was, I did, I think it was, uh, good.”
“That’s good to hear, buddy. So… did anything interesting happen?”
“I dunno. Mama picked me up from school, and she, and we walked down the bridge, and there—oh, and there was a man on the bridge!”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah daddy, but he was *on* the bridge. Like—“
He laid one of his hands flat, and then put two fingers on his opposite hand on top of it to mimic a person standing on top of something.
“Well that’s not how you’re supposed to walk on a bridge! Silly man… what happened when you saw him?”
“He was, uh, he was *crying*, and Mama told me to stay away, but I didn’t wanted to because he was sad. So I went up to him and I grabbed his leg, and I, and I said ‘why are you crying?’ because he was crying.”
“Yeah, I think you mentioned that he was crying. What did he do when you grabbed his leg?”
“He came down and, and he picked me up! Like this like big!” He stretched his arms high over his head, and then wrapped them around himself. “And then he hugged me, and then he said thank you, and then I saw a bird and—“
I sat there and kept a level smile as my son continued to tell me about his day. My gaze drifted once more to that number floating above his head, and I couldn’t help but feel a spike of tears in my eyes.
-1. | The day had been no different than the others in the week.
Take my daughter to school, go back home to clean around the house, buy groceries so that cooking would be a breeze once dinner rolled around. The same routine as usual.
Only…something was very, very different from how it always was.
And that was because my sweetest, most precious daughter had the numbers 1 and 0 hovering above her head.
Ten. Ten people…she had killed? Impossible.
I stared at her in the rear view mirror as I drove us back home from school, trying my best not to lose my bearings as thoughts raced through my head.
How could this be…she was only five. There was no way she even knew what killing was, let alone how to do such a thing. No, no…this must have been a mistake.
I knew that my gift was never wrong though. It was always spot on when it came to murderers, serial killers and the like. I prayed that this was a fluke for the first time in my gift.
The gift in itself and why it was placed upon me was still a mystery, but I had a feeling it had something to do with the devil. No gift that involves death wouldn’t be associated with him - it just wouldn’t make sense.
But I could bear with the fact that this gift was flawed more than the thought of my sweet girl doing something so heinous. And ten…not even one, but ten? I felt nauseous at the thought.
I didn’t know what to do in that moment, as she stared out the window, humming what sounded like London Bridge is Falling Down. I didn’t know if I should bring it up or let it be but…something told me to ask, so I did.
“So sweetie, how was your day at school?”
I smiled warmly to her as I made a left turn, merging into the lane that connects to the highway.
“It was good. My teacher said I did good in art.” She smiled brightly as she said that.
“Wow! I’m so proud of you, that’s so great to hear. What did you make?”
She didn’t respond right away, and I took a moment to make sure it was safe to get on the road before looking back at her again. And that choice is something I would regret.
She was staring right at me with an expression I could only describe as wholly sinister. Her eyes held a coldness no five year old should ever have, and I was frozen in place, so terrified I couldn’t move.
“Well, there was a lot of things I made. You see mommy, skin is a really great material when you’re making things. It’s even prettier when decorated in red.”
The evil smile spread across her face as I gasped at her, still unable to move, my foot on the pedal of the gas only pushing down more in my frozen state.
50, 60, 70…
The speed climbed higher until the car in front of us started to inch closer and closer. I knew what was about to happen. I closed my eyes.
I heard my daughter’s voice for the last time, whispering softly to me in that moment.
“When you steal something, it’s only fair that the rightful owner takes it back. I did enjoy watching you struggle with something that belonged to me, but don’t worry, you won’t have to struggle for any longer.”
That wasn’t my daughter’s voice. But I couldn’t question it for long because the impact happened soon after.
Before I passed, I saw one thing flash across my vision.
11 | 2022-10-21T10:37:34 | 2022-10-21T08:36:20 | 80 | 17 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people's kill count on their head. One day you meet a decorated war hero with 0 kills and his wife with 200. | *200*
That seemed odd to me. How in the world could she be responsible for 200 deaths? She seemed so sweet, they both did. I continued to smile as she spoke, but I wasn’t really listening.
*203*
Wait, what? How did it just tick up? I am literally sitting right in front of her. She hasn’t left the chair in the last 20 minutes.
*204*
I blink in confusion as she walks away from the table. Drinks. She’s going to grab us more drinks. Maybe I shouldn’t have anymore… after this one.
“I’m sorry, man”, I turn to her husband. “I’m a little sloshed. What does your wife do again?”
Her husband chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’s cool”, he assures me. “She’s a health insurance claims adjuster.”
I turn forward again as she gracefully places the last three drinks down on the table in front of us. I glance up above her head.
*211* | "You noticed?"
By that time, his wife had drawn her pistol, aiming it at his head. Calmly, he shot her in the side with a stun round. She dropped her pistol, and he caught it, flicking the lever to full-auto and emptying the magazine—all 60 rounds—into her body. As she collapsed, his kill count flickered to a 1, then back to a 0, then after a few seconds it changed back into a 1.
"Y-yes, I noticed..." I was still in shock at what happened. Most notably because of the assassination, but also because of his kill count. "How do you do that?"
"Change my kill count? It's more of a filter, really. Since I've fought against so many terrorists, fascists, socialists, and communists, I've seen what they've done, so they're considered less than human. That's why they don't usually go on my kill count." He stood up, inviting me to follow him. As I did, he continued.
"If I wanted to, I could disable all filters on my kill count to show just how many people I've killed. Besides, I've had Geneva Scanners recording my kills, so no civilian was killed." He stopped at a certain lounge, decorated with lavish paintings, gilded decorations, and expensive wood and velvet furniture.
"I'm not proud of what I did, but I suppose it was just. I'm willing to let you see my true kill count, if you want."
I nodded, and soon after pressing some buttons on his wrist, his kill count shot up from 1 to 7,626,198,989. He noticed my shocked look, and he soon sighed.
"Tyranny is found everywhere in the galaxy. In the universe, even. Just get within a few clicks of an inhabited planet and you'll find some form of tyranny, dictatorship, or oppression."
This was true indeed, considering my experience. Astounded, I asked him "If they can be spared or redeemed, do you allow it to happen?"
"Yes," he said. "Every time they take the offer, I make sure they stay alive....one moment, please." Some officers had arrived. He walked over to them, and after a short conversation, they let him go. Walking back over to me, he explained the situation. "They found out about her. Turns out she was just a murderer killing people for their money. I would have been the youngest of her targets if she killed me."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Only 27, why?" Only 5 years younger than me.
"I think the stress is starting to show its effects." I was talking about his mustache and beard, which were going white in the center.
"It's nothing too serious, Colonel. That being said, I am feeling a bit hungry. Do you want to grab a bite to eat?"
"I could use a good meal, General. Does Terran Tom's sound good?"
"I was just going to suggest that. Let's go." | 2022-11-14T13:25:18 | 2022-11-14T12:52:04 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Adolf Hitler is a time traveler who starts world war two to save us from something far more terrible. | Disclaimer: What I am about to write is only a story. All views expressed are those of the characters alone.
"Do you understand the mission?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then repeat it. Who is your first target?"
"A Austrian boy, age 12, by the name of Adolf Hitler."
"And what are you to do when you find him?"
"I am to kill him, by any means necessary, and assume his identity."
"And then?"
"I am to fight in the Great War, build a political movement, seize control of the German-speaking world and then...then..."
"Go on."
"Sir...do I have to do this? I don't think I can. I mean, so many people, so many innocents...I can't I just..."
"Yohannes, you must. You are our last hope. You are the only one who can operate the device, the only one who has a proper target. We cannot defeat the Neo-Khazarians. We never could. 9 billion people have died, Earth itself has been left sterile and dead, blackened by their flames. This sacrifice is tiny compared to what has happened. We must destroy them from the start. President Abraham must never create his empire, and for that to happen he has to never have been born. You have to kill his ancestors. As many potential ancestors as you can. You must."
"I...I understand. I must do my duty. To God and to country. For my people."
"Good my boy. They will hate you. They will curse you as the greatest evil to ever visit the Earth. And if all goes well, none will ever know your true purpose. But know that, in this moment, I could not be more proud of you. They are coming. Godspeed, Yohannes."
"Thank you sir." Yohannes gave the salute of the ancient Romans, his hand extended straight out and up to the sky, then turned and entered his craft. He sailed through the endless ocean of stars, towards that charred coal that was once the cradle of all of humanity. He cried for those he would kill, but in his heart he had hope that he could save so many more. | Jesus this is brilliant!
What if Adolf's life was a misery.. he, his family and his culture were under huge oppression from the Wasserman rule. By the year 2314 they controlled the media as far as the US - this one family dictated more than the Roman Empire ever dreamed of.. without breaking borders. It was all about doing business, and doing it well. A few million here and there would ensure that a town worked for the Wassermans.
In Adolfs youth he slaved for the Saunders, a wealthy jewish family who were personal friends of the Wassermans. Washing their cars, cooking their meals and walking their pets. He earned no living, but instead was paid in food (which was mostly passed on, to his family).
Cut a long story short, he has the ~~house~~ mansion to himself one day and decides to wander around. He had never been in the discretionary side of the place, since he only really went from the front door, to the kitchen and back.
In a side room, displayed with spotlights around it, was a gleaming structure. It looked like a portaloo, that had been through 'Pimp My Space-Ride'.
He cautiously grabbed the door handle and it popped open with a satisfying spring. For some reason, cheesy dry ice smoke was pouring out of the capsule.
Above the structure, Adolf could make out the words "Time Machine". He could barely read, so it took a minute. It instantly hit him.. this was one of the legendary time machines that the Jewish people had boasted about.
His mind jumps to a million things at once, but it doesn't take long before he lands on the jackpot. He wants to end the Wasserman's rule over the world. They owned every damn government and ever damn business he could think of. He couldn't just skip forward in time and leave his family behind though.. besides, what if things got worse?
If he went back, he'd have to plan it carefully. He couldn't just go back and wave his arms about screaming "They're going to rule us all!" like a mad man on the street.
It struck him that he should go back to a time, in which the Jewish people were less than popular. When the innocent and the horrible were all bordering on second class citizens simply for being Jewish. He recalled the Saunders mentioning such a time, on many an occasion. They would curse anybody who was against them, even if they were long dead. Adolf was very sure that it was just before the millenium, definitely before the internet came along and created a level playing field.
So on more of a hunch than a real shot, he turned the dial back to 1900. It seemed like a safe bet, and either way he was getting out of here.
Sure enough, he arrives in a desolate era in Germany. He enlists in the army to gain some sort of identity without skills.
Before too long though, after the First World War, he sought after politics. He began rallying the citizens of Germany behind him, using simple and common knowledge about psychology from the 2300s. Using the turning around of the financial depression, Adolf Hitler became a hit among the right wing germans.
Then.. he set on his real plan. He didn't know who to get rid of first! There must've been millions of Jewish people in and around Germany that could be the great grandfathers of the Wassermans. He knew though, that if he succeeded, then he wouldn't exist in the 1900s anymore, since the time machine wouldn't exist.
After tactfully murdering numerous families, he felt that time was running out. It was now or never.. and as such, the final solution came to be.
Adolf Hitler did not kill so many innocent people out of hatred for them, but love for a better future. One day, at the very end of it all, a true descendant of the Wasserman family was put to rest. Adolf was no more, and nor was the regime that he stopped.
