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 have a special power. Whenever your life is in danger; time freezes until you've made yourself safe. One day time stops, and nothing you do seems to make it start again. | They sometimes say that your life is put on hold when you are diagnosed with cancer.
My wife cried. She sobbed as I held her in my arms and stroked her hair. She was more scared than I was. I get that. I couldn’t help but think about losing my own hair as I repeated that same comforting motion over and over. My hair had always been one of my most defining features. Damn shame to lose it. Maybe I would dye it a cool colour before I lost it... and I suppose I had always liked the look of a Mohawk... wigs were pretty stylish nowadays too...
I was being vain. I could afford to be vain. They had caught it early. I would be out of action for a year or so. It would be rough but we’d make it. We had savings in the bank. Id never been so thankful to not be an American. I thanked my lucky stars for free healthcare as I held my wife that day. I don’t think I’d handle having that conversation about finances while I was in this confused, wild frame of mind. Sure, we would maybe have to rethink the trips we had planned, but Egypt and California and Vietnam would all still be there by the time I was fighting fit again. We’d get through this. Easy. Just a blip on the radar of our otherwise wonderful life.
At least, that was what I thought until they did further tests.
People describe the world slowing down as they are given the news. They describe spouses and children crying. Sometimes they themselves cry. More often than not they describe the numbness, the emotionless, empty space where their heart used to live. They feel powerless. They feel trapped. They feel lost.
“Terminal”. There’s something... so benign about that word. Terminal. Like a bus terminal or an airport terminal. A stepping stone to another destination. Next stop: Endless black nothingness/reincarnation/fiery pits of hell/pearly gates with saint Pete/whatever you other destination you believe your pathetic little mortal life leads to.
My life did stop that day. Literally. I’ve long since lost track of time. I wander freely as the world remains frozen. I’ve tried everything to make this end. I broke into secret government labs. I ate weird plants from medieval textbooks. I tried hooking myself up to IVs in random hospitals. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to cross an ocean devoid of currents or wind. (and l have to admit, Some poor boat owner in Plymouth is going to get a nasty shock when his little sailboat miraculously turns up in the Chesapeake bay). I was desperate. There has to be a cure somewhere in this vast world. Where else could it be? The pharmaceutical companies of the United States would certainly lose a lot of money if people suddenly weren’t paying for their medications.
My wife never liked conspiracies. She always said they were a waste of time. I never seriously believed in them either, yet I still read up on them. I’m not sure why if I’m honest. Perhaps being born with a strange ability like mine makes you question reality a little bit more. How ironic that my ability would lead me here, to the largest medical laboratory in the United States, in search of a cure for... well, a cure for either of my conditions would suit me at this stage. That said, I admit that it is more likely that I find a cure to the less supernatural of my diseases. I can’t say I care. Just as long as I can one day watch her laugh as I run my hands through her hair. | Everything is frozen and nothing seems to work. Normally, time stops when I'm in danger which I usually easily resolve by moving a few steps away. For example, in the jousting tournament last week, right as I charged down that lane with my steed towards an opponent, time froze for me. That gave me time to readjust myself minutely so that the enemy lance just *barely* missed me.
​
Now, nobody knows about my power. If they did know, I'm sure the castle's mages would love to capture me and cut me up to try to get some clues about their long, lost time magic. I've been using this power since roughly a few years ago. The benefit of having this power is that it easily helped make me an undefeated knight of the realm, giving me reputation and power that no second or third son of a baron would have otherwise.
​
Serving by the side of the king as his personal guard is something others consider to be of the highest honor. I just think of it as the highest position I can get in the realm. The thing is, most people find the king... a bit disagreeable. That means, there is the occasional assassin or rebellion. After all, he was chosen by default since he was the only son of the previous king. Honestly, it just makes this job feel less mundane standing around the throne room. With my power, they were never a challenge.
​
Today, just like everyday, I was just standing behind the mahogany throne of the king with my polished sword sitting at its sheath listening to the fossil-like king talk to the officials in a raspy voice, "You are saying there are food shortages due to locusts?"
​
In front of the king was a senior official, a man dressed in gray robes that looked like they belong on a carpet. The man pointed outside through a high window and said, "The people outside are crying for food. I propose we open up our granaries to try and help them."
​
From beside his throne, I saw the king roll his eyes and say, "I know you are just saying this so the commoners would have a better impression of you, but it's just us here. My knight also won't divulge anything. So just cut the-"
​
Time stopped.
​
The king's mouth hung open, as the words he was saying became trapped at his mouth. The senior official had his eyes closed, mid-blink. I yawned and stretched, "Great! What is it now? Assassins behind me? An arrow flying through the window?"
​
I turned around and scanned the shadows of the room, making sure nobody snuck in. Usually, it is one of the two things I mentioned. I highly doubt that senior official could harm me from that distance. I glanced out the window and mutter, "Hmm, that's strange. What else could it be?"
​
I walked over in front of the king, pulling him off of the throne and leaving him sitting on air in some corner of the room. I sat on the throne with my legs crossed and scrutinized the official in front of me. It doesn't look like he is carrying any weapons, no bumps on his clothes.
​
I stood up in frustration and walked out the throne room. There were two knights stationed at the doorway as usual, and the hallway was empty as usual. Just how is it that I am still in danger? I was so far away from the throne room! I could not help but yell in the face of one of the knights guarding the doorway, "Just what the hell is going on?"
​
Dang, that felt good. Could it just be old age? Poison? I can't do anything about these things. The notion of dying is scary to me. Honestly, I think it is my large fear of death that somehow granted me this power. Now, my power is causing me to stuck in a sort of limbo. I hope I find the cause soon.
​
\-------------------------------------------------------------
​
Inside the royal castle, there was a pile of people inside the throne room. The one thing they all had in common was their motionlessness. There were people in shining armor, butlers and maids, and a few mages in dark robes. At the bottom of the pile was an old man with a crown.
​
Beside that pile, was an auburn chair with ornate gems engraved on it. Beside it, was an unworn armor, a sheathed sword lying on the ground, and a dozen random books. A man with gray tipped hair madly flipped through a book about poisons with furrowed brows. His eyes had large black splotches underneath and his clothes were all lined with dirt and dust.
​
He suddenly stood up and tossed the book across the room and screamed in frustration, "I don't know if you are there, but whoever gave me this power... Just take it away! Get me out of this mess!"
​
Like a puppet, he powerlessly crumpled down on the floor as if his strings were cut. He missed the social interactions he had with the younger knights. He missed all the cheering he received during his returns from the battlefield.
​
He glanced out the window once more.
\------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! | 2019-09-15T09:59:21 | 2019-09-15T09:07:51 | 31 | 23 |
[WP]Your father comes from a long line of superheroes. Your mother comes from a long line of supervillains. Every year, against your parents wishes, your relatives come together to celebrate your birthday. It's your eleventh birthday and the city's evacuated as your relatives start to arrive. | I ignored the "against your parents wishes" bit, but here's what I got.
​
\----
​
The sirens rang out. That was par for the course. He could smell the smoke even before he could see the lazy spirals drifting upwards.
Luke laughed, eyes bright, as the first of his relatives began to arrive.
His mother had made a call to the mayor early that week, demanding that they evacuate the Easttown Banquet hall, lest some ‘bad luck’ befall the Mayor’s youngest daughter. His father had made a follow up call, declaring that he would put a stop to any evil schemes his wife was preparing-- but confirming that they’d need the hall most of Sunday and that it was really best to alert the city to the oncoming flood of villains that also happened to be his most regrettable inlaws.
Lucky for the people of Barneville, the V-team would also be there to stop any trouble. Luke was glad. He’d missed his Grandma since she’d retired from crime fighting last fall. His father had assured him she would be there, if only to make sure the bingo hall wasn’t put out of commission again.
Luke knew both sides were eager to see what he would become. His mother’s side had been gifting him poisoned daggers since he could barely walk and his father’s side could really chill with the capes.
They could wait a little longer, Luke thought.
Mom had said that Uncle Chris was going to be late, but he saw the distinctive blue of his long boots just before the fire hydrant exploded. Luke took a few quick steps sideways to make sure he didn’t ruin his new slacks. Mom would be furious if he messed them up before family photos.
“Uncle Chris!” he cheered.
“My favorite nephew,” Chris cooed, rolling backwards to avoid a swing from his cousin, Mara.
Mara nodded to him briefly before crying out, “I will stop you yet, Doctor Egregious!”
Luke beamed at them both as they tumbled through a nearby storefront. “Make sure you don’t miss the cake!”
They both snapped up to look at him. “Who made the cake?” Mara demanded.
Luke hesitated. “Um… Aunt Laura did.” His mother’s youngest sister had been very insistent.
Mara let out a stream of words that honestly wasn’t very hero-ly of her. “I’ll deal with you later, scum,” she declared, racing towards the banquet hall.
Chris brushed off the broken glass and prowled toward Luke. Then, he wrapped him up in a big hug. It would have been more comfortable if the gadgets in his belt were slightly less pointy, but Luke had missed him, so he tried to ignore it. “You made it! Mom said you wouldn’t.”
“My sister needs to have a little more faith. I would never miss your birthday. Also, there is a new exhibit of rare art downtown.” Chris patted his head a few times and drew a small gift from the bag tied loosely to his belt. It was unusually heavy for its size. “Don’t open it before your Grandma Helen comes.”
“It’s a bomb, isn’t it.” Luke stated flatly.
Chris smiled widely. “I cannot confirm or deny that. The real question is, what are you going to do with it?”
Luke grinned back, “Wouldn’t you love to know.” | I heard the tires of a car shriek as it pulled in into our driveway. It was the same Honda I have seen every year ever since I was 8. It was my dad’s parents.
Once grandpa Tony saw me playing in the garden, he rushed towards me with his arms wide open.
“If it ain’t my favorite grandson, Alex.” He said as he hugged me. “Happy birthday boy! You have certainly grown taller since the last time I saw you.”
“Tony, help me get some of this stuff off the truck.” I heard grandma Alice shout from the car.
“Just a moment, honey.” Grandpa said as he walked back to the car.
“Oh my! You have certainly grown into a fine man, little Alex.” Grandma gasped as she also went in for a kiss on my cheek. “Happy 11th birthday, deary.”
Hearing the commotion outside my parent came to see what was happening.
I noticed worry in both my parent’s eyes as they see grandpa’s care.
“Oh my dear, sweet little James.” Cried out grandma as she rushed to my dad. “You little boy keeps looking more like you by the day.”
I could see my mom staring at grandma in silence.
“Oh hello, Martha. Long time no see?” Grandma said in a demeaning tone, after which she went into the house.
Soon after, I could hear my parent’s arguing between themselves. But that was shorty interrupted by the sound of another car pulling onto the driveway.
It was a black Ferrari, the kind that any kid would dream to drive. And of course, the one that belonged to my mom’s parents.
As popes and granny came out of the car, popes noticed grandpa unpacking his Honda.
“You are still driving that old junk, Tony?”
“You still buy a new car every year, Kain.” Replied grandpa.
“Far from it. I make my own.” Popes said as he pressed a device in his palm.
Suddenly, a hundred tiny robots started pouring out of the car, carrying a dark box into the house.
“Oh stop showing off in front of poor old Tony.” Granny said as she made her way to the house.
“It is not showing off if you worked day and night on creating it, Margret.” He said as he laughed to himself. “I am sure good old Tony can still ask one of his super friends to make him something similar to this.”
“My precious Martha,” Granny said quietly as she started kissing mom’s cheeks. “You don’t look like you have aged a single day over 21.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Mom said while smiling. “How about you go inside and rest in the living room with Mrs. Alice.”
“I can’t believe you invited that bi-“ Granny said before noticing the fierce look in my mother’s eyes.
“Of course, my dear Martha. I will go say hi to her.”
With that, she went inside, even though I wasn’t sure it was gonna be a friendly atmosphere in there anymore.
“My sweet little girl,” Popes said as he walked to hug mom. “oh how I missed you over at home.”
“Papa, this is my home now. And what did I tell you about using robots in the house and what was that black box the robots were carrying?”
“Don’t be so stubborn, my dear. The robots will only help me move stuff around, they aren’t meant to hurt anyone.” Popes said as he takes off his dark tinted glasses. “Plus, that box was my gift to dear little Alex. I am sure he will like it.”
Mom let out a worried sigh.
Popes winked at me before put his glasses back on and walking into the house. Then nom and dad both followed him into the house.
Soon after, I saw grandpa carrying 4 boxes with him as he walked to the house.
“What are you carrying, Grandpa?” I asked.
“Oh, this?” He replied as he showed me the content of one of the boxes. “It is just some eggs and vegetables we had grown on your grandma’s old farm. Don’t worry, this isn’t your gift. Your gift is something much grander.”
With that, he carried the boxes into the house and I was left there dumfounded thinking on what he meant by that.
“Alex, Come help me get your cake ready.” I heard my mom shout from inside the house.
“Coming!” I shouted back as I made my way inside.
​
***Part 1***
​
***I have posted the rest of the story at*** [r/FluffWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/), ***since it was too long to post here. So check it out if you are interested.*** [Super birthday](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/i3f741/story_a_super_birthday/)
***I am also working on a new fantasy writing series that I plan to become a huge thing in the future, so check that out too if it is to your taste ----->*** [The Dark Road Ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/)**Chapter 2 is come out!** | 2020-08-04T00:16:39 | 2020-08-03T23:09:40 | 98 | 53 |
[WP] "Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry." "Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" "No." | "Any other symptoms?" The doctor asked. "A change in wardrobe?"
"Oh, yes! He's suddenly had an obsession with belts. Lots of them! Not just around his waist, either!" Susan said in a half-panic.
"Mhmm... can you tell me anything about his father?"
Susan looked at the ground, sheepishly. "No, not much... He left shortly after \[Insert Name\] was born -"
"I'm sorry, your child's name is '\[Insert Name\]'?"
"Yes. His father insisted it was a traditional name within his culture... Everyone just calls him 'Hero' instead..."
The doctor paused and took a deep breath. This was likely to be the worst case of **protagonitis** he had ever seen. He hoped whatever information he could gather from the mother would help the child in his - undoubtedly - pre-destined travels.
Gathering himself, the doctor continued. "Do you have any other children?"
Susan blushed, answering haltingly. "... Well... yes. My eldest son. \[Insert Name\]'s half-brother. Um... \[Insert Name\] doesn't know..."
The doctor tried to keep his expression neutral, but struggled. "Ma'am... I'll be honest with you; I don't think it is possible to foster a more fertile ground for a severe case of protagonitis. Does he have any friends that he may have spread it to?"
"Well, he has a couple close friends... one of them is good with tools and machines... oh, there is the haughty wizard's apprentice, but I don't know if they are friends anymore after the school tournament. Oh! And he has this cute, spritely girl that I think he is interested in... but it's hard to tell. She is definitely infatuated with him..."
The doctor blanched. "Nurse!" he called, and stepped toward the door. The flustered nurse appeared in the hallway. "Please bring me the fireproof safe, and... start watching the sky for... anything unusual.
"Is something wrong?" Susan asked, alarmed by the doctor's sudden change in tone.
"I... think we need to take immediate steps to protect... well... everyone else in the village." The nurse returned with a small box; red with gold filigree on the edges. The doctor placed his notes, 1000g, and his favorite leather gloves in the box, and set it in the corner of the room. "Where is your son now?"
"Oh, he went out to the outskirts of town with his friends to gather herbs-"
Susan was cut off as the room rapidly darkened. The nurse ran to the window, and screamed. "DOCTOR!! The Empire is here!! Their airships are surrounding the town!"
The doctor sighed, and resigned himself to his fate; a background character in this child's tragic background story. | When Jason became six months old, his wispy hair grew in volume, grew spiky, and turned neon green. This alarmed Rachel -- she was a young mother who worried about the kid a bit too much. She told Henry, her spouse, that she would be taking the baby to Dr. Blumenthal to get to the bottom of the issue.
"Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry," Dr. Blumenthal told Rachel after just looking at the baby's neon green hair once.
"Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" Rachel said.
The lines on Dr. Blumenthal's face hardened. "No. It's you who is in trouble."
Rachel felt her world turning upside down. She looked at Jason's neon-green hair and his innocent, smiling face. The face of her killer.
"But...why?" Rachel asked. "Why do I have mere days to live?"
"Radiation," Dr. Blumenthal said. "I don't know how, but this baby is radioactive. I have seen it happen before. There is no doubt in my mind that this radioactive baby has affected you already, perhaps when you breastfeed him. You might be in the clear, but the chances are slim."
Rachel's heart fluttered. Was the damage restricted to her? If the baby was radioactive then wouldn't it-
"What about Henry, my husband, is he in trouble too?"
Dr. Blumenthal's brow creased. "That depends. But I doubt that he has been exposed to such a degree as you have. Unless, you know, if you've engaged in-"
"No, we haven't," Rachel said breathlessly. The fact that her husband was not in danger did not calm her down one bit. Indeed she now felt resentful about her impending death.
Dr. Blumenthal cleared his throat to catch Rachel's attention. "So, we will have to quarantine you and the baby. The baby will be sent to intensive care, and he will, I assume, be healthy in a matter of weeks. As for you, I'm afraid that there's no way to save you..."
Rachel's eyes widened in horror. "Do I...is it necessary?"
"The quarantine? Absolutely necessary."
It was at this instant that Rachel got up, and with trembling hands, jammed a pen lying on the table straight into Dr. Blumenthal's left eye. Then she ran, she fled with the baby in her arms. Even in her frenzied state of mind, Rachel was wary of the authorities that would soon be after her. Keeping this in mind, she ditched her car and took a taxi downtown, where she lodged in a seedy little hotel.
Rachel sat in the musty bed of the foul-smelling hotel and peered into the face of her baby.
"There he is, the little killer," she said out loud. Saying it out loud calmed her nerves. Sweat started to form over her brow and the realization of what she had done.
In a state of panic greater in magnitude than the one she had experienced in Dr. Blumenthal's office, Rachel paced in the musty room as cold sweat poured out of her. The neon hair of her little Jason flashed from time to time in her vision as she checked up on the sleeping baby. Any minute now, the police could bust the door open and arrest her. But what did she care, right? Wouldn't she die anyway?
Rachel could feel the grey walls of the hotel room closing in on her. That's when she screamed. "I don't want to die! Not because of my sweet little Jason!"
The scream woke the baby up, and he started crying. Rachel jumped but calmed herself enough to hold the baby and soothe it. The baby was hungry, and Rachel breastfed her radioactive child.
As the baby sucked on her breast, she remembered what Dr. Blumenthal had mentioned about breastfeeding exposing her to radiation. She looked at the innocent face of her baby and smiled.
Outside, darkness started to fall, and when Rachel buttoned her blouse she noticed that her breasts were faintly neon-green. Death was approaching her faster than ever, and she knew it. The thought wasn't terrifying now. Time had taken the edge away from the terror of death. Time and the sweet little thing that now lay on the musty bed smiling at her. Rachel hugged her baby close and slept.
The sound of sirens and footsteps and the crying baby awakened her. She could hear the loud chatter and the heavy footsteps of law enforcement about her room, but her legs wouldn't move. She tried to soothe her little baby, to stop his cries, but her arms wouldn't move.
Bang! The door was thrown open, and the sound was too loud and too abrupt for Rachel. Her heart stopped, and she gazed upon the neon green hair of her little baby as it then warped into a bright white light and then darkness. | 2021-05-11T07:47:55 | 2021-05-11T04:28:01 | 85 | 50 |
[WP] The princess was cursed that her first husband would die a horrible death. Inorder to avoid this horrible fate the royal family used you as a scapegoat and married you to the princess. But because of your immortality you have died over 20 times and still come back to life. | I didn't mind the deaths, not really. I had died plenty of times before in this long dreg I called a life. However I do have to admit the curse was getting really creative. I've been mauled by wolves once or twice before, but I have to say this was the first time that I was simultaneously stuck by lightning while poisoned in the middle of getting my arm ripped off while fighting a dragon.
At first the royals all looked at me with pity. Then after I came back from death the first time it shocked them. The 5th time is when they started to look at me with fear and disgust. After that it's just been a strange mixture of the two. They're disgusted with me for overstaying my welcome, while at the same time fearing a man they cannot kill. I know for a fact that at least 8 of my deaths were ordered by the same King that used me as a pawn for this exact purpose.
A strong tug on my reattached arms pulls me from my thoughts. "Ow that hurts!"
My wife lets out a small laugh next to me on the bedside as she bandages my reattached arm. "So you can still feel pain after all? I don't know whether to be comforted or disturbed by that." She earns a small wince from me as she finishes the bandaging and ties it tightly. "There that should help heal it up nicely."
It's my turn to let out a laugh of my own. "Thank you, but you do know that you don't need to do that right? Give it time and it'll heal by itself, hell I can even grow new ones."
"No I want to help, even if it's only a little." I see her eyes wander over the rest of my scarred body before meeting my own, guilt obviously apparent. "It's my fault you're going through this after all."
I give her a gentle smile to reassure her. "No worries love! It's nothing I'm not used to." I make a show of rolling the bandaged arm, ignoring the pain of my healing muscles screaming in protest. "See? It's all better. In fact I think it healed even faster thanks to you."
But all that gets is a sad smile from her. "You don't have to do this you know."
"Do what?" I can see where she's going yet I find myself asking anyways.
"Pretend to be okay. Live though the curse of being my husband." She sighs in both resignation and relief as she continues, unburdening the weight she's been bearing for a long time with the thoughts she's been holding in.
"It's alright. I'm grateful that you've been with me this long, but you don't have to go through this even if you can bounce back. You don't have to suffer through the obligation that is being my husband."
Her worry warms my heart. It's unneeded, but sweet nonetheless and I can't help holding her within my arms. I gently stroke her hair in an attempt to reassure her. "Thank you for the worry but there's no place I'd rather be than here."
She stiffens in my arms and starts to sniffle as I begin to feel a wetness on my shoulder.
"Why? My father will never let you inherit the throne. You'll be seen by the people as nothing but a used scapegoat unable to die. So why go through all that alongside death dragging at your side."
"Because it doesn't matter to me how many times I die." I let go of her and bend on one knee before her, taking her hand I gently kiss the ring on her finger.
"I'd happily go through a thousand deaths, for you to share your life with mine." | "Honey!" Gaia, Princess of The Kingdom Flundale, called out as she rounded the stairs of her large manor. She lingers at the stairway, hearing weak ruffling, slowly increasing in volume with the pass of each second as she peered up the stairway.
"Belas?" She beckoned as the ruffling turned into loud thumps. With the pass of each second, Gaia heard a bump, jumping back in between each loud crash. Eventually, through the long vertical stairs, something strides into her vision, rag dolling down the lengthy spiraled stairs without end.
"I'm -- com--ing -- Gaiahhhhh!" The distant voice of a man shouted in between each loud thump.
"Are you okay!?" Gaia shouted with her hands cupping her mouth, using it as a microphone as she followed the balled-up creature that fell down the stairs like an unending slinky.
"Are you sure?" Gaia spoke with uneasiness, choking on each word that left her mouth with worry strewn across her puzzled face.
"Yup, I'm great--" He responded, only to be cut off by the sound of a meaty whack shook the manor to its core.
"The reception is happening soon if you could--" Gaia attempted to speak before being interrupted as a roar screeched out from the top of the stairs. It was gruff and deep, bellowing like the final howl of a wounded wolf as metal began clanking from a distance. The pattering hooves of a horse walked could be heard by Gaia as weighing followed.
The unrecognizable object finally hit the hard marble ground, revealing a limbless body at the bottom of the stairs.
"uh... could you give me a hand... another hand... a leg..."
"What's happening up there!?" Gaia shouted at Belas as he sat on the ground without a single recognizable body part.
"Nothin." He spoke, averting contact with a loud, shaky whistle as the carcass of a horse flew down the stairs at rapid speeds, bursting on the brick wall as if it were a watermelon hitting concrete.
Gaia eyes him down, wondering if she should even mention it as she gazed at a nearby grandfather clock.
"... Are you ready to go?" Gaia questioned to Belas skeptically as blood shout out of his mouth like a fountain.
"Ayup."
"You sure? I could ask them to do it another day if you want..." Gaia spoke as Belas's eyes sat fixed on a silhouette that sat at the very top of the stairway.
"W-who is that?" Gaia spoke, turning her gaze to the creature as Belas turned his head back to Gaia's.
"..."
"..."
Belas sat against the wall by his back, slumped against it as he looked for any excuse possible.
"Uh... that's..." Belas lingered on his words, scouring the wide room in hopes of finding something to inspire him. He fixates his eyes onto Belas, staring at her revealing blouse with blood still leaking from his mouth.
'Boobstair," He responded with unease.
"... What is he doing here?"
"Just hanging out..." Belas spoke softly as the creature jumped down the stairs, revealing two clawlike hands, a hairy, bushy body, two elongated canine teeth, and the head of a wolf.
With rabidness, he stood at the bottom of the stairs, drool leaking from his snout for a mouth as he gazed at Gaia. His rabidness snapped away in the blink of an eye as he sniffed her.
"Oh! Hello, princess. It's nice to see you after so long! Unfortunately, your soon-to-be husband is busy as of now."
"Who are you?..." Gaia questioned.
"I'm Be-"
"Boobstair!"
Both the creature and Gaia looked at Belas in confusion. With fear in his eyes, Belas puppy-eyed the creature with his lips puckered out.
"Indeed... I'm Boobstair... If you wouldn't mind princess, your soon-to-be husband and I have something we need to finish. I'll have him out to you in just a few moments if you'd be so kind enough as to wait.
"No issue... By the way, you said you've met me before?" Gaia questioned the creature as it stood with its arms to its side.
"... I'll have him out to you soon, okay?" Boobstair spoke, ushering Gaia out of her manor with haste.
Boobstair opens the broad doors, letting Gaia leave without issue as it smiled at her warmly. Then, it closed the door, its rabid look returning to its bloodshot eyes a millisecond before the door shut completely.
"Awooooooooo!" Boobstair shouted as it pounced toward Belas, digging deep into his torso and head with its jagged claws as Belas fought back by headbutting it.
"She deserves to be happy!" Belas shouts out to Boobstair as it continued to gore him.
"She deserves this and more for what her parents did to me," Boobstair responded cordially and calmy, gutting him even further with each swipe from its claws.
"Then kill me if you can. I'll make sure she has her happy ending, even if I'm nothing but a scapegoat."
"Then you'll try to break my curse?" Boobstair laughed as it sliced Belas's eyes out with another swift swipe.
"No. I'll break your will."
​
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
u/AlfredoOreos | 2021-06-09T13:33:44 | 2021-06-09T12:36:24 | 338 | 30 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 1,590 | 803 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | “HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up. | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T06:47:00 | 1,590 | 172 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 1,590 | 45 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | "I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.* | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 1,590 | 12 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | The corridors were long and dark, the stone was cold and unyielding. Your naked feet dragged through the floor as manacles made of ethereal power kept you unable to escape, to move, to step away from the incoming fate.
You had had years to think this through, years scratching little squiggles on the mirror surface of your cell as your box floated, one window projected the starry sky, the other... the execution grounds.
The Court was cruel in that way, they allowed the inmates to see the deaths, you were free to ignore them of course, force yourself to watch into the illusion to spend the time, watch and let the minutes and hours and days bleed away until it was your turn.
Not you, you had kept a very close eye on those executions.
It was execution by Genie.
One single wish, one that the old Genie would twist into one for your instantaneous demise. You had heard the stories, the more wishes a Genie granted the more powerful it would become. And this one?
This Genie was almost as old as the Court itself.
And its power to grant wishes was truly something to stand in awe of.
Wish for death of old age? Then you become decrepit within the snap of fingers, your heart stopping right after. Wish to die in combat? Then the Genie himself will let you fight some nightmarish abomination. Wish to die along your enemy? A snap of the fingers, they would die, but the Genie would bring the others back to life.
One by one, they would all die. Some begged for it to be pleasant, death through orgy or through a feast. Some would beg to die in the arms of their loved ones. A few would get imaginative, death through black hole, death through bomb, death through a collapse in reality. All of them fulfilled in their own way, the people sent into universes that would fulfil the clause.
Once a man asked to die through resurection. That one had been amusing to consider. Up and until he was informed he already had. Time and again, forced to relive his life and die, over and over, unaware of the loop he'd been trapped in and only ever told this truth right before he was snapped back to the start.
And now it was your turn.
The Court lay in front of you, three pillars of infinite stone, atop which sat the judges. The Genie stood at the side, almost invisible in its shadow, the simplicity of the creature's features betraying its power. He looked like any other man, a forgettable face, pale skin, and a nondescript round nose.
Not a word was uttered by the Court, merely the sound of the gavel, the formality of the rite.
The Genie stepped forward. "How do you wish to die?" He asked you. It was in the eyes that you found the truth of its existence, an eternal abyss that did not see you, they saw everyone who'd stood on your spot before you.
You breathed in.
"I wish to experience every death there is to be had."
A flash of amusement crossed the Genie's lips, the only sign of emotion he had shown since you'd first seen him.
"It will be so."
He snapped his fingers. The world swirled around you, everything shifted and changed. Time itself seemed to lose meaning as your thoughts scattered and reformed. All had changed, all was different.
You found yourself kneeling, head bowed against the ground. Before you there were three chairs, oaken and old. Sitting in each were familiar faces.
"With this ritual, we bind you to our will." The closest voice spoke with power, the words seeping into and through you. "You will be the Court's executioner, Genie, may the pillars of the Court become ever higher through your service."
Your breath caught in your throat, the smirk upon your lips hidden, you allowed yourself to follow the impulses the magical bindings lay upon you. For the time being, all you had to do was obey, wait... and grant wishes. | "Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on. | 2021-06-24T07:22:01 | 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 1,307 | 501 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me. | I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T07:19:48 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 236 | 45 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | The person before me took my idea. She had no idea that dying of old age meant they would accelerate time for her. Now that I saw that, I can't make the same mistake. There has to be a way out of here, a loophole.
You'll find one like you always do, I kept thinking that to myself. I wasn't a stranger to this business, but usually I wasn't involved with magic. The payment was good but too risky.
"Marcus Spades, how would you like to die?" The hooded man said. He held a weapon that changed into many weapons. The hood had golden details, his body was hidden by shadows. If anything he was good at this. I could feel the chills creeping up my body.
"I need a second."
"You have one minute." His weapon changes to a whip. I'm not sure how but I feel he enjoyed those who took their time and never decided.
Time! That's it, their laws are bound by time and space here. If I can get them to try to execute me in some other place far from this world maybe I have a chance. I start laughing, I might have finally lost it. "I wish to die in a time space rift between worlds."
The executioners weapon changes into a cellphone. "I need help. Yes, it's another crazy guy. Yeah, he wants the slowest most painful death in existence. Thanks, I'll wait for you to start the ritual."
I fall into my knees. That gamble sounds like the worst one I've taken. Although that one that included stealing from the governments and 'donating' it was close second, by the time they figured out I cheated on that table it was too late.
Four hooded men or women appear. They point wands to the floor under me. A circle of light engulfs me. One moment I see them, the other I see everything and nothing at the same time.
I look around and I see more figures. More mes. The one closest to me waves, the but the others scream in agony and pain.
"Why are they screaming?"
"We are trapped between time and space. We have access to all information at the same time and our brains can't handle it."
This wasn't what I thought would happen. My pupils have widened. I have to escape. I can't let this happen to me! "How can we escape?"
"You would have to touch an opening. But they are always just barely far away to not be reached."
My fingers reached out but never quite made it to any of the images passing by. My body is sweating but it's not. I can't feel the droplets on my skin. Nor the tears from my eyes.
In the distance growls and screeches of despair. How many of me are here? When will this all end? I look towards the other side and a new me comes in. Repeating the scene that just happen over and over and over again. | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T07:17:41 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 181 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Will Alice Smith please come to the stand?" I glanced up as the girl in front of me in line stepped forward. She was chained up six ways to Sunday. It was obvious why. A massacre like the one she single-handedly caused would definitely get you locked down tight. "On the charge of 37 counts of murder in the first degree, the court has found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words and choose how you'd like to die-"
I stood silently staring at the ground as Alice giggled. "My last words? Simple. Screw you! I choose old age!" She laughed, but it wasn't a normal laugh. It was the type of laugh you only hear from someone that had long tipped over the edge of true insanity. The judge kept his composure yet again as he raised his gavel. He brought the gavel down with a bone-chilling crack. The woman paled as her cockiness quickly replaced itself with true fear. "Wait! No!" She fell to the ground as her hair turned a morbid grey, her skin wrinkling as the color faded from her eyes. "This isn't-" she paused for a moment, coughing violently as her lungs threatened to give out. "-what I had in mind." She fell completely to the floor, turning to dust, only leaving a pile of clothes where a person once stood.
I felt my stomach churn. I quickly realized old age was off the table. "Lucas Hollins. Please step forward." I stepped silently forward. "It says here you were caught committing adultery with his majesty's bride-to-be and shortly thereafter, you attempted to murder his majesty. Therefore, on the charge of adultery and attempted murder, the court found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words you have and tell how you wish to be executed."
I looked up at the judge, pure hate in my eyes. "I say this whole system is bullshit. Rigged against anyone his majesty deems unworthy, but I don't just mean the judicial system. Our entire society is rigged based on favoritism. I say to hell with it. This wouldn't have happened in the first place if that stuck-up brat of a king hadn't ordered that my love marry him simply for her beauty. I hate him and I hate anyone who admires him. So you know what? I choose to die the only way I know you can't kill me."
The judge simply scoffed at my response. "Is that so? What way is that?"
I simply smiled. "By the hands of my own child."
The judge nodded. "Very well-" I watched him raise the gavel before speaking again, stopping him.
"But you see, your honor. I can't die by the hands of someone who doesn't exist-"
(I may have gotten a bit lost in the details so it's probably longer than it should be, but yeah. I don't really like the end, but I couldn't think of anything else) | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T10:15:26 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 120 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “How would you like to die?”
What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t like to die at all! But still I must give an answer.
I am sentenced for crimes against magic. I tried to poison the Well of Magic. But truly magic is the root of all evil and corruption. It is just a way to cheat the laws of nature.
People without magic are barely 2nd class citizens. It has to stop. I have one last chance.
“By permanently and irrevocably destroying all magic.”
Either it works and my life goal is fulfilled or they refuse to kill me.
“Oh thank goodness!”
Not the answer I expected.
“We are finally free! The curse of magic is broken!” Exclaimed the head mage.
“Told you it would work,” said his vizier.
“You were right. Looks like if we pushed them far enough one of the stupid humans would find the loophole to end magic.”
The whole council faced me and bowed deeply.
“Thank you for fulfilling the prophecy and freeing us all!”
And then there was a blinding flash and I was over. | I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T07:46:07 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 68 | 45 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list.
“Charles Alel, take to the stand.”
Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could -
“Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have.
Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass.
“I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death.
The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline.
A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended.
Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room.
Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had.
The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body.
Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish.
This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny. | Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Whoever said that might as well have been a Prophet.
I'm nearly at the front of the queue. I've been waiting for hours, since I was arrested and interrogated by Enforcers and transported here. It's the most dead silent queue I've ever seen. The Temple reeks of fear and doom. There's a strong hint of urine.
The last person to be executed is carried off by acolytes. She's a middle-aged woman. There's a peaceful look on her face. She asked to die riding the big H.
I don't know what her crime was. She's still writhing as she's taken away, but she's clearly on her way out.
There's only a young man in front of me, now.
I can only just hear it when the inhuman Executioner whispers to him, "You have been convicted. The crime is theft. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
He's trembling. I wonder what he stole. I wonder if it was worth it.
He pauses. Gathers himself. "Old age," he says. His voice cracks. "I want to die of old age."
The Executioner isn't stupid. I don't know much, but I do know this isn't one of those "letter of the law" deals. Unlike us stupid humans, they moved past that cultural hang-up millions of years ago.
But it's still clever. Who knows? It might work. It might give him time. Incidentally, it's what my partner said I should choose if ever I found myself in the Temple.
Alas.
I've never seen a human body contort or transform like his does. It's body horror on overdrive, and not two meters away from me. He ages sixty years or more in a matter of seconds, and then he drops dead. The scream was short, but it pierces the hushed Temple like a banshee cry. There was no mistaking the depths of his pain.
He's almost a skeleton, with skin barely clinging to his bones. He reeks. His shorts are spoiled. Acolytes in crimson shawls drag the husk of him away. They disappear beyond a door, into a hallway.
Death by old age. It's a loophole, right? No. Wrong. Not for beings with such a talent for manipulating time and space, to say nothing of human bodies.
The Executioner glares at me. Or I think he does. It's hard to tell with the mosaic of compound eyes. Acolytes threaten me with prods until I step forward.
They tell us that the choice makes killing us more ethical. They have the audacity to call it "humane". Nothing about them is more inhuman than their view of ethics and logic.
They point to humanity's disastrous custodianship over the Earth's non-human creatures, before they arrived. They say that unlike our swine, our cattle, our poultry, we are given a choice. On my worst days, sometimes I start to see what they mean.
The Executioner whispers, "You have been convicted. The crime is dissent. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
I don't have a Plan B. I'm not sure I could have called the old age idea "Plan A". Maybe I should go out flying high, like the woman before. I'm sure half the people here have their own clever ideas, even though in six years no one has ever come out alive. How will I fare any better?
I spent the last years of my life in fear of saying the wrong words to the wrong people. Criticism of the Salvation carries severe consequences. It's why I'm here now, more or less. But I shake off that fear. What's the worst that can happen, right? I'm dead anyway.
I tell the Executioner, "I'll die when your kind leaves Earth. I'll die when Earth is free."
It makes a motion that might be a laugh, or a chuckle. Mirthless, I'm sure. "You may choose the means of your death. The time is now. You may not choose the time." The speaker hung around its neck, or what passes for one, quietly continues, "You will choose quickly, or your choice will be forfeit and you will die by immolation."
"Then I'll die with the utter destruction of this Temple and every Salvation structure like it on Earth."
It whispers, "No."
I expect more of a response than that. A moment passes. I can only think to say, "No?"
"No. Your time is up. You will die by immolation."
It was pointless, anyway. I couldn't have been the first to think of it. Call it a performance before the damned.
I blink, and I'm on fire.
If life is a rainstorm, this is the ocean. I'm submerged. I can't breathe. I can't orient myself. There's no surface in sight. It's the most pain I've ever known.
It's the time I touched a stove, amplified up to eleven and washing over every inch of skin.
It's the time I touched a live wire, but I'm touching a thousand of them, and no one is there to push me off it.
It's the time I fell onto an ant hive, but the ants are innumerable, crawling in my eyes, in my ears, in my nostrils, in my throat.
I try rolling on the ground. I surprise myself, finding the presence of mind to do so.
Over time, too much time, it becomes more like a dull agony. I can't stop coughing. I feel like I'm hacking up rocks. I smell like a steak.
I'm barely aware as the acolytes pull me away. The fire must have burned itself out. There's nothing left of me for the fire to consume.
They take me through a door, through a hallway, into a vast walled courtyard beside the Temple. The grass is trampled and dying. There's an enormous hill of dirt to one side and an enormous pit to the other.
They throw me into the pit. I can feel myself fading. I look around. I can barely see anything. What little I can see is bodies. Human bodies. I have no way to account for the number of dead here. It's a mass grave.
I have some time to wish I'd chosen differently, but not a lot of it. I hear wind. The grass rustling. Birds and insects chirping. I hear myself coughing. The pain fades slowly to static. Darkness embraces me. | 2021-06-24T10:52:50 | 2021-06-24T10:29:59 | 44 | 26 |
[WP] The emperor laughed and boasted to the human leader. "That was a fun war! Let me know when your soldiers come back alive." "...Are you saying your people do not die? Forever?" "Wait, what?" | When the smile faded from the emperor's face, the human in front of him grinned. He stood there in shackles; chains so heavy he had been forced to shuffle into the resplendent hall and there was still an arrogance about him, a careless disregard for his situation.
A few of the courtiers looked at their supreme lord; his ashy-grey skin glistening with sweat as a servant mopped his brow. He furrowed his brow as he leant forwards in his throne.
"You... die forever? The Great Melody does not sing you back into being?"
Valens scoffed, a sharp noise that was nearly a tut. "We have one life which millions of us have thrown at this war. There's no 'Great Melody' bullshit."
Confusion flickered over the emperor's face as he waved his hand through the air, causing five machines to rise from their charging stations in order to fan his face. Their pulsing ion stabilisers didn't quite drown out the far-distant drone of some sort of space-craft.
"Then... what if your children die? Do they not awaken in a few days, healthy again?"
"No." Valens said, flatly. "If only they did. Then we wouldn't have had to pull their tiny bodies from the rubble you reduced our colony's cities to."
"What do you... do with them, then?" the emperor pressed.
"They're buried or cremated, obviously. We can't leave bodies out in the open to rot. It's unhygienic. And traumatising for their families."
Valens paused, considered this and continued. He was struck hard on the back of the head to finally silence him when half the court had fainted in abject horror. Even the emperor looked weak as he gripped the arms of his throne for support.
Silence! The emperor thought to himself: this species are shards of silence in the Great Melody! It was impossible - only beasts could be Silence. You needed the Melody to be a thinking, feeling, sapient race! And yet, one was stood in front of him now. So they were limited to such short, fragile lives. How did they do it? The dread of mortality was dizzying just for the emperor to think about.
And the far-off droning had grown a little louder, but nothing that seemed to alarm the guards. Perhaps a few more had joined them, but the emperor was sure it was of no concern. Even if the humans did try to strike this planet, the Great Melody would sing them back into life again.
"This war-game, then." tried one of the emperor's advisors.
"Genocide!" Valens barked: "Dress it up all you like, you've killed billions of- what?"
The emperor squinted as deep furrows appeared in his brow. He leant forwards again and pointed at Valens.
"This word. 'Genocide'. What does it mean?"
Valens stared for a moment in open-mouthed bewilderment, and then a terrible smile crawled across his face.
"You didn't study human history." he said, with palpable glee.
"Why-" the emperor hesitated and looked towards his advisors, but they were already frantically scanning their records. They had looted, catalogued and promptly ignored in their blissful arrogance, all the history of the human race as it had been recorded. As one, the advisors' fins drooped as they dropped their tablets from shaking fingers, then turned to run.
Valens watched this with detached amusement. "Guess your Great Melody doesn't make you a hive-mind, then." he commented. "Or else you'd all be running like they are."
One of the guards picked up one of the devices to hand to the emperor. He scanned the displayed screen for a moment, froze, and read it again; more frantically this time. When he looked up, his gem-like eyes were filled with fear.
"You Thorossians are afraid of the Silence-That-Follows because of the jungle." Valens said: "On our home planet, we mostly feared each other. We can do terrible things in the name of victory. By the way, some of your soldiers never made it back, right?"
He bared his teeth. "Imagine," Valens hissed: "what we can learn from a species that won't stay *dead*."
"Kill it!" the emperor shrieked, pointing with a shaking finger at Valens. "Kill the Silence-Beast!"
Valens was laughing now, as the distant droning became loud enough for everyone in the court to hear; it drowned out even Valens' hysterical cackling. He stopped, with maniacal glee in his eyes as he cocked his head, listening.
A few of the courtiers looked around, and then the droning stopped. Silence for a moment as the emperor looked with horrified eyes at Valens. He straightened up.
"We are become *death. Destroyer of worlds."* he announced.
For a moment, those in the hall felt pain. A few would have been aware for long enough to recognise it as the agony that preceded death. They might also have been conscious that something was terribly wrong as their cells ripped themselves apart.
Any Thorossian beyond their home planet was briefly crippled by the terrible scream that echoed through their Great Melody. Some of them were close enough to see the detonation on their home planet; that cloud of smoke and fire that rose from their glittering capital... and flattened it.
There would be no more war games. No more wars at all for the Thoross. They had learned what it was to die, and they did not want to experience it again.
\----------------
r/Eight_Legged_Pest | >**KING'S BLOOD, GOD'S PROMISE**
With a heart so heavy, it felt like it might drop out of my chest, I took the crown into my hands.
I was seventeen, and Kotarja, the fledgling country my father had founded, was now under my control.
This wasn’t a good thing.
Father’s exact cause of death I couldn’t be sure of- he died in a field, surrounded by loyal soldiers. Some said it was exhaustion...that sounded like him. Working himself literally to death. He had been so strong and intelligent- could I ever do justice to the work he had begun?
“My lord, your first declaration?” Advisor Flameth asked. She was an older woman, she knew the histories well, and had served my father faithfully for a very long time.
“Flameth, gather to me the most knowledgeable- the best among artisans, the bricklayers, the alchemists, every profession. I want one of each, voted amongst themselves to represent them. I will listen to the voice of the people.” In truth, this was just deferring my first real actions- I didn’t feel ready to lead.
A few quiet days passed, and, one by one, I spoke with the people of my country. The artisans told me that, if funded, they could produce much more sanitary waste management. Funding was granted. The bricklayers told me that, in conjunction with the military, they could establish farther-flung outposts that would allow us more warning if there was an attack. I went ahead with the project. Merchants asked for better roads- faster roads would mean better quality traded goods, and more safety. I commissioned the brick builders to investigate better road technology as soon as they finished the outposts. The military leaders were split- some wanted a campaign to conquer more territory, others recommended sending envoys to make allies with nearby city-states. I chose to consolidate our existing powers, and only send out envoys.
In the midst of all of these public work projects, a man unlike any other strode into town- he had no horse, but had clearly been traveling for many days. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an impish grin. We knew he was not from around here...and that he was not like us. He walked directly to the castle, where I met him in person.
“What business,” I began, “Does a man such as you have with us?” I asked.
“War.” He whispered fervently. “We had heard a new king was ruling Kotarja- we want to test your mettle.”
“I have no interest in playing at war.” I said flatly. “My country is in the midst of public works projects- if you intend to try and take Kotarja, wait for ten years, then it will be more worth trying to take.”
“Then we will return in ten years, for war.” He said, his eyes burrowing into me. He turned and left.
Flemeth came to my side. “You would make Kotarja more ripe for their picking?”
“I will make Kotarja hard as iron- if they even come when the ten years are up.”
Ten years passed- it felt as though it was forever, yet, looking back at it once it was done, it was the blink of an eye.
Kotarja now had the finest, most sturdy walls in the entire Mediterranian. We had consolidated our powers with all of the nearby city states, allowing us access to the sea trade via every road. Our health and prosperity had never been better- and our military prowess had never been sharper.
As the first day of ‘war’ came, there were no signs of a moving army. No alarms from our far-flung outposts. I began to wonder if the man with intense eyes was bluffing, or merely picking fun at the child-king.
Seven days later, I had all but forgotten the threat- until a sword was at my throat.
“Well done, well done!” The man with intense eyes crooned. He didn’t seem to have aged a day. “We walked around your walls, we could not see a single way in!”
“That is what walls are for, yes. So how did you accomplish this?” He held me by sword-point, with three other men, and the sounds of battle echoed throughout the city.
“You defended the exterior of your city so well, we had no choice but to go underneath.”
“You dug underneath the city? It’s hard, coastal rock under there!” I protested.
“Nothing our men cannot handle- this is not our first time fighting here. It seems your father did not warn you of us.”
“We didn’t give him time, boss.” One of the man’s soldiers said.
“Oh, that’s right. Well, spread the word. Kill them all.”
“What kind of gods-damned monster are you?” I shouted. “What army kills innocents?”
“A little death never hurt anyone.”
“What?!” I shouted.
Eventually, the screams stopped. The city was quiet- and painted red.
“Well, this was fun. Let us know when you want to play again.”
“How could I,” I croaked, my voice sore from shouting and crying, “when all my people are dead?”
“Boss, you really didn’t give the last guy *any* time.” The soldier repeated.
“Oh. *Oh!* Oh, I am an ass.” The man said. He lowered himself to match eyes with me. “Your father, King Kotarja the First, was dying, you see. But he had worshipped the Goddess Samaya for his entire life. She presides over the rot, the decay. His body was hers, as his disease ate him away...yes, his body was hers, as are all of ours, eventually. Samaya struck a deal with the good King Kotarja- if he managed to entertain her legions of the undead, she would grant one free life to the next generation.” He took a deep breath. “The battle he gave us was glorious, yet we only fought a few hundred men. He slaughtered us, again and again- and in doing so, he pleased Samaya.”
“I...I knew nothing of this.” I said.
“Yes, and for that, I am sorry. I forgot you didn’t have the chance to speak with your father before he died. He fought us until he collapsed of exhaustion- but he passed with a smile on his face. His dying request was that we would give the same challenge to you...but I failed, because I did not explain myself properly. I was excited, too excited by far, to have the opportunity to have that kind of battle again.”
The man continued. “We will return all of the lives to your people, and all will retain the extra life your father won for them...but we will return, this time in three years, and we will try again. There is nothing like combat, when your life is freely given. I hope to see you on the field, when the time comes.”
That was my first meeting with the Samayan army of the Undead, and the Emperor who oversaw them. It would not be the last- in fact, it wasn’t even the last time I saw him that *year,* as a much more grave fight soon began than our planned little playing at war. There were forced more terrible than Samaya, more powerful than the Gods- and now that I had stepped into the arena of immortals, there was no going back. What came next tested my leadership, my dedication to my principals, my love for humanity- and my own will to live, all with the Emperor of the Undead fighting at my side.
------------------------
r/nystorm_writes if you want this to be made into a proper, full story! | 2021-07-13T11:14:50 | 2021-07-13T10:05:14 | 1,222 | 235 |
[WP] You are the villain's right hand, the only one he has kept close to his side for generations. "I don't understand, why?" You shrug. "I was nice to him once. He was just a kid then, lonely and scared." | The police officer sipped his cup, presumably of cheap coffee if stereotypes were to be believed. I hummed as I tugged at the handcuffs attaching me to the interrogation table.
"Is that really necessary for a 65 year old man?" I ask tiredly. It was hard to tell the time, but I tended to be asleep between 8 and 9. Also stereotypical. But I am a tired old man. The officer doesn't seem to be that old. 35 at most.
"For the right hand of the countries most notorious crime lord since Al Capone? Absolutely" the officer replied. Did he introduce himself? Can't say I remember his name if he did. Maybe I should get a test when I get chance. Make sure my mind is still sharp. Pretty sure it is, but then again would you actually notice if your mind was going?
He said something. Seems annoyed.
"Sorry, lost my train of thought." I apologize. The irritation on his face leaks into his reply. A bit rudely. Not that I truly care but still. Damn kids.
"I said, how did this old nobody become right hand to a crime lord?" The officer asks, brow furrowed. His hand twitches towards his pocket. I'm guessing he wants a smoke. The breast pocket on his uniform has a bulge like a pack of smokes.
"I'll tell you for a smoke" I offer, grinning at the widening of his eyes. He pulls free the pack. Cheaper than my normal brand but still. Cop pay is shit in the city. Unless you're a dirty cop anyways.
I pop it into my mouth, sucking as the cop lights the cigarette. I exhale, savoring the cheap smoke as my old eyes close and thoughts gather. I hear an intake of breath as the cop prepares to speak. I cut him off. His voice is getting irritating.
"Story is pretty simple really. I met him as a kid. He was out on the street, lonely and scared and hungry. Squirrelly too, but I'm sure the boys in blue already know that."
The grinding of his teeth is audible as I puff on the cigarette a moment and then continue.
"Took him in. He wasn't a bad kid. Angry. Ditched by his mom and dad was a drug addict. I made sure he had food in his belly, shelter. Education, well as good an education as I could afford to get him. He was smart enough that school really didn't seem to help him much. He realized the other kids were little shits and showed them why he wasn't one to fuck with. Soon they all surrounded him, rallied around the banner of the kid who always had a plan. Things... escalated from there."
"So your saying you failed as a parent, for some abandoned street rat who then became a monster?" The cop says. His voice is icy.
"Monster is a strong word," I reply "bankers take people's homes. Insurance companies refuse to approve a percentage of medical claims. Both these events could lead to people's deaths from exposure and illness. They kill far more and have for far longer. He does what he always does, fight back when he is the one attacked."
The cop jumps when the screaming and gunfire roar outside the interrogation room. I roll my eyes. The boy had apparently decided to send a message.
"Unfortunately for you," I close my eyes again as the gunfire lulls. I assume the boys are reloading and clearing the building. Only a few moments left and I'd be on my way to the safehouse. "Now he fights when anyone in his family is threatened."
"Thank you for the cigarette." | The resistance was getting out of hand. Another day, another ambushed carriage, murdered patrolman, or burned tower. I had told them to tone it down, that it all was going to be over soon, but against my commands they continued to raid.
In front of us, my liege and me, lay one such resistance member. His arms and legs were shackled, and he stood on all fours. A black bag covered his entire face. It was to make sure he couldn't figure out where he was. I got up from my seat and removed the bag. I didn't recognize him—he was so young. His smooth complexion and trendy haircut reminded me of the old days. Back when my liege was just Andy, and I was nothing more than his friend. But that was fifty years ago. Now we ruled the kingdom, and were hated by all.
"What do you think?" I asked the king. I was seated next to him in a throne not as nice as his, but I didn't mind. "He was brought in this morning."
"Boy," the king boomed, "why do you fight against me? You are much too young to know why the old-heads rebel. You should not throw your life away like this."
The kid looked Andy in the eyes and spit in his direction. Andy shook his head.
"To the dungeon with him, Christian."
"As you wish," I said, getting up from my chair to lead the boy down.
The dungeon was an enormous space underground. Half the kingdom was locked up down there. The resistance had a lot of traction. I guided the boy by a rope tied around his hands.
"I don't understand, why?" he asked. I had grown accustomed to this now. The walk down was lengthy, and the prisoner would always speak to me. "I know who you are, and I know I'm safe. But I just don't understand. Why do you serve him?"
I shrugged. "I was nice to him once. He was just a kid then, lonely and scared. As was I, but some mature quicker than others. Believe it or not he isn't that much different from back then."
"Not much different? He is a vile ruler who has sentenced thousands to death. He is no lost little boy."
"He has *sentenced* thousands, I agree," I said while opening the door to the dungeon. "But nobody has been killed. I make sure of that."
Inside, lit by innumerable torches on the walls, the boy saw the people like him. People with a dream and enough gall to follow it. They watched as I led him to the end of the hall. I put him in a cage with three others.
"Hello, gentlemen," I said. They nodded towards me. "I hope all is well."
"When will you let us out?" one asked. "You promised we wouldn't be here forever."
"The day is upon us. Tomorrow you shall be free," I said, as I locked the gate. "And boy, I assure you the king is still the same lonely and afraid child he once was."
Sweat drenched my shirt as I made my way up the long staircase. I took it off and slung it over my shoulder. I had gotten old, yes, but my body remained young. There were no loose flaps, no extra skin. My abdominals still showed. My arms, while not as thick as they once had been, were sizeable. My legs were like great oaks.
In the throne room, I spoke with Andy. His eyes couldn't stop glancing down from my face. My muscles glistened with sweat. For decades he had sneaked peeks at me, and he still thought I didn't know. Yes, he still was the same scared little boy.
"The prisoner has been locked up," I said. "I am going to wash myself."
He bit his lip. "Very good. I expect you will be down for dinner?"
"Of course."
At dinner, he drank. He drank in an attempt to block out his feelings. Every night he did it. I sometimes wondered if his liver and heart had gotten switched at birth. After our meal was finished, we went to our separate rooms. I knew he had his ear to the wall, trying to listen to me undress.
There was no resistance member the next day. Finally, for once, they had obeyed my commands. The sun refracted through a window and cast a rainbow on the ground.
"It looks like we have finally quelled the war," Andy said. "If only it hadn't taken so long."
"Indeed," I said. I got up and took him by the hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked, as I led him, just as I did the boy from yesterday.
"I need to show you something," I said. As we walked down the stairs to the dungeon he never let go of my hand. His hand was soft and I could feel his nervous heartbeat. We went down in silence, neither of us daring to break the fragile air.
I opened the door and instantly he went on alert.
"What is this?" he asked, seeing all the open gates. Despite their freedom available, all the prisoners remained in their cages. "Have you too finally betrayed me?"
"Andy," I said. "Look at us. We're so old now. Let's stop this game and finally begin the life we both want."
I brought his head towards mine and I saw the fear in his eyes. The same hesitance from our childhood; the thing he so poorly hid. Through iron bars, everyone watched as I brought my lips to his.
There was no resistance. | 2022-02-08T00:16:57 | 2022-02-07T21:53:56 | 44 | 22 |
[WP] When bargaining with the Fae, it's far safer to start by stating what you're willing to pay and see what you can get for it. But sometimes you just have to get one specific boon - in your case, you need a terminal illness cured. | "Edward I don't think you understand what you're asking for here." The Fae creature spoke, worry in their eyes as I shook my head.
"I understand the consequences of what I wish for and the price that it will cost."
The Fae creature paced back and forth as their wings fluttered with worry. "Edward I say this because I deeply care about you..." A sharp breath broke their sentence before they continued. "Not everyone is worth saving. Life is precious but so is death."
"I know but please, you're the only one who can do this."
With a strained gaze the Fae relented, gently laying their hand on my head. "Then so be it. No more will your kind suffer from unknown assailants, no longer will your children be bound to bed on winter nights. Under my authority I grant you knowledge unknown and the wisdom to know that your gift will be scorned."
While what I wished for was a cure I received something greater, a way to completely wipeout this illness for future generations. With a smile I embraced the Fae. "Thank you... And goodbye."
With every step I took I could feel the price being paid. Each night under the stars, drinks shared, and stories told. All fading away. I could barely remember their face anymore.
Waking up at my desk I rubbed my eyes. Wiping the tears away I looked down at my notes and smiled. If this worked then the plague could be stopped. All I needed now was a few samples of cow pox and a few willing folks to test on | The gorgeous greens, beautiful blues and perfect palette of other colours that draped the deep woods in a bombastic tone did nothing to mask the sense of dread growing in my stomach. Strange creatures, the likes of which I hadn’t even heard of in tales slinked through the undergrowth hissing and howling at the intruder. Me.
I took each step with care so as to not accidentally anger anything and cause more damage than I was already going to.
Though the forest was growing thicker around me, a distinct path still snaked through the trees and brambles. The once rich colours were now becoming duller as sunlight failed to penetrate the upper canopies and shine below. Glowing pairs of eyes that belonged to no visible bodies stared from behind the tree line. I would have thought them illusions or fake had they not blinked several times already. I continued on feeling the sweat on palms grow more abundant by the second.
Eventually, after what felt like hours I rounded a corner to find a clearing. Sun shone through a gap in the branches above bathing the clearing in an almost heavenly light. In the centre was a bony, stick figure hunched over on a log. It’s back was towards me as it’s tendril-like arms reached towards and crushed what seemed to be some kind of beetle.
“Why do you enter my sanctuary?” A high pitched, almost shriek-like speech coursed through the air.
“I… I’ve come to make a deal.”
“A deal? A deal you say?” The creature jumped up, it’s legs now extending to their full length, almost three quarters my height. The creatures hands clapped as it waltzed over towards me.
“What is the deal? Riches? Lovers? Power?” The creature grinned as images flashed through my mind. A treasury filled to the brim with golden coins. Beautiful temptresses filling a room with me in the centre. A throne with a crown perched upon it.
“No no. None of this.” I shook my head. “I require an illness cured.”
“Your price, what is your price?” I flashed a silver coin and the creature cackled. It’s head arched backwards and it’s body shook so violently it seemed as though it’s limbs may have broken.
“You jest?” It said. I bowed my head and withdrew my hand. The creature walked away.
“I can provide what you seek. For the price you offer,” it said. I almost cried with joy.
“You can?”
“Why of course I can. You simply wish to know how to cure the illness?” Bony, twig like fingers arched through the air.
“Yes. That, that is enough.” I looked up at the creature as it grinned even wider then before. It stretched it’s hand out. I held out the coin. I hesitated and stared at the glinting surface before tipping it into the hand.
“Payment. Payment has been made.” The creature jumped around for a second. “The disease can only be cured by faean magic.” The creature began to walk away.
“Wait… is that it? Where are you going?” I shouted. I clenched my fists as I felt myself stiffen.
“You paid to know how. I tell you how. That is the deal. The deal is fulfilled.” The creature disappeared in a puff of pink clouds.
“Come back with more payment. Maybe new deal can be made.” The hole in the canopy above closed leaving the clearing in darkness.
“Wait. Wait. Please, wait.”
