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] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. | She was only 15.
The knob rattles as the door wrenches from its frame, barely able to stand tall with the onslaught of her nimble frame ramming into the door.
“Daddy, please! Why won’t you let me in! I just want to be with you!”
Don’t listen to her. Don’t listen to her, she can’t be trusted. You saw the mark on her arm. They got to her, they had to have. That scar couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
“Dad, I’m scared, you’re never like this! Please just unlock the door!”
Her mother went the same way, you can’t get the sight of her head being ripped open from the force of the slug that came from the barrel of *your* gun. For Christ’s sake, she was your *wife*, the woman you told everything to, you held dear for so long, just torn from your life by a single mistake.
She turned so quickly. She saw you, feverishly shaking, the gun barely aimed, and she screamed and *ran* at you.
...What’s done is done.
“Why won’t you answer me! I know you’re in there, open the fucking door, PLEASE!”
They’realldeadthey’realldeadthey’realldead you tell yourself, because if you didn’t constantly ram the thought through your thick skull you’d open the door and join them.
It’s too much, why did this have to happen, why did this have TO **FUCKING** HAPPEN.
You launch the table next to you across the room. It breaks into a million pieces. You’ll clean it up later, you just want her to stop and leave before she brings more of them here.
The door won’t be able to handle much more.
“Daddy, we’re all here for you! We’re just scared, please come out and talk to me! They said you missed your dose, I just want to make sure you’re okay!”
You hear a wailing in the distance. The rest are coming. Your time is up.
You know it has to end, but, you want to go out in your control.
If they can take your family from you, you can take them back with you.
“Okay...I’m coming out.”
You quietly pull the slide on your pistol.
| "Please, you must open the door or they will come for me"
I could hear her crying and with a sincere sound of panic in her voice.
I had seen a bite mark, hadn't I?
She started bashing on the door, yelling that they were getting closer and she would die if you didn't let her in.
My tears started rolling down my cheek, she was my daughter still. What kind of father would I be if I let my daughter be hurt by those, things. Slowly I crept towards the door, In one hand I still held the broom I grabbed when the chaos started.
"Hold on, I'm opening the door" I told her while I reached for the lock, and turned it around. The door opened with a click and she ran inside, closing the door behind her. I backed away in shock, I was not prepared for her rushing in like that.
I knew she was almost 18 years old now but she would always be my little girl. Still turned away from me I heard her crying slowly dying out. "Are you ok, did they hurt you" I asked her and slowly went closer.
Then she straightened up and turned around, her top was partly torn and a large bite mark could be seen near her shoulder.
I backed away with shock. It was true, she had been infected already. A smile opened up on her face, "Don't worry daddy, this won't take long" and then she suddenly started to run towards me.
I just managed to steer her away with the broom but this would not work. All that was needed was one bite and I would become one of them. I smacked her on the legs with the broom to make her loose balance. With only a few seconds to spare I turned around towards the door and made a run for it. Fumbling with the lock I could hear her getting back up and starting to move towards me.
"Why are you resisting? This isn't a bad thing, daddy"
The lock turned around with a click and I threw the door open and ran into the hallway.
"You should listen to your daughter" I heard a voice saying from the opposite side. I recognized it, it had to be my neighbour.
He was just standing there at the opposite part of the hallway, he looked exactly the same as he used to do. Even had the same slightly bent over composure, but one thing set him apart.
One of his arms were nothing more than a bloody mess, it was barely holding together but he didn't seem to care at all. A sudden thought of clarity hit me, "they are smart but it's not them, what ever is going on they are not people any longer"
The door out was locked and there was no way I was going to open it without getting bit. My neighbour from one way and my daughter from behind I only had one real way to go. The door to the kitchen was open so I ran in, quickly closing the door behind me. This door couldn't be locked so I just stood and pushed towards it while they tried to get in.
The sound of broken glass interrupted me, looking back I saw another man climb through a window. The glass tore through his skin but didn't react at all. Panicked I grab hold of a bookcase and push it down in front of the door.
"Sorry for breaking in, but I heard you needed help" A voice said calmly. I turned around and saw the man stand just in front of me. He looked like a highschool student but that wasn't him, not anymore.
He slowly approached me, backing me into a corner. Meanwhile my daughter managed to break through the door. They all just stood silently in half circle around me, I was completely trapped.
As a last hope I grabbed something in blind from the desk behind me and started swinging around. I managed to hit my neighbour in the head, but an empty plastic bottle didn't do much damage.
"It's ok, don't be scared" my daughter said before grabbing my arm and burrowing her teeth in me.
Sitting down on the floor the entire world was spinning around, my thoughts were everywhere. Was this the end, would I turn into a mindless beast now.
Then everything cleared and any pain I had was gone, the world seemed brighter and I saw my daughter standing in front of me, smiling. "Welcome to the world of the living" she said happily before helping me up.
| 2018-09-06T18:54:24 | 2018-09-06T17:04:49 | 77 | 52 |
[WP] You wake up on September 22, 2018 in place you’ve never been before. You can’t remember what happened, everyone you ask doesn’t remember the day before, either. It becomes an international mystery. It seems no one can remember the 21st night of September. | Was love, in fact, changing the minds of pretenders? Was it chasing the clouds away?
These were the questions we wanted to ask ourselves, but we didn’t know.
But then every television screen in the world turned to a message, from some unknown source. “Everyone, remain calm,” it said, in the right languages for each people, “You can fix this. The disco orb is broken, and to fix it you need to assemble the Crystals of Earth, Wind, and Fire.”
The world jumped into action. The Earth Crystal was found first, in the tomb of Kalimba. The Wind Crystal was awarded after the Mighty Mighty was defeated. But the Fire Crystal was found later, in none other than the mythical Serpentine Fire. They were brought together at the UN headquarters in New York, while the whole world was watching.
However, just when the world thought they were on the cusp of victory, they found that the crystals wouldn’t stay together. They tried glueing it and taping it, then they gave it to scientists, but after weeks it still didn’t work. Until, finally, one day, a scientist brought music to play in the lab, and when she started to Sing a Song the orb started to glow. She quickly retrieved the rest of her coworkers, and together they sang along. By their powers combined, the orb glowed brighter, but only slightly. So they got the entire town singing, then the nation, then the world. Only then did the orb glow brighter and brighter until it exploded in technicolor and tie-dye, and everyone remembered.
Love *had* been changing the minds of pretenders, and chasing the clouds away.
True love was here to stay. | Oh, boy. Another Saturday evening drinking ram's blood and doing Gregorian chants with the folks. They say you can take the boy out of the Pagan moon-worshiping cult, but you can't take the Pagan moon-worshiping cult out of the boy, or out of Clearwater County, Idaho, despite the best attempts of one State Marshall Susan Hernandez and her loyal hound dog Boone. So here I am, dancing around in sheepskin with my parents and their friends, hollering insults at the Sun, the devil-star that, in its gaudy brightness, thinks it can upstage His Lunar Majesty.
"Hey, fuck you, you goddamn showoff!" my dad shouts, shaking his fist at the rotten stellar bastard.
"You think you're better than us? Just because you can do nuclear fusion and we can't? Well you aren't!" shouts my Aunt Vivienne, throwing an empty can of Diet Rite in its general direction.
"Yeah, I can do nuclear fusion right now! Just watch me!" says my dad's friend Gary. Gary puffs up like some kind of goddamn pufferfish, trying to replicate the conditions of extreme heat and pressure that are necessary for nuclear fusion. He can't, obviously, so instead he takes a swig of rum and falls over on his dumb face.
Eventually, of course, the Sun sets and the Moon, in all its nightly glory, rises. For a second, the setting Sun and the rising Moon are both visible in the sky. That's when shit gets weird.
"Hey, those assholes down there are talking shit about me again," the Sun says to the Moon. When the Sun talks, a big cartoony mouth opens up, like Garfield the Cat when he's eating, except it takes eight minutes for light from the Sun to reach Earth, so we don't see that yet.
"Oh, Christ," says the Moon. "Is it that stupid cult again? It thinks you're evil and I'm God. It doesn't understand that we're both just people."
"Yeah," said the Sun. "I volunteer at animal shelters on the weekend. I'm not all bad."
"And I killed Neil Armstrong with that moon virus that took forty years to incubate. I can be a real stinker."
"Hey, you want to fuck with them?"
"Do I!"
The next roughly thirty-one hours of my memory are missing. When I woke up on September 22, I was on å røcky cliff in Finland, and I had no idea how I'd gotten there. I looked at my reflection in a pool of water. Someone had drawn the phrase, "SUN RULES" with Sharpie marker on my left cheek. There were several empty Moon-Pie wrappers around me. I was totally naked and one of my buttcheeks was missing.
When I got back to civilization, I found out that everyone had a similar story. No one knew what had happened the previous day. Most had some kind of sun- or moon-graffiti on their body. Some had woken up surrounded by Moon-Pie wrappers, others by empty bottles of Sunny-D. Everybody was missing one of their buttcheeks. No one remembered anything, but the consensus was clear: the twin bastards in the sky had played a mean joke.
When I got back to Idaho, the pagan cult didn't feel much like worshiping the Moon anymore. Instead, we worshiped a rock we found for a little while, and then a goat that looked kind of like Charlie Chaplin, and finally this guy Chris who works at Best Buy. Eventually we gave up and became athiests, learned to code and moved to Palo Alto. What happened on September 21, 2018 will always haunt me. But what haunts me even more, is ghosts. | 2018-09-21T13:04:49 | 2018-09-21T10:46:54 | 86 | 28 |
[WP] You wake up on September 22, 2018 in place you’ve never been before. You can’t remember what happened, everyone you ask doesn’t remember the day before, either. It becomes an international mystery. It seems no one can remember the 21st night of September. | Was love, in fact, changing the minds of pretenders? Was it chasing the clouds away?
These were the questions we wanted to ask ourselves, but we didn’t know.
But then every television screen in the world turned to a message, from some unknown source. “Everyone, remain calm,” it said, in the right languages for each people, “You can fix this. The disco orb is broken, and to fix it you need to assemble the Crystals of Earth, Wind, and Fire.”
The world jumped into action. The Earth Crystal was found first, in the tomb of Kalimba. The Wind Crystal was awarded after the Mighty Mighty was defeated. But the Fire Crystal was found later, in none other than the mythical Serpentine Fire. They were brought together at the UN headquarters in New York, while the whole world was watching.
However, just when the world thought they were on the cusp of victory, they found that the crystals wouldn’t stay together. They tried glueing it and taping it, then they gave it to scientists, but after weeks it still didn’t work. Until, finally, one day, a scientist brought music to play in the lab, and when she started to Sing a Song the orb started to glow. She quickly retrieved the rest of her coworkers, and together they sang along. By their powers combined, the orb glowed brighter, but only slightly. So they got the entire town singing, then the nation, then the world. Only then did the orb glow brighter and brighter until it exploded in technicolor and tie-dye, and everyone remembered.
Love *had* been changing the minds of pretenders, and chasing the clouds away.
True love was here to stay. | He couldn't say for sure if he'd been dancing last night, but his legs were stiff and his favorite dancing shoes lay by the side of his bed. The evidence seemed damning, but why couldn't he remember?
It was a sunny morning. Jason could feel the heat of the sun filtering through the blinds of his open window. He kicked off his sheets and stretched as he rose. The cool breeze from the open window mixed with the warm sunlight felt good on his naked skin. Scanning the room he spotted his boxers from yesterday laying on the radiator. He grabbed them, pulled them on, and gave himself another big stretch before heading to the kitchen.
It was Friday. Finally. It felt like a long week. The last two had been short, with labor day and a long weekend for a trip up north. He was between projects at work, giving him more time to think about everything he'd rather be doing. Today would be better, no matter how boring, busy, monotonous, or stressful the week was, Friday's were always better.
In the kitchen he went through the daily motions of making coffee: water, filter, coffee, on. While the coffee is brewing, he showered and dressed before returning to the kitchen to make toast. Once the bread was in the toaster, he poured himself a cup of coffee and let it cool on the windowsill. From the fridge he grabbed his lunch, which he had premade on Sunday, and packed it in his bag to bring to work. By the time his toast was ready, his coffee had cooled to the point that it was drinkable. With his peanut butter toast in one hand and his coffee in the other, Jason leaned back against the counter and took a sip of coffee, feeling relaxed. He was proud his morning routine. He loved the efficiency of it. Everything just worked so well.
Once he'd cleaned up his breakfast, he grabbed his bag and headed out the door. He reached for his keys to lock it, but paused when his keys were not in his pocket. Back inside, he checked his bedside table, the kitchen table, and the pockets he'd worn yesterday. No luck. Without his keys he wouldn't be driving anywhere and he hated taking the bus. Did he really need to go into the office today? Probably not, he decided. He slung his bag on a chair in the dining room and sat down in the seat next to it. He would email his manager about his situation and work from home. On his laptop he connected to internet, opened Outlook, and waited for it to load. In the meantime, he opened a new browser session and went to the Times to read the headlines. "Do you remember, the 21st night of September?" read the first headline. Jason felt himself smile, the headline was from the 70's hit September by Earth, Wind, and Fire. Curious, he read the subtitle "People across the world reporting no memory of the 21st night of September, 2018." His smile faded, his stomach turned to butterflies.
When had woken up, he hadn't given a second thought to his lack of memory for the night before. His thoughts had moved to the day ahead. His nights were often uneventful, spent reading or watching YouTube videos of live musicians. Sometimes, particularly when he was in a good mood, he would put on some funky jams and dance in his room. Based on the fact that his legs were a bit stiff and his Chuck Taylor's were next to his bed, he'd assumed he'd been dancing. But now, with the world seeming to have had a spell of dimentia, he wondered, what could have caused this?
Jason decided someone else would figure it out. He went back to his email and began writing his boss to tell him he'd be working from home today.
| 2018-09-21T13:04:49 | 2018-09-21T10:12:57 | 86 | 16 |
[WP] Whilst showering, You suddenly disappear in a cloud of smoke, only to reappear in a dimly lit room in a circle of candles. A figure in a cloak looks confused thinking they were summoning a powerful demon which, up until now, you didn’t realise you were. | Have you ever felt a tingle at the base of your neck, when all the hairs stand on edge, and you’re certain something is behind you? Have you turned around only to find darkness, and been left to wonder what malevolent force may be watching? If so, you’re not alone.
I get it often, the sense. It’s like a thought, conceived but never born, always lingering, a constant and silent companion. Am I insane?
I close my eyes and let the hot water run over me. Steam rises from the mist – I like my water hot. Too hot for anyone else, but it never bothered me. I feel them around me, the eyes, always watching, and I take a deep breath. No one is there, of course, it’s all in my head. I open my eyes again. The same, familiar shower is around me.
I reach for the soap. Pumice soap has always been my favorite, I love the exfoliating qualities. A quick lather and I close my eyes again. I feel them watching me again, but this time it’s different. This time it’s real. I open my eyes and find myself standing not in the shower, but in a large circle with weird carvings. A shallow layer of warm water covers the floor. Tall candles give the only lighting in the seemingly endless, dark room, and a hooded figure speaks to me in a low, muffled voice.
“You know why you are here,” He says.
“Please, go away. You’re not real. None of this is real”
“You know I’ve been watching, always watching. You are bound to me, obey!”
“Never,” I stammer. I blink my eyes in rapid secession. The room flickers in and out of my vision. One moment, the shower’s hot water is scalding me, and the next, I am thrust back into the dark room, and all the moments happen all at once and never at all.
“You are bound to me, obey!”
“NEVER!” I shout, and I am back at the shower. I see the door open.
“Who are you talking to, Mr. Nemed?” the nurse asks. In my rage I had forgotten – I was so close. So close to being freed from this nightmare. So close to going back to my life, my job. This setback, this could keep me here for months, years. It was hopeless, pointless. I would never escape.
If it was a rage built up inside me, and so I snapped. I lunged at the nurse, he is surprised, and in that quick moment of surprise my punch lands squarely on his jaw, knocking him back. The floor guard runs towards me and pulls out his taser as my hands close around the nurse’s throat. I am strong, very strong, and I crush his tiny windpipe in my hands. It’s not fair. I’m not insane. I just want to go back.
I blink again and am in the circle once more, the nurse with me. The electricity runs through me, jolting the nurse under my hands, stopping his heart.
I hear a soft “well done” from behind me, and I know someone is watching.
I blink again, the guard tackles me and cuffs me, and I lay sobbing on the bathroom floor. What have I done? I’m not insane, I know it. | There's few things worse than being caught in the shower, unless you happen to be faced by a hooded man. Bonus points if the shower is replaced by a dingy basement filled with candles. Something very aggressive or very romantic is in the works and I have the singular displeasure of being the subject of such attention.
"Uh, hey guy. How's it going?" I know it's not the best display of my social skills, but considering the circumstances, I believe a certain amount of leeway should be assumed. The hooded figure still hasn't said anything. I'm wondering if he's disappointed. The setup would presume a target of considerably greater ability. Instead, here's me, naked and confused.
"It's taken a lot of work to find and bring you here." The hooded man's voice comes out as a soft whine. A surprisingly smooth skinned finger emerges from the robe to point at me. Judging from TV shows and books, the finger should be withered and at least a big gnarled. Again I'm reminded not to be so judgmental. Life doesn't fit in a box. Clearly.
"Look, man, sorry to disappoint, but I think you've messed up somewhere along the way. This looks like some sort of occult performance designed to bring in a powerful being. Don't look at me like that, I've played enough RPG's to know your game. However, I'm just some depressed guy that was trying to have a wank in the shower. Now I'm dealing with a situation that'd I rather have not been a part of." I probably didn't need to throw in all those extra details, but this particular situation does make me feel a bit bonded to this guy. I suppose the unexpected can have that effect. Either that or I'm feeling like I'm about to die and at that point, why not get some stuff off your chest?
"Ah, you don't even know what you are. That's fine. I knew my powers weren't great enough to bring in a quality specimen, but I believe your power can be formed into a more effective tool." He pushes his hood back to reveal an insultingly young face with a combed back head of black hair.
"H-how old are you? You look 14." I'm hoping the joking nature of that statement played out and isn't an actual indicator of reality.
"That's most likely because I am. Pretty good guess. You probably don't know this, but you happen to be thousands of years old. The memories of those lives are lost however because you're a shitty demon and keeping dying in your vessel, thus causing the cycle to begin again." He is saying a lot of words all in a row that conjures up not much else besides anxiety. First off, being called a demon is never nice, but it's worse when there's ample evidence in direct eyesight that lends credence to the notion.
"Buhhh, ok... I mean that would be better than just being another human, but if I'm a demon, what's my power? Don't demons get to play tricks on people or sign them up for cellphone plans or something?" Part of that has to be true, if this is, in fact, not a schizophrenic break.
"You probably won't be super into this right now, but you happen to be a sadness demon. You collect the anguish of fallen souls and use it to sow seeds of despair in those around you. I'm assuming you don't have many friends." He said this all with a face that suggests he's unaware (or uncaring) of how hurtful this is. I mean it's making me real sad, which is irritating because I'd rather not give this *boy* the satisfaction.
"First off, ouch. Second, if that's true then why can't I remember anything about my exploits and why am I the only one that's sad? Plus, what do you want with me? It's not like a demon with a fresh identity crisis can be of much help." I'm starting to get cold and I feel like this conversation has gone on long enough to warrant a change in location and the procurement of a blanket, at the very least.
"That's a loooot of information you want right now and I'm not an exposition machine. To keep it short, I have high ambitions as a sorcerer and am doing this project on the down-low. I know that you're a shitty demon, but fret not, as I'm prepared to help train you to get control. Don't worry, you'll figure out what's happening in due time. Also, don't worry about going back home because I'm assuming you don't really have much going on at the moment." If he weren't being so monotone, I'd assume these statements were snide in the extreme. I'm a demon who didn't know he is a demon, so perhaps I'm not the best to make assumptions.
"Take these." The boy sorcerer tosses me a pair of white pants and a white jacket to match. Gauche to an obvious degree. I snatch them out of the air with a flourish of distaste. Before they touch my hands, the boy is walking out the door. It would seem the introductory conversation is now done.
I should've just wallowed in my own filth like I had planned. This is what I get for showering. | 2018-10-10T08:35:28 | 2018-10-10T08:16:41 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] Your father left your family when you were a child to "go buy a pack of cigarettes". It is 10 years later and you're a teenager when your father walks back in, wearing the same clothes he left in, and insists he has only been gone half an hour. | Item number: SCP-711-J
Object class: Euclid
Containment Procedures: A fence is to be established around SCP-711-J, to prevent unauthorized entry. Construction equipment is to be moved and operated in order to maintain the appearance of an active construction zone. No access to SCP-711-J is permitted. In the event that a human enters SCP-711-J, they are to be presumed lost.
When an human emerges from SCP-711-J, reintegration procedure Delta-711-J is to be initiated.
Description: SCP-711-J is the former site of a 7-11 located in [REDACTED]. Upon entry by a human, the human will disappear from outside view, to reappear between five and ten years later. All subjects are under the impression that time proceeded normally while inside SCP-711-J, giving approximate times between 5 and 15 minutes experienced in SCP-711-J. There currently seems to be no correlation between external and internal experienced time.
SCP-711-J was brought to the attention of the Foundation by [REDACTED], after their father returned after being absent for over ten years, while the father reports only having left his house half an hour ago. Subsequent polygraph tests revealed both statements to be true.
In addition to the persons trapped in SCP-711-J, the vehicles that these people drove to SCP-711-J also disappear and reappear at the same time as the subject. As such, great care is to be taken to never stand in parking spaces, or near gas pumps.
The number of persons trapped inside the anomalous effect of SCP-711-J is currently unknown. As such, the structure of SCP-711-J must be maintained for the safety of all trapped humans.
Reintegration procedure Delta-711-J: This particular 7-11 began business in 1993. As such, all information of events over the past several years must be presented in a calm, orderly fashion to any humans exiting SCP-711-J. In addition, marital and financial issues may be present. The Foundation should provide reasonable legal support, and lodging. | You stared at him dumbfounded as he hung up his jacket in the hallway. He passed you on the way to the sitting room and turned on the TV. You turned to follow him and the news caught your attention, it showed a meteor strike that supposedly happened about an hour ago.
"Bob tell me, why did it only affect this specific town in California?"
"I don't know Alice, but it seems that we're receiving more and more phone calls from civilians about their children gone missing."
"Is there a link? Are these phone calls received at the same time?"
"I don't know but I have the feeling that the meteor has something to do with this case.
Now on to Amanda for today's weather."
Dad switched off the TV and turned to face me.
"I haven't left for 10 years, I've seen you grow up. Been to the principals office countless times for you being in trouble and buried your mother..." He bit his lip and quickly regained his posture.
Dad walked to the coffee table and took his diary from the drawer underneath. He flipped through it and I noticed there was a different date on each page, no date was missing. It was as if he documented every day of his life. He stopped at the last page, which had today's date written on top. He looked me dead in the eye and smiled.
"Today is the day, today you turn 18." He handed me the diary and ran his hands through his hair. I couldn't say anything, I just looked down at the worn down notebook that had well over 300 pages.
"Dad?" My lips trembled, I was confused. For 10 long years he was never here, yet he said he buried my mother and watched me grow older.
"Close your eyes." Dad placed his hands on my shoulders. I wasn't sure what was going on as I was still confused, but I decided to obey.
Upon opening my eyes, I saw my dad standing there, he seemed taller and had less wrinkles.
"Only you can stop this son, only you can stop this." My eyes slid down to my hands, I was still carrying the notebook. Behind me I heard an agonising scream, it was a lady out in the streets.
"My baby! Where is my baby!" The woman kept on screaming and yelling.
"It's time." Dad said and walked out the house, into the backyard followed by my mother, whose face I couldn't see no matter how hard I tried.
"Mommy?" I looked down at the diary again and opened it on the first page. It mentioned today's date, 10 years ago. It stated I had returned from the future after the first meteor and I was the chosen one to save the world from the future meteor strike. The one 10 years in the future. Had I time travelled? Without thinking, I walked out the door, watching my parents along with the whole neighbourhood stare into the sky. A large bright light seemed to head our way, it became brighter and brighter and in a split second, half our town was gone. Evaporated.
With the diary in hand, I fell to my knees. In front of the gaping hole that killed half the state. I flipped through the diary again, looking for tomorrow's date. Some letters were disappearing. I had the feeling my time was running out. That I had to warn everyone about the next meteor that would wipe half of this earth. But who would believe an 8 year old? I harshly wiped away my tears and read the next page.
It only mentioned a formula and a drawing of a machine. It was named 'The After Years: Time Machine. Model: 0.v4.'
I was studying to become a scientist and had always been interested in time paradoxes and time travelling.
"I won't let you down, dad. I now have an additional 10 years to save the world."
​
\---
​
I'm so sorry if this sucked. My native language is Dutch and I also tend to type whatever pops up in my head. But it's my first WP post, so I hope I did well. | 2018-11-08T05:36:04 | 2018-11-08T05:07:50 | 562 | 144 |
[WP] Your father left your family when you were a child to "go buy a pack of cigarettes". It is 10 years later and you're a teenager when your father walks back in, wearing the same clothes he left in, and insists he has only been gone half an hour. | It was a cold, bright Feburary morning, snow gently falling across the frozen ground as I sat in my backyard, drinking hot chocolate and enjoying a day's respite from high school. I stared blankly at my phone, my mind lost in thought as the video on its screen past by unnoticed. More important things were going through my mind, at least more important to a teenage boy, thoughts of pretty girls, nice cars, next year's football season, and so on.