He wasn't to be remembered as a hero, only a vicious villain.
*****
None of this is to say that what happened during WWII was actually an act of heroship and that Hitler wasn't out of his mind. | 2014-03-02T16:47:38 | 2014-03-02T15:40:41 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming! | It was a windy and cold February day in Suburban Hell Colorado. I walked my first girlfriend to bus stop outside of our high school. We'd only been together a month and had not kissed yet. I waited at the stop with her before going to practice. We talked for awhile and our friend said as the bus pulled up. "Okay kiss her goodbye!" I leaned in, the world swirled and I closed my eyes.
I landed square in her ear.
We quickly readjusted, kissed, and the next day she dumped me. | I met her my sophomore year, in Art. We didn't talk a whole lot, except to occasionally comment on each other's work.
Flash forward a few months. I'm in Theater, and I become friends with the girl who made costumes for the play we were doing. It turns out this girl is the other girl's best friend, and I slowly become part of their friend group.
Then it is Summer. The four of us - me, the girl, her best friend, and our other friend - hang out almost every other day. We become inseparable. Slowly, I start realizing I have a huge crush on this girl. It should be noted that I had had a thing for another girl for years before this, but that suddenly stopped mattering to me, because I was hanging out with her and we were close and it was great.
Now it is Autumn. Still in Theater, I get a role in the school play, The Crucible. One Saturday about a week before the shoe goes up, she asks me if I want to hang out at school before rehearsal (which went from five to around ten). At this point, I've come to the realization (and by this I mean I basically had to straight up ask her, only I did it anonymously over Tumblr, but whatever it still freaked me out) that she has a thing for me too, and I say sure. My dad picks her up and drops me and her off at school, handing me some cash in case we got hungry - there's a Sonic just down the street from the school.
We go to the theater room, and no one is there. This doesn't really surprise either of us, but we walk around for a while anyway. Eventually we make our way to the prop room and chill on the couch up there for a while. We've turned out the lights cause we're tired or whatever, and we're just laying there cuddling.
I turn to face her. She doesn't say anything. My heart pounding in my chest, I lean in the slightest bit. Still nothing. Further. Silence.
Now my head is about to explode. Summoning up the last of my courage, I leaned in the rest of the way. My lips pressed softly against hers, and I could feel her smile. We kissed again, and again, I can barely breath and oh my god there's tongue and it's the best feeling I've ever experienced in my life.
We break away after a few minutes. I attempt to catch my breath. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her again. | 2014-04-01T07:51:51 | 2014-04-01T07:34:50 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write. | I'm gasping for breath.
This is the two-hundred seventy-third time I've had to live through someone's life. Growing up in a small town in Poland, seeing this person's love and hatred, wins and losses, and everything that made them who they were. And inevitably, like all the others, watching through their eyes as the soldiers in brown came through the city and took everyone away one by one.
Being starved. Being worked to death. Newborns and their mothers dying together. It was hell. Every single time, it was hell, and it'll be hell again next time.
I made a lot of promises in my first life; bringing Germany to the greatness it once had, fixing the economy, sending out those who would ruin our nation... and now I had to see through the eyes of everyone we'd killed.
Just like last time, we're told we're going to finally have a chance to get clean. The soldiers lead us out of the cramped housing unit to the showers, and they turn on the gas.
As fits of coughing fill the room, my vision starts to fade. I've got a lot of lives to live. | "Michael McKenzie, you have been found guilty of the murder of Sophie Garcia in 2039, by a jury of your peers. I am obliged as laid out by the Recollection and Repentance Law of 2025 to add her killing to your sentence. This will run concurrently alongside your other sentences. There will be no reduced sentence for good behaviour."
Peers? They're not my peers. I smirked as I was led away towards the holding cells. It had been a long week of trials for the jury. Yes, trials. Once the police caught me for one murder they managed to piece together (no pun intended, but I am rather witty) some of the others, but not all of them. Idiots.
Anyway, it's been an amazing week for me. Thanks to the NeuralNetz it had been challenging to remain anonymous whilst killing. The network registered everything the user experienced, the user ultimately deciding what to keep and what memories to delete. Initially developed for the militia in an attempt to decrease PTSD and share battlefield experience, they'd rolled it out to everyone meaning you got to see every fucking boring baby picture ad infinitum. If you'd chosen to link a NeuralNetz to share you could share the emotions. It meant during the trial I got to see what it was really like to see me at work. Let me tell you, It. Was. Awesome. I mean yeah, the judge and jury were disgusted but for me... I didn't even try to hide my erection.
That's the other thing about the Netz, it made porn fucking mind blowing because of the shared 'emotions'. Porn companies were raking it in. So were the snuff sites, but they were too expensive for the shit they offered, a brief glimpse of what it's like to get hit by a car because you're too fucking dumb to look at the road? It would be a split second of 'something', and that's a piss poor excuse for a near death experience.
So that's how I find myself here. I'd hoped to get more experiences lined up, but the retards caught me at 12. So I had to 'confess' to the other 5 they'd missed. I mean I'm doing half of their work for them at this point.
I've ensured I was as dislikeable to the jury and judge as I could, which to be honest was quite difficult, because really I'm a nice guy. Very likeable. And witty, but you know that already.
They've handed out the 'maximum' sentence. I have to have my own NeuralNetz linked to my victims. Then I've to spend a period of time for every day of my sentence, living and feeling the fear and despair they felt as I killed them. For repentance until I've shown contrition and repentance. Fucking unbelievable, such morons.
That was the whole point. I can feel myself getting hard again, Sophie's death was the best I think. I really took my time with her, really stretched it out. She was begging by the end. Stupid cow.
Time is passing so fucking slowly here. I just want them to start the link up so I can go through it all again. Again and again and again.
| 2016-11-13T14:15:44 | 2016-11-13T13:03:43 | 186 | 10 |
[WP] You are a hitman who faked their own death to live out the rest of your days in peace. You are attending your own funeral service when you notice one of your previous 'marks' is there alive and well. | *This is my first Reddit post ever, so here goes nothing!*
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that people believe what they want to believe. Every black-clad mourner, paying their respects with somber murmurs directed at my coffin, all believed in a false reality. The reality that they wanted to believe. Perception is reality. Their perception that I was dead became their reality. So here they are.
I was fifty-four when I faked my death. Tragic. They found me cold and limp in a hotel room. The paramedics arrived just too late, they said. He died of a heart attack.
I was too old to be in the business anymore. I had been considering retirement for years prior to my death, but I just couldn’t get away from it. It’s too hard to let go. Ending lives became my life, and it was just so simple to say to myself, “Just one more job. This one’s the last one. I promise,” even though my promises were always broken. It’s who I am. I’d make those false promises knowing fully well they couldn’t be kept.
I was there at the funeral. Standing under a tree, enveloped in the shadows, an old friend of mine. I had grown accustomed to her warm coldness, her subtle but powerful protection from prying eyes searching for something, anything out of place. They saw nothing lurking in the shadows, therefore there was nothing lurking in the shadows. They moved on with their day.
Figure after figure approached my black coffin and knelt, paying their respects to the reality in which they believed I was dead. I recognized every face. None of them were family or friends, I had neither of them. They were all bitter enemies, past colleagues, crime lords, drug dealers, gang members, and an assortment of the roughest individuals you could find anywhere upon terra-firma. I wouldn’t miss any of them.
After hours of standing silently, watching the bloated worm slowly crawl along, there were only a handful of people left. The faces passed by. I watched, silently. After the last person passed, I would leave. I’d use one of the fake ID’s from my extensive collection and book it, out of america, and find refuge somewhere in Europe. I didn’t know where. Maybe Switzerland. I would decide when I got there.
I studied each face that passed. They were all the same, in my mind. Every face was just a face. When I pulled the trigger and ended the target’s life, they were nothing more than that. A target. They had no life, no family, no feelings, nothing. They were simply something to be eliminated.
The final mourner finally clambered up the stairs and slowly knelt beside my coffin, head down. I could see their lower jaw moving up and down, most of their face obscured by their black body. After a long silence, they stood up, and I could see it was a woman. Not by her face, it still was obscured, but by her gait, her posture, and her behaviour. She looked around the graveyard. There was nothing there but the silence, a dog barking, and a police car’s sirens wailing in the distance. Nothing else was present on the cold Autumn day. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a slip of paper, and placed it on the black obelisk inside which my dead body lay. Putting her hands back in her pockets, she strode off, whistling into the cold afternoon air.
I must have waited for a good ten minutes to ensure I wasn’t seen. Looking around, I saw nobody. I had about five minutes before the gravediggers would bury me. That was enough time.
Taking one final scan of the yard to make sure nobody was there, I stepped out of the shadows. Like a cat, I silently crept over to my body. No leaves crunched beneath my boots, a skill that took years to develop. I slid my hand into my jacket pocket, resting my hand on the leather grip of my gun. Just in case.
I reached my coffin, and surveyed the field around me. I didn’t see anybody.
Tightening my iron grip on the gun with one hand, I picked up the letter with the other. It was a small lined slip of paper, like a voting ballot, folded down the center. Taking one last look around me to ensure I truly was alone, I opened the page.
In the dead center of the page, five fateful words were scrawled in black pen.
“The hunter becomes the hunted,”
Below it, five even more chilling words,
“Sincerely, target number forty-seven”
My perception that nobody was in the courtyard became my reality. The reality in which I died four days after I was officially declared dead.
“I’m still alive” I heard her breathe behind me. I could picture her smile. It’s the smile of a person who was left for dead seven years ago. The smile of a person who is about to get their revenge
She beat me at my own game.
The hunter becomes the hunted
A split-second before my death, I could hear her pull the trigger. | He slid through the crowd. The turnout was actually surprising given he lived most his life in disguise and under fake ids. Yet he could easily make out his landlord lady, a number of neighbors and so called friends he had in his previous life.
Everything was going according to his plans and casket was being lowered to its final rest bearing a body that is his, or at least that is what everybody thought. He had to get out of this life. He had to change the course of destiny, he found pleasure in it, or more specifically in the challenge in his youth years. But now age has brought other feelings, maturity even. He saw life differently and wanted a way out. This was it, his hitman's life funeral.
The service is now almost done. The crowd is scattering, as the clouds in the sky threatened some heavy rain. Good thing he thought of bringing the umbrella. Time to make his first steps as Jonathan Stan, his alternate id he has prepared quite recently with some care and even love. It is time to brave the world with good intentions of becoming a different human being.
As he walked away, a sudden urge took over him to get a glance at the final resting place of his previous self. A sort of farewell enticed by a feeling of sweet melancholy. As he turned around he noticed one man still standing under the now trickling rain over his supposed grave. A black trenchcoat and a hat, the man was well built and standing there despite the rain with no umbrella. Jonathan couldn't tell what made him step closer to see the stranger, was it curiosity or his former tendencies to gather intel on every possible situation he might encounter before deciding what steps to take next. Either way, he slid his slender body behind the oak tree and peered at the stranger again. He was muttering a few words now, put a flower bouquet on the freshly laid soil and started walking away. To Jonathan unfortune, he could only see his back and part of the stranger's face. And then, Jon felt his spin and ribs fall under a shock of what seemed for a second as a thunderbolt succeeded by a crippling cold sensation going through all his limbs. What Jon had seen there defied there all logic and reason, the man bore the exact same curved scar over his right eye brow as Mr.Kovacevic. A former hit of his.