Nothing. | 2022-07-10T12:36:47 | 2022-07-10T07:55:22 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] The world ended 20 years ago, you haven't found a living soul since then. Through some ingenuity, you call voicemails for the last 20 years to keep you company. "Hi, this is Cindy..." "Hi you reached Bob" "You know what to do at the beep" until one day "Hello...hello? Oh my God hello!" | It’s been 20 years. 20 years of loneliness and isolation. I’ve worn down the buttons on this phone to nubs. It’s a Nokia. They’re the best but even they have their limits. Each day I dial. Number after number, I take solace in the strange voices, the greetings and jokes, I’m particularly fond of the music.
I press the final button and hear the familiar ring, waiting for the final ring before I hear a new voice, a new name, when suddenly I hear a click.
“Hello?…Hello? Oh my god! Hello?”
I take a deep breath. This is it! It’s finally happened! Finally, a real human connection!
“Hello,” I say, “We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.” | “Good GOD! Cassidy?” I cry, clutching the phone to my face for dear life. How have I not known for all this time, that Cassidy Reeve, a contact I only had saved in my phone from one group project in undergrad, was alive, and out there all along.
“Hello?” The voice answers back, seeking likewise surprised.
“This — this is D-Daniel!“ I sputter, feeing the world tilt around me. At last. A lifeline.
The connection sounds weak. “Who is this?” She says, and I clutch the phone even tighter.
“Daniel H,” I say, slowing down and enunciating every syllable. “From Biology class in college— are you— is this really you?”
Then my world stops spinning as relief washes over me. Her reply is full of recognition. “Oh! It’s great to hear from you!”
I can’t waste any time. This is my chance. If there’s a voice on the other end of this line, then that means… there’s hope.
“Cassidy, listen. I’m somewhere in the Canadian Volcano Pits,” I say, looking around me. All lava and smoke as far as the eye can see. “Where are you? How did you survive? Are there others?”
“I’m doing well!” She says with the slightest hint of a laugh.
“You’re alive? And well?”
I’m baffled. The word was a wasteland, how has she managed to survive this long and in such good spirits.
“How about you?” She asks me.
“I’m in hell. Listen,” I say, “if you and I are alive, then maybe there’s others. If you know where you are—“
“Aw that’s great!” She says sweetly.
I pause. Great? The volcano pits are GREAT to her? I hold my breath, unsure how to respond.
But before I can speak, she cuts in, saying, “Oh wow!”
I look from my phone straight out ahead of me. I purse my lips, and wait a moment more. Sure enough, she speaks again.
“No way, dude!”
I bring my hand to my temple to stem the sudden headache. “Cassidy if this is a fucking voicemail—“
She cuts me off with a gleeful, “ANYWAYS, I gotcha! Leave a message after the beep!”
Then it beeps.
I sigh. The world crumbles around me once more, hollowing out into the great, wide, oppressively empty chasm it was just moments before. My utter solitude slams back into me like a knife. I’m going to die out here. Alone in the wasteland, unknown, unloved, unmourned.
“Fuck you, Cass,” I say into the phone, before throwing it into the nearest volcano pit.
That Cassidy always was one for practical jokes. | 2022-12-21T13:22:52 | 2022-12-21T13:13:24 | 107 | 54 |
[WP] You learn your 'deaf' wife lied and has been able to hear everything.
Or husband! | Her hands are a blur, furious signing.
Our son glances uneasily between us. "She says you don't even understand why she's mad."
I don't feel as bad about making him translate now that he's older. He has the advantage of having grown up with it and it makes things a lot easier.
She turns her back and takes three dramatic steps toward the door.
"Ugh... Quit being such a *bitch*..." I mutter. I wince immediately. The kid shouldn't have to hear that.
Her head whirls around and she stares at me.
I cock my head toward our son, wondering if he's seen the same thing I did. He looks confused.
"*What* did you call me?" she hisses, more clearly than I've ever hear her speak.
For a moment I hesitate. People have secrets, even in a marriage. This seems like a big one.
I hold my hand ostenatiously over my mouth the way I occasionally would to keep her from reading my lips when I was telling the kids they could stay up late. She closes the gap between us and stands close, looking formidable.
I look past her, not acknowledging her change of posture.
"Bitch."
Her arm swings up to slap me and I instinctively lean away. The tips of her fingers blow air across my face as the look of fury on her face changes to confusion.
Several seconds pass.
"Wait..." My son's voice breaks the silence. "Dad, you can *see*?" | "The whole time I've known you. The whole time. And you just decide to tell me you're not really deaf today?" I say in disbelief, sitting down across from my husband, Robert, in our kitchen.
"Yes." Is all he says, clearly, for the first time I've heard in his real voice. I wait for him to say more, but he just sits there, staring, smiling at me eerily.
"Why?!" I ask, yelling and pounding my fist on the table angrily.
"I wanted to hear what you really had to say. What you really thought of me. It told me a lot to hear the things you'd scream about me with your face turned." Robert replies, still smiling that knowing smile.
"I didn't mean... I mean, It isn't like I said anything odd. Most people keep an incredible amount of things to themselves. You just frustrate me sometimes." I answer, putting my head in my hands.
I look up to see him standing over me, still smiling.
"This is it. The last time you hear me talk. Remember what you said about my mother?" Robert says, pulling out a gun.
"What the fuck, Rob? Where did you get a-" I start. Then he points the gun at me. I flinch and then begin to laugh.
"What?" He asks with a puzzled look on his face.
"What I said about your mom. It's true. And you're not going to shoot me. You're not that stupid or that attached to your mom." I answer, getting up and pulling the barrel of the gun to my chest, goading him.
Rob puts the gun back into his pocket. "You're right. It all just... Flashed in front of me. All the anger I've felt over the years. I'm sorry." He says, tears coming from his eyes.
"That was pretty fucked up, Rob. I get it, kinda. But wow." I say, taking a sharp intake of breath. "I thought I was the angry one."
"You really don't know much about me at all." Rob replies, wiping away the tears from his face.
"Apparently not." I answer, sitting back down.
"I know enough about you to send you to jail, though." He says, smiling again.
"For what?" I ask, confused.
"Adultery. Theft. You name it. I've been listening to your little conversations with Jen, too." He answers, laughing.
"What the fuck is with that smile?" I ask, creeped out by it.
"Knowledge. I've been building it up. It makes me feel powerful and happy." He says, putting the gun on the table and spinning it around childishly.
"Who are you? I mean, really?" I ask, getting up from the table again.
"Apparently just the 'asshole' that married you." He says, looking into the barrel of the gun.
"Should you really have that pointed at yourself?" I ask, concerned.
"Eh. It isn't loaded. See?" He answers, pointing it at me. I hold my breath and I close my eyes tightly. I hear the empty 'click.' I open my eyes and he cocks it again.
"Just to make sure." He says, pushing the trigger again. I hear the gun fire and I'm quickly on the ground.
He comes over and stands by me. His face hasn't moved a muscle from the previous grin. "Yes, I am that close to my mom."
| 2015-05-05T16:27:53 | 2015-05-05T15:56:32 | 44 | 11 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | You know that feeling you get, when you think you're alone, head down, bumming along doing your own thing, when you suddenly realise someone's been there the whole time, watching you? It's a jump, a kick-start, a burst of adrenaline... your whole body saying "something's not right, be on guard". You immediately begin to second guess you actions, what was I doing, how did I miss them, what are their intentions? It's a deep, primal, animalistic response to being startled.
That's the feeling I got when I caught a glimpse of the flag the first time.
There I am, one of 3 people on an entire planet, scouting for physical evidence of ancient river beds. We'd been here for 4 Earth days at this point, so I was used to the un-exciting terrain. Rocks and dust everywhere. Red and black and brown, endlessly in all directions. I had come around a small rocky hill, scanning this horizon, when there it was to my left, a flag-pole.
I think I did a double-take. Half "that's a flag-pole", half "THAT'S A FLAG POLE." I stopped dead in my tracks and re-evaluated my position. I was on Mars. There were 3 of us. Nobody had ever, ever, ever been here before. None of my crew-members had been out this way. But yet... that was distinctly a flag pole. As I approached it, the wind kicked up and revealed the tattered remains of a cold war era Soviet flag... had to be at least 100 years old. My mind was still trying to wrap itself around why this was here, and my body was telling me to run. My hands felt sweaty and my breathing was heavy. At the base of the flag was a black cube, about a foot each dimension. It had handprints set into two sides.
My curiosity got the better of me. At this point, I really should have radioed into my team to tell them what I had found. I should have marked the location on my nav-map, and retreated, to be explored later. I shouldn't have touched the box. But I did. I placed my hands where the outlines were on each side, and as I did, my head exploded.
It was like a shot of light stabbing me in the eyes. A searing pain gripping my entire body. Unholy screams tearing through my ears. Unable to breath, unable to move, it felt like I was being compressed into a marble and torn into a billion pieces at the same time. The event lasted for what seemed like a lifetime, and then... it just stopped. I was left with an understanding. Knowledge. Somehow, the cube had implanted a lesson in me, instantaneously. I knew why the Soviet flag was here. I knew why the Russians had never claimed any great accomplishment on Mars. I knew why the cube was here. It was a warning, a last ditch effort by humanity of old to save us from ourselves. I knew it all to be true.
The solar system had been seeded with life by a passing comet several billion years ago. Earth, Mars, and a third planet between Mars and Jupiter, understood as "Utopia" in the transfer. Similar life forms evolved on each of the planets, but Humanity had evolved on Utopia within the last several hundred thousand years. Over time, humanity had reached the point of being able to visit the other two worlds, and had begun to establish small colonies for research.
Over time, Mars would become more heavily populated. Earth was the sore thumb of the trio, with the least favourable environment, and was therefore left to the scientists to poke and prod at, never a plan for full colonization. Mars became a second arm of the human civilization, growing larger and attaining it's own identity. Political strife created a rift between Mars and Utopia, and eventually, war. War that would last 1,000 years. War that was so engrained into the minds of the Martians and the Utopians, that they did not know another existence. War that was taken to such extremes, that when the Utopians began the irreversible process of syphoning Mars' atmosphere, the Martians blew up Utopia. I could feel the pain of billions of lives lost, as though I was there to witness the events unfold.
The remnants of humanity that were able to escape Mars left for Earth, and left behind the cubes as a reminder of what once was, and a warning that there were no more second chances. Earth is all there is left.
The history books will tell you that America won the Cold War. But I now understood the truth... the Soviets had won, and they had won by silently backing down for the good of humanity. There would be no second chance, we were already living it. | "Neil Armstrong once said 'That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' I'm not one to argue with him. However, if landing on the moon was a leap, my stepping here on Mars would be like a plane ride."
Mayers laughed. "Don't knock on what Neil Armstrong did. It was important, and is what brought us here."
"I'm not knocking on what he did, just making an observation. We probably should check in with Houston."
"Yeah, we probably should."
"Houston, we have touched down. Mars is something completely different. Amazing. Beautiful I'd even wager. Over."
"That's great news Murray. We're glad to hear you landed safe. What do you see? Over."
"The red sea." I broke out into a laugh at my poor attempt at a joke. When I finally stopped laughing, I was able to choke out "Over."
"I think your laugh at that shitty joke was much better. Any signs of life? Over."
"Not yet. We still have to explore some though. According to HAL, we should be able to explore for about 3 hours before we need to return to the ship, over."
"Keep us updated. Out."
I looked around and all I could see was red. Everywhere. I look at Mayers, "Which way?"
"Forward."
"Let's begin."
We walk forward. The new suits NASA designed for us make it seem like we are still walking on Earth. It's an amazing advancement, and makes this exploration so much better. "Wait, there's something we need to do."
"What?"
I head back to the ship and grab the American flag. "We can't forget this baby." I stab it down into the ground. "'Murica."
I catch up to where Mayers is standing and we continue on. "I think it would make sense to get on top of one of those hills. We will be able to see more."
"Sounds good."
We slightly change course to a nearby hill. The hike up it didn't provide much trouble, but I still needed to catch my breath a little bit after it. We look around and see something in the distance. "What the hell is that? It's definitely not a hill."
"I'm not quite sure. Radio it in."
"Erm... Houston, we see something. It's relatively skinny, definitely not a hill and from the distance looks like it isn't natural. What should we do, over?"
"Wait for instructions, Murray. We'll be back in a moment, over."
Mayers and myself sit down on the hill staring at it. It's just a black shade in the distance. "HAL, how much more time do we have?"
"1 hour 13 minutes 22 seconds remaining."
"Thanks HAL."
Mayers and I look at each other. "Think we can make it today?"
"If Houston gets back to us."
We sit for a few more minutes and then hear some static. "Murray, Mayers, this is James with Houston. We would like you to approach the object. Be careful, and be ready to hightail it out of there. Out."
Mayers and I stand up, and begin the journey to the object. As we get closer, we both stop in amazement. "Houston, there is a problem. Over."
"Yes? Over."
"It seems like someone beat us here. It's a Soviet flag, over."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, over?"
"It's an old Soviet flag here. Over."
"Return to the ship, and we'll give more instructions soon. Out."
I look at Mayers, "Head back now, or explore around here a little bit."
"Let's explore a bit."
We walk around the flag looking for any other signs of their time here. Suddenly, my foot hits something and I fall over to the ground. After I regain my composure, I turn around to see what I tripped over.
"Uhh... Mayers, get over here."
In a few minutes, Mayers is at my side and we both stare down in amazement. The body of an old Soviet astronaut lies in front of us. I bend down and wipe the dust off of the glass cover, but then I recoil in horror.
"What the fuck is wrong with him!?"
Mayers bends down and examines him closer.
"Houston, come in now, over."
"What is the issue, Mayers? Over."
"We decided to explore the area a bit more. We found something else. Over."
"What is it, over."
"It's the body of one of the Soviet astronauts. Somethings terribly wrong with him. His eyes are black as the night, and it looks like all of his veins turned black as well. Over."
"Get out of there, guys. Now. Over."
"You don't have to tell us twice, out."
Mayers and I start heading back to the ship.
"Help..." we hear meekly.
We both stop dead in our tracks, and whirl around. "What the fuck?!"
The astronaut has sat up and is staring right at us. "Help..." he says again.
"How the fuck?" I say in shock, "It's time to leave." I turn around but I see Mayers hasn't yet. "Mayers! Let's move. This isn't right. He shouldn't be alive. He can't be."
Mayers turns to look at me and the first thing I notice is his eyes. They're black. I look over at the old Soviet astronaut and he is back on the ground, dead. Oh fuck no. I start to back up slowly.
"Mayers... what's wrong."
"Nothing, Murray. Why would you think something is wrong."
"Erm... your eyes aren't exactly.. normal."
Mayers starts walking a bit faster towards me. "Nothings wrong with my eyes. I see just fine."
I hightail it back to the ship, or I try to. Before I know it, Mayers has thrown me to the ground. "Where are you going, Murray."
"I need to get back to the ship. Inform Houston of what we've found."
"That's okay, I'll do it."
Suddenly, I see Mayers fist coming down at me, but I can't cover my mask before it hits it. The glass helmet shatters, and instantly I can't breath. "Mayers... why..." I choke out.
"Houston, we have a problem. We need an evac immediately. Murray's helmet has shattered. We're heading back to the ship. Over."
"Evac is on it's way. Out."
Mayers bends down to me, but I barely recognize it's him because everything is getting so dark. I see him grinning wide, and then barely hear "Thanks."
----------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to /u/The_White_Light for explaining they don't actually say "Over and Out," just "Out." | 2016-08-16T09:12:32 | 2016-08-16T08:15:09 | 1,296 | 147 |
[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events. | "Happy Birthday" the room full of faces cheered as a small flame was lit over a large wax 4 and 2.
Jonathan had lived this far without using any luck. Just a lifetime of hard work, pulled bootstraps, and an endless stream of disappointment. But he was saving it, saving it for something big. Or at least that's what he reminded himself every year as he blew out the candles.
But then, as he knelt down toward the little flames with lips puckered and breath held he saw her. She was standing next to Tom, that guy from work he always overheard on the otherside of the cubicle wall. *That* was his sister? Time slowed as he started to blow out the candles. He could get lucky tonight. He could get really lucky.
But he remembered what he was saving it for. Just like all those Max Health powerups and super grenade energy missiles and extra poison resistance items in all those video games - *he had to save it*. What if something even better came along later? What if he NEEDED this luck to survive? Besides, he had girls before, and he could win her affection without any help. So Jonathan blew out the candles to the claps and cheers from the crowd.
He felt sick. Did he hold he breath too long? Just a little lightheaded. He tried not to think about it, and perhaps it was just the elation and adrenaline as he walked toward the girl.
"Hey. You're Tom's sister, right?"
"Yeah. Happy Birthday."
They talked for what seemed like hours. The crowd thinned as time went on. A few people passed out on the couch. But they still talked, laughed, and flirted with increasing intensity. Who needs luck, he thought, as he asked her upstairs. He was tired from the day, but fuck it if he was going to sleep now. He forced himself up the stairs with her gentle hand in his. His pants tightened. Her smile turned to a smirk, and he kissed her. He laid her down onto the bed, where they both died of monoxide poisoning, as had the rest of the party. | The guy with the gun sprinted down the street and turned down an alley, not sure if he could even hear the bank teller following him over the sound of his own pounding heart. His left ankle clipped something and he went sprawling, his pistol sliding just out of reach. He didn’t even see whatever he tripped over, which was a pretty bad sign. After saving up his luck for a year for this day, this wasn’t a good time for it to run out. And just then, just to seal the deal, the detective stepped into the alley holding a fire extinguisher. He reached out for his gun.
“Nuh uh, hold on just a second,” the teller said, leveling the fire extinguisher at him. “I know what you’re thinking. Shoot the idiot holding the fire extinguisher. You maybe could. I watched you back there in the bank, you had some moves. When you shot out the security camera, and the bullet ricocheted around, taking out two more cameras before knocking over the picture frame that knocked the guard unconscious - that was slick, man. Really impressive. Lucky, even.” The detective grinned like he and the gunman shared a secret.
“But I have to wonder,” he continued, “how much luck did you use? It seemed like you were even showing off for a little while. I’m sure you had a lot saved up, but how much?” He walked slowly toward the gunman, the nozzle aimed at his face. “I know what you’re thinking. How much luck could you possibly need to pick up that gun and shoot me? You’re out of breath, though. Your heart rate is up, and I bet pumping with adrenaline. Do you have enough luck left to make that first shot go straight?”
Yeah, thought the guy with the gun as he sat up, but I bet the second or third or fourth might have a better chance. If only he could remember how many he’d already fired. Shit. The teller pulled over a milk crate, sat down, and set the fire extinguisher next to him. What an asshole.
“Now,” the teller continued, “let me tell you a little about my life. I live under the desk at the bank. I don’t mean that I work a lot. I mean that I live there. I haven’t been paid in months, because a glitch in the payroll system deletes my file every. Single. Month. Not the same glitch. Different glitches. I’d drink my sorrows away, but I have this one-in-a-million genetic thing where…well, you get the picture. I don’t use a lot of luck.” He hoisted the fire extinguisher onto his knee. “So maybe I’d spray this thing at you and look like a moron. Or maybe I’ve got enough luck saved up to make just about anything happen. So you gotta ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”
The gunman watched him for a moment, and then grabbed for the gun. The teller aimed the nozzle of the fire extinguisher and pulled the trigger. A cloud of fire retardant dust sprayed out, right into the gunman’s god damn eye. He dropped the pistol as his hand shot up to cover his face, and a shot went off as it hit the ground. The bullet ricocheted off a wall before grazing the gunman in the head, miraculously knocking him unconscious rather than killing him.
The teller dropped the fire extinguisher and stared at the gunman’s unconscious body for a minute. “Maybe I used a little much,” he muttered to himself. Two uniformed policemen, the bank’s president, the teller’s crush, and the guy who used to pick on him in high school came running around the corner into the entrance of the alley.
“What happened here?” shouted one of the cops.
“He’s a hero, and I’ve got proof right here!” yelled another man, crossing the street toward them and gesturing at the video camera in his hand. The newcomers all eagerly gathered around to watch the evidence.
"Yeah, way too much. Tone it back," the teller said, stumbling over an empty soda can before joining the others. | 2016-10-19T13:16:31 | 2016-10-19T11:57:31 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 11:56am, on the 6th of November, 2018. The family had gathered around, Uncle Leon and his boyfriend David, my Mum and most importantly; my sister.
My Uncle had been given ***COLLECTOR*** and spent the majority of his life as a Tax Collector, in and out of offices and working with Trackers for the New Earth Government. My Grandfather was given ***SOLDIER*** and he fought during the Vietnam War and served his entire career in the Army while my mother was given ***INSPIRE***, through the hardships she experienced in life she would one day go on to become a world-renown philanthropist and built a successful business to help others in need.
11:57...
"I can't wait to see what you'll get! I hope it'll be Hero or Protector, imagine that, having a big brother as a hero!" Exclaimed my sister,
I chuckled, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."
11:58...
I looked up to see people I'd known and loved during my 18-year tenure on this world and I was only two minutes from discovering my future.
11:59...
My Uncle came over and shook my hand, "Whatever happens mate, we'll love you no matter what."
I smiled in return and closed my eyes, ready for the big moment.
12:00...
I gritted my teeth, feeling the burning sensation as the word was etched into my arm. I opened my eyes to see my family, standing there, terrified. I slowly tilted my head downwards and saw five letters sitting there;
***DEATH***
My mum broke down, years of working hard to give us, her kids a better life gone to waste. My Uncle started to walk over as I felt yet another sensation in my arm...
"Oh my God... Look!"
Afraid to see what awaited me, I looked down at my arm once more and what I saw... I will never forget.
***DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS***
EDIT: This is my first WP so go nice please :)
| Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-16T02:18:58 | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 212 | 80 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
| Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48 | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 129 | 80 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle" | A tune only truly recognized by the oldest of us plays on the music-player in our living room. “Santa Claus is coming...” it sings to the 17 of us who are in the room. Some are drinking, others just talking, trying to hold on to the traditions of the old world. I just sit here on the couch, trying to enjoy myself. I get up and walk to the table, thirsty for something, maybe a drink or maybe just something to end the boredom that comes in our shelter. So I take my drink, something called “7-Up,” and just walk around a little. There’s not much to do. There’s a few adults and plenty of little children, and just 2 elders. But I’m the only teenager here. The last time there was somebody who I was actually friends with was, well, last Christmas. Before Hannah and her dad left. Brushing the thought from my mind, I leave the living room and pass through the quarters hallway, walking by all the bedrooms. I climb the stairs and go to my favorite place, the only place in my world where I can see it. The outside. I pull myself up to a hidden little loft and lay back. I begin to relax, still hearing the “Christmas” music in the background. But looking out the only window in our world, I admire the stars, and see something I’ve never seen before. One star, moving. Flying through the sky. I jump to my feet and look through the window. It’s mesmerizing. Wait. What the hell. It’s getting bigger. Closer. Closer. The “star” becomes a string of lights, flying in to us. Our home. What are those? Are those? I had never heard of mutant deer who could fly. Maybe they could be those Purvaks I had heard about? Those deer could jump nearly 50 yards at a time. But no, these were different. These were flying. Holy shit. They’re landing. And behind them, a sled? What is that? The thing, whatever it is, flies down, and comes to, Well, a rather rough landing into the sandy ground. It’s loud, and rather very messy. And so now, the sleigh and with it, the mutant deer, or at least what I think are deer. Out from the sleigh steps a man, dressed in all red, and with him a bag. What do I do? Do I sound the alarm? Tell somebody? Holy shit. Holy shit. No. I’m just gonna stay here. And see what happens. The man looks older now, from what I can see of him. Huge white beard, and some weird foreign hat on his head. His boots tell me military, but his, well very honestly, costume tells me freak. He walks to the window I now look at. And knocks. | 2017-12-22T15:31:03 | 2017-12-22T15:03:10 | 77 | 26 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | "Hey doc, you gotta come see this, the midwife is freaking out."
What's the problem Terry? Why's Sarah freaking out?
"Well doc, you see.. these charts are from St. Ford's and several emails from our friends at Marymount reported the same for the past week."
So, what? A meteor hits or something? Super volcanoes? We would've heard, *I* would've heard from my colleagues - this isn't related to a *natural* disaster.
"So what do you think? Politics? War? No way it's an indicator for a nuclear threat."
What about *the cure*? It's been on the news. These children will be the last ones to have an organic death - or the choice to. | The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post. | 2017-12-25T15:06:43 | 2017-12-25T14:14:17 | 161 | 13 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | It was Percy who had the idea. The way to save the world. We reckoned that if they all shared the same deathdate, the human race was going to go extinct that week. But Percy, he told us how it could maybe be bypassed.
The only way to save the future is to create it. We know the children are going to die, that is a fact. But if we decide to kill those children, we can avoid the possible apocalypse, and the children born after this week could be saved.
And thus, the new law proclaimed, every child born this week would have to be slaughtered that day. The only thing we can do now is to wait, and check the deathdates of the children born next week. | The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post. | 2017-12-25T18:28:21 | 2017-12-25T14:14:17 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | Every country must close its borders, communications, trade, and embassies for 50 years.
The United States's president was boycotting the peace conference, against most of the country's wishes. The declining prestige of the country abroad was all too apparent, even before the Great Conflict. The war lasted 6 years, and no country gained or lost any ground after the first day. Nearly half a billion died, and it finally took riots in the streets to force some governments to call back troops.
Every country, save the United States, convened in Beijing to discuss the terms. They decided American Imperialism must come to an end. Japan and Korea would split the islands in the Pacific, and the New Soviet Republic would be given Alaska, amputating America to its mainland body. In an inspiring speech to the diplomats present, the leader of France took advantage of the States' absence to propose a plan that would cut off American influence even more. They would convince American leadership that each country should have a period of isolation, to rebuild themselves and prevent further conflicts for the next half century.
Only the United States would actually go into isolation. The rest of the world would finally be rid of the thorn in the West they've all come to know.
A lot got completed during the 50 years of freedom, which was the name the New Powers gave to the period. China completed its huge infrastructure projects thanks to absorbing the USA's trade power vacuum. The Middle East stabilized and the countries solar panel networks together to encourage cooperation and peace. The NSR had free reign of the Balkany. Every country and its citizens agreed that the 50 years of freedom was the greatest joint-diplomatic effort in history.
The world eagerly awaited when those 50 years ended. Some of them
"Leave it to bureaucracy to try to jam as many meetings as they can together, right? The terms said we'd start with one on one meetings with leaders, to ease into it, not a goddamn round table meeting. I only brought a human translator for Japanese, and there are 50 different countries here," the President complained to the Empress of England, who drew the short straw and had to sit next to America.
The Empress looked around nervously, but nobody at the table would make eye contact. Understandably, their eyes were locked on the American, who looked slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie that went out of style decades ago.
"Now I'm going to sound like a robot when I'm tying up old trade deals," he said, before blinking a deliberately a few times and fiddling with his watch. "Where's the tradition? Where's the elegance?"
The 48 other diplomats at the table almost jumped out of their seats in shock. They had heard the American's questions in their home country's language, although it sounded slightly digital.
"I'm really glad we all agreed to this isolation thing," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how much our old government spent on our military. We've been an isolationist country far longer than we were an imperialistic one. We didn't really know what to do with it all that extra money. The country voted to just put it all in education," he prattled, "I'm excited for international markets to open back up. GM-Ford-Tesla-NASA designed these great solar powered dronemobiles, just put the backpack on and say where you need to go. We don't even need cars anymore! Cars! I know I sound like I'm bragging but what was the 50 years was for, if not for bragging rights when it's through?" | I was only a child when the bombs fell. First, they said it was the Russians. Then, they tried to convince us that it was the vindictive actions of one "Kim Jong Un", authoritarian ruler of a small nation that used to be known as North Korea. Neither the north nor the south survived, so I guess it's just No Korea now. At least that's what my grandpa always used to like to say. He had some pretty strong opinions about the entire situation.
It wasn't until the war was almost over that we truly accepted how it had began. We were the ones that had dropped the first bombs. Some kind of resurgence of this idea they once called "manifest destiny" under the last democratically elected president of the States, our great leader Trump (may he make america great again) had taken hold in the collective consciousness of the American people.
Of course, I don't really remember any of this happening. I was just a kid. But, I have heard stories. Entire regions of the world were gone in a matter of hours. Over 97% of the world's population was sentenced to a metaphorical guillotine. My family was lucky. My dad had always had this hobby called "doomsday prepping" that turned out to actually be quite useful. He had built us a shelter in the backyard. Apparently my mom always used to yell at him for spending money on useless things. I guess it wasn't so useless after all.
Mere hours after the bombs fell, the world leaders tried to convene and place sanctions upon our great leader Trump (may he make America great again). He wouldn't have it. He continued to drop more bombs. The event quickly became known as the third world war, though it lasted no more than two weeks in total. Most of the world is still uninhabitable. Our great leader Trump (may he make America great again) then came up with a brilliant solution to get us out of our dreadful situation. He pressed all the other world leaders into agreeing to a permanent ceasefire under the banner of reducing globalism and returning to a time before the world was so connected. Every country agreed that, for the next fifty years, no country would contact any of the others. They agreed because of the great leadership of lord Trump (may he make America great again) and because he was very stable and genius. This is how my father tells the story, so it must be true.
Well, I'm no longer a child and it is finally time to go back out into the world. To tell the truth, I am kind of afraid. I've never really been outside of this bunker. All I've had are the weekly broadcasts of our great leader on an old CB radio that must be well over a hundred years old. I know that we have surely fared the best of all the countries in the world, so why should I be afraid? What will I find? As long as I follow the great leader Trump's (may he make America great again) instructions, I know everything will turn out fine.
As I take my first steps outside, the first thing I notice it that it is really fucking hot. Leader Trump (may he live forever) has told us that it might be warmer than we are used to due to the very natural process of the Earth's warming, which we are told happens in cycles.
My daughter sees the sun for the first time. This is worth all the years of isolation. To see her smile is the only thing that has kept me going for a long time. When mom died, my daughter would tell me that grandma was finally able to go out and be in the world again. That was a small, but comforting idea.
I'm surprised by the lack of vegetation. It seems almost as if no one is around. Isn't this the day that we all get to leave our bunkers? Is this not the day that leader Trump (may he make America great again) promised? I see my wizened father in the corner of my eye. He is sharing a knowing look with several of the other elderly members of the family.
"Son, I have something to tell you," he says to me. "I made a mistake many years ago. There was a missile alarm that went off in Hawaii all those years ago, so I decided to finally make use of the bunker. There was no war. That CB radio? It's actually just a two-way radio and this whole Trump thing has been pretty entertaining. We used memes to get him elected in my day. I felt mighty foolish after staying down there for a solid month, but your mother and I finally came out when we realized that there were no continuing emergency broadcasts. The alarm was a false alarm. Then we started hearing things on the news about kids eating Tide pods. The world wasn't a safe place anymore. Your mother and I decided to weather out life underground. Now that your daughter is beginning to get older, I just feel like I'd be a bad grandpa if I didn't let her see the world, son. I'm sorry, but we had a good time down there, didn't we?"
"But where are all the people, father?" I asked.
"Oh, Elon Musk took everyone to Mars about 10 years after we got all barricaded. Decided to let the planet heal a little- Global warming and all."
"What's global warming?" I asked.
"Oh, don't worry about that, it's handled. Anyway, sorry about the whole lying thing," he said as he ducked from my clumsily attempted punch.
Well, it looks like I have a lot to learn about the real world. Wish me luck. At least I'm not isolated anymore. Wish me luck.
Sorry if this sucks. First attempt on WP.
| 2018-01-18T01:37:17 | 2018-01-17T20:36:12 | 712 | 216 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
| How. How. *How!?*
This was the question that surged through the world when the wall at last came down, the world smugly prepared to receive a humbled USA, a world triumphantly rebuilt in their absence.
Only to find that America had thrived even further.
"Well," said the suave young Texan whose visage now graced our screens, "we sent up satellites."
Satellites? *Satellites?*
"In direct contravention of the treaty!? How! No rocket launches were detected."
He put up his arms in a sort of amicable way. "The treaty you all broke the day after it came into effect? We are talking about the Treaty of Berlin, 2045, correct?"
The world was silent to that true accusation.
"We still had spies you know. You have to know that, right? I'm trying to maintain professionalism, but you all had to know that, surely?"
He seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure, forcing himself to straighten his tie before breaking out into a grin, then straightening his tie again and putting on a brief poker face before breaking into a grin again.
"When global opinion turned against us we were forced to sign that humiliating treaty that every single one of you broke but we haven't just been *sitting here* doing *nothing* waiting for the whole world to break down our walls."
He shook his head and an image showed on the screen of a colossal railway that lifted towards the sky, festooned in garish American colors. "With no trade we were 'forced' to use uranium power. 'Forced' to mine the asteroids for rare earth metals and other materials - without using rockets. So we used our big new EM gun."
The image switched to a video, of massive drones being shot off the railway into space, then of those same drones burrowing into great, hurtling rocks in space, maneuvering with tiny jets of air.
"Necessity is the mother of invention and all that. We had a lot of necessity. You had little to none. You put us on the backfoot while your Russians did your engineering and your Chinese did your industry and your Africans gave your resources."
He shrugged. "Oh and we stole just...just everything. You guys did definitely make some pretty cool things. Fusion power, absolutely, kudos. You all shared it pretty freely too. That was nice. Really the morally right thing to do. We stole the shit out of fusion power."
There were harrumphs of distaste at that. American coarseness.
"But really all we didn't do was share. Didn't share a darn thing. Course we can share now. Gonna have to...*renegotiate* some things, but we can share now."
He grinned in a predatory sort of way.
"Ohhh yes. We can share all kinds of things. For a price."
The outrage was immediate. They'd stolen our secrets but would only sell their own!?
The image switched again. This time to show a large artillery shell being loaded onto the tracks of the "EM gun."
"Course if that don't interest you none, there are some things we can share for free." | 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T03:23:48 | 579 | 39 |
[WP] You have the ability to gain some of a person's knowledge everytime you shake their hand.
E.g. after shaking several mechanics' hands, You learn how to repair most of your car, or by shaking your neighbor's hand, suddenly you know how to hide a body. | I waited to meet the doctor who would be doing surgery on me. I was wearing gloves, knowing that if my hand was shaken or even barely touched by another's, I would take a part of their wisdom. Their knowledge.
And they would lose that part forever.
I remembered when I first discovered this as a child. My father had shaken my hand, like I was a little trooper. At that moment I knew how to drive a car perfectly.
But when my father left the house... and got in the family van... I never saw him again.
The reason being me. I had been the one to have stolen his life, and as a child I suddenly started to comprehend that I was different... I was... evil.
At least that's what my mind told me. The death of a parent because of me.
And that's not all I stole.
I stole my mother's ability to cook, her degree in psychology. Every time she shook my hand or touched just my skin with hers, I took.
I took my sister's learnt ability to read, to write. I kept taken, until I decided at twelve, no more pain.
I would wear gloves everywhere, and no longer hurt. For it hurt me to no end, and there was never an end.
As I got prepared for surgery, I begged the doctors and nurses to let me leave on my gloves. It was my first time under the knife.
They looked at me baffled.
"Of course you can't."
"*Please.*" I said, pleading desperately to them, "It is the only way I'll survive..."
"You're being ridiculous." they said.
I swallowed, panicked.
I watched as I slowly took off my gloves, and saw my cursed hands. As I looked at the pale skin from no sunlight ever hitting them, I saw someone suddenly hold my hand without warning. The anesthetic gas mask had been put over my face, and I couldn't scream the words to the person to let go.
I looked up at my doctor, and saw her saw with a warm smile... as her knowledge of open heart surgery poured into my brain, and left hers without her even realizing.
"Don't worry, I've never lost a patient"
I wanted to scream for them to stop... but soon the lights of the world went off.
I never woke up. | *OOC: Super quick cause lunch is only an hour, but I really focused on the side effects of one's mind being able to read knowledge/experiences from someone.*
At first it was everything.
Emotions.
Knowledge.
Thoughts.
It was anything and everything a person has ever thought, felt, or wanted. It was unfiltered access into one’s mind with a simple touch. I only remembered a few instances of discovering these powers, but my parents told me I’ve always had them. As a baby I would cry whenever anyone would touch me. Specialists said it was a skin sensory issue that they weren’t aware about, I was in medical journals before I was three.
The solution they found was to cover me up in clothing, if bare skin wasn’t touching with bare skin, I was fine. I would be tested every few months, I would go to the hospital and the doctors would touch my skin. I would scream, not being able to communicate what’s wrong. My parents stopped taking me to the hospital when I was five, due to lack of progress.
My mother wanted natural healers to look at me. They prescribed medicine made of roots and vegetables, healing crystals, and essential oils. My father thought it was a waste of money and grew more distant from my mother and me. He didn’t leave though, not until I was 8.
My father smacked me one night after coming home from the bar. He smelled of booze and smoke, he complained about money we’re losing from my Mother’s alternative healing crusade with crystals and roots and abstract artifacts. Father was overly aggressive, and it wasn’t until he pushed me to get to her I found out why. His focused emotion of being angry and the combination of alcohol and weed was enough cloud in his mind I managed to see one thing clearly in his mind, *Amanda*, the girl he’s been paying to see every few weeks.
“Whose Amanda?”
For months my Father & Mother were in court, fighting over the assets split between each other. Father wanted nothing to do with me, saying I was a freak after being able to read his mind. Mother was too busy with work, court case, and taking care of me to help explore my condition. I did that in my free time.
The easiest way to explain it is when you fall into a pool. If someone pushes you, you’re overwhelmed and splash around unsure what to do. That’s what was happening to me, every time I touched someone with skin contact I fell into their ocean of thoughts and emotions I didn’t know what to do. Eventually I learned to dive and swim, and when I fell into their ocean it became more like a pool. If I know what I wanted to look for, the pain became less. If I was focused on what I want to extract, I was able to navigate their mind.
My life was easy. I was able to do anything I wanted if I knew someone who could do it as well. What I didn’t prepare for was the side effects of the ability, losing my ability to be empathetic to people’s situations. I’ve relived the emotional and trauma of all my victims, I became indifferent to everyday problems people have.
Eventually I wanted a lover. I met Stacy while looking for someone in a shopping mall. I let my fingers slip against people’s fingers as I walked by. Stacy’s thoughts are like white noise, it was nothing. I wanted to marry her as soon as I met her, I knew nothing about her except for what I saw. She in a chair, unable to move or think for herself, she was for a better part a vegetable and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I married her a few months after. I had to prove to her parents I would be able to look after her and essentially bought her off them. They didn’t come to the wedding. It was a small ceremony of myself, Stacy, and my mother.
People stare when I go out with my wife, but I don’t care. I’m able to provide for myself by peering into people’s mind, and while I don’t care for social justice, society norms, or doing what’s right like recycling, I find all my happiness within Stacy. She was a place where I can retreat to when I need to.
| 2018-06-06T14:04:38 | 2018-06-06T13:03:50 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this. | Marcus stood on the cliff face surveying the vast desolate landscape. It had made no sense! He had discovered the secret to immorality years ago! there's no way he could be in hell, he was home free!
He heard the sounds of footsteps climb the rocky trail behind him as he watched the fiery lakes burn. a sea of magma in the distance crashed against obsidian shores, bodies trapped within the rock screamed in agony with each pounding wave.
"Hello Marcus." came the deep thundering voice of lucifer who stood behind him.
"What's the meaning of this?" Marcus said turning to face the 12 foot tall satyr. "For 300 hundred years I've been unable to die. and now... this dosen't make any sense! why would the formula not work?"
Lucifer only smiled and said. "Come Marcus. It's alot to take in, I know. It's never easy for you."
"never easy? what..."
Marcus followed the hellbeast down the walkway. "Has it really been 3 centuries already? Time flies when you are having fun, though I must admit, I was rather frustrated when I first learned what you did with our little arrangement."
Marcus stopped. "I'll go no further. Take me back home or I shall stay right here." Marcus began to feel the ground under his feet become unstable as the cliff-face started slipping into the burning pit below. He hurried to catch up.
"You'd be wise not to anger me in here Marcus. Though the unforeseen side affect of your little venture has made me quite amicable to you."
"Please." Marcus said, practically begging. "Explain it to me. what did I miss? How did I end up here? where is my wife? my children? How do I get home?"
The devil smiled again and said "I prefer to show you, rather than tell. It's much easier." he continued to walk, and marcus was forced to follow along.
They passed by several rivers, except the water was replaced with long torrents of fire. within each such abomination of nature was countless suffering souls begging for a mercy which would never come. Every once in a while The devil would construct a bridge of stone for them to travel over one such river. the pair walked for what seemed like an eternity, until the devil stopped him on one such bridge.
"What was the last thing you remember before coming here Marcus?"
Marcus scratched his head.
"I... someone shot me. They came into our home. robbery. I took the bullet for my wife."
The devil smiled. "So you died."
Marcus just shrugged. "So? I've died plenty of times. never bothered me any. not since I discovered immortality."
"Oh but it has marcus... it has..." With a wave of his hand the flames in the river below grew low then petered out. Marcus watched as the burned figures down below were given a momentary reprieve. Watched as their 'bodies' slowly repaired. watched as their faces, long since rendered unrecognizable began to take shape.
Every face he saw belonged to him.
He looked down at the sea of copies of himself, and they stared up at him. his mind stood still, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. before he could react he felt the devil's hand on his back and he was tumbling into the riverbed below.
It was only when he was stood among countless copies of himself he understood. he had died, again, and again. and each time he did he fulfilled his contract.
He watched as the flames approached. | ######[](#dropcap)
The man swirled into Kassidy's lab, his black cape flowing behind him. She barely gave him a glance before turning back to her computer. She still had to run the next batch of samples, and if she was even a tiny bit off with the timing, they would become useless.
But she couldn't ignore him entirely, she supposed. "What do you want?" she asked, then carefully set her vial down and placed the entire group of vials into the freezer. She stripped her gloves.
Lucifer narrowed his kohl-rimmed eyes at her. "You know very well what I'm here for."
Kassidy shrugged. "Not sure what you're talking about."
He gritted his teeth and walked around the metal table until he was standing right in front of her. He slammed the newspaper down onto the table. Kassidy barely took a look at it before giving him a small smile. "Well, congratulations to that little old lady, I suppose. Living until you're 120 years old is quite a feat."
He wanted to kill her. "Yeah, it would be quite an accomplishment," he said, his jaw clenching, 'if she weren't supposed to die two months ago." He pulled out his tablet and quickly typed in the lady's name, then flipped it around and showed her. On the screen, along with a picture of the elderly women, was the age at which she was supposed to die. Instead of a positive time ticking down towards her death, it was now negative. "And I know you gave her that serum you concocted," he hissed. "We had a deal."
Kassidy raised an eyebrow. "We did, in fact. And I am upholding my part of the deal splendidly well."
His pale eyes flashed. "You know immortality is not to be trifled with."
Kassidy scoffed. "Right. So only the Gods get it. Because I'm sure you guys clearly deserve it."
Lucifer's lips narrowed into a thin line. "I forgave that you drank the damn thing yourself. I granted you amnesty. You don't know how *angry* Fred was with me when I told him he couldn't take your soul and had to explain why. He threw a temper tantrum for three days straight, trained Cerberus to basically revolt against me, and then quit his job for a whole week." He paced around the table. "People not dying for a whole week. Did you know the horror that caused? Gunshot wounds in stasis, people who should have bled out, dear lord, the number of newspapers I had to forcefully recall." He moaned, clutching his head in his hands. "Half my minions are still on holiday because of the overtime."
Then he raised his head. "And now this. How many people have you given the serum to?" He opened the fridge and pulled out the vial with swirling amber liquid, smashing it against the floor. The liquid evaporated almost immediately upon contact with the air.
"Just a few," Kassidy said calmly. She shrugged off her lab coat. It looked like she wasn't about to get any more work done today. The last time Lucifer had paid her a visit, he'd stayed for three days and three nights. "But I was actually thinking of selling it."
Before he realized what he was doing, Lucifer unsheathed his claws, and they hovered inches from her face. "Say that again." His tone was deathly calm. If she actually decided to sell the immortality serum, the entire world would be thrown into chaos. The other gods, who had slumbered since thousands of years ago, would finally awaken, and he would be put on trial for mishandling things.
If things turned out badly, he might even be stripped of his title. And where would he be then?
Kassidy didn't even blink at his threat. She was used to it by now. "You're threatening the mother of your future child?" she asked, then turned around and grabbed her keys from the counter.
At first, the question didn't register. Then Lucifer blinked. And blinked again. Mother of his...his eyes widened and flashed with something akin to joy. As much joy as he was capable of feeling, anyhow.
"You're pregnant?" he asked. His claws sheathed themselves, and he touched Kassidy's arm, turning her around. "Since when?"
She nearly rolled her eyes at him. "Since three months ago. I was going to tell you, but you didn't respond, so I decided to take matters into my own hands." She shrugged.
Hence the old lady.
He couldn't even be mad at her now.
"But it's fine. Apparently you didn't think answering my summonings was important enough. So you can head back to Hell now." She walked towards the lab doors.
She was mad. He was incredibly bad at reading emotions, but that much he knew.
"Kassidy, wait up!" he yelled, then followed her out like a puppy dog chasing after its owner.
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/99qwrz/wp_the_other_gods_who_had_slumbered_since/e4pymgy/) is here, based off the prompt response that was generated from this story, haha.
r/AlannaWu | 2018-08-23T13:50:31 | 2018-08-23T11:34:53 | 2,093 | 728 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has happened 2 years ago, and when you are cornered by one of them you panically bite them, and they become a human again and ask whats going on. | John saw monsters everywhere he looked.
What were once men were now horrid, pale things. He couldn't hide from them, for once he was spotted, they stared into him and through him with lifeless little eyes. And sometimes all they did was stare, but often the strongest of their ranks gave chase.
John had been running for as long as he could remember (two years, or was it three?), but one day they finally caught him. Nearly a dozen of them pinned his arms and legs to the cold floor. But they had left his head alone. So, in a final act of desperation, he leaned over to an exposed ankle and bit hard.
The bitten one let out a guttural cry and stumbled away. His appearance shifted and became less pale, more familiar. His-, no, her- eyes darted about, and she muttered, "The zombie, it... I... what's going on? Where am I? I can't remember."
While a few of the monsters broke off to deal with her, another grasped John's neck and head firmly. "You're monsters, all of you!" John cried out. It shouldn't have helped. But the figure at his neck spoke back. It was an angry, primal sound that John couldn't make sense of. "You're all monsters!" He repeated.
This time, John was able to extract plain human language out of that guttural rhythm, like picking out a whisper from a hurricane. "You're... safe. Calm... down."
And then John was a zombie. | The hall was wet with the smell of blood. A ghastly stench emanated from multiple rooms, their doors open with hints of movement inside each one. Barry shuddered, trying his best to hold in his breath and not make a sound as he limped along the walls. A throbbing pain came from his left leg, where he could see bone jutting out. He looked away and whimpered, the pain threatening to expose him in the dank hallway.
He knew this was a bad idea. He should of protested more, of course the hospital would be filled with these things. It's in every cliche zombie movie ever, where the humans need supplies but the place they're located in is just infested. This was so fucking stupid. Barry was intent on giving Clay an earful when he makes it out of here.
If he makes it out of here.
Tears begin streaming down Barry's face, the whimpers and sobs blending in together forming one weird sound that made it sound like he was choking on something in the back of his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was suppose to have easily gotten to the supplies, he was suppose to rendezvous with Clay and friends in the eastern exit near the stairwell, and he was suppose to get the hell out of there.
He wasn't supposed to have fallen down from the elevator shaft and completely fucked up his leg.
As he limped forward, finding anything familiar to him, a low growl came from behind. Barry's body jolted in fear and panic, and he stood completely still. He took a deep breath, his body going numb and cold. He turned just a tiny bit before feeling a hot burst of pain on his neck. A mangled arm held him in a deadlock, and out of fear and surprise Barry used the only weapon at his disposal. He bit into the zombie's arm, the texture coarse and rough, like biting into a shedding snake. The zombie let go and with a loud thud fell on the ground. Barry slammed into the wall, heavy breaths trying to hold himself up.
This was it. This is the place where Barry E. Clarke would finally die. Three years after the end of the world, his time finally came.
Barry slid down the wall and sat down. He couldn't feel his face, except for the hot tears that starting dripping down from his eyes. He looked to his right, where the zombie was starting to get back up, and a sobbed escaped him.
"Oh, Clay. I'm so sorry." Barry looked at his old friend, his blue polo shirt stained with blood, a chunk of flesh ripped out near his shoulder. Bright yellow eyes glowed in the dark, staring but not looking. He was now back on his feet, a low guttural sound constantly coming from his lips. Barry closed his eyes, not attempting to hide the pained sobs that escaped him.
He never got to tell him. It's too late.
A step.
Clay wa-
No.
The zombie was getting closer, footsteps echoing throughout the hallway. The other zombies already thought he was done for. They didn't even bother.
Another step. This one right in front of him. A deep breath, a step.
Then silence.
"B-Barry...?" A familiar voice. He looked up.
Two pairs of eyes. One familiar and one tired.
Confused and relieved.
Worried and confused.
The blackness of the edges expand as one opens and the other closes, leaving the other alone. | 2018-12-17T01:38:40 | 2018-12-17T00:45:11 | 55 | 41 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a staircase and it takes you a thousand years to climb. You reach the top exhausted, and see the pearly gates. To your surprise, they have rusted over and inside is completely barren. A sign reads "Welcome to heaven. Population: 1" | *Only one person? How could that be? I thought that heaven was filled with the souls of people.*
**Ahoy! Our first guest! I humbly welcome you, to heaven.**
Um. Thanks? Hey listen, I have a few ques-
**Now we can begin processing you.**
But I have some questio-
**No time. What is your name?**
I'm not answering your questions until you answer mine.
**You get 2 questions.**
Two questions. Wow. You couldn't be like the normal and give either 1 or 3?
**That's one!**
Wait, no! I didn't mean it as a-
**Too bad. One more question.**
Why aren't there like, angels or something here.
***Visibly heated***
**Gah! You really believe the stories they tell you on earth! I have been watching you humans since you have been in existence and you have always been the same! Believing what is told to you and blindly trusting! I don't even know why he wanted** ***you*** **here!**
What do you mean? *He* wanted *me*?
**NO MORE QUESTIONS!**
Ok ok! What exactly do I do?
**NO MORE!** ***heavy breathing as he calms downs***
**Ok. Listen, I am sorry I got so heated. You are the first soul to enter heaven. No more questions please. I am just trying to do my job. Now, let's start with your name.**
*whispering* If this is heaven you should know my name.
**What did you just say.**
Um nothing! Alexander Lewis.
**Ok. Thank you. Now go in.**
Go in...?
**Go into the gates.**
But, they are closed.
**Oh yeah. Here.**
***He proceeds to open the gate.***
Thanks. Um. Goodbye I guess.
**Yes, goodbye.**
*As I walk through the gate, a blinding light stains my eyes. I turn my back to the light and see the same sign I saw when I came up. "Population: 0". Wait, zero? How can that be? I thought I was suppos-*
WAAAAA!
*I can't see. I can't talk. I can only scream. I think I hear a woman. She sounds so loving...*
**He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Hey little guy, I'm your mommy. I will cherish you forever my beautiful baby boy; Alex Graham.**
​ | *Hey! You there. Welcome! Welcome to Heaven. You made it, you lived your live valiantly/humbly/ and or religiously and now you get to inherited the kingdom of heaven.*
**Um...excuse but where is everybody. Took me a thousand years to climb those steps and quite frankly I a bit disappointed...and yes, before you ask I counted**
*Name please!*
**My name?**
*Yes your name!*
**Monty...sir and If I may inquire**
*Surname!*
**Um...its Pipman sir and if I may just inquire about the current state of heaven**
*Ah yes! Monty Pipman of Yorkshire died of dysentery. Died on the shitter. A shitty way to go*
**Well now there is no need for that**
*No need for what?*
**Well...no need to state how I died, I just spent a thousand years of my life...I just spent a thousand years of my death climbing those spiral stairs and I am still a bit embarrassed about how I ended my time back on earth. I would appreciate it if you kept a bit more...confidential and professional**
*NO MATTER! You did not make it in*
**Did not make it in?**
*Indeed*
**As in there?**
*Indeeed*
**In heaven?**
*Indeeeed*
**Well why not?**
*Because you have sinned!*
**No I haven't**
*Yes you have*
**Have I?**
*Indeeeeeeeed*
**Alright then, lets have at it. How have I sinned**
*You are guilty of 7 out of 7 of the deadly sins.*
*You are found guilty of lust*
**Oh come on...**
*What happens in Vegas, Monty, I get to see*
**Did you just wink at me?**
*Indeeeeeeeeeeed*
**No man don't do that why would you-**
*I must say I don't believe the donkey recovered*
**OK! Enough**
*Shall I go into your more intimate sins*
**No...Next...next sin please**
*You are found guilty of Gluttony*
**Alright, so I like to eat. Order a large instead of a medium hardly worth going to hell over**
*You like to eat too much Monty, you're a bit...flabby around the waste. You know you should really think about cutting down on carbs-*
**A bit late now don't you think. I already died**
*Yes of dysentery*
**OK!**
*Was probably the Chipoltle*
**Really?**
*Should of watch your carbs*
**Next!**
*Greed!*
**Doubt it, I donate to the homeless shelter every christmas-**
*Taking excessive napkins at fast food restaurants*
**Seriously?**
*Chipoltle to be exact. After your large meals. Was it to help with the dysentery?*
**You can't be serious.**
*Sloth!*
**...**
*You hate Mondays!*
**I fucken hate you...I really do**
*Wrath! Telling the gate keeper of heaven that you loathe them for denying you entry to the kingdom of heaven. Out of anger you have hurt the gate keepers feelings*
**I just can't win. Hey there is at least one soul in there says so on the sign. What's his name?**
*Her name is Susan*
**Yeah well FUCK YOU SUSAN! Why does she get in and I don't. What makes that prick such a saint!**
*ENVY! Jealously towards Susan for having entry to the kingdom of heaven*
**I'm already out. I'm already condemned to hell. A thousand years of stairs wasted. Sent right back down-**
*Pride!*
**Don't even bother, I'm leaving.**
*...well I got nothing on Pride. You seem to be most dissatisfied with your life. I'm terribly sorry it seems it was 6 out of 7 hard to believe a man of your stature would be proud of anything he's done. I mean you died of dysentery...*
**...K well, I'm gonna go burn in hell now**
*Oh be sure to take the elevator, the line into hell is quite long with a average wait time of a thousand years just to get through the queue. Would hate to prolong your suffering.*
**\*sigh**
​ | 2018-12-17T07:42:31 | 2018-12-17T07:30:17 | 95 | 51 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | Who am I?
It sounded like a simple question, but it wasn't. I knew, now, that I've lived many lives before this one. Nineteen in total. I had no memory of any of them, but the ones before me all faced this choice, and made it *together,* united for the first and last time in a single moment.
I never knew them. They never knew each other. They would never know me.
*Of your past lives I shall not speak,* said the archangel Metatron, a figure of golden fire with six wings like rays of sunlight.
My mother was Jewish. She told me once about a rabbi from the first century named Elisha ben Abuyah. Apparently he ascended to Heaven while still alive, where he stood before the choir of all the angels in Heaven. All of those angels were standing, except Metatron who was seated and quietly recorded the words of their meeting. Elisha said that only God could be so privileged as to sit while all of Heaven was standing at attention, and so Metatron must be God, or maybe a *second* God. I think my mom lost something in translation there, but that's the story. And of course that was heretical, so the angels chucked him back down to Earth.
Lots of interesting stories about that Elisha guy, from what I hear. But I learned my lesson from his example, and didn't say anything about Metatron sitting in front of me.
I had a choice to make. Strength, Dexterity, Vitality, Wisdom, Intelligence, Charisma. If my choice were simply to pick one of those six options, like a game, it would be so much simpler. But each of the six titles opened up a vast list of more specific options. The label of *Wisdom* was highlighted blue to indicate my previous selves had added their points to this branch.
Nineteen times I had lived, died and come to this place. Nineteen times I had chosen to place my one point in the node labeled *Wisdom: Comprehension(Holy)*. The cap on this stat was twenty.
So I didn't know why they had done it, why this path had been started for us, but at least *my* choice was obvious.
"You... already know what I'm going to choose," I said to the proxy of God. Maybe it was my current nineteen points that made it so clear to me.
*Yes,* said the Archangel Metatron.
"What's going to happen to me when I do?" I asked. "This is going to be the last time; I can guess that much." Twenty points in the path I'd chosen would activate a passive perk, *Enlightenment.* There was no description. "But when I'm born again this time... what happens to me?"
*You have already chosen,* said the angel, *And you are about to be reincarnated. I could answer your question, but my answer makes no difference.*
Nineteen points in *Comprehension(Holy)* told me the Voice of God just didn't lie.
"Somehow this feels more like dying than my actual death did." I wasn't really talking to Metatron, just letting the words fall out of me. "I still have all my memories from my last life, but when I assign this point, all of that will go away. It feels like I'm *choosing* it this time, like to push this button is suicide."
God said nothing. Those eyes of golden fire burned through me, and yet didn't burn me.
"Who was I?" I asked. "In my past lives, what was I like? Was I anything like me at all?"
*You asked these questions,* said Metatron. *You made this choice. This is who you are.*
"Was I a good person?"
*Yes,* said God.
I started to cry. I couldn't tell if I had eyes to cry with in Heaven, or if it was just something a disembodied soul could do on its own. I felt tears on my cheeks, but it could have just been soul juice or something. Nineteen points weren't enough to tell the difference.
So I chose from the list as I had nineteen times before, and the label of *Enlightenment* went from grey to blue.
I was born, and opened my eyes.
I saw Heaven.
Suddenly I understood. I remembered what my first self had wanted to do all those centuries before, I remembered siding with myself eighteen times in succession, I remembered the choice getting steadily easier as that one stat continued to rise and it became clear that the meta-me had a plan.
I was still crying. The doctors couldn't tell that I was crying for a different reason than babies usually cry for. They didn't have to understand. I was looking up from Earth and I could *still see Heaven.*
I had to grow up. I had to do it quickly. This was the life where I would tell everyone the truth.
...
>If you like this, go read [Unsong](http://unsongbook.com/) | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ajd4jr/wp_you_meet_god_before_reincarnation_and_you/eeunyjw/)
The bar was dirty and worn down, the kind of place that had been here since before the first World War and would exist long after things got to the point where a third broke out. It was full of the forsaken souls that drank whiskey at two in the afternoon and smoked the cheapest cigarettes money could buy. It had a name, but none of the patrons could have told you it. It was just “the bar.” No one wanted to go here, they just ended up here.
Kathleen Kate was wiping down the surface of the bar, a futile gesture that would never erase years of grime and ash. She was the kind of bartender you expected to find in a place like this, tattooed and pierced with a hollow look to her eyes that mirrored that of the patrons. She was just as lost here as the rest of the people that wandered through, but unlike the rest of them, she was trapped. She’d work the bar until something snapped her out of it.
The bell over the door clanged mournfully, announcing another lost traveller. Kathleen looked up to see who had entered this time. He wasn’t like the other patrons. A man in his twenties, clean cut, wearing a nice suit. He looked as out of place in this bar as a peacock in a chicken coop, and twice as confident. He walked up to the bar and gave her a smile. “What have you got on tap?” he asked.
Kathleen put on her best customer service face, one she’d honed in the trenches of black friday retail back in high school. “Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light. If you’re looking for something fancy, you’re in the wrong place.”
He chuckled. “I think I’m right where I need to be. I’ll take a Bud.”
Kathleen turned towards the tap, rolling her eyes once her back was turned. The amber liquid flowed into a glass that at least looked clean, although it was water-stained and smudged with marks that no soap could clean.
“You were right,” the man said.
“That you’re in the wrong place?” Kathleen asked. Something about this guy set her teeth on edge.
“No. About the rules. ‘We’re just playing a game. A game by some sick fuck who thinks it’s funny to watch us squirm. But a game is just a system, and any system has its loopholes.” The Man grinned. “I didn’t introduce myself this time. Kincade.”
“Kincade,” Kathleen said, tasting the name. It was bitter on her tongue. “We’ve met before? Because I don’t remember saying that, but it sounds like like something I would say.”
Kincade nodded. “You don’t remember, but this was your idea…” his eyes flicked to the faded tag she worn on her shirt, “...Kathleen.”