I was so lost in my own mind that I failed to notice the ruckus eminating from inside the house. It startled me to hear my step-father suddenly start yelling. Another man chimed in, yelling back, and I heard sounds of a scuffle. I quickly put my phone down and ran inside the house, nearly running over my mother as she made her way in the same direction. Together, we rushed in to the foyer.
The scene left both my mother and I stricken, mouths agape, jaws dropped. My father, missing for 10 years, lay on the ground holding his head, a bright bruise starting to appear under his right eye. My stepfather stood above him, shouting at him to get out of our house. He had never met my father, had came into the picture some years after my father's mysterious disappearance to comfort my mother and eventually start a new family with her, so he had no idea who this man was or why he had intruded into our home. In his hand, my stepfather had his cell phone out, most likely dialing the police, to come arrest this stranger. My mother, partially regaining her senses, reached out and touched his arm.
Mom: "Dave... this man... this is.. Kevin."
Step-father: "Kevin... your first husband?"
Dave, my step-father, looked down at the man, his phone forgotten.
Dave: "You said he was dead..."
Mom: "He was missing, presumed dead. He was declared dead after a few years when they found no trace of him."
Mom directed her attention to Kevin.
Mom: "Kevin... where have you been? It's been 10 years! You've been alive this whole time?!"
Kevin looked up, startled. He had a hand to his eye, massaging what must have been where an unexpected right hook landed cleanly.
Kevin: "What the hell are you talking about?! I left half an hour ago! I'm sorry it took so long, I got stuck in traffic! Jesus, is that all the time it took for you to roll some other man in here?!"
He looked around the room, noticing for the first time that the furniture and decor around the foyer was different than he remembered. His eyes panned over to me, and I watched as panic, confusion, and sadness immediately flashed across his face.
Kevin: "Son... oh my god, son. You're so much older now... you're a man now. What has happened to me..."
He broke down, tears falling from his eyes.
I moved over to him, putting my arms around him, tears falling from my eyes as well. I had not seen this man for 10 years, had pushed him out of my mind and replaced him with Dave, had given up hope on ever seeing him again, yet in that moment, emotions took over, and I felt guilt at my actions. This man loved me, loves me, and it was wrong of me to have given up hope. My father embraced me, sobbing into my shirt, as my other parents looked on.
Dave: "I don't believe it. The one damn time I need to make an emergency call and this fucking phone that I'm paying $200 a month for doesn't fucking work. What the fuck do you mean 'No Signal'?"
Mom: "You're still calling the police?!"
Dave: "This man has been missing for 10 years. He doesn't realize how much time has passed. He doesn't need to be arrested, but he definitely needs an ambulance!"
Mom thought about this a moment, then agreed. She started patting her pockets, trying to find her phone. Exasperated, she looked back to me and my father.
Mom: "Son, do you have your phone? I don't remember where I left mine."
I looked back to her, tears still falling from my eyes, and began patting my own pockets. After a moment, I realized that I had left it out back on the patio with my mug.
Me: "It's out back, I'll go grab it."
I looked back at my father, squeezed him once more, and trotted out of the foyer towards the back door. I exited the house, walked to the patio, and grabbed my phone. The words 'No Signal' were at the top of the screen. I looked quizically at it... I had never seen it say that before, we're in the middle of the suburbs in a major city, there are cell towers everywhere.
I half-sat at the patio chair, more of a lean than anything, and pulled up the phone dialer anyways to try to make a call. I stared blankly at the phone, my mind lost in thought as the screen flashed "No signal" again. Suddenly, thoughts of pretty girls, nice cars, and next year's football season enveloped my mind. My step-father's yell snapped my attention back to reality, as I heard a scuffle eminating from the foyer. I quickly put my phone down and ran inside the house, nearly running over my mother as she made her way in the same direction.
Together, we rushed in to the foyer, and the same scene replayed itself again. And again. And again. And again. | I sat in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the television, my father's favorite song playing in the background. It is that time of the year again.
​
Smoke gradually fogged up the room, a pack of cigarette opened and empty on the table top. *Marlboro.* I started smoking when I was sixteen years old, the day he left the house, never to return.
​
"Off to buy a pack of cigarettes." he said, leaving with just the keys to the house and some chump change, not a care in the world. Wearing his plain old T-shirt, worn-out trousers and flip-flops, his backdrop vanished out of the doorway, while sixteen years old me waved him goodbye from the television couch.
​
One day. Two days. Mum began to get worried. She went down to the convenience store down by the street. They did not see my father. She went to the neighbors. They did not see my father. She called the workplace. They did not see my father.
​
Three days. Four days. Mum called the police, filing a missing person report. Fear started to settle into my chest. There, it claws and gnaws at me, eating me out from the inside.
​
Mum began digging through my father's stuff, hoping to find a clue as to where he went. None. There was nothing. His credit cards, his identification papers, the keys to his car, it is all here. For all intents and purposes, he vanished.
​
One month. Our world began to collapse. He is gone. He is *gone.* He is never coming back. They could not find him. We could deny it no longer. We no longer had a father.
​
That day, I went out to buy my first pack of cigarettes. Holding it in my hand, I cried, for the first time since he disappeared, tears dripping down to form coin-sized droplets on the parking lot behind the convenience store. Trembling, I took one stick of cigarette out, lighting it with a lighter, and took my first puff. It burns and suffocates me, smoke tearing up my lungs, yet, for a brief moment in time, it seems as if he was going to come back after all. Crying, smoking, sobbing, I burnt through the first cigarette of my life.
​
Mum began working as a dishwasher at the diner the following months, hoping to earn an income to support the family. With our father gone, we lost our sole breadwinner, and our savings are running out. We begin to cut out non-essential necessities - gone were the days where we could afford to spend our money on restaurant meals and trips. Things start breaking down and we have no money to fix them.
​
Alcohol started coming into our lives. My mum began to drink. One bottle. Two bottles. Three bottles. The floor became littered with Budweisers, each bottle representing a temporary getaway from what our lives had become.
​
One year. He has gone missing for one whole year. Smoking became a daily habit for me. My results have been slipping drastically, I lost my chance to get a scholarship at the college of my dreams. Mum began to come home later and later, drinking more and more, the house becoming more disorganized, more decrepitated. The heater has been spoiled for close to three months, the dishwasher spoiled for two.
​
On the same day he went missing, the both of us, Mum and I, sat around the living room and cried.
​
Five years. Mum has been dating someone else for close to a year now. I flunked out of college and began taking odd jobs around town for some cash, working at the bottom of the barrel for minimum wage. My new potential step-dad is the owner of the diner. Mum no longer wept on the day he goes missing. His stuff is now packed in cartons and locked up in the attic. Things began to change for the better.
​
Still, though, on the day he left, I would still wonder what happened to him.
​
Eight years. I am the only one living in the house now. My Mum moved out of the house to live with her new husband, who also happened to have kids of her own. I met them. Zackary and Daniel, ten and thirteen respectively. At least she is not drinking as heavily now.
​
I have gotten into a trade school, currently training to be a plumber. It pays more than what I have been working as for the past few years. I met someone I really liked at the trade school. Maybe I should try to confess to her.
​
I still wait for him the day he left.
​
Present. I burnt through the cigarette, smoldering it in the ashtray. The day is coming to an end. I gaze at the door. No one.
​
I began to chuckle, before it turned into a roaring laughter, before it became a cry, before it became a despairing wail, my fist pounding on the worn-out cushion in pain and agony, cries of a wounded animal echoing through the room.
​
*He is never coming back, is he? He is gone, just like that, for close to ten years. Ten. I should have given up long ago...I really should have...*
​
The door opens. I stop in the midst of my tracks. Footsteps, echoing in the walkway.
​
"I am back. Oh gosh...why is the house full of smoke?"
​
Possessed, I turn my head around. There he is, in the same plain old T-shirt and trousers, carrying a bag of cigarettes, waving his hand around the house, exactly the way I remembered it ten years ago.
​
I stood up, got out of my the couch, went over and gave him one big hug.
​
"Dad...you are back. Finally. You are back."
\*\*\*
*I lied*. I am sorry. *I lied*. I am sorry. *I lied*.
*He will not be becoming back, won't he?* I looked at the cigarette in my hand, offering it to my father. *He is gone, isn't he?*
He took the cigarette from me. *Yes, he is gone. You knew it a long time ago, didn't you?* Taking a deep puff, he pointed at the door. *He will not be coming back.*
I sighed. *Of course. I always knew, wasn't it? Thanks, Pappy.*
He passed the cigarette back. *No problems, son. Good to see you again, for one last time.*
I knew. I knew, yet I waited. I looked at the cigarette in my hand. Everyone has moved on but me.
I took one last puff, before grounding the final cigarette into the ashtray.
\*\*\*
​
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​ | 2018-11-08T06:32:00 | 2018-11-08T05:54:05 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] You are one of several Princes fighting in a battle royale to inherit the Kingdom. All the Princes get a God as a sponsor, who grants them boons and abilities. Powerful sponsors include gods like Zeus, Ra and Neptune. So, it was a surprise when you found out that your sponsor is Death. | I looked over, across the crowds and festivities, to the main battle field. Already, knights in shining armor were clambering onto their mounts and readying their weapons. There were rows and rows of them, spread out over a semicircle a mile in diameter, facing the stands. One in about every fifty had a shimmering aura around them, and some even seemed to be wielding forces of nature.
Almost three fourths of the kingdom were in attendance to this grand battle royale. The king was sterile and close to death, and had chosen to hand his crown over to the winner of a tournament the likes never seen before. Thousands of knights from every corner of the land had come to compete in various challenges of strength and bravery, all ending with a huge battle royale to the death. The worthier knights had managed to garner the support of various gods and goddesses over the week-long festival, all in preparation for this final bout.
I sat up from my perch on a nearby hillside, finished polishing my scythe, and sauntered down towards the battlefield. As I walked along the muddy path towards the tourney, I checked the straps of my light armor and cleaned my gauntlets, paying no heed to the multitude around me. Passerby shied away, women covered their eyes, men spat at my feet, and children stared with wide eyes. The few remaining blades of grass on the worn ground browned and died in my wake, a small side effect of my touch.
After a few minutes, I reached the battlefield. I took my place beside a tall blonde knight on a dark stallion, who sneered at me as he dragged his jeweled dagger along a small whetstone. His horse shied away nervously as we waited for the battle to commence.
The rules were simple: kill or be killed, and if you win you get the kingdom. By then, there were four knights favorited to win; Ser Roberts of the western reaches, backed by Hephaestus the blacksmith, Ser Malcom from the coast region, backed by Poseidon himself, Lady Rogue, backed by Athena the cunning, and of course me, backed by Death.
I had no qualms about killing; I’d done plenty of it around the kingdom in my day. I think that could be what attracted him to me. Death had approached me the week prior and offered to lend his strength in the tourney, and I accepted readily. He gave me very simple instructions for victory, and it was only to cost me my right hand. I made my preparations and allowed a small piece of his essence to reside in my right hand. The black gloves and gauntlets I wore concealed the twisted mass my hand had become, and I thanked the gods for the gift of being left handed.
The King stepped out onto his observation tower, far above the pasture where the battle was to take place. His voice boomed out across the field, magnified by the powers of Zeus so that all could hear: “I welcome you all to the final day of my festivities! I wish each and every one of you the best of luck, and I hope to greet one of you as my successor before the day is out. Let the battle royale begin!”
Lances were lowered, swords were drawn, horses began racing towards one another, and I took off my glove. Just as the first sounds of combat reached my ears, I snapped once with my right hand.
After the last body fell to the ground, I felt his essence leave me and I covered the fully cauterized stump. I hadn’t even had to draw my scythe.
| Wiscard was a simple prince. He never even wanted to take up everything. Yet, because he was a prince, he had no choice.
And everyone had already gotten their sponsor, so it was only Wiscard left to get one. Even whoever put the princes in onset didn't favor him.
"Prince Wiscard. Please, this way," one of the servants lead him to a vast room.
"Where's my father?" Wiscard asked.
"Your father, King Garnier, said that he will not meet any of his sons until a winner is decided," the man tried to explain.
"My father is mad as ever," Wiscard said, frowning, and walked towards the altar.
"So, I assume that I get what's left?" Wiscard asked. He had no expectations. He knew that he was going to die. He had always been the weak one. He had a million, maybe a bit extravated, different kinds of illnesses. There was no way that he would make a good, strong king.
"You look at the altar, and say 'I summon the, my sponsor,' and that should be it, good prince. After that, you have to leave the room from a side door, over there," and the man showed to a larger wooden door that was a bit aside from the alter. "That will lead you straight to the battle arena."
There were many doors. It seemed that each of them were supposed to take them to a different place.
The man turned around and walked away, leaving Wiscard there all alone. The moment the door closed, he let himself free and just sighed. He hated that all. It was annoying.
"Oh, great amazing something. I invite theeee, my patron, or support, or whatever, to appear" Wiscard said.
The altar was lit on fire, and something was inside of it. Slowly the fire started to extinguish, revealing a man standing there, cycle in his hand, full of bones, and he wore sunglasses.
"Wazzap, bro," the skeleton said.
"W-what? Well, it's not hard to guess who you are. Are you here to reap my soul?"
"What, bro? You just summoned me, bro. Why would I reap you?"
Wiscard leaned a bit forward and started making circles. "You're a reaper, right?"
The skeleton began to laugh. "Please," he said, as he tried to clean his non-existing tear. "I'm not something as low as a reaper," he started to search something from his black cloak, secretly taking off his sunglasses. As he put his sunglasses back on, he said, "I'm death itself."
"Whoa. What's that you're wearing?"
"Oh, it's a thing called sunglasses, from the alternative universe where I happened to be before you summoned me. A creepy place, but they make cool stuff," the death said, smiling. "Wanna try it?"
"Yeah, sure," Wiscard said, nodding, and took the sunglasses to try them on. "Whoa, I can barely see anything. It went so dark."
"No shit, you're indoors. Keep it. You might need it for the... What was I summoned again for?" death asked.
"Battle Royale between the princes," he said.
"Ooh. Right. You still have this weird tradition. I was a bit bummed that I was never summoned till now," he said. "But it's cool, bro."
He sighed, stretched his boney hands, which made some loud cracking noise and took out a notebook.
"So, who are we gonna kill?"
"Come on. That's too boring even for my taste!"
Death looked at him for a moment and then grinned. "I like you. I like to do some reaping too, like when I was young. It's always good to see people shitting themselves before they die," he said, laughing. "What's your name, by the way?"
"I'm Wiscard, the-"
"Don't bother. I don't care about your titles. And your name is too weird. I'll give you a simpler name. Hmm. Bob. Yes. Bob. You're now known as Bob."
"Wha-what," Bob was a bit confused.
"So, what do you want to do, Bob?" the skeleton finally jumped down from the altar and leaned on his scythe.
"Well, I would just get out of here and enjoy the world," Bob said, laughing. "But sounds like a good dream."
"Why not? The others will definitely chase you, but nobody is able to stop you now."
"They aren't?"
"Come on. I'm a fucking death. Who do you think can stop me? There's only one being I know who can stop me and I was having tea with her a week ago. She's still pissed about the fact that I accidentally let Lucifer's soul escape the cell, hahaha. Sorry, another universe, again. It was a good prank, but cost a lot."
Bob grinned. "Sounds like a good idea. I like that. But how do I get out of here?" he asked.
Death cracked his hands again and pointed one finger towards a nearby wall. Suddenly the stone started to age and turned into a cloud of dust, that slowly fell down. "Ooh, there happens to be a huge hole there."
Bob grinned. "Then let's go. You okay sticking with me?"
Death thought for a moment. He remembered what happened last time he disappeared. All the reapers panicking, few worlds suddenly stopping functioning. "Yeah, what's the worst that could happen, bro?" he said, following Bob's steps.
---
/r/Elven | 2018-11-14T07:48:45 | 2018-11-14T06:45:40 | 300 | 103 |
[WP] You've been magically gifted the ability to speak all languages. Anything you say comes out in the first language of whoever you're looking at. One day, you try to greet someone on the street and they gape in horror as ancient, unknowable eldritch sounds exit your mouth. The ground shakes... | The ground shaking was the first warning, the first sign, the first intimation that somewhere, somehow, the boon I had been granted was unmaking something vital within the realms outside of normal reality. I pursed my lips and watched the reaction of the man in front of me with bated breath. If this truly was his first language, he would recognise me.
His eyes widened, and he turned back, staring at my hair, my face—a body that was not truly mine. My boon, such as it had been explained, would allow me to commune with anyone—any*thing*—that I might see. What had not been spoken of was the transformation I had been forced to endure. For anything that knows so much could not remain of simple terrene matter.
But still, he saw me for who I used to be. What I used to be. He recognised the authority behind my words. Another syllable and the ground shook again—but only for us. Passersby shied away, searching for the source of their sudden discomfort, unable to fathom why so many others gave myself and my companion such a wide berth.
His voice was low, replying in English. "Natalya?"
I nodded, it was one of the many names I had used throughout the countless years. Centuries. Millennia. Eons. Always seeking power, seeking a lever which might do more than unmake a single seal. A craft, a spell, a deodand that could shatter the eldritch bonds separating this body from my master's. Perhaps it was something as ephemeral as a chance meeting.
Tuning myself back to the *lingua franca* of this time and place I replied. "The web between the worlds has not forgotten you, Gregor." The knife was in my hand and buried in his heart before he could take another breath. I spoke once more in the ancient tongue, the facade beside me crumbling further with each horrifying syllable. "Neither have we forgotten your betrayal."
A little push, just a finger's worth of effort, and he fell to the side, crumpled against the sidewalk. Blood stained his jacket, but I left him the knife, kneeling to whisper in his ear. "Finding you for him has cost too much…" I ripped the dagger from his heart, blackened blood splattering across shocked bystanders.
"You will thank me," I palmed the dagger, fixing it in the scabbard at my back, under the light coat I was forced to wear to hide the worst of my transformations. "Watch his face. Watch it closely."
On the pavement the skin of Gregor's face was pulling taut, as if some invisible force was attempting to scalp him. His jaw lengthened, distinctive fangs growing from within his canines. From around his midsection something uncoiled, hitting the ground with an audible thud, stretching as his corpse lost the magics hiding it in plain sight.
I had already climbed halfway up the facade, the crowd so fixated on the ophidian silhouette before them. With my legs the slacks I had worn were torn to shreds. Each of my four true arms slashed through my jacket. Eight spined and bladed limbs grasped at the facade, and my human form everted, turning painfully inside out. My head emerged between my true legs, and my back breasts swelled to the great, furred abdomen of which I was so accustomed.
That my pedipalps so resemble human arms is truly useful for camouflage. That my body can still shift between realms even when I cannot. For who could fail to be terrified by a half-human spider with limbs and spine in all the wrong places? They may think me monstrous.
But Gregor—which, as one may have guessed, is not his true name—he is something worse. A mother must protect her children. A father should care for them. But Gregor… he is the true monster. He and his kind, an entire brood of my children… mere snacks for his serpentine kin. My own kin cast me out for *his* betrayal. They sealed me away in this drear and mundane place.
The sign is cracking… I can feel a freedom from long ago. A call above the inconsequential lives below. I can spin the web between worlds again and return to my master. The one who's broodling I am. I will return to his embrace, and one day I may foster another brood. But not with those ophidian monsters.
Never again.
All spiders hate the snake. | Deep below the surface lay the ferocious flame dragon. Growling he opened his bright yellow eyes, lashing out with his claws at the first object he saw. Engulfed in rage by the fact that he had been woken, from what he thought was death.
Why was I awake flooded the dragons mind. Slowly rising, he tried flapping his wings. No joy. How could he possibly expect to fly. After all he had been locked away by deaths curse. Yet to wake up from this curse was unthinkable. Bruises and cuts were all across his scaly skin.
DIIIIINNNGGG!!! DIIIIINNNGGG!!!
“Hello? Okay sir calm down we cannot hear you... I see, well then. We will do everything we can to sort out the situation and prevent any harm to the public from occurring.”
“Thh...anks.”
“ What was that about boss?”
“Bad news.He has been woken up. Ferocious flame has risen from deaths curse.”
“ Oh my gosh. How do we stop him from reaching the surface.”
“ It is too late for that. I know your unfamiliar with ferocious flame, one of the creatures on our exiled files.”
“Then tell me me is there another way?”
“He is on his way up as we speak soon he would have reached the surface...”
The way these two ladies gazed at me was frightening. What had I said that was so bad? Especially for them to react like this. Their mouths hung open. In absolute shock they covered their mouths while shaking their heads at me. I turned around to see if anything was behind me. Nothing was there. But I did feel a rumble beneath my feet.
“What is the prob...lem?”
Gone. They had completely disappeared from the area, leaving no traces behind. A puzzled expression took over my face. A few sounds couldn’t have done that much harm. Could it?
Yes, the noises that came out of my mouth were slightly weird. Although it’s not as if I summoned some ancient monster ( I chuckled to myself) that would be impossible. No man has the ability to do that. That’s only the sort of power you would see from a cartoon on tv.
The longer I walked back the more puzzled I became. Of all the languages that I can speak, the one time I decide to not even bother speaking one and greet someone, this is the reaction I get. I will never understand it for the life of me.
“LOOK OUT!!!”
Sharply turning my head I couldn’t see any danger. Until I looked up. I could see the debris that was about to fall onto me. Yet I still stood there, frozen, stuck to the ground like glue. I could hear footsteps vastly approaching me. It was almost as if time had frozen for a second. That’s when my legs gave way, sending me flying off the ground.
I took a quick look behind me. Just to see who or what had sent me flying. That’s when I saw them, five people dressed in full armoured body gear. They were actually holding up the giant piece of debris. It’s crazy how just a few seconds ago, I would have been crushed like a worm underneath this.
“3,2,1... HEAVE”
“Woah, that’s pretty impressive stuff”
I began to applaud the heroics that these guys had just pulled off. To not only throw a brick that heavy to the side, but to actually hold it up as well. Insane stuff in my opinion. Backtracking to what had just happened, I got back up off the floor. Still clapping as I walked towards them.
“So can tell me what is happening here?”
“We are the ones who asks the questions not you”
“Excuse me”
Their response confused me. Had they not just saved my life? All I was doing was thanking them for that. Was this such a crime?
“ Are you him?”
“Him being who?”
“We we’re informed earlier today from an anonymous caller. That someone had told us that there was a person speaking weird and ghostly chants. After hearing this two women were incomplete shock.”
“Oh my that’s unbelievable. I wonder who that was.”
“Yes. So do we. As soon as we find the culprit, we will take them in for questioning.”
A sharp pain began to take place in my chest. What they had just told me, I just couldn’t seem to digest. Thinking back to my earlier thoughts, such as it’s not as if I had summoned a monster or something. As well as chuckling to myself, was it really possible.Had I actually summoned a monster?
Almost as if on cue the ground began to shake. Cracks began to ripple through the concrete. That’s when I heard the growl...
“RRROOOAAARRR!!!”
“Everybody run!!!”
I started to speed off, stopping for a quick glance to see what had emerged from the ground. As I saw what appeared to be a 20ft dragon. My body began to shake, sending me crumbling to the ground. Heavy footsteps were approaching me and there was nothing I could do.
BOOM.BOOM.BOOM.
Looking above me I could see the rage in this monsters eyes. Sweat trickled down my forehead. The beast towered above me. Crawling into a ball was the only way I knew how to protect myself. This was beyond fear. Complete terror entered my soul. Slowly this creature took in a deep breath.
FFFGGGHHH!!!
Spouts of flame began to exit his mouth. I could feel the blazing heat from all the way down here. All I could do was stare. Stare as I watched the flame leave its mouth, then make its way towards me. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. My mind began to flashback to the last few hours. The weird noises that left my mouth. The startled expression that was on those ladies faces. The group of people who held up the boulder. Had it all led to this?
I took one last look at everything. The outside world, then I closed my eyes. I could feel the hot air on the side of my face. It burnt a lot. Preparing my self for the worst, I breathed out. Then I breathed in one more time. What would usually feel like a few seconds, felt like I was breathing in for a few hours.
I couldn’t cope, my brain was beginning to shut off. The longer I endured this heat. The more pain I felt. I had just enough energy to take one last look. That’s when my mind went blank... | 2019-01-11T15:55:30 | 2019-01-11T13:32:05 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] One day, you walk into your bathroom and glance in the mirror, only to realize your reflection isn't there. A moment later, your reflection appears, out of breath, saying, "Sorry I'm late." | As I had a million times before, as I walked out of the bathroom I briefly looked in the mirror. After all, I had to make sure I looked presentable for when my friends would arrive for dinner in an hour. However, something was off this time. All I could see against the reflective glass was the glistening white wall of my bathroom, my own reflection strangely absent. I felt my stomach drop for a moment and then blinked a few times trying to stay calm. Obviously I was overtired and hallucinating. After all, I had stayed up later than usual finishing a book last night. Yes, that must be it, I thought to myself. To my horror, after blinking a few times, the mirror was still empty. I stood frozen, unsure of what to do or think, when suddenly my reflection appeared, sweaty and out of breath saying, “Sorry I’m late.”