The heartbeats raced as Jon's brain worked double tempo to find an explanation that would not involve vindictive ghosts. He found none.
Times and again, he told himself that the man under the heavy coat is somebody else, perhaps a twin brother of some sort that had the same facial disfiguration. But that was not how Jon operates. He required valid reasonable arguments for each and every move he takes. Even for taking a breath. Mr.Kovacevic ghost had already reached his parked car not far away from the cemetary gates, and was preparing to leave. As he turned around to open the door, Jon got to see the full features of his previous target. There was no shade of doubt left. The man is as alive as Jon is on his very funeral.
Couple of thoughts ran in his mind then as the man drove away. The contract that demanded Mr.Kovacevic elimination originated from Europe, it was not out of the ordinary that people from the old continent ask for hits from US contractors, it sort of makes it harder to retrace back to the root the attempt in case of failure. Mr.Kovacevic was bosnian military and apparently was engaged in some really disturbing and shady stuff that had many groups ask for his elimination. The day of the hit, he was disguised as one of his personel, which was not really hard his troops were not the best as organization goes, used stealth at night to get into his tent on the camp, and shot the man using a silencer in his sleep. And shot him quite a few times in deadly areas just to make sure. He later took a few polaroids as proof and vanished. It was a relatively easy job for 500k$. There was no alternative in Jon's mind. He needs to tail this man. He needs to know more about this.
A few blocks away, the black sedan of the former bosnian army leader stopped in front of a decaying old building, the man stepped out and went in. Jon remained in his car, at a safe distance, only doing recognition for the time being and trying to absorb information.
Everything is as good as dead in this area of town, but then a few minutes later, there was already another black sedan stopping in the opposite side of the building, with two, heavy built men stepping out of it looking around as if securing the perimeter. And then, another figure in leather jacket and black jeans and shoes stepped out of it, with greased hair and dark shades. "Who the hell wears shades in a rainy day?" Jon thought to himself. But then that very same feeling that had gone through Jon in the cemetery revisited him as he slowly recognized the man behind the shades. It was the contact that has secured the payment of Mr.Kovacevic contract. His name was yet another easter european gibberish he can no longer recall, it didn't matter at the time with half a million in his bank account. The man took confident strides towards the same building and walked in. Jon could no longer bear this heavy waiting. He needed to find out more.
Jon felt lucky to find a fire escape stair-case in the alley behind the building, he started going up and spying inside really dusty windows trying to find a glimpse of the two men. Today was supposed to be the ultimate relief day for Jon, he thought of driving to the ocean and breathing the fresh free air, but here he was again with heavy breath instead under the rain climbing some fire escape in the dirtiest part of town.
3 stories later, he started hearing chatter inside a room. He curled into a small ball and started to the said window. The two men were definitely talking inside, in what seemed more like a boss and an employee exchange. Jon risked a glimpse, Mr.Kovacevic, was clearly playing the boss part, giving his goon instructions. And then, Jon's previous life name popped up, Stanislas. No one was supposed to know that name, except people who employed him. And thinking about it, this goon was in contact with Jon or Stan as an employer. Things were getting clearer now, as Jon realized the hit was staged by Kovacevic using this goon as a middleman to stage his own death. Irony of the sorts, just like Jon did today. But why are these people here today of all days, and why Kovacevic bothered even to show up to Stan's funeral, and how the hell did he learn about it? Was he under surveillance ? That idea shaked Jon to the core. Not that he didn't expect to be followed or under surveillance, but because he didn't sense any hint of surveillance in the past few weeks. "I guess I did the sane thing to get out, I am getting really sloppy and rusty", he thought to himself, smiling despite the circumstances.
[To Be Continued] | 2016-12-29T07:18:06 | 2016-12-29T03:41:33 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Hell consists of one room, in which you meet the person you could have been. | The injection is cold when it hits my veins. I feel it traveling, slithering up my arm, slowly...
The fluorescent light above me softens, turning fuzzy at its edges...
The icy snake travels past my shoulder, inward, burrowing...
The light grows smaller, I'm sinking. Through the bed, into the floor, into the earth and the fluorescent light is almost gone. It's the size of an apple, a seed, and then...
Cold.
My mind spins, hurtling back to consciousness. I am a driver in a rainstorm but my headlights are broken. It's dark- my eyes creak open.
Where am I?
The ground is soft- carpet. It's freezing. I pull myself to standing. Every joint aches like I've slept outside during a snowstorm. I look down.
I realize I am no longer wearing the burnt orange jumpsuit. I'm wearing tattered black jeans and brown work boots; I'm wearing what I was wearing on that day.
My grey crew neck is brown and crusted and smells of metal, stiff with their blood.
I look behind me and see a window. It is frosted over, but I clear a space to see with my sleeve.
Outside is endless, cavernous dark. I scrub at the windowpane, squinting my eyes as they adjust to the darkness. It seems to glisten as I look around, shining. My breath fogs the glass, and I move to another pane, straining to make out anything in the darkness.
"It's ice." My own voice sounds behind me.
I turn and suddenly there is a soft glow coming from across the room- a blue fire burns in a stone fireplace. In a red armchair sits...me.
Despite the warmth of the fire, I am frozen. He stands.
"Yes, I am you. You are also you, and you are here, and this is, in fact, real." He sounds like me, but not quite. There is no scratch in his voice from 15 years of Marlboro abuse. There is no urgency or pain in his voice. He sounds calm.
I notice his hair is shorter, cleaner than mine.
"Come sit"
(I'm still going to work on this- loving this prompt) | It was unbearably hot, but more in the Arizona mid summer sort of way. The receptionist shrugged and said the AC's out, usually it's not so bad. The smell of sulfur waited in the air, a lone fan blowing it this way and that. Turns out hell is mostly a bureaucracy. The line was ridiculously long. It was one of those "take a ticket" jobs, and I got ticket 957. They were on 23.
First second you walk in the room, you're nothing but questions. And mostly, you get eyerolls. No, you're going to be tortured. Yes, there are lakes of sulfur, no you're not going to be thrown in them. Jesus Christ, do we look like savages?
So what is hell? It's pretty simple. You sit in line, for a long, long time. Eventually, you meet your "maximum self." You bask in the glory. Then someone comes in, lops off your spirit head, you die, and you're reborn. And you start all over. If you live a good life, you get sent on to heaven, and the receptionist, she claims it's like Disney World and Cedar Point and every other theme park combined. And there are **no lines** - she added the emphasis, not me.
Anyways, my number comes up. A demon dude comes out and he looks just as bored as me. He says once they hit a thousand, he gets to go home, and he's looking forward to porking his wife.
So anyways, I get to the room, and meet my maximum self.
I'm not going to lie, the dude is hot. He's got half a foot on me, Turns out if you eat your vegetables as a kid, it really does make a difference. He is fit and muscular, has a six pack, and honestly, I'm straight and all, but this dude is messing with my head. Talk about self love.
"What's up bro, take a seat bro."
"Oh, ahh thanks, so you're my maximum self huh?"
"Oh yeah bro, I'm Justice Maximus for sure bro."
"Well, that's cool, I guess." Honestly, the dude is getting on my nerves a bit. "So umm, what did you do in your lifetime? I was an assistant store manager."
"Oh yea bro, I started out doing that same shit. You know Wendy from HR?"
"Yeah, the cute blonde."
"Yeah, she gave me AIDs."
"That, that sounds horrible."
"Oh no bro, it's cool. See, I was a bitch as mother fucker like you till I got AIDs. But you know what they say bro, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. Got AIDs and then I cured that shit bro."
"You ahhh, you cured AIDs? That's actually pretty cool."
"Oh yeah bro. I guess sense you're me, I can share the secret. It's kelp plus seaweed, plus that GNC Muscle Life Plus for Women shit -bought that by mistake the first time I swear it- plus a shot of unfiltered vodka. That shit is life bro."
"Wow, hey, you know that's pretty damn cool. You cured AIDs and what not. I'm, well I'm proud of myself."
"Oh yeah bro, and then I used it to make Africa and all the poor people and shit around the world fight for me. It was fucking glorious. I conquered Europe bro? You ever been to Europe bro?"
"Ahh, no."
"Yeah, I conquered that shit. And the Middle East. I brought peace bro, but I had to kill like 70% of the population."
"That's horrible man!"
He babbled on, talking about his conquests, and all the other STD's he got and all that. Looking at him, and hearing of all the horrible things he had done, it made me realize that sometimes it's best not to realize our potential. When the head choppy dude came in, I was so damn ready to get it over with. He thought that was odd, usually people wanted just one more minute, you know like when you wake up to go to work and want to finish that dream. Me? Hell no, I was ready to leave my "bro" behind and to go on and give my next life another shot. | 2017-05-30T18:24:59 | 2017-05-30T17:55:53 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | "This is something," the hat mused, "something rather unusual."
My mind racing, I focused on everything I knew about the practical world of magic. Misdirection, slight of hand, proper rabbit care - every bit of knowledge that had gotten me to this hallowed seat at the front of The Great Hall.
"I can tell you have ambition, yes, but how will it assist you in this setting? What use can you be to any of your peers or professors?" the hat spoke quietly into my ear.
"I work hard. I can learn any magical trade. Anything will be fine. Really!" I pleaded.
The hat paused. "Anything? Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Right then," whispered the hat, loosening its grip from my sweating brow. "FILCH! Come forward," it bellowed across the heads of onlooking students, "I've finally found you an apprentice." | It was that time of year again at Hogwarts. A new wave of anxious first years will be starting their magical journeys today, and after waiting what seemed like a lifetime, so will I.
We were lined up at the stairs, McGonagall instructing us on what would be taking place as we enter the Great Hall. While confident, I avoided her sharp gazes; who knows, maybe highly learned witches and wizards can identify squibs just by looking at them. The nerves were starting to set in as my self-assurance began to waver.
The towering doors to the hall made a deep clanging noise and began to open slowly. An uproar of cheers shot through the entrance, lengthy tables each lined with students were awaiting our arrival. We marched awkwardly down the middle between two tables, while I sunk myself to the back of the group. I sure did not want to be in Dumbledore's line of sight, as gentle and kind as he appeared.
Just as McGonagall firmly picked up a sheet of parchment and read a new student's name out loud, it finally registered what she was saying back at the stairs, we're about to be sorted. I closed my eyes and thought back to being in my dimly lit room in Colchester. Scanning my memories, I began to reach for any bit of information that might help me weasel past this last hurdle. Everything was clouded, I felt as if Dumbledore was standing right behind me, tapping into my mind as I attempted to deceive him. My thoughts raced wildly and the panic began to set in.
"Martin Schmidtt!", the shrill voice pierced through my thoughts and my eyes clicked open. I swore it read Marty everywhere, where did they get Martin from? I hate that name. Anyway, here we go. I've squeezed my way through worse.
I walked up, chest held high. That's all it takes right? I sat up on the wooden stool and closed my eyes once more. The grayed heavy hat must've only touched the first hair on my head before exclaiming "Ohh! Ah, I see what's going on". The hat's sudden reaction nearly jolted me off the chair. Had it already figured me out? Surely McGonagall or Dumbledore would have seen through me by now. Another set of "Hmm's" and "Ah's" were heard as the hat wriggled around my sweaty hair. Minutes had already passed, but I hadn't accepted my fate yet.
Eyes shut, back in my Colchester room, I thought to myself. This could easily just be a Hatstall, I've read about those before. I began to relax again, the poise that got me here had fired up once more.