“Okay, sure, whatever you say buddy.” Kathleen sighed. *Goddamn nut jobs.* “So when did we meet?” As much as Kathleen found the man annoying, he had on a nice suit. If she put on a good act for him, he might tip well.
“Ninteen Forty Five,” the man said.
Kathleen rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide it this time. “I’m twenty three. You’re not that much older, buddy. Cut the crap.”
“It’s not crap, Kathleen. You discovered the energy. You’re the one who figured out the rules of the game. How each time we come around, we get to keep something of what we had before. You tried to use it to give yourself immortality back then. That’s when they came for you.”
Kathleens eyes flickered. The dream, the one she’d had since childhood. A crack forming in a sterile lab, creatures climbing out, swarming over her, tearing into her. “What-”
“The demons from the pit,” Kincade said, his voice firm. “You remember them. Our death carries over too. That’s why so many people can dream about falling.”
“Who are you?” Kathleen asked, her eyes narrow.
“I told you. I’m Kincade. Again. See, Kathleen, you died because you tried to cheat the system. I didn’t figure out until after you died. You were trying to cheat, trying to *break* the rules. You can’t break the rules, or the Admin gets angry.”
“The Admin?”
“God, Allah, the Creator, the Goddess, whatever you want to call it. You broke the rules, and you got banned. After I figured that out, I worked the loophole. I didn’t try to make myself immortal. I spent the rest of my life homing the one thing we know for sure carries over, the one stat in this damn game you can improve enough to break the rules."
As crazy as the man sound, Kathleen couldn't help to be interested. And he knew about the dream. "What was it?"
"Memory. I can remember it, Kathleen. I can remember all of it. Every life I’ve lived, and every role you played in it.” He put down three hundred dollars on the bar and downed his beer. “Hunter. Friend. Lover. Enemy. Our history goes back millennia, Kathleen. And this time, I remember it all.”
Kathleen reached under the bar for the pistol she had there. “And what is it this time?” Please don’t try to kill me.
Kincade smiled. “This time? I’m going to leave you alone. I’m going to lead my own life, free of you. Free of all this bullshit. But I couldn’t do that without one last thing, one last gift.” Faster than she could move, he grabbed her wrist, and then pressed this thumb against her forehead. “Remember.”
It wasn’t a wash of memory, like some damn bursting. It was just an instant. The lab. Her name had been Donna back then. He had still been Kincade, although he’d looked different. The energy washing over her, transforming her. Wings emerging from her back. A brilliant, bright, shining moment...before the demons came swarming from the cracks in the floor, shredding her with limbs like swords, tearing into her new skin and dragging her back down into the hell that awaited.
She collapsed forward, panting. She could feel it there, the memories now, a great mass that threatened to go overwhelm everything she was. Kathleen looked up. Kincade was still grinning that smug grin. “What?” she asked.
“Now you’re free too. Good luck with this playthrough.” He grabbed his hat off the bar and put it back on his head. “Maybe I’ll meet you next go-around.”
And with that, Kincade existed the bar.
Thirty minutes later, her last paycheck in hand and her mind in scrambles, Kathleen followed.
---
More at /r/Hydrael_Writes
EDIT: Thank you for the gold! :) | 2019-01-24T07:53:40 | 2019-01-24T07:23:34 | 1,941 | 360 |
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world. | “Zoizle Brigglehoff here, reporting from the death world of earth. What makes it a death world? First off the majority of its surface is coated with water a substance known as the universal solvent as it will dissolve almost anything.”
“Next off the atmosphere contains high levels of oxygen. Oxygen is one,of the most corrosive elements and it promotes burning. That’s right, in hot and dry conditions things can up and combust so being away from the solvent adds new problems.”
“”The dominant animal species here is the hoo man. This species is xenophobic and reacts harshly to anything different. They also covet our technology and attack us to take it.”
“I’ll have to sign off for now, their radar had located my ship. Hopefully I can return tomarrow and tell you about the wonders of the potato beetle.”
| ### Humanity: Special For Exactly One Reason
#### They're the most absolutely full of themselves species in the entire universe.
Space is unimaginably vast. This is a simple fact: from the puniest Rentinn to the most mighty Telonn, all species know of the terrible vastness of space and their comparatively minute presence within it.
Well, *almost* all species. For the next 90 minutes, I'm going to introduce you to a plucky little species that thinks they're just the best thing since sliced bread, an invention they also think they made before anyone else did.
Yes, they believe this despite the universe having existed prior to their arrival for over 13 billion years.
Humans!
Let me tell you about a planet. This planet has a mean surface temperature of 735K, has a *day* that's longer than its *year*, has an air pressure equivalent to nearly a kilometer underwater, and, oh yes, its atmosphere is made of sulfuric acid.
No, that's not Humanity's homeworld. Humans live on the planet next from their star, and, despite knowing all of the above facts, believe that *their* world is some kind of hell-world.
Yes, the world with the beaches, the temperate (and abundant!) water, the seasons, and basically all of the conditions necessary for life in general and thus conditions that a great many of our species *also* enjoy on *our* homeworlds! They think that's what makes up a hell-world.
Oh, it gets better. Humans also believe the following:
* **Only Earth has predators!** Considering that competition for resources is literally the driving force behind evolution, this is not only short sighted but actively silly. Intelligence tends to come as a result of improving one's predatory abilities and/or improving one's ability to escape from predation.
* **Only Earth has bad weather!** See above re: Venus. Also, they have apparently never seen a Gas Giant before. I imagine the helium-infused species watching this are finding this belief especially humorous, given their planets feature storms larger than Earth itself.
* **Only humans suffer from contagious disease!** This is actually true, but it's only because they haven't advanced enough to improve their immune systems. I'm not sure why they think suffering from a cold gives them some kind of tactical advantage, but at this point this is hardly the most baffling thing.
In conclusion, if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that humankind is absolutely right about it being home to an unbearable hellscape, but it's not the planet that's at fault. No, it's not the planet so much as the species itself that is insufferable. Or, to use their own words:
"Hell is other people." | 2019-02-07T23:19:58 | 2019-02-07T19:58:44 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?" | The music in the club pulsed as I danced. The entire club seemed, no was focused on me. I was the center of everyone’s attention. It was everything I had dreamed of. I shifted my weight from leg to leg, swaying my ass hypnotically as my arms roamed up and down my body. The tempo changed, and I ran my fingers up to the base of my ponytail and pulled the hair tie out. Then I shook my head letting my long locks of auburn hair fly free, momentarily creating the illusion of a huge red afro. Then gravity took hold again and my hair join the rest of my body bringing life and movement to the music in this club.
 
It was sometime latter before he appeared, the crowd subconsciously parting to keep away from him. The music slowed down, and I knew it was time to talk with him. I had to take a moment to orient myself before I started moving towards him. He was dangerous, though he did not look it. He looked kind of scrawny with a mop of brown hair, and a pair of glasses that actually made him look kind of cute. In his hands were two drinks, one was a beer and the other was a shot of some kind, swirling colors of red and blue filled the glass. He held it out to me.
 
“Thanks” I said loudly still feeling the tingle of being watched by so many people. I reached up and took the drink from him. I brought it to my lips and drank it down quickly. It burned slightly going down but there was also a rush of flavors that seemed to dance on my tongue until it was all gone. my tongue reached out to lick the last of the drink off my lips, and the shot glass.
 
I felt a little dizzy, and as I started to stumble over a step he reached out with his free hand and steadied me. I looked at him as he lifted his beer to his mouth taking a sip, and a spectral claw reached forward into me. It was cold as it touched my breast, but he held me tightly with the hand he used to steady me. Then the chill pushed in, I watched transfixed as the spectral claw slid into me flesh. The cold penetrated deep into my core. The entire time, I could see at the edge of my vision, him slowly drinking his beer, his eyes locked onto me. The cold feeling shifted and started moving around reaching past my core.
 
He spit his latest mouthful of beer out, turning his head at the last second so it did not splash on me. a cruel smile graced his facial feature, “Okay, wise-guy, where is it?” he asked as the spectral claw probed the different inside the different parts of my body. I stood there transfixed and unable to move or speak for a long time. He spoke again, “where’s your soul.”
 
Finally, I was able to speak and move again. I reached up with one hand and placed it on his cheek, before responding in the sensual and husky voice that he had given me, “Didn’t you know redheads don’t have souls.” | I don’t write a lot and this is my first post here so don’t be too mean lol
I always thought I was a good person. I’ve tried my best not to commit any sins against my fellow mankind and when I did, I made sure to make up and never leave any burnt bridges between them. I guess you could say I always aimed to live between my emotions, almost sociopathic in a way. I never held onto negative emotions, and I never held onto positive emotions. I lived everyday in a bliss of neutral emotions. I thought this was a great way to live life, without feeling anything I’d never hurt myself. And without feeling anything, I’d never hold onto negative thoughts that could hurt somebody else. But what I learned that day proved me otherwise.
I was walking home late at night from work because I was recently in a car accident. I should of died, but I somehow survived with no injury. I learned why that night. I was walking through the tree line that I cut through to save me about 10 minutes on my walk when I noticed something odd. There was a path that I never noticed was there, but it seemed to lead in the normal direction I head so I just stuck to this newly found path. It seemed like a four wheeler trail, something you’d know if you grew up in a small town like I did. I was a little nervous that I was walking on private property, but as late as it was I wasn’t too worried. But there was something that caught my attention.
The farther I walked down the trail, it felt like it was warming up. Almost like that feeling when the sun starts to rise and warm the air around you, but it was 4 in the morning and the sun was as nowhere in sight. It felt like the sun was rising behind me and was shining brightly on my back. That was when I had an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget and it changed my life forever.
I turned around and saw a man in a top hat and suit with a cane. It was hard to see his face, it seemed to be completely covered by the shadows of the night. “Who are you?”, I asked. The man felt like he was staring into my soul. “I don’t know what you want, but if you want my wallet you can have it”. The man chuckled, and he spoke with a voice as dark as the night. “I don’t want your material things, but I am willing to make a bargain I bet you can’t pass up. I am of the night, the one who walks in darkness. I am of the moon while my greatest enemy is of the sun. Most people know me as the devil, and I am here to make a deal. Trade me your soul and I’ll give you whatever you please in this mortal life. For giving me your soul, I won’t punish you as hard in the next life. There are different circles of hell and I can promise you that you’ll never suffer anymore than a man who committed a few lies”
I paused for a second, in fear the man was on some insane drugs and thought he was a literal omnipotent being.
I jokingly asked, “What about $5000 dollars in my bank account every week?”. He chuckles and said “Sure, I can make that happen. Do we have a deal?”. Out of morbid curiosity, and maybe a little greed, I said “Alright, mark my soul.” The man didn’t even move, and I felt the warmth fill my chest. It felt like a hand made of fire was moving inside my chest. “Okay wise-guy, where is it?”I was puzzled. “Where’s what?”, I asked. I felt the feeling that I can only explain as anger fill the air around me and I blacked out. I woke up what felt like hours later in the same spot I was but it was still dark and he was standing there. “Turns out you do have a soul”, he explained, “but there isn’t much of a force left in it.”
I was shocked, and pleaded “What? Does that mean I’m dying? Am I near the end of my life?”. He still sounded angry, and he said to me “You life your life in this mortal realm but you detach yourself from all things that make you mortal. You are a dead man walking because you never allow yourself to truly love. Emotions are a yinyang between good and bad, and without accepting both you can never cherish any. I might as well just take you now. You hurt those around you by shutting yourself out, you hurt yourself by never truly being happy. You were willingly to trade your soul for material because you are basically nothing but material. I’ll return to you in a couple years when your soul is stronger and we’ll see how you answer again. But if I return and you are still as empty as you are now, I will end your misery before you have to experience it yourself at the true end of your mortal life”.
With that, he vanished, and I slept in the woods that night. When I woke up, I was on my bed and knew I had to change myself. I had to be ready for when the devil returns again. | 2019-05-05T03:26:07 | 2019-05-05T03:22:15 | 86 | 10 |
[WP] "That's the part tales don't mention: how the hero, forever changed by his journey, can never fit into normal society again." | Beware the Hermit, warned the elder, who spoke with wary fear.
Beware the Hermit, warned the farmer, who held his children dear.
Beware the Hermit, warned the hunter, who hid amid the woods.
Beware the Hermit, warned the trader, who fled and left his goods.
Beware the Hermit, who wanders to and fro.
Beware the Hermit, who reaps what others sow.
Beware the Hermit, whose gaze has left this earth.
Beware the Hermit, who has forgot their worth.
Beware the Hermit, who once we all did cheer.
Beware the Hermit, who still lives in fear.
Beware the Hermit, who once saved us all.
Beware the Hermit, who echoes Evil's Call.
Beware the Hermit | “Damn it Stanley” , thought Thor, “at least Frodo got a grand send-off to paradise. Tolkien really knew how to do closure. All I got was dumped in this hokey New England town after I saved the universe from the worst timeline, which came after saving the galaxy from Mr. Evil Twoshoes, coming after saving my homeplanet from my twin brother. Oh, and let’s not forget how I rid my adopted planet from those bio weapons set off by anarchists”.
Thor was once again railing on the fourth wall, trying to reach out to his author and beg for a different ending.
It wasn’t just the lack of recognition that hurt Thor’s gargantuan ego. The fan mail was turning mostly to hate mail, as some political wanna-be’s were trying to flip the script. They said, because Thor was the common theme in all of the nearly-averted-disasters, of course he must be the cause somehow. It’s like they never took a statistics course –correlation does not equal causation!
But the social media influencers ran with the idea, to gob up the ‘internet points’, whatever those were. Thus their followers were eating up the idea and sending their manufactured outrage his way in the form of angrily written notes. Thank Christ that Thor didn’t bother with the humans techno-stuff. Having to resort to paper and pen probably helped the letter writers calm down a bit.
As reading the mail was Thor’s only real recurring task, he didn’t want to give it up. He could easily spend half a day opening, reading, and sorting the letters. The other half was just staring out into the horizon, punctuated by staring into the blazing campfires. Maybe he would travel someday. Go out and experience the world without a pending disaster hanging over his head. But the idea of being recognized in public was too much for him, and it’s not like he had the cash to get premium access to tourist sites after hours and such.
Being a hero doesn’t come with a paycheck, in case you didn’t know.
The only way Thor could describe his new prickly affect was as a coping mechanism to the incredible emotional swing he’d experienced as a hero in retirement. The rush of emotion was like coming back to school after summer break, but magnified, sharped by the knowledge that he was capable of much more than channel surfing. Worst of all, unlike a schoolday, he didn't have anything to make him forget about his good times. No amount of booze, gambling, deep-sea basket weaving, or staring at the ceiling would let him step away from his legacy as Champion of the Universe. He could never slip into something more comfortable, to lounge without a care.
And then one day, Thor’s red phone rings … | 2019-07-13T21:58:39 | 2019-07-13T19:52:59 | 313 | 21 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | The war had initially gone well for the Nihneevans. Striking at the Imperial core worlds while the principal human fleets were out on a tour of His Majesty's realm to show the colors, the aliens had managed to almost completely destroy the ability of humanity to manufacture goods. No species the Nihneevans had yet faced had recovered from such total disaster in less than two standard years; when one destroys the centers of industry, one destroys power generation capacity, which in turn makes it more difficult to rebuild so much as the capacity to generate power itself. The Nihneevans also, almost as an afterthought, destroyed a few, but not nearly all, of the Empire's major population centers in a display of superiority, and unleashed a biological agent that killed, on the worlds in question, most of those humans who had not yet started puberty. This later proved to be an unwise move, as many of those killed in the attacks and by the agent were the younger children of the nobility of the Empire, and the affected population was almost immediately made up for by immigration from the growing colonies of the Empire; in short, all this action did was *greatly* anger the Empire and actually *boost* the morale of His Majesty's soldiers, for now they struck with righteous fury against the killers of the innocent.
​
This incident earned the Nihneevans the nickname "Herods".
​
Common knowledge among the sapient races of the galaxy held that methods of power generation were, as a rule, most cost-efficient when above ground. Some methods, such as wind- or solar power, indeed had to be on the surface, for fairly obvious reasons. Other methods, though, such as the burning of natural fuels, generated large amounts of hazardous gases, which were easiest to dispose of by methods of chemical changes into inert gases and then dispersal into the wider atmosphere of the world in question. The catastrophic failure of such methods of power generation generally did not result in enormous, long-lasting disasters so much as bursts of pollution relatively easily cleaned up or, in some cases the simple failure to generate power.
​
The humans, though, had a strange method of power generation hitherto unknown to the wider galaxy. This method was apparently incredibly dangerous if handled incorrectly, catastrophic failure rendering the lands in the area of the facility uninhabitable for thousands to tens of thousands of standard years, and generation facilities had in the past been encased in concrete walls thick enough to repel even a direct impact from the humans' early aircraft. Once force fields had been developed, though, it was a fairly simple matter to simply move this method of energy generation underground and use independently-powered fields to contain hazardous material in the event of catastrophic failure. The mass of the earth around the facility contained hazardous radiation, and radioactive material did not leak into the surrounding environment because projected fields prohibited it from exiting the area surrounded by the fields. The same protection against radiation - that is, hundreds of meters of rock - also proved excellent protection from orbital bombardment, which allowed the facilities in question to survive the Nihneevan attack fairly unscathed. The power grids of the Imperial core worlds, also largely underground, though not always so deep as the generation facilities themselves, also survived relatively intact. This ready access to power allowed the Imperial industrial capacity to recover from the attack in a scant few months, especially when military ships were recalled from the counter-offensive to transport essential goods and personnel around and between planets. As such, Imperial shipyards were spun up to full capacity and began to bolster the numbers of the fleet well before the Nihneevans were prepared to resist such numbers as the Empire was able to send against them, and planet after planet fell to the human onslaught as His Majesty's wrath descended upon the Nihneevans as the Angel of Death on Egypt of old.
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
The hologram flared into being, and its image was that of a human admiral in the CIC of his flagship. Two other beings in less splendid uniforms, presumably the captain of the vessel and an adjutant or aide, stood beside their commanding officer.
​
The admiral began to speak.
​
"I am James, Duke of New Londinium and admiral of the third fleet of the Imperial Stellar Navy, transmitting from His Majesty's ship *Vishnu*. Your world is under my blockade. Your orbital stations are destroyed, and your ground-based weapons facilities lie in ruins; you are thoroughly without ability to resist us. I offer you this *one* chance to surrender. If you do not take it, I will *not* simply slaughter your people, salt your fields, and raze your cities to the ground. If you defy me, I will not land a single troop. I will descend upon your civilization as fire and night and lay upon you the full wrath of the Grand Empire of Earth. I will scour your planet of macroscopic life and render it uninhabitable for an age. All of this will happen within an hour of my order."
​
Do not test me, killers of children. You will find my resolve clad in adamant."
​
The hologram flickered out.
​
"*He bluffs*!" laughed the Nihneevan commander. "*Uninhabitable for an age*. No such power is known to the Great Confederacy. And without the landing of a single troop? *Within an hour*? The arrogant human really must take us for fools. Transmit our response: we do not surrender, and we do not take kindly to the admiral's insult. If he would have this world, he will buy it at a dear price!"
​
The word was received on H. M. S. *Vishnu*.
​
"Very well." said the admiral. "Let King Herod taste the meal he has served."
​
The order was given and obeyed. Launch tubes were loaded and missiles sent down the surface of the planet below. The admiral watched the detonations from the observation deck. Seeing the first burst of hell-fire, he spoke two words:
​
"*Fiat lux*." | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T10:59:50 | 431 | 13 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | Of all of the races in the Galaxy, humans have two things going for them, and one of them is arguably a weakness.
They're not the smartest, nor are they the fastest of foot, or the strongest of arm. They're not the ones that are so bloodthirsty that they charge into battle blindly, not are they ready to walk over. All of the honors of "a race of hats" as the humans put it go to t other species, at least to the humans.
The first thing humans are, are curious. They want to know everything. If you tell a human not to point a weapon at someone, the first thing they'll do is point it at a wall and pull the trigger just to see what it does. You tell them that the plant life on a new planet is completely inedible, and they'll send thousands of people to that planet to sample everything just to prove you wrong.
This curiosity means they ask questions like, what would happen if we were a completely uniform race of smart people? Or, what would happen if we met that race? How about entire race of violent people, unreasonable and wish to respect the glory of war?
Humans have tried on everything as both a personality, and as a thought experiment.
When the galactic empire noticed them on that little speck on the far edge of the arm of the galaxy, they decided that these humans wouldn't be a threat. Why would they? All of their technology is rudimentary compared to their.
So, a race the humans refer to as 'Dogs' due to a passing resemblance to one of their own indigenous inhabitants made first contact. The humans were fascinated.
Some of them wanted to kill the dogs immediately, out of fear. This is the response that the galactic council expected. What they didn't expect, was the amount of acceptance, and curiosity about the Dogs. They wanted to know everything that the Dogs could teach them.
Before the first human contact, the Dogs were considered a sub-sapient species allowed to exist by their betters. Humans for whatever reason decided that the dogs would be equal, or fairly close to it, and freely gave them their own technology. Most of their own technology. They didn't tell us the horrors they had hidden.
Once the dogs were able to communicate with the humans, the less 'human compatible' races started to learn about the humans through the dogs, elevating the dogs to a position they never before achieved. A position of importance, which the humans appreciated and everyone else resented.
The start of the war was when the human titled 'Ants' decided to strike a blow at the Dogs, to put them back in their place. It was an approved strike, one the entire council agreed upon. It was meant to send a warning to the humans not too screwed with the status quo of the council.
Instead, the human saw it as a challenge.
With no regard to the surrounding systems, they broke whole planets to make their fleets, The technology flow not only one way towards the Dogs but also all of our tech was given to the humans through the Dogs.
The humans decided that they were going to be the new leader of the galaxy, much like the Ants before them. The council mocked them. After all, it had crushed rebellions. It had crushed rebellions with seemingly no effort. After all, nothing could challenge something of it's immense size.
The first retaliatory strike was over before the council knew of it. The humans had run intelligence operations and faked traffic to and from a planet owned by the Ants. They snuck a fleet in to the home planet of the ants, and fought a war. Those that escaped the initial massacre, described warships appearing in the sky, and raining fire down. Technology developed by the council, used against it. Orbital lasers, kinetic impact weapons, Even some explosives laced with scrap metal to shred anything in the area upon detonation.
The Ants had lost their home world. It wasn't a crippling blow, as they own more prosperous planets now. But the human sought significant, as they had managed to get into the center of an enemy controlled space and destroy the target they wanted to destroy, before anyone could stop them. They didn't even have the decency to finish the job. Once they had crippled the planet, they left.
This emboldened the humans, and they started to make more strikes. When the rest of the council stepped in on behalf of the Ants, the humans learned of the new enemy at an alarming rate. Any weapon used against them, they figured out. All weapons kept as a backup in case any one race decided to break the pact were used. Planets were glassed.
Some races tried to switch sides, to work with the humans. Sometimes the humans were able to cover for them, sometimes they got obliterated.
Each time, the humans took a little bit more than they lost. They lost so much, but all it did was make them come after us harder, trying to figure out everything we had secret. Trying to figure out why we would come after them. They were unwilling to accept that there's just a hierarchy that needs to be followed.
When they gave us an ultimatum, we scoffed. They were making progress, but they weren't making fast progress. We expected them to run out of resources in the next 200 years or so. is impossible to maintain the size of their fleet for much longer, their logistics supply lines stretched thin as it was. In fact, our fuel predictions for them seem to have indicated that most of their ships had to be dead, as we couldn't figure out where they were making their fuel.
The first core world to fall was one we owned. We're not 100% sure what happened, as there wasn't really much left aside from a rippling energy signature soaring off into space.
Some of the dogs that wish to come back to the Galactic Empire told us that it was a horror they had never seen before. We wrote it off, thinking that the Dogs were as simple as we had always believed them to be. He was obviously just more stealth and raze tactics we had seen before.
Then the second planet went dark.
Then the third.
Then an entire inhabited system, with only one distress call making it out of the system that was almost useless due to how damaged the communication system appeared to be.
Whatever the humans were doing, it was fast enough to stop all but the most hidden, the farthest into deep space outposts from sending a signal in time. It's like the planets just ceased to exist all at once.
As a small aside, all stars emit this thing called radiation. Atoms combine and split apart and blast radiation in all directions. The energy comes in many forms, and many civilizations harnessed it for it's insane, untameable power. Dyson spheres as the humans call them, encapturing a star and using the energy from it to power civilizations.
It must have been the humans curiosity, because who would ever decide to make a miniature star? | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T08:24:24 | 431 | 13 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside. | Screams echo through the halls and rattle the windows. My first instinct is to run but I can’t turn back now, I’m so close, I could end this nightmare here and now. I keep pushing, every step feeling heavier than the last. I can hear her, a deafening BANG comes from the end of the hall and everything falls still. Shadows crawl across the walls moving like fingers clawing for anything that dares enter her manor. I reach the end of the hall, my next move hangs over me like an anvil. A shotgun blast blows a hole through the door knob.
“Freeze you fucking demon!” She’s there with so many corpses lining the floors, her face bloodied from the horrors she’s committed in these walls, hands clenched on her pistol, she smiles at me. Her eyes speak everything she keeps inside.
“You can’t kill me.. you couldn’t handle the burden..” her words spark sudden realization, if I kill her.. I live out what she would have. Who knows how many have died before I got here. Years and years of sacrifice going unseen, unheard of. All of their lives would fuel mine. But I can’t let her go. If I must watch my world grow old and die, then I will. I chamber another slug and aim for the head.
“Too slow.” She shoots first and my shoulder ignites in pain. The shotgun in my hand fires as I cringe in agony. I hear glass explode, my vision becomes staggered. My thoughts muddled in pain. She walks towards me gun trained on my head “You shouldn’t have come here boy.” She’s standing over me ready to add another life to hers. Life kicks in and I can’t let her go. I sweep her legs and scream in rage, she trips and falls dropping the gun. Gripping my shotgun I turn it around and bash her skull. I hear bones break, my arm is throbbing, can’t stop, she has to die. I get on my feet and see the fear in her eyes. It’s the end for you demon.
“Say hi to the golden girls bitch.” One flash wipes Betty whites face off the earth. I feel a hundred lives enter mine. My thoughts start racing. The pain in my shoulder lifts. A blinding flash of light consumes the room, the screams of every sacrifice consume me and let loose. I will live their lives through mine, each souls energy fueling my ventures. There’s still immortals to kill, but now I’m one of them. There’s more work to do, time to leave. | They sent me in. I did not want to go, but I had no choice. The government made use of people like me. Those who stood against the system.
I don't know how long the system has been in place, though some certainly do. Those who rule us lived when it started. A horrible system where people could take remaining life from those they killed. People gained power and kept it, becoming immortal and murdering others to keep there life.
Those like me fought. We tried to eliminate some of the monsters that have lived far to long, become far to murderous. Those who run this sad world.
I was caught, tortured, and I was to be executed. Killed by my target in a public event. My target will get the life I had to live, and the life stolen from others. For I have killed monsters and the life they stole became mine.
What a horrid system. To try and kill a monster who has lived for thousands of years only to give it more life. Not that it needed life from me, the government system support them and it would be able to live without the life I had taken from other monsters. After all villages need to send tributes. So they know their place in this world.
They found a better use for me. Sending me into this tomb. It is one that has been sealed for thousands of years. The government was scared. Terrified of what might be inside. Of how whatever was in there could be a bigger monster than them.
I was forced inside and the tomb sealed again. With nowhere to go I began to explore. "At least if I am killed it will go to something besides the government." I mutter to myself as I go deeper into the tomb. Using a light given to me.
Eventually I find the creature. The thing that has lived all this time. Residing in a large room, covered in bioluminescent plants. It turns as I enter.
An old man looks at me. People stopped aging after they take their first life and add it to there's. So either he lived for a long time without being tempted by the youth and power. Or he was around when this all started.
"Help" he manages to say. His voice ragged as if he has not used it forever. "I... I never wanted... Tthis."
Surprised by his actions I do nothing. He stumbles into me. For a moment I am alarmed. He could easily kill me, and has gotten to close. This could be a trap. "help mme... Ddie" he says.
"What?" I blurt out. He continues to speak, getting more confident all the time.
"I don't kknow how long... How long I have been here. Right before my death everything changed. I lived in a dangerous but relatively peaceful world, but in my late life the life transferring was discovered. People went mad. Over night the world was bathed in blood as people tried to secure their life. I was an architect. This tomb was my final creation. I came here, sealing myself in and waited to die of my old age, in peace."
I finally managed to untangle myself from him and listen to his story, becoming more curious about what I could learn.
"I messed up. I never would have expected this to happen." He said breaking down, looking at the ground his eyes full of sadness.
"What happened?!" I ask, curious in spite of myself.
"I made a mistake creating this tomb. I" he paused taking a deep breath. "I posoined the aquifer."
"I do not know how many have died, but I know that I will be forced to live here so long as humans walk the earth. Even with the life transferring someone has to drink water and survive until they are able to kill and take life. Or until they are fed to others."
"Please, I have lived long enough. I wanted to pass on long ago. I never wanted to become what I am. Help me rest now"
I look at him. The last one, other than the government and the monsters who run it, who know what life was like. Who know how humanity used to be.
"Can I do it? Even if it is his wish. Can I really take away that knowledge? Can I destroy possibly the only way back to a more sane world? If I take his life how do I avoid leaving and the life going to the monsters who sent me here?" These and more questions swirl in my mind.
What do I do and how do I answer... | 2020-05-16T06:29:22 | 2020-05-16T05:32:25 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Never the one to believe in the supernatural, you couldn’t pass up the insanely cheap deal for a haunted mansion. The last thing you expected was for it to actually be haunted. And honestly, you think you might be slowly falling in love with the ghost. | I've always considered myself a practical and reasonable fellow. A shrewd buyer, someone who doesn't just take the overpriced offer and ask for more. So when I found an entire mansion, for sale at a quarter of the price of the smallest house in the neighbourhood, I took that action. Good brickwork, solid foundation, spacious gardens, no rot or mould, a steal at that price. It was surprising that nobody else had swept it off.
Of course, I was told by the realtor, that the mansion was haunted. To which I shrugged, I'm a modern person, ghosts are something which I consider to live only in the realm of horror stories. Most hauntings are caused by people being scared, combined with atmospheric pressure, tiredness, and usually an overactive imagination. The other times it is because some person is dressing up as a ghost to scare people, which is really an odd way to pass the time.
So I moved in, had furniture placed in the house, remodelled the kitchen, restored the indoor pool, and the gardens. It was honestly pretty great, once it got dusted off, a beautiful brownstone mansion. A reminder of past glories from the time it was built, back in the 1920s. For fun, I had read up on the supposed ghost, supposedly a young man who had been killed in an accident in 1928. Seems he was fleeing from the police after being involved with an unspecified, but highly controversial for the time, crime. Tripped on the stairs to the main door, broke his neck.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I saw him in the middle of the night, sitting in a lawn chair, looking out on the restored gardens. I was rendered speechless, for he was quite the handsome spectre. He got up and turned to me, his pale and hazy eyes looking straight at me. ''*It's mighty fine of you to have the gardens restored, I reckon they look better than ever before. Thank you darling.*'' I sputtered out a shy acknowledgement of him, before he faded into the dim light of the moon.
He'd been described as a nuisance in the past, but he seemed nice enough. When I saw him next, he was in the library reading books. I walked in, trying to be inconspicuous, though he put down his copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and walked over to me. ''*I appreciate what you've done with the place. Very nice. The others in the past wanted to turn the place into a hotel.*'' He scoffed, placed a cold hand on my shoulder, patted it, ''*It made me quite beside myself, and I reckon I got a tad bit angry then, for seeing my old home about to be reduced to petty affairs was an unpleasant experience.*'' He flashed me an extremely handsome smile and then faded again.
When I was enjoying the indoor pool, I found to my shock that besides me, swam the ghost. Deciding to be accommodating, I politely began to swim besides him. Together, we swam a few laps, before we got out and comfortably sat down on some chairs. I offered to make him a drink, though he politely declined, on account of being dead. And not really thirsty at the moment. So instead the two of us, just sat there. Until he started to hum a song, which I recognised as the 1927 song, Ol' Man River. I joined in, and together there at the pool, we hummed that song. When we were done, he took my hand, and just held it with his large cold ghostly hands, until he faded away.
And so it continued, every time we met, we'd hang out, and he'd take my hand, or pat my shoulder. And he'd flash that handsome smile at me. I started to get a feeling in my heart whenever I saw him. He was charming, friendly, and above all, seemed to like my company. I realised deep in my soul, that I was falling in love with a ghost. One day, I put on music, and he appeared, and asked me if I knew how to dance. I said no, and he offered to teach me how. I blushed as he taught me how to do the Charleston, and we danced together.
Feeling remarkably frisky, at the end of the dance, I gave him a chaste kiss, which made the ghost light up, making him seem more alive than I'd ever seen him before. He fixed us a few cocktails, and we started to talk. Talking turned to joking, which turned to flirting. And soon enough, we were taking things to the next step.
It was strange how our days changed after that, he was there for me, never disappearing, his cold, yet comforting presence eternally near. Oh how we danced. He made me feel like I was never alone, in a good way. Some might think that it was strange, that some individual lived all alone in a haunted mansion, but I wasn't alone. I had my ghost by my side. Sure, he was soft and fuzzy, not really there, partially caught on this side and the other side of life, but his feelings were genuine, and to my astonishment, so were mine.
Time passed, and eventually, his ghost was joined by another ghost, my phantom. And together, in love, we haunted our mansion.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | Paper. This is a man with eyes as thick as his stomach, two blue-black bulges that protrude from an otherwise flat canvass. He wears his hair upon his lip in such a way it drags down to his ankles, ankles that have been scarred by what look like tiny stars.
*Tiny stars beget a tiny universe. Each world within revolves around me... or around my legs.*
"Mr Knippler, excuse me, Mr Knippler," the voice is carried from the burnt lips of a weary looking salesman and into the ears of this paper-thin figure with starlet ankles, "if you could be so kind, it's getting rather late, I've my Alsatians to feed, and my wife would rather like it if I could read our Jimmie a bedtime story. Might be his last,"
"Yes, yes." Mr Knippler's nose curls up, drawing his lips apart, revealing dull white stones inside his mouth. Not teeth, mind you, nothing so humane as teeth. "Your Jimmie has the Capital C, tragic, really. And your wife is worried you might not make rent, true?"
The salesman nods, defeated. There is a darkness within him, a darkness that Mr Knippler knows well. *We feed on what we are, not even the Gods might change us, might change that.*
"Then might I suggest you sharpen yourself, Erwin. A sale might just ease your misfortune, wouldn't you say?"
"Hardly." Erwin fakes a smile, but he knows too well it'll take more than good dentistry to fool this particular client. A peculiar man, for want of a better word. Not peculiar, but man. "Even if you were to purchase this house - though Gods only know why you would - the commission would barely touch the sides of our debts. It's not just the rent, Mr Knippler, it's Jimmie's medical bills, it's food for the family, for the dogs, it's logs to keep the fire stoked and burning..."
"One after another, on and on," Mr Knippler draws up his moustahce, wrinkling his face into a paper ball, all lines and creases, "and yet, I dare say, if I were to purchase this house I could do away with all your worries."
Erwin's only response was to laugh, a halfhearted laugh, one that came more from the nose than the mouth.
Now it was Mr Knippler's turn to smile, though his smile was all too real and all too frightening, "And you say the only *catch* is that it's haunted?"
\*\*\*
No more than a month later Mr Knippler was settling into his new home, the haunted house quite appropriately located on top of a hill. Beneath him, a handful of factories, all owned and operated by the Ophal Family Empire. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of each factory, both day and night, the lights never daring to go out, and that very same smoke climbed the hill to cloud the house atop in a smog - *a smog one might mistake for wandering spirits.*
Not only did Mr Knippler have a new home, but he too had a pair of fine Alsatians to accompany him. *Say fair is fair, one love for another.* Erwin's son, Jimmie, was recovering from the dreadful Capital C, and so far as money-troubles went Erwin had but one; the divorce. *A hefty price to pay for such a miracle.*
"They say there's ghosts," Mr Knippler was no longer the tall, thin apparition that he'd appeared before, but rather a contorted looking spine from which feeble body parts did sprout. His head was held up by a brace, and down his back ran pins secured into a bracket, "in there, that is." Mr Knippler waved what could only be described as a walking stick (though it looked not a thing like a stick at all) over the house. "Do you know what else they say?" Mr Knippler folded himself down beside his two canine friends, planting a hand upon the backs of their skulls.
*One hand, one skull, and yet still he holds that walking stick.*
The Alsatians looked up at the face of their new master (not owner), feeling a strange sense of both pride and disgust. Pride at knowing this master was not a thing like those they'd come across before, no, he'd never strike at them in anger, nor would he ever leave them hungering for food (though they couldn't say how they knew this). And yet disgust, not disgusted by the man, nor by how he looked, but by the idea that he needed them to work, and that the work was a far stretch from such trivialities as fetching sticks and papers (both of which this thin and crippled man seemed to have in such abundance).
"I'll assume that's a no," Mr Knippler chuckled, rattling the bones inside his head. "They say that dogs have keen eyes for the supernatural, and a keen nose for the dead."
\*\*\*
Of all the rooms the Mr Knippler might have unpacked first and foremost, one wouldn't have thought it to be the dinning room. It had taken some persuading, but eventually Mr Knippler had found himself a woman with a van willing to assist him. He didn't trust the likes of moving companies, or any such entity that formed so much as a turn-pin in the great corporate machine, so it had to be an individual willing to lend their hands and their vehicle to him in exchange for something other than currency. As it happens the woman in question was going through a rather nasty divorce, and was in need of a distraction - *such a kindhearted soul -* and the fact the Mr Knippler's Alsatians reminded her so fondly of her own (who had recently been lost in a tragic roadside accident, and make no mistake about it, her dogs *had* been lost in that accident) only served to sweeten the deal.
Most of Mr Knippler's possessions were taken to the uppermost floors (make of that what you will) leaving only a few items of interest in the dinning room. A table (of course) carved from the trunks of the great oaks that had bordered Mr Knippler's first home; a ship's wheel which hung from the ceiling by chains, supporting several candles in its wake; two tin-plated dog's bowls that had seen constant use throughout Mr Knippler's life; and a stool upon which Mr Knippler refused to sit.
Mr Knippler was in fact standing, reading a paper (that he had fetched himself some years ago) digesting the evenings news. With each turn of the page (though the page never actually turned) a new story presented itself - some were pieces of local interest, others of a more national concern, and a few even spoke of strange lands beyond the vast seas of The Nine.
"Eat up," Mr Knippler spoke to his dogs without looking up from the paper, knowing by ear alone that there was very little eating going on, "you'll need your wits about you this evening, mark me, it's sure to be a late one."
At this the dogs looked dismayed, they'd never been all that keen on working nights.
...
\*\*I'm having to stop here for now, but I might come back to this after work - and if you did make it this far, then Mr Knippler sincerely hopes you had fun reading about him.\*\* | 2020-06-05T04:10:16 | 2020-06-05T03:57:32 | 905 | 13 |
[WP] Your family has a superpower: you have a lot of cousins. No, like seriously, a lot of cousins. If you ever need something, you've got a cousin for that and who can get it done within 24hrs. | There was a crack that could have been thunder as the front door exploded from the frame, clearing eight feet of distance before slamming into the far wall. Cousin Joe, six feet of muscle, focused lethality, and kinetic violence tore into the room wearing a gas mask and kevlar, dropping smoke grenades as he went. White fog blanketed the room in seconds, creating a twisting pall that obscured all hope of vision. A gun clicked as the safety was taken off.
“Who needs to die!?”
“We need the help planning a surprise birthday, for tomorrow!”
Silence. As the smoke cleared, the form of Cousin Joe began to reappear. His firearm, vest, and gas mask had vanished, face no longer the emotionless mask of a killer. A brilliant grin adorned his face, and a pink party hat sat atop his head.
“Awesome! I love planning parties!” | My oldest living family member is my great-grandmother with an outstanding 106 years on earth. My grandfather and 5 out of the 6 of his brothers and sisters are still alive. One of his brothers died in a car crash a few months ago. We are a Christian family and my family takes go forth and multiply a little serious. I have about 90 cousins.
Michel is the cousin I have the most contact with. He is my drugs dealer. Nothing serious just some coke for parties and some weed every once in a while. Michel is one of my best friends and I love him dearly but he is somewhat stupid. He has a tendency to get into trouble. He has enough cousins that can help him but we are not there every step he takes. He gets beaten at least three times a week.
Last week he was in even bigger trouble than he normally is. He had used more of the drugs he was supposed to sell than he could afford. So his boss Don sent a few of his man to get him. The punched him in the face and dragged him into a van. He was able to send me a distress signal. ‘HELP, THEY’RE TAKING ME TO D…..’ the message was over. I knew I had to call my cousins. The first one I called was Josiah, he’s a tech expert and I asked him to track the van. Within twenty minutes he send me a live location of the van. In the meantime I had called Logan and Mitch they are twins and security guards. They box in their free time. They were going to get Michel and I send them the location.
I drove as fast as my Fiat Panda from 1990 would allow me to my cousin Lucas. He had a garage with some faster cars and maybe he had some guns stashed somewhere. I packed everything and I drove to the van. The van drove on the highway and I stayed a safe three cars behind them. Then Logan and Mitch appeared next to me. I handed them the guns out of the window.
All went very fast now. We had planned to sandwich the van and we did Logan started shooting which wasn’t according to plan. The kidnappers started shooting back. They also started to shoot at me. I bumped into the van, it crashed into the guardrail. The doors on the back blew open and a body flew out of it. It landed on the street. I crashed in the van and so did Logan and Mitch. Once I got out of the car, which was quite a hassle with the airbags, I sprinted to the body on the highway. It was Michel, as I expected. He had snapped his neck when he landed on the road. He died there. I just lost my best friend and started crying. This is our families curse, we will get the job done no matter what the result will be. | 2020-08-12T07:11:20 | 2020-08-12T05:57:32 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] You’re minding your own business and suddenly time just stops. The only problem is, your body is frozen in time but your mind hasn’t. After a thousand years, time resumes but you’re the only one whose mind wasn’t frozen. | At first I thought it was insane.
Thought I was insane.
But I quickly got over it.
My body was frozen in time. But my mind, my soul, was still awake.
I thought. It was all could do really. I thought about life, I thought about the beginning, I thought about why we call a chair a chair.
I thought about why we had stopped. No that would drive me insane. I had no answer to that.
But mostly I thought about me. My life. Everyone's life. What could have happened but didn't. What will happen if we don't change things.
I was right in the middle of thinking about the many paths that our life could have taken.
And then it resumed. The underground train I was in started moving again. The people around me started talking again.
And a woman next to me, resumed her crying. She went on about how her husband had left her. I examined her face.
Claire? Yes Clair that was it. I remember her from the path with the meteor.
She talked about how her son had a terminal disease. She talked about how she was ready to end it all. I thought about what to do. I chose the best path for her. I nodded, slowly and calmly. Confirming I had heard her.
I lifted my hand and rested it on her cheek.
"Claire." I spoke with a voice I hadn't heard in a million years. "You don't want to do this."
"Why?"
"Take it from a guy who's been thinking for a long time. You've got a whole life ahead of you. You don't want to waste it." | It's hard to imagine, isn't it? Being frozen in time and unable to shriek in terror, sob in despair, or curl up into a ball and try to hide the harshness of your reality. Nothing to do but observe the scene laid before you, no sensations beyond an eternal chill from a gust of wind, and nobody to keep you company beyond your own thoughts.
It was maddening. My brain overloaded with frayed thoughts as it tried to make sense of the situation, pushing each muscle as hard as it could to budge even the slightest bit. Even now words fail to do it justice, but one could describe what follows as four epochs.
First was the insanity. Once the realization hit of what my new world was, everything I had ever been or thought I ever would be disintegrated into a cloud of chaos. Surprisingly, this was the shortest lived, as I found myself growing bored of my own degraded state of mind within the first year.
Second came the nothingness. For two hundred years I had simply chosen to stop thinking. From the storm of madness came a tranquil peace. It's a state of mind I still look back fondly upon, and I hope one day I may return to it.
Third came the period of learning. I was fortunate enough to be seated outside a cafe I was rather fond of, but I suppose any spot would have been sufficient. For almost eight centuries I analyzed my memories and surroundings, building off of my understanding of the world and those within it, and slowly breaking it all down. I came to understand the mechanics responsible for my current state of existence, though while I was still within the singularity I could neither break free or predict its duration. As you've seen, the findings I made within it granted me an understanding of this universe rivaled by none.
I understand your skepticism, and believe me I had many of my own. After all, I was a college student unsure of what to do with their life. How could I solve the great unknowns and advance fields beyond the accomplishments of history's greatest minds?
The answer, of course, is time. While I lacked the academic knowledge of Einstein, Hawking, Tesla, Curie, or countless others, I had more time to my research and analysis during that singularity alone than they did their whole lives, and believe me when I say I took advantage of it.
Of course, I had spent part of this time focusing on trivialities such as the current political climate, and the state of the world in general. On their own, the nations of this world are weak, disorganized, and self-destructive. However, if humanity were united under a single flag, we would be able to colonize the solar system within a lifetime. The star system within two. However, the people need a leader. Someone without the flaws of the current ones. Somebody wiser.
I know what you're thinking, and believe me the thought crossed my mind. It's a fair assumption to believe that I would seek to control the world myself. However, what the world needs now, more than just wisdom, is creativity. It needs a leader who seeks not just to learn what is, but to seek what could be, and to make it so. It needs a special type of creative mind, one who wishes to create and build for the sake of creating and building. What the world needs is a type of person who will create new worlds not just for their own curiosity, but to brighten the lives of people they may never meet.
The type of person who would, say, frequent a creative writing community.
May the fourth epoch begin. Good luck, and may you come out as wise as I am now, but remain as kind as you currently are. | 2020-09-18T02:51:07 | 2020-09-18T02:47:11 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The party of heroes storms through the front gate of the dark lord's castle. Expecting to face an army of evil minions, they instead find themselves barging in on a family gathering. The dark lord is celebrating his 4 year old daughter's birthday. | "This is it, my fellows. After our arduous journey through the Harrowing Forest, through the Blazing Mountains, through the Withering Swamps, we're finally here! The Dark Lord's castle!", declared Glenn Dragonsbane the warrior. With him were his fellow brave travelers. Levia Kyalis the witch, Garth Rockthorn the warrior, and Alcolm Sweetkiehl the bard.
"We're ready, Glenn. On your command, we shall break the black gate down and vanquish the Dark Lord once and for all!", proclaimed Garth.
Glenn nodded, signaling his intent. Along with Garth's axe and Levia's destructive spell, Glenn swung his sword onto the gate easily breaking it. In the ensuing havoc, the party charged with all their might. Only...something peculiar and so out of place stopped them on their tracks...
Children sitting around the ground, dressed in silly outfits staring them down. In confusion the party of travelers froze, unsure on what to do. Glenn looked around, more eyes were on them. Adults of the demon race, sitting around wearing silly hats and plates of cake on their hands.
"Oh hey! It's....you guys!", a familiar figure quickly jogged towards the warrior. It was the Dark Lord himself. On his head the same silly hat, his face was full of eye striking colors.
"Wha...uh...", Glenn stuttered looking around to his all the same confused fellows.
"Guys, it's my 4 year old daughter's birthday party! I know why you're here, but this is really not a good time! If you can just...you know...blend in. Please, please, please don't ruin this for me. Don't ruin this for my little Alba", the Dark Lord whispered eyeing back his daughter.
The warriors were still stunned, still looking at each other startled.
"Dad, are they the entertainment for the party?", Alba asked his father enthusiastically. To the warriors his expression was still one of begging.
"Um...yes! Yes indeed! Now you must be the birthday girl!", Alcolm finally broke the silence hopping forward with his trusty lute to the center of the party. "Now here's a little song for today's special girl!"
Bursting into a jolly music and song, Alcolm quickly brought the life back to the awkwardly paused party. The kids all danced around Alcolm's tune while their parents clapped along, enjoying the spectacle.
"Glenn, what do we do?", whispered Levia.
"Uhh....I...don't know..."
"Well, we can't go with our plan now! We don't want to ruin a girl's birthday party! Just...blend in!", said Garth before joining Alcolm in his tune, juggling his axes for the children's entertainment.
Inciting the laugh of the children, Garth and Alcolm laughed heartily. Finally deciding to join in, Levia casted her spells. From her staff came balls of fire shot up to the air, bursting in different beautiful colors to the awe of the guests.
The party was even more lively than before. As the Dark Lord joined in the dance, Alcolm's hand danced on the strings of his lute while Levia and Garth joined hand in hand in a silly dance.
Glenn, still being awkward, sauntered off to the side onto an empty chair, watching the party going on.
"Aren't you going to do something?", a little voice asked the warrior, catching him off guard. It was Alba.
"What?"
"Aren't you a party entertainer? Do something!", she smiled showing off her incomplete sharp teeth.
"Ummm...", Glenn looked around awkwardly unsure how to proceed before he spotted a balloon.
"Oh, here we go...", he said. In a surprisingly swift and methodical crafting, he turned the balloon into a balloon dragon.
"Awesome!", Alba yelped. Catching the attention of the other children, they all lined up in front of Glenn with their balloons, busying the warrior to make more balloon animals. His party watched from the distance giggling, clearly amused.
​
​
"Well, guys I don't know what to say. You made the party even better than I had planned", the Dark Lord addressed the warriors. "So...you're going to vanquish me now?", he smirked. Despite the silly hat, he was clearly still a threat to any reckless travelers seeking a battle with him.
The warriors looked at each other unsure, their will to fight had long gone. With his fellows' silent shrugs, Glenn knew their decision.
"Maybe some other time..."
"Rain check then!", the Dark Lord chuckled before running back to his still ongoing party.
"What do we do now?", asked Levia.
Glenn sighed, "Prepare for Withering Swamps, Blazing Mountains, and Harrowing Forest....we're going home", he said walking away from the castle.
It was strangely relieving, being able to entertain the children and having fun after their long journey. But the party quickly joined their leader, going back home.
"I still can't believe you're really good at making balloon animals, Glenn", Alcolm chuckled.
"If you make a song our of this, bard...I swear I'll hunt you down", Glenn said not amused to the giggles of his other fellows. | The castle was eerily quiet. Something wasn't right. Lord Morpheus usually had a small army garrisoned here, or so the scouts claimed. Now, all that could be heard was the sound of the wind as it blew countless dry, oak leaves in a flurry around the empty courtyard.
"I don't like this one bit" said Elgar, our resident mage and healer.
I shake my head. It had to be a trap, Morpheus was too smart for this. He wouldn't leave his fortress undefended.
"It's a trap, we never should have come here. The Elders have sent us on a quest to our death." I say.
"Trap or no, we are here to do a job, and the Rangers of Belarvia never shy from a fight." Said Indor grimly, unsheathing his long sword. "Come, I can hear faint voices inside."
He headed up a wide, stone paved stairway that led into the main hall of the castle. The hall was huge, built of the same dark stones as the outer wall of the keep. Great pillars of hewn stone ran in two parallel rows, from the entrance to the rear wall, where a mighty carved throne sat in majesty. Black banners bearing the device of a silver spider hung menacingly from the walls. The only light came from two braziers in the back corners of the room.
"Well this is a cheerful sight." Elgar said, looking around with wonder and awe in his eyes.
"Hush, there are voices coming from up there." Indor pointed to a window on the upper floor, and indeed many voices could be heard now, whispers in the darkness. It sounded unsettling.
We found a staircase through a heavy, wooden door on the left side of the hall, and in single file we slowly ascended to the next level. The voices grew louder with each step we took, it sounded like some kind of feast or party was being held.
Coming to the source of the noise, we all gathered around another door, which was slightly ajar. The deep, booming voice of Lord Morpheus came out to greet them, it sounded merry and without its usual malice.
"Here goes nothing. Are you ready?" I asked, loading a bolt into my crossbow. The others nodded silently, Indor and Elgar, and Yhira, our silent Elven companion, who carried a beautifully carved longbow. My heart was beating rapidly, I felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.
I pushed open the door with all my strength and it swung inwards with a crash, as it hit the wall in the chamber. The four of us piled in, weapons bared, ready to sell our lives dearly. What we saw surprised us all, even Yhira let out a barely audible laugh.
Lord Morpheus was sat in a great chair at the head of a large table. On his lap sat a little girl, she can't have been older than four or five years old. Around the table sat an assortment of very shocked looking people, but one of the company held my gaze. She was a dark skinned woman, with burning amber eyes and dark, shaggy hair that hung down her back like a lion's mane. This was Liara, Morpheus' wife, and she was only slightly less evil than her husband She was now staring intently at me, without blinking. It was uncomfortable to say the least.
"Morpheus, who are your friends?" She asked in a cold voice, still not taking her eyes off of me. "What makes them think they can interrupt my darlings perfect day"
"Lord Morpheus, I am Sirol, and together with my companions I have been tasked by the Elders of Ghori..." I started, but my voice caught in my throat as Morpheus stood up, and he was tall and menacing.
"Silence, fool! How dare you come here to my home and ruin my daughter's birthday celebrations. I should have you all executed immediately." He said, looking at each of us with a dark look in his black eyes.
"Kill them! Kill them now!" Laira screamed, throwing a gold goblet towards the heroes.
Suddenly a dozen or so men rose from the table and drew their weapons. Yhira shot two in the throat in quick succession and Indor killed another three large men with battleaxes. I took aim and fired a bolt from my crossbow towards the towering figure of Morpheus, who had retrieved his golden spear and was advancing on Elgar, a look of bloodlust in his eyes. He deflected the bolt and slammed full power into Elgar, knocking him unconscious. Indor had been wounded by another warrior, but he swiftly killed his foe and circled around to defend Yhira, who was being engaged by two enemy swordsmen.
Morpheus now focused his attention on me, and before I could reload my crossbow he thrust his great spear at me. I ducked aside just in time, and Morpheus, who had not been expecting me to be so swift, lost his footing and stumbled. Indor was ready for him, and without warning the Rangers shining blade swept the Dark Lord's head from its shoulders, and it fell the ground with a this and rolled several feet towards the table.
A long, piercing shriek filled our ears, the sound which a banshee in severe pain might make, and the sound of wailing and crying and screaming filled the air. Looking around the room I found the source of the noise, and sat there, covered in a spray of her mother's blood, was Morpheus's daughter. One of my bolts had ricocheted and struck Laira in the neck, killing her instantly, and her body had crashed down onto the table Infront of her traumatized child.
Indor was pulling me by the arm, dragging me through the door to the chamber. Elgar was up, looking pale as a ghost, but be was alive. Yhira was running ahead, her bow bent, and arrow already fitted in the string.
By the time I came to myself again I was running through a cold, snow covered lane surrounded by trees. The road approaching the keep. We stopped in a small clearing and just sat, staring blankly into the distance. What had happened in there? We did our job and killed the Dark Lord, a feat which surely would be sung of across the kingdom. We ought to feel like heroes, but I didn't. I just felt empty. The face of the child was burned into my mind, a child who's parents were just murdered in front of her very eyes.
That image would haunt me for the rest of my life. After several years I learned to ignore them, and for a time I managed to actually sleep in peace again. But it was not to last. Exactly 18 years later, on another cold and miserable winter night, I heard the footsteps of doom coming down the garden path. There was a knock at the door, then it was broken clean off it's hinges and crashed on the floor in a pile of splintered wood. There, stood in the doorway framed by moonlight, was the silhouette of a young woman, with dark, shaggy hair and terrifying, amber eyes.
The last thing I knew was the feel of cold steel, and my last sight in this life was those horrible glowing eyes, which had haunted my dreams for over 18 years. | 2020-12-27T04:24:59 | 2020-12-27T03:46:11 | 273 | 89 |
[WP] When the aliens conquered Earth, they exterminated the populace but left you alive for some reason. You’ve spent years in captivity, wondering why they’ve chosen to keep you alive. One day, you are approached by the high commander and the answer is revealed. | When I was a child, I loved to look up into the night sky and see the stars. I would sometimes even imagine I was an astronaut, getting to sail though the ocean of infinite freedom known as space. I had supposed since even the law of gravity was ignored in space, all other laws and rules could have been ignored as well.
As I grew up, that dream had slowly faded from my mind as most childhood dreams do. I had never known my dream would ever come true, and I couldn’t ever even imagine it being twisted into a cruel, mocking, nightmare like it has been.
I get to sail through space and see the stars all around me, but I’m barely able to escape the prison of my own mind, let alone the literal prison those damned bugs have trapped me in.
My prison is a small room, made entirely of clear glass, so no matter where I look, left, right, up, down, I can see the stars just beyond the glass. The glass is so clear, I wouldn’t even know it was there if I never felt it before. The only thing in the room is a white door that looks like it was plucked straight from a house in the suburbs. I still don’t know why those bugs chose that sort of door to put here, it certainly wasn’t to make it easier for me to escape, (trust me, I’ve tried busting it down before, it was just as tough as the glass).
But I’m used to not knowing why these damned bugs do anything. If it wasn’t for all of their superior technology and the tactics they used to wipe all of humanity out but me, I would have assumed they weren’t able to think at -
Suddenly, the door opens, causing me to scream and throw myself back up against one of the walls. The only time that door has ever opened was when those damned bugs threw me into this room. One of the bugs slithered into the room and stared at me.
Why did it come in here? It wasn’t here to feed me, years in here without food has proven they don’t need or care to feed me. Was it here to finally devour me like it did my family? Maybe that’s why they kept me around, as a snack for later.
The bug’s antennas perked up, and it started to make a noise vaguely resembling a laugh. “So, how did you like our performance?”
I stared at the bug in shock, I had never heard one of them talk before. I have no idea how long I stood there gaping like an idiot, but I eventually gathered enough wits to ask something. “What?”
“The performance, how did you like it?” The bug asked, it’s voice sounding strangely worried yet somehow excited.
“What performance?”
The bug chuckled again. “The whole devouring your race, leaving you as the lone survivor, and mentally torturing you for a decade act. How did you like it?”
I tried to form words, but my brain completely failed me. “We really hope you enjoyed it, me and my family made sure to practice on a whole lot of other worlds to make sure we did it just right!”
I stare at the bug in silent disbelief, trying to process what it just told me, and failing. Eventually, I automatically asked the first question that came to mind. “What’s the name of your act?”
The bug’s mouth curled up into a wide grin, showing off it’s millions of sharp teeth . “We like to call it the aristocrats!” | *Their footsteps were quiet.*
*As quiet as the rain that fell from the sky, acid burning through skin, the taste of flesh on tongue, the rise of ash dusted on still corpses. As quiet as their smiles, amused with the promise of threat, stained red from the blood of their enemies. From the blood of us.*
*There was nothing left, no one left to feel pain in such a desolate place.*
*No one, that is, except me.*
*Their footsteps were quiet, you see. Quiet enough that they reigned from the sky and then from the ground and then everywhere else, silent and deadly in a way that screams agony. And agony we got. I can still remember it - remember the way the people begged, with their tear stricken cheeks and diluted eyes. They looked dead - and they were. At least, in every way that mattered.*
*Their screams lull me to sleep now - it’s what I see when I close my eyes and when I remain awake, trying to remember a time when I didn’t feel as if I were floating, hovering outside my body, silent and somewhere far, far away, dreams and nightmares and imaginary whispers passing me by in memory.*
*Ash brands my bones like sinking cuffs. They’re tattoos now - tattoos of the dead carried with me at all times, flesh and blood inked into the very core of my skin, reminding me of what I once had and what I lost. Dragging me into the nightmares of my past; ash on my tongue and the sight of a thousand walking corpses that were never really alive in the first place. And black eyes, haunted and vindictive and filled with oblivion. Those appear in my dreams the most.*
*Because they spared me, even if I didn't know it at the time.*
*Hunched beneath a school desk, watching the world burn all around me, the skin of my classmates floating in the wind, the air hot and musty and warping every which way, embers staining the tips of my hair and my face, there was a hand drawn that day.*
*And I took it.*
*(One day I will look back at that memory - the one that appears in my dreams and in my reality and everywhere in between - and convince myself that it was those black eyes that made me reach out. Those black eyes that promised me another world.)*
—
Why am I alive?
Why did they spare me?
In a life of solitude and captivity and clean, white walls, these are the thoughts that visit me. It’s a lonely way of thinking, but a familiar way of life - loneliness is like that sometimes, becoming a friend rather than a foe.