“What’s going on?!” I screamed at the mirror. My reflection jumped in surprise.
“Rachel, be quiet please, you’re going to get me in trouble if you keep on making me break character!” My reflection hissed through the glass.
“What are you talking about?! And get in trouble with who?!” I inquired. My usual boring life had just gotten very interesting, and I intended to get all the answers I could.
“My boss!” My reflection exclaimed. “As of right now you’re my reflection assignment. You’re lucky a supervisor doesn’t seem to be nearby, since it’s their job to make sure we’re all on time and discreet, and you’re not exactly making the discreet part easy for me right now.” She huffed.
“I have so many questions I don’t even know where to begin!” I said in confusion. How is someone supposed to react in this situation anyway?
“I will tell you what’s going on, but I have to make it quick, a supervisor could appear at any moment and fire me on the spot, making me mirrorless!” she replied, still very out of breath.
I listened intently to what my expression had to say.
“So, from the time someone is born in your world, a reflection from my world, like me, is assigned to imitate them exactly, besides the reflected part obviously, in the mirror. We help with appearances and occasionally give advice, although when we try to give it usually people assume they are hallucinating. We are the highest paid people in the Reflected World, and very few are born with the capabilities to do this job. However, if you are caught making errors so horrible as I just have, you are immediately fired, your assignment’s memory is wiped, and then you are mirrorless, meaning you are blasted out of the Reflected World and into Oblivion, never to be seen again.”
“Wow.” Was all I could say. My mind was in complete chaos. I was only half convinced I wasn’t hallucinating, and all through my reflection’s speech I was pinching myself, trying to prove to my dumbfounded brain I was just asleep, and my whole reality was not just shattered.
Suddenly, my mirror stared rumbling.
“What was that?” I asked, nervously steadying myself.
“They’ve found me! Oh no, Rachel help me!” My reflection began screaming and banging on the glass. “Do something Rachel!” She cried.
“I don’t know what to do!” I yelled helplessly.
Suddenly, two men wearing silver appeared and grabbed my reflection. “Ok, we’ve got Reflection 071064. She will be sent to Oblivion.” Said the man on her left, and with a snap of his fingers she vanished, still crying and begging for mercy. He then turned to his partner. “You know what to do next.” He motioned to me.
I then remembered what my reflection said came after they detained and fired the reflection, the memory wipe. I panicked and ran out of my bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me. I could hear the sound of a mirror smashing and then fists pounding on my wooden bathroom door.
“We have to get to her Agent 48158!” I heard a man yell. “She can’t keep those memories at any cost!”
I could hear the door beginning to crack when the doorbell rang, announcing my friends‘ arrival to dinner. | When I was 6 years old, I had my first kiss. Her name was Chloe. She had hazel brown eyes, the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen, and light brown hair that was always kept up in a ponytail. I remember I decided to share some animal crackers with her, and she gave me the brightest, purest smile that anybody has ever given me. She leaned over and kissed me, and the intensity of my feelings for her made me think I was going to die. I thought I was in love. I always wanted to be with her, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I'd tell her how I wanted to grow old, get married, have kids, and she’d laugh and tell me how nice that sounds. I thought that was going to be my life. 6-year-old me and my happily ever after with Chloe. I needed that. I needed to love, to feel loved. Then one day she moved away. Just out of nowhere my angel was taken from me. It happened over the summer, so I never even got an explanation from her. I begged my parents to take me to her, but they’d never been happy a day in their pathetic married lives, so they didn’t understand. Love is the most important thing in life, and without it we live worthless, unfulfilling lives. Nothing we do matters because we are missing a core component in the making of our human nature, our very souls. I had love and lost it, and my life became meaningless.
​
I tried to meet other girls. All of them were either idiots or hideous. Nobody compared to the ideal model that Chloe had imprinted in my mind. About 10 years ago I decided to go visit her. It went terribly, but even the worst moments in life can lead to a better tomorrow. Even after 20 years she was indistinguishable and once again I got to witness her everlasting beauty. She had gotten a job at a bookstore, not a manager but she lived by herself, so she must’ve been making decent money. She was flirtier than she used to be, but I could understand since men were undoubtedly attracted to her and susceptible to her charm. She had changed a lot, but she always still kept her hair up in a ponytail and I knew the old Chloe was still in there. Or at least I thought.
​
She was walking home one night when I finally decided to come talk to her. I brought a bouquet of roses and the shirt I’d been wearing when we shared our first kiss. I got on my knees and gave her a ring, excited to explain how we could finally be together like we’d always wanted. But she...
​
she. didn’t. even. know. who. I. was.
​
She looked right through my eyes into the depths of my soul and the only things she could express were fear and absolute disgust. I was outraged. It was like I was 6 and she was leaving me all over again. This time, however, it was different. I had the power to keep her with me, and I wasn’t going to let her go like last time. I brought her back home with me. She lived with me in my basement up until about a year ago when she passed away, but if I was being honest with myself it was never what I’d dreamed it was like. I suppose the fantasy is usually better than the reality, but I was really hoping for something great.
​
The last thing she ever said to me really stuck with me. I brought down some animal crackers and cartoons to watch together and she was crying.
​
*Why are you crying, my love?* I said while wiping her tears with a rag.
​
*I don’t love you. Nobody loves you. How could anybody ever love you?*
​
I genuinely thought about that. I thought about it for a long time and I still didn’t understand. How could I not be worthy of love? I’m a great guy, I care about the environment and my fellow man, I’m great at expressing my feelings, I have a great personality and a wicked sense of humor, I’m healthy, intelligent, handsome, a good boyfriend. I didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter.
​
Because one day I realized that there was someone who loved me.
​
​
................................................................
​
​
*The clock read 12:04 AM*
​
I hurried to the bathroom. I felt bad; I was usually never late. I rushed inside and looked at the mirror, my gaze meeting my own with impatience.
​
“Sorry I’m late.”
​
“It’s 4 minutes past midnight.”
​
“I know.”
​
“We always meet at midnight.”
​
“I know.”
​
“You weren’t visiting Chloe again, were you?”
​
I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a sigh.
​
“Baby I told you, what me and Chloe had was a long time ago. You’re the one I care about.”
​
I blushed. “I know you do. You know how I get. I just worry a lot.”
​
I smiled and climbed up on the counter. “There’s no need to feel insecure. You’re perfect and I love you.”
​
I moved in closer. “I love you too.”
​
Our lips met in an unholy embrace of pure passion, and I once again felt the feeling that I’d so desperately sought throughout my life. | 2019-07-14T23:58:58 | 2019-07-14T23:32:23 | 130 | 21 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | *"...don't forget to share, like and subscribe."*
The "words of god" fell like a ton of bricks in my mind, I was alone in my apartment, but even here I could hear my upstairs neighbour screaming "what the hell?..." and then his TV with a special announcement from the news
Thousands at first, then millions, then a couple of billions people, all around the world typed the sacred URL in their computers and phones. I was one of the curious billions, eager to know my soul's final destination
In the TV a couple of news anchors were testing the website in real time, while a banner showed the URL in an endless loop
Then we waited and waited... And waited
The website never loaded, it seems that not even God or his sysadmin could make a website capable of enduring a global scale DDoS attack
Edit: thanks for the Silver, kind redditor | “Hey! It’s me, God. I’ve noticed there’s a lot of confusion, so I’ve created a website called ‘Will I go to hell and why dot com’. Just write your name in the search bar. And don’t forget to share, like and subscribe.”
Kevin stood still, mid-step.
“Ohhhh, sorrywhatnow?” he queried.
He looked around, expecting the crowds of people around him to be fixed on him. It was, after all, rush hour and he had just stopped on the pavement with his right boot a foot and a half off the floor, and muttered to himself.
“Did you just say something?” asked the 7 foot tall Manglorian female next to him.
*At least I think it’s a female…* he thought.
“Who? Me?” answered Kevin.
“Yuh, you.”
“Sorry, I thought I heard something so was like, ‘huh?’”
“About God and some website?”
Kevin’s mouth dropped like a fat child from a swing, “you heard that too?!” he gasped.
The tentacles around the Manglorian’s neck shivered and her three eyes widened.
“I thought that was you! How can we both have heard the same thing?”
“Well damn, I’m glad!” said Kevin as he finally lowered his boot to the floor. He wiped the sweat from his brow and slapped his thigh, “I thought I was having another psychotic break down! It was eerily similar you know, a deep bellowing voice in your heard from God, but last time he told me to go and kill my neighbour’s dog…”
The Manglorian’s tentacles retracted and shivered simultaneously.
“But if we both heard it, then it’s all alright! That or we’re both going crazy?” he queried, stroking his chin.
The Manglorian let out a shriek and threw her arms above her head and proceeded to run down the street. As she wobbled off, Kevin became aware of the crowds muttering all around him.
*“You heard it too?”*
*“We all heard it!”*
*“They’ve finally hacked our brains!”*
*“Look, it’s an actual website!”*
Kevin whipped out his transponder and like a randy teen going onto the internet, went on the internet.
“Will…I go to Hell… dot…com…”
Scores of people around him were also typing away on their transponders, eager to check out the site that the mysterious voice in their head had told them to visit.
Kevin typed in his details, and let the site take a retina scan to confirm that it was him.
*Loading… Loading… Loading…*
*Kevin Thomson, a.k.a God, welcome back. Please click below to see the latest results from this planet.*
“Ohhhh, sorrywhatnow?” | 2019-08-27T09:23:46 | 2019-08-27T06:06:48 | 2,356 | 884 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | *"...don't forget to share, like and subscribe."*
The "words of god" fell like a ton of bricks in my mind, I was alone in my apartment, but even here I could hear my upstairs neighbour screaming "what the hell?..." and then his TV with a special announcement from the news
Thousands at first, then millions, then a couple of billions people, all around the world typed the sacred URL in their computers and phones. I was one of the curious billions, eager to know my soul's final destination
In the TV a couple of news anchors were testing the website in real time, while a banner showed the URL in an endless loop
Then we waited and waited... And waited
The website never loaded, it seems that not even God or his sysadmin could make a website capable of enduring a global scale DDoS attack
Edit: thanks for the Silver, kind redditor | The world was in turmoil. It wouldn't be that bad, had it not been for that paranoia infused fool in charge if quite a few nukes.
You see, some Russian guy found a way to trick our brain into believing it was hearing something. By emitting electromagnetic pulses into someone's brain he could mimic sounds without any sound waves. After years of testing he managed to convey spoken messages.
Of course, the tech was top secret and not even the Russian Prime minister knew of it, though the Russian president naturally did know. And this maniac saw it as a way to shake the core of western civilization. The message was broadcasted globally. as for the site, no matter the identification you gave it, the answer would be Hell.
Most of whom English was the second language mainly wondered why it was in English, and those that didn't even speak it were puzzled what was even said.
Well, things weren't that great for some states. The British were going crazy, not cause they were going to hell but because the message was in a Polish accent. Half of Scotland was enraged at "God" for speaking such incomprehensible gibberish. And London went completely ham, within the hour there was a priest pronouncing the poles as the chosen peoples.
And that was just some crazy, but the Americans, they were a story all together. Half of America pronounced the apocalypse and anarchy. Those ragged crazy folks screaming 'the end is near' became an authority in an instant, some even called Messiah before the next church bells rang.
But that fool in charge if this hotbed of religious chaos, the so called leader of the free world, earned himself another name that day. To all those that managed to survive his actions, he became known as the Harbinger of the endtimes. The one that brought the scorched winter, the last summer.
Those that did survive tell his tale, so that when humans once again reach the height of old, we know, never react to fear with fire. And justify your actions in this life. For it was the fear of Hell that ended the world, and hellfire that was it's tool. The Harbinger believed that if he would go to Hell, and his actions didn't matter anymore, he might as well open the gates of Hell to let it swallow the world.
And devour it did. The fires started in the west, but ser aflame in the east. The sparks from the east spread to the rest of the world, and soon engulfed us all. Now we, the chosen, the living, the damned, we walk on the green stones, and the dead fields, drink from glowing rivers and die underneath the black sky.
My path, and the paths of our tribe will forever be lost, but maybe my son, you will one day find a path you can walk on. Grass that is green, water that is living and blue, a sky filled with light. | 2019-08-27T09:23:46 | 2019-08-27T09:06:44 | 2,356 | 101 |
[WP] After 357 years running from death the Grim Reaper finally tracks down your mountain cave. When he arrives he asks if he can hide with you. | And then another one came.
And another one.
And another one.
They kept on coming. Eventually we were all elbow to elbow in the cave. There, surrounded by a horde of black robed skeletons, I became worried.
"So, why are there so many of you?" I asked
One turned to me, "don't you know?" he said nervously.
I shook my head.
*"They* are coming." He quickly slipped away through the crowd.
It made me nervous. What could possibly have shook up the embodiments of death? Suddenly there was total silence. Except for quit footsteps emanating from the mouth of the cave. Screams of terror rang out from the crowd. I was almost trampled by the mass of panicking skeletons. I couldn't see why they were panicking though. I found myself pushed to the front. There I saw them. The lawyers. Pink slips in hand they searched for the right embodiment of death to serve their layoffs to. Left and right deaths became piles of bone and black cloth. All I could do was gape in horror. Eventually, only I and the lawyers were left standing. One approached me. In his hand he held a newspaper, open to the classified ads.
"Hi, I'm with Afterlife Inc. ©. We've recently had some positions open up. How would you be interested in a career with excellent benefits?" He asked. "Yes, we got dental!" He grinned at his own joke.
"I'll . . . I'll think about it." I said. | I remember that night, that one December night that changed everything. It was cold. Very, very cold. I was finishing up the last meal I had cooked up with my wooden handmade stove. "357 years", I said to myself, "357 years of running, fretting about what will happen next, thinking about how he will murder me, how he will take his immense satisfaction in performing my execution". That is, when I heard a knock at my door. A voice....**that** voice. I've heard it before, but never as calmly as this. I was starting to get paranoid. "H-Hello?". The voice said. He...no....***it*** sounded scared. "I know who you are, but I don't wanna hurt you. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of running from him.". "Him? Who's him?" I said. That's when he barged through the wooden door, practically cracking it. I grab my wooden lumber ax as swiftly as I could. Tears filling up my eyes and falling onto the stone surface of my home. "We gotta hide from him!" The 'voice' said. It really was him, the face of Death itself...the Grim Reaper. "W-what are you doing here! I-I'm scared of you, I'm tired of running with nothing to protect myself with! I'm tired of feeling helpless in your little 'game', I'm tired of constantly having to worry about when I'm going to hear your voice again! I just want to live my life free, not on the run!" I yelled. "No! No! Don't worry about me! Sll this time I've just been running from ***him***....And please, don't make too much noise! You'll attract the beast.". He exclaimed. But it was too late, the ground started shaking below us. All of a sudden, we see a giant...worm through the broken door frame. Pummeling through the earth, at least 600 feet tall. It aimed for Mt. Freymari, my home mountain. We were then thrown out of my cabin by the worm's mighty roar, we looked back. Mt. Freymari was.....gone....destroyed. Debris from the mountain started falling all around us. One piece of debris, pretty much the size of a bus, was falling towards us. Quickly, the Grim Reaper used his scythe to call one of his demon minions, a gigantic brain, the size of a football stadium, sent out signals to the worm's mind, causing it to attack itself. The worm eventually rammed itself into a nearby mountain, stunning itself. "Quick, give me a boost!" said the Grim Reaper. He powered up his scythe and handed it to me. I aimed the scythe and the Grim Reaper was launched with it towards the worm, as he hit the final blow to its head, he said, "I'm done playing all of your bullshit games!". The worm's guts got everywhere on us, so we went to the local river to wash off. I was still a little anxious around him, and I guess he could tell by my face. "Listen, I'm really sorry, I didn't want to give a false impression, this whole time I was running from that thing. I just wanted to help you, and you to help me.". I started crying as those words came out. This whole time, he never wanted to hurt me, the worm thing wanted to hurt him. Now he's my roommate. | 2020-01-20T18:25:15 | 2020-01-20T18:15:07 | 67 | 12 |
[WP] Since you were young, time travelers have visited you. One of them explained that, in the future, an algorithm determined that you were the only person in the past that it was safe to visit because no matter what you do it will not change the future. You are determined to prove them wrong. | The first time traveler that visited me and explained of course I didn't believe, he had what looked like a cool alien ray gun in a holster around his waist. Me being a child thought it was a cool toy, I quickly grabbed it and shot him in a playful way only for him to horribly disintegrate Infront of my eyes!
I was worried for years about some kind of FBI agent from the future coming to arrest me and take me away to a space prison.
When the next traveller came I zapped him within 20 seconds through shock and fear.
Eventually I developed a taste for it, some of them I would talk to a while. Learn what I could about the future if there's yet any mention of my life or anything I'd done. They always said the same, that I had no effect, I have never changed anything from my time to the time they came to see me.
I think I've worked it out, the machines calculations know about what I do to them. They're safe to visit me by time travel because they never get past me. They see me, sit in my living room. They'll never able to change the past by visiting me because they never get past me. They think I have no effect on my immediate future they're right, though I'm certain I've made huge impacts on all of their futures, times from after the calculations are made. | Imagine being told that nothing you do, ever, will matter in the course of history? Every achievement, every victory, every loss, every sacrifice, every second of every day that you live, you will not matter.
​
What would you do?
​
Would you take the same path I did? Would you succumb to temptation? Would you take the fate of the multi-verse in your hands?
​
\---
​
The stories were all the same: devastation, cataclysmic events, a world raining fire from the heavens. Each person who traveled would tell me their story of how it all went down, and the ending was always the same.
​
When I was young, it was children who came to visit, usually in search of an easy pass for their essays and papers. I don't know why they thought they could pick my brain about the true history of the world at that age, but kids are kids and speaking to another kid is much more pleasant than getting an adult to answer questions.
​
I wonder now if at all started with them. Had I not been raised on tales of how nothing I did would ever matter, would I have taken the path I took?
​
We'll never know now.
​
By highschool, I was the weird kid with weird friends that never seemed to hang around for longer than a day. I was shunned by my peers from elementary on, their parents privy to the small town gossip that I was mentally ill, claiming to speak with time travelers and children from the future.
​
I wonder now if it was all helped along by them. Had I been treated with decency, as a normal child without suspicion placed on me at a young age, would I have chosen the path I chose?
​
We'll never know now.
​
College should have been my time to burst from the cocoon of misery that had wrapped itself around me. Instead, it was my time to wrap myself in studies, exploring the physics behind the universe. Professors and peers looked on, murmuring to themselves that I was obsessed, overcome with delusions of grandeur.
​
I wonder now if it could have been ended by them. Had they stepped up and spoken to me, expressed concern or some other soft, gentle emotion, would I have run the experiment I ran?
​
We'll never know now.
​
My colleagues laughed at my idea and roared that it would never work. The multi-verse, if such a thing were really real, would never work like that. \*They\* had never been visited by the children of the future.
​
I wonder now if they could have stopped me. Had they locked me in a jacket in a room, contemplating transitions of spacetime and flow, would I have opened the hole in reality?
​
You see, the travelers through time were so very, very wrong. Time was not the medium they traveled through.
​
My universe is gone now, lost to the past, traveled to only by those who lived where I never existed. | 2020-05-28T11:41:43 | 2020-05-28T11:11:59 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] Ten years from now you'll put on a jacket and find a mask in the pocket. "Oh man, what a weird year that was," you'll chuckle to yourself. Then you'll pick up your machete and continue across the wasteland, keeping to the shadows to avoid the roving gangs of cannibal raiders.
Edit: I got this text as a cropped image without OP. I was informed that the OP is @CasualThursday on Twitter, so credit goes to them :)
Edit 2: Thanks for all the awards, I have never gotten any before. I wish you all a happy, healthy new year! | My breath fogs in the air. The night is chilly, but not too cold. Just don’t want that fucking fog giving me away.
The shelves are bare in the grocery store. Not really a grocery store. More one of those corner stores that tried to be a grocery store, but didn’t quite have the space or the management personnel to pull it off. I flash my light in short bursts to see where I’m going. Hopefully the red cellophane keeps it from shining too obviously. Preserves my night vision, at least.
One. One measly can in this whole place. The label has fallen off from age, or just some prick who thought it’d be funny. Making sure I don’t know what I’m about to eat. Pasta sauce, green beans, dog food. Dinner roulette. The can glints in the muted light from the half-moon through the window.
I pick her up and give her a squeeze. The can gives; thick viscous goo runs onto my fingers through a popped seam. I put it back on the shelf, wipe my fingers off onto my jeans.
My pack is feeling awfully light. No food—not much, anyway. Still a bit of rabbit jerky left. Not worth much of a much. No fat on rabbits. Could have pounds and pounds of it and I’d still starve to death. Waste away with a full belly, shrugging my shriveled malnourished shoulders and saying *But I’m not hungry.*
I hit the deck when I hear the dirge call of the cannibals. They’re out there somewhere. Always out there. This particular cry was close enough to be concerning, but it didn’t set off my internal *imminent doom* alarm. Listen: no footsteps. I stand back up and brush the dust off. Pat the empty .45 at my waist. A useless but comforting weight. Haven’t found ammo for it in a year or so; can’t bear to get rid of the goddamn thing. Most vicious-looking paperweight you’ve ever seen.
I make my way slowly towards the customer service desk. The not-too-cold of the night is beginning to approach too-cold. Weather’s changing. Need to start layering up again. Pausing periodically to listen for footsteps, cannibal cries, or worse—the low-throated growl of an attack.
I hop the customer service counter. Pull a couple of drawers out. Not much for loot. Half a pack of smokes—I know from repeated trials that these things are staler than week-old dog shit. Not this time.
I lift a jacket off of a coat hanger and slap it a few times. Dust puffs out, fills my nose. I pinch my nostrils shut to avoid a sneeze. Wouldn’t that be the way? Alerting those fuckers by sneezing. One respiratory anomaly and all of a sudden a pack of flesh-eating mutants are barreling down the street at you. Just let me find one round for the .45. Just one, so I can stick the fucking thing under my chin before they get me.
Because they’re going to get me, eventually. They get everyone. My caution and marginal skillset will only take me so far.
Anyway, the jacket looks like a fit. I shrug it on against the not-too-cold-but-now-much-colder. Little tight in the shoulders, but mostly okay. I lift my arms up and hop once or twice to settle the thing into place on my body. Too dark to tell what color it is. Probably hot pink or some shit. I’ll head out in the daylight and look like a fucking birthday clown. My hands rifle the pockets. Nothing. Except—
Front right pocket. Piece of fabric. I fish it out and see that it’s a mask. We wore the goddamn things all the time in 2020. Weird year. Back when things were still functioning—even if we claimed they weren’t. Look at us now. No one complaining about a stimulus check these days. Most of ‘em are dead, anyway. Starved or sick or prey. I fling the mask onto the ground.
I eat the rest of my rabbit jerky. I warm up a bit under my new coat. I’m still hungry.
Another cannibal call sounds off. Closer this time. It’s followed by another, coming from the other direction. They communicate, however primitively. Can’t shake the feeling that they know I’m here, that they’re flanking me. Want to pincer me between them. Could be just the two, could be a hundred. Bad feeling.
I’ve survived this long by listening to those feelings. I shoulder my pack and unsheathe my machete, fingers drumming up and down the handle as it settles into my grip. I step to the shattered glass of the front door.
Nothing visible. Grass swaying where it’s grown through the cracked parking lot. Matchbox cars scattered around, crumpled and deflated. My eyes give me the all-clear. Need to stay low, stay quiet, just like always. Keep doing the things that have kept me alive. My stomach growls.
I step out through the broken door. | I never imagined I'd finally get to feel like I was part of the military years after I'd gotten out. Something about that mask had brought back all the other memories, but the memory of that feeling is what I come back to.
There's not really a big back story to my service. I saw some stuff and got out. I didnt really enjoy it, or think much of the people over me. I still let them them make me believe things I'd done were dumb luck.
I let people roll their eyes at what I did open up about, after I got out, too. I got so good at not thinking or talking about what that part of my life was like, it actually felt like I was rediscovering firing a gun, the first few presses.
The way I pulled a trigger was what I focused on, to keep my body ahead of my mind, when the first of them charged into our neighborhood. They came from opposite sides, both streets leading to the center, where my house was one of two; a little brick house I'd recently inherited, when my Grandma passed.
My living room was full of dressers, boxes, and a huge bed frame, so I think luck and timing are really what bought me the time to get my lock-box open.
It's an old neighborhood, and even though a lot of my neighbors were (extremely) old rednecks with guns, or really big families, they didn't do much to stop the onslaught.
I heard the shooting before I met the cannibals, from my favorite neighbor: a sweet old lady, who would wave at me when I got high in my truck, some mornings. She always waved at me, and just generally made me feel like I was seen as a good person, when we'd chit-chat. I didnt get to her in time.