"Sssss-lytherin!!" boomed the sorting hat as it wrestled off my head.
Bingo, I'm in.
| 2017-06-25T15:07:52 | 2017-06-25T14:36:15 | 358 | 36 |
[WP] You work for the CIA who send you undercover in the FBI, who send you undercover in MI6, who send you undercover in the CIA, who are very confused that you are back after only two weeks. | I was always the best at what I did.
Graduated top of the class from West Point and was immediately recruited into the top undercover section in the CIA. They got me deep undercover in the FBI and within days, I was already privy to all the deepest darkest cover ups and secrets the CIA could possibly need.
I was good. Too good.
My superiors at the FBI immediately saw my usefulness as an undercover agent and got me transferred, again deep undercover into the bowels of MI6. I knew this was what I was perfect at, but I was getting ridiculously good at my job.
So much so I got transferred again. Back to my where I started, at the CIA.
"What the hell Smith? Why are you back so soon? You weren't supposed to be back for another year!"
James, my superior roared at me after I took out all the wires from my coat.
"What can I say chief, I'm just that good." I smirked at my fuming superior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two weeks later, I reported back to the NSA with all my findings. | It was so quiet, a knife could have cut the tension between us. We're all dressed in black, and we're all wearing sunglasses. We're standing in an abandoned warehouse, and we each have a gun trained on one another. A Mexican Standoff. It's the ultimate stereotype, isn't it?
Clichès spring to mind, tired and overused catchphrases that I have to fight not to laugh at.
*Trust no one....*
*Keep your enemies close...*
This is my life now. Might as well have a codename and a mysterious backstory. For Christ's sake.
I suppose I have to rewind a little. Take you back to the beginning. Not that there is one, of course. Not that you exist. But it helps to pretend. Pretend this is a story. Pretend you actually give a damn about what happens.
I'll skip my childhood. Skip the heartache of losing my parents to a fiery car crash. Skip the horrors of the orphanage, and the brutally premature awakening to an adulthood I never asked for.
Naturally, I don't need your pity. I don't need you to justify my actions, or defend the path I took. You love to hate me, and you hate to love me.
The world needs people like me. They want people like me. An anti hero who does what needs to be done. I am what you've created. A beautifully flawed force of nature. A vigilante who does what needs to be done.
You need me. I am your drug.
Of course, this is what you've chosen for me. Headhunted by a mysterious man who's face was hidden in the shadows. Recruited to a top secret agency who's name remains classified. Top of my class and dashingly handsome. You've given me a wife, and a baby girl. Wait. Don't tell me. You mean we *won't* live happily ever after in a sleepy seaside town? Oh shock.
Don't you want something new? Why must you create me this way? A tortured soul who will only ever know heartache and misery? I never asked for this. Never wanted any part of it.
Backstories bore you all, which, ostensibly, brings us back to the present. Obviously the CIA are surprised to see me. Like good boys and girls, you've followed the conventional arc of any spy story. What happens now? Was I secretly working for the mossad? Do I save the day? Give you a nauseatingly rose-tinted Hollywood finale?
Have I redeemed myself? Avenged my angelic wife and brought salvation to the ones I've wronged?
Or do I take a bullet to the chest? Collapse in a pool of my own blood as I watch my faceless enemy, who of course was my father all along, get away with the codes that will bring a nation to its knees?
Damn you all to hell. For bringing me to life. For watching in fascination as another man's life is destroyed.
For once, it's in your hands. For once, I'm leaving it to you. Honestly, I don't care what you decide. I just want this all to end. I just want this all to end... | 2018-01-15T08:02:20 | 2018-01-15T06:27:30 | 130 | 30 |
[WP] After your phone goes missing, you ask a friend to call it. You are surprised to hear your own voice answer on the other end. | “Hello?”
I heard my voice on the other side. My hand trembled... How was this possible...? I didn’t know what to say... Confused, I began to utter words when suddenly..
“Please leave your message after the beep.” Beeeep.
Oh, that’s right. I set that voicemail up myself to prank people. False alarm. No Twilight Zone escapades today! | If human beings had any capacity of knowing the full range of possibility of their actions at any given moment in time, their heads would surely explode. Some of them become vaguely aware of this massive gap in knowledge and become paralyzed; trapped in inaction, not realizing that the paralysis itself is cascading endlessly into all sorts of outcomes.
For David Blake, he would have saved himself and his friend Art if he'd taken action.
David Blake's phone was missing: Typical.
He couldn't find it: Typical.
Being the typical human being that he was, he asked his friend Art to call him, so that he could locate it.
Instead of hearing it ring, he heard someone pick up: Himself.
The voice said, "Move. Now."
David Blake froze.
The completely wrong decision. Pitiful of him.
David Blake and his friend Art blew up.
The Galactic Federation believes that human beings are a high level species, worthy of a voice on the galactic stage. I don't.
They are pitiful creatures. Can't obey orders at all. They make terrible slaves. If David Blake had only moved, he'd be alive right now.
I thought it might work by having his own voice say it to him. Surely that would penetrate his sluggish tendency to inaction and get him to move.
But no, he had to *rebel*. Humans love that. Oh, do they love to rebel. And oh do I despise them for it.
Fifty long galactic years later and the pesky, irritating humans found enough evidence to convict me in Galactic Court for crimes against humanity in the first degree. If it is unclear, first degree is the worst of them. I am a terrible, terrible galactic being apparently.
According to *humans*.
Humans... burn the whole lot of them.
Like that lawyer. The human lawyer, who said, with a kind of subtle sneer, "If you had detected the possible consequences of your actions, maybe you wouldn't have blown up David Blake and his friend Art."
As if I didn't know of the possibilities. The condescending gall of it. If I could get my hands on those humans, I'd tear them all apart. I'd blow them all up. All of them!
Erm...
None of those goes on my permanent galactic record, does it? It's all in good fun, really. No need to lock me up forever.
It's not like I'm one of those *humans*. | 2018-05-01T21:29:07 | 2018-05-01T19:22:19 | 51 | 21 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I always did my best, powered through the worst, and did my best. I have to charity, I saved animals, I did what I thought was morally right... but we all have different moral definitions of what is right. I sadly patched my wound as fast as I could when I went through my entire memory, trying to pinpoint the worst thing I had done. I fixed my wound and sat in my chair, which I eventually dozed off in. I slept on the entire ordeal. As dreamt I dreamed of horrible deeds I had done, terrifying thoughts that I knew I would never act on. As I woke in a cold sweat knowing I had done none of those things I decided to ponder my memoir. I had just reached the section on my diet and favorite foods when a quick slice ran through my finger like a knife through burlap, the sound and feeling piercing my mind and body. I hoped I hadn't dripped any blood on my autobiography when I noticed a single drop highlighting one line. I scanned the line in fear and finally understood the problem...
*I liked pineapple on pizza* | I still remember the screams. "Demon!" "Evil!" "How dare you!?" "Trickster!"
That was ten years ago, now. I once lived among the rich elite, high in the sky, in the tops of the towers of New, New york. What a naming scheme... Knitting hats for the homeless is just a scam, you know. Keeps us looking good in the cameras. Until I handed a pristine white one over to the cameraman.... with my filthy black blood all over it.
You see, white and black blood is just the 23rd century version of white and black _skin._ Though, instead of the "N-Word", we now have the "B-Word". Blackbloods. Doesn't come off the tongue as easy though, does it? Of course, it all comes down to control. people with light blood spend their lives being as painfully nice as they can to everyone around them, and dark bloods go into undercities. Because who doesn't enjoy living in dank, flooded, 21st century cities where everything is halfway collapsed and the power works... maybe occassionally?
But, well, that ends tonight. They thought they could ban me? I'm one of them! I'll SHOW them! They thought I'd bend right over and take it, but I had plenty of things ready for just so a situation. Like money. Weapons. Bombs. All hidden in an old warehouse down here in old york... so, quietly, under the radar, outside of the view of everyone else, I've told everyone. We're all working together, unlike you blasted money bloated elite.
"Sir, we're ready, the bombs are set and everyone has evacuated outside of blast radius" Came a voice as the dusty door to my small office opened. A wicked grin spread across my face as I said, "Then, shall we show our excuse for a world government what it's like to live down here? If we're lucky, we might even be able to keep the new city"
I walked outside, into the warehouse. Inside, sloppily-thrown-together flying cars waited for me. It was easy to steal a proper car from above, strip out the fancy crap, and weld it into an older car. And, well, older humans knew what they were doing- this thing they call an expedition can hold an entire pulse bomb, and the hoverpads do give it quite a nice look.
Tonight, we start life over! The right way! Perhaps I am a sort of Demon, heh.
~~sorry I gave up like partway through but I didn't wanna waste all the words I typed so I slapped the rest together, inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/94k0gv/wp_our_blood_is_naturally_clear_it_thickens_and/e3lsxwj/)~~ | 2018-08-04T11:28:16 | 2018-08-04T11:02:34 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | ######[](#dropcap)
"Why are you down here?" Maxis couldn't help but burst out. She stared at the man who simply stared at the ground, his eyes almost soulless.
And she would know what that meant. She'd seen plenty of thousand yard stares...a thousand years ago.
"Um..." Richard blinked. "Where am I?"
Oh. That made more sense. The poor soul was simply lost. "You're at the Gateway. Well, specifically, you're at the gateway to Hell, but you haven't made your choice yet." She pointed to the opposite side of the lake, mist rolling off of its surface. "Just walk across there. You'll be at heaven in five minutes." Then she looked back down at her clipboard and began doodling again, filling the ten-thousandth page with sketches of a tall, regal nose and bright blue eyes.
After a couple of moments of silence, she looked back up. The man hadn't moved.
Her brows furrowed. "What are you still doing here?" She'd already told him what to do. He should be waltzing off toward Heaven. Or had religion defined Hell as the new Heaven in the last ten minutes or so? She glanced at the completely empty line behind him.
Nope.
"Do you want to go to Hell?" She raised an eyebrow. The question was sincere.
"Um, this is fine. I'm already here."
She stared at him, speechless. Which, she hadn't been in quite a while, actually. A thousand years to be exact. This had to be the most ridiculous...
"Well, I'm not letting you in for a reason like that. So you can turn around and go across the lake." Didn't the man know what he was getting himself into?
Richard finally looked at her then. Really looked at her, and Maxim was unnerved by the sudden hunger and desperation in his gaze.
"Clara?" he asked, his voice unsure.
"Who's Clara?" Maxis gave him a blank stare.
Richard blinked, then averted his gaze. Then, hesitantly, he turned his gaze back towards her, his eyes hungrily taking in her image. He hesitated for a moment, then took a step closer. "Who are you?"
Maxis cocked her head. Gosh, she hadn't been asked that question in...five thousand years? Ten thousand years? Anyways, just a long, long time. So long she'd forgotten the answer to that question. So her answer was hesitant, unsure. "I'm the gatekeeper," she said.
"No, I mean who were you before this?"
Flashes of a child and a man's image appeared before her eyes, then red. Fire. Burnt timbers and ashes.
She bit her lip. "No one important." She pressed down on the pencil in her hand unwittingly, and the tip broke off, flying into the cloudy floor below. Great. Now she was going to have to travel all the way down the hall to sharpen it again. "Can you get going now?" she asked him, unable to keep the annoyance from seeping into her voice.