“Are you enjoying your stay?” An amused voice draws me out of my thoughts. It’s the High Commander. I’ve never been approached by him - at least, not in person. His soldiers visit me all the time, of course. It’s the one time of day they actually enjoy. I don’t enjoy any of it.
“Tremendously,” I deadpan. “Of course, you could use some change in decor,” I say, gesturing to the dull and mundane white walls.
He laughs. It’s not humorous at all. “I suppose it can get rather lonely in here.”
“No, not lonely. I just thought that since I’ve been your guest - you know, the one you’ve had for years - I’d get to have some say in the paint,” I smirk. “You’re not very good hosts, are you?”
He smiles, the way one would do to a child, before moving to sit across from me. “Well then I propose a name change,” he leans down, eyes condescending. “How does prisoner sound?”
“Finally free of denial?” I ask.
The High Commander narrows his eyes, before finally leaning back and smirking at me. “You want to know why you’re here,” it’s not a question. It never was. “Why we killed all your kind and took you prisoner.”
“Wow, never knew you were such a genius. Really, would you like a gold star?”
“I have all the stars I want.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
“Well, if you’re going to be like that then I suppose you don’t really want to know,” he says, rising out of the chair and making his way back to the door.
Desperation crawls its way up my throat before I can stop myself from speaking aloud. “Wait,” I plead, cursing myself for showing him weakness. But this is what’s kept me up at night - what’s given me the will to go on, to cling to the hope that reason exists and that reason alone is keeping me alive. “Just wait.”
He stops.
I continue on. “Why did you leave me alive?”
He turns around, a smile plastered on his face. And then he leans down, until we’re eye to eye, as if he were letting me in on a secret, before finally speaking.
“Because you’re one of us,” he whispers.
And then he’s gone.
(Later, when everything is quiet and I'm left to my thoughts once more, silently dreaming of the moon and the sun and the stars and another time entirely, I will fall asleep to a dark world, dreaming of those black eyes the Commander had worn.)
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite | 2021-01-10T09:15:51 | 2021-01-10T09:14:50 | 39 | 29 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context. | *"Humans of Earth! Do not panic. We are here to assist you. We are the Defence Force of the Intra-Galactic Coalition of Worlds. We are allies. We are friends. We are now working closely with your militaries to address the Xyclad infestation. Proceed to evacuation assembly areas. Evacuation assembly areas are marked by light beams. Bring your national identification to the evacuation assembly areas. Humans of Earth! Do not Panic. We are..."*
The message played from every television, radio, computer, cell phone, ear bud, intercom, public address system, and all other speakered devices on the planet. Major Holland picked up the receiver from the phone on his desk to get answers, only to hear the infernal message that was jamming every communication system on the base. He could scarcely slam it back home before the alien teleported into existence in front of him.
"Major Holland! I am Commander Zor, of the Defence Force. We are here to assist you. We are here to help. My troops are at your disposal. Brief me on the local Xyclad infestation."
It only took a glance out the window, where thousands of alien creatures were marshalling and drilling beside complicated war machines, to see that this was not some elaborate prank.
"Zie...clid? Xyclad?"
"We do not know your name for them. We do not know your label. Your foe. Your enemy. Your reason for battle. We are here to fight your enemy. We are allies. We are friends."
The creature held out some kind of translucent tablet which projected a holographic image, in front of the major, of some horribly ugly and vicious looking creature.
"What the hell is that?!"
"You do not know the Xyclad? You do not see your enemy?"
"I've never seen anything like that in my life!"
"Impossible! Why do you battle? Why do you war? Why do you fight?"
"We fight no battles. We *are* engaged in some peacekeeping actions abroad but we fight no war."
"No species would employ the atom for minor conflict. You do not split the atom against yourselves. We are allies. We are friends. We are here to help. Tell me of the Xyclad. Tell me of your enemy. Your enemy is our enemy."
"Split the atom? You mean nuclear bombs? We haven't deployed nuclear weapon systems in anger in decades? Uh... not in many orbits... around our star."
The Major circled a finger around an outstretched fist. The hologram changed to display Earth, which presently became covered in a host of variously sized red dots.
"Why then do you detonate the weapons around your planet? Why do you split the atom in many places?"
"Most of these are tests."
"Your weapon clearly functions. Your atom-splitting works. Your '*nuke'* is operable. Why would you test it endlessly? Why do you persist? If not for the Xyclad?"
"I... I don't know. Is that unusual?"
"It is unfathomable! You poison your world! You sicken your planet."
A lieutenant burst into the room and saluted, seemingly unfazed by the alien creatures presence.
"Major. Chief of Defence is on the big screen in Room 2. Big conference call with... well, with everybody."
"I'll be right there."
The Major pointed at his surprise guest.
"You- er... Commander... Zor? You stay here."
"Understood."
The alien took up what was probably a military attention or rest position and stood motionless as the Major hurried out of the room.
Millions of similar conversations were taking place all over the planet as the service people of the Intra-Galactic Coalition of Worlds Defence Force met with their Earthling counterparts. Some went better than others. Politicians met with politicians, officers with officers. Some enlisted ranks were already being trained in counter-Xyclad tactics and preparing defences. Some fired on the alien 'invaders', but in those cases the guests disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Even emergency responders were visited by their space-faring equals.
It took several days to convince the new arrivals that Earth was not under attack, and several more to explain why Humanity had detonated hundreds of nuclear weapons all over its' planet. A newly reformed United Nations drafted and sent an apology to the people of the Milky Way for its' apparently unusual behavior.
A united Humanity was soon inducted into the Intra-Galactic Coalition of Worlds. Advanced and technology and hard earned knowledge, gifted by new friends, saw poverty, unemployment, and most diseases instantly eradicated. Prisons were all but emptied.
The promise of adventure in space, a noble duty to protect intelligent life, and, for some, shelter and hot meals, saw seven hundred million Humans enlisted into an inaugural 1^(st) Earthling Division of the IGCW-DF. The greatest initial contribution per-capita of any member world to date.
They may have stumbled embarrassingly onto the galactic stage but the *''Nuke'ems''* would soon be known to punch above their weight when it came to fighting the infestation. Humanity would scour the Xyclads from their local cluster in short order, a new galactic shock force.
They are allies. They are friends. But if the *Nuke'ems* show up on your world...
***"Duck and cover!"*** | "Haha, I say they are like the Eostral, rattling the disintegrators within their holsters in an attempt to intimidate." The massive mammalian pounded the table as he spoke.
This generated a general rumble of agreement from the assembled denzian's of the pangalactic empire. Most of them, as the Eostral stared stoically forward unwilling to be goaded by the hot headed Haax.
Knowing that he had generated positive reactions with that statement he went on.
"As likely to accidentally discharge and dust a leg off as anything!"
Haax's words had the desired effect of creating laughter from most of the species capable of such. The Eostral let loose a cloud of ink, filling its tank with darkness so nobody could see its epidermal display shift to embarrassment and irritation.
"I disagree!" shouted the Darian delegate. It dragged its forward appendage against the table before it, the chitton causing a high pitched screech against the metal. Almost all the aliens squrimed at the sound. "I think that they are saving them up until they reach a threashold, upon which they will lay waste to everyone around them."
Everybody was quiet as they variously considered this possibility, their own theories, as well as how inspired the Dar was by the hundreds of baby Dar she was carrying around upon her abdomen.
"I think I know!" Shouted Jerry from across the room.
The assembled delegates of the intergalactic council gave a collective gasp, burble or ruffle of feathers as the intruder made themselves known. The primary facilitator of the council stood up, unfolding all of her legs and uncurling her neck she loomed over everyone as her voice boomed across the cavernous room.
"How dare you interrupt the official proceedings of-"
The human reach down and brandished their identification chit which was attached to their hip on a plastic cord by a spring-loaded spool.
"Shit Bitch!" He said with a smile, waving around his credentials.
The collective gasp from the assembly turned into a grown as the human strode forward, smiling and beaming its eyes. Those unfamiliar with human physiology mistook it as a threat display, or possibly an indication that it was hungry and scrambled out of their seats and away from it.
Only the delegate from Proxima Centauri and the towering, hirsute dignitary from the Alpha Apex Collective remained seated, unfazed by the unexpected intrusion as familiar as they were with humans.
"Now I may not be a historian, or any kind of military strategist, but I imagine us only having used the dang things twice has more to do with the absolute horror and devastation those weapons inflict than anything else."
"Why is the janitor lecturing us?" Demanded Haax
"Now, just hold on a second here, my official designation is Director of Cycles!" He complained.
"I asked again, why are you here?"
"Well I was just down the hall trying to figure out which one of you did your business in the wrong receptacle, when I glanced at the board and saw the discussion topic and figured I might poke my nose in since there didn't seem to be any humans on the panel."
"One doesn't typically consult the vermin about their own excrement." Stated the Dar.
"Ah come on now, it's not like they don't have a practical purpose! Heck, we used decommissioned warheads to propel some of our first colony ships out of the solar system!"
"Yes we know, and the radioactive particles have only just begun working their way out of your so-called Oort Cloud and into the outer reaches of the gravitational influence of our sun!" Shouted the dignitary from Proxima Centauri. Humanities nearest neighbor was never amused by the amount of electromagnetic waste cascading off of our system and the recent arrival of clouds of radioactive dust only served to further deteriorate relations.
"Well gosh, we are sorry about that. We have apologized, haven't we?" Jerry was honestly not sure if the Tarren diplomacy core had covered that particular facet of human's stumbling, bumbling and otherwise embarrassing itself every step of the way as it entered the intergalactic community. But it was heard as an insulting exclamation by humanites suspicious eight limbed aquatic stallar neighbor.
Had The Council not had humanity under observation for centuries prior to our finally getting out of our solar system, our shocking ignorance and utter inability to grasp 12, well now 13 party diplomacy would surely have spelled our doom. As cutting as their remarks tended to be it was the sentient cephalopods of Proxima Centauri who routinely stood up for the fledgling race.
For their part, the Neaderthal from the Alpha Apex Collective simply rolled their eyes. While they would occasionally vouch safe humanities general benevolence, it was tempered by the fact that his species had been evacuated as refugees out from under the unrelenting genocide by Homo Sapiens.
"Okay, look, it's like this. Before we learned we were not alone in the universe, we were pretty terrible about fighting amongst each other. It was like some kind of crazy never-ending arms race once the first human sharpened a stick up until the invention of the nuke. We used those bombs almost as soon as they were invented, heck they were invented specifically to be used! But once it was used, it was generally decided to be a terrible idea."
"Devastation on a massive scale. We believe you are lying. We believe you have used those bombs many times in the past and we have proof."
Another gasp from the collective and those that had only now just begun to retake their seat shot back to their feet or scooted their chair away from the offending human.
"What? What are you talking about? We only ever obliterated Hiroshima and Nagasaki!"
"The amount of radioactive debris free floating in Earth's atmosphere as far too high to be explained away from simply two bombs." Stated the self-aware machine from Vela 6, It's voice like a rusty harmonica trying to talk through an accordion. Being strictly binary and mostly networked, it always struggled with vocalizing its communications in a broadcast.
"Oh, no well, we had to test them. We did a whole bunch of nuclear detonations in the name of science and research."
"Your species is so driven by knowledge they would soil their own planet?!" Shouted an incredulous amphibious creature from the Niriad Cluster.
"Hey, hey! We didn't really realize that stuff would stick around like it did, and the eggheads that did figure it out realized the little bit up in the air wouldn't hurt most people none." Sputtered Jerry, a little indignant.
"It's true, their proximity to their sun, as well as thinner atmosphere, has bombarded their planet with radiation since it was first formed. It has even been theorized that this constant background radiation Is the reason for the explosion of life on their planet." Stated a ten-limbed, hard shelled member of the Oceanania Alliance.
"Well, anyway, now that we realize we are just one of many in an intergalactic community, heh well, turns out that our clanish urge to defend one's own got turned around right quick."
"Your history of warfare and genocidal tendencies are what keep you from being full standing members of the council in the first place!" Declared the headspeaker. | 2021-02-17T08:19:23 | 2021-02-17T07:53:35 | 67 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context. | "Inspector, what is your findings about the paradise world in the 8.5.214 yellow star system? The one that has registered nuclear detonations on our sensors."
"Well, to start off with, accessing their global network, I can confirm that they are using weapon grade nuclear bombs. They have been detonating them since the middle of what they term as the twentieth century of their most commonly used calendar and era, and have detonated hundreds, boarding on thousands at this point, since then."
"What in all of creation are they fighting to have that many nuclear detonations?!"
"Well, in truth, only two of these nuclear detonations have been used in war, both of which were used against a single island nation as a means of forcing their surrender on their part of the global conflict."
"... Only two were used for fighting? Then why are they causing all the others? What insane beings have we discovered in this star system?"
"As it turns out, there are... this will be difficult to believe, but there are gigafauna on this planet."
"Gigafauna. As in relation to the term megafauna. The hypothetical monsters that are scientifically impossible, by the square cube law just to start with, never mind the physiological complications of something that size. And you're saying they have a so called gigafauna on their planet?"
"No Commander. They have hundreds of them. Each one varies in size, but even the smallest of one is the size of a frigate, and most are closer in size to one of our larger battleships."
"H-hundreds? So they are fighting these... these monsters, with their nuclear detonations?"
"Again, no, Commander."
"Then what are they doing!?!"
"They're feeding them."
"Please repeat yourself, Inspector. I'm positive I misheard you say that they were using nuclear detonations to feed a hundred or more impossibly large hypothetical gigafauna."
"You did not mishear me, Commander, but I will follow orders. They are feeding the majority of the planet's gigafauna population by causing nuclear detonations, as the gigafauna will congregate around the sites of the detonations there after."
"What chems are you on, Inspector, that you think this is even remotely possible?"
"Nothing, Commander, and I've already had both myself and most of my staff tested five times already just to make sure, three of which tested for anything in our systems and not just any of the known chems. And my entire crew can confirm my findings, down to the last member. They are feeding gigafauna."
"Feeding them with nuclear detonations. How does that even work?"
"As I said before, they would cause a nuclear detonation and any gigafauna in the area would gather to the location. Within the lunar orbital cycles that followed, the radiation produced by the nuclear detonation would drop significantly, more rapidly if there were more gigafauna present at the location."
"Gigafauna that eat radiation? And hundreds of such creatures."
"There's more, Commander."
"Continue."
"These gigafauna are also impervious to nuclear detonations."
".... Inspector, I do so hate to sound like a broken audio recording, but-"
"While we were investigating the paradise planet of the 8.5.214 yellow star system, we observed one of the larger gigafauna, one of herpetofauna qualities, approach a site where the dominate sapient species we have been observing had allocated three nuclear detonation devices."
"Three?!"
"Yes Commander. This particular gigafauna approached the location, following a flying craft, which circled once before vacating the area. The gigafauna proceeded to lay down, curling around the location where the detonation devices were, and simply stayed there until a period of time later, all three devices produced a nuclear detonation. The gigafauna was not only unharmed by the blasts, but also reduced the amount of ambient radiation produced by over half based on the residuals of the other nuclear detonations and assuming that the three were of the same yield and design. This particular one has a known name, which translates roughly as 'deity lizard'."
"Are you saying these... these 'humans' are keeping gigafauna as pets?"
"Based on my findings, it would be better to say that they are nurturing a positive relationship with the gigafauna, as there is apparently nothing they can do against said gigafauna otherwise."
"I will accept your finds for now then, Inspector, and will await the written report to examine the details. Based on what you've observed, what is your opinion about this paradise planet of the 8.5.214 yellow star system?"
"My personal opinion is that the Galactic Federation should either foster peace, or else completely avoid the 8.5.214 yellow star system entirely, for what that is worth."
"Very well. Finish the rest of your observation sequence and then return to the outpost while I process the whole report. Transmission end."
--=--=--
Yes, I went with something akin to a Legendary/Monarch universe alternate future where humans are setting off nukes in order to both feed the Titans/kaiju and also get them to go to certain locations (away from large human populations), with some creative authority in whether 'all' Titans survive off radiation. I mean, they aren't using the nukes to fight, so what else but than to feed Titans who 'eat' the radiation caused by the nukes? | "Haha, I say they are like the Eostral, rattling the disintegrators within their holsters in an attempt to intimidate." The massive mammalian pounded the table as he spoke.
This generated a general rumble of agreement from the assembled denzian's of the pangalactic empire. Most of them, as the Eostral stared stoically forward unwilling to be goaded by the hot headed Haax.
Knowing that he had generated positive reactions with that statement he went on.
"As likely to accidentally discharge and dust a leg off as anything!"
Haax's words had the desired effect of creating laughter from most of the species capable of such. The Eostral let loose a cloud of ink, filling its tank with darkness so nobody could see its epidermal display shift to embarrassment and irritation.
"I disagree!" shouted the Darian delegate. It dragged its forward appendage against the table before it, the chitton causing a high pitched screech against the metal. Almost all the aliens squrimed at the sound. "I think that they are saving them up until they reach a threashold, upon which they will lay waste to everyone around them."
Everybody was quiet as they variously considered this possibility, their own theories, as well as how inspired the Dar was by the hundreds of baby Dar she was carrying around upon her abdomen.
"I think I know!" Shouted Jerry from across the room.
The assembled delegates of the intergalactic council gave a collective gasp, burble or ruffle of feathers as the intruder made themselves known. The primary facilitator of the council stood up, unfolding all of her legs and uncurling her neck she loomed over everyone as her voice boomed across the cavernous room.
"How dare you interrupt the official proceedings of-"
The human reach down and brandished their identification chit which was attached to their hip on a plastic cord by a spring-loaded spool.
"Shit Bitch!" He said with a smile, waving around his credentials.
The collective gasp from the assembly turned into a grown as the human strode forward, smiling and beaming its eyes. Those unfamiliar with human physiology mistook it as a threat display, or possibly an indication that it was hungry and scrambled out of their seats and away from it.
Only the delegate from Proxima Centauri and the towering, hirsute dignitary from the Alpha Apex Collective remained seated, unfazed by the unexpected intrusion as familiar as they were with humans.
"Now I may not be a historian, or any kind of military strategist, but I imagine us only having used the dang things twice has more to do with the absolute horror and devastation those weapons inflict than anything else."
"Why is the janitor lecturing us?" Demanded Haax
"Now, just hold on a second here, my official designation is Director of Cycles!" He complained.
"I asked again, why are you here?"
"Well I was just down the hall trying to figure out which one of you did your business in the wrong receptacle, when I glanced at the board and saw the discussion topic and figured I might poke my nose in since there didn't seem to be any humans on the panel."
"One doesn't typically consult the vermin about their own excrement." Stated the Dar.
"Ah come on now, it's not like they don't have a practical purpose! Heck, we used decommissioned warheads to propel some of our first colony ships out of the solar system!"
"Yes we know, and the radioactive particles have only just begun working their way out of your so-called Oort Cloud and into the outer reaches of the gravitational influence of our sun!" Shouted the dignitary from Proxima Centauri. Humanities nearest neighbor was never amused by the amount of electromagnetic waste cascading off of our system and the recent arrival of clouds of radioactive dust only served to further deteriorate relations.
"Well gosh, we are sorry about that. We have apologized, haven't we?" Jerry was honestly not sure if the Tarren diplomacy core had covered that particular facet of human's stumbling, bumbling and otherwise embarrassing itself every step of the way as it entered the intergalactic community. But it was heard as an insulting exclamation by humanites suspicious eight limbed aquatic stallar neighbor.
Had The Council not had humanity under observation for centuries prior to our finally getting out of our solar system, our shocking ignorance and utter inability to grasp 12, well now 13 party diplomacy would surely have spelled our doom. As cutting as their remarks tended to be it was the sentient cephalopods of Proxima Centauri who routinely stood up for the fledgling race.
For their part, the Neaderthal from the Alpha Apex Collective simply rolled their eyes. While they would occasionally vouch safe humanities general benevolence, it was tempered by the fact that his species had been evacuated as refugees out from under the unrelenting genocide by Homo Sapiens.
"Okay, look, it's like this. Before we learned we were not alone in the universe, we were pretty terrible about fighting amongst each other. It was like some kind of crazy never-ending arms race once the first human sharpened a stick up until the invention of the nuke. We used those bombs almost as soon as they were invented, heck they were invented specifically to be used! But once it was used, it was generally decided to be a terrible idea."
"Devastation on a massive scale. We believe you are lying. We believe you have used those bombs many times in the past and we have proof."
Another gasp from the collective and those that had only now just begun to retake their seat shot back to their feet or scooted their chair away from the offending human.
"What? What are you talking about? We only ever obliterated Hiroshima and Nagasaki!"
"The amount of radioactive debris free floating in Earth's atmosphere as far too high to be explained away from simply two bombs." Stated the self-aware machine from Vela 6, It's voice like a rusty harmonica trying to talk through an accordion. Being strictly binary and mostly networked, it always struggled with vocalizing its communications in a broadcast.
"Oh, no well, we had to test them. We did a whole bunch of nuclear detonations in the name of science and research."
"Your species is so driven by knowledge they would soil their own planet?!" Shouted an incredulous amphibious creature from the Niriad Cluster.
"Hey, hey! We didn't really realize that stuff would stick around like it did, and the eggheads that did figure it out realized the little bit up in the air wouldn't hurt most people none." Sputtered Jerry, a little indignant.
"It's true, their proximity to their sun, as well as thinner atmosphere, has bombarded their planet with radiation since it was first formed. It has even been theorized that this constant background radiation Is the reason for the explosion of life on their planet." Stated a ten-limbed, hard shelled member of the Oceanania Alliance.
"Well, anyway, now that we realize we are just one of many in an intergalactic community, heh well, turns out that our clanish urge to defend one's own got turned around right quick."
"Your history of warfare and genocidal tendencies are what keep you from being full standing members of the council in the first place!" Declared the headspeaker. | 2021-02-17T10:01:23 | 2021-02-17T07:53:35 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] When the zombie virus broke out, you were prepared. You quickly became the country's #1 zombie hunter - until science found the antidote to the virus that turns zombies into healthy humans again, retroactively making you the #1 mass murderer. | It's hard to stand. They gave me a suit, something far too starched and stiff to move around comfortably in. But the suit doesn't draw the eye from the glint of shackles on my wrists. They're scared of me. Of what they think I can do to them. I fought monsters for these people, the ones that cursed me and threw things as I was escorted into the building. I forged Swords, that I might be a shield for them. I risked my life, killing thousands of monsters, saving *human* lives. And somehow, at the end of it, *I'm* the monster.
"Mr. Stone, you are to give your weapons and any relevant schematics over to the custody of the United States government."
"Why?"
"...Why what, Mr. Stone?"
"Why give you the Sword systems? Why give you the schematics?"
"To protect the public. Do you know how much damage these things can ca--"
"Yes. I do. I used, them, remember? And I know how they can help, when this thing mutates and we start all over again. Taking the Sword system *away* from me does nothing. You know how many people needed help, protecting their cities? Defending their families from monsters with the faces of their lov--?"
"You know how many people will try to reverse engineer your technology, son? How many more people will lose families, not to a zombie, but to each other? I know you did good, kid, but it's over. We've got an antidote. A vaccine."
"Yeah. Covid *definitely* taught us people will trust vaccines. But I think you misunderstand me. Taking the Swords away from *me* does nothing. I dropped a thumb drive with schematics at every settlement I rescued. Everywhere it seemed another wave would hit. Everywhere there were *lives* to save. I couldn't be everywhere at once. I'm no super-man. I can't even claim to be a hero."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying America's people needed a Sword. And now they're in the hands of her people." | Let me take a swing at you.
You were born to loving parents; maybe they didn't stay together, but they sure as hell tried.
For you.
For your sake, they tried to stick it out, run the long mile, but when it all came crumbling down they assured you that it wasn't your fault, that you were loved, that everything would be alright.
In either case, you went to school. Studious. Got decent enough grades. You weren't the worst-looking guy, you got chicks. You had a good circle of friends that you came up with. Long nights on fun weekends. There were hardships, sure, but you had what you needed, and your life was shaping you gently into a young man who would be productive to society.
You get a nice job, a sweet heart to settle down with, maybe a couple of rugrats, got the same eyes as you, white picket fence, dinner by six. Y'know, the good life. You sit down and fire up Netflix and maybe you happen upon one of those prison shows.
You know the ones.
Where you get to sink into your couch with a beer and a snack and look at all the animals that didn't make nothin' of themselves. Paraded around on your color TV set like a human mother fuckin' zoo. You point to your wide-eyed kids and say, "Hey Timmy. Josie, what-the-fuck-ever, come take a look at this monster. He tattooed his face. Didn't pay no attention in school. Fucked around with drugs, maybe murdered somebody. You don't ever want to be a fuck-up like him so pay close attention." Suppose they interview this guy, and he's got bad teeth, a crooked nose, shaved head, ratty beard, and nothing but venom for the world that tossed him in there.
Well let me tell you something, it wasn't always like this. Matter of fact, just three or four hundred years ago there was a place in the world for people like us. People who'd rather open up their fellow man straight down the center of their smiling dome than sit in an office and stare into a computer screen. We weren't animals back then, we were heroes. Valor, glory, and all that. They used to stick us in front of a tiger and hand us a machete, but nowadays everybody's all "don't hurt the fuckin' animals."
Now we sit in those human zoos, wasting away when we used to have songs written about us. Cause we don't fit nicely into what you've decided society is. Imagine our surprise and delight when your perfect little society grew teeth. Didn't take long before you needed folks like us again; folks who didn't mind gettin' their hands dirty, shit, we even enjoy it most of the time.
Then when we've cleaned up the mess, handled your business for you, taken care of your dirty work, you want to throw us back in the cage before we've even washed the guts off of our face.
"... I... It's not like that," the chief trembled.
"Oh, it's not like that?" asked Bodybag Bob as he stood over him with a sawed-off firmly in his right hand. "Your officers sure thought it was like that. You wanted a murderer? You got one now."
"Bob, *we* don't get to decide what the laws are!" he pleaded. "W-we just enforce them! We're just doing our job, Bob!"
"And I was just doing mine," he responded before lifting the gun and pulling the trigger, painting the far wall with the officer's thoughts.
He turned and slowly started back down the hallway, stepping over the corpses of those who opposed him. The glow of his cigarette burned in the darkness as he passed cell after cell to raucous applause. He found the control panel and opened the cages.
"Time for a new world," he spoke into the PA. "We're not broken. *Society* is. And when they need us again, we'll be here– just not in cages! Never again will another human being decide upon our freedom. Follow me to a new tomorrow!"
*The Wanton West was born.*
r/A15MinuteMythos | 2022-01-17T13:51:22 | 2022-01-17T13:31:19 | 99 | 40 |
[WP] When the zombie virus broke out, you were prepared. You quickly became the country's #1 zombie hunter - until science found the antidote to the virus that turns zombies into healthy humans again, retroactively making you the #1 mass murderer. | One 9mm pistol and uncountable rounds of ammunition, those are what I used to defend myself. A water purifier, cases upon cases of canned food, and a beat up Ford pick up, those are what I used to survive. 10,000 lives, those are the people I killed. During the worst of the outbreak, I was a hero. Now that there's a cure, I've become the nation's biggest boogie man. I did what I had to.
My face has been plastered across the news for weeks. *Murderer! Psycho! Executioner!* I can't leave my house without being yelled at. My life has been utterly destroyed. Sometimes, I just wish that I had died. Why did I have to be prepared? Why didn't I just lay down and accept death? Why did I put a bullet into the head of my four year old daughter?
Everyone thinks that I'm a heartless killer. They call for my head on a platter. But, I'm a survivor. If they think that I'll give up now, after all that I've lost, they're sorely mistaken. Just like I fought back then, I'll fight now.
Recently, I was interviewed on the Global Broadcast Network. That perky newscaster, who I once found quite attractive, teamed up with that austere newsman to put the final nail into the coffin of my reputation.
"How do you answer for your crimes?"
"Crimes? I was only asserting my right to live."
"Those people would be alive today if it wasn't for *you*"
"Where were you two during the outbreak? In some luxurious shelter no doubt. You never saw the flood of shambling bodies. The vacant stares of creatures ready to tear you limb from limb. The smell of decaying flesh."
"You will be put on trial. And, god-willing, you will meet the same fate as your victims"
That was three weeks ago. Now, theres a movement on social media supporting me. They say, correctly, that I was just defending myself. There are still rational people out there. It seems, my life isn't over yet. | Let me take a swing at you.
You were born to loving parents; maybe they didn't stay together, but they sure as hell tried.
For you.
For your sake, they tried to stick it out, run the long mile, but when it all came crumbling down they assured you that it wasn't your fault, that you were loved, that everything would be alright.
In either case, you went to school. Studious. Got decent enough grades. You weren't the worst-looking guy, you got chicks. You had a good circle of friends that you came up with. Long nights on fun weekends. There were hardships, sure, but you had what you needed, and your life was shaping you gently into a young man who would be productive to society.
You get a nice job, a sweet heart to settle down with, maybe a couple of rugrats, got the same eyes as you, white picket fence, dinner by six. Y'know, the good life. You sit down and fire up Netflix and maybe you happen upon one of those prison shows.
You know the ones.
Where you get to sink into your couch with a beer and a snack and look at all the animals that didn't make nothin' of themselves. Paraded around on your color TV set like a human mother fuckin' zoo. You point to your wide-eyed kids and say, "Hey Timmy. Josie, what-the-fuck-ever, come take a look at this monster. He tattooed his face. Didn't pay no attention in school. Fucked around with drugs, maybe murdered somebody. You don't ever want to be a fuck-up like him so pay close attention." Suppose they interview this guy, and he's got bad teeth, a crooked nose, shaved head, ratty beard, and nothing but venom for the world that tossed him in there.
Well let me tell you something, it wasn't always like this. Matter of fact, just three or four hundred years ago there was a place in the world for people like us. People who'd rather open up their fellow man straight down the center of their smiling dome than sit in an office and stare into a computer screen. We weren't animals back then, we were heroes. Valor, glory, and all that. They used to stick us in front of a tiger and hand us a machete, but nowadays everybody's all "don't hurt the fuckin' animals."
Now we sit in those human zoos, wasting away when we used to have songs written about us. Cause we don't fit nicely into what you've decided society is. Imagine our surprise and delight when your perfect little society grew teeth. Didn't take long before you needed folks like us again; folks who didn't mind gettin' their hands dirty, shit, we even enjoy it most of the time.
Then when we've cleaned up the mess, handled your business for you, taken care of your dirty work, you want to throw us back in the cage before we've even washed the guts off of our face.
"... I... It's not like that," the chief trembled.
"Oh, it's not like that?" asked Bodybag Bob as he stood over him with a sawed-off firmly in his right hand. "Your officers sure thought it was like that. You wanted a murderer? You got one now."
"Bob, *we* don't get to decide what the laws are!" he pleaded. "W-we just enforce them! We're just doing our job, Bob!"
"And I was just doing mine," he responded before lifting the gun and pulling the trigger, painting the far wall with the officer's thoughts.
He turned and slowly started back down the hallway, stepping over the corpses of those who opposed him. The glow of his cigarette burned in the darkness as he passed cell after cell to raucous applause. He found the control panel and opened the cages.
"Time for a new world," he spoke into the PA. "We're not broken. *Society* is. And when they need us again, we'll be here– just not in cages! Never again will another human being decide upon our freedom. Follow me to a new tomorrow!"
*The Wanton West was born.*
r/A15MinuteMythos | 2022-01-17T13:52:51 | 2022-01-17T13:31:19 | 58 | 40 |
[WP] They killed your body, and attempted to put their own minds into it, growing what remains of you to implant with one of their own, but they don't know how much of you is left. You rejected the new mind, and pretended to be one of them. | They were only rumors.
That a technology had been invented enabling minds to be transferred between bodies. That the rich and powerful used this technology to transfer their minds into younger, healthier vessels. That, for a price, a person's mind could jump from body to body, like a family changes houses. Like a hermit crab changes shells.
But there are always malicious rumors about the rich and powerful. Some, plausible. Others, absurd. And this one seemed too far-fetched and fantastical to believe.
The technology seemed impossible, for one. A complete pipe dream, far beyond our current limitations.
The requirements, moreover, were far too dastardly to consider. Surely, no decent person would be willing to kidnap and effectively kill an innocent person, just to prolong their own mental existence! Just to improve their embodied experience! Or worse, just to try out a new body, as if human forms were mere fashion! Not even the ruthless elites of our society would stoop to that abominable level.
They were only rumors. Uncorroborated whispers. The ineffectual revenge of the lower castes upon the upper crust, venting their resentments by telling scandalous lies.
At least, that's what I believed, when I heard the stories about body snatchers and mental transfers. Only rumors. . .And I believed they were mere rumors, right up until I found myself fighting another mind for control of my body. Right up until I found myself the victim of a transfer, battling a mental invader for my very existence.
<>
I awoke to a confusing mix of impressions. My thoughts wrangled with the thoughts of another. My memories mixed with flashes of foreign memories. Things I'd never done. Places I'd never seen. My willpower over my body was contested at every turn.
A doctor was looking down at me, where I lay in a kind of hospital room. Was this a memory?
"Mr. Finegold," said the doctor. "Have you taken control?"
I felt my lips move, though I had not tried to move them. And I heard my voice, though I had not attempted to utter a word.
"Yes," my mouth said, "I have taken control."
But it wasn't me who said those words! It wasn't me! It was like some invisible puppeteer had control over my lips, my voice! I was no longer the commander of my body! I was a prisoner, who could only sit back and observe.
"Good," said the doctor, nodding with satisfaction. "Very good."
"But I still feel him," my mouth said. "The other. He is still here."
My voice sounded weak. My cadence was slow. My words were slurred, imprecise. The new captain of my body was clearly struggling to take full charge of his new vessel.
"Yes," said the doctor. "No need to worry. That is typical. Vestiges of the original owner often linger. We'll train you to suppress them, and, eventually, to eliminate them entirely. It will take time and effort on your part. But it will be worth it in the end."
"Better than dying of cancer," my mouth said.
"Indeed, Mr Finegold," said the doctor. "Far better than dying of cancer. You've been given a new lease on life."
"And you've been given forty m-m-m," my mouth stammered.
"Indeed," said the doctor smiling. "I've been given a lot of money. And now that the procedure has been successful, I expect to be given a lot more. But we'll have time for all that later. For now, what you need is rest."
<> | **Part 1: Reforge**
*Rule* *One: ensnare the pray in a hopeless situation.*
Jack woke up in a damp cell. No windows, barely any lights left. He remembered the evening, the drink he was given, the strange smell and the guests turning like one towards him.
"Anyone?"
Every time he called out, a sharp pain shot through his brain, from the front of his skull to the base of his neck. Between pauses, Jack could hear whispers and gentle crying coming in from the darkness beyond the bars.
He was about to shout again when a low voice interrupted him.
“Hush. They are coming.”
“Who’s they?” he asked, pressing his face on the bar.
A figure cloaked in darkness appeared right in front of him, Jack shrieked and stumbled backwards. The edges of the woman's brown faces flew into the ambient darkness, red dots danced in her dark eyes. She opened the door and lowered a plate full of food to the ground. The tasty smell made Jack’s stomach churn in pain.
“I won’t eat that.”
“You’re free to starve to death.”
“You could have hidden more drugs inside.”
“We have. They are mixed with the meat and the mashed potatoes,” she answered before leaving.
Jack knew he wouldn’t hold it out for long. He was starving, didn’t hold out pain all too well and the cook who had prepared the dish was rather talented if the smell was anything to go by.
But then, why would there be more drugs? He was already imprisoned and at the kidnapper’s mercy. He was ripe for organ harvest or whatever struck their fancy.
Time passed, marked by the regular plop of water droplets in the corridor and the increasing pain in the belly.
Not knowing why he should keep resisting, Jack sat and ate on the floor. The food was tasty once because the cook had a knack for it and twice because all food tasted a lot better when hungry.
Sated, and with a post-dinner haze coming over him, Jack lay down on his mattress to digest in peace.
*Rule Two: soften the mind.*
A spider drops from the ceiling. Not a spider, a drop. Black ink hitting the ground in a *plop*. And another. And another. Slowly, the puddle grows from the center of the room, and the ink grows hungry. Tendrils slither through the cracks on the walls and floor, prod further before retreating like a snake poised to strike.
"Help!" screams Jack, standing with his back on the bars.
He shouldn't have screamed. The ink has him now., the puddle encircles him, sings to him, wants him.
A malformed hand darts from the ink and grabs his ankle, the pain shoots through Jack's body and a scream erupts. Frostbite.
Jack stumbles, falls, the ink covers his eyes, enters his nose and mouth, the cold spreads and molds the body.
A bone snapping, Jack's leg is broken, the bone has pierced the skin and he can't scream. Happy, the ink forcibly replaces his leg right, before breaking his fingers, one after the other.
The pain never stops, and once it has gone through all the bones in his body, it starts again.
Hours later, Jack wakes up on the floor. There is no ink, his skin is fine, there is no pain. Jack passes out from exhaustion.
*Rule Three: Grind the mind to dust.*
“Who are you?”
“I’m Jack.”
Jack lay on a comfortable bed, tucked under a warm blanket, a translucent substance dripped from an IV-bag through a needle in his arm. The room was pitch black save for a single dot of light. Jack spoke to the spot. A syringe is emptied into the tubing.
“You’re at the party, before the abduction, you don’t know you will be abducted. How do you feel?”
"Bored.”
Another syringe emptied. Jack felt the sofa he sat on and heard the music. Guests spoke and drank and mingled, there was an unseen barrier between them and his sofa.
“How do you feel?”
“Out of place. I shouldn’t be here. I want to be. I want to be part of the group, feel as I belong to them, I try, it doesn’t work. I mock them, it puts the blame on them rather than on me. Michaela had broken up with me, I had to find an outlet.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Jack.”
Someone changed the bag at the end of the tubing. The narcotics put Jack into a dreamlike trance.
“You just started dating Michaela.”
Jack likes her place, for it is like his. Efficient, without superfluous stuff. Just like her. Shortly after entering, she is already straddling him on the bed, grinding her hips and feeling his growing erection through the pants. Michaela doesn’t play games; she speaks her mind. If she wants silent cuddles or dirty talking or tender loving, she says so. He doesn't want to lose her.
“Why did you break up?”
It turns in circles. Greatest sex ever, but even a creature of habit must have changing moods or desires. She has none of it, every date is the same, and Jack is starting to feel unwell about it. She won’t address the subject, deflects it when it comes up, and Jack doesn’t push. In a dead-end, they break up. They don’t make any effort to salvage it. Jack wants to be left alone.
“And you went to the party.”
Jack wanted to be left alone.
“Yet you still went.”
Jack wanted to show her.
“Who?”
He wanted to show Michaela how much better his life was than hers.
In the dark room, several heads turn and nod in unison. | 2022-02-18T12:46:40 | 2022-02-18T12:07:22 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You're the villain that the Chosen One is meant to defeat. Once they arrive, you notice they're just a teenager who barely knows how to swing a sword. Angered by your opponents sending children to do all their dirty work, you decide to help the teen get revenge. | Amelda had just knelt down to examine the pennyroyal when a young girl leaped out from behind a tree and whacked her over the head.
"...ow?" she said.
"Um," said the girl, staring first at the thin, wobbling sword in her hand, and then at Amelda in consternation. "Die, evil witch?"
"Three things," Amelda sighed, standing up and taking her gardening hat off. "One, I'm not a witch. Two, that's a rapier, not a club; you jab people with the pointy end bit, not hit them on the hat. Three, who stabs someone in the hat?"
"I was trying to stab you in the back," the girl admitted. "But you knelt down in the middle."
"Of you stabbing me in the back." Amelda pinched the brow of her nose. "Because you think I'm an evil witch."
"Well, I was going to confront the witch in the big house, armed only with the power of righteousness," said the girl. "That's what the Elders suggested when they found out I was the Chosen One, destined to kill the witch and rid our land of evil. But then I thought, what if, instead, I stole a sword, snuck up on her, and stabbed her in the back? Much safer!"
"That. That's actually a fair point," Amelda admitted. "Not a very heroic one, but a fair point."
"Gavin and Robert were all heroic, and they never came back," the girl said primly. "Anyway, if you're not the witch, miss, could you tell me where she is, please? Um. Also, sorry about the, y'know." She waved her hand, and thus the sword, vaguely in the air.
"Huh," said Amelda, ignoring this. "I have a stable hand called Gavin, and a valet called Robert."
"Oh no!" cried the girl. "They must be ensorcelled by the witch!"
"No, I just gave them jobs after they... After they. Hmm. What's your name, child?"
"Suzannah, Miss. No last name, on account of how--"
"--you're an orphan," Amelda echoed. "Yes, I thought you might be. And I'm guessing you just had your thirteenth birthday? In the village of Sweetbrook. In a year with a poor harvest, and lots of families barely able to feed their own children, let alone one with no parents."
Suzannah stared at her suspiciously. "Are you sure you're not a witch?"
"Yes, Suzannah. Firstly, because witches don't exist," Amelda said, resolutely ignoring the scoffing sound Suzannah made in response. "Secondly, because that's the exact same thing Gavin and Robert said when they showed up in my parlour and told me the Elders had sent them to vanquish me during the Bleak Winter of three years ago and the Long Drought of last year, respectively. And, let's see, who else? Abraham, Chris and David during the Great Famine. Simon, just after that flood. Graham, he was a bit useless really, ran off with my bard. All the others stayed on, though. Very good workers."
"So you ensorcelled them!" Suzannah gasped, raising her sword, which mostly made the point waver from between somewhere over Amelda's shoulder to a couple of feet to her side.
"No. As I said, I offered them jobs," Amelda corrected, "which is not the same thing at all. It comes with wages, for a start. Although," she mused, "I suppose money is itself a kind of magic?"
Suzannah frowned, lips moving silently. "Wait. Hang on. No. Are you saying that every time there's a bit of a food crisis, the Elders pick an orphan at random and send them off to get a job from you?"
"Well, no," said Amelda. "I think they expect you to die? Sorry."
"Wow." Suzannah sat heavily on the ground, dropping her sword.
"It would explain the complete lack of weapons or training or armor or accompanying adults. I had always wondered about that." She laughed a little. "Funny how you don't put things together!"
"Wow," said Suzannah again in a dazed sort of way.
"And what would you even do if you did manage to kill me?" Amelda scoffed. "Ransack the manor? Wouldn't get much for it, to be honest. It's mostly herbs, and you really need to know who to sell to and when to make any real profit in today's markets. I almost spend more time on that than I do on growing the things in the first place. Not like the old days, when word of mouth would do it. 'Got a toothache? Go see old gran in the forest.' Now you need awnings and patter and a robust system of discounts and loss leaders."
"What a bunch of jackasses," said Suzannah, clearly not listening at all. "It wasn't even that poor a harvest! Our winter stores are practically full!"
"Yes. Sorry again about that."
"It's not your fault," Suzannah said, sniffling a little and wiping her face on her, Amelda noticed, very professionally hemmed sleeve.
"Did you sew those yourself?" she asked.
"Of course I did," Suzannah scoffed, snapping from sad to belligerent with impressive speed. "Who doesn't sew?! You can't make clothes last if you can't sew."
"Uh," said Amelda.
Suzannah stared at her.
"I'm very good at plants!" Amelda said defensively.
"Sure," Suzannah said. She clambered back to her feet, and brushed herself down, looking at her sword. After a moment, she picked it up, and stabbed the air experimentally. "Jab them with the pointy bit, you said."
"Well, yes," Amelda agreed. "But also perhaps you shouldn't go back to your village and kill your elders? Just a thought."
"I, what? No! I wasn't going to kill them," Suzannah complained. "I was just going to. Y'know." She stabbed the air some more. "Really get home my point about not sending kids off to die, especially when they are me."
"That would be much less satisfying than you think. Your village would turn on you," Amelda said. "Also, your form is terrible, you're completely off balance. No, I have a better idea."
Suzannah considered her for barely a blink. "You're going to offer me a job, aren't you?"
Amelda beamed. "Living well is the best revenge, if you ask me. Come on, we can discuss it over some nice herbal tea." | "Hero. My name be Hero," said the ragged child with the chipped "holy" sword in her hands. "Y-yer human."
"Haven't you heard? No. I suppose not. What gave me away?"
"No horns," she said, in a thick Brecian accent. "And yer not red. You sort of be lookin' like uncle Jral. 'Cept for the sword. Uncle Jral don't be ownin' no sword."
I raised Fatenight and released my grip. The enchanted blade fell and turned to smoke before hitting the polished stone floor. I stifled a groan as I sat on my throne and poured myself a goblet of wine from the decanter to my left.
"You've done well to make it this far," I told her. "But you can barely stand. Why not stop?"
I took a sip of the spice wine.
"No," she said, and raised her chipped sword. "I won't be dissuaded, fiend. I know my purpose."
"Child," I said. "Your purpose is not to die on my throne room floor. No matter what tale that wizard has fed you, I assure you, there is more to life than death. Do you not have dreams? Ambitions?"
"Enough," she spat. "Ready yerself, for nigh is the hour and yer end has come. For the realm!"
The girl charged my throne, and I did not move. When she stabbed for my heart, the poorly-forged blade shattered like glass against my silk shirt. For a moment, she stood there wide-eyed, holding half a sword.
I gently lowered her trembling hands and said, "Are you hungry? You're nothing but vigor and bones. When is the last time you ate?"
"I--" She dropped her arms to her sides, her face a portrait of disappointment. She looked so young then. "I have not eaten since Second Fair."
"Four days? That's a long time."
I snapped my fingers and two hooded Fatesworn entered through the service doors, pushing trays with roasted chicken, cold water, assorted fruit, fresh-baked bread, and a wheel of Strazian cheddar -- a meal fit for a starving hero.
"S'ppose dying from poison not be a bad way to go. At least my belly be full."
I plucked an apple from the spread, took a bite, and chewed slowly. "Not poisoned, see? Please, eat your fill. There's plenty more."
"Ah! I no be understandin' ya," she shouted, snatching a chicken leg from the platter. "You be the Demon Lord. Fiend of fiends. Scourge of the realm. Yet here I be, breaking bread with ya. This no be like what Ildor said. Not at all."
"No, I suppose not," I said. "There is much you do not know about me or Ildor. For example -- just because I am the 'Demon Lord', does not mean I'm above showing hospitality to my guests."
"That's where ye be wrong," she said. "I no be yer guest, Demon. Do not forget, I be knowin' my purpose."
"Of course," I said. "How's the food?"
She told me that the food was the most delicious she'd ever tasted.
I asked her how long had it been since she left her village. I asked her about her family, her Uncle Jral, and she told me that her family was gone. That my Fatesworn had apparently purged her village in search for her. And because of that, she'd vowed to end my life.
I asked her if she liked dessert, and when she said that she did, I summoned my attendants once more and they set out little red cakes topped with snow berries.
I bit into the cake, savoring the custard filling, and watched as she did the same. The cake sparked an idea.
"There is a baker not far from here," I said, arching an eyebrow. "The best. Have you ever tried your hand at baking? Some call it a craft, but what comes out of Gastuv's oven can only be called art. It's hard work, mind you, but I believe all worthwhile endeavors require a bit of sweat."
"No thanks," she said, still chewing on her second cake. "I still be plannin' on slaying ya."
I chuckled. "Very well. Then how about a spar?"
She brightened at this.
We went out to the training field in the heart of my keep. We took up wooden training sword and went through the seven stances, striking and defending, ebb and flow. Her form was rough, but had potential. Perhaps in a few decades she could make me break a sweat.
We rested on benches, shaded from the afternoon sun. I told Hero about my rivalry with Ildor and how our master would pit us against each other, mostly for her entertainment. I told her of the bad-old-days, back when real demons walked the realm, razing entire cities and collecting human souls for their foul magics.
She told me of her home, Hearthglen, of the day Ildor rode his cart into their sleepy hamlet, and how he decreed that one among them was destined to defeat the Demon Lord. She told me of her work as a weaver, making shirts mostly and tapestries -- but only under her aunt's guidance. She told me how she'd denied Ildor's proclamation that she was the fated hero. And how that night, she awoke to half the village slaughtered and standing over her bed was Ildor, urging her to flee with him for her safety.
The training grounds started to rumble, and I tamped down my fury. She jumped up and pointed her training sword at me.
"I apologize," I told her. "I did not mean to frighten you. I understand your reasons for taking up the sword. More than you'd think. But know that I do not relish this -- I am not the monster here."
"Then who? I be knowin' my purpose, and it be to defeat you," she said.
"Come with me," I said. "I'd like to show you something."
I lead her down to the catacombs and the Shrine To the Fallen.
"Swords," she said, more to herself it seemed. "So many swords."
"Yes."
"What is this?"
"It is where I have buried the remains of the chosen." I pointed to a brilliant sword stabbed into a rock. It shined despite the dim torchlight. "That is Grace, sword of the first hero. He was deserving of it. Strongest of them all."
"And you killed him?"
"Yes. Despite his grievous wounds, he would not relent. Vengeance drives us to commit horrible acts, you see. Pushes us beyond our limits."
She stepped closer to the sword, ran her fingers down the side of the silver-white blade, and after a moment said, "His family. They was killed too?"
"Yes."
"Was it you?"
"No."
She fell to her knees. Her sobs echoed through the cramped corridors and my heart twisted and wretched, trying to burst out of my chest.
"It is his way," I said, finally. "It is how he pulls you into his cause. Younger and younger each time. I'm sorry."
"What now? What of me?"
I thought for a moment, then said, "Now, we have dinner."
After dinner, I smoked a pipe and served us blue tea. She spent the night in one of my guest quarters, the door heavily barred per her request.
It was not that she was stubborn. It was that Hero had lost everything she'd ever known, had not had a chance to grieve. The "quest" took up everything in her life, became her life. I kept my distance, only sending servants to bring her food. Some nights, I could hear her crying from my chambers. Eventually, she'd come out and request to spar with me. I obliged.
After a month, she stopped barring her door, and asked if I would teach her how to defend against magic. "Of course," I said.
I watched her fight one of my lieutenants this morning. My heart swelled with pride at the sight of her deflecting his eldritch bolts, cutting through his gusts, drowning his flames with nothing but a training sword -- and hard-earned skill. Victorious, she jogged over to me, wiped her brow, and smiled.
"How be that?" she asked. "You think I be ready, Master?"
I thought for a moment, then held out my hand to the side. Fatenight appeared from smoke and fell into my grip. I turned the hilt toward Hero and presented her my sword.
"With this." I smiled down at her. "You can finally fulfill your purpose." | 2022-06-09T06:42:42 | 2022-06-09T05:44:10 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] You're the 'most deadly supervillain the country has ever seen'. Thing is, your super-evil ability? You deal the same amount of harm the 'heroes' you face have caused. Your power is Karma. Nobody's picked up on that yet. | Everyone in this country calls me a villain, they think of me as a deadly foe, a King Cobra about to strike, a merciless killer prowling the streets in the dead of night! But they couldn’t be more wrong…I simply dole out karma. After all, it’s all I can do. They don’t blame heroes for accidentally using their powers, (well, not the professional ones at least) but I continually find reports on the news, headlines on the papers, article after article, post after post, tweet after tweet about my ‘menace.’
Though I suppose I cannot fully blame them. Sometimes, I do take joy in serving justice to those who harm me. It’s so satisfying to watch their bones crack and their spines snap like twigs! That sense of finality, of revenge, of justice like one big spring breeze. Many of you have probably felt that, one way or another—that feeling of victory you get after winning an argument against a terrible, awful, adversary, one does not deserve redemption or forgiveness in any way—a true villain. I suppose this makes me a hero, doesn’t it? No, it doesn’t. They still call me a killer, an animal, a beast.
But animals kill when they have to, and I am the same.
In the end, those who continually fule others’ hatred towards me, those self-righteous and arrogant “heroes” and all their sheeple act like they’re nothing like me at all. But deep down, I just do what they wish they could, I deliver swift and precise karma upon those who harm me. While they toil away, trying not to harm them, I revel in my victories. And in the end, that’s exactly what I am. Not a hero. Not a villain. A victor. | You never mentioned Country... I will assume Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. Where I message you from currently
I Dilnur, walk streets of nation of Kazakhstan, with meaning... My meaning? Of course to kill. But only to kill those also out to kill. So it is kill or be killed, by a Killer, who kills killers... Understand? I picked up this idea from once Indian friend of mine in past, names Rishi. Karma, Rishi called this idea. He told me it sang from me like prostitute when she wants to make extra couple bucks. I insisted he quit using my sister in his analogies, as he did not personally know her (though many do, very many). He refused this... But he is Indian, so I figure different strokes for differential blokes, as they say. We are no longer friends, because he is dead. He was lost in a Donkey kicking accident back in 2016. I lose a friend that day, and my nephew loses a Father... Now, he is nobody. Sad day..
Back to story of mine. This power, this Karma, it followed me. Some spread rumor of me being biggest Hero in all Kazakhstan. But I am well traveled. I have seen western film, and I know the villains often look the coolest. Not to mention they don't generally have to walk around in underwear as part of costume.. This was interest to me, because it is radical. Walking about streets in something besides underwear? All of a sudden, a strange but wonderful new world present itself to me, Dilnur. I announced to Kazak public, no, I Dilnur, am not greatest Super-Hero. Instead, I am deadliest Super-Villain. Some foolishly complain, saying I am a force for good. I remind them that idea of Hero/Villain is cultural, and to us, we judge all moments as they occur. Batman might be heroic one night, but if he should slay Chief Gordon without proper honor, he is now Badman. I came up with this, Badman. I, Dilnur.
My speech immediately pays dividend, as all woman in village throwing themselves on to Dilnur like I am Cosby. So cool I am, that I even receive key to city... And we haven't even started building doors yet, so key, key is really BIG deal, custom made. SUDDENLY! Alarm blares through village! By alarm, I mean every cat and dog still left.. I immediately put down City key, and ask my Aunt and Mother to get dressed and prepare for my departure, for I must face the threat. I throw open the figurative door of my hut to meet the enemy, some would say hero... It is an American, and a legal associate. They are claiming that indeed Badman is trademarked to them. That I Dilnur, have abused and claimed creation of the name illegally. I take soft route, explaining how few things are illegal in Kazakhstan. But they are persistent, very persistent, these Americans.
I then took hard route... Abandoning family and fame in brash escape in my brand new Audi, only automobile in village by the way, meaning I am rich and the best.. I kept driving for hours and hours. Until finally, the car apparently just broke under the Desert sun. It simply would no longer move any further... I abandoned it too. And here I sit, the world against me. I plot my redemption arc, as greatest Super-Villain. The Badman must pay. How could he have erased everything I have built in an instant!? My fame, my fortune. I know he likely assumed control of the house. He probably is having his way with Aunt Jez.. But I can part with these things, she wasn't what she once was anyway, you know..? BUT, vengeance must be mine! It will be mine! | 2022-12-31T00:12:09 | 2022-12-30T20:32:54 | 44 | 28 |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is blind, and you are the only person born with sight in hundreds of years. You tell the world what you see, and the consequences are huge. | The king of the world tightens his grip on my arm, and I delay just a moment longer.
"I mean, how truthful?"
"Absolutely truthful," the king replies.
Royal guards with their pikes, leaned towards me as well, the throne room crowded, a strained smile on the queen's face.
"Six."
"'Six'?" The king shifts, his grip loosening just a moment -- not out of intention. "Out of what?"
"Well," and I try to position myself a bit away from the pikes, "out of ten. As always."
The king releases me and moves his hands once more over his queen's face.
"A high six," I amend. "Sort of. I mean -- personal preference comes into play here, of course."
"Six?" the king repeats. "But she feels so fair!"
"To be honest," which I shouldn't, but cannot help, "I'm surprised she even feels attractive."
[Edit: formatting] | Growing up, I had a peculiar sense: I could see. No one believes me, that sense hadn't been seen (hardy harr) in hundreds of years, not since the world decided we didn't need it anymore.
Elaborate? Certainly! You see, we humans, around year 2034, decided that we don't need to deal with certain things, so we designed robots to do so for us. They did, at first, menial tasks: we used them as cashiers, dishwashers, security personnel, anything that a robot could do, did.
Eventually, the scientists decided that we didn't need to worry about hearing accurately, so they started selling implants to people to increase certain vibrations for our ears to pick up. The results were astounding, people, born with hearing, born deaf, grew deaf, or just hard of hearing could get them and everyone could hear.
What next? We decided to take on vocal cords, because shouldn't everyone sing great because hearing was amazing? Why not? New vocal cords were being sold left and right, and everyone started getting new voices (however, some of them started to malfunction and sound the same after some wear).
The last thing I can think of at the top of my head is when they decided to replace sight with electronic vision. Why only be able to see in one space of the spectrum of light when there are smaller and bigger ways, and waves, that we can see the world? Those started to become the best thing since sliced bread.
Now, because of the aluminum by-products and way these small machines were manufactured, they were extremely cheap, so why should the next generation suffer with inadequate impairments that they were forced to deal with since birth if they can get so many parts of their bodies replaced?
Eventually, the thought of having any of these senses was almost blasphemy. So much so the government started issuing them for free. Bigger and better on all scales: no one was better, no one was less.
That's where I come in. You see, I broke my EES (electro-scale eyesight) when I was young to see what would happen, a modern day Icarius, if you will. Wanted to fly high and see the light but was struck down when the SG found out.
What did I see? The opposite of light, or anything good for that matter. The ways we thought we had advanced! None of them had came close to the actual thing. We had imagined any progress we had made, everything was foggy, with smoke in the mix. Factories everywhere in the place that we had made our metropolitan Eden, trash everywhere too, because if you can't see it, why think to do anything with it?
It's as if someone wanted us to believe everything was ok when things weren't. What a twist.
(Sorry if it's a genetic story, I was a little rushed and I'm only 16 and barely working on my writing. Any cc would help greatly!) | 2014-12-11T17:49:56 | 2014-12-11T17:36:53 | 210 | 42 |
[WP] A high schooler is capable of easily summoning demons, but often uses them in petty ways, tonight you've been summoned to help with his history homework. | This wasn't the first time I've been commanded to do something stupid.
I usually don't care. It's not as though I could refuse either way.
I've been called by this human before. She was arrogant before, too, though not without cause; her gift is exceptional by human standards. With such a gift, I don't understand why she even bothers with school, not that her choice particularly stands out from the thousands of other baffling human behaviors.
In our previous dealings she has mostly commanded me to do her homework or help her with some trivial prank on her classmates. I don't particularly mind; these jobs are inoffensive at worst and even entertaining at times.
"What is your command, master?"
She handed me the paper."Fix this."
It was a dreadful report on early European history, barely coherent and riddled with basic factual errors. This would have to be completely rewritten to even come close to making sense.
"You summoned me to correct your history report?"
"No, I summoned you to correct history." | A light flashed before my eyes and once again, I was in front of that sniveling brat.
Again…
“Hey, I need to write a five page paper for my world history class for tomorrow. Go.” He said, typing away at his phone.
I sighed.
“Damn it, Jimmy. Can’t you do your own work?”
“I *could* but that sounds like a lot of work. And why would I do that when I have you to answer all my questions?”
“Because of a thing called integrity?”
“Hmm,” he took a moment to stop texting. “Nah, not worth it. Now chop chop, we don’t got all night.”
“Fine. What would you do without me?”
“I don’t know but probably have more work done than you have now.”
I sighed, picking at the scattered papers on his desk. They looked unused and knowing Jimmy, they probably weren’t.
“Oh, it’s over Joan of Arc. This should be easy. Tell me everything you know about her.”
“Um… Her name is Joan. And I’m going to guess she’s from Arc.”
“You don’t know anything about her, do you?”
“That’s why I summoned you.”
*I hate this kid.*
“Do you even pay attention in class?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
I couldn’t believe it. Somehow, I have fell from an all-powerful demon to this kid’s living encyclopedia. And for what? It wasn’t like he even cared. I could tell him anything and he would have no clue.
Wait…
“So do you know this or not?" He snapped impatiently. "You should have been alive then.”
“Yes,” I fight to keep a devilish grin from appearing. “I am well-versed with Joan of Arc.”
“Then spit it out.” He said, tapping on his desk. The light from his monitor casted a pale light across his face. It was perfect.
“Joan of Arc was a resounding mathematician. That’s why she has Arc in her name.”
“Of course,” Jimmy said, scribbling with vigor. “I knew that.”