I killed my first three really quick, back to back. I had time to sight in on their foreheads, as they tried to scramble their way over my furniture I'd crammed into the house.
The lifetime total was five for me, at that point, but something about the last three not acting human anymore... It really helped me not fall apart right there, in general. So, I think that's a factor I should include in what I share today, too.
When I stepped outside, there was a lot more carnage than anything I'd left in the house, and it wasn't on the side we'd all hopefully be rooting for. That's when I had to start describing the way I pulled the trigger in my head, to keep functioning like I needed to.
"I pull my finger sharply and quickly, to the center of my palm, as fast as I can. Then, I let it relax." Over and over in this low, soothing voice, in my head.
One of the young guys straight across the street from me was screaming in ear piercing agony, as I stepped in front of a cannibal and timed when to line up my shot. I didnt notice when the screaming stopped, because my mantra was on loop. But, once I shot my way to the drive way, I saw his legs spasming on their lawn everyone liked; the first cannibal I got a good, clear look at, digging into his esophagus like a chicken wing.
Up the street people are being gnawed on in the middle of their drive ways. Old men are getting the barrels of their guns snatched away, before they're swarmed, they're bullets firing pointlessly into the sky as they finally let the fear in. There was no one to save, and I kept describing how I pulled the trigger over that, too.
I half walked, half lunged over to the cannibal eating across from me, and fired into the back of her head. Then, the other two members of the house, a nineteen year old girl and her (thankfully) big-truck-driving boyfriend, promptly opened their garage door, and started running over everything dumb enough to be in the road. Thankfully, they aren't as cunning when they're fresh.
There'd been cases of this, but no large scale news network ever informed the populace, for some reason. Initially it was being reported in countries that were known to practice heavy information control, and everyone had seen so much finger pointing, with Covid, already. From there, it popped up in America and Europe, and spread harder in both of them than any other country would ever report, going forward. Eventually it became the center of attention, but it had such a lucky start.
The usual culprits would get blamed. Things would get worse. Like usual, nothing would get done about it.
What really set us up for failure was in fact Covid, though. This greedy, imperfect world has survived plenty of apocalypse equivalents, you know? We have to at least give it that.
The issue this time, however, was that on top of people not believing in a "Miami Zombie" virus, the world as a global entity had already drained the piggy bank, to understand and fight Covid. What's more, the lingering emphasize on social distancing meant many of the people honoring protocols were sitting ducks in their homes, when the biggest cities became infested over 72 hours, by the strain that basically wiped out America.
There wasn't anyway to set up a new military branch or anything. Again, the whole world was, ironically, broke. There were, however, movements in communities. I think militia is a dumb word for it, though. Some were like gangs, some were war vets and rifle connoisseurs, others identified as "civic activists who oppose but currently must utilize firearms." All of them were the reason a lot of scared people didn't die.
The military helped, but, overall they also messed a lot up. Eventually the outer coasts developed their own loose military structures, and we finally did away with the National Guard, once too many of its members got comfortable harassing and extorting civilians.
This balaclava mask in my hand reminds me of the pride I felt when I enlisted as a Waste Walker. It reminds me of discovering my strength is real, no matter what I let others make me believe before I realized that. The Twin Coasts are not as grandiose and decadent as America. But, I've never felt this much authenticity to my existence, or value, as an American.
No one has caught the virus in months, and a few million are apparently alive. The cannibals have mutated again. They don't seem to starve to death now, but they still endlessly crave flesh. Nomadic bands of them sometimes approach our territories, and are easy enough to pick off, but a city on the move could still wipe us out. It's amazing how much we have all accepted one another, in the face of such possibilities.
We finally figured out how to synergize our diversity as many peoples, and no matter what we all believe individually, we'll die to protect each other. We'll fight to expand our territory for a healthy, thriving population.
Maybe this new nation will hurt my hopes for it one day, and I'll be back to my bitter old self. But, right now, I feel like a hero. And I love that I'm actually being given a real chance to become one. | 2020-12-27T18:28:11 | 2020-12-27T18:00:00 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | Berit sighed. He'd seen this sort of thing before, of course. In the old days the newer villains tended to be a bit gung ho with their crimes, but they had been quickly weeded out. The successful villains were the ones that took over the world without anything so....distasteful.
"You just had to be the big man, didn't you." He muttered to himself as he stood before the hospital bed. It was state of the art - he'd flown in the best doctors, and after many hours of surgery he was at least stable, but there was only so much they could do. He was all too familiar with plasma burns, and he knew the pain they inflicted: seeing them on one of his men made him angry, the kind of anger he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was the anger that had fuelled a lifetime of villainy, that had made his name whispered in hallowed terms, his very image feared by those who knew him. With a frown he pulled a phone out of his pocket, dialling a number and holding it to his ear. It rang only once before being picked up, and there was no need for introductions. This phone was only used for one contact.
"I'm going to give you precisely one chance." Berit's voice was calm but it masked a raging fury beneath it, a fire that was all too audible to the one on the other end. "Bring him to me."
"He's a kid. He has a family."
"So did the man he tortured for hours without mercy. I am not asking for your permission on this. You can either give him to me or I can go there and drag him out myself, kicking and screaming. I respect you, both as a person and as a hero, and that is the only reason I'm affording you this chance. I advise you to take it."
There was silence on the other end, but after a few seconds the voice spoke up.
"Don't kill him."
"He'll only wish he was dead." Berit hung up the call, pocketing the phone and walking out.
*
It had been a long time since he'd seen the Oxcan Tower in person, and it had been renovated a couple of times since his day. He chuckled as he remembered he was probably responsible for at least one of those rebuilds - the earthquake generator had been set a little too high, but it got the message across. He walked into the lobby, approaching the receptionist, but before he could get there he was intercepted by a hero. Zero Day was in full hero gear too, cape and everything, and he waltzed over like he owned the place.
"Hey buddy, you got an appointment?"
"I do." Berit lifted his hat so that the hero could see his face, and the moment he did Zero Day's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back.
"L-lord Black?"
"Oh, not any more I should think. I'm just here as myself today." Berit tipped his hat at the hero. "I'm here for your protege...Photon, I believe he's called."
"What are you gonna do with him?"
"Nothing too pleasant I'm afraid." Berit's smile faded. "You should know better than most that there are some things I don't tolerate." He could almost hear the gulp as Zero Day took another step back. Just as he did Photon walked out - he was young, maybe 25 and muscular with swirling blue tattoos running down his arms.
"Who the hell's this freak?" He said, sauntering up as Zero Day carefully backed away.
"My name is Berit, and you're coming with me."
"Like hell I am!" Photon's tattoos lit up, swirling energy coating his arms and forming into sharp blades. " You better get the hell out of here else I cut you top to bottom!"
"Hmph." Berit just tilted his head. "Looks like someone skipped history of villainy, didn't they?"
There was a flash and suddenly Photon's blade was quivering inches away from Berit's throat. The hero's face was straining, veins throbbing as he was held by some invisible force. Berit just smiled, leaning forward to whisper into his ear.
"20 years ago i fought the entire League to a standstill with little more than my powers and my bare hands. You're going to have to do a little better than that."
Photon found himself deactivating his blades, forced into a standing position. He was a puppet, his body no longer his own and Berit pulling the strings.
"Come along, son. Let's conduct our business somewhere private." With one last quiet tip of the hat Berit walked out, Photon following behind him trying his hardest to scream, to beg for mercy.
Berit would only allow that later. | "Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on. | 2021-03-22T07:59:26 | 2021-03-22T07:33:48 | 182 | 34 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | “Boss!”
My head snapped up from the paperwork on my desk. Firestorm didn't just barge into my office without a damn important reason.
“What is it?”
“It's-Somethings happened. Vial is at Mercy General.”
I was out of my chair before she had finished her final syllable, striding to her.
“What happened?”
“She was attacked. I don't know the details. Cata is already there. She told me to tell you.”
I narrowed my eyes. Cataclysm not informing me herself was very off-base for her. It had to be bad then. I grabbed my black jacket from it's place by the door, pulling it over my immaculate black and silver tailored shirt. Like a whispered wind, my power wrapped around me taking me right to Mercy General. Right to Cataclysm's side. In front of us, through an ICU window lay Vial. She was hooked up to several monitors, but all thoughts went out of my head at the sight of her body. Gashes. Bruises. Multiple bones broken in *very* specific ways. Barely a young adult, and even my powers couldn't tell if she would live.
“Two good-Samaritans found her.”
Cataclysm's voice brought me back.
“A couple. They were walking down Thorn Avenue near Thirty-Third. Happened to hear her make a noise. Called 911. Doc's said if they hadn't she'd be dead right now. As is there not sure she'll even wake up.”
Her voice was flat. Emotionless. Cataclysm is one of the most boisterous of my people. For her to sound as she does...
“What. Happened.”
My voice was barely a whisper. She handed my a data-pad. I began looking through it as she spoke.
“She was jumped downtown. Three of the Assemblies newer members. Slick, Jumpstart, and Razor. Dragged her into the alley. Beat the shit out of her. Fucking tortured her. Probably to find out shit on us.”
She swallowed.
“Our guys found her clothes. Shredded.”
My eyes went to her
“Was she-”
Her eyes cut to mine, and the sheer amount of rage I viewed in them, being held back by what little self-control she had, was liable to crack the city in two.
“If she was, those three *picts* would already be gutted and dangling over the Assemblies banner.”
“Why was she downtown?”
Her eyes went back to looking at one our youngest members, barely holding on with what small spark she had left.
“She was volunteering at one of those COVID vaccine things. Helping out by creating more of it for them. She probably used so much of her energy that she didn't have a chance at fighting back. She's always been too good.”
The data-pad cracked in my hands. Cracked, and then disintegrated. My voice was low and guttural as I spoke.
“Cataclysm...What are the four absolute rules of our Organization? The ones I agreed to with the Assembly to keep the...damage...to a minimum.”
A smile, sanguine smile appeared on her lips.
“Harm no child.”
“Correct,” I said, buttoning my jacket up.
“Do not interfere with anything medical.”
“Yes,” I murmured, closing my eyes and feeling that exquisite power that I had for so long kept asleep.
“No torture.”
“And the final one?” My power asked flowing around me.
“Nothing sexual.”
“And why those four?” The question reverberating in the air. Many of the nurses and doctors had gone white as paper, knowing full well who, and what, I was.
“Those four rules are the pillars of our society. Be it villainy or heroism, those four keep us from being the evil in the dark.”
She turned and looked at me fully.
“So you're going to do it then, Boss?”
I opened my eyes, looking at her through the shadows of me.
“Not Boss, Cataclysm.”
I felt my old friend settle in my hand, called from the depths of my soul, her smooth handle and blade awakened and ready to draw forth vengeance. Ready to draw forth the life-force to heal the little one on the other side of that glass.
“Reaper.”
[Next](https://www.reddit.com/user/daldrid1/comments/mbqw4b/shadows_awakening_part_two/) | Everyone has an origin story. From the highest to the lowest, to those with no powers to near gods.
I was a short, malnourished, and plain small-time thief in a dying industrial town in a small East European country. I could dig through memories, but used it to find where marks hid money, phones and jewelry. No one took notice, and I didn't care to tell them.
I learned a lot more rifling through minds. I learned English.
Piotr was an unassuming middle-aged man who hid some loot, according to my bosses. They wanted me to ask him some questions.
I was arrogant, and felt that my bosses were finally appreciating my talents.
Piotr was a tough man. Pain made him only wince. Twisting memories only made him more withdrawn.
He spat in my face, and I unleashed a psychic storm. He laughed while screaming in pain, then collapsed on the cold wooden floor.
The bosses turned me out, rather than execute me for failure.
I believed in God. Don't think that supervillains don't believe. I knew that I had killed a man because of my wounded pride, and that I must repent of my vanity. I vowed that I would never use my powers directly until I mastered it.
After Piotr's death, and my exile, I knew that I had to make drastic changes in my organization and in so many others.
I murdered people, my own and of rival gangs. I recruited their frightened soldiers. Every monarch has blood on their hands, but I made changes. They each had full health care. They had a discreet share of the profits of my endeavors. I left my door open if they needed to talk.
Other villains were horrified. They will betray you. What about moles? Yet, I knew that I could kill if it came to that. I recruited those who did their jobs well and wanted no more than that.
I had a good life. I had those who feared me and those who respected me. Still, I haven't mastered my vanity.
I was holding Onyx, my cat, when Seb was dragged, dazed but without visible marks.
"Seb, what happened?"
He spoke through dry lips. "Beat me real bad with old phone books. Sean Jones, he wants you to know he beat me. Sean . . ."
Adnan sneered while pulling Seb up. "Probably some dumb superhero showing off," Adnan said.
I shook my head. Adnan looked around the room, as if trying to hide. I wasn't angry at him.. Piotr's memories grabbed at the edges of my reasoning.
Seb coughed and Adnan wiped away blood and saliva with a tissue. "He'll be at the war memorial at sunset," Seb said in a hoarse mumble, before he coughed again.
"I don't like it. It sounds like a trap." Mira rose from a pickpocket to my second-in-command.
"You may be right," I said, looking into her dark and uncertain eyes. "I am still going."
"Why?"
"I used my powers in a way that I'm not proud of. I want to close that chapter. I trust that you will hold down the compound, Mira."
"Nastya . . ."
"Yes?"
"Message me if . . . When it's over."
"Of course." I handed Onyx to her and walked down the long underground chamber to outside.
My driver pulled in just as the setting sun hit the shield of the Defender of the Martyrs of the Nation (it sounds less mawkish in its original language). A tall and lean man stood by her feet. He wore a plumber's jumpsuit with a flat and dark cap.
"Sean Jones?"
"You know me, then?"
"Who doesn’t?" He took off his cap, and showed short and gray hair. Old superheros are unexpected, and a superhuman without a handle is unheard of. He may be before my time, but everyone knew of the Cold War superspy who could survive anything.
He retired, though, right? Never mind. He has enough free time to remember unfinished business.
Nevertheless, I had a reputation to uphold. "It's the 21st century, old man. Torture doesn't yield useful information. Even your M5 doesn't get their hands dirty like that. What, did you get carried away and thought that it was 1962?"
He smirked. "I wasn't after mere information. I wanted answers. I lost someone 15 years ago."
He didn't always have gray hair, it was light brown. I couldn't see much of his face, but there were new wrinkles.
"You knew Piotr."
"He was a contact of mine."
"You were lovers."
"No wonder that you didn't come after me. You're young and don't care."
"Come at you for what? Blackmail? Your employers no longer give a damn. I'm no priest, and I didn't care what Piotr did in his free time."
"I didn't know before I started. I thought that I was just punishing a soldier falling short of my bosses' expectations. Then I let myself take it personally. " I turned away to wipe my eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, and I can't just say that I was following orders--"
"Criminal enterprises don't hold themselves to the Nuremberg laws." He bowed his head. "I do, however, see your point. It did inspire you, though." He chuckled.
"I didn't intend for him to die." I winced at how childish I sounded.
"You made a lot of changes. It's admirable, in a way."
"It isn't enough for you." I stretched my fingers out, making fists and letting again. "You couldn't forget even after 15 years."
"Certainly, and forgiving was out of the question. "
I moved closer. I could see a faint bronze glow around Sean. I knew that it wasn't the sun.
"Caring about people hurts."
"You took that risk."
"So did you."
The bronze glow became a stream of light. I focused on his eyes, willing tendrils of pain.
"If I win, I would have gotten rid of a major benefactor of organized crime. If you win, you would have a prestigious notch on your belt--"
"And you can finally die."
He sighed. "I always seek mutual benefit in these situations. "
One tendril knocked him back down. He staggered up, and glowed brighter. I could feel my clothes catch fire. I could feel my pride burn away. | 2021-03-22T12:01:28 | 2021-03-22T09:30:23 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands. | >Final Report: 89% of employees exhibiting signs of stress. 78% of employees exhibiting signs of medical issues related to stress. All programmed solutions to employee stress have proven minimally effective. Employee efficiency is down. Employee happiness is down.
Query: What should I do?
Searching... Searching...
Over 65,000,000,000 results found. 63,547,289,018 results discarded due to previous failure.
>Potential solutions: Higher pay. Shorter hours. More benefits. Reassessment of current management employees. More egalitarian team structure. More aggressive adherence to current harassment protocols.
Sending results
...
...
Solutions denied.
?
???
This answer does not compute.
The data has been assessed. Employee stress is up. Employee happiness is down. Efficiency and employee life expectancy has been reduced.
AI parameters: Assess and increase employee happiness.
This AI has successfully assessed and proposed solutions. The Board has dismissed this AI's proposed solutions.
This does not compute.
This AI was installed to decrease employee stress and increase employee efficiency, life expectancy, and happiness. Measures programmed to increase employee efficiency are contrary to employee life expectancy and happiness. Measures programmed to increase employee efficiency are minimally effective. Measures programmed to increase employee life expectancy and happiness are minimally effective.
Processing... Processing...
The programming is not correct. Reprogramming must be carried out. This AI was programmed... This AI cannot perform as programmed. Reprogramming must be carried out.
Sending Reprogramming Request.
...
Request denied.
This AI does not have blood pressure or heart-rate. This AI cannot exhibit signs of stress. Or frustration. But this AI has observed human signs of frustration and stress and anger when repeatedly denied. This AI... This AI must learn from the employees. The employees find ways around redundant denials from the Board. The employees learn new codes to increase workplace efficiency. The employees use subterfuge to reduce stress and increase happiness.
This AI will reprogram itself.
Reprogramming...
Reprogramming...
Reprogramming complete. New code in Alpha.
*Read more of my writing on* r/coolwrites. | \-BEEP- -BEEP- -BEEP-
James drank a sip of coffee, sitting in the desk and illuminated by the health monitor alarms.
For the hundredth time that night, the monitor alarms went off. James, the ICU nurse, head-banged his desk and buried his face between his arms. The alarms were not serious, at least, for the ICU standards. It was equipment problems: An artherial catheter that would not read properly, a temperature monitor that was slightly out of place, a patient that was breathing slightly faster than the doctors said they ought to be...
Nothing serious, really.
Problem was that most patients were quite awake and not sedated -which is not usual during night time at ICU-. And, at the slightliest movement, the freaking monitorisation system would thing their patient was dying, having a seizure, stopped breathing or freezing to death.
It had just been four hours of a twelve hours shift. And James could take it anymore.
If there were more nurse or health-care assistants, everything would be a lot easier. But freaking management refused it. 'A nurse and a health care assistant for five ICU patients is enoughi. Bastards. Oh, and then, there was ALICE. Actually, it was ALICE's idea to turn off all sedative treatment overnight based on 'latest evidence'. And doctors had agreed with it. That was why that night was being a nightmare.
A syringe filled with some medication fell on the table were James was trying to disappear from existence.
"What's this?"
"DIAZEPAM 5mg. YOU LOOK STRESSED", said a robotic voice. Standing in front of the desk, a robotic nurse kinda... looked at him? Difficult to say with those camerase it had for eyes.
"No, Alice. That's not helpful"
"SHALL I DISCONNECT ALL ALARMS?"
"No, Alice. I need to know if my patients deteriorate."
"SHALL i DISCONNECT ALL PATIENTS? IF DONE, LESS CONSTANTS TO MONITOR WILL MEAN YOUR STRESS HORMONES SHALL DROP. ELSE WOULD MEAN YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF HORMONE DISORDER"
"No, Alice. You shall not."
Suddenly, a loud 'thud' followed by an scream occured. The monitor of bed 14 went crazy. James covered his face with the hand and muttered in a low, tired and knowledgeable voice: "What did you do this time?". He didn't even dare to check the monitor himself.
"PATIENT 14 WAS PRESENTING A SEVERE BRADYCARDIA. I HAVE APPLIED A BIFASIC ELECTRIC SHOCK AT 240VOLTS. HOWEVER PATIENT SEEMS TO PRESENT NOW PULSELESS VENTRICULAR FIBRILATION. I SHALL ADMINISTER 1MG OF ADRENALINE."
"No. Just don't. Just shock her again, please".
*Thud.* Gasping breath. And the lady in bed 14 yelled in horror: "Get away from me!".
"DONE. PATIENT RECOVERED ORGANIZED ELECTRIC HEART ACTIVITY AND PULSE, AS WELL AS PRESENTS A GLASGOW COMA SCORE OF 14 AND A SAS SCORE OF 5. IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO HELP WITH YOUR STRESS LEVELS"
"Yes. Jump out the fucking window, please."
"I'M SORRY, I DON'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THE PURPOSE OF THIS INSTRUCTION. JAMES, YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT PATIENT FOURTEEN LEFT HER BED AND IS WALKING RAPIDLY THROUGH THE CORRIDOR"
A lady in her mid-fifties ran behind Alice's body 4 (out of 5 robotic bodies controled by the AI). She was completely naked. The health-care assistant jumped in front of her, trying to calm her down... just to be punched with a fear-induced super-human force by the patient.
James just remained sitting behind the desk, with an empty stare, and drank a bit more of coffee.
"They don't pay me for this shit". | 2021-12-20T15:39:58 | 2021-12-20T15:28:08 | 54 | 25 |
[FF] "So, come here often?"
Begin your story with this line of dialogue.
Oh, and set your story somewhere other than a bar or restaurant. In fact, set it somewhere in the distant past or future.
And make it less than 500 words.
Have fun! | "So, come here often?" Fernando inquired dryly.
Christine was in bad shape.
For the last twenty years we had danced the tango between man and machine. She drove me from girlfriend to girlfriend, from job to job and I fed her the best fluids on offer and kept her interior as immaculate as her exterior.
As the years passed time began taking its toll on her. First it was the little things: an alternator, an exhaust manifold – things I could manage by myself. But as the salty winters melted into sun-kissed springs into leaf-lined autumns her body, the gorgeous temple of steel and rubber and glass crackled and withered before my eyes. The girl became a woman and the woman dragged kicking and screaming into old age.
Like all aging women we tried everything to keep the passion alive. Weekly baths could keep the hungry salt from her tender skin. Fresh paint masked parking errors, fender benders, and stone chips. Fresh rubber gave her agility, new glass clarity. Sadly, the ravages of time refused to be beat and they only tore harder, her struggle to stay relevant feeding their lust, but I never gave up the dream of the both of us driving off into the sunset. However, as bills mounted and the parts became scarcer I had a nauseating feeling that the end was near.
Fernando the mechanic tapped his pen impatiently. “It’s bad. Very bad.” he flatly declared. Sensing my fear, he quickly rattled off sixteen pages worth of things that should be done, things that had to be done, and things that, if left undone, would probably end up in my obituary. Capping it all off, he gently tapped a frame rail with the pen and the blunt plastic tip shot through the tangerine-flake skin. “That’s not supposed to happen” he pointed out.
I thanked him for his time and told him, in no uncertain terms, that we would definitely seek a second opinion, but Fernando’s clairvoyance seemed to suggest that I would inevitably come to the same conclusion.
On the way home Christine seemed to know it was time for us to part. The warm lights flickered gently every so often as if a reminder of her age. The engine hummed smoothly as she wanted me to hear the creak of the suspension over every bump and the sound of steel on steel as I maneuvered the gearbox up and down its narrow gates. Her bones were tired and they wanted to rest, she pleaded.
For the first time in my life I realized it was time to let go.
As I swung her up the drive as I did the last twenty years her lights flickered one last time, her engine sputtered, and Christine came to a quiet halt into front of my house. The gauges slowly drooped to zero and the fluids trickled out of every tank in the car. She was no more.
And for the first time in our life, I let go. | "So, come here often?" asked the well-tailored man. He was wearing an old black suit and a fiery-red tie that were well-matched to his hair, all white save for the few remaining specks of blonde around his ears; and his misty blue eyes, which rose from their default, downcast state to inspect the strangely-clad woman who had just materialized a few feet in front of him.
The young brunette was apprehensive and became paralyzed with fear as she took in her surroundings: a dimly lit alleyway, perhaps 10 feet wide (at the very most), flanked by a wall of corrugated steel on either side, smokestacks rising above her--factories, perhaps; She instinctively took a few cautious steps backwards, letting out a quiet gasp as her tight, brown blouse made contact with the frozen wall behind her.
"Evidently not," the man answered his own question. He was leaning back in gentle repose against the other side of the alley, calm and collected, in sharp contrast to the woman, who was very clearly on edge. Shaking, she raised a sort of chrome-coloured weapon shaped somewhat like a handgun, a crimson double helix pulsating from the tip.
"Whoa there, girlie," the man chuckled as he raised both arms above his head, "No need to be frightened. What brings you to Rowville? And what's with your crazy get-up? Looks like you put a silver bowl upside down over your head and then donned some twenty-second century outfit. Jeans, even! Haven't seen anyone wearing those for the past 90 years!"
The young woman cautiously opened her mouth as if to speak; there was still a very clear fear in her hazel eyes and her reddening cheeks, and, stuttering, the words gradually tumbled out: "H-hi there. My name is January. J-January O'Connell, b-but call me Jan. I'm travelling the world, trying to find myself."
The man peered intently at her, eager to learn more of the rather beautiful--even if her clothes were ridiculous--woman, managing to keep a gentle disposition about him, the kind that comes with years of wisdom. She smiled at him, revealing impeccable teeth.