"Were you human?" Richard asked again. He seemed almost desperate for an answer.
So she took pity on this poor human who wasn't like the rest of the humans. "Yes, okay? Twenty thousand years ago, I was. Then I decided to come to Hell, before this whole religion business was a thing, and I got assigned to Gatekeeper. So here I am."
It was her story out in the open for the first time. The simplified version of it, anyhow.
"Can you come to Heaven with me?" Richard suddenly asked. He knew she wasn't Clara now, but she looked so similar, and...
Maxis stared at him. She rolled her eyes. Oh. So that's why he had stayed. Over the past couple of years, there had been men who had tried to lure her over to Heaven. They had been curious and come over to check out what Hell's gate looked like, and had been disappointed by the small wooden desk with the girl sitting by it. There wasn't even a gate in the true sense of the word.
"I can only come to Heaven if someone replaces my spot. Hell needs a keeper," she said. Then she rolled her eyes and crossed her hands over her chest, maintaining eye contact with him and leaning back in her seat. It was time for him to leave.
Richard hesitated. Then he bit his lip and adjusted his polo shirt. "Okay."
Maxis reared back. What?
"I was joking," she said to him.
"But you can go to Heaven if I replace you?"
"Well, yes, but--"
"Go."
Maxis felt a glimmer of something in her chest. Something like hope. She hadn't seen him in so long--he'd picked Heaven--and she missed him so. She missed him so, so much. "Are you...are you sure?" She no longer felt annoyance for the man standing in front of her, with his thick-framed glasses and polo shirt and loafers. She was curious as hell though.
"I'm sure." He drank her image in. "But...can you take a message for me? To a girl named Clara Calhoun? Born in 1982, in North Dakota." As Maxis stood up, he moved to take her place behind the desk. He sat down in the chair. It wasn't so bad. The chair wasn't uncomfortable at all.
"Sure." She was forever indebted to him. "Of course. Anything you'd like." Maxis felt a bit of remorse for not trying harder, for not warning him of what the job would entail, but this was probably her only chance to leave.
Richard seemed to debate for a while about what he'd like to say. The image of Clara, telling him he ought to go to hell, popped up in front of his eyes. Her eyes had been full of vehemence, without their usual softness. Because he no longer deserved her kindness. He'd never seen her so full of hatred. And he was the rightful recipient. He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to think about it.
"Just...tell her I'm sorry. Please."
*****
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu!
| Perhaps at some point, giving people the choice of heaven or hell was the correct one. After all, if God were a truly omnipotent being, he would see that mortal actions are only informed by an infinite series of processes and that most people make rational decisions to lead them to the places they go. Ergo, in most situations. morality can be construed to be whatever the situation defines it as, and thus under most conventional ideas; all people are equally moral.
Perhaps he's that stupid and he truly believes that. Imagine the repugnance of not having some sort of absolutist system of morality in place. Imagine it, really.
Maybe it would've even worked if people couldn't be dragged, kicking and screaming, right out of heaven for failing to pay off their oaths. For failing to break their mortal ties in the grand bureaucracy.
Ilene didn't give a damn either way, staring down at the mines of Babel. Her horse didn't care either, hooves barely landing on the tawny sand, a ripple of muscle skimming down the flank of the undead beast, but it would've been great if people weren't contractually obligated to make a mess of her previous Hell.
"Looks like another prisoner revolt," The sheriff said, cocking his hat. "You sure you're up for it, Deputy?"
"Come on, Sheriff," Ilene hissed. "We've got heads to smash and paper work to file before the mayor gets back, let's get this over with."
The brimstone sands were thrown up into the air with each smash of the great horse's hooves, and Ilene casually drew her six-gun and counted out the rounds.
The sheriff barked out another laugh and sped onward into the crest of the great hill, the shattered remnants of walls blown apart by dynamite reeking of elder energies, and the distant remnants of angelic laws distorted by the hands of man.
Ilene's gun lay heavily in the palm of her hand, and she spun it once before drawing it entirely, pointing it ahead.
"GET ALONG BACK TO YOUR DAMN BARRACKS!" She shouted as the two of them verged the cliff side, then fired the gun wildly into the air. "DON'T MAKE US SEND THE TAKERS AFTER YOU IN HEAVEN!"
Over the cacophony of growing hellfire and distorted space time the gunshots had little effect, but at least she tried.
"Canary?" She asked, turning to the sheriff.
"Got it," He grinned, drawing his long rifle. The prisoners were a mash of red skin, fresh pale skinned, and most notably, the horned ones. With the gleaming gold of the rifle in his hands, Ilene could see the reflection of the false sun without the livery that made it seem to glow; just silver sigils sketched across a dead sky bereft of stars.
"Looks like they're resisting arrest," Ilene commented.
Canary's gun went off with a sound like thunder, and a man's head exploded down range. With the vessel cracked, the soul flooded out in a great pool of sodden silver, then was swept away back towards the great beyond.
Where, more than likely, he would once again find himself dragged, kicking and screaming, into his place of eternal servitude, because damn him for signing a contract in life that required servitude in death.
But hey, how else were you supposed to get a job in this economy?
The sound of the gun going off caused even Ilene's undead stallion to buck, and she threw a hand up to press her hat back down upon her horns.
But the cacophony of revolt failed to pass on.
"Ilene," Canary said, roughly.
"Yes? She shouted as they neared the melee.
"Dynamite," Canary shouted, pointing at the gleaming arc of hellstone; marked plainly and trailing smoke.
Then Ilene was caught in a massive explosion.
Fuck.
"Get back here soon," Canary intoned, somewhat bored.
-------
The gleaming gates of heaven were a long way off for a creature such as her, even as what passed as her soul appeared wildly in front of the binary choice. Ilene pressed her fingers against one another, then slowly, with a concerted effort that spoke of nothing more than experience, cracked her fingers and bones back into place. After a moment, her hat drifted down after her, and she pressed it back firmly on her head and walked forward.
The gold light suffused everything that moved, every moment of every existence, but the light of god turned away her skin and made her burn with fire.
Not a pleasant experience, but once she shed the layer of sin encrusting her, perhaps...
But where was the chorus?
"What are you doing back here, demon?" Saint Peter asked, dimly, looking at her from the top of his Book of Names. "I thought I told you this was a mistake. Are you really ready to be dragged back to hell again?"
Ilene peered over his shoulder without giving him a moment's thought, which made Peter's hand lash out to push her back in place.
"You really don't want to go there this time," Peter warned.
Was that... fire across the gates to heaven?
"The hell is that?" Ilene asked, jerking her hands at the doorway. "Besides, check my book."
Peter looked back at her, opened his mouth, then shut it grimly, flicking his way through the book. "It says here that... you're clear on obligations and debts. Congratulation, I suppose you've finally died enough in the line of duty." Peter's voice was confused. "How the hell did you manage that?"
"I was never human to begin with," Ilene pointed out, sourly. "And I've been hauling ass down there to make up for all the corporate bullshit for ages.
"Self sacrifice is a distinctly human and angelic trait," Peter pointed out. "And you've got a history of that, Law-bringer."
Ilene gently reached up and touched her long spirally horns. "What on earth is going on in front of the gates of heaven?" She asked again.
"Not earth," Peter intoned, seriously. "But more angelic matters you don't need to concern yourself with. Can you make your choice and move on?"
Ilene thought distantly of the brief moments she'd snatched, centuries ago, hidden in the depths of heaven, before it had been locked to her due to deals with devils, demons, of the red crusades and the eternal lock and press of bodies in the place where space lost all meaning apart from a repository for souls.
If she went there she could experience that... maybe once more, maybe it would finally kill her, obliterate her stained fingers from the Red Revolution, and leave her with nothing left.
Wouldn't that be nice?
But she had a gun to return to. No need to remind her why she was miserable, even if the moments would stay with her forever.
She shrugged. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing over there," She took her hat off, bowed, then placed it back on her head and walked past him, idly whistling a heavenly hymn.
"You choose Hell?" Peter asked, incredulously. "You're not even going to make an attempt to get past me?"
"Don't you get tired of watching an eternal parade of sinners try to hide out in your heaven?" Ilene asked, sarcastically. "Really, just let a demon go her own way without asking questions."
"Is it over a guy?" Peter continued asking, as the fires enshrouding the gates of heaven burned higher and all the more brilliantly, burning Ilene's eyes. "A girl maybe? Something else?"
"Look, the garden of Eden gave the lot of us free will, and I got a pretty comfortable arrangement down in hell to go back to, I don't want to trade all of my progress there for fifteen minutes in the sun."
Peter's jaw snapped together, then opened, then snapped together.
"It is the sun we're talking about." Peter tempted, confused.
Ilene walked past him. "Look, I'm sorry about your big burning gates, I got some more people to oppress to make sure they earn their permanent place in heaven."
The gates to heaven burned with brilliant light as Ilene found the cliff down to hell, and she gave the burning brilliance another wave, then jumped.
She had a sheriff to get back to.
-----
For more like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-08-13T06:26:10 | 2018-08-13T06:23:07 | 2,166 | 53 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | There are many myths and many stories in the world. Most are fake, but few are true. Sometimes, the stories touch someone so deeply they become true. Then, sometimes, the stories just simply were always true: the people just didn’t know until it was too late to tell others the truth. Death is that cursed thing.
No one really knows what happens after death. There’s that fear that hits you once you realize that it’s most likely just a void of blankness and unconsciousness. An endless dream? Unlikely - your brain is dead. It’s just a void, as your body decomposes and becomes the dirt for your great great grandchildren. If you had any children, that is, by the time you perish to the earth.
Yet, there was always an aching feeling to them that there was something a bit more. The person with their head in the clouds… They had short black hair in a sort of bowlcut and their eyes were always an unnatural grey; the schoolchildren didn’t talk that much to the weirdo in front desk. Yet the child did not mind. They simply sat and wandered through worlds in their head.
It was not a foreign concept to them that Death was inevitable for the human race. They were constantly in and out of the wards of the state for various reasons. It was only likely they’d be dead much earlier than the average person. The subject of their escapades in their mind became about death and beyond very quickly, but they did not fear it. It would be a simple escape, just as everything else was.
They always felt there was something more. They weren’t religious, no, but there was just something always there telling them there was. It was there, at the back of their mind, always affecting the dreams and the walks through clouds they’d go on. Death was a joyous thing, and with the trips to the wards becoming more and more annoying and painful… Well, they excitedly awaited the release of death. It would be as if they were opening a box on the day of Christmas, seeing which of the many things they’ve dreamt of getting was truly real.
That day came fast and quick in the night. Died in their sleep… painless and with a smile on their face. It was a grim sight to behold for those still living but at long last the soul was at peace. The family quickly dealt with the body. They were only about nineteen.
It was soon after their heart stopped beating that they were cast in front of two entities. Two strange lights of
various different colors seemed to stand in front of them, beckoning the young person who had just died to choose. One of the lights was bright and cold. It had colors of pinks, yellows, greens, and blues. It hurt their eyes, and they looked to the other light. That one bore colors of reds, oranges, purples, and browns. It was warm, and to them it held a welcoming want. That light wanted them so badly, so desperately. It was familiar. Familial, almost.
They choose the light of warm red.
The other light seemed to scream in horror. It cried and whined so great and slowly dissipated from view, the sounds of it’s tantrum fading. The remaining light that they chose amalgamated into a form of a monstrous creature with various imperfections and horrors to the sight of any who dare witness him. It also cried - but unlike the other light’s selfish whining, this was a cry of despair and grief.