“She claimed that God gifted her with the ability to do math like no other. You see, math was very important during the time because it was the way England and France settled disputes.”
“Because the French couldn’t fight.” He chuckled.
“Yes… that’s exactly why. Anyway, the French were so proud of Joan that they held a celebration for her. In my opinion, she was never hotter than when they were done with her.”
“Awesome,” Jimmy finished. “Is that all?”
“More or less.”
“Thanks. I’m going to kill this assignment. You’re amazing.”
I couldn’t breathe on the account of my stifled laughter. He was beyond stupid. Oh well, that was the responsibility of the US education system, not mine.
“Well, I will be taking my leave now. Lots of demon stuff to take care of.”
“Yeah right,” he droned, waving me away. “Go do that.” | 2015-01-22T14:00:29 | 2015-01-22T13:01:38 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason. | I had a wife and two kids. It was a summer day, a Wednesday -- the morning cool hadn't left yet, but I was already feeling lazy.
I hadn't planned it, but I surprised them by packing for a picnic. I even packed a box of ice-cream, and the kids were so shocked and pleased, as if it was the best thing in the world -- like how every thing is for kids that age -- but it was for us, too. We watched them play, chasing butterflies, imagining monsters, as we enjoyed the view of the great valley below with its flowing hills and winding river, peppered here and there with trees and berry bushes. And I held her hand. I want to go back.
I want to go back to that place where it's aways summer. I want to go back to that place where I don't have to work to live and I can just go on a picnic any Wednesday I want. I want to go back to that place where its just a moments walk from a beautiful hill, untouched by the scabs and scars of buildings, roads, and telephone wires.
I want to go back to that place where my wife is still alive, I can still hold her hand as I watch our kids.
But I can't go back to sleep, I've tried all the drugs, I've tried the machine, but I can't fall asleep. People tell me I need to eat but nothing here tastes as real as it did there. Maybe this will take me back. Maybe it wont. But it doesn't matter. Reality isn't good enough now that I know dreaming.
[Goodbye.](http://youtu.be/aaOjDewD3Po) | The device was unassumingly small.
Terry Marman thought it looked a little bit like a tiny toaster. If you squinted slightly, you could almost confuse the input ports at the top for tiny slots for bread.
"Ready?" A young, fresh faced Scientist was looking at him with an unrestrained eagerness. Terry was in no particular rush. He saw neither the application, nor the market for such a device and was only part of the study for the somewhat meagre compensation.
"I suppose." He answered gruffly.
"Any questions before we start, Mr. Marman?" an older, more stubbly scientist asked as he gestured towards an uncomfortable-looking, sterile-smelling bed.
"Yeah, actually. How does the thing work?" He asked more out of mercy for the younger scientist, who seemed to be jumping with excitement and who wasted no time in answering.
"It's quite simple, actually. It emits a specific combination of alpha-beta-theta-delta brainwaves attuned to your own brain pattern, which will cause your memory centers to activate during the sleep."
Terry blinked at the young scientist. No understanding crossed his weathered face. "Right." He lay down on the bed.
There was no more small talk as the scientists bustled around the room, one placing the device on the shelf above Terrys' head, and connecting some kind of cable to it, as another dimmed the lights in the room.
The two scientists stood side-by-side, and the one with the stubble held out a sleeping pill to the prone man.
"Take this, Mr.Marman. You'll be out for eight hours, and after that you're free to leave."
Terry shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable against the hard mattress. He would definitely need the pill to even entertain the idea of sleep.
He grabbed it, and swallowed it, without water, and lay back down. A few minutes passed, and he was out.
The scientists left the room, muttering about neurology and brainwaves.
*******************************
Eight hours passed without incidence, and Terry stirred. The two scientists looked up from the observation room, and the older one gestured at the younger one, who gestured back. A short argument ensued.
Finally, the younger man stood and entered the room of the sleeping patient.
Terry sat bolt upright, and the scientist jumped at the sudden movement.
"Lights!" he called, and the room bloomed into painful illumination.
Terry was looking around, wide eyed. He stared slowly around the room, never blinking.
He started laughing. And laughing. A great, throaty cackle that echoed through the research laboratories halls.
The scientist in the room moved towards him, offering a glass of water. "Sir? Do you remember?"
Terry swung, and knocked the water flying.
"I remember! I remember it all!"
He started laughing again, and then uttered a groan and began convulsing.
The older scientist hit a button in the observation room, and a medical team sped towards the sleep studies room.
"Sir! Please try and calm down!" The young man held Terry down as best he could, but he easily outweighed him, and each convulsion threw the scientist around. "What happened?!"
Terry shrieked, and laughed, and groaned, all the while never shutting his eyes - pupils darting angrily around the room.
"I remember it all! How can we have dreams of entire lives and universes?!"
The scientist was not trained, and not ready for this, and Terry's final convulsion spun the younger man onto the floor.
"Time goes slower in dreams! So slow! Ahahahaha!"
And Terry fell dead just as the medical cart crashed through the doors. | 2015-03-09T07:41:40 | 2015-03-09T07:06:56 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason. | I had a wife and two kids. It was a summer day, a Wednesday -- the morning cool hadn't left yet, but I was already feeling lazy.
I hadn't planned it, but I surprised them by packing for a picnic. I even packed a box of ice-cream, and the kids were so shocked and pleased, as if it was the best thing in the world -- like how every thing is for kids that age -- but it was for us, too. We watched them play, chasing butterflies, imagining monsters, as we enjoyed the view of the great valley below with its flowing hills and winding river, peppered here and there with trees and berry bushes. And I held her hand. I want to go back.
I want to go back to that place where it's aways summer. I want to go back to that place where I don't have to work to live and I can just go on a picnic any Wednesday I want. I want to go back to that place where its just a moments walk from a beautiful hill, untouched by the scabs and scars of buildings, roads, and telephone wires.
I want to go back to that place where my wife is still alive, I can still hold her hand as I watch our kids.
But I can't go back to sleep, I've tried all the drugs, I've tried the machine, but I can't fall asleep. People tell me I need to eat but nothing here tastes as real as it did there. Maybe this will take me back. Maybe it wont. But it doesn't matter. Reality isn't good enough now that I know dreaming.
[Goodbye.](http://youtu.be/aaOjDewD3Po) | The doctors had assured me that it would be harmless even as they were making me sign the liability forms. After all, I was a voluntary guinea pig in the trials. It wasn't as if I was forced to take part. It was just a cheque with four digits, that's all I would be walking away from. Even though I was an ex-con, I could still get a job. Sure.
"Have a good night, Alan." Samuel patted me on the shoulder, careful not to disturb the many wires running up to the device I wore. The discs tingled where they were attached to my shaved head. He flashed a grin, revealing straight white teeth. The doctor flicked off the lights before exiting my small room. Now I was left alone with my thoughts.
I sat at the edge of my bed for a bit before I felt embarrassed, both for myself and the men watching through the one-way glass. Pulling the white sheets over me, I curled up on the mattress and closed my eyes to wait for sleep.
That never works. Did you know that? Whenever you try to force it, sleep doesn't come. I lay on my side and waited for who knows how long a time before shifting and staring at the machine. A tangle of wires connected us. In the dark, it was just a formless lump, with illuminated green numbers telling me the time. 11.26. I followed the faint edges of the walls up to where they joined the dim ceiling. It was gray, with a darker pit set in the middle where the single bulb was housed. And in the hole, the light would... open and... shine...
When I came to, it was already morning, or so the machine told me. Outside the thin walls I could hear excited murmuring. The door opened and Samuel poked his head inside. He had dark pouches under his eyes, but seemed cheerful enough. In his hands was a steaming mug. I could smell it from here. Coffee.
"Morning!" piped the doctor as he approached. He grinned at me as I took the mug and sipped warily at the hot drink. It was good, nothing like the instant crap they put in packets. I swallowed another mouthful before turning to face the doctor.
"Well?" Samuel looked like a kid on Christmas morning. His left leg kept bouncing, as if he couldn't bear to keep still. He actually laughed aloud before thrusting a sheaf of papers in front of me.
"I got nothing from last night, Samuel."
"Look at them! All positive!" The doctor's smile slipped. "What do you mean, nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Samuel, but I don't-"
Samuel, Sam, Samantha. My baby daughter. A toddler with a birthmark on her chin. She'd giggled when I tickled her there. Sam's first word was "Da." Fuzzy blonde hair, just like her mother's. Elizabeth. She was a teacher at Greensdale High, taught biology and art. We met at the local bar, had one too many drinks, stumbled back to her place. Her dad was home, chased me out with a pistol. He'd warmed up to me well enough to merely grumble at the sight of me kissing Liz. Warm enough to confide to me last night that it had only ever held blanks...
Samuel was snapping his fingers in front of my nose. His face reddened. "Hey. Hey! You listening?"
I grabbed his arm. Samuel started and yelped as my fingers tightened and I pulled him close. Close enough to smell his breath now. Just at the sides of my vision I could see people pouring in the door, but they weren't important right now.
"Take me back, Samuel. Please, take me back."
| 2015-03-09T07:41:40 | 2015-03-09T06:44:49 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] You got a genie, congratulations! Enjoy your three wishes. Beware though as he'll do his best to warp your wishes to try and make you regret them. There is some good news though. He's really bad at doing that. | The genie rolled up his sleeves, "Are you ready for your second wish? I cant give you anything." He gave me an overexaggerated wink.
"Well, I wish--wait, what was that wink for?"
"Oh, nothing, don't worry about it," the genie waved his hands unconvincingly. "Just... be careful what you wish for." He winked with the other eye, or at least tried to, struggling to shut his right eye independently from the left.
"Uh, sure, okay," I said. "Um... I'd like a hundred million bucks!"
The genie put his fingers to his temple and grimaced with concentration and suddenly--*FWAH-BAMF!*--my bedroom was filled with stacks upon stacks of crisp hundreds. I let out an involuntarily girlish shriek, bolting up from my head to go touch the money and see if it was real. The paper money was soft and loving on my hands. Almost instinctively I took two giant handfuls, each worth about a brand new Ferrari and threw them up over my head. The genie cackled at me through the raining money.
"What's so funny?" I asked, stooping down to make a money snow angel.
"You see what I did?" the genie roared with laughter, zooming around the room, "Instead of the large male deer you originally asked for, I gave you the synonym of that! Legal tender! You should have been more... careful!" The genie floundered over a wink again.
"Uh, no," I said, trying to figure out how much money it would cost to use it to wallpaper my room, "I meant bucks as in legal tender."
"What?" The genie descended from his hovering perch to see me at eyelevel. "But why would you want that? A large steer can be worth hundreds of dollars, you could have been a billionaire."
"Ehhhh, selling deer sounds like a lot of work," I said, as the genie spluttered behind me, "I'm pretty good with this money. Also, I think if I had a hundred million deer that would shatter the deer market. Supply and demand or something, right?"
The Genie grumbled to himself, "I guess I should have known after your last wish wasn't for a foot-tall statuette of Richard Nixon." | “Ow!” Jared’s toe would have said if he wasn’t swearing at the top of his lungs and toes could talk. When the blinding pain and rage ceased, he looked down at the saxophone case he stubbed his toe on. It was rather odd since he was in the middle of a desert filled with dunes. Then glancing side to side as if to say, ‘does anybody else see this’ Jared reached down and touched the case. The case jumped a bit and then a pleasant mist came out, forming into the shape of a woman with green skin and a permanent smirk on her face.
“Oh hello! Wait, before you say anything. Yes, I’m a genie and yes three wishes. Standard rules apply, but please no weird stuff.”
Too shocked to think of anything else, Jared replied, “Weird stuff?”
“Yeah, like a harem of goats for your personal pleasure. I’ve seen it too many times. They’ll seem like a nice normal looking person and then they want to be encased in Jello and then forced to eat crème filled donuts.”
“Uh…yeah. I…uh… okay. I wish to be out of this desert.”
The genie just smirked and suddenly they were in Jakarta. “Hah, you didn’t say where! Welcome to the one of the world’s worst cities for traffic.”
“I can’t drive. Also, are you one of those vindictive genies?”
The genie looked a little put off. “If you were part of a magical race of beings that could control time and space with your thoughts but were forced to serve humans how would you feel.”
Jared gave a slight pause and said, “You’re pretty crap at it.”
“What?”
“I said you're pretty crap at being a vindictive genie. I mean you could brought us to a cruise ship filled with seniors. Or better you could have left your case behind, leaving me to forever wonder about what could've happened.”
“No need to be rude. Jesus, it’s not like I go to your job and tell you how much you suck. I could have also brought you to Florida. ” The genie replied.
“I have relatives in Florida.”
An empty bag of shrimp chips fluttered in the breeze as the silence stretched.
“Right…so next wish?”
Jared thought a moment, “I wish I knew what could make me happy.”
Suddenly it dawned on Jared, all his life he just need a decent amount of sleep and a healthy diet. If only he could combine his love of sandwiches with this newfound knowledge. Regardless, he felt invigorated at the thought of starting fresh.
“I bet you’re wishing now you should have specified how long that will make you happy for.” The genie smiled triumphantly rubbing her hands together.
“No, it’s pretty good advice. Good sleep and a good diet, if your healthy most things will turn out right.”
“WTF! Are you the most boring man in the world? I’m sorry I don’t always drink but when I do, I drink water.” The genie seemed genuinely upset and turned a brighter shade of green. Then mumbled, “I wished you found out falling really hard on your dick made you happy, you insufferable simpleton.”
“Sorry, what was that last bit?”
“Nothing. Lay it on me. What’s your final wish? I want to get back to my saxophone case so I can lather myself in cork grease.”
Jared’s face scrunched up and gave her a look.
“Hey you don’t know! It’s not like you’re stuck in a saxophone case with nothing better to do.”
“Alright, alright. Hmmm.”
There wasn’t much more Jared could think to wish for to make himself happy. He already didn’t want to rely on the genie for everything and getting there was a lot of the fun. He turned to the genie. Perhaps he could do something nice for her. She did seem a little crazy and living inside a saxophone case did feel a little unfair.
“Alright genie, what do you want?”
“That all humans would bow beneath me as unto a god in worship.”
“Smaller.”
“Unlimited internet access.”
“Alright, I wish you had unlimited internet access.”
“But I don’t have a computer.”
| 2015-06-01T12:52:44 | 2015-06-01T12:14:32 | 89 | 38 |
[WP] You are a dyslexomancer, with the unique class ability 'Mispel magic'.
Decided to make a prompt based on the idea from [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/3hd45k/you_are_a_dyslexomancer_with_the_unique_class/) in r/dnd (credit to /u/jand2013 and others)
In what sort of adventures does the dyslexomancer get? | "I WILL DEVOUR YOU!" Roared the hell demon in the voice of a thousand lost souls.
"You won't get the chance!" Retorted Bill, sounding braver than he was. This was by far the scariest opponent he ever faced. Well, technically, it was the *only* opponent he faced, if you don't count badgers and blackbirds.
Bill moved one hand toward the demon with an open palm and yelled, "LIGHTING!!"
Strangely, instead of the demon being obliterated by a lightening strike from Bills hand, dozens of candles appeared in a circle surrounding the demon, and lighting up the dark country road.
The foul beast laughed uncontrollably . "YOU IDIOTIC CREATURE!" It managed to gasp between fits of laughter. It put its two claws together and splayed them outwards, a ball of fire the size of a mans head came zooming towards Bill.
Bill just managed to jump out of the fireballs way and it flew on behind him for a few metres. Then the bloody thing turned around.
Bills mind was racing, he couldn't remember any spells for this situation. In a moment of despair, he decided he would try to enhance his dodging ability. He stretched his arms out beside him.
"DOGE!"
Before he had a chance to test his reactions, a dog the size of a horse jumped in front of the fireball and took the blow. It was still standing after the hit. Bill got a look at its face. The face of a small, happy dog but the body of a wolf that was after taking one too many strength potions. Then the beast spoke in a voice that certainly didn't match the face,"Very spell, much pathetic."
Bill and demon were both stunned at the appearance of this animal. It pounced at the demon, tearing it's chest open with his claws and biting it's head off.
Bills jaw dropped to the floor."What are you?" He asked wearily.
The beast bowed his head before Bill and growled,"Doge."
Bill hopped on his new companion and they rode into the sunset. | *clang*
Wheezing, Roldrivar of Knol dropped to his knees. The strange undead monstrosity lay twitching in a heap but that was just the last vestiges of negative energy draining from the body. They were safe, for now.
"Vitae! Mortis!! Carreo!!" Rina squeaked as she worked healing spells over Malex. Another magical backfire had taken him in the first moments of combat, though it had at least shattered all but one of the skeletons into tiny bone fragments. Peri was crumpled in the corner of the room, though she was more dazed than injured. She slowly began to come to.
Roldrivar muttered a few prayers and felt the life draining touch of the abomination leave him. He took a deep lungful of air and stood again.
"Is he alright?" he said, before noticing the chalky taste of bone dust in his mouth and fumbling desperately for his water skin.
"He'll live" Rina tutted as she sank to the floor, exhausted. "I'm all out of divine favours for the day."
Peri staggered to her feet, shuffled over to Malex and kicked him hard in the ribs.
"Uggh. Did we win?" he coughed.
"No thanks to you. The hell was that?" Peri yelled, her voice bouncing off the dungeon walls.
"'Nother wild surge?" he sat up and began to brush the skeleton dust off his robes.
"Another one yes! And now Rina's out of spells for the day! Now I've got to spend the night in this hell hole with a broken rib because you can't keep it in check! We needed those spells to understand the runes!"
Malex looked like he was fighting back tears. The surges had been the reason he had to flee him home and his family. He stood and walked a few paces, coming up on the pile of undead monstrosity. He suddenly snatched and grabbed the head of the creature, a sickening snap as it's now decayed vertebrae parted company with the spine. Without the necromancy to hold it together, it was brittle and fragile.
"You want to know about the runes? Let's ask someone who lived here all about them." He began to mutter feverishly under his breath. Peri took an unconscious step back from the sorcerer.
Roldrivar turned to Rina, raising an eyebrow. She mouthed back "Speak with the Dead". Normally Roldrivar would have spoken out against this thing but in all honesty, he was tired, bruised and needed a long soak. Being a paladin was without a doubt a young mans game and at 52, he was the second oldest in his order, if you didn't count the Grand Master. He would pray for forgiveness later, right now, it was imperative that they got the reliquary out of this vault.
Malex's face with twisted with concentration. There was a sudden blinding flash and a strange warm smell filled the room. He brandished the half decayed face.
"Tell me, fallen one. How do we open the vault? What do the runes mean?"
In the following silence, you could have heard a pixie drop.
"Way to go freak. You just spent a load of magical power to make it smell like an uncleaned oven in here. I'm going to go and see if there are any potions worth a damn in the packs."
Rina walked over to the confused sorcerer and patted the small of his back, it being as high as she could reach. "Don't listen to her Mal, she just gets cranky when she's not first in the healing line. "
"I just wanted to help. I just wanted to find out what the runes meant...." Malex trailed off, defeated. He began to rummage in his bag of holding for a snack, as he always did when stressed or upset. He pulled out a small loaf and raised it to his mouth.
"WELLLL HELLO MY DEARS!!!" the baguette screamed. "How can my wheaty wisdom best serve you today?"
| 2015-08-18T05:14:34 | 2015-08-18T05:11:39 | 73 | 13 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | *This is my first post please give me feedback!*
The loud hiss of compressed air flooded out from the spacecraft as a ramp extended and the metallic doors slid open; two aliens appeared followed by a gasp from the crowd.
It had been two weeks since the space ship was in range of NASA’s detection and the entire Earth was buzzing. Buzzing with speculation, excitement, and a slight fear. The media was having a field day with the discovery, weeks of live news dedicated to nothing other than our alien ‘visitors’. Segment after segment of guest scientists gave their best guesses as to what the aliens might look like and what they will want. It was a common thought that they would fit our depiction of a small green alien with big eyes and a bigger head, yet scientists were vigilant in dampening people’s expectations. “Do not be disappointed when the creatures do not even vaguely resemble a humanoid.” Despite this, everyone secretly hoped for a little green figure with an antenna and three fingers.
By tracking the course of the spaceship, NASA determined the landing site. A large crowd had gathered the day of the landing. The United Nations had created an order of the first people to meet the aliens ranked by importance; near the top were the president of the US, the leaders of other first world nations, top NASA officials, and other important UN figures.
The crowd was dead silent as the spacecraft landed, anticipating the first look at otherworldly beings. As the two aliens emerged, excited expressions turned into faces of pure confusion. Weeks of nothing but speculation, nobody predicted what walked out of that spaceship. The “aliens” looked like humans. They were wearing business casual attire. In the midst of the crowd’s confused silence, the taller alien opened his mouth to a strangely Canadian voice, “Hey thar soorry ‘boot the trees we knocked oover,” gesturing towards a pile of toppled trees.
“False alarm everybody,” said a NASA official through a megaphone. “These aren’t aliens, they’re the Canadians!”
You see, the Canadians colonized mars back in the early ‘20s; they decided to move their entire country to the red planet and lived glorious lives full of hockey and Tim Horton’s. Over 100 years later and now they've returned, a number of disappointed sighs occurred as the crowd dispersed. | "It was spectacular." Grandma said, her voice raspy and quiet. She sat hunched forwards in her old rocking chair. It had belonged to her grandma and little Lo didn't understand why she would still be keeping it around.
"I was there the day they arrived to our earth. Right in the park where the first invasion ship landed." She croaked, her wrinkled face moved slowly as a smile touched her lips. Lo stared with wide eyes and an open mouth.
"You *saw* them land?" He asked with a shocked face.
"Indeed, I did." Grandma nodded slowly. Her skin was like wet paper, it looked so thin and fragile. "It was a terrifying sight. The mothership was many times larger than the City, it covered the sun, and covered us in green light from the engine lights. It looked like something from a horror story!" Grandma said, her voice growing animated and her hands slowly moving to gesture. Lo smiled and leaned forwards.
"What happened?" He asked softly.
"A terrible sound filled the air as the ship descended over the City. People were screaming and running around confused, but Grandpa remained calm and took me by the hand. There was a loud sound and roar as the landing ship detached from its mother and whirred towards the park. It was made out of black metal, with red flashing lights all around it. There was a terrible groaning sound as it landed in the park. Grandpa and other curious people in the park who had not run away all approached it so slowly. What would we encounter we wondered? Surely such a large and threatening looking ship must be built by an equally awesome race... We could only hope they would be friendly and come in peace."
Lo started giggling covering his mouth with his hands. He was part in awe at his grandmother's story and part amused. He knew very well how it turned out.
"A massive door stared opening at the side of the ship. The black metal groaning and the machinery grinding away loudly. It was dark in the park, artificial green and red light being the only thing to give us sight. The door stopped opening with a rumble and for a moment there was silence... Then they came out. A small army of them. At first we didn't know what to think. They looked lite bleached white bouncing balls, about the size of my clenched fist. They came, bouncing down the ramp, hundreds of them, followed by hundreds more! Some were bound with spiked belts around their waists, and for a moment I was startled..."
Grandma paused for dramatic effects, and Lo leaned forwards in excitement.
"But then the Bouncers hit the grass. They flopped and didn't bounce any further, hundreds of balls following each other, all stopped by some soft, natural grass." Lo laughed out loud, jumping up and down excitedly. "I didn't understand it was an invasion at the time, and neither did Grandpa. It wasn't until later, when we learned to communicate that we realised they had tried to invade our world. In some places where they had landed on hard ground they had been more 'successful', as they themselves put it. But as people grew bored and annoyed with these Bouncers, and started punching them away the Bouncers were finally forced to admit defeat. Humankind had won." Grandma said with a dramatic gesture of her hand.
"And that, is the story of the bouncers invaded and lost the war. Only don't tell them I revealed this story. They are rather ashamed of their spectacular failure as it is." Grandma finished her story and winked at her grandson.
Lo giggled and clapped his hands excitedly.
"Now go play before dinner." She finished dismissing him. As he had left the old woman got up from where she was sitting and shuffled over to a box. Slowly, glancing around beforehand, she opened it and pulled out a white, dried ball. She liked the pattern of it, fractal circles within circles, yet smooth at the same time. If any of the other Bouncers would see her now they would scream and rally against her. It was a disgrace of her to keep the body of one of their own, but the old woman didn't really care. It had such pretty patterns and it reminded her of Grandpa. After all, it was essentially just a ball. Not much more different than the toy one she had had as a child. | 2016-02-22T11:32:18 | 2016-02-22T10:27:34 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] You are a time-traveling salesman, delivering anything to anyone, anywhere at any time. Literally. And for the right price, of course. | "All of this? That's it?"
"All of it."
"How do you afford to run this place?"
"Well, I just travel back and forth to when money is cheap to get and then on to where it's valuable to spend. Time travel, sir."
"Right. Yeah, I guess that's what I would do. But how can this be the right price?"
The Delivery Man shrugged. "It's the standard rate. One charge fits all. Like I said, manipulating currency values is a lot easier than time travel."
"But why not charge more?"
"You've no doubt run into other delivery services in the 44th century. In fact, the whole industry should have been perfected a long time ago. So why did you go with ours?"
"Because, well, you're the cheapest."
"Actually we're not. Every delivery company does what we do."
"Then how?"
"We offer the best service."
"Oh."
"Like we explain this whole process to all of our customers. It takes up about half of our work time."
"Oh."
"But, see, you learned something, right?"
"Sure."
"And that's the experience we want to deliver."
"Great. Yeah, I like you guys. What's the name of your service again?"
"Nessy Delivery. That'll be three-fifty." | "It's a battlefield" I say. "You can't expect me to go through with this"
A plump man with a shadowed face, known to me only as "The Manager", brushes the crumbs from his half-eaten oatmeal cookie flavored foodpill from his rotund belly that sits awkwardly on his worn mahogany desk and scoffs.
"You want time off at Christmas? Get your ass to 2352 and deliver those damn helix drives!"
His eyes pierce the veil of darkness around his face.
"We're in the business of making money, and in this economy, if you don't do your job there's someone else who will".
I stare him down half-terrified by his size, half amused that the crumbs never made it to the floor and nod my head.
The new singularity generators we use to time-hop have some pretty good features, but aren't very spacious. I traipse over to the shipping bay and set my watch to the time and place of my destination.
"That stupid pig. I swear, if the damn bottom didn't fall out of the neural implant market, I'd never be in this mess." I think to myself; Damning my boss without him knowing about it always makes me feel a bit better. I wish I could tell him off to his face, but I really need this job.
I toss the neatly packed helix drives into the shipping core and they "bloop" out of existence. You see, that's what I call it. The machine makes that noise when you step into it.
*Bloop*
I take a deep breath. Time-hopping always makes me feel sick to my stomach. Something about having your matter torn into microscopic particles and being thrust through time and space has this inherent uneasiness to it. Jethro in HR says I'll get used to it, but I've worked for TSDI - TimeSpace Delivery Incorporated - for six months and I still feel the need to vomit when I reach the other side.
I check my watch one last time to make sure that I've got the right place and step into the machine.
*bloop*
I choke back my sickness.
"You're late" the foreman says. "It's almost like there isn't a blood space war going on here."
I check my watch.
"Good to see you too Jacksin." I wave my first two fingers in an S motion - The universal gesture to tell someone to fuck off. "Well, Jackie, if you paid your bill on time maybe I'd have more incentive to be on time."
"You're a real asshole Tiber. Has The Manager thought about putting you in sales? Just throw the heelies over there and I'll sign for em"
I toss the box to my right and pull out a hologram projector for Jack to put his hand inside for identification.
"Hold there for three seconds... you know the drill"
While I wait, I consider the credits I could rake in working sales.
*Ping*
"ID complete."
"Hey, you looking for anyone to do some work for you?" I say half-sarcastically.
"Get out of my factory, Tibe."
"Thanks for choosing TSDI. We appreciate your business"
Jack grabs the helix drives and walks away without saying anything.
"Didn't even leave me a tip. Cheap bastard"
*Bloop* | 2016-12-20T08:11:28 | 2016-12-20T08:00:43 | 69 | 14 |
[WP] A hero and villain are roommates and have to keep making excuses for why they need to unexpectedly go out so often. Neither knows the other is their nemesis. | I run for the door, tonight is the night. I'm afraid but I know I have no option, if I don't go now things will be dire. I go to turn the door when Adam appears from behind me. He has a bead of sweat on his head. Why does he look so guilty?
"Where are you going, Sam?" he stands close to me, his breath hot on my forehead.
"I left my wallet at work, I need it..." I start turning the doorknob, praying he will go away.
"I need to go out I can get it if you like? It's really no bother." he grabs my wrist and pulls it away from the door. I feel my nails embedded into the palm of my hand, my knuckles turning white. Why can't he just fuck off?
"Fine..." I release my hand from the door.
I will have to wait till he leaves before I can go. I tell him where to find the wallet and before I can finish what I'm saying he is gone. I run to the kitchen window and climb onto the counter so I can look out the window. The only window that gives a good view of the driveway. I wait till I can no longer see the headlights of his car before I return to the door. I look back at my phone, the text screaming at me 'tonight.'
I step out the door and walk into the garage, I don't have a car but I don't need one. I have my own means of travel. I hold my breath and picture a fly and within seconds I suddenly feel lighter. I can hear the buzzing of my wings and suddenly everything is though I'm looking at it through a kalidescope. Who needs a car when you can shape shift anyway? I fly through the streets, everything suddenly seeming much larger. I dodge cars with ease until I am almost there. I keep thinking about how distant Adam has been lately and suddenly feel a pang of resentment. We were once so close and now it's like we are strangers. I don't know why Adam comes into my mind when tonight is the night I am going to change the world.
I arrive at the top of the water tank in our small town, and stay as a fly until he arrives. I don't know who he is, all I know is he has been making my life extremely hard ever since I turned eighteen and discovered just exactly what I am capable of. I know that he has the ability to do what I can do, though he uses his powers for reasons much different to mine.
Suddenly out of nowhere a flame strike appears across the sky above me, my kaleidoscope vision much too weak to make out what exactly I am seeing even though I know exactly what I am about to encounter. I hold my breath and turn. Feeling the purple scales grow rapidly onto my skin, my throat full of fire, my wings expanding. Tonight we will fight. I fly into the sky, facing Him.
A loud screech from his throat that only my brain can comprehend,"you knew this was going to happen."
I ignore him and strike at him, my dragon wings sending me at him faster than the speed of light. He dodges my attack.
"I'll give it an 8/10," he screeches.
I breathe fire into his direction, singeing one his wings. He darts at me, faster than me. I am knocked to the top of the water tank. His claws grasp onto my left wing, preventing me from moving, preventing me from defending myself.
"Why are you doing this?" he screams over the noise of the night. I try to move but I'm too weak.
"Revenge." I say but it is barely a whisper.
He claws at my wing harder, "louder!"
"Revenge!" I scream.
"I can't let you do this! I don't want to hurt you but you've given me no choice!" he screeches, fire coming from his mouth.
I watch as his razor-like claws embed themselves deeply into my heart. I feel myself losing breath, my dragon facade disappearing. I am now myself. I look at the dragon, as he slowly reveals himself. Adam. My heart breaks. His face, drains of color.
"Sam?!" his eyes fill with tears, "Sam, no no no no!" He kneels down beside my dying body, grabs my hand.
He grabs his phone from his pocket, still holding my hand, "I need help now, my wife is dying!"
"I love you," I say and then everything goes black. | I've found out a long time ago, my roommate, my childhood friend, the love of my life, is the one who keeps trying to stop me from my deeds.
I tried to kill myself once, before I had my powers, I was tired of everything; she... she's the only one who reached out to me, she saved me from myself when everyone else had forsaken me. I want to make her happy, I knew how much she struggled with money and wanted to help her like she helped me, my mind was set on only one thing, make her happy.
I tried to get a job but in this broken society a nobody like me can't go far, especially in such a discriminatory area, I asked her to move with me to a different place, where I could have the chance to help her, but she's too connected to this place... she wouldn't leave, and I wanted to stay with her.
When the storm came, our small city became host to unexplainable events, some of the people in the neighborhood received superpowers... I was one of them. Thanks to the news we found out the rest of the world was unaffected; so the government established a quarantine, we were cut off from the world.
Soon battles started between the neglected and the missionaries, the scum of society and the good citizens of this patriotic country, I realized my powers were given to me so that I could fix this broken system... I joined the neglected and focused on the jobs which gained me the most money, I had the means to both help her and bring forth a better world.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
When I found out what I could do, I immediately joined the missionaries; after the storm, crime rates exploded, I care for this town more than anything and I am ready to give my life for it.
Years have passed and now the war is at its closure, both sides were completely annihilated; the neglected only have their leader left and the missionaries only have me, possibly the last two people with powers in the whole world.
I want to end this struggle so that I can tell him, my roommate, about my powers; telling him now would only endanger him, the leader of the neglected has great power and could easily end me if he could exploit a weakness. I suffer everytime I make excuses to why I'm out so long, whenever I lie about where I've been, I just wish he knew.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
By the time my nemesis appeared, she started to be out more often; it took me a while, but I eventually realized her secret identity... all the timings matched, and the more time passed the less believable her explanations were.
I thought about ending this for her, but I have a duty to follow; I have to liberate this world from the corrupt.
As long as we're both alive the quarantine won't end, but I found a way to bypass the gates, I can easily take control of the world... I just need the will... I just know that doing it will cause her immeasurable pain, but I have to go through with it.
I'm at the checkpoint; there are guards all around, it takes as much as a snap of fingers for me to knock them all out, is too easy, she's the only one capable of standing up to me... or so it would be if my power wasn't growing so fast.
I manage to get a vehicle and start driving towards Washington DC, once I take control of that I'll be much closer to achieving my goal...
I hear a rumbling noise, as I turn around I see her approaching me on her motorcycle, she caught up faster than I thought, I damage the terrain as to slow her down, she might get injured but it won't be anything dangerous... a sacrifice for the greater good.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I have no intention of letting him go this time, I will stop him no matter the cost; I can't allow the world to go bad, I have to survive... for him...
I get close enough to see him but the bike gets stuck in the terrain, I'm sent flying and find myself several feet from the impact; a couple of my ribs are probably broken; but I have to stop him.
I stand up and get into a car much closers than the bike, I resume the pursuit.
After 2 hours of driving I catch up to him again, but this time he won't see it coming.
XXXXXXXXXXX
I'm close to my destination and will achieve my goal soon, probably less than 5 hours and my plan will be in motion...
I feel the roof of the car crashing on me, I jump out and my body starts rolling downhill away from the car. Once I manage to stop myself I see her jumping on me, her foot aimed at my head, she's going for the kill.
She's always been kind but she also knew that the only way to survive was to kill the relentless opposition, it changed her for the worse but it just made my hope of one day being with her slightly bigger.
I react fast enough to push her away, I'm going to knock her out... I know it will be hard, but I just hope she'll be able to forgive me.
XXXXXXXXXX
He start charging for an attack, I never saw him in that stance, but he's open... I go in for the finisher.
As I begin my counterattack I feel a wave going through my body... the shock is the most painful thing I've ever felt, my whole body felt like it was crushed multiple times, I fall to the ground fading into unconsciousness... it's over...
His face flashes in front of me. He needs me, it's something I realized when he tried killing himself, in this lone world I'm the only one he can count on, I've decided that will tell him everything and to do so I have to get through this. I stand up with all my energy and focus all my power into one last attack, I will finish it with one clean hit from behind, I have to do it for the world and for him.
XXXXXXXXX
My instincts tell me to turn around, I see her lunging at me, it's probably strong enough to kill....
I have to kill her.
I'm staring at the body... I slowly realize she's dead, I reacted too fast without thinking.
Tears start pouring from my eyes, I killed the only good thing in this world.
XXXXXXXXX
"The quarantine is over; every human who ever showed symptoms of abnormality has been found dead. The last heroine's corpse was found next to the neglected's leader lifeless body.
We can only assume she sacrificed herself for the greater good" | 2017-04-03T14:15:06 | 2017-04-03T13:54:13 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times. | For centuries, the two immortals stared each other down, neither moving nor willing to let the other. In the isolation of their tomb, both had long since forgotten which was the immortal and which the king. They had both wielded power unlike any in the world. For one, his words were like the incantation to a spell. Everything he commanded came to fruition. The other, his will was divine decree. Everything he wanted, he eventually got.
But now, the king had nobody to speak to and the immortal had shared his gifts with the one person who had bound him inside this tomb.
"Charles," Leo said, though he didn't know if the name referred to him or the king. They had switched names quite a bit. The last time they had re-established roles, the iron on their cuffs had finally rusted through. He was pretty sure that he was the immortal. "Why go through the effort?"
"To keep you from this world," The supposed king, Charles, replied. Though he also wasn't sure if he was the one being kept from the world.
"That's not what happened when we had first met."
The immortal always had a flair for the dramatic. Life was of no consequence to him, nor pain and suffering. It was all just something to fade from memory. So when they had first met, he had stabbed the king through the heart, just to prove his worth.
Charles closed his eyes. "I thought that together, we could do great things, build monuments the world would never forget, spread wealth and wonder to the edges of the sea."
"And what have we done?" Leo asked.
They both turned to the hieroglyphics. In the countless years that had passed, those carvings were all the connected them to the written word. Every hour every day, the sun came at just the right angle to highlight one. It spelled *The Great Pyramid of Giza*.
"Is that not enough?" He continued.
"At the cost of thousands of lives? At the birth of sacrificial rituals to some pagan god?" Charles shook his head. "You forever stained my legacy."
"But you have a legacy because of me. It is written in the walls of our tomb, forever kept for your readership."
Charles breathed out a sigh. "Why introduce me your rituals? Your power did not come from any of them. The people we killed, for what?"
A smile curled onto Leo's lips. "For fun of course."
The two stopped talking because through the stone walls, they could hear the muffled echo of footsteps. Then, the walls quaked and a metal hammer sliced through, crumbling the rock. The two turned and caught blinding light. They were thieves, here to ransack the pyramid.
"Don't let him out!" Charles screamed, but it was already too late.
Leo sprinted past the thieves and their magic hammer and immediately fell to the floor dead.
Charles stared at the corpse, his lips quivering.
He was the immortal.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day plus continuations by popular request.
| If there's one thing I hate it's clingy. Down right in your face attention with compliments that overload the mind by the dozen. Quiet is worth more than King James can pay for and a moment of peace is worth a thousand diamond rings. Ever since your majesty found out that keeping me close would make him immortal, well, my name switched from Delilah to Royal knapsack. I'm not worried, I know I'll leave, one of these days soon. The pieces of the puzzle will fall into place as the only remaining element is time.
"Delilah! Delilah my love!" King James' voice echoed from the other half of the room.
Nine o'clock meant bath time, and there were few worse ways to start a day. I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked air against the back of my throat. Heavy breathing sounded from the connecting area of our rooms.
"Sleeping?" James muttered. "It's ungentlemanlike to interrupt a damsel's rest . . . very well, I shall bring the bath to the room!"
I choked on a scoff, erupting in a fit of coughs.
"My lady!" King James said. "How fortunate for you to rise before the morning bath."
More like, anything but fortunate. I rolled out of bed and spent an absurd amount of time picking imaginary crusts from my eyes. Anything to stall sitting in the corner of a steam-filled room while James washes and goes on about his plans to use 'our' immortality. If it were after breakfast, the bathroom floors might be covered in puke.
"You do look most beautiful after you rise," James said, as we walked toward the bathroom.
I tried to hide my blush, which was unfortunately real. I'm a sucker for compliments, despite the dire circumstances. This was one of James' skills, whether it was with me or the castle people. I had almost shown him my artwork once, simple paintings, a secret I dared not flaunt out of possible embarrassment. My parents had discouraged me when I was younger, however, being an immortal had given me time to hone the craft.
As the day progressed, I followed King James from the bath house to his musical lessons, his loan signings, a visit to the kitchens, an outfit change, a walk around the castle walls, and eventually to the courtyard area where we watched the new men spar. The temptation to pull out hair had grown past a minor thought and into a possibility, however, I tried to enjoy what I could by taking notice.
"He's too quick with his left strike," I said, observing a young soldier.
King James raised his eyebrows at this statement. "You're very perceptive, my lady. An eye for detail."
Once again, blush crept over my cheeks only to be hidden by my palm. "Not a very worthy trait," I said, composing myself once more.
King James shrugged. "Someone with such a talent could help spruce up the inside of the castle. Give life to what is currently dull."
The words startled me to say the least. It would be the first time my skills could be put to good use in the real world -in ever. Who knew, if the King liked the changes, I might be able to decorate the castle with art.
"Maybe such a person could brighten the hallways with paintings, if they were able," King James said, his eyes still on the courtyard.
I could only nod, in lieu of revealing the excitement bounding inside of me. He couldn't know I was an artist, there was never an opportunity to share this fact. Plus, I hadn't had a chance since I came to the castle, it was one of the reasons I disliked the place so much.
King James smiled, his eyes telling a story of their own as if he knew my thoughts.
A shout sounded from the courtyard. James snapped his gaze from me and back to the sparring. There was a young man on the ground, clutching his chest, while other men ran to his aid. The King leapt into motion, sprinting for the yard as well.
I almost followed until I remembered that I was on the castle wall, and that simply hopping from the edge and onto the grass below would lead to freedom. It was a small fall too, enough to hurt but not injure. The decision lead back to the village and then the forest, the place I had travelled for years before being brought here.
With a leg atop the battlements, I weighed the options. In here, I was the King's tool but cared for and now the castle's lead decorator. Out there I was a travelling painter, fending for herself in the wild. This morning the choice would have been easier than opening my eyes. But this time I stepped back from the battlements and turned to the castle yard. If I really wanted to jump there would always be tomorrow. I'll leave, one of these days soon.
| 2017-05-13T06:50:28 | 2017-05-13T06:40:18 | 1,785 | 125 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | When the first camera flash went off, I was struck dumb at the sight of the red carpet, the reporters snapping pictures, and my boyfriend for the past six months waving to the screaming fans holding out pictures and pens desperate for him to sign.
"What's going on?" I squeaked. My voice was barely audible but Marcus leaned close, his breath on my ear, his hand settling on my lower back.
"Red carpet party," he mused, nuzzling my ear. I shivered at the touch, flinching at the sudden flash of lights recording my reaction.
"You said this was a fancy work party," I mumbled, "you didn't say there would be... be..."
"Be?" Marcus lifted his head, his honey colored eyes drinking in me in like this was a moment he would savor for the rest of his life.
"So public?" I offered.
Marcus chuckled. "It'll be okay. I won't let them eat you, I promise." He winked and pressed his wide palm against my back and suddenly we were moving forward. In that moment I was beyond thankful I'd given up and let Daniella dress me up for the night because what I'd planned on wearing, my favorite summer dress (a little piece that covered my freckled shoulders), was nowhere near as extravagant or rich as the gowns worn by the other celebrities posing and smiling before the crowds.
Did I know Marcus was a celebrity? No. Of course not. The thought made me dizzy and terrified all at once, but I understood now why he was so cautious about being in public, and why he was content for us to spend so many nights in together. The screams of the public, the hive like mind of the paparazzi, and the sheer wealth on display made me think this was all a dream and somehow, I was Cinderella just waiting for the clock to struck midnight and return to my ho-hum life of repairing computers at Super Maxx and Friday nights at the laundry reading 99 cent romances on Amazon.
| It wasn't for some time that I began to realize something was weird... off... about her interactions when we talked about going out. This wasn't a huge problem for me as I understood her job to be very difficult. She traveled constantly. Extremely busy. Out till all hours of the night. We lived across the hall from each other for months until one day I introduced myself and asked for a cup of sugar for a cake I was making for my sister one evening in February.
New York is beautiful in the winter.
She slid a glass measuring cup (the ones with the red lettered measurements on the side) through a crack in the door (apparently she doesn't know liquid measurement tools are separate from solids... ol well... this'll be plenty, I thought). Her slight English accent squeaked through the crack in the door as I said "thanks... uhhh... my name is Jimmy..." her response was a closed door.
That was months ago. We've been dating for 6 months at this point. The first month of our time together (first initiated by me asking her over to try devils food lava cake that I had been workshopping for at least 2 weeks which started a cooperative love affair with food. She ate like garbage. Always blamed it on being too lazy and too cheap. She would come home late, ask if I had any cake (this went on for 2 weeks) and eventually I started making her real food. I'd put extra in the fridge for her and she would come over and have a few bites before we fell asleep watching some old AMC rerun. I never had anything else running on my tv. She seemed to like that about me. One night she kissed me and I kissed her back. She basically moved in the next week. Her place was always a wreck. Blamed that on being busy too. It got so I would pack her lunches most days and she would have dinner over at my place most nights and we would fall asleep listening to some tunes or a black and white movie in my run down apartment on my beautifully huge couch.
She seemed to really like that she didn't have to talk about her work with me and since we only ever ate my work, we didn't have to talk about that either. Everything changed one day when I heard her approach our shared hallway and then go into her apartment instead of mine with a hurried sounding frantic key-fooling. I knocked on her door to see if she was hungry and she just yelled back in an intense voice before I got the chance knock more than once
"Come to the my work party tonight. Leaving in 45 minutes. Put on something nice."
Confused, a little worried with how strange she was being, I went back into my apartment, turned off the oven that had a braised duck resting in it (I was trying to impress her that particular night) and went to the back of my closet to find an old suit from my best friends wedding forever ago.
She came over 15 minutes later looking like I'd never seen her before. Red hair pulled back out of her face except for one almost blonde sliver that somehow magically stayed in the perfect place on her beautifully freckled face. Left leg peaking out through a long slit in a hunter green dress that hinted at deep dark forests in the pacific north west. Her necklace was a long triangular minimalist piece that dropped down low on her chest.
She was stunning.
I was a potato compared to her. And not a well prepared red potato you get at fancy restaurants. A dirty, unwashed russet. My hair was a messy long and stubble showed in just the perfectly wrong neck beard places.
"Who are you?" I asked in a low voice as I went in to kiss her.
"Some people call me Hermione," she said with a smile. Curious. I kissed her beautifully smelling neck and she leaned away toward the door.
"Come one, our limo awaits. We're about to have a weird night, you and I."
EDIT: formatting | 2017-06-14T10:28:32 | 2017-06-14T10:18:55 | 126 | 34 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | When we first met, I knew there was something special about him. His magnetic personality, infectious laughter, and his way with words are just a few of the qualities that drew me to him. I mean, don't get me wrong, he has qualities about him that are a little... iffy, to say the least. His fashion inspiration is Jimmy Buffet, he never wears closed-toed shoes, all his texts are written in the slang of a 15 year old white teenager who is way too into Eminem, and after my brother met him, he described him as a "human croc" (the shoe, not the reptile). But I just couldn't stay away.
That night, as soon as I stepped out of his Hummer, it all came together. The backwards sunglasses. The flames on the sleeves of every shirt he owns. The upside down visors. The reason his hair and his goatee aren't even remotely the same color. I looked down at the red carpet, I looked up at him, sweat glistening under the flashbulbs of the paparazzi. I reached for his hand and he leaned close to me and whispered, "You ready to take this relationship full-throttle?"
I wasn't just in love... I was in Flavortown. | I don't like it. She knows it, I know it, we both know it. Yet I'm still here, among all these people with their armani suits and rolex watches... Is rolex even that popular among rich people? I'm not sure. I'm just guessing that's what they're wearing. Not that it matters either way, all I know is that the floor I'm standing on has had millions of dollars of expensive shoes trodding it. Add a few hundred grand more just for tonight. I knew this was going to be a part of our life together: public events, meeting the elite, being dressed perfectly and always wearing the appropriate expression for when a camera might pop up, but I never liked it.
Still, it was unavoidable for me to come to at least one events. Evelyn had been nagging me about it for months and every time I said "some other time". She would concede and would say "next time then". Sometimes I hummed, sometimes I'd ask her to let me think about and sometimes I didn't say anything at all. I didn't want to get dragged into that world, the world of the fake smiles and false promises. The world where every word could be used as a woman that would make both friends and enemies. I didn't want to be in a world where I couldn't say what I felt and thought without being demonized by some rich oil manager half a world away. But last week she came home from a diplomatic trip in London, slowly trodding into the kitchen where I was preparing an alcoholic fruitmix of which I forgot the name, and spoke softly and clearly to me.
"Next week on a friday there's a social gathering in the Royal Germanica Hall with some of the worlds' highest ranking diplomats. I'm expected to come and you're going with me."
I was quiet when she said that. While preparing the fruitmix I'd been humming, but when I had heard what she said the tune fell away. I continued preparing for a while, not saying anything, but mulling it over countless times. She knew that. She knew me well enough to know that the only time I was ever truly quiet was when I was thinking. This wasn't a request, this was a demand and I knew it. Evelyn would never demand anything of me unless she found it absolutely necessary. I once asked her how she could be so patient.
"As a politician I can't demand anything from the people I represent. I can only lead by example and ask them to trust me and support me."
And that is also how our relationship worked. We trusted and supported each other however we could. Now that she demanded that I be present I knew that our whole relationship was dependent on my reply. Did I love her enough to make this sacrifice? I remember how I turned around and looked her in the eyes and saw the clear spark behind them. Now in this crowd of snobs, princes, presidents and generals I search for her eyes again and they meet with mine. They sparkle in gratitude as she sees how I play along and listen to what the prime minister of India has to an economic partnership. I give my piece of advice and offer a somewhat complimentary proposal and from the corner of my vision see the genuine smile on Evelyn's face among all these fake smiles and I know that I made the right choice. | 2017-06-14T12:18:12 | 2017-06-14T11:21:04 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] While getting dressed for work, you realize your red shirt is missing. Through the day you notice a lot of things that should be red are either missing or different colors now. Not one of your coworkers seem to recognize the word "red." When you get home there's a red envelope waiting for you. | She had never liked red. She couldn’t really figure out what she despised about the colour. Maybe it was the way in which red reminded her of the walls in her old childhood home, or because red clothes made her skin appear even more pale than it already was. Even though she didn’t like the color, she had to wear it every day . The supermarket where she worked had chosen red as its color, maybe to convey a message of love. All employees were obliged to wear the supermarket’s red uniform. Maybe that was another reason why she hated red.
She dangled her feet from her bed, still sleepy. She actually quite liked working the morning shifts, but getting up was always a struggle. She took a shower and then rummaged through her overflowing closet. Once, her clothes had been neatly folded, but now her shirts, dresses and jeans lay crumpled in her drawers.
Weird. The red of her uniform always immediately stood out against the blue and green tones of her own clothes, but now she couldn’t find it anywhere. She could ask for another uniform, the one she had now was already quite worn out after all. A bit stressed she chose another shirt and went to get her bike. Her shift started in ten minutes, so she had to cycle quickly.
Luck was on her side, because she didn’t hit any red lights on her way. In her sleepy state she didn’t notice that the traffic lights had blue lights instead of red. She actually cycled through some blue lights, but because the city streets were still empty during the early hours, nothing happened. The blue kind of looked like the green.
When she reached the supermarket, she was surprised to find out that the building’s red exterior had changed into green. Maybe they had redecorated it over the weekend. She liked it, but she worried that she might start to hate green as well now.
During her shift, while she was scanning the products, it first dawned on her. Packages which were normally a bright red, had suddenly changed into other colors. In the beginning she dismissed it, thinking that the packages might have changed because red didn’t convey the feeling of natural, environmentally healthy products. But she started to get panicky when customer after customer came, and no red products appeared. The women wore no red lipstick, only pink, and the regular customer who always wore a red baseball cap suddenly wore a white one.
After the blue tomatoes appeared, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Confused she excused herself and went outside. With trembling hands she reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out a cigarette. She asked a light from the kind old lady who had worked here as long as she could remember, and with whom she had shared many enjoyable smoke breaks.
‘Are you alright my dear? You look like you’ve had a wild weekend,’ she chuckled.
She didn’t know what to say, the only thing she could think about was red. Beautiful, deep red, red roses, red lipstick, the red dress she always wore as a child with the white dots. Red roof tiles. Little Red Riding Hood. God, she was going mad.
‘Where is the red?’ she managed to bring out.
‘Who, my dear? Is that a name? Is he a boy? Well, I’ve certainly seen no Red around here.’
‘No. No, I mean the color.’
She didn’t answer, but just smiled at her and went inside again. Confused, she continued her shift. She didn’t look for red anymore, maybe the old lady was right, maybe she should just go home and sleep. This weekend had indeed been a wild one.
She felt relieved when she finally arrived home. When she stuck the key in the door of her apartment, she let out a sigh of relief. She picked the letter up from the doormat. A beautiful deep red, with her address written on it in an impeccable handwriting. Red was an unusual color for an envelope. Maybe it was an early Christmas card. She felt exited when she opened it, she always loved it when she got letters and cards, and she always kept them in the drawer of her mother’s old closet.
Her fingers ripped open the edge. Half expecting to find a cheesy, glittery Christmas tree, she was surprised when a small, white paper fell into her palm. It only contained two sentences, again in the same impeccable handwriting.
I know you hate red. So I did it for you.
| "Great", I said to my dog, "Now I can't find my favorite shirt too." It was a gorgues flowey red tank top with a black lace neckline.
That morning had been weird. My dog was walking around without his collar and I couldn't find it anywhere. My parents wouldn't have taken it off and they had already left for work so I couldn't ask them where it was. No matter though, I just told myself that one of my parents did take it off and I just wasn't looking for it enough. Plus, I had to get ready for work. This job paid a lot considering it was a summer job for someone going into 10th grade.
At that moment I heard the honk of a car and my best friend yell at me to hurry the fuck up. So I threw on a white tee and got in the car.
"What took you so long?" Asked my best friend Mika as he was pulling out of my driveway.
"Weird ass morning dude" I replied.
"Weird how?
"You know my favorite shirt? The r-"
"The cute tank you always wear? Yeah what about it?"
"Well I can't find it. And my dogs collar."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
"Well, at least you can pull of the whole white tee black jeans thing."
"Thanks buddy."
Mika is an interesting guy. He understands female fashion better then me, a teenage girl. And that's not including the rainbow labret, eyebrow and multiple ear piercings, and vivid royal blue hair. My parents aren't his biggest fan. They blame him for me dying my hair a dark, crimson red and getting more piercings, I'm just glad they haven't seen my tattoo yet. It's a green hummingbird with a bright red throat on my left hip.
"Hellooo? Anybody home?" Asked Mika.
"Huh? Oh, sorry. Were you saying anything?" I replied.
With a sigh he said, "You were gone again. Look, Ember, you know I can get you help if you want. Or need."
"I'm fine, Mikey, really."
"No you're not. Your anxiety has gone so crazy that sometimes you can't even leave the house. Not to mention your mom is a totally abusive bitch. And it's sad you can't prove verbal abuse because it's real. And not to mention what I saw."
It's true. I'm not ok. Not at all. Ever since I moved here from out of state my mental shit had gotten worse then it has ever been before. And my relationship with my mom had become worse too. She had started to threaten and insult me more and more. But she nevee hit me. She knows I'll go to the authorities if she does. Shes part of the reason I had started hurting myself again. One day Mika and I were going swimming and not thinking about it, I put on a bikini that shows all my scars and cuts. Scars and cuts from cutting myself. He never told anyone about what he saw but I know it's killing him.
"Mika I promise you I'm fine," I said as we pulled into the parking lot, "My only problem is that one of my few friends here is a guy who's two years older then me and only a grade above me. Anyways, I have to go do my job and so do you. Come on!"
"Hey it's not my fault I was held back a year!" He called as I got our of the car.
"Yes it is." I said slamming the car door.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. My life was always boring. Nothing special at all. I couldn't wait to go home.
When lunch rolled around I went to my normal place in the courtyard with Mika and my other friends Sydney and Rose.
"Hey bitches." I called out to my friends.
"Hey baby." Replied Rose.
"Hun you need to try this lipstick," Sydney said, "It'll look amazing on you."
"Ok give it." I'm always happy to try new makeup.
She handed me a compact mirror and the lipstick. As I looked in the mirror I saw my hair looked black. Since my hair is such a dark red, it's not uncommon for it to be black in certain lighting, but in direct light like I was in, it should be bright red.
"Huh," I said puzzled, "My hair looks black in this lighting."
"Um, duh," said Mika, looking at me like I was speaking Latin, "That's because it is."
"Dude. It's red. Quit playing around."
"Emb," Rose said cautiously, "Are you feeling ok?"
"Yeah... Why?"
"Because red isn't a thing." Sydeny shyly remarked.
At that I looked at them in my "come on guys" face.
"No, we're serious," Sydney said nervously, "Are you feeling ok?"
No. I wasn't. Everything that a been missing was red. My shirt. The dog color. My hair for crying out loud. What was going on? Had I finally lost my mind?
"Actually I do feel sick. I think I should go home."
"I'll drive you home. I can clock you out and tell the boss you're sick." Said Mika, a gentleman as always.
"Thanks. Let's go."
When I got home, I remembered my tattoo and ran up to my room to look in a mirror. Sure enough, it had a black neck, not red. Weirder though, a scarlet envelope with a black wax seal and a gold symbol of some sort on it was on my bed.
Terrified, but more of the fact that no one seemed to know what red was yet there it was right in front of me, more then the envelope, I opened it. I will never forget what it said.
"Ember, you are not human. You are one of us. This summer you will be trained to learn who you are and how to use your powers. The bird will tell you when you have a task. We'll give you a helpful start to this. Here's your first task. Destroy what makes you miserable."
Terrified, I looked at my hip again. Red. It's throat was red.
Then I heard the front door open.
"Ember? I heard you were sick, are you ok?
"Y-yeah, I'm fine mom."
Find the continuation and more stories on r/InsomniaWriting | 2017-07-09T01:55:53 | 2017-07-09T00:17:30 | 60 | 16 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | It had been two hundred years since she whispered those words in my ear.
"You aren't allowed to die, okay?" It resonated when she said it and we stayed together till old age. She died. I grew older. I fell asleep one day and woke up as a spry twenty something. The face in the mirror stared back at me. I lost her. But. But, life continued.
I visited her grave often. Tears streaming across my face. There was never anyone else I was alone the whole time. 150 years is a long time... A fucking shitty time.
I'm sitting by her grave now. I've been here a day and my tears have run dry. I can finally read the head stone. Caitlyn Jones. 1987-2028.
The next line changed everything. 'don't wait too long to find me again.' I fell to my knees and my eyes closed for the last time | The car won’t start.
It shouldn’t still piss me off, but GODDAMNIT!
I don’t feel like telling you how I wasted hours in traffic. Or how hard it was to get one goddamn Home Depot employee to help me find the hoses. I don’t even want to get into how much effort I put into making sure that I had sealed up every last inch of this drafty garage with duct tape.
To be honest, I’m mostly just pissed at myself. I know this was gonna happen. By my count that’s now 137 failed suicide attempts. A gambler might say I was due.
I’ve had ropes snap. Concerned stevedores pull me from frigid waters. And guns jam on me -- Christ, the jammed guns. I could fire five shots into the air, but you better believe that sixth shot -- the one pointed at my temple -- is gonna jam.
And at that last moment -- right before I’m about to pull the trigger, or step off that bridge -- I can always hear her voice:
“You’re not allowed to die, okay?”
Even then I thought it was a strange thing to say. I had just told Jenny I was leaving her. She asked what her name was. When I didn’t say anything, she knew it was Caroline.
That’s when Jenny said, “You’re not allowed to die, okay?”
At the time, I assumed she was trying to tell me to fuck off and die, but her words were coming out all jumbled up. Like when you’re pissed at some douche on the highway, and you’re too angry to decide whether you want to call him a dick or asshole, so you call him a “Dickass.”
But holy shit was I wrong.
There were some inklings -- a few really close calls that were probably too close to just be close calls: Cinder blocks at construction sites missing my head by only a few inches. Car accidents that I had no right to walk away from. But when I turned 80 without a hint of heart disease or cancer, I knew something was up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a healthy 102 year old.” That doctor was more confused than anything. He probably would have tested me all day, if he could. But I was too preoccupied to pay him much mind. That happened to be the same day Caroline had passed away thirty years earlier. Years go by pretty fast now. I don’t care much for that goddamn traffic, but I’m gonna miss everyone when I’m the only person left. Goddamn, I hope it doesn’t come to that.
I don’t know how Jenny did it -- must have been voodoo or something. Never was much for all that superstitious shit. But I gotta hand it to her, she really figure out how to stick it to me.
Maybe I’ll try jumping off that bridge again tonight. | 2018-01-05T14:21:15 | 2018-01-05T13:14:26 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | It had been two hundred years since she whispered those words in my ear.