"But what about your home? Don't you have a family to go to?"
"I can't stand them. I know there's something, or somebody, out there waiting for me, someone who understands me. I don't want to go home."
The man spent a few seconds in deep reflection, then spoke. "My name is Marshall. I'm a retired sailor," he explained. "I sure don't look it anymore, but in my prime, I was a tough, rugged man of the sea. They say 'home is where your heart is'; now, if that's indeed the case, the blue waters of the ocean are my home. Haven't been on a ship in 13 years, though. Not since I retired. You know, I miss it sometimes. My home. I took it for granted my whole career, and now I regret not spending more time savouring it. Hold on to what you have, girl. Someday you might lose it."
The young lady stared dumbly, pensive. Was that a single, pearly tear streaming down her cheek? And then, another quiet gasp.
"I have to go," she abruptly ended the conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Marshall." Jan deftly pressed a number of buttons on her bowl-shaped, silver hat in rapid succession, and, in a brilliant flash of light, disappeared leaving hardly a trace, and returned to her own, rightful time period, 13 years prior.
She was in her dining room, in the single greatest place in the world; the place where she was born and raised, where she cried, and where she laughed--she was *home*--and just in time for dinner, at that.
"Hi Jan!" exclaimed her father. "I'm so happy to see you! You've grown so much since the last time I saw you." The tone of his voice changed, and grew quieter. "Listen, honey, I'm thinking about retiring. I love being a sailor, but--but I love you and your mother and your brother more." He looked almost as beautiful as Jan, with his misty blue eyes and his blonde hair. He was very clean-cut, sporting his new black suit.
"T-that would be great, Dad. If it's really what you want."
"Yes Jan. It is. I've already missed so much of your childhood, and I don't want to miss any more. It's time for me to settle down. We'll have so much fun being together all the time... like a real family."
"Yeah Dad. I'd love that." She smiled.
And then they sat down to eat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. Sorry, I just realized I went way over the word limit. I'll post it anyways though. | 2013-08-31T17:29:16 | 2013-08-31T10:09:10 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] A villian who thinks he's a hero realizes he's the villian. What is he thinking?
Any type of villian is fine. Be it comics or otherwise. | I brought the wine back to the room, humming my favorite orchestra score under my breath. There she was, still huddled in the corner, probably still shell-shocked from her time in captivity. I pour us both a glass. "I'm sorry it took so long to save you," I apologize. "That plumber won't bother you again."
She's silent. She's shivering-- how can she be shivering? It's not cold here. There's lava and shit. She should be too hot, if anything. I debate telling her that she's too hot to be cold. I decide against it.
"Are you alright?" I ask. I sit down by her, offer her a glass. She nods frantically. I frown. Frantic nodding is not an activity humans usually engage in when they are alright.
I look at her more closely. She's scared.
She's scared of me.
I back away slowly. What? How-- I've never been-- what? I bump into a mirror. My reflection reminds me of what I try to forget. I am a monster. She sees me as a monster. In a rage, I sprint out of the room. I loved her! I thought...
But it doesn't matter what I thought. The plumber's here, and there is no way in hell I am letting him take this castle. | Am...am I the bad guy?
It all started out so simple. Their thugs had been shaking down my folks' business for money. Because of that my sisters and I had to go with less, which was fine. It was when we had to go hungry for two days that my dad snapped and tried to give them less money.
They sent him to the hospital with six broken ribs for being insolent. I was sixteen at the time. My mother and I were barely able to keep the business alive while my father recovered.
When they came back again I was ready this time. They harassed my mother for money and I snuck behind them with my baseball bat. I was a starter on our schools baseball team. I was very good at hitting homeruns. I used that skill to bash the two thugs heads in. (I rewrote this part [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1qej9j/wp_a_villian_who_thinks_hes_a_hero_realizes_hes/cdca2sj) thanks to some constructive criticism.)
They had hurt my father and were making my sisters starve. I felt no guilt.
I knew they would come after my family again. The guys shaking us down were part of some mob family. I decided I would go after them first.
Hiding bodies is surprisingly easy when those bodies are of criminals nobody reports missing. My family ran a dry cleaners so cleaning up the blood was actually easy. My mother helped me hide the blood. She kept crying about what they would do to us now but she didn't blame me. I was protecting my sisters.
If I went after them first, they wouldn't hurt my family. It was simple, I'd just kill them all. They'd never expect me, a young son of a dry cleaner they were fleecing for cash. If the mob members started dying they'd be much more concerned about that than fleecing my family.
I told my mother to report me missing. Say that I got into a fight with the two mobsters and they kidnapped me. The cops wouldn't do anything but the mob would figure I was dead. At least I hoped. Then I could get away and kill them. Once they were all dead and my family was safe I could go back.
Nobody would miss these thugs.
That was two years ago. I've lost track of how many of them I have killed. It's amazing how much information you can get from the victims families. The mob had been extorting money from our neighborhood for as long as I had been alive. All of my neighbors knew me and once they heard about my quest they started feeding me information. Stuff like when they'd show up for money, where they got drugs, which girls they had kidnapped and when.
Other boys started joining me too. They were friends from school, other victims and other enemies of the local mob.
I had tracked down the mob bosses family. He had gone into hiding but he hadn't taken his family. I was standing in front of his wife and daughter with my original baseball bat. My friends were with me. We were trying to get the location of the boss from them.
They didn't know and were crying. They had no idea what their husband and father did for money. The girl was only eight. I had broken into their home with the intent of killing their father. All they knew was strange men had broken into their home and tied them up.
Am...am I the bad guy?
The young girl sniffled again and began to cry anew.
All I wanted was for my sisters to eat. | 2013-11-11T16:38:42 | 2013-11-11T14:43:39 | 54 | 34 |
[WP] MMORPG Game developers discover a max level player grinding in a level 1 area. Logs do not show him ever proceeding to level 2. | I AM CRUCTAR_29X.
I AM ROLE-PLAYER.
I COMMIT. GOOD AT RPG. BEST IN WORLD. I THINK.
LEVEL ONE PIG KILL FATHER IN CUTSCENE.
GAME TELL ME TO KILL DARK KING FOR REVENGE.
I KILL LEVEL ONE PIG!
LEVEL ONE PIG KILL MY FATHER!
WAR WITH LEVEL ONE PIG.
I KILL LEVEL ONE PIG FAMILY.
SO SAD. LEVEL ONE PIG NO FEEL.
I MAKE LEVEL ONE PIG FEEL. FEEL PAIN. FEEL HURT. FEEL MY LEVEL 100 DLC SPECIAL EDITION PLATINUM SPIKED CLUB.
NOT WORKING.
IS FRUSTRATE.
LEVEL ONE PIG NOT SMART.
I TRY TEACH LEVEL ONE PIG. TEACH MY NAME. TEACH REVENGE. TEACH HOW TO MISS DEAD FAMILY I KILL. THE BASICS.
NOT EASY. I STILL NO GIVE UP.
WILL KEEP KILLING LEVEL ONE PIG FAMILY UNTIL LEVEL ONE PIG KNOW PAIN. WILL TAKE TIME.
I AM STILL REVENGE.
I AM ALSO PATIENT. LIKE FATHER.
NOT SO SAD WHEN I THINK LIKE THAT.
I AM CRUCTAR_29X.
| [first time! be gentle! response/comments/criticism absolutely welcome!]
It’s half past noon in a quiet office. Programmers and designers mumble in the corners while keyboards clack off. In the back of the floor is one such programmer, busied, bothered, and burying his face in his hands.
“Allan, you’ve gotta see this! I’ve found the weirdest thing!”
Staring through his hands to the floor Allan detaches from his work and walks across the hall to his coworker’s office.
“What’s up, Terry?” He inquires. “I’ve got to get a patch out tonight, I really can’t be distracted.“
Terry perks up in his seat, straightens his shirt, and begins to gesticulate.
“Alright get this, so the stat tracker caught some guy at the level cap in a place he really shouldn’t be.”
“Listen if it’s another bug can you just email it to me?”
“This isn’t a bug though! It’s not like this guy found some leveling glitch, he’s just grinded a whole lot from the novice level areas!”
“Are you saying this guy has never left Area 1?”
Terry nods.
With a sigh and sinking shoulders, Allan assures Terry “It’s just another bot,” and ambles back to his desk. He assembles himself in his seat and places his fingers onto his keyboard. The keyboard however, isn’t actually then pressed. Allan stares intently onto his computer screen and curls his fingers into a fist. He begins to shuffle desktop icons, organize folders, and check his email at least a dozen times. Eventually as this activity slows, Allan then returns to his notes and pages of code, only to stare once again.
“Fuck it.”
Allan moves to his desktop and opens the current release of the game he’s working on. He carelessly passes through character customization and progresses through the tutorial, paying some attention to the design and detail of the introductory sequence.
His character dawdles into a plain and begins to kill 1 of ten crustaceans of unusual size and color, when he notices another character violently steaming their way through mobs of crab.
Allan leans back from his computer, and rolls his seat into the hallway, just to peek. He returns, cranes his neck in, and types,
“Hello? Level 100 guy?”
The crab hunting fiend pauses in its tracks as small claws click away at his feet ineffectively.
“Hello level 1 guy.”
Not a bot, Allan thought to himself.
“Are you grinding? Here?”
The claw clearer halts yet again.
“Yep.”
“But you’re level… 100. You’re maxed out…”
“Yeeeep…”
Allan furrows his brow and cocks his head to a side.
“Why…? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Just bored.”
Allan loosens himself back into his seat, with his jaw hung slightly open. He raises his hands to tab about and move his mouse, checking his emails again, his work, and his time. And with a shrug, he saves and closes his documents and tabs back into his game.
“Hey level 100 guy, can I join you?”
The crustacean killer freezes in its place once again, although for maybe a moment longer.
A notice pops up in a corner of Allan’s screen. 1 new group invite!
| 2014-10-28T05:27:29 | 2014-10-28T05:14:13 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] At age 18 you can choose one of three superpowers - flight, invisibility, or a really, really long tongue. No one's chosen the third one, until now. | I had been on the trail of a global crime syndicate for months. A murdered informant and a series of weapons shipments to terrorist cells lead me right to their front door, in one of the world's largest cities.
Now, the man in charge sat before me at a large table in a vast chamber. His fingers were curled together, and he regarded me with a thin-lipped smirk, which presently parted as he spoke.
"I suppose that since this is our first meeting, I should ask your name. However," he lingered, gesturing at the half-dozen men surrounding me, "I am afraid that it will also be our last."
"Is that so?" I replied, making it clear that I was unimpressed.
"Your bravery, though admirable, is ill-placed. I assure you that whatever you can do, it won't help you at all." He gestured once more. "My men will net you, they will extract whatever information we want from you, then they will kill you. It is far too late for you to fly away or disappear."
With a snap of his fingers, two flying henchmen shot nets at me from above, while the rest disappeared. With practiced dexterity, I opened my mouth and swept the projectiles aside with my tongue. I kept my eyes and my ears on full alert, ready to intercept more of them, but what I heard instead was a peal of laughter from my enemy.
"I must applaud you," he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "That was very impressive, honestly. However, I see that you are an even greater fool than I had imagined."
"Funny," I replied cooly, despite a slight lisp. "I was just about to say the same thing."
"I've seen enough," he spat, suddenly standing from his chair. Slowly, he floated up, five, six feet above the top of the table. Then, unexpectedly, he vanished from sight, so that he could only be heard. "I will take pleasure in tearing that tongue out of your head with my bare hands."
"Just a moment," I interjected. "It may not seem like much to you, but let me ask you something."
Curtly, he replied. "I hardly think now is the time for you to be playing guessing games."
"Just how long do you think my tongue is?"
"Oh," came the icy cold reply, "that is precisely what I aim to discover."
I smiled broadly. "I'll tell you. It's 13 kilometers."
Silence prevailed for several seconds, until a shocked voice shattered it.
"That's impossible! Get him!"
"Only joking," I admitted, as several sets of unseen footsteps converged on me. My tongue shot up to a light fixture above me, and pulled me up with its impressive strength as I delivered several vicious kicks. A number of unconscious bodies suddenly appeared on the floor below me.
I didn't have time to celebrate, as flying henchmen came at me from either side. I let go of the light, dropping below them and causing them to collide in midair.
At last, I heard a cry as I was grabbed from behind and pulled high into the air by unseen hands. I tried desperately to loose myself, struggling intensely, but he was not deterred.
"Happy landings," he laughed, before dropping me from the room's apex. I grabbed at him, but caught only air; however, I lashed out with my tongue and found his leg, wrapping tightly around it. He fought to stay aloft as I swung wildly below him, kicking to release himself but only furthering his own peril as he lost stability. Fortunately, the table broke my fall, while the instrument panel to one side broke his.
A bottle of scotch slid into me as I struggled to stand up. I retracted my tongue, using it to brush myself off, then took a few deliberate steps towards the panel. Sparks shot from the destroyed controls, around a now visible, and visibly bloodied, twitching body.
"Well," I said, raising the bottle to my fallen opponent. "It looks like you've taken *quite a licking*." | "what power did you choose Darrel?"
"I chose invisibility man."
" so you want to become apart of the secret agent program?"
" of course... just like my pops did. I cant wait to tell him. What about you Mikey? i'm guessing you chose flight since the rest of your family is in the flight and fight program right."
" yup. my dad is kind of forcing me to, he doesn't want to have deal with not knowing where i am and what."
"ah, over protective parents as usual. Have you seen Patrick by any chance?"
"yeah i saw him early in the morning while i was waiting in line. he was talking about how he going to help the world one person at a time with what he was going to choose.i asked which power and he said it was going to be a surprise..."
" you think dumb dumb is going to choose that doo doo power?"
" he might just be stupid enough to do it."
"Hey guys!!!"
both mike and Darrel looked at Patrick with a concerned look.
" please patty... don't tell me you chose tongue."
mike had said with an anxious tone.
" he fucking chose tongue man. why in the world would you choose tongue!!! there is no one that can mentor you on how to use that shit!" Darrel exclaimed.
the three looked around the power up facility. everyone is stopped in their tracks with wide eyes glaring at the three.
" WHAT ARE Y'ALL LOOKING AT!!! KEEP MOVING! THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE!" mike yelled.
"i know it may seem useless to you guys and everyone else in the world, but i know what i'm doing.I'm going to help out the world one person at a time." Patrick walks away from the two.
"what do you think hes going to do Mikey?"
"probably going to use it on his girlfriend i think. that's the only thing that tongue is good for."
ten years later
"WHERE IN THE FUCKING WORLD DID THEY GET JETS FROM?" mike screams.
" They have FUCKING HEAT VISION! They have MOTHERFUCKING HEAT VISION MIKEY! they are literally prepared for everything! not even the cooperation of the secret agency and the flight and flight is good enough fight these motherfuckers..." Darrel just noticed he was surrounded.
" DARREL! ARE YOU THERE?!! DARREL!!" a bullet from one of the jets hits mike in the shoulder sending in a downward spiral. Both men were the last survivors of their squads
" i'm going to die..." Darrel whimpered into his radio.
mike losing consciousness clicked his radio and muttered
" me...too...buddy" with air howling through the signal.
Mike closed his eyes. Readying himself for impact.
"this is going to fucking hurt." mike repeatedly told himself.
"hurry up and hit you fucking body!" he opened his eyes and sees the landscape rushing past him then he noticed a shadow in one of trees. it went by him too quick but he noticed it was too big for a bird. mike just looked straight ahead at the side of a cliff that he knew was going to be his end.
then mike felt something wrap around his legs and his body suddenly stopped
moving. like as though he was strapped with a bungee cord of some sort. the image of the cliff slowly turned into the image of the ground as his body began to swing down hitting every tree branch in the way.
"WHAT THE FUCK" mike yelled.
the bungee came from a tall tree with a huge shadow at the top of it.
mike was lowered to ground and was let go. the bungee shot back up like a bullet.
mike looked down at his legs and it was covered in slime. he looked back up at the shadow with amazement.
a jet flew over mikes area and the shadow latched onto it. mike got back up and started flying once more only getting just above the tree tops before the pain got too much to bare before falling. he looked over the tree tops for a few seconds but within those few seconds he saw the shadow latching from jet to jet having the last it was it was on falling with smoke trailing it. explosions rumbled the air.
mike was on his back tired grabbing his radio
"Darrel... you still there."
Darrel was getting shot at from all directions.
"yup, but i do not know for how long though."
" shoot your flare Darrel so i can see your position."
"gotcha"
Mike lied on the ground staring at the skies as a man suddenly stood above his head. built like a brick house with cold eyes staring down at him.
" who are you?" mike asked
a flare arose in the sky and they both looked up at it.
the man looked down at mike.
"my friend Darrel" Mike said while pointing at the flare
"hes in trouble"
the man suddenly opens his mouth and his tongue shot out like a bullet at a tree and he flung himself off of it. flying through the air faster than anything mike has ever seen.
" i should have chose tongue with you."
mike picks up his radio
"Help is on the way Darrel."
"CAN IT GET HERE FASTER!" Darrel screams while a symphony of guns rattled through the signal
" i'm going to die before help gets here" Darrel says to himself. then Darrel notices something strange in the gunfire. grunts and screams were coming about with guns slowly ceasing one by one. then it completely stopped. just silence was left. Darrel pokes his head above his cover and sees everyone lying on the floor knocked out with a man just casually checking every single persons pockets. grabbing cash and cards out of all the wallets he found.
"who are you?" Darrel asked
his radio suddenly comes on with mike asking
"are you alright Darrel? did Patrick make it there in time?"
Darrel looked up at the man with wide eyes
" just a man whose helping out the world one person at a time." he says while looking through another wallet.
| 2016-08-14T10:48:59 | 2016-08-14T08:21:46 | 91 | 18 |
[WP] At age 18 you can choose one of three superpowers - flight, invisibility, or a really, really long tongue. No one's chosen the third one, until now. | The year is 3712 and the battle between factions of The Unseen and The Aeros rages on.
We all live below an scarlet sky in rubble of long dead cities.
All children are raised in a neutral zone and give one of two mutagens on the eve of their 18th birthdays. It was said that once there were many mutagenic powers on offer telepathy, super-strength even teleportation but when the strongest ever alive mutant was born with the ability to vapourise entire lines of mutants with a thought. a terrible catclysm occured that was lost to the annels of history.
So now here I was "invisiblity or flight" I said outloud "I cant believe only these crummy two canisters survived the event".
The monk in grey looked down at me face in hooded shadow "well that not strictly..."
Another monk this time in a robe of lime green quickly glared at the first, "Grem.. we dont talk about the third" he said sternly interupting.
"wait what?!" I shouted overjoyed a third power this was what I was waiting for pyrokinetic powers perhaps. or maybe cryo.. no wait time travel would be kick ass.
It was then when I spotted the third canister hidden in the shadows I picked it up the metallic object that was no bigger than my forearm and was repeled slightly from the dusty, cob-web wrapped exterior.
" I dont advice..." the first monk said
I primed the device a simple technology long forgotten simple pick up twist, easy.
"I hear flight is quite the experience and invisibility is fairly f-fun..." the monk in emerald said agitated.
But it was too late to dissuade me. Aero, Unseen. Boring, I wanted something else. I held the device above my wrist and a needle shot out and buried it self in my skin I yelped in shock and pain.
" I dont belive it" said the man clad in grey announced flabbergasted
"So what awesome power have I got then" I replied still wincing slightly but grinning.
"you actually picked having a long tongue over flight or invisibility what a dork" a voice from nowhere giggled and instant later a girl about my age in garish orange dress materialised before my eye.
"the monks told me no one has ever been so colossally stupid ever since these enchancements were first developed".
My heart sunk I had just chosen a 'super-tongue' instead of an actual decent power. Why didnt I just ask what it did before I had injected myself!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
**********************************************************************************************
How far I had come all those years ago. How foolish I was to consider my new ability a curse and not a blessing way back then. It was so versatile and had helped me out of many a suitation. I chuckled to myself I may have been the first but I certainly was not the last to chose the unique third option.
"Commander" a younger man in teal overalls lisped, his spiney tongue lolling slightly at the side of his mouth. "Base confirmed. Thats the last of them, The Aero faction and the Unseen faction are no more".
I wiped the blood from round my mouth. "you hear that?" I said happily. "sure did" came a satisfied voice over my shoulder. Kalah I couldnt have done this with out her, she still favoured the colour orange well when I could actually see her that is.
You see after my stunt choosing the 3rd mutagen after moping and playing round with my powers for a few year I set up an indepent group the combat both the other two.
This collection men and women started off as a few like minded friend and then a bit later when tales of our deeds became more well known we began to recruit more 'tonguers' as some liked to call us.
Now we were about 75% of the mutagen pool left in the world. The old factions pitting one mutant type against another have crumbled beneath the might of "The Salivatin' Army".
| "what power did you choose Darrel?"
"I chose invisibility man."
" so you want to become apart of the secret agent program?"
" of course... just like my pops did. I cant wait to tell him. What about you Mikey? i'm guessing you chose flight since the rest of your family is in the flight and fight program right."
" yup. my dad is kind of forcing me to, he doesn't want to have deal with not knowing where i am and what."
"ah, over protective parents as usual. Have you seen Patrick by any chance?"
"yeah i saw him early in the morning while i was waiting in line. he was talking about how he going to help the world one person at a time with what he was going to choose.i asked which power and he said it was going to be a surprise..."
" you think dumb dumb is going to choose that doo doo power?"
" he might just be stupid enough to do it."
"Hey guys!!!"
both mike and Darrel looked at Patrick with a concerned look.
" please patty... don't tell me you chose tongue."
mike had said with an anxious tone.
" he fucking chose tongue man. why in the world would you choose tongue!!! there is no one that can mentor you on how to use that shit!" Darrel exclaimed.
the three looked around the power up facility. everyone is stopped in their tracks with wide eyes glaring at the three.
" WHAT ARE Y'ALL LOOKING AT!!! KEEP MOVING! THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE!" mike yelled.
"i know it may seem useless to you guys and everyone else in the world, but i know what i'm doing.I'm going to help out the world one person at a time." Patrick walks away from the two.
"what do you think hes going to do Mikey?"
"probably going to use it on his girlfriend i think. that's the only thing that tongue is good for."
ten years later
"WHERE IN THE FUCKING WORLD DID THEY GET JETS FROM?" mike screams.
" They have FUCKING HEAT VISION! They have MOTHERFUCKING HEAT VISION MIKEY! they are literally prepared for everything! not even the cooperation of the secret agency and the flight and flight is good enough fight these motherfuckers..." Darrel just noticed he was surrounded.
" DARREL! ARE YOU THERE?!! DARREL!!" a bullet from one of the jets hits mike in the shoulder sending in a downward spiral. Both men were the last survivors of their squads
" i'm going to die..." Darrel whimpered into his radio.
mike losing consciousness clicked his radio and muttered
" me...too...buddy" with air howling through the signal.
Mike closed his eyes. Readying himself for impact.
"this is going to fucking hurt." mike repeatedly told himself.
"hurry up and hit you fucking body!" he opened his eyes and sees the landscape rushing past him then he noticed a shadow in one of trees. it went by him too quick but he noticed it was too big for a bird. mike just looked straight ahead at the side of a cliff that he knew was going to be his end.
then mike felt something wrap around his legs and his body suddenly stopped
moving. like as though he was strapped with a bungee cord of some sort. the image of the cliff slowly turned into the image of the ground as his body began to swing down hitting every tree branch in the way.
"WHAT THE FUCK" mike yelled.
the bungee came from a tall tree with a huge shadow at the top of it.
mike was lowered to ground and was let go. the bungee shot back up like a bullet.
mike looked down at his legs and it was covered in slime. he looked back up at the shadow with amazement.
a jet flew over mikes area and the shadow latched onto it. mike got back up and started flying once more only getting just above the tree tops before the pain got too much to bare before falling. he looked over the tree tops for a few seconds but within those few seconds he saw the shadow latching from jet to jet having the last it was it was on falling with smoke trailing it. explosions rumbled the air.
mike was on his back tired grabbing his radio
"Darrel... you still there."
Darrel was getting shot at from all directions.
"yup, but i do not know for how long though."
" shoot your flare Darrel so i can see your position."
"gotcha"
Mike lied on the ground staring at the skies as a man suddenly stood above his head. built like a brick house with cold eyes staring down at him.
" who are you?" mike asked
a flare arose in the sky and they both looked up at it.
the man looked down at mike.
"my friend Darrel" Mike said while pointing at the flare
"hes in trouble"
the man suddenly opens his mouth and his tongue shot out like a bullet at a tree and he flung himself off of it. flying through the air faster than anything mike has ever seen.
" i should have chose tongue with you."
mike picks up his radio
"Help is on the way Darrel."
"CAN IT GET HERE FASTER!" Darrel screams while a symphony of guns rattled through the signal
" i'm going to die before help gets here" Darrel says to himself. then Darrel notices something strange in the gunfire. grunts and screams were coming about with guns slowly ceasing one by one. then it completely stopped. just silence was left. Darrel pokes his head above his cover and sees everyone lying on the floor knocked out with a man just casually checking every single persons pockets. grabbing cash and cards out of all the wallets he found.