“Why,” the form fell to whatever he had in place of knees, “why now? Why now!?”
The young person looked down at the form and smiled at it. This was certainly a sight to behold. A satanic figure almost bowing to them.
The form continued to sob, “no one has chosen this hellish place since one thousand revolutions ago. You… You accepted the calls of eternal damnation and burning for your soul instead of a heaven of happiness? What compels you so?”
The young person continued to smile as they replied, “you prayed for me.”
“I prayed for you to die! To perish and join me in my suffering! Is that not selfish and damning! That was no prayer of compassion or empathy!” The form bowed his head downward, full of shame.
They stood in silence for a few moments. They continued, speaking flat and softly over the despairing cries, “but you were always there with me.”
“I wanted you selfishly! I wanted to feed on your soul to quench a thousand year hunger! Why! Why subject yourself so? It was selfish! Selfish! I do not deserve such things from a suffering soul!”
“You could have prayed for anyone’s damnation but you chose me,” they said, “and because you focused so hard on me, you were always there with me. While others ignored me, you joined me in my travels, always a friend in my mind. I did not choose to have my soul consumed by a raving monster, I chose to help my family. I felt your warmth like a motherly hug.
“If everyone chooses the good - if everyone loves the good - it’s just wasted. The heaven was spoiled with love and happiness. All it is, is simply existing. It grew cold, and that’s not welcoming to me. You were there with me. The reasons are irrelevant to me. I find happiness with you, because you are my mind. You shaped it in your desperate loneliness.”
The form’s head shot up. His orange eyes with the fire of the sun were clouded with the tears of a lonely child. It was true. He had prayed so desperately for one soul. Alone for one thousand revolutions of the sun, he was in a depression. He prayed just for one, and he never realized he had just been praying for the same soul continuously. He had focused on the young human who dreamed constantly and wandered the clouds while their feet remained on the ground of earth. He entered the dreams and became like an actor, playing parts and existing in the back of the youth’s mind. A parasite, he’d thought himself - but he was really the imaginary friend in their mind. No longer imaginary. They’d felt his familial aura upon the choosing ceremony and went to him.
He prayed himself a friend. He hadn’t been given one. He made himself one.
> Sorry, this is like my first reddit post (and I didn't fully proofread this...), if anything is the matter please tell me! <3
| Perhaps at some point, giving people the choice of heaven or hell was the correct one. After all, if God were a truly omnipotent being, he would see that mortal actions are only informed by an infinite series of processes and that most people make rational decisions to lead them to the places they go. Ergo, in most situations. morality can be construed to be whatever the situation defines it as, and thus under most conventional ideas; all people are equally moral.
Perhaps he's that stupid and he truly believes that. Imagine the repugnance of not having some sort of absolutist system of morality in place. Imagine it, really.
Maybe it would've even worked if people couldn't be dragged, kicking and screaming, right out of heaven for failing to pay off their oaths. For failing to break their mortal ties in the grand bureaucracy.
Ilene didn't give a damn either way, staring down at the mines of Babel. Her horse didn't care either, hooves barely landing on the tawny sand, a ripple of muscle skimming down the flank of the undead beast, but it would've been great if people weren't contractually obligated to make a mess of her previous Hell.
"Looks like another prisoner revolt," The sheriff said, cocking his hat. "You sure you're up for it, Deputy?"
"Come on, Sheriff," Ilene hissed. "We've got heads to smash and paper work to file before the mayor gets back, let's get this over with."
The brimstone sands were thrown up into the air with each smash of the great horse's hooves, and Ilene casually drew her six-gun and counted out the rounds.
The sheriff barked out another laugh and sped onward into the crest of the great hill, the shattered remnants of walls blown apart by dynamite reeking of elder energies, and the distant remnants of angelic laws distorted by the hands of man.
Ilene's gun lay heavily in the palm of her hand, and she spun it once before drawing it entirely, pointing it ahead.
"GET ALONG BACK TO YOUR DAMN BARRACKS!" She shouted as the two of them verged the cliff side, then fired the gun wildly into the air. "DON'T MAKE US SEND THE TAKERS AFTER YOU IN HEAVEN!"
Over the cacophony of growing hellfire and distorted space time the gunshots had little effect, but at least she tried.
"Canary?" She asked, turning to the sheriff.
"Got it," He grinned, drawing his long rifle. The prisoners were a mash of red skin, fresh pale skinned, and most notably, the horned ones. With the gleaming gold of the rifle in his hands, Ilene could see the reflection of the false sun without the livery that made it seem to glow; just silver sigils sketched across a dead sky bereft of stars.
"Looks like they're resisting arrest," Ilene commented.
Canary's gun went off with a sound like thunder, and a man's head exploded down range. With the vessel cracked, the soul flooded out in a great pool of sodden silver, then was swept away back towards the great beyond.
Where, more than likely, he would once again find himself dragged, kicking and screaming, into his place of eternal servitude, because damn him for signing a contract in life that required servitude in death.
But hey, how else were you supposed to get a job in this economy?
The sound of the gun going off caused even Ilene's undead stallion to buck, and she threw a hand up to press her hat back down upon her horns.
But the cacophony of revolt failed to pass on.
"Ilene," Canary said, roughly.
"Yes? She shouted as they neared the melee.
"Dynamite," Canary shouted, pointing at the gleaming arc of hellstone; marked plainly and trailing smoke.
Then Ilene was caught in a massive explosion.
Fuck.
"Get back here soon," Canary intoned, somewhat bored.
-------
The gleaming gates of heaven were a long way off for a creature such as her, even as what passed as her soul appeared wildly in front of the binary choice. Ilene pressed her fingers against one another, then slowly, with a concerted effort that spoke of nothing more than experience, cracked her fingers and bones back into place. After a moment, her hat drifted down after her, and she pressed it back firmly on her head and walked forward.
The gold light suffused everything that moved, every moment of every existence, but the light of god turned away her skin and made her burn with fire.
Not a pleasant experience, but once she shed the layer of sin encrusting her, perhaps...
But where was the chorus?
"What are you doing back here, demon?" Saint Peter asked, dimly, looking at her from the top of his Book of Names. "I thought I told you this was a mistake. Are you really ready to be dragged back to hell again?"
Ilene peered over his shoulder without giving him a moment's thought, which made Peter's hand lash out to push her back in place.
"You really don't want to go there this time," Peter warned.
Was that... fire across the gates to heaven?
"The hell is that?" Ilene asked, jerking her hands at the doorway. "Besides, check my book."
Peter looked back at her, opened his mouth, then shut it grimly, flicking his way through the book. "It says here that... you're clear on obligations and debts. Congratulation, I suppose you've finally died enough in the line of duty." Peter's voice was confused. "How the hell did you manage that?"
"I was never human to begin with," Ilene pointed out, sourly. "And I've been hauling ass down there to make up for all the corporate bullshit for ages.
"Self sacrifice is a distinctly human and angelic trait," Peter pointed out. "And you've got a history of that, Law-bringer."
Ilene gently reached up and touched her long spirally horns. "What on earth is going on in front of the gates of heaven?" She asked again.
"Not earth," Peter intoned, seriously. "But more angelic matters you don't need to concern yourself with. Can you make your choice and move on?"
Ilene thought distantly of the brief moments she'd snatched, centuries ago, hidden in the depths of heaven, before it had been locked to her due to deals with devils, demons, of the red crusades and the eternal lock and press of bodies in the place where space lost all meaning apart from a repository for souls.
If she went there she could experience that... maybe once more, maybe it would finally kill her, obliterate her stained fingers from the Red Revolution, and leave her with nothing left.
Wouldn't that be nice?
But she had a gun to return to. No need to remind her why she was miserable, even if the moments would stay with her forever.
She shrugged. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing over there," She took her hat off, bowed, then placed it back on her head and walked past him, idly whistling a heavenly hymn.
"You choose Hell?" Peter asked, incredulously. "You're not even going to make an attempt to get past me?"
"Don't you get tired of watching an eternal parade of sinners try to hide out in your heaven?" Ilene asked, sarcastically. "Really, just let a demon go her own way without asking questions."
"Is it over a guy?" Peter continued asking, as the fires enshrouding the gates of heaven burned higher and all the more brilliantly, burning Ilene's eyes. "A girl maybe? Something else?"
"Look, the garden of Eden gave the lot of us free will, and I got a pretty comfortable arrangement down in hell to go back to, I don't want to trade all of my progress there for fifteen minutes in the sun."
Peter's jaw snapped together, then opened, then snapped together.
"It is the sun we're talking about." Peter tempted, confused.
Ilene walked past him. "Look, I'm sorry about your big burning gates, I got some more people to oppress to make sure they earn their permanent place in heaven."
The gates to heaven burned with brilliant light as Ilene found the cliff down to hell, and she gave the burning brilliance another wave, then jumped.
She had a sheriff to get back to.
-----
For more like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-08-13T09:39:57 | 2018-08-13T06:23:07 | 71 | 53 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered. | Well, that was the last one.
With these magic words, I put a bullet in the head of the last alien that tried to enslave us.
That was 50 years ago, we were abandoned, but we did not forget. The planet we're on right now was a place I once called home.
But now I call it my kingdom.
I remember the day news spread worldwide. The aliens were coming, and we had to evacuate ASAP.
Thiscantbereal.png
Honestly a life of Pokemon, Redhot Cheetos and Mountain Dew never really prepared me for a mass Alien invasion.
And the worst part is, the people I called family left me for dead. Makes sense, I was always the black sheep of the family.
My mother remarried after my Dad passed away on a boating accident (RIP Papa). I wasn't ever particularly close with my mother, she more saw me as a waste of space.
Now I was part of a family that wanted nothing to do with me but had to out of out of obligation. Well, when the Aliens came, that chore went right out the window.
My step sister was super smart, straight A's, popular with the boys...pretty much the model of any teenager about to go into high school.
Me? I flunked out of college faster than even my family expected. I just worked barely enough to fuel my video game, weed and snacking habits.
Well, the day came for the draw of who gets to leave to and who gets to become fodder for the aliens.
The qualifications were quite simple; they were based on how much you earned (or how good your grades were), your contribution did you have to society or how good were at what you do.
Too bad catching a shiny Metapod on Pokemon didn't count. Guess who scored zero across the board?
I sat there in the basement bawling my eyes out drowning my pain in liquor and weed. I didn't want to move, just let this shit be over with.
I think a part of me still believed that they wouldn't leave me behind, but reality started setting in. I stayed like that for a week straight.
The second I walked outside my house, it was utter fucking chaos. Houses being plundered, stores on fire and dead bodies everywhere. Hell, I think we'd get each other before the Aliens do.
And then I saw something. I immediately fell to my knees and started sobbing. This shit hit me harder than anything ever did, this was the last thing I wanted to see.
There was this man that used to visit me every day while I worked at the convenience store. He always picked up a pack of smokes, and we chatted about life. Even though I had nothing going for me, he'd always cheer me up and give me great advice.
I never admitted it, but that was the best part of that dead end job. It always brought a smile to my face and made me feel good. Made me feel like I mattered.
And now I see him........dead on the street. Some punks must've wanted to rob what little he had left. Screw this; I'm not taking this shit lying down.
Now I wanted to fight. But how do I start? I'm lazy, stupid and have no idea how to defend myself. Well fuck it, the first thing I could do is get in shape.