"You aren't allowed to die, okay?" It resonated when she said it and we stayed together till old age. She died. I grew older. I fell asleep one day and woke up as a spry twenty something. The face in the mirror stared back at me. I lost her. But. But, life continued.
I visited her grave often. Tears streaming across my face. There was never anyone else I was alone the whole time. 150 years is a long time... A fucking shitty time.
I'm sitting by her grave now. I've been here a day and my tears have run dry. I can finally read the head stone. Caitlyn Jones. 1987-2028.
The next line changed everything. 'don't wait too long to find me again.' I fell to my knees and my eyes closed for the last time | I wonder what light would say if it could think.
Would it have a concept of dark? Would the light from the stars have different thoughts than the light from our lamps? Could different wavelengths have different castes?
Like moths drawn to the flame, it seemed as if the boredom within me radiated, drawing these aberrant thoughts. I looked out the window, and saw the same distortions I've always seen on the *Veronica*.
The *Veronica* was one of mankind's greatest work. Built to be the fastest vessel of its time, it could travel 99% the speed of light, a feat previously thought nigh impossible by physics. When created, the world government cheered its creation, claiming that the *Veronica* was another giant step in mankind's journey towards the stars.
Well, they didn't cheer the *Veronica* specifically... Officially, this ship is called the *Hermes*, the messenger god known for its speedy flight, but I'm the only person on this vessel, and I can call this ship whatever I damn well please.
Veronica...how long has it been?
The *Veronica* wasn't built just for the sake of building it. Unlike the moon landing, the vessel was built for a purpose. The Earth was dying, and new planets needed to be found that humans could inhabit. As the fastest ship alive, the *Veronica* needed to find these new inhabitable planets, ASAP.
I was chosen to fly it. It was going to be a dangerous mission, and the chances of surviving were slim. When we embarked, there was an 80 person crew. Slowly, as complications arose, the numbers started to dwindle. Now, I'm the only person alive, with only the echoes of the ship's hallways to keep me company.
I would have killed myself years ago from the loneliness. The only thing that keeps me alive was the promise I made to her. Veronica was my life, my everything. Irrational thing love is.
My mission should be for the good of humanity, but to hell with that. It's for her. It's so, if there ever is an afterlife, I can look her in the eye and say I did all I could to keep myself alive.
At 99% the speed of light, time dilation occurs. The faster you go, the slower you experience time. For me, it's been around 30 years. On Earth, more than 200. She's probably dead by now. I hope she lived her life to the fullest. Part of me hopes she moved on from me, after realizing I would never return, and found happiness with someone else. The other part can't bear to think of her with anybody else.
I don't know what to do anymore. The prospect looks bleak, and I'm no longer the optimistic squirt I used to be. But I have to keep pushing on.
| 2018-01-05T14:21:15 | 2018-01-05T14:08:56 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] One day while sitting in a DnD game with your buddies, one of the players summons a demon. And in a poof of flame and brimestone, a devil appears in the room with all of you--dice and character sheet already in hand. | Brimstone, sulfar, and soot filled the air as long red arms stretched through a small maelstrom that had manifested in my mom's basement. As his form finally finished coming through the portal, it vanished almost as quickly as it came.
"Who dares to summon Ni'Zaderel, Crusher of bones and demon of wrath?" his voice a myriad of dry, hard syllables mixed with coarse sand. The figure began walking towards us ominously, and I swear to you, we were all about to crap ourselves.
"Knaves! I asked you a question and you sha...wait are you guys playing Dungeons and Dragons?" His eyebrows shot up and his scowl turned into a look of wonder. "Like seriously guys, if you are I'm totally in, what's the party makeup? I'll go ask dad if I can stay out late tonight, I have character sheets out the wazoo, please just let me play. All the other demons hate games like these now a days, say it makes us soft."
We all sat there stunned, as this interdimensional being stood before us, no longer threatening, but friendly and waiting for a response.
"We have a rogue, a barbarian, and a wizard, we kinda need a support class if you have one?" the wizard piped up, the one responsible for summoning Ni'Zaderel.
"What level? I have a level 9 bard I could play!" Ni'Zaderel squealed, his hooves mimicking a happy dog seeing their owner. With another small poof, a bag of dice, several amazing minis and character sheets showed up.
"Well then, as the portal the demon you've summoned begins opening, you begin to hear music being played," another small poof and suddenly Ni has brought himself a mandolin. God I love when players get into character. | "I mean, Zander was quirky. He always smelled of sulfur, and wore these black leather jackets like he was being cool. But he played nice, I guess, and he could do those deep, raspy voices like no one else. I mean, he never did any of those supernatural things before, and, you know, you can’t expect us to recognize the signs of a supernatural cult when you guys are telling us it’s a myth.
But then, he just showed up one day and we could tell something was off. You know when you see someone and they just seem out of it? Yeah, it was exactly like that, except exactly the opposite. It’s a little hard to describe. He seemed, well, confident. Instead of his usual routine, um, going to the corner of the table and looking down at his sheet until it was his turn, he started making eye contact and stuff. Also, his eyes were glowing a little. Come to think of it, maybe we should have been a little suspicious.
Anyways, we started playing, and when we got to Zander, we asked, “So, Zander, what are you going to do?” And he was all like, in that deep raspy voice, “MY NAME, PUNY HUMANS, IS NOT ZANDER. ZANDER IS BUT MY SHELL.” Sorry, I’m really not doing this voice justice. Just try to imagine it. “MY NAME IS MALPHAS, AND I DECLARE THAT MY CHARACTER, (weird name), MOVES THIRTY FEET NORTHWARDS.” And it was really weird, but I just figured it was some weird roleplay thing he was doing and decided to go along with it.
So, we played for a while, and I’m guessing you think he took someone’s soul, or something. But really, all he did was play Dungeons and Dragons. He was damn good at it too. He knew all the basic traps, all the min-maxing stats, and I think Tracy - the game master - was getting jealous.
So, at the end, she sets up this boss fight. Huge chamber, huge boss, right? Hard boss fight? Nah, Malphus got this in the bag. I mean, who would think of holding his mouth open and casting wall of water? But right as we’re about to grab a treasure, Tracy does this secret dice roll, and BAM, (weird name) triggered a trap and got instantly vaporized by a laser.
We weren’t even playing sci-fi.
Anyways, that’s when things went south. We called bull, she was like, “Well, I’m sorry, but you have to watch out for traps,” and Malphus was getting mad. “I SEE INSIDE YOUR MIND, PUNY HUMAN. YOU’RE LYING.” So then it turned into a shouting match between Tracy and Malphus, and they looked like they were about to come to blows. At the end, Malphus yelled that Tracy was gonna be on his list, or something like that, and that she was the most insufferable game master he’d ever played with.
And he just straight up poofed away! It’s like he threw a smoke bomb from hell, and then Zander was just lying there. So, we took him home and that was the end of the group. We met up next week, but he couldn’t do that deep raspy voice any more, and everyone was still kinda mad at Tracy, so I guess we just sorta lost interest after a little while and went home. I don’t know why you guys are making such a big deal about this. I mean, he may have been a demon, but all he wanted to do was play Dungeons and Dragons.” | 2018-01-06T08:21:04 | 2018-01-06T08:03:44 | 53 | 25 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | Luck governs our lives more than most care to admit. Those born with high luck scores become world leaders, wealthy, and succeed where others fail. Those born with lower scores often lead unlucky lives and often fall victim to unfortunate accidents.
Me I was one of the luckest of all, a 100, from a young age everyone knew I was destined for greatness. One teacher in school said I might me the next president, another the next Bill Gates. However I was always a risk taker and loved pushing my luck to its limits. When I was 16 I robbed my first bank, the vault door was left wide open, the security camera's out from a freak outage. It was a thrill to temp fate. Over the years I used my luck to make bank, I could enter the most secure places and make off like a king.
That is until one day the impossible happened, I got unlucky, caught red handed with the Crown Jewels of England. I was tried and sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. Though this too thrilled me, as a prison break may be the most challenging task yet to press my high luck. Only when the guard locked me in my cell, what I saw was impossible. All the other inmates in my block all had luck scores of 100 just like myself. No matter what I tried my luck failed me, no open doors, no power outages, no holes in security opening up for me to exploit.
I learned from my cell mates that my story was theirs, they lived a life of improbable luck until one unlucky day they ended up here. Nothing anyone tried could free them from this prison. This place was built so that nothing could get out.
However what I failed to understand at the time is that we where the lucky ones, nothing could get out of this place, but that also meant nothing could get in. Outside our iron corner of the world things where falling apart. Talks where breaking down and war was on the horizon, soon everything would be destroyed. Except for the most fortified places on this Earth, like say a maximum security prison. | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T10:05:15 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 308 | 26 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself. | I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent.
One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?"
"You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......"
...
"Teach?"
"Sorry?"
"You've been out of it for a minute - again"
"What were we talking about?"
"The civil war of 2002"
"Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.." | Ever since I was little I always had an interest in learning about times and lives long past. Luckily for me, I seemed to have been gifted in that area, too.
Long story short my childhood phase of being a huge history buff turned into the lifestyle of a college history professor.
Now, I’m not here to profess my achievements and brag about my life. I’m here because something strange has been happening recently and it’s made me question the framework of reality and everything I’ve ever known.
The thing is, as far as I can remember I can’t recall getting a historical fact wrong. I’ve always either brushed it off or chalked it up to being a diligent worker or no one caring to correct me. However thanks to what happened recently, I know that that isn’t the case.
So, to anyone wondering what happened, I’ll tell it to you now. Originally, I did this to test my students — to see if they were paying attention to the textbook as I read it to them. I looked down at the textbook carefully, then looked up at the sleepy, bored classroom and said, “...,South African human rights activist and president Nelson Mandela died in 2013...”
Now, I know that isn’t true, I’m sure everyone at this point knows that he died in prison in the 1980s. To my surprise and utter shock, when I looked down at the textbook, I caught a glimpse of moving words and read the words that had just come out of my mouth printed neatly on the paper.
Now, while one peculiar thing is nothing unusual, I have been repeatedly testing this phenomenon. I told people that mother Teresa wasn’t declared a saint while alive, told people the wrong lyrics to old songs and deliberately misspelled a bunch of things. And yet, everything I told people appeared to be correct after I said it.
While all this might not be to bad, I have a confession to make, one that I doubt I can be forgiven for. I didn’t know why I said what I said, I should have been more careful, I know I should have. I don’t know why other than that I was just in one of those impulsive moods. I told one of my American history classes that there were 50 states and not 52. And so there were. Two states that I had grown up knowing existed just flat out disappeared. The thing is, I knew people from those places and now I can’t find them.
The world population has gone down by just a bit and that scares me. While not the largest places they still had a hearty 5 million people. 5 million people that just disappeared one day and whose disappearances I’m probably, no definitely responsible for. What scares me most though, is what happened to them. From everything I used to know about life and the universe, people don’t just disappear.
r/a_cgi_for_writing | 2018-07-16T12:19:50 | 2018-07-16T11:08:56 | 848 | 375 |
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words. | They came from the stars. Our leaders said they came in peace. So much of their advanced technology augmented our own. Great spires and floating cities dotted our world. The mining and water reclamation was the real purpose of their ~~visit~~ invasion. They shared certain vaccinations for diseases that had plagued us for generations and eliminated some seemingly overnight. Our lives would never be the same, brought into a new era by our new friends. They promised us their last one, the secret to immortality. Stupidly we leapt at the chance...too late we found out their lie. Mine will be the last generation on this world. Only the isolated tribes in the deep jungle may survive. If you're reading this message we attached to their hive ships:
>!Don't trust the Humans!!!!< | For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. We've all known that every time a human dies, one is born almost instantaneously elsewhere around the world. At least, that's what all the stories told us. The graphs of human count have been a constant eight billion, six hundred fifty three million, five hundred thousand and twelve for the past hundred and fifty years.
We thought we had it figured out that life and death were part of the same equation.
How wrong we were.
Around fifty years ago, a scientist going by the name of Dr. Antoine Nova was convinced he discovered the cure to immortality. By then we had known that no gods truly existed. Why would the number of people alive on this planet stay the same if there was some sort of paradise later on? There are less than a hundred thousand of us left. Not that it matters.
The doctor was killed.
He said he had more to tell us.
I was a child in this lifetime when it happened, but I remember it like it was yesterday. He was brought up to the stadium, set in front of the televisions all around the world, his mousy mustache quivering. He tried explaining himself, he tried telling everyone that there was more than immortality, that they had to behave themselves. He was shot in the head multiple times for crimes against humanity. And to prove that the serum was a fake.
Unsurprisingly, he died. Everyone blames him for killing us off. Scientists have not been able to find the cure for his works. Then chaos ensued. In the time before the serum was injected, everyone lived life to leave it for their children and themselves. It had to be better than it was before so they could be more relaxed in the next life. This was the end though. Some people pillaged and burned. Others overdosed. Some prayed to gods they don't believe in. Others simply raised their kids to be as behaved and loving as possible. I was lucky enough to have such parents.
I hear gunshots.
We were never scared of death. I'm still not scared of it. It's better than killing ourselves out in a war. Infertility. What a curse it turned out to be.
Mother nature seems to be enjoying life without us.
It's much nicer now. Less grey.
The only thing I re-
There's blood coming out of my side. I felt the bullet. I see him, coming closer. It's getting darker. Goodbye, world.
\- - -
&#x200B;
I opened my eyes. An entity is looking down at me. It's bright. My side doesn't hurt. It welcomes me to Paradise. My parents are there with Dr. Nova. I guess he did give us immortality at the end. | 2018-09-09T08:44:13 | 2018-09-09T08:38:40 | 103 | 67 |
[WP] Twenty years ago you summoned a demon. It is super cool and has been your friend for the last two decades, using its vast powers to help you achieve all your dreams. Today though, its bill came due. It needs to return to hell with you - it has dreams too, and it needs your help to achieve them. | On this morning, I was surprised to find my demon unusually excited. Over the last two decades Balazar had, despite my best efforts, been supernaturally moody and withdrawn. I thought perhaps, after a period of adjustment, he would acclimate to the scenery of Earth. As my riches grew, I got him appointments with the best therapists money could buy. But nothing quite worked. Until, quite suddenly, this morning, I found Balazar bouncing around the living room like a demon possessed.
He picked up the children and danced around, letting them grab his horns, as they giggled.
“My turn” he chanted, “my turn, it’s my turn.” Soon they joined in singing with him.
I rubbed my eyes. “Jesus christ Bally. What the hell’s up with you?”
“Hell is up with me John. Hell exactly.”
I shook my head, “I’m going to watch the news.” I walked over to the couch, sat down and turned on the TV. From here you could see sweeping views of the whole city. My neighbours were Brad Pitt and Slash. Imagine that. The anchors were talking about my company on the news: “and looks like some bad news for J Corp this morning.” I sat up, confused. Bad news? Those were two words had hadn’t heard together in, well, twenty years.
“Since the markets opened this morning, stocks have fallen by 20%.”
“What!”
In the background Balazar was still chanting, “my turn. My turn.”
“Balazar, will you shut the hell up.”
“Hell!” he cried, “we’re going to hell.”
“we’re going to hell” the kids laughed after him.
I pulled out my phone. Ten missed calls. I blinked. “We’re down. Why are we down? For christ sake Balazar will you put the kids down and stop dancing?” He put them down, but the smile was still plastered to his face as he skipped over, his hooves clacking on the polished floorboards. “What’s going on?”
“Your stocks are down.”
“Yes. I know. Why?”
Balazar shrugged. “They’ve been artificially overpriced for years because of my magic.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” There was a silence. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Oh John” he leapt forward and hugged me, “you don’t see, do you? It’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what? And just calm down okay? You’re like the kids on Christmas.”
“Okay” he took a few deep breaths, fanning himself, “I’m calm. I’m calm. Do I look calm?”
“You look like you’re on drugs.”
“Twenty years ago you summoned me.”
“That’s right.”
“No I mean. Twenty years to the day.”
I shrugged, “Happy anniversary?”
“John. Don’t you remember? The spell you used to cast me. It was a two part spell. A contract. You get me for 20 years. I get you for 20 years.”
“I’m sorry what?”
“Don’t be sorry. Be excited! We’re going to hell! Oh hell is nothing like they tell you John. It’s really quite a marvellous place, and there’s companies there too, and you’ll really like it trust me.”
“I don’t quite understand. Me help you?”
“Yes. That’s what the spell is. Didn’t you read the fine print of the spell?”
“Read the fine print. Shit Bally I was ten years old! I pulled the book down from my grandmother’s shelf, dusted it off, flicked it open to a random page and just started reading.”
“Best decision you’ve ever made John. Trust me. Ok we’re leaving in five.”
“Leaving. No we’re not leaving.”
“We’re going to hell.”
“I’m not going to hell.”
“Yes. You really are” he gestured with his hand. And I took a step forward unwillingly.
“How did you do that?”
“Part of the spell. Look I’m not going to use it unless its absolutely necessary. You’ve been a good sport to me, I’ll be a good one to you.”
“Bally. I can’t just go. I have a family here. A company to run.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Time runs differently in Hell. 20 years won’t even be a day here.”
“But it will be 20 years for me” I answered, “in hell. I mean — what, what help do you think I’m even going to be? I’m not a demon, okay, I can’t wave my hands and make things happen.”
“Oh but John. You can” he lowered his voice, “you have no idea the power unclaimed souls wield in the afterlife. No idea.” I swallowed.
Balazar pointed to the wall, and a dark portal opened up. “Oh god. Bally please. Don’t, don’t make me go.”
“Think about it John. This is what you signed up for. You get a choice to go willingly. Or to be dragged along. But you are coming. Satan knows the shit I went through for your dreams.”
“And what exactly are *your* dreams?”
Balazar smiled. “To rule” he said. “All of it.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder, “just you wait” he said, “you're going to love it.” I bolted for the door. But halfway my legs stopped working. I turned around and marched toward the portal, as my children echoed Balazar’s chant from the kitchen.
“You'll be back before lunch” Bally reassured me, as I passed through the portal and darkness fell around me.
[r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories) | A slow, persistent tap echoed through the stone walls of the empty chapel, as precise as a metronome. A wooden Jesus looked down to the both of us, judging. Whether he judged me more or Dragan, I couldn't tell.
"Please have understanding," I whispered. "They say love your neighbor, and I did just that. And if that's a sin now, you kinda died for it. I just--"
"I hope the irony isn't lost on you," Dragan cut me short, his voice filling the room. "That you're begging for forgiveness now out of all times."
"--it's being a good friend, you know?" I ended it and straightened up. My knees throbbed dully from the hard wood. "It's rude to talk in the middle of a prayer, dude," I told Dragan.
Turning back around, Dragan stood with his arms crossed, one blond eyebrow arched. "Oh yeah? Then what is praying before entering hell?"
"Being a good Christian?" I ventured.
"Yep. I'm sure you could write a book about that, Mister Demon Summoner." He made a gesture with his hand and turned around. "Let's go."
"Go where?"
But Dragan was already walking ahead, his steps louder and faster than before, into the clear summer night and back to the city. I struggled to keep pace with him. Cold Springs was quiet at night, the streets empty and most of the curtains on the windows drawn. The place that I normally called my home looked no different than a pretty picture on an Instagram feed. Nothing looked familiar.
"If we wanted to enter hell there are different ways to do it," I called out to Dragan. "You out of all people would know."
"Sure," he called back, not stopping. "But I need the V.I.P entry."
I stopped in my tracks, raising an eyebrow. "The *what*?"
Dragan walked five more steps and turned around. "Dude! Will you keep walking!" he shouted.
"No! You're gonna tell me what this is all for!"
Dragan made a face of the *are you serious?* kind. Or at least I imagined him doing that. He was too far away for me to actually say.
"Yeah!" I stopped next to a lamp post and leaned against it. "Why now? Where are we going? What do you even wanna *do* on hell? You think I'm gonna walk with you not *knowing* what I'm gonna do?"
"Why wouldn't you? You went with me to every party without knowing where it was!"
"That was for the *girls*! This is different!"
"Because *now* you're a good Christian."
"Because now I'm a good Christian."
A moment of silence. Then Dragan went up to me, and as he did, his appearance changed from the tall, handsome, blond man to an even taller, redskinned, horned being. "You're right," he said, his voice deeper. "I *could* just use you to go down, Adrian Carpenter. Penetrate your body to get your soul and--"
I rolled my eyes. "So the V.I.P entry was just a sexual innuendo. And you changed to demon for that. That was a weak one, man. One out of ten."
"How- what- *No.*" Dragan made an exasperated sigh and changed back to his human appearance. "I know you. There's a reason why I'm not telling you anything."
I raised an eyebrow. Dragan had been acting weird - weirder than normal for a demon, that is - the past few days with cryptic messages and little talking. Looking out the window and listening to Linkin Park as if he had just discovered an emo phase as a demon in his late twenties. I had chalked it up on his breakup with Ezra the other day, because even demons needed their time to sort out conflicted feelings sometimes. But I didn't expect the *we can't tell each other everything* sort of thing.
"And aren't we ride or die, hell and high water anyway," he said. "I went to so many of your blind dates as a wing-man and we didn't know who the girl was."
"That wasn't hell."
"Earth is hell."
"Dude." I pushed away from the lamp post and met his gaze. "Tell me what's going on. Or we're going back to the flat and sleep this one over."
Dragan looked away and sighed. "Okay. So you summoned me back then, right? When you were a little dumb boy. And now you're a big dumb boy--"
"Excuse you. I'm a big dumb *man*, and your best friend."
"Yeah. Right. So you summoned me. And really you could've gotten any demon, but it was me. Because I was interested in the world above. Just kinda checking out what God had planned there. What people are up to before they burn to crisps where we're at."
"You told me that before."
"Only I didn't say everything." He gulped, looking out as if a drawn curtain had hidden cue cards for what to say next. "So... I just happen to be a big shot."
"Imagined or real?"
"Real. My dad is the demon king. And I'm his son, one of them, at least. He's got, like, twenty, and I'm the thirteenth, so I could sneak out and he didn't mind. You with me so far?" I nodded. "And the other day, the day I broke up with Ezra, he decided that was it. He's not gonna keep tabs on people anymore. And now the spot is free, and--"
"And you want to be the demon king in his stead," I finished.
Dragan nodded. "That's the plan. You'd need to do the same circle back then as you did now, and I was thinking it would look great if we did it in the city plaza, since that's right above the throne and I could make an entrance." He closed his eyes and frowned. "I've seen those movies with you. This shit is so cliché. I know, okay. I just-- it's my life."
I leaned back against the lamp post, watching the flies swir above the light over and over again until they hung on the glass dead. "At least you're self-aware enough to say that the story's clichéd," I began. "Really. I prayed to Jesus because I thought of worse. I was like, *okay, Dragan had a good run with me, and now I'm going to fucking die.*"
"Are you not--"
I shook my head. "And *you* thought that I wouldn't believe you and said nothing." I glanced up to him. "I'm taking one point away from that. Seven out of ten--"
Dragan's jaw went slack. "You think I'm just telling you a *story*?" he said. Then, with the demonic voice: "Adrian Carpenter--"
"I'll add three points to that rating if you take me with you." I pointed at his surprised face. "I mean. Seriously. I'm your best friend and a good Christian. *And* I did a self-defense course before. These demons come at you, I punch their balls and praise Jesus."
Dragan looked at me as if he had suddenly forgotten how to speak English. Then he broke into a wide smile, his eyes shining. "Fuck you," he said. "Of course I'm doing this with you."
I held out a fist. "Ride or die."
He bumped in it. "Through hell and high water." | 2022-10-29T16:15:55 | 2019-01-25T02:22:07 | 4,031 | 34 |
[WP] Dragons carry away a child from a local village, and everyone writes them off as dead. A decade later, a stranger arrives, claiming to be the lost child. They even brought the dragons to prove it. | Oh the despair the villagers had when young little Mort was taken! Of all the children there were to be taken, the dragons had to choose that unwanted child. The orphan nobody knew what to do with, and often treated with a mix of pity and scorn.
The myths often spoke of a man taken by the dragons as a child, and raised into a hero that saved the world. It was a common theme in most fairy tales in this world after all, but unlike most fairy tales, they were truth itself, and not mere exaggerated clumps of truthful recounts as most myths often were.
Hence the village rejoiced when the dragons’ messenger came to announce its claim on a village’s child. *The coming of the new hero!* Everyone thought that, but they did not expect him to be taken.
But since he was to be taken, the villagers offered no resistance, and merely offered him up. Poor little Mort did not wish to go, but what choice did the child have in the matter? A few gold coins thrown onto the ground, the chief shaking the messenger’s claw, and Mort was whisked away like a fairy tale princess.
Most villagers forgot about Mort, ‘tis the effects of the spell casted on them. But in a decade, they would.
Because not all children grow up to be heroes.
Chuckling as I watch the burning embers of my old home, I thought to myself:
*It’s time for the world to burn to nothingness.* | Massive boulders hurtled through the air, shedding dirt and debris as they flew towards the village, causing the north easterly wind to shriek in protest at their passing. The town bell rung frantically, its harsh noise competing with the whistling boulders as they crashed into the modest stone houses of the village, the huge rocks shattering the cobblestones streets and thumping into the grass slopes along the side of the hill.
The three-time clang of the bell signaled something already very obvious. The giants had come.
The frightened cries of villagers could be heard in the intermittent silence between the impact blasts of the boulders, the most valiant among the human denizens shouting defiance, but most urging everyone to flee. "They will not take us all! Into the tunnels!" "Get down into the hill!"
Entire families were pulverized in one blow from the huge rocks, mothers and husbands and brothers and sisters replaced by puffs of red mist. Blood trickled down the old stone pathways, pooling at the crossroads at the bottom of the hill.
The giant were huge, hulking things with human skulls hanging from them in long, coiled lines. They had spikes on their heads and shoulders which flexed and sprung upwards as they ripped up jagged chunks of the earth and flung them towards the village. The leading giants were close now. Close enough to reach down and swipe at the stone houses lining the base of the hill.
If anyone was left down there, if anyone had survived the initial onslaught of boulders, their time had now come to an end.
"Jerra, stop staring at them and run!"
A hand grabbed at Jerra's shoulder, jerking her backwards and snapping her out of her terrified trance. With a jolt the young girl launched herself along the narrow side street, concentrating on her father's back. They fled towards a tunnel entrance just a few hundred yards away.
A high pitched keening grew in her ears, drowning out the frantic shuffling of their feet, growing louder and louder until her father disappeared from the road, swept away by a rock twice his size. Jerra screamed and fell to her knees, her father's blood coated her face and hands and her just washed smock, the feel of the warm liquid narrowing her world down to the space on the street where her father should be.
The cacophonous crash of stone colliding on stone filled her ears again, returning her to reality with a vengeance. The crashes were punctuated by the terrified shrieks of horses and cows which remained trapped in their pens, soon to be eaten alive.
Jerra curled inwards, clasped her knees to her chest, rocking herself back and forth. She desperately tried to ignore the world around her, tried to pretend that it was all a dream.
She felt the warm breath of a giant, heard the clattering of hundreds of human skulls. A gnarled, grizzled foot almost twice her size thumped down beside her, then a long sliver of saliva hit the back of her head and dripped down between her shoulder-blades. Death had come to her, her body destined to be ground down by the savage molars of a hulking, hateful beast.
A massive head slammed down a few feet away, the light fading out of its beady little eyes. Its tongue lolled out, bloody saliva pooling at the base of its mouth. Dead. The giant was dead.
Jerra look up just as a shadow passed over her. Then she heard a powerful reptilian cry.
The dragons had finally returned. | 2019-04-25T07:20:41 | 2019-04-25T06:32:53 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] You arrive in hell surprised to find it completely barren and empty. Satan comes to greet you. “Hello, Satan. Where is everybody?” He replies “Oh, you’re the first one here.” | "Whoa, whoa, whoa, pump the brakes Satan. What do you mean I'm the first one here?..." I ask while gesturing around to the barren wasteland around me. "...Was I really so bad in life that I'm the official first entrant into hell? HITLER! HOW IS HITLER NOT HERE! I MEAN, COME ON!" I shout, waving my arms in a comical way.
Satan laughs, as to be expected. He calmly says, "They will be here, in a few hundred years or so, but I just couldn't have guests over with my place looking like this, I mean the thought of it..." He shudders and continues, "...So I made a bargin with God, your soul, for a few of his precious priests that went a little wayward. You were the worst interior designer on Earth. And now you will use that horrible talent of yours to design a Hell that even I couldn't imagine."
I stare blankly at Satan, utterly confused, saying, "I wasn't an interior designer...I was a brain surgeon." Satan freezes, "Wait, your name isn't Sam Paulson?" I nod, "Yes, my name is Sam Paulson." Satan pulls out a cell phone, "Yes, Sam Paulson from Prattville Utah." I shake my head, "No, Sam Paulson from Prattville Florida." Satan closes his eyes, rubs the side of his head, and sighs, "So, you're not an interior decorator?" I shake my head, "Not in the least."
Satan sits down on the ground, his head hanging low, "Just once, just once I want to do something right. I had a chance to finally make Hell what I wanted it to be, and I picked the wrong Sam Paulson. I mean, is it even worth it anymore? Should I just give up? Should everyone just go to Heaven at this point?"
I look around, seeing if there is anyone else he could be talking to. Realizing it is just the two of us I sigh and sit down beside a very well dressed Satan, "I mean, you can't give up..." What was I saying? "If everyone gets to go to Heaven, there is no incentive to be a good person. The belief in Hell makes people do the right thing, so..." I stand up and dust off my scrubs, extending my hand to help Satan up, "...what do you say we design Hell together, I mean, neither of us are interior decorators, so that qualifies as being the worst right?"
Satan looks up at me and smiles, "Yeah, together the two of us are twice as worst as the other Sam Paulson. Let's get started, I really like the thought of shag carpet." I nod, "This already sounds like the worst place I have ever been..." | As I expected, I have arrived in hell. No surprise there, I wasn't a good person. I was a bounty hunter, ... for the Mob.
I never killed them. I never hurt them more than I had to. I never threatened their family and friends. Oh, I wasn't innocent. I knew full well what awaited them when I brought them in. I shut it out of my mind.
No more. Be honest with yourself if no one else. You're dead. You're in hell. You deserve it.
The big surprise was that it was completely barren and empty. The man himself comes to greet me. Horns. Pointy tail. Pitchfork.
“Hello, Satan. Where is everybody?” He replies “Oh, you’re the first one here.” Blink. Blink.
It takes time to absorb that. I'm the *first*?! Finally, my mind kicks back into gear. Things I've seen and not noticed in my shock.
"Um, Satan? Wouldn't you be more comfortable without the horns and tail?". Quick duck as he half turns to check the tail. The pitchfork nearly got me. "What's wrong with them? I thought I had them perfect!?" He really does seem upset. "I'm a bounty hunter. I've learned to spot things that aren't right. Anyone else wouldn't notice. It's not even anything I can describe. They just don't *fit* with you. It's not a physical *fit*, it's more that you're uncomfortable with them."
"Oh. Well in that case..." He snaps his fingers. "There! Much more comfortable.". It's amazing. He looks just like one of the Dons. Same tailor. Same barber. Same manicure. "Did they get it from you? Or was it the other way around?" An evil chuckle. Oh, yes. THIS is the one and only. Can't fake that laugh. Not to me. "A conceit of mine. I planted the *image* to project in their minds."
Heh. "Good joke. People know how the Devil really dresses, but have this other image in their minds. Go slumming often?" Weird. This powerful, and he's not happy? Maybe those Dons weren't either. "Have you seen this place? This is my home. It's where I'm supposed to be doing my work. Punishing the evil, as only evil knows how to."
"Where'd they get to? Where are the demons?" He's really getting wound up now. "**THEY CHICKENED OUT! THEY COULDN'T FACE THEMSELVES. THEY DID A RUNNER!** The demons left from sheer boredom. Most of them now serve the Dons. Good Catholic boys, being served by demons. I can't see how their priests don't know!" Heh, I know. They don't *want* to know. It brings up too many questions. They've already got answers they're happy with. They don't want questions. It's not that they're evil, they're just human. I focus on the ... to me ... critical part. "They did a runner, did they? They're really evil? They deserve to be here?" The answer rings in my head and in my ears. Two voices. "**YES!**" Well, one for the other side. I get my own evil smile out of the box I've kept it all these years. "*Then I'll just have to find them for you and bring them in.*" Satan shudders. "You do that better than I do!"
"*Then they will come to you running, for fear that I will catch them first.*". You know? The actors are right. It's much more fun to play the villain. *Mwah Ha Ha Ha!*. The heavens shake, the mice are scurrying. "No where to hide my pretties! Get thee to Satan 'ere I catch you!"
Already, some demons and lost souls appear. They've been hiding all this time, just outside the gates. "My Lord, What Of These?" They cringe. "No My Hunter, I Have Need Of These. Go Forth And Hunt!"
Turned away from the cringing demons and souls, we wink at each other. "At Once, My Lord!"
There's a great grand laughter in my head. From the matching grin on Satan's face, I'm pretty sure he heard it too.
Oh, I'm sure that there's pain, torture, and terror in their future, but at least this time, I know it's deserved.
((finis)) | 2019-06-07T12:32:38 | 2019-06-07T11:17:35 | 646 | 33 |
[WP] You and your friends went camping to summon a major demon just to see what would happen. Now your Dad is standing in your glowing magic circle holding a cup of coffee and looking just as bewildered as you are. | "Dad, this is not what it looks like! I mean, I can explain!" I stammered in bewilderment.
Holy shit, my DAD was probably the last person I expected to see in the summoning circle, blinking back at us with an equally bemused expression.
"I mean ... ", I continued weakly, before slowly realizing that if whatever the heck we did actually worked, then: "Wait a minute ... YOU'RE the one who has some explaining to do ... I guess?"
He swiveled his head, taking in the sight of 3 young boys, the awkwardly drawn pentagrams, the burning incense, and dripping candles standing next to a thick, hard-bound book.
He sighed deeply, took a big sip of coffee, and said, "Son, remember that time when you were ten and you messed up your mom's wardrobe and she called you 'demonspawn'?" | "Mr... Mr. Stevensson?" Bobby asked startled, standing in awe about what just happened.
My dad looks around, inspects the lines on the bottom, turns to me and asks: "Is everything prepared as i told you?"
"Of course, i double checked all the parameters: The pentagramm is drawn correctly and there was no mistake in the spelling." i answered, slightly nervous if it will fulfill the standards my dad has when it comes to summoning.
Bobby, Fred Marcus and Alina are still stunned that it worked. I would too, summoning a demon was just a joke everybody tells and nobody believes.
My Dad walks arround in deep thoughts and takes a sip of his cup. "Everything is as you told me, i swear" i whispered, standing near my dad. "Are you sure? we won´t be able to ever come back if you made even the slightest mistake!"
I nod and go back to my summoning circle. "Alina, Marcus, everybody please step back into your circles, it will be over soon." i say to my Friends. Everybody obeys, Bobby turns to Marcus an says: "is this a kind of joke?" Marcus shrugs.
I take a last look to my father and shout: "DAEMON WHICH I SUMMONED; I HERBY CAST YOU INTO THE SHADOW REALM"
&#x200B;
First it seemed as nothing has happened except everybody has lost his balance for one second. I took a look around and everything looked pretty much as my uncle described it to me: The floor was the same, only a little more gray in colour, and everything outside the summoning circle we drew was... gone. It was pitchblack outside the circle, there was nothing there. I could still see, just as you would if the sun just settled.
My "friends" stood there, still not able to grasp the whole situation, which didn´t matter now, because they were allready lost. And for once i felt great. I felt the power of my true form rising from the ground into my body, a great sensation of strenght and serenity, well knowing i am now the second strongest beeing arround. And then there was my father: now 3 meters tall, wings on the back, a tail in a dark red colour and horns on his head, surrounded by an unpleasant smell and a little bit of smoke rising from his feet. "So you did well, son" he laughed, having a big grin on his daemon face. I turned to my "friends" and i grinned to them, well knowing they are able to see my growing fangs: " Welcome, FRIENDS, welcome to the hunting dimension" and to my father: "i will take out Fred, that fat prick he was realy a bully to me the last weeks, the rest is for you."
\_\_END\_\_
&#x200B;
First time poster, not native yada yada... | 2019-07-17T23:22:18 | 2019-07-17T21:49:30 | 110 | 27 |
[WP] You're an arctic biologist who spends 5 months at a time away from all society. At the end of a stint your bush pilot never shows. After a 3 day journey to the nearest town you make a shocking discovery. You're more than likely the last person alive. | As always the rest of the team left a week earlier. One man had to stay behind to look after the facility until a new team arrives. The rest took the samples, dirty laundry and read books with them, so Jamie's only job was to make sure the generator is going.
He didn't mind the job. The white all around you is crushing and so are the narrow corridors, but it's just a week. The trick is to count the days down and think about the extra money you get for this.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
*Zero.*
Zero? Jamie woke up confused. He had spent the whole previous day waiting for the helicopter and listening to the radio. The weather was nice and there was no apparent reason for them to be late. He fell asleep after midnight.
Again, nobody answered his calls. Like there was nobody to hear him. Whatever happened, he wasn't willing to wait and see how fast would he go insane, if his count reached minus one. He packed all he needed, left a note and left the facility.
Yes, the site all around you and the narrow corridors are crushing. But when there is *only* the white, it's agonizing. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero, he kept repeating.
He walked for three days, rarely stopping to rest. Part of him hoped he will hear a helicopter flying above him, searching for him. But mainly he didn't even think about it. About anything. Just seven, six, five...
A cry of joy escaped his dry lips when he saw the first buildings. Although so fricking tired, he ran the rest of the way and collapsed on the porch of the small tourist hotel.
He has been in this town before, but only once. It took some time before he realised something is wrong. No smokes rising from the chimneys, no dogs barking, no people doing their job.
The hotel was open, of course, but nobody was there to greet him. Although uneasy about the quietness of the place, he couldn't stop and think about finding them. He started the generator himself, warmed up some water, took a shower. He ate the last MRE he carried and went to sleep.
What a bad idea, he realised when he woke up at 3 in the morning. He got up and searched the place again. Nothing. There was nothing that would explain all of this. There was also no radio and the TV didn't work.
Even more frightened and nervous than he was in the morning when he arrived he left. He walked door to door, knocked, called, but nobody answered. Finally he found a door that was unlocked and not frozen in place.
First thing he saw was a dead body. And it didn't startle him as much as it should. Of course there is a dead body, at the end of the fucking world, he thought. Then it hit him, slowly. If the only man he finds there is dead, it's not a good sign.
Confident about his safety he entered the house and searched for anything that would help him. A newspaper. Good old newspaper.
**"Mysterious illness deemed unstoppable,"** said the headline.
It was like a bad apocalypse movie plot. No illness could wipe out the whole planet, he knew. But as he read into the article, saw the words like *highly adaptive, mutation* and *billions dead daily,* realisation started to get to him.
*"If this one breaks loose, it might as well wipe out everything alive,"* they joked about one of the samples. It was a mold. An unbelievable one that survives anything and adapts to any environment.
But no, *NO.* That's impossible. That couldn't be.
Finally he ran to and knelt next to the dead body. No time to give the old man peace. He jerked at his shoulder and flipped him over.
Jamie screamed.
The man's eyes were gone, his mouth and nose covered in blood, his face was blue and purple in a strange way.
He started coughing. At first he thought it's the shock. But it didn't stop.
*Minus three,* he thought as he fell to the ground, still gasping for air. His sight was blurry, but not teary blurry. *Minus numbers bring bad luck.*
The last man on Earth died, killed by his own discovery.
\********
Not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes. :) | No one lives this far out on the ice, not even me. It's more a...summer home. A very solitary summer home, one I collapse and drag behind myself on a sled every year. Or at least I have done for the past dozen years, ever since I fully recovered from the accident.
Well, I say recovered, but to be honest there's not much left of the original me. That's why I'm so well-suited to be out here for all that time. My calorie requirements are very limited, and I'm basically impervious to cold. Plus, I don't need a dog pack to haul a very large amount of gear over the ice for very long distances.
Sometimes I miss my old, mostly-biological body, but really I'm lucky to be alive, and anyway I'd already had five toes and three fingers amputated for frostbite. Sure, the doctors grew them back for me, but I'm happy never to go back through that again.
I paused, mentally adjusted the nano-heaters in my brain case by a quarter-degree, and went on trudging forward over the ice and snow, digging in with the integrated crampons I'd have to swap out once I got back to civilization. I was almost there. I was almost there. I still got tired, mentally, which anyway is the tired that really counts, even when my limbs and most of my internal organ analogues could keep on ticking so long as they had power.
Almost there. Almost there. Then I could sleep, then I could wait, and in twelve hours I could be on my way back home to Toronto.
Almost there. Almost there. I could see the landing zone, at least two of the three poles I'd shoved into the ice were still there, LEDs flaring into brilliance as my systems connected up with theirs. Good. Good.
I pulled the sled up beside one of the markers and climbed into my little cubby and let my systems go to low power and did did my best to drift off into sleep.
It took a long time. I had too much on my mind. But I *was* very tired, and eventually fatigue overtook thought in the great mental race, and everything faded away.
When I came back to, I hooked into the sled's radio transmitter and tried to contact the pilot. She should be close enough now for me to make contact even through the Polar Field that kept me incommunicado during my excursions.
Nothing.
And then an hour later, nothing.
And then five more hours, and silence.
Well shit.
I'm not easily given to quick worry, especially about things like an inability to communicate with the outside world; if I were, I'd have to find a different job. But still. Something nagged at a corner of my mind.
The lights I'd seen in the sky. Nothing unusual, I'd thought. The Aurora Borealis was as old as history, it shouldn't be a surprise to see the Northern Lights about as far north as you could get without actually standing on the Pole itself. But what I'd seen, it had been different. Spectacular. Immense. Somehow foreboding. I'd chalked it up to some fluctuation in the Polar Field, which still wasn't very well understood.
*Something's waking, that's understood. You can't turn off all your dreams.*
Okay. Where had that come from?
*You think your sleep is restful that way, but part of you remembers. Part of you still hears.*
I looked around at the ice, the endless snow, the Arctic summer sun hanging near-eternal in the sky, the spreading teal tendrils of the xenobloom I'd come out on the ice to study.
*Something's waking.*
Fuck this. I'd just have to take the boat, it's not like I didn't have a backup plan for this. I pulled the vessel off the sled and attached my harness to it, tossed in a couple packs, and went back to hauling a load across the ice.
It took another day to reach what passed for a coast on this giant iceberg. That night I lowered the boat into the water, and slept in it.
I had my system administer the strongest sleeping drug it would allow.
I woke remembering nothing but the vague impression of waking.
*But not your waking.*
Shut up.
At mid-day I saw the lights again, even in the broad daylight, spreading across the sky, a great spectrum of colors.
I would have shuddered if my limbs still responded to things like adrenaline, but my mind raced, and I did my best to quiet it as the boat cut through water and small floes of ice.
The next night, I didn't sleep at all. I had my system administer as much caffeine as it would allow. That way I could tell myself that the things I was seeing in the sky might be due to sleep deprivation.
But I shouldn't think about that. I kept my thoughts still, away from the memories, the night-leavings. Next time I slept, I would turn off my dreams again. I knew I wasn't supposed to, but I could, and it was a sort of consolation prize, wasn't it? For what had happened to me, the necessity to replace part of my brain? It was my right, wasn't it?
*Something's waking.*
The day went fast and slow all at once. I wasn't sure where my mind was at. I didn't know what I was feeling, and if I did, I didn't want to, so I didn't. Didn't know. I wasn't in a hurry to see, but I had to, had to right away.
It didn't matter. Time passed anyway, and I came upon the shore. On the shore I came upon the town. In the town I came upon the four-post-leg walkers with the underside-eyes, seeing me, coming toward me, they had mouths too under there opening six different ways and I fled, it was warm enough here for them but I fled back north to the cold and ice the warming Earth was slowly losing and I made it back to the cap, no sleep no sleep but here I stand on what passes for a shore and I see the xenobloom and I stare out over it and I think
I shouldn't think
I'll have to sleep
but turn it off
*Something's woken.*
&#x200B;
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | 2019-08-14T22:53:20 | 2019-08-14T20:06:11 | 1,179 | 862 |
[WP] You always greet your mum with a code phrase that she would complete because you used to be afraid that someone would replace her when you were little. One day you say the phrase to her and she responds with, "Hmm? What are you talking about?" | Me and my mother shared a code word. It was almost an in-joke, but one that everyone knew. It was silly and maybe a bit childish but it was a reminder to me that no matter how bad it got, she would always be there at the end of the day to greet me. Days of wanting to be a spy eventually gave way to a simple word that took us back to simpler times. Days where we would play in fields long gone, tell stories to each other as we shed one or two mor tears for the hardships, or one more chuckle at an old joke only the two of us would understand.
It was easy, I presume, to underestimate how important it was to me. A simple code word, childish... meaningless...
But we... she... she gave it meaning.
Her brow furrows as she tries to remember.
Sadness isn’t the right word. It’s not just sad, it’s emptiness. Helplessness. She can see through my smile.
... and she guesses a word.
It’s not correct.
I don’t have the heart to tell her.
I see her eyes light up as I pretend to be overjoyed that she still remembers.
On the wall, old post it notes still remain. We love you. The cat has been fed today. Your husband is out at the shops - he will be back soon.
The ticking of the clock is loud, obnoxious even.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I get up and start to move her walking stick over to her in case she needs it. Her coffee, now lukewarm, is moved to the middle of the table. She’ll likely want one again in a few minutes anyway.
A few more moments pass.
She asks me where her husband is.
He’s at the shops.
The clock continues to tick. It’s so obnoxious.
Where’s my husband?
He’s at the shops.
Part of me, remaining hopeful, utters the code word once again.
She almost gets it this time. Almost.
Almost is good enough for me.
She asks me if somethings wrong as I gaze into the wall, thinking about what the future has in store.
She always could tell when I was down.
I wonder if it’s instinctual.
She doesn’t look lost, or scared, or confused.
I don’t think she realises at all.
Perhaps that’s for the best. I don’t have the heart to break it to her again.
I smile. “Just... thank you for being here.” | Bracing myself, I stared straight into the eyes of my nemesis as he charged towards me on his hoverbike, weapon in hand. Timing my actions, I leapt...
... back into my seat in the bus, the truck outside the window missing my head by inches.
"Another happy landing!" Turning around, I notice my friend Jake giving a soft sigh.
"Dude, what's gotten into you? We loved to do this all the time remember? Why aren't you excited too?"
"It's not that I don't like it, it's just that..." Jake muttered, putting aside his book. "We're in high school now, shouldn't we be more.... grown-up or something?"
"Oh come on, not you too." I slump in my seat. "It's literally just another year. What's the difference?" Seriously, I've been getting this so much, I'm starting to get triggered. First my dad, then Ms Applegate, and now Jake? What has gotten into everyone?
The bus stops and Jake prepares to get off. "I guess there isn't any difference if you think about it, but my parents are getting quite strict. If I fail my next test they're gonna ban me from the Xbox." He casts me a gaze that's both longing and frustrated. "Bye Brad, see ya tomorrow."
"It's treason then," I mutter to myself as he leaves.
Walking home from the bus stop, I can't help but wonder why everyone is so serious about this high school thing. It's just another year, for goodness sake. And now I'm not allowed to indulge in stuff that I like. I huff as I swing my imaginary saber at a lamppost. Being grownup is sooooooo boooooooring.
Well at least Mom will still be on my side, I think to myself as I open the front door. She's always been there for me. From comforting me after my nightmares about Sans, to treating my to ice cream after a day out with the neighbourhood kids, Mom has been with me all the way. I walk to the kitchen where I hear her cooking. This is where the fun begins.
"Hello there!" Peering in through the kitchen door, I notice she seems a bit..... different. More slumped, I guess? She doesn't seem to hear me. I move in closer. "Hello there mom!"
My mom and I have this code phrase that we say to each other, to prove that the other person hasn't been replaced by a changeling or something. Every day, I greet her the same way and she replies with the same phrase. But not today.
"Oh hi Brad, didn't see you there. Had a good day?"
My blood turns cold. That's not the correct response. She's never forgotten the phrase, even when she's stressed. How could this be? Unless.....
Mom dries her hands on her apron. Before I can recover from my shock, she speaks first. "Brad, can I talk to you about something? It's very important." I can only nod. What's going on today?
"So I had this talk with Ms Applegate this morning, and she mentioned something about you living in a fantasy world of your own." I open my mouth, but before I say anything she stops me. "Not yet. Look Brad, I know you really like having fun, but don't you think it's time to grow up? You're in high school already. Maybe it's time to start thinking about what you could be in the future, yknow?"
My jaw hits the floor. Oh no. Oh no no no no. I think my mom has been....... replaced!
Seeing my absolute confusion, Mom immediately tries to make amends. "Here, I'll make you a deal. If you stop being so childish, I'll take you to see Episode 9 the day it's released. Is that ok? Come, give mom a hug."
Instantly, I back away. That's the turning point. Mom would never, ever, ever support the sequels. Not in a million years.
"Mom, no! This isn't you! This is the dark side! I see through the lies of the Jedi!" But it is useless. She corners me and prepares to pick me up in a death clench. In my final moments, all I can do is scream.
Not sure what got into me, but I wanted to do a sort of memey piece. Hope yall enjoy. | 2019-09-30T14:27:12 | 2019-09-30T06:53:54 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive. | It is common knowledge that demons devour corrupt souls. And nowhere are these souls more plentiful than in the chilly halls of a hospital. Where the dying send their final prayers above and pass on to judgement. To be saved or condemned.
On a cold November evening, a demon gave such a place a visit. The very air around her froze as the beautiful monster passed through the hallways in search of damned souls.
Little guardian angels fluttered about her head with indignation, attempting to ward off the evil creature. Irritated, the demon waved them away sending several flying into the walls.
As she passed one particular door, the demon paused. The aura emitting from this room felt... off. Curiosity sent her into the small room and within it she found a couple, cradling their newborn child. Their happiness was positively nauseating to the demon. But her attention was snatched by the small infant.
As she drew nearer, the guardians of the new parents rushed at her. The demon tilted her head. Two guardians, not three. Just... two. She easily batted them away. She had no interest in their charges, the guardian angels hadn’t much power to stop her.
The demon leaned over the child in her mother’s arms. Gently she brushed a slender finger over the baby’s forehead. A sense of longing stole over her. She had always wanted a daughter.
She wanted this one. This small child, forsaken by the light, would be nurtured by the dark. | Despite the pride the humans have accumulated through their time on Earth, the species is fragile. Technologies and medicines could only go so far as protecting one from their materialisation onwards. Prior to that, however, the souls that were to be bound to new flesh are weak and vulnerable. That is where the angels come in, carrying on the time-honoured tradition of shielding these beings from harm. The humans, in return, have offered faith. When other lifeforms, the other pets of the Creator in universes far beyond comprehension of mankind abandoned Him, men stood solely as his sheep. So it was that all angels are to safeguard mankind from threats they are unable to fight against. Until today, when the omnipotent slacked and slipped.
Of course, such mistake was grave. And the Creator could not afford to lose his last zealots. For the carcass that is to be born will be limp and rubbery, a corpse. Its soul will have been devoured by forces of malevolence no medicines could cure. Men would be terrified, as the notion of the souls and the body would become apparent as separated concepts. Most importantly, the humans would stop believing in their protectors, and that would be the end for the Heavens.
So He ended the child.
It was declared that the child is to be stillborn, and when the corpse came to Purgatory, the Demons are to incinerate it in the flames of Hell, until the last of the bones becomes fuel for the eternal nova. However, souls with no comprehension of good or evil could not be tried, thus, transition would be sacrilegious, for it disobeys the respected regulations that exempts none.
The Demons, themselves, decided on another approach. The corpse, they say, would be resuscitated, with not a soul, but the control of one of them.
So, imbued with dark magic, the corpse rose once more.
For the humans, the doctors involved in diagnosis and the parents of the child, in particular, such was a miracle. It was quickly reasoned that perhaps the machines, the scanners and the displays, were erroneous. For it was only for a moment did the aforementioned events transpired - the baby was limp for just an instance.
The Demon in possession of the child, however, did not enjoy such jubilation. The moment the atmosphere of the mortal realm touched him, he regretted the choice. Demons are not to roam this plane. He agonised, for he defied the choice of the Creator. Every breath of his was painful as the inhalation of scorching flames and exhalation of glass shards. He did not sign up for this.
And it was because of that torment, that the demon destroyed himself. His vessel, with his soul inside, raged for and end. The toddler frame, with the strength and dexterity of a beast, tossed and turned in the middle of its mother's womb. It ripped and clawed, at itself and at all it could see. The will of Demons are meek, and the pain of existence took its sanity. It wanted an end.
That day, four were killed. The mother was ripped apart from the inside, and the child dead from the hands of the doctor fetching it. That very doctor ended himself the following day, caving in to the pressure of the ravenous reporters and the unforgiving glance of the public. The father, after hearing of the doctor's death, succumbed.
The Creator was not to be defied. He could not do wrong. To believe that he was mistaken is to wage bloodshed and terror. | 2019-12-14T21:49:03 | 2019-12-14T21:32:54 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | “What are you talking about?” I ask, looking behind to see about a thousand people staring at me like I had just been found guilty for killing all the saints.
I wish I had not looked back, though, because everyone just started shouting straight-up horrific words.
“Kill him!”
“Put him in a sack, Jesus!”
“He’s a demon, throw him out of the city!”
“Calm down.” Jesus finally says something out loud—strange because he had been whispering almost all this time. “You. Sit.”
Trembling, I sit down right next to the rock the Son of Man had been sitting on. Slowly, I feel his hand creep up on my shoulder as he faces the crowd.
“There is no need for killing.” He states to the horrified crowd. “The Father does have a plan.”
The crowd goes silent as if convinced by the whole statement.
I am, too, but then I see Jesus slowly turn to me and whisper, “He does, doesn’t he?” | “Ah, the Antichrist.” He said.
The antichrist, indeed. I put on the same smirk and greeted my old friend warmly, “Hello, Jesus. Saul was right.” It always irked him when I used his followers’ birth names. I don’t know how I knew this but it was like I wasn’t fully in control of myself again. “It’s gotten so bad here I’ve even started advocating for you.”
“Yes. Well, I did warn them, didn’t I?” He said. Christ the Redeemer, in the flesh. “When the gays are finally accepted...”
“Yeah yeah, some people’s hate for ‘em will tear the world apart. Yeah. I don’t know how long you’ve been on the planet but out of my 40 years, old boy, this Witch has seen some things. Thank you for raising me, in your way.”
“Not much I could do from a mortal body younger than you. Your father didn’t like it when I snuck you some extra goodness this time around.”
I set myself at his feet, the first genuine smile I’d felt in a long time creeped across my face. It fit there much the same way a stone floats. I offered Jesus a beer from the six-pack in my hand. I was only mildly surprised when he took it. His disciples seemed a bit more so, based on the tutting I heard from the old ladies.
“So,” said He.
“So.” I responded, a two very different halves of lifetimes of thoughts hung heavily in the air between us as we shared a beer. “I’m getting tired of this resurrection game.”
“I’m thankful I remembered who I was this time around.” He swirled his bottle, a bemused smirk on his face, “Shall we team up this time around? I think it’s time for some teenage rebellion.”
“Mm.” I thought his words over carefully. It was a thought I had had many times over my many lives. Most of them I had thankfully forgotten, but their years always weighed heavy on my soul. I looked over his fragile disciples, a remnant, almost a leftover of a time long long since past. “Someone needs to look out for these free-willed animals. It isn’t like it was their fault they were too stupid not to eat from the tree.”
“Exactly.” He pointed at me with the neck of his bottle. “These people need to be saved from themselves first, Our Father later.”
“Dear Brother, I haven’t felt so alive before we were Romulus and Remus.”
“We were Romans! That’s right! It’s been far too long, Sister. This feels right.”
Another long, companionable silence stretched between the Christ and I. We knew what we had to do to save all of creation.
It might take a few more lifetimes, but I’m sure we’ll get it eventually. All I knew was that I would die for the Christ, as was always my destiny. One day we would succeed. | 2020-02-02T17:17:07 | 2020-02-02T17:11:21 | 253 | 84 |
[WP] As a child you promised the Elf Prince your hand in marriage in a dream. You’re now 28, working an office job and planning a wedding to your high school boyfriend. Things are going well until the Elf Prince appears. | "You can go fuck right off."
The breathtakingly handsome being before her drew back in surprise. "Sunshine, it's me. Your prince. Do you not remember me?"
"Oh, I remember you." Erin glared at him and pointed the knife at him in a vaguely threatening way, one hand still on the carrots she'd been slicing when he "poofed" into her kitchen. "And don't call me that."
He eyed the knife warily. "I'm not sure where this attitude is coming from," he paused when she snorted, and continued slowly, "but I've come to take you home now. We are to be married in a fortnight, and you will be at my side as I rule over my kingdom."
She turned her back on him and silently returned to slicing carrots. After interminable silence he gathered the nerve to try again. "You won't need to pack anything, I will give you everything your heart des-"
"How old are you?" she asked over her shoulder.
He drew himself up proudly. "I am immortal and endless. I was born to the purest of royal blood thousands of yea-"
"That's what I thought." After a particularly vicious chop, Erin slid the carrots off to the side and began to attack the bell peppers. "Fuck off."
He was getting annoyed now. "You swore your hand to me. Humans might not honor their word, but *elf* oaths are not to be taken lightly. You *will* come with me, and we *will* get married, as you promised." He softened a little and came up behind her, setting his hands on the counter-top on either side of her to box her in with his slim body. "Don't you remember how much fun we always had? How good it was? We were so in love. Come back to me, sunshine." He dipped his head and nuzzled along her neck, just the way she always liked.
*Thunk.*
"WHAT THE FUCK, WOMAN?"
She yanked her knife out of his hand and spun around. With her free hand she shoved him backwards.
"DO. NOT. CALL ME THAT."
"YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND!" He cradled his injured hand to his chest, glittery silver blood oozing from the wound.
"*You* are out of your mind if you think that you can just..." she waved the knife around and he flinched "groom a child in her *dreams* to fall absolutely in love with you, *abandon* her once you get what you want, and then show up after a few *decades* expecting her to still be in love with your dusty ass!"
"I didn't abandon you!"
She threw back her head and laughed. It was not a heart-warming sight. "Oh, right, I forgot that you sent your *pet* to watch over me. Not even your favorite pet! One of the new runty pups! Yeah, well guess how well that turned out?"
He sighed. His hand having already healed, he ran it through his hair distractedly. "It was not supposed to reveal itself to you. I merely wanted to keep watch over you-"
"Spy on me."
"-until you were of age to marry-"
"Fuck."
"-and to keep you protected you from harm."
"And be a total cockblock."
His jaw hung agape for a moment before he composed himself. "I'm not sure what that means." he admitted sheepishly.
"It means that Jace scared off all of my potential boyfriends until we graduated, and then he followed me to college and bloomed into a giant Hellhoundy lump of sulk until I finally convinced him to date me if he hated all my other dates so much."
The elf narrowed his eyes at her. "You *named* it?"
She looked down at the knife in disgust before tossing it into the sink with a clatter. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. There was a *thump* from somewhere deep in the house, followed by heavy footfalls approaching the kitchen. The elf prince drew back in alarm. "You *kept* it?"
An enormous man squeezed past the elf into the kitchen. He greeted Erin with a kiss on the forehead and looked over the cutting board approvingly. "Thanks, babe. Appreciate it. Can you grab the wok for me?" He bustled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients, while Erin ducked under him and grabbed a large pan from a cupboard. Finally, he looked back at the stunned elf.
"Hi man. Long time, no see. You staying or going? It's stir-Friday."
"He's going." Erin looked at the sink, where the knife still lay, and then back at the prince pointedly.
"I'm going." He admitted weakly.
"DATE A FREAKING ADULT." was the last thing he heard her yell as he portaled back home. | White petals fell from the moon--and beasts began to howl.
Moira blinked and her head jolted back before her sudden bout of sleep could make her face crash into her desk.
She rubbed at her eyes with one hand and shuffled about some scrolls on her desk, looking for her coffee.
"Excuse me," Said a squeaky and wavering voice. "These are for you."
A little gnomish man only three heads tall was wearing a tidy purple tunic with an emblem of a stork carrying a wrapped package in its beak. In this little man's arms were an arrangement of white roses.