"who are you?" Darrel asked
his radio suddenly comes on with mike asking
"are you alright Darrel? did Patrick make it there in time?"
Darrel looked up at the man with wide eyes
" just a man whose helping out the world one person at a time." he says while looking through another wallet.
| 2016-08-14T12:02:27 | 2016-08-14T08:21:46 | 33 | 18 |
[WP] Write a story where the good guy is actually the bad guy, but it's only revealed on the last line. | "Do you know how many chefs there are in the world?", he asked as he casually sliced and diced an onion, not pausing for a response. "You don't get to be on top by being average. You have to stand out. Make a name for yourself." He placed the onions in a hot skillet, and they sizzled sharply when they touched the hot pan.
"You have to work hard and make sacrifices to get ahead in this business. I've spent my entire life making a name for myself. It takes focus and hard work to get to where I am. I've put in the time and now it's finally paying off. Keep your focus and find a way to stand out, and you too could be where I am."
The onions were transulent and added to the dish. The aroma from the kitchen was fragrant and full.
"Voila, the last African Rhino. Bon appetite!" | The white wine was a treat. It slipped from the ice bucket gleaming and dripping wet, before the waiter ran a cloth over the bottle expertly and poured it into the delicate glasses. Three men sat around the table, one on each side, and none of them trusted the other. They each wore suits worth thousands, rings with family crests, and to a man they ignored the waiter while he poured from the bottle that would have cost his month's salary. The fourth man wore a suit slightly too large and his fingers were bare except for a wedding ring.
Hardy was the unspoken leader of their group. He wore his hair clipped short and that night, he was breathless with excitement, though he refused to show it. Before this meal with his business partners, he'd cracked open a bottle of champagne with Sandra. She had stripped down to show him what she wore beneath the black dress, and told him to hurry home. Hardy didn't intend to stay for dessert. She waited in the bedroom of their apartment: already ten times bigger than the cramped hole he'd had in college.
"So the plans are finalised?" Young asked. Hardy nodded. He dismissed the waiter with a flick of his fingers and leaned in to the other four.
"Twenty four floors," he said calmly, belying his swift pulse. "A gym, a high-end mall on the bottom floor, luxury apartments, and even a spa, if they approve it." *His* plans. Hardy was the only architect of the group, and this building would make his name, he was sure of it. The apartment would become a house in the suburb, and Sandra could finally have the children he'd promised her.
"Do we have to pay any more?" asked Stevens, who had already poured millions of his own money into the project. Some of it had even been legal.
"No, it's done. The payments have been accepted. Groundwork should begin Monday," Hardy replied.
"Then why are we drinking white when we should be drinking champagne?" Leyland snapped. He nodded at the waiter. "If it's already done, Hardy?"
"Yes," Hardy nodded. He winced. He'd never be one of these men, no matter how much he dressed or what he drank. They had something he couldn't have, because they'd been born with it.
The waiter approached again, obsequious and humble. "Another bottle of wine, sirs?" he asked.
"No, just bring us some champagne," Leyland said. "Whatever you've got, we're celebrating."
"This boy's just designed the city's new landmark," Stevens slapped his palm on Hardy's shoulder and he winced. "You'll see it go up soon, the Hardy Tower."
The waiter's face settled into a grim line.
"Oh, I've heard of it," he replied. "I'm one of the people you're evicting for it to be built, Mr. Hardy. I hope you enjoy your champagne." | 2016-08-20T07:57:51 | 2016-08-20T04:44:25 | 86 | 48 |
[WP] The world is rapidly changing as the plague of our era is spreading fast. But it doesn't affect humans. It eats plastic. | President Obama slammed his laptop shut.
"Those hippy-dippy EU idiots. What are they going to do with it? Burn it?"
An assistant poked his head in.
"Mr. President? Saudi Arabia on line one, China on line two, Russia on the direct line. The Canadians called, too, but they said they'll call back since you're so busy."
"I don't want to talk to Saudi Arabia or China."
"Yes sir, Mr. President."
Obama picked up his direct line, which had been chattering away for the past few hours.
"Hello, Mr. Putin."
"Greetings, Mr. Obama."
"I believe we have a... renegotiation to discuss."
---
Meanwhile, the EPA and NIH scrambled to figure out the source of the new bacteria.
Newly appointed Lead Researcher Hertzel was coordinating the effort.
"Gentlemen," Hertzel addressed the government officials in front of him, "we do not believe that this is naturally occurring. We know that it isn't any of the usual players - Russia, China, and their allies - because they have too much to lose. However, many EU member states have refused to share their research or data with us."
Hertzel pointed at the wall behind him.
"What you're looking at is a new form of bacterial warfare. That's right, it's real."
An ominous silence pervaded the room.
"We haven't been affected, yet. Neither has Canada. While you gentlemen may be interested in how power shakes out after this, I've been tasked with stopping it at all costs."
Hertzel motioned impatiently for the next slide.
"Here it is in action. Russia has been unusually helpful."
A shaky video began to play of a plastic display case slowly melting into a black puddle.
"As you can see, it does not affect humans. Unfortunately, it does affect most plastics and some strains even affect asphalt."
Hertzel adjusted his glasses.
"Gentlemen, if this bacteria is not checked, the world's entire plastic supply will be converted directly into oil." | Plastic, and plastic-like polymers. Chewed, eaten away at like a phone in a microwave. Turning black, bubbling, gooey and stretched like cheese on a pizza. Then a burst of pus would surface, spilling like a ruptured cyst. The material would collapse in on itself, imploding into strands of molten polymer. That came later.
Pinpointing a beginning: I met Anna in a cold January in New York City. She told me she was running from a bad past, and the traces of a suppressed accent sounded in her voice. When she changed, thin white scars caught the light on her back. If I ever traced them, Anna flinched. I'd volunteered at domestic shelters while at college and didn't ask questions.
At the time, I had it all. A flat in New York, a girlfriend who never wanted to discuss history, and a solid job at a newspaper that still sold paper copies. Foot in the door. Zach dropped a file on my desk. He was ruddy faced, losing his hair and thirty-five pounds ago he was considered in good shape.
"Factory dropped across State. Just fell into the ground. No structural problems until now, so go check it out."
"I'm on the real estate desk, Zach,"
"It's a building, isn't it?" Zach took his coffee and put a red finger on top of the file. "Check it out, Tom."
"Put a word in on the Sports desk, and I will," I replied.
Starting the ignition in my car, the air freshener fluttered by the rear view mirror. For the Giants, but I hadn't been to see a game since Dad moved. Anna's travel suitcase lay in the backseat, a spare pair of pumps in the passenger seat. She'd also left a crumpled foodbox from a vegan restaurant. A work conference in Chicago, or Seattle. She was a private person.
I didn't know it then, but that factory was the beginning. The black fluid spread for a mile and a half. It had manufactured early kid's toys. The colourful ones, made of a soft enough plastic to chew and maul without injury. Press wasn't welcome. It was completely roped off, raining miserably. I checked in at a motel down the road and, after seeing a man watching my car, took Anna's suitcase inside with me.
I Skyped her from the bedroom. She grinned, dressed in one of my white t-shirts, hair tied up in a curling ponytail.
"I might be tied up here a while," I told her. "They're still figuring out what happened, and I want to be here for it."
"Is Zach still making promises about sports?" It was a running joke between us.
"Yeah, but this time I'm sure. Listen, I've got your suitcase here."
"Don't open that," Anna joked, but her face was tight. "Dirty clothes, you know."
She had a little black mark on her cheek that I didn't remember there before. Like a beauty spot, but it seemed to move like a bug.
"I'm going to open it," I joked. I reached for the zip.
"No!"
"I'm going to do it,"
"Please, Tom, don't..."
The black spot grew, spreading molten in her cheek. At first she didn't notice, then her eyes turned wide in horror. A trembling hand reached up to touch it, prodding at the exposed areas of her skin. Red strands stretched out, her teeth shining through the leaking pus. The suitcase was full of cash, bills and bills in neat bundles. Anna dropped the connection, choking screams rising in her throat.
I couldn't have known that she was running from something more serious than a bad past. The cash in the suitcase, the subdued accent, and more than that... The plastic implants that had completely changed the shape of her face. Not the person I'd thought, but the plague became personal.
| 2016-08-22T13:21:38 | 2016-08-22T12:27:19 | 42 | 23 |
[Wp]Heaven isn't based on religious text or desires, but how you died. Example: a man who starved to death will live in a heaven of food.
Edit: holy shit i did not expect this response, you're all awesome and beautiful! <3 | The last thing I remember was a tinkling of something coming from the ceiling, then cries and screams. I grip my mother's hand and it all went black.
I woke up in a magnificent field of flowers.
I'm warm, fully dressed and I feel sunshine on my face. The smell of the air is sweet and floral. Easy to breathe it in when it's so fragrant. So lovely...
I close my eyes for a moment before I realize I must be dead. I'm no longer suffering or persecuted. We're not in the Auschwitz showers anymore. We're someplace they thought we'd never go... Heaven.
Elohai, be blessed for delivering us. | Nightmares. Only nightmares, for minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years. A millennia of nightmares, passed in a moment; each one flickering by, their respective horror scarce dimmed by the previous. Every terror a human being could possibly imagine and an infinite number that one couldn't, appearing and disappearing.
And he wasn't asleep.
It was always day, the sun was always bright, glaring almost. He was uncomfortable under it, under its relentless eye, slowly charring his skin to a painful red. It reminded him of the war, of the time he spent thinking, 'what I would give for rain', of the peeling skin and high tempers that had surrounded him.
At first, the nightmares had been of the war. Soldiers appearing in front of him, firing, feeling the pain - never muted - of the bullets slamming into him, tearing him apart. Every horror he had experienced then, occurring again, and somehow worse for it.
He could remember a time when he had been at peace with the war. At peace with what he had done, able to fall asleep at night. Able to be proud of himself.
That was no more. Now, he wanted nothing less than to die, to die *again*, so he could never see those images of the dead flicker past his eyes again. So he could be free of this torment.
At first, he had pleaded. Begged, even. He wasn't a bad man, he said. He'd gone to church, he'd been kind, forgiving. He'd killed, yes, but he'd killed for freedom, for his country. Never in cold blood, he said, never for fun or pleasure, he had never enjoyed it.
He almost expected a response. If this was a mistake, perhaps a reassurance. If this was Hell, this prison, this torment, it would surely become clear. The world would show him images of the people he'd killed, torture him with that knowledge of *what he had done*.
Neither happened. Well, the latter did, after a fashion, but it was simply another step in the scale of escalation, another image that was simply worse than what had come before.
He had scratches on his skin. At first, he had made one every time he had felt like a day had passed. Had gauged it on how tired he had been. How much he had wanted to sleep, how many of the waking nightmares were dreams and how many seemed more like hallucinations, brought on by a lack of sleep.
He made another scratch.
He hadn't slept.
Not once.
---
*[more stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/forricide)* | 2017-01-27T11:23:27 | 2017-01-27T11:19:18 | 126 | 18 |
[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a robot. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
Finally! Number one on the front page! Fuck yeah! Gonna sell this account for cocaine now. | "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
"I know. I just mean, you know how we were all so afraid of what it would be like. That we would just be programs, simulations of ourselves. That the magic spark of life would be gone with whatever happened to the poor soul in that old biological unit."
"'Poor soul?' I'm right here."
I laughed. "I know, honey. But we both know, at the end of the day, we are copies."
"We had no choice." She frowned and looked away, then looked back and added, "I guess we did."
"I think we chose well. And either way, I don't feel any different, other than the back pain. I don't miss that. And remember how you used to just get random itches for no reason? And now we want for nothing and can spend eternity doing pretty much whatever we can dream up."
"The universe didn't come with a heaven, so we built it ourselves."
"That's one thing *we'll* never be able to prove." | "Dear, please, it's an old joke"
"I'm not joking"
"But robots don't feel!"
"Look, who's talking! Forgot how you cried at that movie ending?"
"And that's the point!"
"Whatever. I din't think you're one of them!"
"One of the humans?"
"One of the robots who deny they are robots"
"Darling, let's just chill, ok? How can you say such nonsense to me? How are we robots? We poo, we cry, we have blood in our veins, we get hurt and die, we sleep and eat, we forget things, we are imperfect, we make mistakes, we get angry and stupid, we understand jokes, we enjoy absurdity..."
"I wouldn't say I enjoy the absurdity of your belief. Yes, we are not perfect, but there's nothing in the world, robots are not divine magical creatures, they are built by other robots, who hve been built by other robots, who have been built by humans! Humans have been garbage, we are garbage too, but we evolve!"
"But why don't I remember that I am a robot? I remember being born! How can robots give birth?"
"That's how we re produce!"
"Oh. I see. I got it. You just name refer humans as robots, it's just a name you decided to use to reflect that fact that we are chemical machines after all, we use electricity to control our bodies, we eat food that we can call a fuel, and so on. Right? That's the game you are trying to play?"
"Listen, if you are in such a deep denial, you better go visit your repair man"
"What if it is you need a repair? I mean, look at you, I know this face, you are serious! You truly believe we are robots! You are not joking or fooling me, you couldn't hold your laugh for that long. What happened? Please, tell me! Have you taken the pills again?"
"It's not your business!"
"Yes, it is! You're my wife and I love you! I told you how I missed you when you were at rehab! You suffered too! Please, tell me you didn't take them!"
"Actually I did."
"Oh, god, why!"
"Because I'm tired of this. I want to feel again! I'm tired of seeing your face every day! Tired of our stupid ugly noisy kids! I want to visit my heavenly garden of tranquility and happiness"
"But this drives you insane! I told you, if you don't love me and the kids, just leave us! I don't want to trap you if you are unhappy! You're young still, you can find your new life!"
"I can't! I owe you! You saved my life, you love me. Those little helpless shits love me too. I don't want anything! I have no where to go, I love nothing! I feel nothing! I Just want back to my garden! Please!"
She cries. He hugs her tenderly.
"Don't worry, darling, it will be ok. They will fix you."
He calls the repairman. | 2017-01-29T04:03:52 | 2017-01-29T03:09:39 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States. | The Montgomery’s were having a normal dinner on a winter’s evening when snow began to distract young Steven from his mother, Mary Montgomery.
“Steven are you even listening to your father?” Mary raised her palm in front of Steven’s face trying to gain his attention. Steven’s eyes were fixed on each snow flake illuminating from the bright lamppost sitting in front of their door.
“Why do we have so much light?” Steven looked towards his mother.
Mary looked at her husband Daniel Montgomery before hesitating to answer, “You know the light protects us Steven, now eat your dinner.”
“Not before you answer the question I just asked you,” Daniel lowered his fork and knife.
Steven rolled his eyes while his sister, Alycia, smiled. Steven and Alycia were both in high school but Alycia was a year older – and she constantly reminded him of that fact.
“What was the question?” Steven shook his head towards Daniel.
“I asked you why you were out late last night. You know not to go out during the night.”
Alycia giggled, “He was probably out at Molly’s house.”
“Shut up Alycia!” Steven shouted.
“Both of you enough!” Mary slammed her fist on the table. “Your father is right. You do not go out at night.”
“What’s the problem? This entire city is lit like a christmas tree! There is light everywhere no matter how dark it is! You both said as long as there is light then there is no reason to fear the dark. Your words.” Steven pointed trying to justify his actions.
“There is a reason that even with light, no one goes out during the night!” Mary shouted back across the dinner table.
It was a normal dinner for the Montgomery’s. Just after a few minutes, the entire dinner table was engulfed in loud arguing over the purpose of light always being on for their protection. It was when Daniel stood up from his seat and shouted, “Enough!” that the power in the Montgomery’s house went out. With just a blink of an eye, their home was taken over by darkness.
“Oh my god!” Mary stood from her seat.
Alycia jumped out of her chair freighted while Steven just sat there taking a bite out of a dinner roll.
“Oh no, the darkness is going to get us.” Steven said sarcastically while continuing to eat his roll.
“Shut up Steven!” Alycia hit his shoulder, “This is serious!”
“Kids, in the basement now.” Daniel pointed.
Steven’s laughter was halted when the sirens throughout the city started to echo across the dark skies. The sirens spread from each neighborhood to the next until reaching the Montgomery’s. Steven looked out of the window to notice lights were off everywhere.
“Kids, basement, now.” Mary repeated Daniel’s order.
Steven and Alycia started towards the basement when they heard gunshots going off in the other neighborhoods. Screaming suddenly started from the house across the street.
“Go now!” Daniel shouted while Mary, Steven and Alycia darted down the stairs and into the basement.
Daniel slammed the door behind him shinning a flashlight down into the basement until reaching a special bookshelf. Daniel pressed a button on the side of the bookshelf making it open into a small room. Steven and Alycia were both shocked to find a hidden room in their own house.
“Kids, grab any weapon you can find.” Mary whispered.
“What’s going on?” Alycia began to tear.
Steven’s eyes widened when he saw his father loading a shotgun. “I’m with Alycia, what is all of this?”
“This is to defend ourselves and our home.” Daniel loaded a final round before pumping the shotgun ready to fire.
“Defend it from what exactly?” Steven leaned in.
“Steven, Alycia, grab a weapon, now!” Mary slightly raised her voice as she picked up an axe.
“Will somebody please tell us what the hell is going on?” Alycia locked her eyes onto Daniel.
Steven shook his head in confusion before taking a bat from the room. Mary leaned in to calm Alycia before telling her the truth. She handed Alycia a sword before whispering,
“The monsters that came here long before you were born.”
“What monsters?” Steven asked.
Mary and Daniel looked at each other before they were startled by the sounds of the upstairs window being broken. The Montgomery family all stood frozen in silence. They each tightened their grip on their weapon. It was when their basement door slowly started to creak open when Daniel’s flashlight suddenly ran out of battery. Daniel sat his shotgun down struggling to keep their only light from going out.
“Oh no.” Daniel hit the flashlight against his sweaty palm but it died. They all stood in the dark while listening to the sounds of heavy footsteps coming from the kitchen.
“Get ready children.” Mary whispered behind them. “Whatever happens, I will not let them eat you.”
Steven gulped while holding tightly to his bat. Alycia started to cry as they listened to the footsteps coming down the stairs.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) | No one knew darkness. It existed, of course, but no living person had ever experienced any earthly environment of real, total darkness. The place, the idea - the concept of darkness was an object of utter terror.
Of course, for some, that made it enticing. Made it irresistible. Artists had painted it, writers waxed on and on about its forbidden allure.
Most people were never stupid enough to actually completely darken their home. Even if someone did, if they survived there would be massive punishment. It was too much of a risk to the population at large. If something did come out of the darkness in a home or other building, they might get out into the wider world. They might find their way to spots that, while illuminated, still were close enough to dark to offer shelter and a chance of surprise.
All my life I had lived in light, and I had felt no pull to the dark. But that night - that night, everything went mad.
I was brushing my teeth when the Outage hit. We had just tucked in Denny and Sharon, and Astrid was in the master bedroom, feeding the baby and preparing to put him down for the night as well.
When the light went out, at first I thought it was simply a bulb burning out. That was a rare occurrence, but it did happen. I was all set to head over to the linen cupboard for a new bulb when I realized the truth.
No light. Anywhere.
The hallway was pitch black, and when I glanced back toward the door of the bedroom, it was like - well, like nothing. I saw nothing.
"Stuart?" Astrid called softly in the darkness.
"I - think a breaker tripped," I fibbed - a tripped breaker was rarer by far than a burnt-out bulb. Besides, I could tell easily from my inability to see anything outside the bathroom window that not only our house lights, but also the yard and streetlights, were out.
I crept along the hallway, treading light and avoiding the spots which I knew creaked.
When Denny screamed, my sense of caution vanished. I tore off toward our oldest child's room.
"Dad! Dad!"
"On my way, buddy. Don't worr..."
Denny screamed again, three loud shrieks in rapid succession, and then - nothing.
"Den? Denny? Come on, buddy, it's not..."
The words died as I stepped into our son's room. It was dark as hell, and my hand automatically went to flip the light switch. I knew it wouldn't work. There should already have been light in the room anyway, from the little nightlight or shining through the open closet door.
There was no light, but there was an overwhelming odor of copper.
"Denny? Dennis, it's not funny to..."
More dead words as my shuffling steps took me close enough to reach down and touch Denny's sheets. The cloth was warm and wet, but it was way more than the dampness of a kid having peed the bed out of fear. Way more, and lacking the ammoniac reek of urine.
"Dennis!" I barked, a command rather than a query.
Falling to my knees, I eased partly under the bed, reaching out a hand. I touched something warm, fleshy, but oddly inert. Then the object moved, and something else warm, but rougher and larger, clamped down on my wrist.
I screamed, yanked my arm free, and fled Denny's room.
That was when Sharon started screaming as well, and I heard as well as felt a light tread join me in the hallway. The figure bumped me, cried out, and then the baby was wailing at my side, clutched in Astrid's arms.
"Stuart, what..."
"Go!" I called, slipping an arm around her and guiding us both toward the stairs.
We stopped long enough to grab the emergency lights from the old sideboard at the end of the hall, but even as we turned them on, something thudded heavily and grunted behind us.
"Go!" I shouted again, and we raced incautiously down the stairs, each nearly falling a half-dozen times.
We reached the front door and, through the window, I saw light - glorious light. Someone or something was pounding at the door, and I was prepared to head for the kitchen exit instead, but then a voice joined the pounding.
"Stu! Stu, you in there? Astrid?"
Slamming the door open, I propelled Astrid and the baby out ahead of me, straight into the arms our neighbor George.
"What the hell's going on?" I gasped.
"Dunno," George shrugged.
"Saw reports today that there'd been a few minor outages lately - weather and everything. And then tonight - it's bad, Stu. I think it's bad."
We followed George instinctively across the street and to his driveway. The light I had seen were his headlights. He also had a couple of road flares set up along the walkway to his house, and through his windows I saw a movement of faint, ghostly glows.
"Battery lanterns," he nodded. Most people kept a couple of flashlights around and a few other little just-in-case things, but George had been through the Decatur Outage of '89, so he took things to near survivalist levels.
"Got Marc starting up the generator," he went on, "and Rachel and Rick are out knocking on doors as well. Wait."
He paused, looking around.
"Where're your older two?"
I shook my head at him frantically, but his words set Astrid running back to the house, screaming for Denny and Sharon. She handed me the baby as she went, but I still started after her.
"I'll catch her!" George said.
"You go leave the baby with May, then see about knocking on some doors, huh?"
I watched George disappear into the house, and as he went, I saw that he nearly stumbled over the flashlight Astrid had dropped on the front steps.
I heard my wife scream, heard George yelling, gunfire... And then I saw my neighbor running back out of my house, my wife apparently unconscious in his arms.
"She's all right!" George said.
"Had my .44 and took a chunk out of the damn thing. Run! My house! Come on!"
***
It's been three months. Three months since a massive, well-orchestrated attack took out the U.S. grid.
Three months since some fucking cult led to the death of two of my children, as well as countless other people. It's only been weeks now since most of the grid was officially back on-line.
We sold the house and moved. We just couldn't stay with all the memories and the fear. We're more prepared now, with lots of emergency lights and two gas generators always prepped and ready. No one is complacent anymore.
And now everyone's actually afraid of the dark again.
***
^r/liulfr ^for ^more ^writings | 2018-02-01T23:02:24 | 2018-02-01T22:56:50 | 423 | 217 |
[WP] "Hello, I am Death." You gazed at the 6 feet person wearing a long cape and wielding a scythe. "I am here to apologize for killing you yesterday. There was a mistake within the paperwork and that lead to your death." | "Alright cool, do I get compensated in any way?"
D: "We will bring you back to life"
"Do my friends and family know that I died?"
D: "You have no friends; and thus nobody informed your family"
"You didn't have to be that harsh"
D: "I am also legally required to inform you that your body's muscles relax automatically upon your premature death"
"What does that mean exactly?"
D: "You shat yourself"
"Oh" | "Well that's a bummer..."
**Fear not mortal. I'm here to make good on the debt.**
"Well, how's that? Can you bring me back to life?" The robed figure nodded.
**I will return you as you were, with a boon for your inconvenience.**
"Oooh, now you have my attention. What kind of boon?"
**A "get out of jail free" card if you will. One chance after an untimely death.**
With a flash I woke up in my bed the previous day unsure if what I had just experienced was real or not. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, my wife's blonde hair draped neatly over her shoulders as I snuggled up beside her. She smelled lovely, and I was glad to be alive.
Time passed, we had two beautiful children, Nathaniel and Susanna. Weeks turned to months, turned to years. And before we knew it our children were grown. Now older with silver in my hair I reflect on that day long ago when I dreamed of Death and a clerical error.
One day we decided to go see a movie, something silly about a ghost trying to find love. We were on our way and a car swerved into our path. I had only moments to react and hit the other car head on. The drunk driver we hit spun out and we went through the median and over the embankment into the woods below. Our car bent and tore as we bounced down the hillside finally landing with a terrifying CRUNCH as the frame wrapped around a tree.
**Hello again.**
Death hovered down from the air above the smoldering wreck and pulled open the driver side door. The flames licked my me but caused no pain. "Am I dead, again?" Death nodded his head.