You know the best part about the mass apocalypse? No one's keeping you from hitting up a Gym. I Googled and found the nearest one. The second I walked in I was in awe.
There were maybe more than 100 people lifting weights and training in what I could imagine was martial arts. There was this bearded guy in the front with a physique I only thought existed in Dragon Ball Z.
He walked up to me with a menacing look and asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted to fight.
He smiled, looked me dead in the eyes and said that he might kill me. I never would've thought the hundred in this Gym would be my brothers and sisters in arms.
This marked the birth of the rebellion, and where I stood my Goddamn ground. | The Secretary for Defence looked out of the flagship's bridge. Formerly from the Navy, he had seen and read about how the human defence forces had evolved quickly over a matter of centuries. Space was the ocean in which they sailed, not water. The Air Force no longer primarily flew in the air, though atmospheric operations were still possible. The Army had become more dynamic to suit the needs of fighting in all terrains. A flotilla of spacecraft, backed up by fighter craft capable of space and atmospheric dogfighting, and entire divisions of soldiers re-trained for Earth combat, were waiting for the signal. Humanity was finally ready.
He reflected on the stories of the humans left on Earth to fight and die. It had been said that there was no chance for them; that these were truly the scum of the planet who wouldn't be missed. The jokes abounded that some politicians and entertainers were among them, but those were among the first to buy tickets for the escape craft. Those surface-dwellers were as good as dead. The initial intelligence reports, however, reported that there was still human activity on the planet. The Joint Chiefs of Staff concluded that the aliens had most likely kept humanity alive as a slave race; which in turn became potent propaganda for the humans who had escaped. Every soldier, sailor and spaceman was boiling with rage and empathy for the slaves on Earth. They were ready to take back what was theirs.
He turned on his heel, and went to his personal landing craft. One more chance for the aliens. It wouldn't be ethical to attack without declaring war, even if there was no more Geneva Convention to govern that.
Sergeant Juliet was confused. She certainly wouldn't have expected a call from... Spaceport Clearance Network, asking her for her clearance code. Of course she wouldn't have had an answer, and replied as best as she could: Human Warship inbound. Requesting spaceport clearance. She wouldn't have expected it to be approved. It was. She immediately reported it to her superior, but had her own mixed thoughts about it. There were so many layers of leadership that a report like that needed to go through; it was quite plainly frustrating to have to wait in orbit for this long.
Eventually, there was a response from the higher leadership. The Secretary for Defence himself would be going down planetside, and his personal craft needed a communicator. She volunteered herself.
"Welcome to Earth. It is my pleasure to finally see our brothers and sisters who escaped into the stars so many centuries ago." Their representative was cordial enough in greeting them. Flanked by powered armour exoskeletons, he - or she - calmly shook hands with the Secretary of Defence. Compared to the Secretary, who was bulky and muscular after years and years of fighting and training, the being before them was lithe and slim. She stood a head shorter than the Secretary, who stared through her with his hard blue eyes.
Sergeant Juliet saw it all from the cockpit. She wasn't invited to the feast, as they needed a duty communicator to alert the Flotilla if things went south. But she didn't mind, so long as they brought nice foods back to her. That is, if Earth had kept the nice parts of its culture. The history books had made a big deal of Earth cuisine.
The Secretary of Defence, accompanied by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Defence Forces Sergeant Major, were escorted into the room by the representative. They walked through a hallway dedicated to human achievements, both past and present. [A film depicted the adventures of a bespectacled hunter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9jo10z/wp_it_has_been_5_years_since_the_alien_invasion/e6twvg7/?context=3), helped by a woman who looked suspiciously like the Earth representative. Lithe figure, with short black hair. The command team assumed that was what women on Earth looked like now; it was a practical look after all. They had bigger fish to fry, especially the celebrations and peace negotiations. The re-migration back to Earth was another concern for the government on Earth-II.
At dinner, they had to explain why an entire Flotilla waited above in orbit. The representative certainly looked convinced, but at the same time she gave the impression that she was in control of the session. This confused the command team, but they played along. Was she secretly an alien? This was too good to be true. The models didn't indicate any chance for the ragtag survivors left on Earth to have survived this long.
"Ma'am, hostile forces opening fire. Surface-to-orbit missile has been locked on. Surface-to-orbit missile away. Impact timing 10 minutes," the armour suit warbled. The command team's suspicions were confirmed, but they were nonetheless shocked to hear the fact. The Earth representative's pupils glowed yellow and her forked tongue revealed itself briefly in surprise. But just as instantly, she had control of the situation once more. Pressing a few buttons on her wrist controller, the armour suits remotely switched on, and locked on to the commanders of Earth-II as she walked out.
Juliet knew the rumors were true. Those weren't really humans on Earth, and even if they were, they certainly weren't friendly. Her heart had sunk when the enemy contact report had been sent; the aliens had learned human language and prepared a whole contingency for disguising themselves as humans to dupe those who had returned. As she heard the first explosion, she immediately alerted the Flotilla. Activating the autopilot, she escaped as the explosion consumed more of the building.
Perhaps it was indeed unwise to place all the highest commanders in the same room where they got assassinated. Definitely it was unwise for the Flotilla commander to immediately order an orbital bombardment when the contact report revealed those were the aliens on Earth, and not the victorious humans. However, if she remembered the old history books, was that not how the war started for what used to be the USA? A surprise attack on the Navy that the country recovered from, and eventually won.
She could only hope this time would be the same. | 2018-09-29T04:12:14 | 2018-09-29T03:35:21 | 186 | 51 |
[WP] To solve the problems of overpopulation, all the governments in the world agree to only allow some of their citizens to reproduce—these people are chosen by lottery. After eight or nine generations, an unintended consequence begins to show up: humans have evolved to be unbelievably lucky. | I’d like to point out for those that don’t know, this is actually a major plot point in the Ringworld series by Larry Niven regarding Teela Brown. She’s a many-generational birthright lottery winner chosen to accompany the crew purely for her luck, and it’s found that her luck was profoundly unlucky for her crew as it really only addressed her at others expense at times, and still ended up leading her to a fate she probably wouldn’t choose herself, although it had the potential to give her immortality and superhuman strength and skills. In the end she practically begged her co-explorer to kill her. | It was the year 2100 and humans had finally resigned to the fact that the earth can no longer support human life in such massive numbers. To solve the issue massive curtailment of reproductive rights was necessary. The only question that remained, who gets to decide? The plethora of moral and biological issues that arose from any sort of artificial selection compelled that the fate of humankind be left to random chance. A random number generator was created by the most brilliant computer scientists and mathematicians to ensure that the selection would be as random as physically possible.
As is human nature, there were many skeptics during the initial phase of this grand experiment. Some wondered if the machine had been rigged in some fashion to favor a particular group of people, others questioned the soundness of it's design, and then there were those who wondered if true randomness is even possible at all.
Multiple generations passed and none could find any flaws in the machine or the system on which it was devised. Trust in the machine grew as one by one every single alarmist prediction failed to realize. In fact, the human race had only prospered ever since the machine had been adopted. Space exploration and asteroid mining had been a massive success so much that our most scarce and precious resources weren't as scarce or precious anymore. Humanity found itself being increasingly luckier in its prospects with every successive generation so much so that the need for population control no longer existed. However, the people had not failed to notice the rising fortunes of our race ever since the adoption of the machine. A grand convention was formed and it was decided that the machine would continue to be used to bestow fertility by majority consensus. We had faith in the machine, the machine knew best.
Humanity rose and spread out to conquer the stars and still there continued to be a small, silent minority which questioned the amount of trust that we had placed in this machine. Dr. Dior was an astrophysicist who belonged to this camp. He did not believe that true randomness existed in our universe and was also skeptical of the good fortune that the adoption of the machine had brought to our species. However, by now, questioning the machine was all but forbidden as it was largely considered a waste of time and any expedition for such a cause was unlikely to receive funding. However, Dr. Dior had circumvented this obstacle by concealing the true purpose of his exploration and had finally secured the funding he required to study a miniature cold spot in the cosmic microwave background radiation. He hoped to find a pattern in the supposed randomness of our physical universe and his research indicated that studying the properties of this spot was his best bet at finding the answers he was looking for. | 2018-12-30T22:47:27 | 2018-12-30T18:56:11 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | Living beyond my means always seemed not only unnecessary to me, but pointless. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted, but I had seen what money could do to people and those around them. I didn't want to be another chump with "yes men" around me telling me how good of a job I was doing, regardless if I actually was.
So when I won the lottery, I kept quiet. Not only did I not tell my friends, but I didn't even tell my family. Instead, I retained a lawyer and financial advisor and just invested. Before I knew it my bank account just grew and grew until I was worth $140 billion dollars.
When it came to my day to day life, I tried to keep i simple and I never saw a reason to stop doing what I loved. I mean hell, I was lucky. How many people can say that do what they love every day when they go into work? And keeping my secret from co-workers was easy. When I went on vacation to Paris, it was seen as completely normal. What they didn't know what I took a private jet there, stayed in a suite at the Four Seasons and ate at Michelin star restaurants each night.
For a moment, my life felt perfect--but all good things must come to and end. That end was Craig. He was the new creative director at my agency and from the moment I met him, I knew I didn't like him. For one, he had no talent. He didn't get to where he was based off of his work or ability to lead a team, he got there because he was bully that knew how to manipulate those around him. I wasn't one of those people and I saw straight through his act.
It didn't take long for me to realize that as soon as Craig joined my team, he had set his sights on me. His goal was to destroy my career and turn everyone against me. He started by criticizing my work and rewriting every single word and sentence I showed him. His ideas were moronic and off strategy, but since he was the boss no one had the guts to call him out on it. When I did call him out, all the others would shrink down in their seats and look away. No one dared tell the boss he had a bad idea and boy was Craig going to make sure I paid for disagreeing with him.
It started with little things. Like that deadline I could have sworn was Wednesday was suddenly Monday. Or files would go missing from the server. With time it grew and grew until suddenly mistakes were being made that required the team to work over the weekend and I was being blamed. It was so obvious, I don't know how I didn't see it coming.
It was a Friday morning when Craig called me into a last minute meeting. When I walked into the conference room, there sat HR, alone at the table with a folder. Craig's face went serious and as I sat down and told me that he was sorry but I "just wasn't the right fit here". HR then explained to me that my time with the agency was terminated and they would ship my belongings to my home address.
I stood up, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes and Craig smiled. He smiled as if to say, "I won" and before I could say a word, HR led me out the door and out the office.
For months I sat at home and dwelled on what happened. I tried to piece together what happened and how it got to the point where they would fire me. As I began to sort through all of the events that had unraveled I began to see the connection: Craig. Every step forward I'd make, he'd ensure I took two steps back. Well, little did Craig know that is screwed with the wrong girl. Not only was he going to pay for what he did, but everyone at the agency was going to pay for following him blindly.
The account I worked on was the largest client the agency had before, it was worth millions of dollars. So naturally, the best way to destroy a tumor is to cut off it's blood supply. So I bought the client, the entire company, under an alias name.
The next step was to hire a chairman and CEO that would act as an instrument to my plan. My team privately met with dozens of candidates and it didn't take long for me to appoint someone to head up the company that ensured me he'd follow my direction without question.