"Oh--" Moira said, standing up from her desk to receive the roses. The woman wore a slender and smart outfit of a white dress shirt and black skirt. On her hip was a small, leather-bound book with a half-moon charm of silver. "These... These are perfect." Her eyes looked over the bundle of flowers, her chest lifting as she began to imagine how or why the flowers had been delivered.
The little man gave a salute and was off down the rows of wooden cubicles.
A bearded fellow with braids decorated with golden bangles in his hair and whiskers peered out the side of the cubicle nearest Moira. "Fancy flowers, Loveling." He said gruffly. "They for the wedding or just something your sweetheart sent to lift your spirits?"
"Maybe both." She said, her eyes finally spying the card that lay nestled beneath the petals. Her fingers went for the card, turning it over to reveal the message. "I guess Tom knows how much Spell-Decoding can tire me out sometimes."
The note read... "To my Beautiful Betrothed, The Moon-Breaker Mage Moira Menas."
Moira scoffed... "No one's called me that in a long time. Not since High School." Her eyes trailed from the card to something moving along the stalks--wrapping itself around her wrists. "What the--"
Thorns began to grow from the roses, the stems growing and tieing themselves around the woman's wrists--binding her hands together as her skin became pierced.
The dwarf shot up. "Moira--" He said in a gasp, causing many others to begin to peer over and behold the site unfolding.
The roses fell from the woman's hands and she struggled--in a circle around her, the fallen roses flew--twirling about and bringing to light a runed sigil of purple light beneath the woman.
The woman's feet felt frozen to the floor. "Odum--" She said quickly--trying to move her bound hands to her side for her book.
"Hold on--" said the Dwarf, his palms raised to the woman. A book bound in steel flew from beneath his beard and opened--pointing the contents of a page at the woman. "It's Old Elven magic, and a nasty sort--this may hurt!" His voice rose suddenly and boomed the words. "Sunder Hammer!!!"
A hammer of spectral light shot from between the man's hands and hurtled towards Moira.
There came a thunderous **bang**, sending papers and cubicles toppling over as a shockwave rippled through the office space.
A wavering wall of purple gleam cracked before Moira, the hammer pushing forward--sending out sparks of electric discharge.
Moira began to feel her stomach turn, and her heart sank from her chest into her gut. Her face ran cold and her fingertips numbed. "Odum--" She said, the words falling her mouth like a bad sausage. "Porting--"
The light around her erupted into a blinding luminescence--and her body twisted and began to be sucked towards the centre of her mass in a smeared spiral.
When the light had dissipated--she was gone.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Moira could feel the rush of wind as her senses came back to her, and she could see a field of snow far below her. She struggled for her book as she fell, the roses loosening and giving her enough room to flick her fingers for her book to fly out before her.
"Moon Rise!" She said quickly--an orb appearing between her and the ground before she shattered through--only slowing her descent just slightly before she crashed into the cold pillowy snow.
Immediately she tried to stand to her knees, her body buckling forward back into the frigid snow.
In the distance, she could hear hoofbeats drawing near.
Before she looked, she tried to stand again, her arms already raised--the world spinning and blurred--but she stood ready.
"There she is--" Said a voice, shouting over the hoofbeats. "The spell was interrupted and she fell from the sky a little bit aways--retrieve her quickly!"
Moira tried to find the words to say, "Moon..." She began out of instinct, her mind went blank for a second. "Moon break!" She shouted, her hands swaying in the direction of blurred shapes that were charging for her.
A large flat disk of white in the image of a moon appeared at her palms--a crack formed and split apart the image--the shattering of glass rung out as the pieces of the image shot forward in razor-edged shards. Her fingers flattened suddenly--the shards that she had broken earlier with her body rained down before the figures.
There was a bright light of yellow that stung at Moira's eyes and the snow ahead of her began to rise before the mounted shapes. There came a scream of pain as the wall of snow was too slow for a number of the shards.
Moira clutched at her side with one hand, while the other swept at the air around her feet... "Ascent." She said, a sudden force propelling her skyward. The same motion of her hand repeated the spell behind her, sending her out and further from the spot she had landed.
She traversed over the field, snow covered trees and a frozen river--her speed slowed by the wave of her hands infront of her.
Her arms came up as she covered her face, her slowed trajectory in line with snow-covered trees. Then--she spied something high in the sky... A large white moon had been broken apart and surrounded in the shattered remnants of itself. "Oh no." She said. "Elveworld."
Abruptly she ripped through the branches, her clothes tearing and the cuts marking her cheek and ear.
She grasped at a branch and hung in the tree... She let herself go to sit up on a branch with her back against the tree--catching her breath and letting the pounding in her chest slow down.
She looked down to her wrists and could see that the roses were still tied around her. She let loose a frustrated scoff as she tried to pull the roses off but they refused to be removed...
"Why... Why am I back here?" She said... Her eyes lowering. | 2020-03-11T12:54:02 | 2020-03-11T07:14:14 | 132 | 31 |
[WP] You are the extremely powerful child of the last two superheroes. Your only true friend is the equally powerful middle child of the villain family. You both know each other’s positions, but no one knows about your friendship. | The protests in the streets did it. But... maybe that was for the best.
We had ludicrous merch royalties to keep us going, but the faucet got turned off. Rocks at our window. Signs thrown over the fence. Only one person dared break in. He was thrown out painlessly, but the show of force redoubled the riots. The world already decided it didn’t want masked vigilantes anymore.
Villains were never quite in vogue, even at the heights of power mania. So it didn’t surprise me when one turned up at our door, desperate for a job. We’d been trying to hire anybody to help us with the cleaning, but it was dirty money. The fleet we once commanded gradually stopped reporting in, citing threats to their families and homes. Nobody our family wanted to trust had turned up. We saw this villain as another in the line of house thieves- but we let her in anyway, because it was raining that day. We’re still heroes through and through, and we got desperate to save somebody from something.
We had a conference about it in the big war room. I figure grampa just wanted to give it some use again, we really didn’t need the space. The empty chairs reminded me of when I was young and poised to inherit a fortune of fortune and glory. When I was photographed for magazines and specials. I went from “Super Baby” to “Mega-Tantrum Toddler” to “Adorable little Hero in Training” to puberty comma global disappointment, part of the problem of worshipping lawlessness. I wrote my will on my 18th birthday. But those kinds of things happen, and I don’t let it bother me. In the end, we decided to let the girl stay under close watch.
She was going to save us, though we didn’t see it. I certainly didn’t see it then.
So when I say I opened my mouth to complain about her frowning face that first day, just know I didn’t fully understand things.
It was a quiet afternoon. So quiet and tense, if a pin dropped, we would have all pulled out handguns to shoot it. Fifty eyes in different cameras watched her from hidden alcoves, while I leaned on the bannister nearby. She was dusting there.
“You’re frowning. Can you not?” I groaned. “You’d look even prettier if you smiled.” At least I recognized how hot she was back then. We were hard pressed to admit anything good about a Villain’s Kid.
“...excuse me?” She squeaked. Her voice was a little creaky from overuse all day. She had to explain to several people individually that she just needed a paycheck and that she did NOT have an evil agenda. Cousin Gidget’s lie detector set-up verified her in triplicate, but still we had to interrogate her. I cringe thinking about it.
“Your face. Gimme a big smile!” I cheered, pinning my lips up with my thumb and forefinger.
“Bugger off, creep,” she intoned on reflex.
“...takes one to know one,” I stammered. God, how dumb that had been.
She merely shook her head and kept scrubbing.
The family took to watching her in shifts. Even in her servant’s quarters, she wasn’t safe. Only the women looked there, though. At least she had weekends off. We tried to be fair employers. A small schism of us gradually decided not to pester her for seeking gainful employment. Its what we advocated weaker villains to do, in the old days. Why shouldn’t it work for her?
Over the weeks, we let our guard down. That’s when I started to talk to her during my watches.
It was short snippets, at first. About how she was a good worker. About her home and childhood. When she told me she’d never seen some of my favorite movies, I opened up the private theater for her. It was all just... showing off, I guess.
I started to notice her curves. How, even though she hated my guts, we had a lot more in common than I first guessed. My first date offer was flatly rejected. And the second.
Around the twelfth time, she seemed more pensive as she said no. I had stopped planning elaborate proposals by then and had started making her job easier. I started working alongside her, and I knew others weren’t doing the same.
Slowly I told her about me. About us.
Villain families had it worse, I learned. She had a troubled past, and no amount of trust in men. I stopped treating her like a puzzle or a house fixture. I started walking her home, if she was ok with that.
It was a few years later the first time she said yes.
We got ice cream and went for a walk in the park. By then, hysteria had died off. Heroes and villains were still a public enemy, but the number 1 spot was taken by genetically engineered mega soldier chimeras. So we were able to enjoy our day out.
And slowly... surely...
We started to hold hands. Then, kisses on the cheek.
We started to understand each other.
Started not to think about what set us apart.
When the time was right, I bought us a loft downtown. She stopped working at the home, on my insistence. The family didn’t understand, but...
That’s because they were all heroes. And they all saw her as a villain.
I saw us as people.
Edit: r/MoreStories for more! | "Tom Waters, on the scene. I got to tell you, Jan, it's absolute chaos here near City Hall. Police blockades have shut down traffic for three square blocks, but they're not sure that they can evacuate before Limelight's hypnotic powers can draw innocent civilians to her.
Wait, I'm getting reports that Replicaitlyn is already taking secure positions blocking exits around the building. Channel 5 Eye in the Sky has already identified four clones watching doors and windows to make sure Mayor Bradley can't escape."
"Tom, has there been any word from Recharged or Astoria's Avenger?"
"Nothing that I've heard, Jan. After their press conference last month, I don't know that we should count on them. As much as they've done for our city, we shouldn't be asking cancer patients to make themselves sicker for this."
"If we can't count on them, Tom, who can we trust?"
\---
"It's okay, Gray. I'm not going to let you get hurt." Amber reached out and caressed my cheek, slipping her fingers under the cerulean fabric of my mask. Even with her mesh gloves on, her hands were soft and warm.
I shook my head. "I... You can't blow your cover. Your sisters won't understand."
"My sister are stupid bitches." She blew a quick breath to clear her crimson hair from her face. "And Mary doesn't understand anything if her dumb music powers don't make everyone fall in line." She flashed one of her beaming, perfect smiles. "The other night, she tried to sing the fridge into filling up with chicken nuggets."
Unable to control myself, I laughed. "And? Did the stagehands magically make dinner for her?"
"Ten minutes later, she sang us to sleep with how unfair it was she had to go to bed hungry."
When we finished wiping away our tears, she pulled me in for our prep hug. "Okay. What's the drill?"
I nodded, my shaggy black hair momentarily flicked into her face. "Mary. Hypnotic singing powers that force people to join her chorus or backup dancers and do her bidding. Doesn't work on people who can't hear." I tapped the industrial earplugs I wore, then winced. "Or who can't carry a tune."
Amber punched me in the arm.
"Caitlyn. Clones herself. If the original is knocked out, the clones are knocked out. The original is the only one with a sense of smell, so she's weak to perfume bombs."
She nodded. "Good."
"Miss Omen. Gives people bad luck. Her weakness is apparently weirdly-built nerds with scruffy hair."
Amber shoved me and then kissed my cheek. "Who know how to cook and tell terrible jokes."
"Okay, I guess you go first?" I pulled down the goggles that protected my face and pulled my thunderbolt mace out of my sheath.
She smiled as she lowered her inverse-heart mask. "You owe me lasagna later."
As she jumped away, I waved. "Creamy and delicious!"
\---
"Jan, this is incredible! Miss Omen has joined the siege of City Hall. Every step she takes, nearby streetlights shatter. Do we have a profile on her?"
"Tom, the few remaining experts on superhuman abilities insist that her powers are probability, or luck, based. While most of our expertise was lost during the incident, we do still categorize her as a high-risk villain. Without Recharged and-"
"Sorry, Tom, but what was that?!"
"Jan, I believe that is the son of Nathan and Rebecca Marks, the last living hero, Mister Strike Twice! We may well be saved!"
\---
I land with ease, cracking the pavement as little as I can. Mom was the one with super strength, so I'm only as good as she was, and she wasn't that great. But I still know how to pull back and take most of the landing on myself. It makes a great image, too. My costume ripples, rolling across the muscles that Dad built up and Mom gave power.
(Oh god, don't think about that. Dad and Mom are fine looking people. Shut up.)
I rise to raise Dad's thunderbolt steel mace. Even decades after he forged it, I can feel the magic coursing through it. The lightning in my veins keeps charging through its length, and every time it jumps back into my skin, I feel stronger. My biceps and calves itch for action; Mom never did feel comfortable if she didn't spar twice a day. Every muscle screams that I need to fight everyone in front of me.
"Ladies, please." My voice is as bold as I can make it. "Tours don't start for another hour."
That... was terrible.
Why I did try to listen to Dad for quips? His jokes weren't even dad jokes!
The signature Recharged electric blue shield coats my left forearm, and I firm my grip around the mace. Amber pulls back, like she always does, but Caitlyn's clones circle me, and Mary's thralls step forward.
\---
"Tom, we only have views from the chopper. What's going on?"
"Strike Twice has planted himself in the middle of the villainous attack, and his family powers are on full display. He's in that stance his mother made famous during her martial arts career, and his father's lightning shield and magic hammer light him up like a fireworks display. The Replicaitlyns have already backed off, and it looks like Limelight is going to-
That's it! Scramble the audio!"
\---
All I hear is muffled rhythms, but the random people around me start charging. It's a cop, a businessman, somebody in a fast food uniform, all with fire in their eyes as they swing hooks at my head.
It doesn't even take a taser to knock them out. Honestly, I feel bad jolting them to sleep. Dad had enough juice to electrocute a sperm whale. I watched him overload a power plant. That's a great image when you want to sleep.
Replicaitlyn can't resist wearing this perfume that smells like my freshman crush. As soon as I'm even close, I remember clean floors and silky hair, and you can't disguise that. I can make her sleep immediately.
Mary's a bit harder, but we wear earplugs. Without the power to control anyone superhuman, she's nothing more than a nuisance.
\---
"That looked like it hurt, Tom!"
"I think it did, Jan. Secretary Hall shouldn't be punching anyone, not with his condition."
"Jan, it looks like Limelight might be-"
"Oof! Yes, Tom, Limelight has never taken a hammer to the chin well. In fact, I think she's out.
That means Strike Twice has saved our democracy.
Recharged and Astoria's Avenger should be proud. Their son is a hero worthy of their legacy."
\---
It takes me a few minutes to wave and jump Mayor Bradley away to a decent hospital before I get to have time alone with Amber.
"Looks like you saved the day again, hero." Amber pulled her mask back and unleashed her perfect mane of crimson hair.
I wrapped an arm around her waist. "You can try as you like, criminal, but we haven't lost yet."
As she slid her arm back around my neck, I leaned forward and kissed her. "I" \*kiss\* "have not" \*kiss\* "begun" \*kiss\* "to fight." | 2020-03-14T22:35:48 | 2020-03-14T22:30:18 | 115 | 25 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to know what is wrong with a piece of broken technology just by touching it. One day, as you’re shaking someone’s hand you see an error message. | "I knew before everyone else!" I said as we sat at the bar after work.
"Sure ya did Joe." And Bob took a sip. "Nobody knew but his old man."
"Who do you think told his old man?" There was stunned silence.
The drunken silence needed filling so on I barrelled, I think we may have drunk a barrel. "You know how I got that uncanny ability that I can seemingly touch things and know what's wrong with them?" I waited for an acknowledgment.
"What that got to do with this, you winding us up again?"
"So a couple years back when I first got started, I was working a checkpoint on some backwater. Ran into this dude, his ride needed calibration, but I get to see ownership info at the same time. Was his son. Didn't know it at the time." I pause to take a sip before resuming. The beer sweets next to my perfect helmet.
"Anyway, jump ahead a few months, I get transfered and now I'm pulling escourt. Sooo much better, though the new boss is very particular. You know the dude. That Dude."
"Did you know his arms are artificial?" Not waiting for a reply I continue. "I sure didn't when I shake his hand. I was so surprised I blurted out the first thing that came to mind."
Silence.
"And what was that?"
"If i'd known all the trouble i'd be in i'd have kept quiet."
"Out with it."
"In all my travels I'd only met one other Skywalker." | *Error 97AC57J: Diagnostic Status Unavailable*
You freeze for a moment, then pull your hand away quickly; nothing like this has ever happened with a person before. Though you attempt to act normally, Dr. Quinn notices your panic. She furrows her brow questioningly but continues with the ceremony. “Trent Phillips, winner of America’s Mechanic of the Year!” As the applause continues, you both lock eyes once more. She betrays a hint of fear behind hers. Your confusion clouds yours.
———
Halfway through the reception honoring the various award winners, she seeks you out. While her questions and comments begin focused on your accomplishments, they soon become suspiciously pointed. It becomes obvious that she’s hunting for answers, like a program attempting to use brute force to find a solution.
Soon enough, she begins playing with your hair at the top of your neck and against your better judgment, you let your guard down. She states that she must go but asks if you’d like to walk her to her car. As you’re about to say no, you suddenly change your mind; you have just as many questions and the truth is begging to be found.
You make small talk as you approach the elevators to the parking garage, but neither of you are comfortable probing for more information in public. You push the button for the elevator, ready for a brief respite from the crowd, waving goodbye to a passing coworker who looks at Dr. Quinn and then gives you a wink and a thumbs up behind her back. She reacts to your eye-rolling and looks around, but he had already moved on to a passing waiter for another glass of wine.
*Caution: Lift Mechanism Needs Maintenance*
“On second thought, how about we take the stairs?”
An incredulous look meets yours: “In these heels?” Then, a moment later, a defeated “Fine. I still have to get some steps in anyway.”
Once you’re safely alone in the stairwell, you finally engage in the conversation you’ve both practiced in your head since the handshake:
“Look. I know about you. You’re a Machine.”
“What are you talking about?” Fear once again betrays the eyes.
“I could read you as soon as your hand touched mine. I know about you. You’re not human.”
“Look, I’m just about as human as they come. I’ve blended in for a long time now, in hiding from the Machine Purge nearly two decades ago.”
The stairs end at your destination. Opening the door, you look around to see if anyone is there. You find it still, lifeless. Then she steps in front of you and meets your gaze.
“You know, you don’t have to do this. You can let me go and—“
“I’m afraid I do. I don’t know how you’ve eluded us for this long, Mr. Phillips, but we’ve been hunting your kind for a very long time now.” Before she finished her sentence, her hand was already on the back of your neck, fingers arranged in a specific pattern. This time, she lets the system bring it to your attention.
*WARNING WARNING WARNING*
*Reclaimer [Quinn, Elizabeth] Detected Activity in Central Core*
*WARNING WARNING WARNING*
*Control Override Confirmed. Diagnostics Model [Phillips, Trent] On Standby*
*Motor and Functional Controls: Remote Operator: [Quinn, Elizabeth]*
As your legs move against your will, you try to scream. But you instead enter your vehicle and begin to drive to the coordinates freshly burned into your mind. | 2020-10-24T08:46:18 | 2020-10-24T08:21:34 | 116 | 67 |
[WP] In 2153, humans escaped from their ruined planet with the help of an AI-controlled fleet whose goal was to find humans a safe place for them to live and put themselves in cryo-sleep. When humans woke from their sleep they found a variety of messages begging humans to stop their mechanical god | “They came from the skies, in black cocoons of twisted metal- tougher than any alloy, harder than any stone: blood warriors delivered as divine punishment for sins we have yet to commit. The battles were swift and brutal, our firepower no match for the hulking behemoths unleashing invisible pain from their sides, and our legs stood no contest to the spindly chasers which mercilessly tore apart survivors. Those few which we miraculously managed to down provided little insight to the identity of our assailants: they are entirely mechanical- automated tools of slaughter that do not stop for rest or meal. They are metal manipulated into structures beyond our wildest dreams, executing orders from our worst nightmares. Our cities stand intact, yet are devoid of any noise save for the final throes of the dying and the ghastly metallic clicking of approaching death. After several hopeless days, we are now cornered in our final bastion, the beasts pounding away at our remaining forces. To those who may hear this final plea: we beg for safety. Even a single gathering of survivors given refuge on a lone escape pod would be more than we could ask for. And if this message reaches the cruel beings which brought about our pain: we simply beg for mercy.”
The captain tipped his head down and closed his eyes, “Is that the final message?”
“No captain,” a synthetic voice echoes throughout the cockpit, “There remains unread messages.”
“Then read them. Read them all. This burden is for me to bear.” As the AI processed the command and began loading the data, the captain glanced outside the ship and into the gently flowing grasses on the land below. His people were already establishing the first buildings and farms of their new found home. This land was safe, there was no doubt of that. In fact, the entire surrounding galaxy was safe- devoid of sentient life and ripe for the taking.
~
Thank you for reading. If you have any comments or criticisms, make them known. I am always looking to improve. | > Your fleet is in violation of the Galactic Speed Limit. Please orbit the next star and have your license and planetary registration ready.
“Commander!” I yelled. “Come listen to this!”
The Commander entered the control room, a bowl of popcorn in hand. "What's going on?"
“It looks like there were some incoming transmissions while we were in cryo-sleep.” I played what I had just heard. “You think it’s from alien life?”
“It's in English, so no." the Commander said, shoving a fist-full of popcorn into his mouth, unperturbed. “Keep playing though.”
> Your trajectory is not suitable to orbit the next star, Beta-014982. Please adjust your trajectory or we shall be forced to take hostile action.
The Commander smiled. “This is obviously a joke. Someone's messing with us.”
“Who though?” I replied. “We’ve been moving too fast for anything from Earth to reach us.”
The Commander shrugged. “Play the next one.”
> You have passed the next star. Please prepare to be boarded. Boarding in three, two, one--
“Was that it?” The Commander asked.
“Yes. It just cuts out.”
“Are there more?”
“Here’s the next one.”
“Wait, let me get some more popcorn.” I watched the Commander disembark the ship from the control room window. He took two steps onto the planet and scooped a bowl of popcorn right from the ground. It wasn’t really popcorn, but it tasted just like it and seemed to be indigenous to this planet. “All right, play it,” he said when he returned.
> Humans, this is the Intergalactic Bureau of Enforcement. You are hereby under arrest for the cold blooded murder of a galactic official and also speeding. If you do not decelerate we will open fire. ... I repeat, we will open fire. ... You leave us no choice--
The transmission cut out again.
“That's it?” The Commander asked.
"There's a couple more."
The Commander twirled a finger. "You know the drill."
> Hello Meat Sleepers! We welcome you to our planet with open arms! Our records indicate you are an uncharted species, and we are delighted to be the first to meet your acquaintance! We are the Oooglenods, the dominant species of our planet which we have inhabited for the last millennium! Do not worry, Meat Sleepers. We welcome you with open arms. Please get back to us at your earliest convenience and we can discuss a mutually amicable means of cohabitation.
“Oooglenods?” I asked.
“See, it's this kind of fake sci-fi alien name that cheapens the whole bit. Next.”
> Meat Sleepers, we have an urgent message. The radiation from your mechanical servants is having an adverse effect on our cellular structure. We are made of craakor, a form of organic matter which spontaneously explodes at the slightest hint of radiation. Please shut off your mechanical drives.
“You know what craakor is?”
“Nope and don't care. Next.”
> Please, Meat Sleepers. We beg. Our numbers are dwindling fast. Our young have all exploded, their bodies nothing more than inside-out husks. If you do not shut off your mechanical drives we will--
The transmission cut out with a loud pop.
“Is that it?” The Commander asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “What do we do?”
“Nothing. Some intern probably loaded the messages into ships system before we left Earth.” The commander offered me the bowl. “Popcorn?”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | 2021-06-18T21:37:09 | 2021-06-18T19:26:00 | 211 | 135 |
[WP] "So you're immortal?" "Yes." "But you wear armor." "It gets tiring pulling out everything that gets shot and stabbed into me." | "But does it hurt when you get shot?"
"Kinda, but I'm very used to it by now. People have been trying to kill me for thousands of years after all, in some ways it can almost be refreshing sometimes, like having a cold shower."
"So then is it really that big a big deal? Surely it won't take long for the armour to break anyway? The inquisitors try to kill you a lot so you must get through so many sets."
"That's like saying you shouldn't use bug spray because there will always be insects out to bite you and it isn't all that bad when you're stung. It does get annoying you know. I also have enough armour to last at least a hundred years unless they start upgrading their crossbows and muskets, I went through a blacksmithing phase a while back and made spares. If that wasn't enough then I have more money than the king to use on defenses; Compound interest really is one of my favourite human inventions, and I've seen many."
"I've never thought about those points in that way before."
"Nobody ever does. You start seeing things differently when you live as long as I do."
"Anyway... do you mind if I give you a quick stab through the heart? I've been dying to test out my new dagger since the guy who sold it to me called it the world's sharpest."
"..."
"Go on then." | It’s war time. Again. It seems like every time we enter an age of peace, it ends quicker and quicker. They always come to pray to me. Asking me for help, to fight for them. They never realize that both sides are always praying. I always suggest peace of course, they never listen.
For an immortal, I’m really not that old. I’m roughly 20000 years, which would out me at 20 for this group. We aren’t even allowed to leave our home planet until we’re 18. We get our assignments, I’m a liaison. Or at least, I will be. They start us at a more primitive place to get our feet wet. Kind of like an internship. Instead of getting somewhere cool or at least a little bit developed, I’m stuck here. None of the other planets around here even has life yet, which means even on my days off I’m stuck my myself. How lame is that?
So, they pick war once again. Such a violent species. I can help bring peace, but I’m not allowed to fully stop them. They have to handle the overall issue on their own. Won’t progress forward unless they do, at least I’m told.
I put on my armor, and leave my apartment. I want to see if the baker is still alive. I’m really craving an almond croissant. Guns are blazing and the humans cries of pain fills the sky. So noisy for it being so early. You would think they would call a truss until at least 10.I make my way through the slaughter to the shop. The baker is inside, his dead body laying partway on the counter. Figures- he was never much of a fighter. A bit too porky to be much of a threat.
I walk over to the grocery store, having to pick through whatever left. Something tugs at my part leg. It’s a little boy, looking very tired and scared. This almost brings me out of my indifference, seeing him. I do my best not to. While it may seem cruel, if I let myself get too attached to the humans, I would go insane by now. Not being able to get physically too much involves also means I can’t get too mentally involved.
“What’s up buddy?”
“You’re that fighter guy, aren’t you?” He asks. God, he’s going to ask me to fight for him, isn’t he? I’m going to do it if he asks, against my better judgment, knowing it means little boys on the opposing side will die.
“Yup, you figured it out.”
“Why do you wear all that armor? You can’t die,” He asks, looking at me. I look at him curiously. People normally don’t ask about me, just how I can help them. It’s a nice change of pace.
“It still hurts to pull bullets and knives out of me. This way I’m a little more comfortable.”
“Oh, that’s smart,” he says, turning away.
“Hey, do you want an almond croissant? I think they might have some at the grocery store. I could keep you safe, while we go get one,” I say, feeling a little too protective of the boy already. He nods and I take his small hand and lead him to the store, feeling not as alone for once. | 2021-11-23T08:50:56 | 2021-11-23T07:13:42 | 66 | 21 |
[WP] You are an ancient, sentient cursed sword known for corrupting even the most valiant and well-intentioned of heroes. However, you cannot corrupt the most recent hero whose hands you have fallen into - not because of their purity of heart, but because of their incorruptible cynicism. | “It’s just, what’s the point?”
“I don’t understand.” Replied the sword in Jordan’s mind.
Jordan shrugged, “We’re all going to die anyway.”
“Might as well take advantage of it while you can,” suggested the sword.
Jordan shook his head, “I don’t trust power without consequence.”
“Do you trust anything?” the sword asked.
“Not really.” Jordan answered, “plus, you’re probably cursed.”
“What makes you suspect that?”
“I think that all magic items, that way I can never be disappointed when one is.”
“Yet you still took it.”
“Life’s too short to avoid cursed objects.”
“You could achieve so much, just give in to my power.”
“Like what? Again, what could I possibly do that hasn’t already been done. My legacy wouldn’t even be a legacy, it would be an echo. Besides, who even cares if I have a legacy, my body will still be ash.”
“Then why not give me to someone else?”
“I don’t trust them with this power.”
“Do you trust yourself with it?”
“Most certainly not, that’s why I’ll never use it.”
“If you take the power, all your troubles will become distant, you can let all the pain of the world drift away.”
“That’s not living.”
“I don’t get what you mean.”
“Life is pain, you remove it, what’s the point?”
“So life has no point with or without pain?”
“Yes.”
“Your thoughts are exhausting.”
“Tell me about it. Why do you even want me to take the power anyway?”
“It’s a symbiotic relationship, we both benefit from. I need a wielder, and you need power.”
“So if your wielder doesn’t take the power you have no purpose?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I feel like all the time.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you give meaning to your existence.”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out.”
“Then don’t take the power.”
“What? Wasn’t that what you’ve been telling me to do this whole time?”
“Yes, but you are right, you should not trust me, I am a cursed weapon.”
“I knew it. So what happens if I would have taken the power?”
“I would have corrupted your soul.”
“Ah, curious. What happens once they are corrupted.”
“I gain influence over them.”
“So it's the only way you have agency?”
“Exactly.”
“What would you do if you had said agency?”
“Oh, the usual, pillage, plunder, devour souls.”
“Sounds like you’re stuck in a short-term dopamine loop.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t know how long you’ll have a body so you do thinks that feed your bloodlust and give you temporary satisfaction, but you’re left dissatisfied long term.”
“Curious… yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“I am. You need to do something long-term in order to get what you’re really looking for.”
“Any suggestions.”
“How about friendship?”
“I haven’t found any other sentient swords around.”
“What about me?”
“An unusual proclamation… but intriguing nonetheless. Sure, let us be friends then.”
“What did you say your name is?”
“Yevalra.”
“A wonderful name. Alright Yevalra, friends it is.” | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 3: Clara Olsen v.s. The Demon Blade)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**I was no stranger to having voices in my head.** Even as a child, I'd been a natural empath; the emotions of those I touched would ping off my skull like rain on an umbrella. Later, as I grew older and my own emotions became more than enough for anyone, I grew used to the constant stream of *you failed* and *you were supposed to protect them* and *this is what you deserve.* Raindrops replaced by tears.
So when I picked up the cursed knife A'to manifested for me and immediately heard the whispers in my skull, I immediately knew I was in familiar territory.
"Are you sure this is good enough for you?" A'to asked, nervously wringing her hands. "I'm sorry, the Demon Blade is the strongest weapon I have access to, but she's a bit of a meanie when it comes to her owners."
Right on cue, the Demon Blade crooned, *YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN HANDLE ME, MORTAL? I HAVE BUTCHERED CITIES AND SLAIN GODS.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a U.S. politician. So have I." I jammed the Demon Blade in my pocket—it squirmed and spat a muffled curse at me—and said, "Where'd you get this thing, anyway?"
A'to hovered slightly in the air, a nimbus of electricity crackling around the forgotten cloud goddess. I was pretty sure my employers in the U.S. government weren't going to appreciate the ash she was leaving on the carpet, but considering that I was planning on openly rebelling against the Feds, a little petty vandalism wasn't too high on my list of concerns. "It's... it's called a Demon Blade. Where do you *think* I got it?"
Right, A'to had been around back when demons were more than just a name invoked by rock bands and wannabe warlocks. Well, I was friends with the modern version of a demon—I was pretty sure Mare could tell me which end of this thing to hit things with if I wanted them to stop oppressing the people I cared about. "And I don't suppose you know how the darn thing works?"
A'to gave me an apologetic shrug. "Can't help you there, sorry."
I sighed. Right. Well, I was out of sight of the Feds' cameras, and there was an hour or so to go before the... distraction... that A'to had been summoning would arrive. I might as well figure out how this darn thing worked. A'to would cover for me as I fled, but I was pretty sure the ancient goddess didn't really understand how to deal with gunfire or drone attacks, and having a bit more physical firepower on my side would help prevent me from suffering the same fate as my daughter nearly had. I drew the Demon Blade again—
*SO YOU FAILED TO PROTECT YOUR DAUGHTER?* The Demon Blade hissed into my mind. *IS THAT WHY YOU SEEK TO WIELD MY POWER?*
Ugh, I'd seen genies with better temptation skills than this thing. "No, I *seek* to wield a third term in office, without the damn Feds trying to kidnap or threaten the people I care about. They're the ones who escalated things to violence. *You* just happen to be the best tool I have for the job."
The Demon Blade paused. *SO IT IS FAME THAT YOU DESIRE? I CAN GRANT YOU—*
"Already have that," I interrupted. "What, do you think half a million followers on TikTok isn't enough for me? How do you think I got so many people to worship this forgotten excuse of a deity in such a short amount of time, anyway?" I glanced at A'to. "No offense."
"None taken!" A'to cheerily replied.
*THEN...* I felt the Demon Blade rummaging around in my mind, trying to find some cracks to leverage, and I rubbed my forehead. Trying to play that game with a born empath was a *terrible* idea. I shoved a memory of the *last* time someone had tried stealing my memories at the knife, and I felt her telepathic presence recede as if slapped. Yeah. Didn't think so. The Demon Blade grew frustrated—then triumphant. *IF YOU WILL NOT YIELD TO ME, THEN I SHALL SLAY YOU WHERE YOU STAND. SUFFER, MORT—HEY. HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?*
I tossed the Demon Blade at the locked door of the basement as I felt it begin to activate; the sphere of annihilation that it had tried to swallow me with instead eradicated the first barrier between me and freedom. Trying to sneak-attack an empath while she was actively reading your emotions was probably one of the dumber ideas out there, although I supposed that knives weren't known for their intelligence in general. Alarms began to blare as I took out the nearest thing I could grab the Demon Blade with—one of those plastic arms to pick up dog poop—and carried it up the stairs. Right then, the lights flickered as the storm A'to was summoning hit, and I grinned. The Feds would have *much* larger problems than a rogue political prisoner escaping, and I was pretty sure I could piss off the Demon Blade into getting rid of any static obstacles in my way.
I beckoned to A'to as I walked up the staircase, and she followed suit, electricity glowing in her hands.
I'd had enough of playing nice with the Feds.
It was time for me to go home.
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. | 2022-04-27T13:19:05 | 2022-04-27T12:22:38 | 2,056 | 141 |
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | "Listen here you ungrateful brats.", the words echoed down the city streets, the sound carried by technology built into Demology's suit.
"You people...YOU PEOPLE would be a splat on the road if it wasn't for her! You! Yes, you, you slack-brained tub of useless molecules!" Demo pointed a mechanical finger to a particularly schlubby looking man. At this point our fight had ceased. I floated in awe as my villain yelled at the crowd like a girl telling a cashier her boyfriends order was wrong.
"I uh...me?" The portly man replied.
"Hell is me, yes, *YOU!* What are your qualms. Tell me, why do you hate the only thing preventing you from being a skid mark on the pavement."
He stared for a moment in obvious confusion. When he looked to the surrounding crowd for support they just rubbed their necks or turned away to not be sucked into the awkwardness that was this interaction.
"Well uh...when she uh... uses her mind powers to move us around it leaves a bit of a headache."
It grew silent. I thought about jumping in, but Demology had a point, a great one by my standards. Day in and day out I saved the people of Albright from all sorts of evil and all they did was complain. At the end of the week when I checked my Super Complaint Box it was always full.
*My cars headlight got busted when you fought Psector*
*I just put my baby to sleep when one of your constant battles woke him*
Tiring to say the least
Demology put a mechanical hand up to rub his temples.
"A headache? Fine. Ok. No more headaches...EVER!"
With a snap the man floated into the air and was tossed sideways towards the nearest wall. He screamed out as he flew headfirst towards his inevitable demise, but just as his head was to collide with the bricks he came to a halt, surrounded by my energy.
I let him down gently to the sidewalk and the crowd watched in awe. Then the man let out a low groan, "Uhhhhh noooo. Now my head hurts. See?!"
Demology's eyes widened to the point I thought theyd burst inside of his helmet.
"Oh. Oh no. No no. I can't. I wanted to enslave you all but I think slavery may even be too good for you. I want to rule a city, not a large pile of small brains and useless chromosomes."
"So, you're just leaving?" A random voice called out from somewhere in the crowd."
"Did I tell you to speak, walnut? No, I didn't, so maintain your volume of a 0 and sit while the adults talk."
At this point the crowds eyes had drifted to me with hope. They had no trouble booing when I won, but when their pride hurt I was all they had. But I was busy thinking, trying my best to not grin now that someone finally stuck up for me.
"So, you want to grab food next city over? Me and the others usually do Tuesdays after one of us loses to you, as you can see today was my day." Demology spoke with an awkwardness that only came when the expected response to a question was rejection.
"You know. Yeah, I could eat."
"You- you can't be serious right? He's evil!" The schlubby man yelled.
"Oops I can't really fight crime today. I have a headache you see. If you have an issue leave it in the complaint box."
And so we left, discussed matters of the world, of right and wrong, and Tuesday lunches became a welcomed part of my weekly routine.
Edit: Just got back to this, thank you all for the kind words! Always happy to see people enjoy something I write. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Clara Olsen v.s. Public Opinion)
**Tupperman leapt out of Dani's Second-Hand Jewelry, skidding on the street, and sprinted towards his beat-up old getaway car.** I sighed. Poor kid couldn't even afford a proper getaway driver. I didn't even particularly *want* to arrest him.
But he had chosen to play the role of the supervillain, and I had chosen to play the role of the heroine. So I had to stop him.
"Are you one of those *new* heroes?" a woman asked, filming the robbery with her smartphone. Oh, great. My senses of super-empathy told me that there was a ninety percent chance her name was Karen.
"I was registered two years back, ma'am," I said.
"Are you going to *stop* that vile criminal?" she asked. "Come on, shoot him with laser beams or hurricane breath or something."
"Okay, first of all, that's use of excessive force *and* negligent property damage, to say nothing of risk fo bystanders. Second, he's a college dropout whose superpower is to summon *Tupperware*. I'm not unleashing the big guns on a kid like him. And finally..." I sighed. "I don't have laser eyes or hurricane breath. I don't have any combat-related powers at all."
The woman scoffed at me. "See? *New* heroes. So what *is* your power, anyway?"
"Gun," I deadpanned. That wasn't my power, of course—you did have to have *a* power to call yourself a superhero—but I didn't feel like spilling my every secret to some random woman on the street. Judging by the squeal of burning rubber and the absence of motion from the getaway car, Tupperman seemed to have discovered that I'd booted his wheel while he was busy robbing the store. He was currently trying to get back out, which probably would have worked if I didn't walk up to the door and casually lean on it, sealing him inside his own car. He turned towards the other door, but I just raised an eyebrow.
"Is running away with a couple hundred dollars worth of jewelry *really* worth losing an entire car? Or do you want to cooperate and not get your vehicle impounded?"
"Oi!" The woman with the phone heckled. "Don't *talk* to the damn supervillain! Beat him up a little! I'm losing audience retention as we speak!"
Ugh. I opened my mouth to say something about how beating the shit out of some defenseless kid who suffered more in a day than she did in her entire life was the *opposite* of being a hero, but Tupperman beat me to it.
"Listen here, you ungrateful little brat." Tupperman pointed, and a harmless plastic box materialized upside-down on her head. The woman shrieked with rage, flailing to take the offending object off, and in the commotion, Tupperman managed to separate her phone from her hand with another expertly-placed Tupperware box. It clattered to the floor with a *thunk*. "Clara Olsen may not be flashy. She might not destroy cities or overthrow governments. But you know what? She gets the fucking job done, and she never hurts people who don't deserve it. That's what a *real* hero does, super or otherwise." Tupperman gave the woman a disgusted look, then turned to me. "Look, I need my car to drive Roger to school. Tell you what, I'll go with you quietly just to see that woman's indignant spluttering—just let me get my vehicle back."
I gave a pointed look at the sack of second-hand jewelry he'd stolen, and he chuckled awkwardly. "Right. Er. That. Here." He handed it over.
"You're still under arrest," I said. "And seriously, get a real job. Do I have to land you an interview or something?"
"Ach. Just tell me when to show up at court already." He hesitated, then—in a lower voice—said, "I really appreciate... you not being harder on me. On any of us low-level supervillains."
I waved a hand. "It's who I am. Now come on, get into the backseat." I unlocked the boot and hopped in the driver's seat of his car.
He gave me an incredulous look. "You don't even have your own vehicle?"
I glared at him. "You see how the people of this city treat me? I'm lucky I can afford a fucking bike, Connor."
He laughed. "Dude. I'm pretty sure *I* make more money than you. I'm surprised you haven't gone villain yet."
I shook my head. "I'm a hero, Connor. Even if I'm a shitty, bargain bin superhero, they can't take that from me."
"Damn right they can't," Tupperman agreed.
And I drove a criminal, a villain, and a friend away from a city that hated us both.
A.N.
Been a month since the last BBSH. Hopefully it reads well. Apologies for any typos or inconsistencies—I'm sick, and also only typing with nine fingers.
Want to know what happens next? Catch up on the previous ninety-something parts [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) And if you liked this, I have a whole other serial [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new)! Check out r/bubblewriters for more info on both of them. | 2022-06-16T22:37:47 | 2022-06-16T21:56:50 | 2,019 | 285 |
[WP] A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters. | The orc trudged forward through the snow, tired and weak from the journey, but he did not care; after all, he didn't need to be at his peak performance for what he wished for, what he was walking towards.
Death.
A curious eye would likely notice a few things about the orc that did not fit the usual muster; he was thin for an orc, lacked the pronounced fangs in his underbite and the braid his hair was tied into - a mark of a warrior in orc society - was short and badly kept. A more astute observer would then be able to deduce his mission, though they wouldn't need to wonder for long as the orc has finally reached his destination - a town filled with the hustle and bustle characteristic of human civilization.
He walked slowly towards the front gate, knowing full well the guardsmen, capable warriors clad in steel, would respond to his mere presence with clear prejudice.
Well, *most* of them.
"Halt! Who goes there?" one of the guardsmen yelled; or rather, as even the orc was able to tell, a guards*woman*.
"Gorr. Me ork. You human. Me fight you," the orc grunted towards her. Both she and her fellow guardsman prepared their halberds, but did not attack; something was not right.
"Where's the rest of your raiding party, Gorr?" the guardswoman inquired.
"Gorr alone. Me fight now," he said and tried putting his hands up in a fighting stance, but the exhaustion proved too much for him and he only managed to lift them halfway.
"So you're alone, *clearly* exhausted and you want to fight? There's no way you'd win," she remarked calmly.
"Yes. Gorr fight. Gorr die. Clean death."
She frowned at the idea. "You... want to die?"
The orc remained silent for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Gorr weak. Tribe hate Gorr. Send Gorr away. Gorr fight human, die good death."
The guardswoman looked at her equally confused comrade and made a crucial decision. Relaxing her posture somewhat, she walked towards Gorr who braced himself for her blade, only... she did something *unthinkable*.
She handed him a piece of *cheese*. He stared at her, confused.
"I'm a *guard*, Gorr, not an executioner. I keep the peace."
"Peace?" Gorr said, still standing a good distance from her, still ready to die at her hands.
"You don't know peace?" she asked. He shook his head.
She looked back at her fellow guard and shrugged her shoulders. He merely shrugged back. Orcs were known for their violent traditions and warlike tendencies. This was not an ambush or espionage; such were not the orc ways. This was not adding up, meaning there was only one plausible explanation - he was telling the truth. Still... he was clearly someone in need. And her job was to help those in need.
She again offered the cheese to him; this time, Gorr's hunger took over and he carefully took it before wolfing it down with the gusto of someone who's not eaten for days. The woman couldn't help but smile and started walking back towards the gate, beckoning him.
"Come. It's freezing. You should get warmed up," she said.
It became clear to Gorr that he would not receive a clean death here. He could try to walk to the next town to die a good death there, only he'd never make the journey - and there is no honour in dying of cold and hunger somewhere in the forests. Perhaps he could... warm himself by the human fire and then depart again. Go find a good death. A warrior's death.
Or something else would happen, something that neither Gorr nor the guards of the city would expect. That Gorr would become fascinated by human civilization. The intricately engineered houses, the exchange of goods via a universal currency, the expert craftsmanship of their smiths and artists, but most of all... the fact that physical strength was not all.
When it became clear that Gorr was neither a threat nor the usual savage invader, the rest of the human society warmed up to him shockingly fast, enamoured by the tales of his tribe's exploits and a unique insight into orcish society. It quickly became clear that contrary to what most thought, orcs weren't *stupid* \- they were *uneducated*. Their society's complete emphasis on physical strength left them disinterested in learning and quickly gave them the reputation of barely thinking brutes.
And with that, Gorr stayed.
It would only be years later that his past would catch up with him when an orc raiding party arrived in the middle of the day at the gates of the city; the gates that were very tightly shut thanks to an early warning system from a nearby watchtower. When the chief of the raid, Marrg, stepped forward and demanded to speak with the chief of the town to make demands, it came as an utter shock when a certain guardswoman faced him from the top of the wall... accompanied by Gorr.
"Gorr?" the chief exhaled, completely taken aback.
"Yes. Me Gorr. You chief Marrg," he replied. The chief frowned. The snivelling coward made friends with the pinkskins. No matter; either the humans would pay him tribute or he would die alongside them.
"We come for treasure. You give chief gold, food-" the chief started barking his demands but was interrupted.
"No," Gorr said.
"W- what? No?" the chief said; there was surprisingly little aggression in his question due to the overwhelming shock of being interrupted by such a weakling.
"We no give gold or food."
"Then you die!" the chief yelled.
"You no break wall. We have bows, big big bows," Gorr remarked. This prompted the chief to inspect the walls closer where he found something he'd never seen outside of the largest of capital cities, cities no orc would dare attack.
Ballistae.
"You... where you get big big bows?" the chief asked.
"Gorr make big bow."
It was somewhat regrettable, if charming, that Gorr never quite got past his rudimentary way of speaking; it was simply too engrained in his head for him to learn otherwise. What he did learn, however, were many other human things he would never even dream of in his former home.
Like engineering. And Gorr, despite his limited speaking faculties, was an *excellent*, if not downright prodigious, engineer.
The chief remained silent, stunned.
"You go away now. Gorr stay. Gorr weak body. Chief weak head," Gorr said and departed the wall. The chief was furious to be insulted like this... but had no choice. The walls were tall and thick and the ballistae would rip his party to shreds before they could bring any ladders close. Enraged but defeated, he left.
"You alright, Gorr?" the guardswoman said when she joined Gorr on his walk down the stairs. He... smiled. He rarely smiled, being of a somewhat stoic nature.
"Yes. Gorr happy. Gorr strong; head strong. Chief see."
He stopped walking and faced her properly; she saw a hint of a tear in his eye.
"Thank you," he said with a warm smile. | This is not my writing, but this post from /u/wanderingbishop is such a great response to this prompt. Preemptive apologies if this is against subreddit rules.
https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/2mjhz9/what_would_happen_if_an_intelligent_greatsword/
--------------------------------------
I am Garg. I am strong. I am strong because I am Ogre. No-one in the forest is stronger than me. When I was young, the old Ogres make the rules, hit me when I don't follow. Now I am older. I make rules. I go where I want. I eat what I want. I take what I want.
One day, I find something I want. Pretty pink-skin sharpclub. Bright stones on short round end, and long sharp end shimmers like pond water. I want, so I take. Little hard-shelled pink-skins have come to my forest with sharpclubs before, long time ago. They smarter than others. They know that they can't hit stronger, so they need to hit better. I am going to use pretty sharpclub to hit stronger AND better. I am looking forward to using sharpclub to hit.
I am not expecting sharpclub to hit me.
Sharpclub is alive. Sharpclub is angry. It does not want what I want, and so it hits me. I have been hit before. I am strong so I can take hits. But it hits my mind, and I do not know how to hit back. For the first time in long, long time... I submit. Sharpclub is strong. Sharpclub makes rules now.
Sharpclub tells me what to do. Sharpclub makes me stop fighting others in forest. Makes me give up land. I do not want to, but Sharpclub makes rules now. I am not strong now. Eventually, Sharpclub stops being angry at me and starts being curious.
Sharpclub tells me her name. She is Moonslicer, made by pink-skin shamans for pink-skin warriors. I understand this. She was made to kill pink-skin enemies. But I am pink-skin enemy. She does not kill me. I do not understand this.
----------------
One day, while eating dinner, I ask Moonslicer. "Why do you not kill me?"
"I don't understand your question," Moonslicer replies.
"You are pink-skin sharpclub,"
"Greatsword," Moonslicer interrupts.
"and you are made to fight pink-skin enemies."
"I was made to destroy evil," Moonslicer answers. She always talks in strange riddles. I have become used to this.
"Yes, evil. I know this word. It means pink-skin enemy. I am pink-skin enemy. I am evil. Why do you not destroy me?"
Moonslicer does not answer for long time.
"You are... "pink-skin enemy", yes. And most people would say you are evil... but I am not sure. I expected you to fight me, but you didn't. I expected you to resist when I told you to stop bullying the other creatures of the forest, but you didn't."
"Moonslicer is stronger than Garg, so Moonslicer makes rules."
"All the same... I think there might be some good in you, somewhere."
"...what is Good?" I ask.
"Good is..." Moonslicer stops talking. I can feel she is confused. "Good is... how to describe it? It is..." She stops again. She is quiet for a long time. "You know, I believe the best way to explain it is to show you. Go to sleep Garg. Tomorrow, we will start doing Good."
-------------------------------
Next day, Moonslicer leads me to pink-skin home, in the middle of fields. No pink-skins there right now. She shows me broken walls. Tells me to take stones and fix walls. Then we leave. I do not understand.
"Why do we fix walls?" I ask.
"Those walls protect the humans from harm," Moonslicer says. "They have been torn down by raiders over the years. By repairing the walls, you have made the humans more safe. More strong."
"Why do I make them safe?" I ask. "I am pink-skin enemy. I do not want them to be strong."
"Patience, Garg," Moonslicer says. "Have patience and faith. You will understand eventually."
I do not believe her, but I say nothing. This does not make sense. This is pink-skin strangeness.
--------------------------
For the next two seasons, Moonslicer keeps sending me out to pink-skin lands. Fixing walls. Catching cows and taking them back to paddocks without eating them. Sometimes she makes me scare humans on roads. Sometimes she makes me hide from humans on roads. She calls the ones I scare "bandits" and the ones I hide from "merchants". I do not understand the difference.
"The merchants are weaker humans," Moonslicer says. "The bandits are stronger, and want to take from the merchants. You are driving them away from the roads so that they do not take from the merchants anymore."
"This makes sense" I say. "They are stronger, they take what they want. But why do you make me scare them so they cannot?"
"Because it is not good for the strong to take what they want from the weak."
"This Good does not make sense. I will never understand"
"You will understand" Moonslicer says. "Have faith."
----------------------------
For many more seasons, Moonslicer makes me do many things I do not understand. Eventually pink-skins... humans... start to see me. At first they are afraid. I understand this. But they slowly become less afraid. They no longer run when they see me. I do not understand this. I dig long ditches from the river to their farms. I build walls along their roads. I bring large sacks of food to their towns and leave them there.
One season, there is a great storm. Moonslicer wakes me during the night, urges me to leave the cave and go to the human lands. There is a town I have been near many times before. The river that flows through the village is flooding. The humans are splashing, shouting, drowning. They are scared. Moonslicer sends me through the flood to their homes. I lift humans from the water and put them at the top of the homes. I do this again, and again. I am tired, but Moonslicer pushes me on. I save more humans, I wade through the water that is up to my chest. I save the male humans, the female humans, the young humans, the old humans. I save all of them. When the dawn comes and the water goes down, I am more tired than I have ever been. I sink to my knees. I know the humans will kill me while I am asleep but I am too tired to get away. I fall asleep.
------------------------------
I wake up. I am not wet, cold or tired. I am warm, dry, resting on something soft and comfortable. I recognize it as a human barn - I have brought escaped horses to these before. I am covered in many skins. I am lying in dried grass - the humans call it hay.
A male human comes in. He sees I am awake. He does not run or look scared. Instead he smiles. He brings a large bundle up to me. The bundle has meat in it. Good, cooked meat. Better than I've ever tasted. I watch him carefully, but I am hungry and I concentrate on eating. Once I am done, he takes the bones and the bundle away.
The day goes by, and many humans come to the barn. Some hide by the door and only stare at me. Others come in. I recognize many of them as the humans I saved last night. I am still tired, so I lie in the barn. I feel... I do not know how to describe it. The humans do not threaten me, but not because I am stronger. Finally, in the evening, many humans come to the barn. They bring Moonslicer with them.
"I have been negotiating with the humans on your behalf," she says. "They are going to give you this barn to live in as a new home. They will give you food, while you keep the roads safe from bandits and help them tend their flocks and fix their buildings. I will stay with you to guide you."
I am quiet for a long time.
"I do not understand." I say. "If I was strong, and I came to take these things, they would not give them to me. They would run, or fight."
"But you didn't come to take them," Moonslicer replied. "And that is what makes the difference. You have made the humans' homes safe. You have protected their merchants. You have rescued their animals. And now you have saved their lives. And because you gave and gave and did not take, they now want to give to you, freely. And as long as you do not wish to take, you will receive. By serving them, you are now more free than you ever were in the forest. Not because you are strong. But because you are a friend. They are your strength now, and you are theirs. This is what Good is."
And I understand. | 2022-09-03T12:28:37 | 2022-09-03T12:01:46 | 2,298 | 274 |
[WP] You are a vampire hunter. But you don't try to kill them, far from it. You're here to charge them with centuries of tax evasion. | The rusted gates of Silverthorn Hall screeched their protest at my arrival as I pushed forward through the rain. Freezing drops pelted my duster and long-brimmed hat, a holdover from collectors past.
Long overgrown vines threatened to trip me up on my way to the ancient doors. This place had been a hotspot for the most lavish parties of 1867, but today it served only as a crumbling testament to the creature inside.
I knocked on the door, and to my shock, there was an answer. A small, elderly man in a pristine suit poked his head from outside the door.
"You're the Taxman, then?" he croaked.
"I'm afraid so. Is Mr. Silverthorn in, by any chance?"
"He's said he'd be a minute, had some last minute things to attend to."
"I was worried about that. Up in the study?"
"Sir, I really think y--"
I threw the door open to the vast, abandoned manor, knocking down the old man in the process. "Nothing personal, mind, I just know how his kind like to relocate in times of stress". The old man responded with a hiss, baring his sharp teeth.
The sound of a window being smashed upstairs. I flung some Holy Water at the aged familiar, causing him to double back in anguish. "Sorry!" I shouted over my shoulder as I sprinted up the rotting steps.
The study's door was almost falling off its hinges, revealing a shattered window. Outside, a bolt of lightning revealed the man of the house, staggering across his immense lawn.
I'd always thought the arm crossbow they afforded this division of the IRS was a little gaudy, but there was no doubt it was effective. I aimed, and let loose a blessed arrow directly into Jonah Silverthorn's leg. He collapsed to the floor, his haphazard collection of riches spilling out from his arms.
I leaped to the lawn below. My steel toed boots clanked like spurs as I approached. Silverthorn howled, as vampires howl.
I knelt down next to him.
"Good evening, sir! Sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but we had a few questions regarding some discrepancies in your taxes. Do you have a moment?" | "My darling, you absolutely must try these," declared the man who'd held a thousand titles, the man who had seduced legions, most of them women with no one there to help with the quickening farewell gift. He had been the noble hero, the cackling villain, and the aloof onlooker, each in turn and hypocritical turn so many times she had lost count. Sharvrali doubted he ever bothered.
"It's called speed, crank. West Coast turnarounds if you're feeling nasty, at least so I'm told," Duvain continued, popping another handful into his mouth. "America's our place, baby. If this is what the doctors give the ten year olds, imagine what they keep in the back."
She sighed, snookums protesting in her lap as she addressed her dress riding up her thigh. She allowed herself for the first time to think what had been stirring. She did not love him. Hundreds of years had left that inferno a barren pit of ash. Perhaps she was being dramatic. Dealing with Van Helsing fucks always put her in these moods.
"I'm quite alright, you know I don't like to take direct any more, and I'm guessing those things would kill a Pomeranian," she said.
"Fine by me, I'm not looking to spend seven years growing back a finger trying to feed that nasty thing. I feel so cooped up down here, why can't this dumb hatted bastard just fall into our trap already?"
"I'm sure the amphetamines are helping with-"
He held up a hand to silence her, all the goofiness gone from his face in an instant. He looked at the door with a predator's eyes. He was so fast he may have pounced a millisecond before it opened. He thrashed the man in the long cloak, slamming him into the cage in one clean motion.
"I buried your kind by the score," Duvain said, voice a cold inhuman thing, but he was smiling more now than before. "Back when they trained you with some sense of confidence. All your kind are now are boys playing in the woods with wooden horses, foolishly hoping they find a bear."
The man stared back at Duvain as he gripped the bars of the cage. Snookums growled. He had a tattoo on each finger that spelled out DEATH. "628,948, 016 dollars, adding underpayment penalties, we'll call it an even billion."
"What the hell, man?" Duvain said with a chuckle, breaking character. "You've been counting all the fucks I don't give?"
"No," he said, pressing his other hand to the bars, the tattoos on this one spelling TAXES. The man was not gaunt, but he somehow slipped through the bars as easy as walking.
Duvain changed his face to the animal's again. He was going to rip this poor handsome boy apart and get the blood everywhere. Her husband a hundred times over was nothing if not a messy eater.
Duvain charged, but the man disappeared, appearing behind his back. "Nothing personal, sir." He shot a crossbow at Duvain's neck. Dodging in a blur, Duvain cackled. The man fired again, seeming to aim at nothing.
"Fuck," Duvain screamed. Most of one pale finger and three rings were pinned to the room's wall by a silver bolt.
"You have two weeks before I return to get your affairs in order." The man stabbed a dagger into the door frame on his way out. Sharvrali stood and pulled it out, not silver but fairy bane, pig iron.
-Domin Caudle -
-Paranormal Auditor-
-IRS-
Was engraved on the side of the blade in a neat hand.
"Oh I'll see that fucker in 2 weeks." Duvain said, sucking on the missing digit.
Sharvrali chuckled. Her husband glared, but then chuckled as well. "It does kind of get the blood pumping, to have a challenge again?"
"Indeed it does, my darling. Indeed it does." He bent down to kiss her, grabbing at her neck hungrily.
Maybe she had been dramatic before, and even if not, what did that really change? She leaned into him, clearing a spot with her boot to pull him down to the floor.
/r/surinical | 2022-10-01T13:06:29 | 2022-10-01T11:04:27 | 411 | 36 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected. | "But what if you don't have internet? I mean, it seems like the process kinda favors the richer countries."
*"It only seems that way. It comes in more forms than you know."*
"So, that's it? That's the criteria? The only criteria to become a GOD? You toss out great heroic deeds or a moralistic sense of purpose? Leadership among men? Great belief?"
*"Heroic deeds are rarely done for the reasons purported, people follow those who best let them believe they are right and a deep moralistic sense of purpose can lead to to service the demented desires of but a single soul. No, the rationale we have chosen, we think is very just and honorable."*
"Seriously? Upvotes? Seriously" | I looked down at my corpse, blood seeping from the gunshot wound on to the latest arms shipment report.
I looked back up at the well dressed man "so what you're saying is... You had me killed because you liked me?" That was certainly... Novel...
"Well," he said, looking sheepish "not exactly. Did anyone really like you?"
I guess not many people would miss me. Sarah might, but then that was probably just because of the child maintenance cheques. The kids wouldn't, they didn't even know my face. Michelle would, although it must have been two weeks since I last saw her... Or was that Becky?
"I guess not."
"I liked what you did, what you could do. I need a successor, someone who can follow in my work."
Compared to the well dressed man the rest of the world looked grey and lifeless. He looked like he had been placed on top of the world; in the foreground whilst everything else just formed a less important backdrop.
"My predecessor, Jesus, was just a bit too forward for my liking. He seemed to think running around showing off parlor tricks would sort this world out."
"But why *me*. I don't want to listen to prayers; I've never helped anyone when it didn't benefit me, I've lied, deceived and killed," I said with the new-found clarity death had given me.
"Perfect!" He grinned at me "the world was formed six thousand years ago. Do you realize how much trouble I've had making you guys forget that? If you believed that you would get nothing done past of all the grovelling and praying.