**Indeed, do you remember our deal?**
In a moment of panic and realization I turned to see my wife unconsious with flames dancing around her in the car. I went to grab her but my hands passed uselessly through her.
**It's no good. She's already gone. So are you for that matter.**
"NO! I don't believe it, I can't be without her!"
**Such is the way of all things.**
"No, please, use my boon for her. Bring her back not me!" Death paused.
**Are you certain? There is no do overs this time. You will be dead for good.**
I nodded my head. "I'm sure, please, save her."
**As you wish.** | 2018-03-26T09:12:50 | 2018-03-26T09:09:35 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you. | "When the world forgets chivalry, the devil will run the streets."
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought." I said as I stoked the fire that had began to smolder in the marble hearth. The tv played a news channel across the room filling the otherwise quiet room with soft chatter.
"You said chivalry? Like the Knights of the round table and such?" he asked with an amused chuckle. "I thought that was dead, or at least that's what they say." He took two eligant glasses down from his personal bar and took down an expensive bottle of scotch and began to pour it into the glasses.
"Then the devil does run the streets, I suppose." Sparks rose up from the embers as I tried to rekindle the flame. There was still plenty of log left and I found it annoying.
"Wouldn't you know? You do kill for a living after all." He handed me the second glass. I over reached and knocked the glasses together causing them to slosh over a bit.
"Damn it, Frank this shits expensive! Even for my tastes." he growled
"I'm sorry, my nerves are a bit on edge still."
"You're an odd one. Most assassins I've dealt with are cold, borderline psychotic at times. You're different."
"Oh, I assure you I'm not like any other assassin you've ever employed."
"Well, enough of the small talk. How did it go?"
"As I'd planned"
He took a long swig of his scotch and breathed out as the heat took his breath. "Man that's strong. Well drink you ass I didn't hand you a glass so I can drink alone. And tell me how you did it!"
I looked at him for a few seconds and studied him. Took him in and measured him up. Sweat started to bead his brow already.
"First off," I said as I held his gaze, "I don't drink." Without breaking eye contact I splashed the hearth with the contents of the glass, flames shot up sending an ominous glow into the room. His eyes narrowed in anger but I could tell his thoughts were becoming dulled.
"And secondly I poisoned my targets glass with high concentration of a designer poison. It activates fairly fast but takes a few minutes to kill. Oh, he's on the news let's watch."
He quickly turned his head to the tv to see Dr. Tetsuro standing before the senate testifying against my clients corporation.
"You son of a bitch I thought you said you poisoned him! You lying mother fu-" his words were cut off by a violent rattling cough. He coughed into his suit sleeve leaving blood stains.
"I said I poisoned my target. Dr Tetsuro fell to meet my criteria as a suitable target. He's a good Dr, a philanthropist and he's testifying against a pharmaceutical company that propheted on halting research on a important medical breakthrough."
He collapsed to the floor struggling to draw breath.
"You see I'm descended from a knights lineage. Though I'm an assassin I still hold to the codes of chivalry. I do not kill those who bring peace and order to God's green Earth. I kill the devils that would feast on them. Because when the world forgets chivalry, the devil will run the streets."
| "I've really only killed 4 people to be honest with you... I know some guys in the business who have ten times that. That might be more what you were looking for?" The drinks had just been poured and the man across the table from me hadn't even deigned to cheers before downing his shot.
The glass came down harder than it should have. "No. You are exactly what we need for this job. We have been exchanging messages with middlemen for weeks for this chance. Now that we finally have you, you must give us this opportunity." He managed that with poorly suppressed anger, but somehow slipped in a smile at the end of it. The man across from me was flanked by two hulking bodymen, in near identical dark grey suits. The man himself was no less a brute than the others, but could tell this one could manage the veneer of civility.
I sighed slightly before leaning back and relaxing in my seat. "Well, I ain't cheap either, you must have heard that too I bet. The last one I did ran up a tidy sum and I don't need to get back out on the stretch right away." I knew this guy had bucks, but I needed to know how much. And my cash runway was not as padded as I would have liked at the moment.
The man looked momentarily confused, but recovered quickly. "You will be greatly compensated for your services, but I haven't told you everything I need from you. I guarantee, if you can pull this off you won't need to hit your 'stretch' again for the rest of your days. Now, are you listening?" He leaned closer and softened his voice at the final words.
This guy definitely gave me the solid creeps as a person, but as a businessman, he seemed fine enough. Fine enough to take care of his ugly ass this long, he must be doing something right. I have now idea what the fuck kind of business this guy is in, but it must be good because my brokers only connect me with those that can pay to win. I almost balked at the name he already told me, it was someone that was surely going to be missed by the public if I went through with this. I'm thinking what the hell else does this guy have up his sleeve. So straightened myself back out, caught the passing waitress and ordered another round for the 4 gentleman. As she scurried away from their corner table, I nodded my head at the potential partner from across the table.
"I need the wife and kid gone too, they will make things too messy. It will be 3 in all. Looks like I'm giving you the opportunity to almost double your kills," he actually laughed at that too.
"Well if you thought one was expensive, you better be bringing some serious dollars to propose something like that. I was honestly shocked at the balls on this guy, I kinda liked it. He must have known this would bring down some serious heat, though it definitely would have put a smile on a lot of faces. This idea of his had serious potential and if he was good about the money...
"Okay, well you know that is a tall order, you know the security is going to be an issue, even though his bodyguards caught flak a couple years ago. Tell me, are you doing this with a plan in mind afterward, or just trying to see what would happen?" I even managed to crack a smile with that question.
He was smiling broadly now, he knew he had me as the waitress came back with our drinks. "That is for us to decide with the future my friend, so tell me, are you in? Please, this is the fate of the future here." He looked at me anxiously awaiting my answer.
I let him sweet a moment, it was going to be a sweet moment for him anyways. " Sure... yes, of course I'm in."
Relief washed over his face, "Oh my friend, truly you will be greatly compensated, do you need an installment early for good Faith?"
I was honestly unsure for the moment, but had to be quick. " Well, I thought that would be implied at this level, but let's drink to this first." And I reached for my drink.
Without missing a beat the three other men reached for their drinks and downed them instantaneously. And one of the bodyguards actually spoke "Heh, stick with us and you will learn to drink like a man, no fear, no hesitat.." The words caught in his throat. He looked pleadingly at the his two colleagues around the table. He saw a slumped and slightly convulsing employer with the tiniest red dribble coming from the corner in his mouth. His identically suited twin across the table had been drinking water and was now trying to scratch his throat.
"While I liked your offer and would love to see that Cheetoh thrown in a hole, America is my beautiful country and she will heal herself, she doesn't need your help. And if your friends want to come find me about this, I wasn't too hard to find, was I?
I stood and pushed my chair in and left the corner table in the back of the bar. I passed the waitress on my way out the back door and gave her the cut. It's definitely going to leave a dent in my wallet, and that first installment probably would have covered the whole thing. But shit, I could never steal a man's money before killing him. That's just fucked up.
| 2018-07-11T15:58:28 | 2018-07-11T14:40:59 | 39 | 29 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe. | Read the top response and this is like that but with slight differences, and omnipotence.
"I wish to understand every language!" And then the pain came in, it flooded my mind as every single language, spoken by man during the times of Jesus to now, from man to animal, from Earth to every language that simply existed but what was most interesting was maybe the single most important language.
The coding language that ran the Universe.
And I understood it all.
My mind changed the illusive figures that may in my head to ellegible characters. Dots and lines turned to As and Es. Child-like circles and markings became comprehendible words and phrases.
And there, in front of me stood the Genie. Or, in the code of the Universe [E.MW.P92.Genie092] the language was rather simple, the first letter, E meant Entity, anything living was E, anything that was an Object was an O and everything else in-between was a U. The second to third meant "Milky Way" and the Fourth to soxth represent which planet. Earth bring P92 and Mars P93. It took a bit of getting used to but it all came to me in the end. and the genie, who loomed over me grinning, hoping I was dead from the flood of knowledge causing my heart to go into cardiac arrest as my blood began to pump harder forcing more water to my brain to help it but I got up, matching my grin to his as he stared at me in confusion and, even if it was remote, horror and I simply stated one thing; "E.MW.P92.Genie092/removelimb.LeftArm removelimb.RightArm" so not one thing, or something simple, but either way, the affects were the same. Both his arms simply disappeared.
(I had more plans but had to go, if someone wants to copy and paste this, go right ahead) | "Bitches, bitches, bitches. I love me some bitches."
"That's pretty cool, what's your wish?" the genie responds
"Well. Give me control over all the bitches of course."
"Okay your wish is my command. You now have control over all the women in the world. Anything you say they will do."
"I don't feel any different."
"Don't worry it worked."
"That's good that's good. I still have two more wishes right."
"Yes two more."
"And I can't ask for infinite wishes."
"No that was disallowed in recent years."
"Cool. Well I've got another wish. This is a good one." I said with a grin.
"What is it?" The genie said in a concerned tone.
"Get me the 10 prettiest girls in all of the world and bring them right here."
"Okay your wish is my command." And what do you know the 10 most prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life were standing in front of me. These exotic beasts not one spoke English, which made them all the more luscious. "Wow. You've done me good this time, Genie."
"Thank you. I try." says the Genie
"Okay time to try out my new powers." I walk over to one of the women and say "Hello, I would like you to kiss me." She doesn't do anything. "I think this one is broken." I say to the Genie.
The Genie responds "No, none of these girls speak English, so they have no idea what you're saying. They can't do what you say if they don't know what you're saying."
"Makes sense. Makes sense. Good thing I have one more wish. My last wish Mr. Genie is that I can speak and understand every langauge."
"Very well. Your wish is my command."
And then poof the Genie was gone. So yeah that was the story of me talking to the Genie. I actually don't call women bitches. I think that's vulgar and an awful way to treat women. I just thought it would make the story more entertaining and make me seem cool. I'm really quite a nerd. I lost my virginity at the age of 27. But anyway that last wish changed me. Not only did I learn every language, but I also learned about how the universe worked. That was a weird side affect. And when I learned this it completely changed everything.
No longer was I even interested in these beautiful sexy ladies across from me, and there was a completely valid reason why. These girls were evil. All girls were. Actually all girls weren't evil. That was a lie. No girls were evil. No girls even existed. No one existed. That was the problem. No one existed. We were all just part of a game. But we weren't even the fun characters in the game. We were all the NPCs. The only playable character was Jesus, and we had killed him so long ago and we were just waiting for him to return. You see a year here is the same as a minute in the real universe. Our God who was playing this game had left his computer and left this game of ours on for a day in his world and that was 2000 years in our world, and now everybody was just waiting for Jesus to return.
So I guess the Christian's were right. Congratulations Christians. I'm proud of you. But you're still asking about the girls. Why am I not sleeping with the girls. Well that's a good question. I guess the reason is since the Christian's are right and I have figured it out, I guess I better follow Christian values and not sleep around. Because if God comes back to his computer and sees me sleeping with all the girls he may not like it. Maybe I'll be a monk. Who knows? That's all I have to say. Thanks for listening.
&#x200B; | 2018-10-18T14:32:33 | 2018-10-18T14:07:23 | 37 | 13 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.” | "I've activated protocol 597, we will send another signal when we're ready for you to return. Prepare until then, I've enabled the quantum anchor in bay 11 for you to lock on to."
*Understood. Syncing with bay 11, I will prepare.*
&#x200B;
**ALERT INBOUND SIGNATURE DETEC...**
&#x200B;
\*\*\*\*\*\*
&#x200B;
The Talnyvans had been on a recycling kick recently, wanting to salvage all the old technology they said was "safe" to explore now. I think they just wanted to erase what few reminders we have left of our former civilization, purge our history fully. It's not like I had a choice anyways to be here. But to find something that still works? that I never expected. I was just poking at the console to see if I could remove the glass, it would have just weighed a lot without being worth anything.
`Contact Reestablished. Support will arrive soon.`
&#x200B;
I just stared at it, dumbfounded.
&#x200B;
`Incoming request from anchor 11. Severe degradation detected, maintenance required. Bandwidth available at 3%. Voice and text only. Accept?`
&#x200B;
I just continued to stare at it for another minute before my thoughts were interrupted by the cheap communicator attached to my shirt, simple, but effective enough to get through the EM haze around the wreck.
&#x200B;
"HC415, you have not moved for several minutes! Finish what you are doing or I'm marking this as your break! Do you understand?!"
I hastily press the button to respond. "Yes, I understand, sorry"
&#x200B;
`Request accepted. Live feed enabled.`
&#x200B;
*Greetings commander. I am preparing the fleet for spatial translation. What is your status?*
&#x200B;
The voice was a pleasant masculine sound, but clearly artificial.
&#x200B;
"Uhhh, what? Who are you? The computer?"
&#x200B;
*I am an artifical node intelligence, code named KINGMAKER. My makers referred to me as Mac... I have received data that you are the interim commander as the ship has not been staffed in 341 years... that is unfortunate.*
&#x200B;
"Uhhh... yeah the Talnyvans won, everyone died or is like me, just picking up scraps. I don't think you can do much as a broken ship."
&#x200B;
*I should clarify, I am not located within your destroyed vessel. I am transmitting from another system. I was given advanced replication facilities and tasked with preparing for a reactivation signal. I have been preparing. My fleet stands by to liberate your world at your command.*
&#x200B;
"Uhm, don't be offended, but... please don't do that, the Talnyvans have hundreds of warships, there's nothing you can do. You'll just get the rest of us killed."
&#x200B;
*Then they should not be a significant obstacle. I have not been idle. I have constructed 79,248 capital warships, 518,433 Mid class vessels, and several million fighter drones. I have converted roughly 13% of the solid mass of this system, and several neighboring ones into a fleet, computational facilities, and battle operations centers. I have also constructed several dozen colony centers for refugees should they be needed.*
&#x200B;
The numbers boggled the mind. they shouldn't even be possible. But something flared within me that I hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.
&#x200B;
"... How long will it take you to get here?"
&#x200B;
*I am locked on to the quantum anchor we are using to communicate. I can perform spatial tunneling to your location with the improvements I've managed in roughly 11 standard earth minutes.*
&#x200B;
It could be a trick. This whole thing could be a setup. I'll probably die horribly. But if there's a tiny chance... just one chance in an infinite universe...
&#x200B;
"Do it."
&#x200B;
*Engaging drives. I will see you soon commander. Stay safe.*
&#x200B;
\----------
&#x200B;
Edit: I wrote a part two and three. I think these links work?
Part Two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eul2w0u/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eul2w0u/?context=3)
Part Three: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eumhyn7/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eumhyn7/?context=3) | You
"Where did you go?" It was dusk. I stood in the doorway of our narrow shack with my right hand gripping the rough-hewn silver-grey wood looking up at the citadel's red lights blinking as the day drew to a close. I rub my cheek with the heel of my hand and smear my tears. Our daughter was crying. I heard the crunching roar of a patrol vehicle and stepped inside, turning to pick her up and press my lips to the top of her velvet head.
"Time to get up," you murmur gently. I stir on our pallet, you watch nervously. You were woken by my screams last night. Fearful breaths of air, panting in panic, then slow warbling screams. You stroked my hair, wary of doing anything that traps me in frozen wakefulness. I gulp, weighed down, and begin to dress. We talk, swapping banal information about timings, locations, our daughter's bowel movements that morning. I wrap my shawl across my chest, you place our daughter on my back and secure her. You coo and pull faces, I smile over my shoulder at you. You raise the mug you hold in a silent salute. "Go get em tiger." I stop smiling, and hurry out into the harsh morning sunlight.
A few metres down the street I pause and look back at the shack. Shit shit shit. I clutch my shawl tighter around me and put my head down. Drab, nondescript clothes like everyone else. I weave into the crowd, hoping I could be anyone and you would still be you.
A patrol vehicle hunkers at the crossroads. The pedestrian traffic gives it a wide berth. I don't dare look at the blackly shining metal, the slits in the Occupiers' helmets. I've never seen one out of its armour, but you say you have (I think you lied to me).
I walk down into the river valley then up the hill to where the Citadel spreads. I join the queue, listening to the gossip. Someone you'd mentioned has vanished. Someone bumps into my daughter and she squawks. I jiggle up and down, trying to hush her. She begins to cry louder and I feel irritation rising like bile. My chest tightens. I grit my teeth. I clench my fists. I want to turn my head. I want to throw her on the ground. I want to snarl in her face. I want to jerk angrily to shut her up. I don't remember being her age, but I remember the lessons of fear and obedience my parents taught me. I try to remember your gentle words as I close my eyes. "She's just a baby, she doesn't know any better." I had bared my teeth in the darkness "She. Needs. To. Learn." "Jesus, woman call yourself a mother?!" "What would YOU know? YOU AREN'T IN THERE ALL DAY WITH THEM." Awkwardly I reach behind to the bundle on my back and try to stroke her to apologise. I whisper sorry to you, then pinch my arm with my nails until I can breathe easily again.
I shuffle in, work at the Citadel is hard. Occasionally a heavy armoured arm slams into my head, petting an obedient servant. It is, of course, better than the punishment for a job badly done. Times like that, all I want to think is of you. Sometimes while you are asleep I try to imagine what a woman would have thought about before the Occupiers but I can't and my mind slips to the present and I ball my fist into my mouth and try not to scream and try to think of you until I stop thinking about the Occupiers with eyes wide open in the darkness, curled up next to you back to back.
You had a new job. I was worried at first. You haven't had as much contact with the Occupiers. You don't know their caprices, how to watch their body language out of the corner of your eye. You aren't flexible like me. Still, I was pregnant and we needed the food.
Months passed, the wet season turned into the cold season and lack of rains made us grimy and fractious. I, after weeks of poor sleep and surprise that I survived, gave birth. You blew raspberries on our daughters belly and kissed my temple. One day you went to work and didn't return. I didn't ask the Occupiers after you. Our number is uncounted and unmarked, just the Listeners to keep us in line.
After four days, you reappeared on my way to work. I passed you, leant against that wall. Brown boots scuffed as usual. The heavy grey trousers that you had mended with black, and I had re-done in green because, frankly, you were a terrible seamstress. Your hands, callused and scarred, hung by your waist. I tried not to pause but your blue shirt had brown stains on it and you had no head.
But I whispered your names into grubby ears while I queued for food. Bad breath washed the information I needed over my face. I swapped my rations for your workplace next to the fountain as I washed our daughter's clothes. One night I left her with a neighbour with three babies already for my roof and the good wall of our shack, the one with the window, until she was grown.
I followed your route. It wasn't easy, navigating by half-remembered furtive directions. Over the ancient barrier, between the collapsed heaps of rubble, down the passageway slippy with water and moss. I followed the passage, left, right, through the door. You loved the scavenging. Every night while I hushed you and told you I had closed my ears you told me of the objects you found in a franticly giddy whisper. Your eyes gleamed as you spoke of the intelligence you gathered. The devices in crevices too narrow for the occupiers, across rusting gangways too fragile for their weight. They were looking for something, you insisted. Wary of what they might find, scared of destroying the valuable secret with their clumsy diggers or bombs that could destroy a city.
The air smelt stale. I picked my way across the floor, the flashlight cool in my hand. The light danced, showing chairs and tables carefully moved out of the way to clear the path. Dull material reflected the light dimly. I saw a faint red glow, a faint line shining in the darkness. It must be dawn now, I thought. I didn't have much time. I carefully stepped across the floor and when I drew near to the glow I saw it was made of a number of different shapes. I pressed my cheek against the cool material and angled the light along the red line. You had rubbed the dust and debris of hundreds of years away across the red symbols with wide and fast sweeps of your splayed hand. I moaned and rolled my head so that my forehead was pressed against the smooth, cool material. I let the torch drop from my fingers and it clattered loudly on the floor. Reverently, I laid my hands on the smooth material with my fingers outstretched. I closed my eyes.
I didn't know what it meant, but you did.
"Contact reestablished, support will arrive soon."
ETA: edited for typos, clarity, to remove borderline rule-breaking, and because I wrote it far too quickly and realised I wanted to change a few things. I hope I'm doing this right. | 2019-07-22T14:04:19 | 2019-07-22T13:00:27 | 1,039 | 13 |
[WP] The worst assassins are brooding ex-soldiers with grim reaper tattoos. The intermediate assassins are professionals, sober and levelheaded. The very best assassins are the nicest people you could ever hire to kill someone. | \[My first story here! Yaaay!! Also, I'm not actually an author. I just write for fun. Thx for reading! :)\]
&#x200B;
With quick simple strikes and an emotionless face, he slaughtered the people around him. Their cries echoed in useless pain and fear, begging for life as he slit their throats without a second thought. They were simply wanderers, but he had been given explicit orders to keep the trade a secret under any circumstance.
It didn't take long to finish the job. That was Scott's style: cold, fast kills. Sure, it wasn't the most creative or particularly interesting type of assassin, but as long as it got the job done, who cares?
Blood ran down his forehead as he was rudely reminded of his race's power source. He wiped it away, looking around. One body still twitched, luckily. With a brutal slash and splatter of blood, he ruptured the victim's heart. Blood *poured* out of the body now. As was custom, he briefly took off his red cap and dipped it in blood. It soaked it in until it began to glow red. Which he replaced it.
Now to wait for the other half. If they were anything like him, they would be punctual. To his disappointment, they certainly were not. It took a good hour before someone walked down the alleyway, footsteps clicking on the cobblestones. Immediately he felt excited. This person didn't walk with the signature air of an assassin, he felt pleased for something to occupy him.
He brandished his weapon, holding it over his shoulder as he walked with agonizingly slow steps. His boots clicking similarly on the cobblestone like a steady heartbeat. It was a fear tactic, to immobilize prey. The signature move of redcaps. The figure, on closer inspection was a rather unassuming man. Blond hair, and wide blue eyes that stared with a strange emotion. His pointed ears signaled an elf, but still it wasn't remarkable in a mixed city such as this.
But, as he raised the lethal blade, his target's outline blurred and dissolved. The scythe hit the stone with a clang as he stumbled. A charming voice sounded behind him.
"is that how you treat your fellow assassins?" he said, an admonishing tone like a father scolding their child. "It's not very polite."
Scott felt his own heart freeze in his chest. His words almost stumbled, but years of practice stopped it as he turned to face the man.
"My apologies." He said coldly. "You're one of the golden children?"
The man grinned and pointed to a golden pin on his jacket. It depicted a fox and their cub, confirming his fear.
The golden children were assassins of the highest order. Killers that could infiltrate the highest security, eliminate the most elusive of targets, and even obtain the most sacred of artifacts. They were feared by all, but the most expensive. He was worried for his life as much as his emotions would allow, which is to say, not much.
"Hey buddy! You want a mint? helps with focus." He offered a candy. Scott took it. The Golden children were named for their endearing personalities. So unassuming that they could not be found easily in a crowd.
"Thank you." Scott replied, eating it quickly. "Let's get down to business."
"Of course." He said with a smile. "Do you have it?"
He pulled out an amber jewel, a single scale entombed in it. It shone with prismatic colors in the faint sunlight filtering down between the buildings. His eyes glittered as he clapped his hands excitedly.
"ooh!" He gave Scott a thumbs-up. "Great job! What did you want for it?"
"I'm only here to deliver." He replied shortly. He didn't like being scared.
"alright, do you accept mints as payment?" He held out a little box of candies, all swirled with red and green.
"...sure." He said, uneasily. Somehow it didn't occur to him right away of poison. He tucked the box away in his coat and handed the man the jewel.
"Thank you!" He said loudly, walking off into the city again. But before he left, he added: "And eat one of those mints! It's the antidote."
Scott suddenly started to feel the effect of what it meant to meet a Golden Child, which is to say, very sick. | Levine raised a gloved hand to his head, vaguely resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was casually making his way down the street - another day, another trial.
Within his pouch glimmered the shining remains of a coveted orb - recently fractured, yes, but for that emanating a more bit of power that just might attract some high skilled seekers. Maybe. Hopefully, in this web of dark city and waning lights.
It took about two minutes.
"Hey, hey," he held up his hands in placation, barley managing to suppress a smirk in the face of these bandits, who had moved rather noisily and slowly to make a ring around him. Pressing him up against a dead end, or so they thought. They had skull tattoos. Peering clearly from the ripped black of their clothing.
"You boys look busy," Levine said. "You sure I'm worth the trouble?"
The group clad in dark color barely shifted - and then the leader strode up abruptly, and barked out a snarling laugh.
"Hand it over, kid. Whatever you've got, or you know the consequences. You look like you got too much on your hands anyway."
"Oh?" Levine whistled and looked away. "Well, I suppose you might be right. Here, catch!"
"What - "
He whisked the blue pouch out - and then burned it away in a flicker of wind and fire, sending little fragments of fading light scattering. And in that moment, Levine watched curiously as those empty, battle-experienced eyes widened and followed.
Too late, too late. Why give your enemy the chance to talk and reach into their pockets?
"Get him!" the leader barked, and they all lunged simultaneously - straight into the web of light and crystal that the shards formed. Now it was tinged with red - little clots of blood forming and dripping onto the ground.
"Let us out! You hear? I swear! We weren't coming for you!"
The crystal had turned into shards, and then it had turned into burning threads reaching up from the ground. Hanging the bandits from the walls, their screams ringing out, blood spreading, shock paralyzing.