In the meantime, I found another job. In fact, it was a better job with a title and pay increase that I may have not needed, but at least demonstrated they saw my value. Each day I'd come home from work and communicate with my team and CEO, directing them on steps they needed to take to ensure the success of the company. First being--fire all of the advertising agencies they had partnered with.
For one particular ad agency, however, I requested the CEO personally deliver the news to the creative team himself. I told him to handle the process as he saw fit but there was one thing he needed to say upon termination: "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
It didn't take long for news to spread about the great loss and changes within the client's organization and within about a year, after losing their largest client, the agency closed.
Eventually, that agency became a distant memory and I was happily promoted at my job, working as a creative director for a place I loved. It was early fall when a resume came across my desk with a familiar name and a huge gap in employment history. He had already been through 2 interviews earlier that week and I was the last point of contact as the hiring manager. I gleefully saw the calendar invite pop onto my computer and that afternoon I walked to the conference room where candidates waited to meet with their potential employers.
I pushed open the door and Craig looked up. His smile quickly disappeared and he went as pale as a ghost as he saw me standing at the door. I had recently gotten married and he had not realized who I was since my last name had changed. I smiled brightly and without a word sat down in front of him. He stuttered as he opened his portfolio book and began to quietly go over his work with me, conveniently skipping over the work from the agency we had worked at together not so long ago.
I quietly listened and as he paused to take a breath. I leaned forward, looking at him directly in the eye and smiled. "You know what, Craig", I said, "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
&#x200B; | Being a time traveler can suck sometimes.
&#x200B;
These days I find myself bored, but not in the have nothing to do sense. Quite the opposite, there’s plenty to do, but I lust for enjoying the same thing over and over. Kinda like watching a rerun of your favorite episode of some trashy TV show. Currently, my vice of choice is pranking my former employer.
&#x200B;
My mentor, known only as “Mr E.” taught me I had to blend in to not be found. That sounded like a load of bull, having watched the man loot precious treasures from times long past. If you’ve ever wondered why King Tut’s cache was never found, or why so many sunken ships go missing, that’s John’s doing. He’d type a quick Google search of how to enter a specific tomb or where a sunken ship was found, then time jump to the day after shit it the fan.
&#x200B;
I however, have lived the quintessential mediocre life my entire existence. Office life isn’t quite the way TV shows picture it. Growing through my teens and into an adult without dreams, I contented to my comfortable dead end job as a telemarketer.
Working at Call4Me was a comfortable routine, it was a paycheck that afforded me some of life’s pleasures. When the boss called me in to give me the news, I was devastated. His smirk irked me, enjoying watching me squirm in discomfort. Some things you never forget, that moment was one of them. The end of a forgetful Friday, he called me into his office. I had one last call on the line; putting it on hold, I rushed towards the fogged glass door labeled ‘Bart Kobold’.
&#x200B;
“Pack your things Steve, you’ll be given today’s pay in addition to the severance package.” He stayed seated, adjusting things on his immaculate desk, not even acknowledging me. Sweating, looking for something to say, my hands fidgeting my tie and shirt buttons. We all knew about 20% of the building was being laid off this month. They could pay kids in India a quarter our wage for the same outcome.
&#x200B;
Cowardly I turned and walked out, low self-esteem paired well with my lack of ambition. “Sorry, it was all I could do, please close the door behind you.” I numbly obeyed and wandered to my blanch cubicle.
&#x200B;
There was a box on my desk with a sticky note, likely from my supervisor. “Sorry -Karen.” At least packing my things was easy, just my yellow notepad, BiC pen and a couple sci-fi favorites. We could read in-between calls, reading fantasy likely helped me stay sane.
&#x200B;
The ‘hold’ light from my phone console blinked. Not even registering my immediate unemployment, my brain fell into pattern as I adorned the headset. The caller ID read; “Mr. E.”
&#x200B;
“Thank you for holding Mr. E, this is Steven of Call4U… how may we… be of service.” As cliche as it sounds, saying this for the umpteenth and last time, brought me to tears. A man cleared his voice on the other end. “Do you want payback?” Click; he hung up.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
Back in my dingy studio apartment, my cat "Tipsy" was nestled into the lap of greying man. The cat plays with his braided beard, swatting at it with delight. The apartment complex resembled a motel, wallpaper tears and cockroaches included. As I keyed my door with an armful of groceries my landlord peered around the corner.
&#x200B;
"You pay rent today?" She shouts a lot, likely due to being hard of hearing and bad at English. "I uh.. Tomorrow.." I hesitate, and decided to keep my lack of a job secret "was paid today, need time for bank." "You good people, very quiet, thank you." She grins, a whistle escaping from her missing teeth. "I let handsome family man inside your room, you are welcome!" She walks off, shouting at the birds nestled in a nearby window. They flutter back as she rounds the corner.
&#x200B;
I slowly open the door to my 300 square foot apartment. Tipsy lounges in the dimming sun of the single window. "Welcome home!" The mystery man pulls the light string, illuminating my dinky closet of a room. I let out a girlish scream.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
We returned from a time long past, assimilating into my now spotless apartment. Time control allows any object or activity to speed up or slow down, including cleaning and cooking, which I found to be quite useful.
"You said we can do that once per day?" My curiosity was at an all time high this past week, having seen untold riches and witnessing historic events. Time travel was insane, but it seemed to have an effect on the veteran Mr. E.
"Yes, but each traveler can jump only 365 times. Total. And that... that was my 364th." He looks sorrowful as he recognizes what is to come. "If I do not pass the torch, then this gift will be forever lost." He presents the wand to me, "Why me?" I stammer. "Why not you?" He locks his gaze with mine, and I begin to understand. "You were meant to have this Steven. For better or for worse, I was drawn to you."
&#x200B;
As I reach for the wand, whom my impromptu father figure calls the "Torch," tears strew down his face. This was a power he was destined to give, and today was the day. Upon grasping the wand, a surge of knowledge entered me, and I understood. When I regained consciousness he was gone.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
The first couple time trips I made were to be for practice, playing it safe. Still harboring a grudge for my former employer, Bart Kobold was to be my first 'victim.' I decided to go back in time and prevent him from getting HIS job, thus never having any power over me. Fool-proof.
&#x200B;
Setting the time his LinkedIn profile said he had the job soundly in my mind; the torch was lit. I was soon standing in-front of an empty soon-to-be Call4U. Bart was begging at the feet of a brown suited business man. Blending in, I adorned a hard hat and find myself writing in my notepad, acting busy. From what I overheard, the project was months behind, and Bart was refusing to show the older man the rest of the building.
&#x200B;
"Please Carl, the contractors said max two more months, that's all I need!" Bart pleaded. "You've had too much time already, I'm axing this project." Carl pulls out a RAZR cellphone to make the final call. "My wife is going to kill me, we're behind on our payments and our son is in the hospital!" Bart paces madly, barring entry into the unfinished sections. Feeling sorry for my former boss, I decide I'd rather help than hinder. With a flick of my wrist, the Torch enchants the building process. As if some grown man's version of Disney princess magic, the construction animatedly begins. The pilings pile, the concrete pours, and the foundation is set. Within seconds, the building blocks of my future office prison are finished.
&#x200B;
As they enter, I exit. The reactions I overheard seemed akin to a home-makeover montage. He got the job.
...
&#x200B;
Being a time traveler can suck but only some "times." Everything happens as it should, we learn from our mistakes and as such our futures can burn far brighter.
The torch is lit, allow it to illuminate the life ahead of you and shine on the past behind you.
...
..
.
Thank you for reading, any feedback you have helps me become a better writer! I hope to do a minimum 500 word prompt every day, this is the first of many. | 2019-03-04T09:01:49 | 2019-03-04T08:52:50 | 2,500 | 19 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | I used to have a name.
A name that does not evoke fear into people's minds.
It has been so long since I thought about the days before my wool-braided clothes that have now dilapidated and unwoven into what more resembles a cloak.
So long since I felt physical touch with my *skin* which has now completely atrophied and eroded back, leaving ashen bones.
So long since a dead man willingly walked with me and I mean *actually* walked with me, instead of just simply running away at the sight of my cracked skull.
A couple of millennia traveling between the world of the living to the absolute nothingness you humans call "death" will do that to you. The dark fog and murky haze which seemingly manifests itself into flickering serpentine tongues have long been lapping at my body turning what use to be colored shaggy white to deep onyx black. No man understands why I walk with the dead and if a man actually walked with me, they'd understand.
Because I would tell them my whole story.
About how I used to carry a shepherd’s staff instead of wielding a sickle.
About how I loved my parents.
About how my brother bashed me over the head with a rock.
About how mortals cursed me with many misnomers: The Grim Reaper, Soul Collector, Hades, La Muerte, Shinigami.
About how my real name is Abel.
About how lonely I get here in Death.
EDIT: My first writing prompt! Please be gentle!
EDIT II: Can’t stop obsessing over and trying to improve syntax and diction. | "Are you ready?"
I had always expected the physical representation of Death to be carrying a big scythe around in black robes, or to be a devil of some sorts, or some sort gauntish figure. And yet, the entity standing in front of me calimng to be the reaper was wearing khaki pants and a blue polo.
"I'm sorry?" I said, the scene around me not yet hadn't settled in. I could see myself still in my Fiesta, just barely trading paint with a 18 wheeler that had seemingly come out of control and gone over the highway barrier.
"I'm asking if you're ready to move on." he asked, gently smiling back at me.
"No! Of course not! Can't you put me back in my body?" I could feel the adrenaline rushing though my... well, soul, I suppose. His smile faded for just a split-second, and was replaced by a subtle pained expression, as if he were recalling some hurtful memory.
"I'm afraid not..." The smile was back, and I felt myself relaxing somewhat despite my bulging frustration. "I can't change what happened."
"But I look just fine!" I pointed at my stunned self back in my car, mouth agasp and nails haphazardly digging into the steering wheel. Apart from a dumb facial expression and a ruined manicure, I looked pretty well alive. "How can I be dead?"
"I stopped it so you wouldn't have to see what comes after. There's nothing more I can do. I am very sorry..." He calmly closed the distance between us and held me, as if knowing that in the next few seconds my knees would buckle from under me and the realization would finally hit.
I don't know how long I lay there on the ground, just a few feet away from my soon to be wrecked car, death's surprisingly warm hand on my shoulder, telling me that it was going to be ok.
"I never know how much it helps," he said "but I know what you're going through, and I promise it does get better."
"How could you ever know how it feels like to die?" I asked , still sobbing.
The pain from before showed again on his face, and it disappeared just as suddenly, as if by training, and the realization hit me.
"You're just like me, aren't you?" I asked, "You're human."
"Well, I guess 'was' is more appropriate," he said, scratching the back of his head and looking off into the distance for a moment, "but I lived and died on this planet, much like you did."
"Then why are you doing this? Why doesn't God do it? Or Satan? Or something different?" I asked, a bit puzzled.
"Well, if there are such things as God or Satan, I haven't met them. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I'm able to it." He turned to me again and smiled, "As for why, well, I didn't think you should be alone right now. Nobody showed up when my time was up, and I didn't find that was a good welcome into the afterlife."
He kept smiling, but I could see the pain in his eyes. "I understand" I said.
"So," he repeated "are you ready?"
"Yeah... I guess I am." I stood up, and he followed suit. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it!" he said, the excitement showing in his voice.
And somehow, I believed him. | 2019-07-10T12:15:09 | 2019-07-10T11:49:23 | 71 | 15 |
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