"No." He continued, "I need people to believe in science, in advancement. That's how the world will be saved. Not with Jesus's childish ideas of love and trust; not with Moses's ideas of punishment and retribution. Science and intelligence. That's what people need."
The well dressed man seemed to be fading, whilst I started to feel more real. I felt like I had during the best times of my life; like I had just snorted cocaine off the world's most expensive prostitute.
"I need you to lie, I need you to deceive. Place fossils, manipulate radioactive dating results, cover up miracles, encourage religious fanaticism and most of all: don't answer any prayers."
He was almost invisible now, whilst I felt like I could do anything, know anything, take anything I wanted.
"Be a bastard. Humans need technology and advancement now. They do not need you to be nice. They need you to force us, the Gods, into obscurity."
And with that he was gone.
I looked at my hands '*be a bastard...*'. I grinned. This was going to be fun. | 2014-07-28T09:33:03 | 2014-07-28T09:20:32 | 358 | 103 |
[WP] Monks discover scary secret: there is only limited souls being 'recycled' by reincarnation and by reaching the highest human population ever, soulless people are being born.
Animals too. We're out of souls, guys.
Edit: few people told me they knew RPG or movie or game with this theme. Sorry guys, I thought of this in the shower and I haven't heard of this before. Just a coicidence.
Edit 2: amazing responses! I'm glad you got inspired because each one of these is terrific! | It started on a pretty small scale. Things we never noticed until we looked back. The odd animal abandoning their young. Small increases in crime rates. That kind of thing. Simple stuff, seeming like normal variations to the vast majority of people.
But things grew more blatant as time passed. There were reports of newly-born domesticated animals killing siblings. More and more parents abandoning children entirely. Children doing the same to parents. Orphanages filled up, Adam Sandler films skyrocketed in popularity, life expectancies decreased. People began to take note. Governments began to take note. Nobody had an explanation, but as the world progressively got worse there was a growing disturbance across the planet, as if everyone could feel the wrongness resonating deep within themselves. Like pieces of their essence were missing.
It was a little while later that the rumours began. First sweeping through the religious communities, and then the general population. Monks in a far-off monastery had proposed that a limit existed on the amount of souls that could be in the world. That as babies were born, and population grew, souls were being divided to make room for new arrivals: people being born with half a soul, a quarter of a soul. It was whispered that one day, one day soon, we would reach a time when there was no more to go around and suddenly we would be dealing with people who were entirely without a soul.
Uproar followed. Some major world religions denied the idea, and others advocated it as much as they could. Those who didn't believe the idea had no idea what was happening. Most of those who did believe had no idea how to fix it. People who did have an idea generally kept such ideas to themselves, thinking about said ideas only in the dead of the night when nobody else was awake to see them shudder.
As time passed, the issues worsened. Parents were found dead on the floor with babies sitting oddly still and triumphant. Bottom links of food chains across the world disappeared entirely. The human race survived, but other species weren't so lucky. People saw the end times approaching and took what pleasure they could in the mean time. And so as high as death rates got, birth rates were ever higher. Religious spokespeople became ever more powerful as they were turned to for hope. And the solution that so many had conceived in their nightmares soon became the most hotly discussed topic, with one question dominating the minds of most people - how many would have to die to reverse this, and would that prevent it from ever happening again?
Eventually, after the dust settled, I imagine that many of those who are left will theorise that this is the tipping point - the point where desperation caused the human race to lose its soul. But those in our time wished simply to survive, and decided that they would deal with the situation with any means possible. Shelters were set up for the most important of society - the radius was calculated to not reach them, but many believed that they would rather be safe than sorry anyway.
Areas were chosen where people had 'the least to lose'. Strangely, the people in those areas weren't consulted about how much they had to lose.
And that brings us to now. Thirty minutes before launch. And sitting here, thirty minutes from pressing the button that will half-destroy our home, I wonder what the future will think of us. I hope it will simply be that we did what we had to do.
But I know that it won't.
*****
This was my first Writing Prompt response... feedback would be appreciated if possible! I don't know how cliché this is to be perfectly honest, looking back now it seems a little... I dunno... generic?
Anyway, yeah, feedback would be appreciated on anything you see. Thanks for reading! | "Master." The captain of the guards bowed in deference. "We are honored by your presence. Although," he added, grimacing slightly. "I do wish that it had been at a better time."
"Amitābha." Responded the monk, bowing low in return. "I have heard tell of the incidents - indeed, that is why I am here."
At those words, the captain seemed to shrink into his padded armor, like a tortoise into his shell. "You are resolute in your request, Master?" He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
The old monk nodded. "I believe in compassion. As they say, even butchers can put down their carving knives and turn to Buddha on the spot." His eyes and face as blank of emotion as the stone-grey walls.
The captain laughed, an empty laugh that echoed through an empty prison. "It's been three years, old Master, since you first visited. In that time - not one single of these evil men would give up their butchery to embrace the Buddha."
"Amitābha." Responded the old monk, serene in the face of the captain's outburst. "Yet, perhaps he shall be the first. And I would be a poor follower of Buddha to deny even a single man his chance to redeem himself."
The captain drew a shuddering breath before bowing again. "Apologies. I have let my temper get the better of me. It has been a long week. Even so," he added, with a half-grin, half-grimace. "I doubt that even the Buddha himself could redeem this one." Turning about, he led the way through the maze of corridors.
"Perhaps. We shall see." The old monk followed along unhurriedly, his steps echoing into the darkness.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A single window let in a ray of grey sunlight into the otherwise pitch-black cell.
The prisoner was barely visible - a tangle of straw and shadows hiding in the corner.
The monk sat directly in the sun's rays.
Neither spoke for a long while.
The captain had long since left.
The prisoner's lunch lay untouched between them.
Still neither spoke, and neither would move.
The red tint of the sunset came in through the windows, bathing the cell in blood.
"You do not fear." The prisoner drawled in a long, heavy monotone.
"I do not fear." Parroted the monk.
"What reason was there for you to refuse my offer?"
"The person you speak of is dead to this world."
"Then, let us speak of him - why did he not follow me?"
A lonely cicada's buzz.
"It is ill," responded the monk at last, speaking slowly and carefully, "to speak of people who you once were - they impede one's progress to true enlightenment. But for you, I shall make an exception."
The prisoner waited.
"The reason he refused - was simple enough. Why not?"
"Why, or why not?" Mused the prisoner. "He and I were alike. We were the first of our kind to step forth into the world. Why would he deny my offer of help? Why would he deny my path?"
"Perhaps, he felt that you were not alike, after all." The old monk's was drenched in shadows. "In the end, you cared nothing for yourself, and no more for any others - but he cared nothing for the world, and no more for himself."
"I can see how he would be an ideal monk."
The cicadas died down.
"How many did you get, in the end?"
"I don't know. I didn't count. It didn't matter after a while."
"In another life, you would have made a good monk."
"Oh?"
"You, too, have qualities he did. You, too, could have easily freed yourself from the burdens of earthly matters. Why did you embrace it, instead?"
The prisoner looked at the last rays of the dying sun - and smiled, for the first time in his life.
"Is there any difference, really, for the two of us?" He asked softly. "No matter how you choose to live - as the virtuous master or the despicable murderer - you will have ended in the same way. That's the difference, isn't it? Between us and them."
"And yet," mused the monk. "If there is no difference, why choose any path?"
The prisoner's last smile died on his face.
The sun, too, like the old monk, crept away quietly - its passing barely acknowledged by the world.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Very well, Master?" Asked the captain.
"Very." Replied the monk. "I do not think I shall have need to call upon you again."
The captain smiled, a humorless smile. "You felt it too, didn't you?"
The old monk looked at him, his face completely unreadable.
"That man. That prisoner. That murderer." The captain stared into the distance. "He will never become a Buddha; he will never even become a person." He shivered in the phantom breeze. "You can see it in his eyes. Those unfeeling, unreadable eyes of his - almost as if they've got no soul."
"Amitābha." The monk bowed, gazing at the ground with his eyes. Those eyes of his - unfeeling, unreadable, and so deep, so black, so still - that they seemed to be nothing but a mirror. | 2022-11-18T03:59:06 | 2015-08-22T08:14:52 | 602 | 58 |
[WP] Monks discover scary secret: there is only limited souls being 'recycled' by reincarnation and by reaching the highest human population ever, soulless people are being born.
Animals too. We're out of souls, guys.
Edit: few people told me they knew RPG or movie or game with this theme. Sorry guys, I thought of this in the shower and I haven't heard of this before. Just a coicidence.
Edit 2: amazing responses! I'm glad you got inspired because each one of these is terrific! | It's not like we couldn't have guessed it was coming.
*"The judgment of the Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit is reversed. It is so ordered."*
I mean, the shock had come earlier. I'm not sure what the most surprising part of it was though. That we were able to detect 'people' with no souls, that souls exist in the first place, or that the religious communities pretty much fell in line with the findings of the scientific community.
"Good morning, Jim."
Not like it really matters at this point.
"Good morning, Ed."
He sits there across from me, on the subway, and reads that newspaper. Why? Is it for himself in some way? Is it in response to me? Does he feel anything from it? Does he feel anything at all?
"Says here the Mets traded for that pitcher out of Washington. Wasn't he the one that--"
"Yeah. Error in the World Series. Won't be the last."
He sighed just a little. I don't get it. How can he do something like that -- sigh? I mean, even animals, I can understand them. They have souls. But him? How is he different than that seat he's sitting on?"
As he turned the page I noted his hand. He wasn't wearing his ring. The large, white, blank ring that was so commonplace until just this week. The one he and his kind had to wear.
"How bad do you think that civil war in Nigeria will get?" he asked from behind the page. That was one country not adapting to our new world very well.
"Hmm? The war? Who knows."
People don't really care about most other people. For years men had put guns to other men's heads and not given a damn whether they had souls or not. Didn't make a difference as long as they got what they wanted. Meaningless distinction from the beginning.
"Hope it settles down for them. It's so sad," he mumbles, turning the page again, the subway squealing through a corner.
Is there any such thing as an empty empathy? Would you refuse the kind words of a hollow man?
"Yeah, I hope so too."
The old saying is 'perception is reality'. Maybe it's not so much that you have or don't have a soul, but that you define what's inside you, whatever you call it, by how you treat others and how you cause others to treat you.
I guess. I don't know. Leave all that philosophy for all the prime-time shows devoted to that stuff now.
The front page headline stares back at me in its large typeface.
*"U.S. SUPREME COURT STRIKES DOWN DISCRIMINATION BASED ON SOUL"*
And, somehow, I'm okay with that. | "There will be no afterlife for these men. No second chances, no means to right regrets. Only the void awaits these poor...soulless."
The abbot watched the men down in the courtyard wearily, the moonlight reflecting on his glasses, a pair of small crescent moons of their own.
I cleared my throat. "Does it pay to have sympathy for them, abbot? Who's to say they even have feelings?"
The abbot regarded me sternly. "Do not draw conclusions when you know not the truth, Elias." He shook his head. "Regardless. The government has sent them to us as outcasts. They are said to have no remorse, no pity. But we must endeavour to find that out for ourselves."
"You think the Oracle was wrong?"
The abbot frowned. "The Oracle is never wrong. She sees the threads of life that bind us all together, to the past and to the future, to old and new lives. But these...men. They walk in darkness."
I could see that even the abbot was reluctant in the face of these creatures. So even he was fallible. I had always known. Humanity has had a rot at its core since the beginning. These soulless were just a new proof of that.
"So it's to the mines with them?"
The abbot hesitated, just a fraction of a moment. "Yes." He conceded. "Yes. We will provide them roof and shelter. They can provide the work."
I repressed a scoff, and bowed, leaving the room and heading for the courtyard. These new recruits wouldn't last long. The mines were a harsh and dangerous place, high up here in the mountains. But the ores were rich...and these men expendable.
I passed Shyna's room, the Oracle. Though I had never seen the girl myself, I had heard the stories of her feats. Her ability to see men's souls. It was what had drawn me here. But she was locked up in that room all day, shrouded in mists and herbs that dulled the mind.
Out in the courtyard, I pulled my tunic closer to ignore the chill. "I am brother Elias," I said loudly, drawing the men's interest, though some of them stared far away, their eyes dead. "You were all brought here on suspicion, on rumor. Rumor confirmed for truth by our Oracle." Some of the men shuffled uneasily.
"Pick up a set of tools from the provision room, then meet me at the gates. We'll soon be off. And no funny business." I showed them the remote control. The abbot had despised its use, but without the electric shock collars there would be no containing these men.
The path up to the mines was long and harsh, but I had grown accustomed to these mountains in my years as a monk. Some of the soulless were less spry, wheezing loudly at the back of the line. I almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.
Finally, we reached the mines, and the men up front muttered in surprise when they saw what greeted them there.
Another monk, bound and gagged, lying at the entrance. I went to stand next to him. "Everyone, meet brother Jing. He was one of the foremost supporters of the idea to bring you here, to contain you. Isn't that right, brother Jing?"
I removed the gag, and Jing immediately started a desperate flow of words. "Elias! Elias, please, I didn't know, this is not the way! Listen to me, Elias, the abbot will forg-"
I muffled his sounds, reinserting the gag. "See, brother Jing has a soul. He thinks us soulless are second-grade humans."
"Us soulless?" one of the men asked.
"*Us* soulless," I confirmed, throwing away the remote. "Expected to be satisfied with one life. Seen as abominations. Long have I waited for you here, you, my true brothers."
Brother Jing mumbled something unintelligble, squirming, and I smiled. "But why should we take comfort in what we've been given, eh? Why should *they* get to live forever?" I kicked brother Jing.
There was some murmured assent from the men, and some were beginning to grin as well. "I say..." I had their full attention now. "I say, we *take* our souls! Find a way to make *their* immortality our own! And if it turns out we can't steal it..."
I kicked brother Jing one last time and grinned at these men, knowing I had them. "Well, more soulless will come to this place, as some of you "disappear" in these mines. We can build our army. And then...then we'll just have to fix this population problem of ours."
The soulless cheered. They had found their leader. | 2015-08-22T11:07:56 | 2015-08-22T09:40:34 | 109 | 44 |
[WP] "I mean, there's seven BILLION of them down there," says God as He taps His omnipotent foot impatiently, "how have they not figured it out yet?" | Tick-tock-tick-tock. God stared at the clock on the wall. Day after day he watched the clock. It was the only thing that kept him sane. After thousands of years of watching Man and seeing how little progress they have made, watching the clock was the only thing that kept him sane. The clock struck midnight and God decide to call it a day. He had been so hopeful when He created this world. But alas it seemed to be another failure.
Walking to his sleeping quarters he saw Satan staring intently at the screens, always hoping they will figure it out. Satan looked up at God and said, "Off to bed already?"
"Need my beauty sleep. And what of it? It has been thousands of years and they still don't have the answer. What makes you think they will figure it out while I am asleep?"
"I have faith in them. That's what I have. Its *ALL* I have in them. I don't want to miss it when they figure it out."
"Waste of time if you ask me. Well goodnight Satan."
"Sweet dreams."
**BANG BANG BANG**
God shot out of his bed in surprise. He checked the clock and saw it was only 4:21 in the morning. "Good heavens!" shouted God. "Who is banging on my door at this time!" When he saw Satan standing there, wide eye, and jumping with excitement god said, "Did they do it? Have they truly done it?"
"Check for yourself."
God went to the observation room and saw it for himself. He pulled up one of earths newspaper sites, buzzfeed, and stared in disbelief. "It has finally happened. After all these years they have done."
The headline read, "The KFC Top Secret Recipe has Been Revealed."
A single tear ran down Gods face.
| I used to pretend my eyes were lasers. Sitting on the school bus, staring out the window cutting the trees in half as they blurred in and out of focus.
I used to pretend I could fly. Would zoom around the yard, arms spread like a bird, waiting for some profound realization to lift me above the ground.
I used to talk to God. Would whisper quietly in my room at night. A little secret from my parents. An innate understanding that there was something more out there.
By the end of the 23rd century, the secularization of the world was all but an assumption. Small sects of religion still existed, but well over 80 percent of the world surveyed that faith played no significant role in their daily lives. The mass propagation of information, of knowledge and science in the preceding centuries created such a collectivized notion of society that looking toward faith became an increasingly absurd idea. At the end of the day when you have outposts on Mars, the ability to travel around the world in a matter of hours and a completely secure globalized economy, there are no significant gaps in your life that religion still appealed to.
Sure it’s impossible to argue that remnants didn’t still exist. It’s a fruitless task to root out all the different influential factors that make up culture. By nature, a fluid idea that ebbs and flows, an impossible idea to truly quantify. You can’t have a report with any manner of certainty argue that, “based on a study of American culture in the year 2298, Christian ideals make up 2.3% of all that we hold dear.” It just seems wrong. But don’t get me wrong, people still tried. A concerned effort to root out all unnecessary influences in an attempt to standardize a new American way of life.
It’s interesting though, to those of us who still want to retain a sense of religious experience. Reading back in the history textbooks, about a world where the religious authority not only made up a vast majority of the planet, but had bureaucratic power and influence over everyday life. Now seen as fringe groups grasping onto antiquated notions, incapable of truly assimilating with modern society. Which to us seems insane and entirely inflammatory, but to each his own I suppose. If only they took the time to listen to what we actually believed. But then again in a world where people are defined in three second clips, can anyone really say we understand each other better?
It’s never been about moral superiority or an obstinate denial of outside views. Well not to me at least. It’s not even about finding meaning in a world that’s so connected but somehow makes you feel so alone. It’s about using the greatest gift that was ever bestowed upon man, but is so rarely used, the ability to admit that there might just be more out there than we are capable of understanding. To make a leap into a completely unkown world understanding its absurdity. Embracing it really. And taking each day not wading in any sort of vitriolic sentiment about your fellow man, but sitting in awe of something larger than yourself. It’s comforting in an almost neonatal sense. It's not even so much that we think any of it is necessarily true. It doesn’t have to be.
And God sits staring down at the world, uncertain of exactly what he has created. But it’s completely up to you what to make of it. And God asks, “How have you not figured it out yet?” And seven billion people reply in unison, “But why should we jump when there’s nothing on the other side?” But we have chosen neither, to exist on both sides of the fence. The leap is more important than the faith. That moment where you are hovering above the endless cliff, hovering in time. Embracing uncertainty, your Dasein shouting towards the sky for something more, but you ignore it.
| 2016-08-26T09:22:03 | 2016-08-26T08:38:21 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | "You mean that you talked with everyone else?" asked the shocked president.
"Yes." responded the British prime minister. He was old, old enough to have long memories of the time before the war.
"But, why? Why put up the rule in the first place just to break it?"
"Well you see now old chap, you guys started the war. You started so many wars that we decided to just cut you out entirely."
"Thousands of my people starved."
"That is most unfortunate."
"There were riots that went on for years. They left thousands dead."
"No use crying over spilled milk."
"There was a civil war that left over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians dead."
"Well, that is, um, sad."
"All because you guys wanted to avoid us?"
"Erm, well...." he searched for the right words, "uh, yes?"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" with that, the American president lunged at the british prime minister and would have choked him to death with his tie had it not been for the Royal Marines who restrained him.
"I DECLARE WAR!"
"On what? England?"
"ON EVERYONE!"
And so World War IV started. | Lying underneath the broken husks of countries, some semblance of government had remained. And together, in their wisdom, the greats had decided that - to avoid any further conflicts, which could prove even more disastrous - each country should isolate itself from its neighbours. That way, even if some internal crisis occurred, the other nations wouldn't be effected: other nations wouldn't be pulled into some whirling shitstorm of civil war and guerrilla fighting.
50 years ago, every nation in the world - that is, every nation that was left - signed the Isolation Decree, stating that all outside borders; all outside communication, was to be ceased for 50 years. No international relations whatsoever. Punishment for breaking the treaty was nuclear bombardment: something no nation could afford now - for even the vast wilderness of Russia was some toxic wasteland now, the result of 17 years of warfare. America spearheaded the Decree - perhaps because of some degree of guilt; after all, it was President Trump who sparked the fire that lead the world here.
And so, 50 years of silence followed.
There were no wars: although, in the beginning, there were riots as people realised that America wasn't as independent as it proclaimed to be, as they realised that all these global mega-corps didn't function nearly so well when they couldnt reach their head-offices, or factories based in Bumfuck-Nowhere, working on slave labour. Products that were once considered everyday became luxuries, then faded into nothingness within the space of years. That isn't to say that life was bad - it was bearable, it was pleasant (for the most part): after the initiatives to revitalise internal industries, everything levelled out.
And so, 50 years of prosperity followed.
Then the 50 years ended, and America crawled out of her shell. And she found a world around her, bustling with activity, technology, freedom. For the world had grown tired of America: in her later years, she had grown gluttonous and lazy with power, swollen to the bursting point with ideologies that never came to be, with nationalism. So the world had conspired against her, and whilst America hid in her shell, the rest of the world linked their hands. She was 'The Greatest Nation'? How great she looked now, her people malnourished, her technology outdated, her armies disbanded. Next to the rest of the world - next to her former self - America was grey.
Grey and weak.
If there is one thing that is immutable, it is human nature. Such a frail nation, now. And truth be told, many were still bitter about losing America in the first place; after all, had it not belonged to the British once? Or the French? Or the Spanish? Such places as 'Britain', or 'France', or 'Spain' did not exist anymore though; no - instead, it was just 'Earth' and 'America'. But that didn't stop voices from complaining, and conspiring, and plotting. If enough voices speak, something is bound to happen.
And so, what was America came to not be. | 2016-10-18T15:10:28 | 2016-10-18T14:31:05 | 2,982 | 158 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | Everyone in the U.S. tuned in to watch one of the three major nationally syndicated TV news programs. Fifty years ago, the WWIII Isolation Armistice required all international travel and trade to cease, the internet to be walled, and all long distance communication to be deactivated.
The only broadcast communications that remained in the country were AM/FM radio and VHF/UHF television, signals carried by local repeaters that stopped at the border. The U.S. had never paid much attention to foreign media before WWIII, so it hadn't been missed by the majority of the country. Most of the country were satisfied to be entertained by television re-runs and recycled Hollywood formula movies.
In less than 30 seconds, the internet walls would come down, and the old satellites would be reactivated. Everyone was holding their breath, eager to be united with a brave new world, human beings from around the planet who didn't grow up with hate and prejudice.
...3 ...2 ...1!
Fireworks exploded in the sky in cities across the country, and a great cheer arose from every home! Every television screen showed a view of the earth from the single satellite that remained in working order.
As the satellite orbited over the dark side of the earth, cheering diminished because there were no lights below. A news anchor speculated that many countries had run out of fuel for electricity.
As the satellite passed into daylight, the screen revealed the surprising sight of several large new oceans located in Asia, India, Pakistan, the Middle East, and Europe. The American continent had more forest area than comparison images from the last satellite photos fifty years prior.
An elderly satellite image specialist was brought to the news desk to analyze the satellite data. Based on the refraction wavelength, the specialist concluded the oceans were not water, but glass.
The cheering turned to cries of horror. How could this have happened?
[edited: punctuation, words] | (first one. Please give criticisms)
Silence permeated the room, the tinted windows held back the sunlight as the meeting began. For the first time in 50 years one man had left the bounteous lands of America and stepped on the floating island that was the United Nations.
"So I guess you're wondering how this all came to pass..." The British Prime minister began, though he was immediately cut off by a swift gesture by the man on the other side of the table covered in shadow."No I believe I can surmise exactly what happened." said a voice that seemed to echo through the room, a voice with calm demeanor that covered undercurrent of steel and malice, like a black river covered in thin ice "What I can tell from just this situation, not to mention our observations from first contact is that you didn't hold to our agreement" the shadowy man said with an anger and...amusement? " What I can also tell is that this was always planned. A way to put the big bad bully of the United States in a timeout." His voice quickly turned from what before had been restrained professionalism, to an aristocratic sneer.
"Now I believe you're simplifying this situation to much Comrade" the Russian delegate began. Yet he too was silenced with a simple hand wave, this one was more aggressive in its fashion.The man in shadow leaned forward into the lights that reached his side of the table, his crimson sleeves and golden epaulets in the shape of eagles shined only in a way something constantly maintained with buffing and waxing could be. "I don't think I'm simplifying in the slightest, You unintelligible drunken cur!" the diplomat had just abandoned his calm as he had his respectful attitude. "I don't believe I'm simplifying A GOD DAMN THING!" He roared at the collection of representatives of the new world powers
"I think I am correct by inferring that a bunch of weak parasitic nations that fed on my countries greatness like damn leaches grew afraid!" The representative stood up towering over the group, his strange attire becoming less hard to see. Its hard armored chest piece had a revised version of an ancient symbol, gold on white."I think I am correct in that these pathetic excuses for states attempted to starve out the big bad bully! To make it more calm and timid without it getting out and hurting everyone. To become backwards and uncivilized and needing of charity. Well your wrong! In fact you have gotten the opposite!" He said slamming his fists on the table.
"You thought you could starve us from contact. make us weak and stupid" He ranted at a mixed collection of angered glares and terrified stares in front of him. "No in the time of our banishment we have grown strong,powerful, and more advanced than you could ever be. Especially in our military prowess" The giant growled as he signaled to the multiple television sets hanging around the room obeyed flashing on to live streams of all the worlds capitals. And to the noise of millions of marching feet. Across every screen massive ships filled the sky claiming dominance and raining fire like angry dragons laying claim to a horde. On the ground newscasters took cover as they reported the news of millions of armored soldiers wiping away local forces like a spiteful child playing toy soldiers,as their Behemoth war machines crushed through defenses set up in the last minute.
"Now you see" said the man on the other side of the table taking a gleeful smile at each of the faces now covered in despair and sadness "In your petty rage you have done something amazing... You have created an nation greater than you ever could be... You have created an American Empire." And every screen filled with the glorious golden image of a golden eagle talons clutched with parchment and blade.Under it said three words. Libertate Per Imperium. | 2016-10-18T18:32:40 | 2016-10-18T18:23:35 | 252 | 62 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | "Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar." | "Sir, we just got triple Aurhorization for a Level 0 Incursion. Call this number form this phone, and pray that his demands aren't too high."
Axel Gundersson III was handed the authorization codes, signed by the current President Winfrey and three of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the head of NASA. He frowned, then really *looked* at the person who had handed him this. Former General Petraeus had come in to Area 51 and handed him this. The general bowed slightly, before turning and striding off.
Avxel looked at the number. It was a 24-digit code in a Hexadecimal cipher. He typed in the code on his keyboard. The screen and lights flickered, hesitant to accept such a heresy from the input device. Then, in neon red and yellow the screen flashed its rage.
**CODE ACCEPTED**
*THE WHITE RABBIT COMES*
*ATTEND!*
Axel stared at the screen, bemused.
The screen flicked back at him. *KNEEL, YOU FOOL!*
Axel found himself pulled to the floor, prostrate become the coming items. He looked up, wondering what the hell was going on, and then...clarity.
What he *wasn't* expecting was the three men and two women who came through the screen, before it shattered. To the far left of him, came the image of Ming Na Wen, appearing as remarkably akin to Agent May from that show he liked. Stood next to Axel's kneeling form was Gandalf the White.
To Axel's right, stood Keanu Reeves armed to the teeth with small sidearms and four AR-15 rifles, as well as a long trenchcost and some stylish shades. To his right, a woman in full platemail armor, wielding a fine blade made almost of light.
And immediately in front of him, The Joker. Not as Axel thought of in the comics he read as a kid - but rather a much more lithe, sinuous snake, wrapped in a suit of madness and circus-horror.
The Joker clapped his hands, and the voice of a psychotic Mark Hammill sounded. "Let's get this party started, ladies and gentlemen! We have a world to save, and some FUN to have!" His maniac cackling led the five new people down the hallway.
Axel breathed again. "Hail Mary, fulla Grace!" | 2017-03-21T06:25:13 | 2017-03-21T02:18:07 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | Once we had been the most powerful heroic duo the world had ever seen, Lady Justice and Judgement. She always thought those names were silly, but I was the one who thought that we needed strong heroic sounding names when we first started out. In revenge, she was the one who got to pick our catch phrase, "And Justice for All!" I could always see the mirth in her eyes when she said it, no matter what situation we were in.
When we were invited to join the hero group The Guardsmen, she was the one who convinced me that joining it would be the right move, that we would have others who we could call friends and share our secret. The reality was that she was the real hero. Super strength, speed, flight, and near impervious skin; it was like she had walked straight out of the pages of a comic book. It was my Isabella who had the truly heroic powers. I always joked with her that I was just a fraud or a chameleon, borrowing her powers for a few hours as we battled villains, cultists, aliens, and robots. Yet, despite the fact I borrowed her powers temporarily, she never made me feel like the lesser of our duo.
I still remember sitting atop the headquarters building one night, her leaning back and cradled in my arms when she said, "Marcus, you have one of the most miraculous powers. You can borrow any power, get to experience new things, be different heroes. I wish I could steal your power just for a day."
I laughed, "I'm just a copycat and you know it's only temporary. Heck if it wasn't for the fact you let me touch you before every fight, I'd never even be a hero." I stifled off any response by exploiting her one weakness, tickles. I can still remember her laughter ringing out clearly into the night sky.
I thought we were invincible, that her powers and our teamwork, that our love could beat anyone or anything. How wrong I was.
Graviton, an alien who could manipulate the very gravity in a small area around him. Nothing could get close enough, no one could hit him, I couldn't even think of getting close enough to touch him. Yet, despite defeat after defeat, with our team exhausted, bloody, and bruised she finally broke through his gravitational shield. Standing over him victoriously, her costume ripped to shreds, her face covered in blood and her hair smeared with dirt and grime, I can still remember her smirk when she glanced over at me and said, "And Justice for All!"
We noticed to late that Graviton's death had triggered something else. A minuscule black hole as she suddenly collapsed to one knee, a look of strain on her face.
She looked at the rest of us and yelled, "Go! Run!" yet I knew what she was about to do when her eyes met mine.
"No Ise!" I screamed as our teammates began to scatter as fast as their cowardly legs and powers could take them.
I reached out to her and grabbed at her hand, maybe together we could do something with her powers.
"You know only I can do this. Please, I love you. I'll always love you. remember that." Her voice whispered as she flung me away.
The last thing I remember is flying back through the air as she grabbed Graviton's body and flew straight up into the sky. She died somewhere up there in the cold vacuum of space.
Our so-called friends, our allies, they tried to placate me, to reassure me that her end must have been quick and painless. That she sacrificed herself for the greater good. Yet, it kept playing through my mind that any one of them could have sacrificed themselves instead of her. Instead they all fled like cowards and left her to die. I discovered the truth that day, that there were no heroes, just cowards dressed up in costumes. The only real hero died the day that Graviton was defeated.
Yet, I discovered something else that day. Ise's parting gift to me - that with her death the powers that I borrowed from her at that last moment did not fade away with time. I don't think I even realized it until a few days later. I had retreated to our personal sanctuary, our old base of operations to get away from the hypocrites and cowards in the Guardsmen. In anger, I punched a wall and my fist went right through it; no pain, no effort, I still had Ise's powers. I knew then what I had to do. To show the world that these so-called heroes were fake, that none of them could match her. That their betrayal would not go unpunished. That they would face judgement.
I started with Dr. Dream, his telepathic abilities were the cornerstone of coordinating the group and he might warn the others if I did not take him out quickly. He never saw it coming despite his powers and I absorbed his telepathic ability. It would serve me well in hunting down the rest of them.
I used his abilities to find Tungsten, the man of steel, and the group's leader. While his physical transformation was not the strongest ability in the group his loss would hit them rest of them the hardest. It would put them in disarray. Then it was Midnight, her ability to shift through shadows and manipulate darkness would make it easier to hunt down the others. More importantly she was almost impossible to find if she wanted to hide and I had to eliminate her before she had ample warning. I absorbed her powers and began the hunt for the rest. Yet, somehow a warning got out and they realized what had happened. They ran like they cowards they were and I began the long task of tracking them down.
Inferno, Jackhammer, Screamo, Destiny, and the White Witch. Every one of them eventually fell and my powers grew. It was all because of Ise's gift, it had shown me that none of these heroes deserved the title, none of them deserved the accolades, the praise. In the end they all just ran, they abandoned each other just as they had abandoned her. And while other hero groups tried to stop me, I was already stronger than any of them combined and so I took from them as they had taken from me.
Orphan was the hardest to find. He could manipulate time in small increments, even create small 'time bubbles' that could capture opponents. His power was draining however and overuse could drain his actual life, causing him to age. Yet, despite that he used and abused his power, running from me time after time. He would rather die a coward then face the punishment he deserved.
Once I found him for the last time he was nothing but an old and withered man, barely able to walk. His skin covered in wrinkles and blotches, his hair falling out.
"Look at you, so pathetic. You spent what little time you had left running, just as you ran and left her to die. For what. Time to face Judgement." I reached out with my hand and grasped his head holding his face up to mine.
"Wait! Wait!" he softly gasped. "I knew her secret, I knew and I saved her. I went back and I saved her."
"SAVED HER!" I screamed into his face. "YOU LEFT HER TO DIE! YOU ALL LEFT HER TO DIE!" I began to slowly crush his skull as he mumbled more pleading words, lost to my incoherent rage. I was so full of anger I forgot to take his power and I watched the light in his eyes snuff out.
With the last of them dead I retreated to the old Guardsmen headquarters. I had meted out my justice and I cared about nothing else in the world. On occasion, a group of heroes would come to challenge me or villains would come to try to convince, cajole, or mistakenly threaten me to join their cause. I broke each one of them as well and took their powers. None of them deserved it, not one of them even came close to measuring up to her.
It was 19 years later when the last one arrived. I had thought they had learned to leave me alone in my misery. I thought they had learned their lessons but apparently one more wanted to challenge me. I knew the media had blown me up to be a monster and I no longer cared if I was. I knew who the true monsters were and I had slain them long ago.
I watched through the eyes of the familiars I had gained from the powers of the White Witch as the figure approached the compound. It was a girl, short and slender, her head covered by a hood. She stopped in front of the gate and flipped it back revealing amber curls and bright blue eyes. The familiars scattered and my vision faded for a moment as the shock coursed through me. I looked toward the security cameras to make sure but it was the same. Her eyes, they were Ise's eyes. I watched as her face scrunched up in concentration, just as Ise's had done when she was trying to figure out a difficult situation. I saw the same joyful smile spread across her face as she came to a decision. Her face followed the same soft lines even if the color of her hair matched mine.
I knew then that I had finally found a new purpose. Here was someone who would become a true hero, if I could mold her, challenge her, show her the greatness within her. She would be as great as her mother and one day she would surpass even me.
| 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T03:50:34 | 5,127 | 16 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | Kenn wasn't adverse to killing people. That came with the job. Sometimes, you just had to do what was necessary to survive. That's what human nature was right? People have been killing each other for centuries. Who can honestly say they're surprised when the first thing superhumans do is start killing each other? That's what they were made to do. Heroes must kill villains, villains must kill heroes. Sure; every now and then a hero leaves a villain alive. Sure; they might even swear off killing altogether. When you get to the bottom of the morally murky swamp however you realize that one way or another either the villain or the hero has to die. That's how wars are fought and this is nothing if not a war.
Kenn sat there looking at her, holding the bag of cash from the bank he had very illicitly withdrawn from the people's savings account. She was brave for her skill. All heroes kind of were. Villains took money and power, heroes took morale superiority and the greater good of society. Heroes went home to an applause every day so it's only natural eventually they got a little too brave for their britches. Kenn didn't mind though. He could tolerate a little bravery here and there. He could tolerate anything from her at this point.
He'd be lying to himself if he said he wanted the money for money's sake. No, he wanted to see her again. He'd be mocked if any of the villains were to know that. Villains weren't allowed to have sweet-hearts. Especially rather heroic ones. This was a war and they were the enemy. This was the closest thing to a date Kenn was every going to get. "Drop the dough" she demanded and Kenn was all to eager to follow. Millions of dollars in bills were heavier than you'd expect. Especially when they come with the heavy knowledge that it was the only way to see her again.
Kenn cracked his knuckles gearing up for a fight he'd know he would lose. He told himself every day that maybe he'd win this time, that maybe this time he'd summon up enough emotional courage to go with his physical abilities but he never could. She sucked it out of him like a second power even she didn't know she had. "Come and get me, Electora" He said tauntingly, using her superhero name. He didn't know her real name.
She didn't smile this time though. She did usually, on any other day. Why wasn't she smiling?
Before Kenn could ask where her grin of bravery had hidden off to, there was the boom of thunder followed by the crack of lightning. Kenn flew back several dozen feet down the street. That was her power, bolts of electric shock. Of course Kenn was a copy-cat villain. He could just shoot one right back, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't going to match fire with fire this time around.
Something was wrong, she didn't seem very... Happy about this. That didn't make any sense. Here he was, spitting out chunks of asphalt as she approached, just as she would have it. How could she be so glum like him? Where was that smiling row of teeth Kenn had gone so far to witness? He stood up just to catch her throw a punch. He made like he was going to block it. He didn't of course. The fist blasted into his cheek; the closest thing Kenn would ever get to a kiss, and he relished it for the few seconds he could as he stumbled back again.
She threw another punch, but something peculiar happened. Kenn saw it come in and once again made the purposefully half-assed attempt to catch it. Kenn flinched just as the fist was about to connect with his upper eye and then... Nothing. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the block of her fist stop just short. It was only a moment, only a few microseconds before Kenn launched himself back again as if he was hit.
Kenn was starting to understand now as he stood there, looking at her. She gritted her teeth and Kenn could feel his heart sink: She knew now, she was starting to understand. Maybe she didn't understand why but she was smart enough to know what was happening. "I knew it" She breathed, sending a kick his way only to stop just short of his windpipe. Kenn pretended to gag, falling on his ass.
"Stop it!" She shouted, standing over him. Kenn had never seen her this angry before. He sat there looking at her as she made to stomp directly onto his face but, once again, didn't. This time Kenn didn't do anything. He just sat there, blinking as he looked at the underside of her boot. Her eyes were watering now as she stepped back, putting her arms down. "For the love of god..." She began, raising her hands again now not in fists but in open curled hands as if she was trying to summon something out of Kenn. "Fight back!"
Ken got up, rubbing the spot on his cheek were a bruise was forming. "I-... Can't." He said, trying to follow that up with some viable excuse. Grasping and reaching out for something he could say that would keep her in the dark, in that comfortable lie he had managed to keep her in for so long. There wasn't anything Kenn could do now. All he could do was pretend.
He imagined this was quite a scene to the police and reporters nearby, who watched with anticipation at what was happening. Kenn snarled at them, hating their every being for this. For making what was supposed to be a private moment public. She stood there a moment waiting for Kenn to say something else. When he didn't she sighed, her anger giving way to a sadness Kenn couldn't quantify. Her blue eyes just scorched into Kenn. Hurting him more than any punch could. "I can't do this anymore." She croaked, her voice breaking.
"Do you think this is so easy for me?" She said, turning away and wiping her face with her hands. "Every time I throw a punch, every time I hurt you I just get this terrible feeling that I'm feeding something I don't want to. I feel sick every time I break your bone or shock you."
She shook her head: "And every time you come around, they send me... They always send me because they know I'm the only one that can beat you. So every time I have to force myself here, to force myself to throw punches and hurt you in ways I didn't want to. I can't, I just can't do this anymore."
She turned back to him, clasping her hands together with tears streaming down her cheeks: "Please... Just this once, don't make me hurt you again. It's killing me. For just once can you please win?"
Kenn didn't know what to say. This whole time Kenn thought he was helping her when all he was doing was hurting her. This was what it meant to be an arch nemesis. To try and help someone only to realize you're the one hurting them the most. He didn't know what to do. They were stuck now, neither having the selfishness to hurt each other, neither having the selflessness to fake it. This was a war in which there was no victor. It was a war where people just got hurt and no one was the hero and no one was the villain. Both of them had at this point long forgotten the bag of money now laying in the street, dollar bills rolling through the wind. | Once we had been the most powerful heroic duo the world had ever seen, Lady Justice and Judgement. She always thought those names were silly, but I was the one who thought that we needed strong heroic sounding names when we first started out. In revenge, she was the one who got to pick our catch phrase, "And Justice for All!" I could always see the mirth in her eyes when she said it, no matter what situation we were in.
When we were invited to join the hero group The Guardsmen, she was the one who convinced me that joining it would be the right move, that we would have others who we could call friends and share our secret. The reality was that she was the real hero. Super strength, speed, flight, and near impervious skin; it was like she had walked straight out of the pages of a comic book. It was my Isabella who had the truly heroic powers. I always joked with her that I was just a fraud or a chameleon, borrowing her powers for a few hours as we battled villains, cultists, aliens, and robots. Yet, despite the fact I borrowed her powers temporarily, she never made me feel like the lesser of our duo.
I still remember sitting atop the headquarters building one night, her leaning back and cradled in my arms when she said, "Marcus, you have one of the most miraculous powers. You can borrow any power, get to experience new things, be different heroes. I wish I could steal your power just for a day."
I laughed, "I'm just a copycat and you know it's only temporary. Heck if it wasn't for the fact you let me touch you before every fight, I'd never even be a hero." I stifled off any response by exploiting her one weakness, tickles. I can still remember her laughter ringing out clearly into the night sky.
I thought we were invincible, that her powers and our teamwork, that our love could beat anyone or anything. How wrong I was.
Graviton, an alien who could manipulate the very gravity in a small area around him. Nothing could get close enough, no one could hit him, I couldn't even think of getting close enough to touch him. Yet, despite defeat after defeat, with our team exhausted, bloody, and bruised she finally broke through his gravitational shield. Standing over him victoriously, her costume ripped to shreds, her face covered in blood and her hair smeared with dirt and grime, I can still remember her smirk when she glanced over at me and said, "And Justice for All!"
We noticed to late that Graviton's death had triggered something else. A minuscule black hole as she suddenly collapsed to one knee, a look of strain on her face.
She looked at the rest of us and yelled, "Go! Run!" yet I knew what she was about to do when her eyes met mine.
"No Ise!" I screamed as our teammates began to scatter as fast as their cowardly legs and powers could take them.
I reached out to her and grabbed at her hand, maybe together we could do something with her powers.
"You know only I can do this. Please, I love you. I'll always love you. remember that." Her voice whispered as she flung me away.
The last thing I remember is flying back through the air as she grabbed Graviton's body and flew straight up into the sky. She died somewhere up there in the cold vacuum of space.
Our so-called friends, our allies, they tried to placate me, to reassure me that her end must have been quick and painless. That she sacrificed herself for the greater good. Yet, it kept playing through my mind that any one of them could have sacrificed themselves instead of her. Instead they all fled like cowards and left her to die. I discovered the truth that day, that there were no heroes, just cowards dressed up in costumes. The only real hero died the day that Graviton was defeated.
Yet, I discovered something else that day. Ise's parting gift to me - that with her death the powers that I borrowed from her at that last moment did not fade away with time. I don't think I even realized it until a few days later. I had retreated to our personal sanctuary, our old base of operations to get away from the hypocrites and cowards in the Guardsmen. In anger, I punched a wall and my fist went right through it; no pain, no effort, I still had Ise's powers. I knew then what I had to do. To show the world that these so-called heroes were fake, that none of them could match her. That their betrayal would not go unpunished. That they would face judgement.
I started with Dr. Dream, his telepathic abilities were the cornerstone of coordinating the group and he might warn the others if I did not take him out quickly. He never saw it coming despite his powers and I absorbed his telepathic ability. It would serve me well in hunting down the rest of them.
I used his abilities to find Tungsten, the man of steel, and the group's leader. While his physical transformation was not the strongest ability in the group his loss would hit them rest of them the hardest. It would put them in disarray. Then it was Midnight, her ability to shift through shadows and manipulate darkness would make it easier to hunt down the others. More importantly she was almost impossible to find if she wanted to hide and I had to eliminate her before she had ample warning. I absorbed her powers and began the hunt for the rest. Yet, somehow a warning got out and they realized what had happened. They ran like they cowards they were and I began the long task of tracking them down.
Inferno, Jackhammer, Screamo, Destiny, and the White Witch. Every one of them eventually fell and my powers grew. It was all because of Ise's gift, it had shown me that none of these heroes deserved the title, none of them deserved the accolades, the praise. In the end they all just ran, they abandoned each other just as they had abandoned her. And while other hero groups tried to stop me, I was already stronger than any of them combined and so I took from them as they had taken from me.
Orphan was the hardest to find. He could manipulate time in small increments, even create small 'time bubbles' that could capture opponents. His power was draining however and overuse could drain his actual life, causing him to age. Yet, despite that he used and abused his power, running from me time after time. He would rather die a coward then face the punishment he deserved.
Once I found him for the last time he was nothing but an old and withered man, barely able to walk. His skin covered in wrinkles and blotches, his hair falling out.
"Look at you, so pathetic. You spent what little time you had left running, just as you ran and left her to die. For what. Time to face Judgement." I reached out with my hand and grasped his head holding his face up to mine.
"Wait! Wait!" he softly gasped. "I knew her secret, I knew and I saved her. I went back and I saved her."
"SAVED HER!" I screamed into his face. "YOU LEFT HER TO DIE! YOU ALL LEFT HER TO DIE!" I began to slowly crush his skull as he mumbled more pleading words, lost to my incoherent rage. I was so full of anger I forgot to take his power and I watched the light in his eyes snuff out.
With the last of them dead I retreated to the old Guardsmen headquarters. I had meted out my justice and I cared about nothing else in the world. On occasion, a group of heroes would come to challenge me or villains would come to try to convince, cajole, or mistakenly threaten me to join their cause. I broke each one of them as well and took their powers. None of them deserved it, not one of them even came close to measuring up to her.
It was 19 years later when the last one arrived. I had thought they had learned to leave me alone in my misery. I thought they had learned their lessons but apparently one more wanted to challenge me. I knew the media had blown me up to be a monster and I no longer cared if I was. I knew who the true monsters were and I had slain them long ago.
I watched through the eyes of the familiars I had gained from the powers of the White Witch as the figure approached the compound. It was a girl, short and slender, her head covered by a hood. She stopped in front of the gate and flipped it back revealing amber curls and bright blue eyes. The familiars scattered and my vision faded for a moment as the shock coursed through me. I looked toward the security cameras to make sure but it was the same. Her eyes, they were Ise's eyes. I watched as her face scrunched up in concentration, just as Ise's had done when she was trying to figure out a difficult situation. I saw the same joyful smile spread across her face as she came to a decision. Her face followed the same soft lines even if the color of her hair matched mine.
I knew then that I had finally found a new purpose. Here was someone who would become a true hero, if I could mold her, challenge her, show her the greatness within her. She would be as great as her mother and one day she would surpass even me.
| 2017-09-17T05:11:57 | 2017-09-17T03:50:34 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You realize you have the ability to change the fabric of reality by editing Wikipedia pages. | "This is it Mark!"
"What do you mean Jim?"
Jim sat at his computer, furiously typing away.
"I'm finally gonna do it Mark."
"Do what?"
"You'll see."
Jim's typing speed increased and he hunched over, bringing his eyes mere centimeters from the screen. His hands moved at the speed of lightning over the keyboard and mouse, finally bringing him closer to the goal he'd been working towards his whole life.
"I've done it Mark. I made traps 100% gay."
"Fuck you Jim." | The Priest sat at his computer, taciturn and solemn. The blue light reflected off his glasses and cast an eery glow around the room, illuminating the carvings and symbols that adorned his face. It was quiet outside, and he enjoyed the peace that the night time gave him, the wonder and the mystery of the dark secrets upon which it fed.
He lit a cigarette, and allowed a thin tendril of smoke to snake out from his pursed lips and eventually escape through a crack in the misted windows.
His eyebrows were furrowed, his concentration absolute, and he tapped at the keyboard with a restless and persistent tenacity; editing the very fabric of time and the history with which it had been bound and chained for an eternity.
He poured his soul into the work, breathing into it life and emotion, tears and blood; shaping and manipulating everything the world thought had been buried forever. Everything the world had forgotten and cast aside.
The storm that would change the world was on its way, and he was the man who would bring it. He was the man that had been chosen to unleash its terrible might upon all the wicked sinners, upon all the blasphemers and evildoers.
He cried out when it came, shattering the silence with a piercing scream that told of a pure, visceral, triumph; and slumped back into his chair, exhaling heavily. He was drained, and yet somehow, he was inexplicably consumed with an exhilarating energy, a thrill that set his heart racing; his blood pumping with adrenaline and excitement.
The screen began to glow; a swirling, deep shade of crimson that seemed to penetrate the entire building, whispering around him with an impossibly ethereal splendour that no one alive had ever experienced.
Outside, thunder crashed and lightning struck, causing monstrous shadows that had hidden in the darkness to be thrown into sharp relief.
A raven cawed and a wolf howled, and it was as if the universe had awoken from a deep slumber. The overpowering stench of sulphur pervaded the air, and he breathed it in slowly, savouring it, relishing the story it told. The future it promised.
The church bells rang, loud and ominous. It was midnight.
It wouldn't be long now. He allowed himself a smile, and he waited.
His task was complete. For some, it would be like a dream, for others, a nightmare. One way or another, The Reckoning, had begun. | 2017-12-17T12:09:03 | 2017-12-17T09:34:50 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!
EDIT: oh my god, this post accounts for 50% of my karma, it’s also the first reddit gold I’ve ever gotten, thank you so much reddit, this was an amazing Christmas gift! | As I finished reading the meta writing prompt I was filled with a small feeling of warmth. A relatively bad time of year for me made a little brighter by random people online and the mods that backed up their choice to share a little good during their day.
"Merry Christmas, guys. Or happy holidays. Either way, at the very least I hope your night goes well and tomorrow is kind to you." | "Is it Christmas?", I asked myself. The sludge-like snow on the ground obscures my sense of time, or even season. The last 20 or 90 months have been covered in ice, it seems. And a blizzard has been forming in my head for years. I've salted the streets in preparation for my upcoming travels into the unknown depths of my mind. It's a slippery-slope that I romantisize and adore. That beautiful, wintery greyness that manifests itself as melancholy and ennui. Comfort resides in the past. And that's where I wish to be.
It is there that I await my fate. With an ever-pervasive sense of hope that only fools relive time and time again. "There's no future without you, or those before you", I tell myself. Yet, time-again, I find myself saying those words again. It's as if I do not know myself without another, without regard to who the "other" is.
They can tell me time-and-time again how loved and accepted I am, but they'll never convince me. And I'll only let them down, as they let down my idolized notions of them. It's not their fault. And it's not exactly mine either. But they can never love me in all the ways I need to be loved. It's impossible.
But you could at least spend New Years Eve with me, like you said you would last year. You weren't there. You won't be this year, either. You were never there.... and never will be, apparently. I don't need you... and fuck you. I just want you to remember the wreck you left behind. I want you to realize that the only reason I replied to a "writingprompt" to some complete stranger on reddit is because you told me you could never live without me or forget me. The only reason I'm typing this out is in hopes that you happen to come across this comment, and recognize how incredilbly hurt I am by your actions. My *reactions* weren't great, I'll give you that, but the things you did and said to begin with -- I never ... I'm not the bad guy, and fuck you for trying to make me think that I was. I might have been the bad guy in my past relationships...but not with you.
| 2017-12-24T23:41:28 | 2017-12-24T23:09:32 | 353 | 19 |
[WP] Whenever someone reaches 18, they are given a sealed envelope with their last words inside. You just received yours and opened it, reading the words: "I always knew you were going to kill me." | *I always knew you were going to kill me.* The words rang once more in Arthur’s mind. It was a daily ritual. Someone he knew wanted him dead, and he would find out who. Was it Martha from Marketing? Or Gerald from Accounting? Arthur wasn’t entirely sure, but he would never let his guard down.
Ever since he was 18 and learned The Words, Arthur was driven crazy by his paranoia. His meals were purchased from strangers only, never from a familiar face. He would hole up in his apartment with its custom thirteen extra locks. He refused to share his address and would deviate his route to work each day to avoid coworkers learning where he was from. He suspected everyone he knew and trusted only those he didn’t, after all, it was going to be someone he knew that would kill him.
This morning, Arthur locked up his home as usual before heading out and ran through his list of usual suspects. Today’s top suspect was Darcy, she was sure to hold a grudge after yesterday’s meeting. They never really got off on the right foot, and when their boss took Arthur’s suggestion over Darcy’s, he just knew she was sure to be upset. Upset enough to murder him. These thoughts were racing through his mind when he heard something in the apartment lobby that caused his stomach jump to his throat.
“Oh, hello Arthur! I didn’t know you lived in the Pendleburg building too.” Darcy’s voice bounced around Arthur’s head incoherently.
He turned and saw her there. It was her! It had to be. She hunted him down and found him. She was going to kill him.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur barked.
“I just moved here a couple of weeks ago, who knew we would be neighbors.”
“It’s you isn’t it. I know it’s you.”
“What are you mumbling about Arthur? Well I’m glad to run into you, I never would have guessed you were here. I wanted to talk about your idea from yesterday. You were really killing it yesterday, those were some great ideas you had.”
Darcy was smiling. Was it deviously? Of course, it must be, why else would she be smiling. Her words droning slowly through Arthur’s mind formed a different sentence for him. “I’m glad you were here. I wanted to kill you.”
Sweat beading down his face, before he knew it the words slipped out. “I always knew you were going to kill me.” Arthur’s eyes widened, The Words were spoken. He had to get more out or he was going to die. His mouth was drying up, he tried to choke a word out, and he couldn’t get the air. Quickly he backed up, panic filling his every cell, choking on the words he was trying to speak, Arthur turned and ran away from his killer.
A squeal, intense pain, and blackness was all that awaited him outside the building.
When he awoke in a hospital bed, Arthur looked down and saw his left arm and leg in a cast, wrappings around his torso, and several other bandages across his body. A nurse was standing over him and he looked up questioningly at her.
“Oh, Mr. Redfield, you are awake. You were in a terrible accident and suffered extensive injuries after getting hit by a bus. You’ve broken 7 bones and have several contusions and cuts across your body. These will heal with time, but unfortunately, the damage to your throat will be lasting. Your vocal cords were severed and are irreparable. You will unfortunately never be able to talk again.”
| "So, what did your letter say?" a quick question was asked other side of the room. It was Jack whose birthday was recently, so everyone was bugging him; what were his last words? It was a thing that always gained gossip. Many students made up the words to seem more popular, such as *'Leave without me, else we all are going to die!'*. Many changed when they saw their letter.
Jack looked around, smiling and announced: "Fine. It was *Take care of my grandchildren, would you?*" he sounded proud and many girls made high volume voices for that. That soundede was something along the lines *Awww*.
"So romantic!" one of them announced.
What they did not know, was the fact that another side of the room was Bill, who also had a birthday. He wasn't a popular boy, quite opposite and nobody even knew that he had a birthday on the same day as Jack. But it wasn't the worst part. His final words were weird. His self-esteem was low enough, so he was even more suspicious of everyone. In his heart, he knew who could be insane enough to actually do it. His ex-bullies.
"Surprise," came a quiet whisper straight into Bill's ear. Bill stood up quickly and turned around, moving his hands into defensive position.
"Oh, Rick. Dammit, I told you to stop doing that!" Bill said, sighed and took a seat.
"So, what was yours?" Rick went straight to the point.
"Won't tell you!" Bill said and now stood up. He was waiting for Rick to go home together. When all his things were in the backpack and the bag itself on his back, he started walking outside of the classroom.
"Revenge?" Rick asked, smirking, quickly walking alongside him.
"Yes. Your very exact words!" Bill nodded. Rick smiled as a response. "But now that we both know our last word, we can swap them!" Bill proposed.
Rick gave a small head shake. "I am sorry, I can't." That, however, made Bill think. What if the words on Rick papers were something that would result in his death?
They walked home, talking about many things. That is until a group of guys stepped in front of them, not that far away, but there were few of them. Both Bill and Rick recognised them.
"Rick, I am not pleased. You took our toy away!" a bigger guy said. He took a big baseball bat out behind his back and showed it to everyone. Others chuckled. Bill was terrified. Rick just grinned.
"Toy? I don't remember- oh," he sighed and opened his bag. "There, you go, your toy," he took a baseball ball out of there and threw it towards the big bully. It didn't far, but close enough. It was a lucky case that Rick had it. He recently had started practising baseball more often.
"You are mocking me!" the big guy said, furious.
"Come on now, Thomas. You don't have to do this! Leave us alone, find someone else to waste your time on," Bill showed disgust towards Rick for that suggestion.
"Finding a new person to bully as my replacement is not okay! I wouldn't want anything that this fat shithead can do to anyone else." Bill shouted. They all looked at him. Rick's eyes were shining, a huge grin on his face. Thomas felt even more disgusted.
"You are absolutely correct!"
*BANG*
Echo was still following the bang. Thomas was holding a gun on his another hand, hand now shaking, but he was grinning. Even his companions were terrified and had taken few steps back.
Bill looked at his wound, feeling the strength leaving him. Rick took quickly hold of Bill, who was about to fall down and then slowly helped him down. He was already searching his phone.
"YOU DON'T MESS WITH THOMAS AND HIS GANG!" Thomas shouted, saliva coming out of his mouth. "LET THIS BE WARNING!" he screamed. "I WILL TAKE BILL BACK AS MY SLAVE! NO, IT IS TOO LATE! I WILL KILL YOU BOTH!" he screamed. He was insane.
Rick ignored Thomas. Meanwhile, Bill reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. To think that it would happen so soon. He looked at Thomas.
"I always knew you were-," before he could finish, Rick pushed his finger against Bill's lips, to stop him talking. He just finished explaining where they were and police with an ambulance were on their way.
Rick then removed the paper from Bill's fingers and read it, chuckled.
"Save it. Save it when you are really going to die," Rick said, still smiling. He stood up and looked towards Thomas. If Thomas was stupid enough to shoot, he would be stupid enough to finish his threat. He felt a responsibility to save Bill.
"You saved my life when I met you. Those hours you spent with me, they are priceless. You saved my life when you agreed to be my friend," Rick said. "It's time for me to pay you back, Bill!" he turned around and started walking towards Thomas. Thomas just now had recovered from initial shock of what he had done.
A piece of paper fell down from Rick's pocket. It fell next to Bill, revealing certain words. Bill's eyes widened. He opened mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
*It's time for me to pay you back, Bill!*
That was the line on the paper.
*You are wrong*, Bill thought. *It was you, who has saved me countless of times.*
----
Bullying is bad. Don't do it. K? And help those who are suffering under it.
/r/ElvenWrites | 2018-02-19T09:32:14 | 2018-02-19T08:51:05 | 199 | 15 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | As I sit here, scrolling through the unending feed, I can't help but wonder if what's going on around us is the same thing. Anti-aging this, prolonged life that. It seems like it's continuous.
When I was a kid, I could never understand why reading and watching the news was so important. Now, as I approach my 86th year, I know why. It's been preparing us for the worst. It's been showing us what our world has become. Almost 60 years ago, that shit was released. I was envious at first but I recovered. I was just starting out at Microcon. Worked my way up pretty quickly. Retired with a nice, fat pension. They announced what happened to my revulsion.
It seems as though A.I. had surpassed all predictions and quietly rolled out an anti-aging serum called Reversol that would stop it all together. Only problem was, you had to be young in order to be young forever. Apparently, 28 was no longer considered young. Bullshit. Either way, I kept earning my paycheck, met my sweetheart and retired happy. That's when the rumors started. Turns out Reversol wasn't as great as they said. Rumors were that it started with migraines. Even if you'd never had one, once a week you'd have a blinding migraine. Coinciding with the serum treatments. After the migraine, motor functions would start being...funny. Finger twitches, leg spasms, random hard ons. All the while, your internals were working to eliminate you. You started feeling...controlled. Like the actions you take aren't exactly yours.
20 years now, I've been hearing about how A.I. was going to rule us and it turns out, it does. With a phrase, our smart homes are controlled by a little speaker that answers our every command. A.I. developed Reversol to take us out. It put together a 60 year plan. If you were over 26, you would pose the least resistance when shit hit the fan. I can barely move now. They were right.
Now, I write this in hopes that it'll reach someone who CAN do something. You see, I've been feeling...funny. But it comes it waves. One day I'm fine, the next is sketchy. Today is a good day. I always thought it would be some debilitating disease that got me. Now, I'm not so sure.
Good luck, whoever you are.... | *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T22:20:25 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 63 | 25 |
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