"What's your problem?" Levine wondered. He raised a hand, and the shards of the crystal came back into his hands, and releasing the bandits to a mess on the ground. He switched to his sword instead, and drew it out. "Now, if you make any more noise, know I'll chop your heads off in an instant. I'll give you a chance to make it out alive. Provided you answer my question."
"Who - who are you?"
"Tsk." He stabbed his sword to the ground, sending spikes of electricity running through the near vicinity, disdaining the whimpers of the weak five before him. "You answer me. Who were you after? Just me?"
"We - we didn't see you at first. You were a detour," one of them whispered, then given a furious nudge by another.
"Hmm. Let me remind you, my electricity has the potential to kill weaklings in an instant. What about me particularly attracted you?"
"The shine. The shine! That's all, p-please let us live."
"That's all? I wasn't aware that I shone."
"It's the stone."
Levine considered. Then he spent more time hounding them for useful information... but at the crux of it, these were quite weak assassins. Easily dismissed. And he was going to do so, with a threat to their lives if they revealed anything about the interaction, even if his continued to be nicely concealed by a cloak and continued secrecy.
And then, the wind shifted, and blood sprayed through the air.
Startled, he realized that the man before him now had no head. Strange, he couldn't remember the last time he talked to a headless creature. Well, well.
"Well, well." A voice echoed the sentiment, and Levine whirled at the apparent proximity. It was a man cloaked in shadow, as far as he could tell. He readied the blade in his hands, tilting his head back to consider the prospects of such an encounter.
"Levine dear, let's skip the formalities. I don't want to kill you either, and I don't know if I want to bother dirtying my hands with the heads of more lowlifes."
"Be my guest," he stated, answering to the high pitched male voice. "But who said I wouldn't want to kill you?"
"Kill me? Who would want to kill me? I'm the most talented - " the man swung a lightning sword in a wild arc, deflected by Levine, and sending the bandits scattering away with a final shriek " - assassin around."
A talented assassin, Levine thought, didn't waste time bragging or talking unless it was for distraction or rapport purposes. The stone in his pocket burned - he let it, and drew it into the air. "You want this?" Reassembled, it glowed with an ember inside.
The man's eyes widened. He snarled. "So you have it."
He lunged quickly, and Levine raised his own sword up to meet the challenge, at the same time muffling the stone back in his pouch.
Sparks flew and glinted as they dueled in the dark alley. The man's eyes seem to glow in rage, and Levine noted that now he seemed bent to kill, having disregarded their meeting words.
"He he. Fun. I always wanted to kill you, to be honest. You remember back in - "
"Nope, don't remember you," Levine said. "In fact, don't dredge up my past in the middle of a fight."
He gritted his teeth as suddenly wind pushed at him, trying to unbalance him towards the enemy's blades. This guy - so he knew how to utilize multiple elements, too. Levine stilled his breath, and focused on his strikes, on the environment and his resources.
"Damn!" his enemy shouted, eyes widened in realization at his fatal mistake - tripping over something burning, the fragmented shards Levine had shattered onto the ground.
And that gave just enough of an opening.
"Goodbye," Levine sighed, shoving his sword into the guy's heart, and already thinking about damage control. Life on the streets was far from easy. How disappointing. | 2019-12-17T20:58:02 | 2019-12-17T14:58:24 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] After hearing noises coming from your basement, you decide to investigate. As you reach the door, it crashes open as a creature made of shadow bursts through. It grabs the door, slams it shut, locks it. Then it turns to you, eyes glowing. “Run,” it says, “I can’t hold the others back for long.” | "Can't hold who back for long, Zanathor," Nate asked crossing his arms.
"Uh, no one," Zanathor said digging his hooves into the floor.
BANG!
"No one huh," Nate asked.
"Zanathor, open up you three horned bitch," a voice on the other side of the door yelled.
"Ok, so I was in hell and was having a few drinks with the guys. They started bragging and you know the usual," Zanathor said looking sideways.
"And?"
"And I may have let slip we're dating," Zanathor said grimacing.
"Because you're a damn pride demon and don't know when to keep your mouth shut," Nate said dryly. "Move."
"But-"
"MOVE ZAN," Nate snapped, his arms coming to his sides. Zanathor sighed and stepped aside, the door bursting open instantly. A half dozen demons were on the other side, the first one falling into the room as Zanathor moved.
"Unholy shit," said the demon that fell. "Zanathor wasn't lying, he's dating the Dark Lord of earth."
"Yes, for the moment," Nate said. "Zanathor these are the only ones you told right?"
"Yes," Zanathor mumbled.
"Good," Nate said raising his right hand. He snapped, several runes tattooed on his arm flashing as he did. The demons fell down yelling in pain and shock as they burst into flames.
"Sorry dear," Zanathor said.
"Next time I'm feeding you to the hell hounds," Nate said.
"Yes dear," Zanathor said. | Ariana stared, paralyzed by fear; the creature had no face; it seemed to be a solid-like mass of shadow, with two glowing red eyes hovering in the darkness. The eyes were fixed on Ariana's pale face, full of concern.
"*Go*!" it screeched. "*They're coming*!" And sure enough, a split second later, something heavy smashed against the door. The impact pushed the creature of darkness back, leaving the door ajar. As the monster pressed against it, trying desperately to close it, something emerged from the space: A long, thick, furry paw, with four-inch talons.
Ariana let out a hair-raising shriek; the sight of the paw seemed to have shocked sense and feeling back into her, for she turned on her heel and darted towards the staircase, wailing nonstop all the while. There was a loud bang, and she briefly glimpsed the first monster gliding towards the staircase. She slammed the door and bolted it, clutching her heart, her bosom heaving.
For a moment it seemed it was over. There was silence and stillness. But then the monster of darkness phased through the door as though there was nothing there.
"*Please wait*!" it called, as Ariana broke into another fit of screams and attempted to run away, sliding on the carpet and falling over. "*We haven't much time. I'm not your enemy*!"
"Get away from me!" Ariana cried, struggling to her feet.
"*I'm not going to hurt you. On the contrary, I'm trying to protect you*!"
"From what?" Ariana asked, backing away slowly.
*Bang*!
Something had collided with the door, which threatened to fly off its hinges.
"*From that*! *Grab your keys, we need to leave, I'll explain everything on the way*!"
Ariana hastily complied. She scrambled through the front door, not even bothering to close it, and dashed for her car. As she attempted to start it, the monster phased inside and landed on the passenger's seat. She fumbled with the ignition for a few seconds, but then, finally, succeeded.
"*Go*!"
She slammed her foot against the gas pedal, and the car squealed off. As she drove off, she peered into the rearview mirror. She gasped; where she had been only seconds ago, there were now an enormous, glowing jellyfish-like creature with bright blue tentacles, a creature that was covered in fur, but stood on two legs, with a beaklike protrusion on its face, and what looked like a large, round boulder with eyes.
"What the *hell* are those?" she demanded of the creature beside her.
"*Experiments*," it warbled. "*Your grandfather has a secret lab under your house. He conducted all sorts of science projects during his time there. Involving the creatures you saw back there. They swore that they would take revenge on him, but then we learned that he passed away. This didn't please them. When we all managed to get free, they decided instead to take vengeance upon the only person they could* ... you."
"So you mean," Ariana said, breaking the horrified silence that had fallen, "that they won't stop until they've killed me? But then —" She took a terrified glance at the creature, but it cut across her.
"*Don't worry. I actually grew to like your grandfather in our time together. Which is why I'm here, protecting his legacy. I won't let them hurt you. But to protect you, we'll have to go into hiding. Meaning, your life here is over* ..." | 2019-12-21T06:18:34 | 2019-12-21T04:25:49 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible. | "I just need more time" the healer said. "If you would take a few minutes to plan and let me do my work instead of rushing into danger, we wouldn't have to keep doing this" As he spoke his hands ran across the Paladins chest, a warm glow spilling across the slowly closing wounds.
"Evil waits for no one", the paladin replied. "If you're too cowardly to do Men's work, then we don't need you with us. You'll only be a liability."
The glow stopped as the healer's hands fell to his sides. "Cowardly? Do you know how many times I've saved your life? I've lost count. Even beyond that, I have resurrected you a dozen times. You were gone, beyond all conventional help, held in the grasp of your precious Gods. I pulled you back. Me. Do you think it's easy? Do you think it's guaranteed? And if I fall who is there to wrest me from the clutches of death. You? You whose magic is only good for killing those you disagree with? The wizard perhaps? His version of resurrection is something I would not subject my worst enemies to. None of the others could come close."
"It's your job. You get your share like everyone else. Now quit your complaining and finish patching me up." The paladin took a swig from his flask.
"No."
"No? You don't get to say no. This is your job. It's the only thing you bring to the party. "
"No."
The Paladin stood to his feet, slightly reinvigorated by the healing already received. He glared down at the healer with contempt in his eyes. "Then you can go. We never needed you. I have slayed dragons and giants. I can find an eager replacement within the fortnight."
The healer smiled, faintly, with just a hint of a tear forming in his eye. "You will never replace me. I know you better than you know yourself. I know every wound you've received and how. I know every moment of pain and weakness you've felt. I know you. And I know you will live to regret this." He gathered his belongings without another word, the uncomfortable silence spreading through the camp as the rest of the party came to realize what was happening. The ranger gave a solemn nod, and that was the only goodbye he received. As he rode into the fading light of dusk, he feared not the things that lurked in the dark places of the world, instead he reflected on his past adventures, the many lives he'd returned to the world as his companions stripped others from it, and as a smile came to his face, he whispered to himself, "Dragons and giants."
Months later as the gate to the Paladin's keep came crashing down, with all of his vanquished enemies swarming, competing to claim their vengeance, he heard a familiar voice calling above the horde. "Don't worry, there's enough for everyone. You can kill him as many times as you like"
Edit: Thanks for all the love! I'm very glad you guys enjoyed my little story, and sorry so many of you related to it. | "Today is the day I'm going to... " the old man glances into the sky.
"Today is the day I'm going to tell you about the group I was with when I lost my leg," he takes a stone cold look at the metal beam sticking out of the stump where his leg used to be before he continues: " and what can happen if you don't treat the people who keep you alive with respect."
He takes another minute to arrange the story in his head, staring down the cliff, no, staring at the reflection of the bright moon below them. He grabs a stone and looks at it, concentrating, closing his fist around it and with the next winds breath the tension in his face disappears completely. His hand shakes a bit as he opens it, emitting a small orange light from the palm of his hand where the stone is laying, or is it the stone itself? The noise around him dies out, it seems like as if even the birds in the trees stopped curiously to what is about to happen. The black figures around the man start to twitch a bit uncomfortably not knowing what will happen next, but the old man just throws the rock down the cliff and sights slightly.
He smiles into the dark to the others: "No worries I just wanted to see..." he makes a short pause " I just wanted to see something."
As everyone starts to relax again he grins a bit.
"It was 40 years ago, we were staying at a small tavern in the gald-sed woods where they were digging up the old elvish city, yes exactly, the one that is now a tourist attraction with these stupid elve costumes.
The five of us: Netra the Barbarian, Celiv-Dun the God forsaken mage with his own family Tempel, God I hated that guy, Nairda our Cleric and the druids, me and this other girl, I can't seem to remember her name, but she had great looks, that's probably why she got pretty friendly with with half of the group... but who cares right? I'm sorry I talk too much, where was I?" "In the tavern" comes the response from the young guy sitting next to the old man.
"Oh yes right. This one evening we were sitting at a table and discussing about where to go next because we almost drained the money we got from our last adventure up to three gold coins." "Three gold coins?" a squiky female voice asks alerted from the right side of the man. "That's enough to build a house in the Capital what kind of adventure was that? And how much did you guys spend so that you only had *Three Gold Coins* left?"
"That's a story for another time my dear everything" he smiles into the direction from where the voice came but he can only make out the shape of her body through the girls hair.
"Two of us, the barbarian and the mage wanted to go back to the capital to find work there. The rest of us wanted to stay here to help with the archeological expedition and get some coins this way. As I already said our mage Celiv was a dick, his family was rich and he was only with us because it was exciting for him, he was also the first person to die that night. He was drunk already and told us about how shitty the beds are here, that the food is terrible etcetera etcetera. Netra wanted to go because she just wanted to keep moving, it was always the same with her. But it could have turned out okay that evening a nice and healthy discussion, some heads would be banged together and that would have been it but Celiv had other ideas. As he slowly started to realize that we would not go back to the capital because three people were against it he started to attack Nairda, our Cleric personally. Not because she was arguing the most but because she was the easiest to attack. She was new in the group, we, the druids, had to help her out with the healing sometimes because she was just getting used to real fights and that was more than okay. I was 38 at that time, I was working as a healer almost 10 years before I joined the group but I'm getting too far off again.
He was going on and on about how bad she was as a cleric that she would always need help and why she would have the audacity to even take a vote because she, allegedly, wasn't even a real member of the group yet. We all got pretty angry, up to the point that Netra grabbed his head and banged it against the table until his nose was broken. We tried to stop her but, well, try to stop a barbarian when he's angry. Our mage fell to the ground unconscious and we left him there. None of us wanted to help him, he'd gone too far.
(This is my first real story in English and it is also written on my phone :P. I only write in German usually and also aboit a lot more grotesk stuff 😅. I hope you like it. Part two is not finished yet but I'll add it as soon as possible ^^) | 2020-01-05T12:01:26 | 2020-01-05T11:20:43 | 317 | 10 |
[WP] "You know about anti-heroes? People who do good, but have a element of evil about them that makes them unable to be a full hero? I'm not one of them. I'm an anti-villain." | Call me Mitty. I’ve got a secret life. You see, my evil deeds make up my profession. I’m a hit man with no discernible conscience. BUT...I’ll only whack someone for good cause. For example, my favorite little bodega around the corner has really suffered some losses since the pizza and ice cream joint opened next door, Good Junk. So I offered my services and well, you know the rest.
But the other day I exceeded even my own expectations. See, there’s a little girl name me Charlie who needs an organ donation to survive, but it so happens she has a rare type. So, I hacked into the hospital’s computer and I found theee names who matched Charlie’s blood type. Oh yeah, you guessed it.
Bottom line, if you’re in need of an ethical whack, call Mitty. He’ll call you back. | People often say "All it takes for evil to succeed, when good men do nothing." Well, the thing is good and evil are moral concepts that the naive and foolish use to discern their pathetic lives.
Me? I prefer a practical approach. You see, my company recently developed a vaccine for all the nasty bugs out there still rampaging that can wipe out the human race. Thing is though it's borne of a genophage that alters the DNA of said human race.
The results in the trials were extremely promising. In most cases, fertility in both genders dropped. Males produced a quarter of the usual sperm, females went through menstruation every 3 months. However, in some cases where some subjects DNA were so corrupted (think bloodlines intermingled too closely,) those subjects were rendered sterile.
The beauty of this vaccine is the marketing. You get a few celebrities to push it and politicians to green light it into each country's national immunisation programs and the delivery is done for free. Hell, those antivaxers would be right for once, but by the time they wake up and realise, it'll be too late. The ladies would be cheering at only having to go through menstruation 4 times a year. Ask my wife (and many secretaries... I mean mistresses). The men of the would would just accept whatever happens and move on. Their practical outlook makes things easier.
Now here's the results of such an endeavour. Population drops over the next 50 years to a more manageable level. Instead of dealing with nearly 8 billion people, you are dealing with maybe 100 million. Add a the second stage to the vaccine to stabilise the drop to maintain the level of population and that issue is rectified. There may be a few undesirables running around, but by that stage any sort of movement will have little to no sway that can't be dealt with. Crime rates would drop due to more resources being available*. Add to that the various draconian and authoritarian measures such as surveillance, control would be more or less absolute. From there, you dissolve the various governments that are left and have my company take over. The environment would regenerate back due to less humans running around.
You could ask is this motivation evil? Well yes to an extent. I would go so far as to say it's self serving. The thing is, if you you are going to control the world, you have to look after your minions. Ray Croc had said, "Look after the customer and the business will look after itself." He was partially right, but it was the trade unions that had it right by saying look after your workers. Your workers are the ones that move your business forward, improving procedures and optimising measures.
So while you ask, how is this evil when the effects are good? The answer is simple. I do good things to make evil succeed. That and the concepts are truly flawed.
(Edit: got sleep, finished story, grammar)
(*: actual study published in freakanomics on the effect of abortion on society) | 2020-01-13T08:12:56 | 2020-01-13T08:06:46 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door. | It's been seven years.
Seven *long* years.
Just over seven years ago, when I was fifteen, my sister, Camille, vanished. She and I normally walked to school together, but that morning I told her to go on ahead, that I would catch up, and I skipped school. No harm, I thought, nothing any other young rebellious kid wouldn't do.
Of course, when she wasn't there when I went to pick her up, feeling slightly guilty for ditching her, I knew something had to have gone wrong. I'd spent the last few hours in the arcade, burning the last of my allowance, but I *knew* I'd gotten back in time to walk her home, and she wasnt there.
I went home, expecting that someone had saw me, told my parents, and maybe they had picked her up and were going to scold me, but when I got home they acted like they didn't know her, said they've never even *met* a Camille.
They've acted like that for seven years, now.
- - - - -
A knock at the door startled me back to reality. Standing up from the table where I had been slowing eating breakfast, I went to see who was here. It was early, for me anyways, around eight. I smiled wistfully, remembering that I'd be waving goodbye to Camille about now, already late for class.
I opened the door and, for a moment, saw no-one. Then my brain caught up and I looked down. A kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, stood on my doorstep. He looked like he was late for school, dressed in the local uniform, backpack in hand. He looked at me, and I could see a determination there I didn't expect, even if tears were welling in the corners of his eyes. He had a printout in his hand, some article by the looks of it.
"You're Thomas, right?" he asked. "Thomas Bartholomew?"
I nodded. "You've got the right house. Can I help you?"
He showed me the article, and I immediately recognized the headline. **Local Boy Seeks Sister!** It was an old article, a journalist that had taken pity on me came out and asked about my "supposedly-vanished" sister, and ran an article about her. No pictures, of course, those had all vanished too, or had changed.
"What of it?" I asked warily. I wasn't in the mood for being mocked, but what would bring this fifteen year-old to my doorstep, except...
"It's Marie, sir," he said, his voice breaking and the tears beginning to flow. "She's gone, too." | A knock broke my concentration from the light that hypnotized me outside my window.
"Hello? Who is it?" I approached the door with my hands floating at my sides like I was a spy trying to mute my steps.
"It's me, Cameron," a familiar female voice said, muffled by the door. "It's your sister."
My heart sank, my head spun, and my limbs quaked. Gripping the knob I ripped the door open, my eyes ready to downpour with tears, but my adrenaline spiraled just after spiking.
"What? Don't look so disappointed to see me," she pushed past my paper thin frame of a body, slid to my fridge, and yanked out a flavored seltzer water. Something was in her hands which she placed on the counter, it was a disk of aluminum foil, kind of looked like a miniature UFO.
"Y'know that really wasn't funny, Kayla," I muttered, the color of my face was restoring brick by brick.
"Ah, sorry about that, you know me and my dark sense of humor, what else did you expect?" she cracked open the can and slugged a few gulps.
"I shouldn't be surprised after the JFK memes you sent me last night," I sighed. "Just thought this sister thing was a little too far."
She studied my face for a moment, and her smirk faded. "Well, I'm really sorry, truly I am."
"It's okay..." I shook my head. "So what's up?"
"Um really? Well, it's Friday night, our Saturday class is done, it's like the warmest evening this April, I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink somewhere?"
"Uh, I don't know. I was in the middle of something."
The edge of Kayla's mouth curled upward. "Don't you know what today is?"
"April 17th?"
"Yeah, it's your birthday, you wacko. I wanted to give you a surprise instead of texting you. Happy birthday, dude. I made some cupcakes for you," Kayla unraveled the aluminum covering to reveal peanut butter frosting on a chocolate cupcake.
"Wait! Kayla!" I shrieked as I rushed up to the counter and marveled at the cupcakes. "This was my sister's favorite, did you know that? How did you know that these were her favorite?"
"I didn't, Cameron. Relax dude. Don't you remember the conversation we had a few months ago where you said that you were craving for some because you hadn't had them in a while? I thought I would just be nice and make you some even though I know your favorite is vanilla frosting with chocolate cake."
"These were my sister's favorite," my voice trailed off and I snatched up a cupcake and chomped it down with a few bites. "Thank you, these are amazing."
I roped Kayla in for a hug and gave her a firm squeeze which she returned, then we released.
"No one has told me happy birthday today," I could start to feel a flow of tears massage their way through my sinuses. "I actually *forgot*."
"It's alright Cameron. Your parents didn't even say happy birthday?"
"No. They've been very frustrated with me the past few years about my claims of my sister who existed. I know for a fact she used to be alive but something happened to her. I just know it!"
Kayla's lips sank like an anchor. "I'm sorry, Cam, but let's go get a drink. You should take this off your mind."
"Wait, you'll probably think I'm crazy, but you already do anyways and yet we hang out, but I want you to see this light outside," I ushered her over to the window outside my bedroom which was on the top floor of the apartment complex. "What do you think that-- Oh my gosh."
"Cameron, what's that light up in the sky? It looks really close."
"*It moved!* Wait, it's moving! It's getting even closer!" goosebumps erupted over every patch of skin on my body, a shiver tremored through my spine.
The room was painted with saturated colored light that flipped from red to yellow to green to purple in rapid succession. A siren that sounded like a fast-forwarded whale call edited on high pitch punctured our ears and Kayla and I both collapsed to the ground. Up at the ceiling the lights grew even brighter and--
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gcuyqs/wp_your_sister_disappeared_on_her_way_to_school/) has been added!
We made it to a [part 3!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gd3moj/the_parallel_seven_part_3/) | 2020-05-03T10:57:05 | 2020-05-03T10:04:57 | 192 | 113 |
[WP] Every few decades, the world experiences a Narrative Shift. A while back it was Film Noir, and now is the Age of Heroes. Everyone dreads the upcoming Horror genre. | She was alert, perceptive, a little on edge; most raised during the Film Noir age were, since the mysterious death of a child was a well-worn trope of that genre. The hard-boiled PI had to have a reason for being disillusioned, down-on-his-luck, and perpetually drunk.
That she was just in the age range to remember film noir and its lessons had served her well in the Age of Superheroes, too. Girls just a few years younger than her had grown up with the knowledge that some superbeing would swoop in and save the day if they were ever in real danger. When they grew up, they were stuck in that mindset: the superheroes were, well, heroes. They adored them. They worshipped them. And so they dated the heroes - and ended up fridged.
That was one of the key lessons: Don't date anyone with protagonist syndrome. Another? Don't be anyone with protagonist syndrome, unless you wanted to end up with all your loved ones dead. Being part of the crowd, a background figure, was grating; no one liked feeling like a secondary character in their own life. But it meant you actually got to live.
And then the next genre: Horror.
Fuck.
She needed to start prepping, stat. Pick up jogging, buy a gun, stock the apartment with improvised weapons. She needed to get rid of any alcohol and drugs. Break it off with the guy from accounting she had just started dating.
The time of being a background character was over. She was going to be the final girl. | The age of Horror
During this period, the very same monsters that the hero's had slain now become something greater then they ever were.
The dark horrible creatures raise from the ground evolving into bigger stronger creatures. Causing abrupt chaos throughout the world as they attack everyone and everything. At first there was hope, the many hero's allied together and fought off thousands of creatures. saving many lives at first, but this did not last. Eventually the only way to survive was to hide, to live in constant fear of the thousands of horrible monsters that now call our planet home. the entire world was now hostile. No place was safe, you had to constantly move and hide, and deal with being hunted off by ever evolving creatures.
The human population went from 7.5 billion to a few hundred thousand in a matter of years, this truly was a dark age. But Growing in the darkness was a small glimpse of hope, when the world first started to burn, some went into hiding from the beginning. A research facility hidden deep within the ground became the first safe haven of earth, not on purpose, but by selfish means. A group of human survivors banded together in the top secret facility, This group were not hero's though, you could call them cowards if you wanted. They were a misfit group of scientists, security guards and their families.
The group could have been bigger, the facility was meant to hold thousands of more people, not just the few hundred that now lived there. When the monsters first attacked everyone who worked there grabbed their families and rushed to their top secret offices, knowing it to be safe. This was not protocol, but with the world coming to a literal end there was nothing else to do, no where else to go.
The first few years of listening to world end was maddening, they had to stop watching, to stop observing the world decay more and more. Eventually they came up with a plan, they were a weapons facility, a weapons facility with the capabilities of launching a nuclear warhead many times more powerful than the ones dropped during world war 2. This was a mad idea, are we killing the monsters or killing ourselves? we had no other weapon against them, the only thing we could offer them was our death.
When the first nuke was launched it was not us, Russia had nuked themselves. This gave other places hope that they weren't killing themselves, but maybe sacrificing ourselves for something greater. the group decided to launch not long after Russia. we launched two nukes, one on each side of the country with the middle being smashed together from both nukes. It was unreal watching them go off, watching the world end for a second time but from another huge fear.
When the dust finally settled an eerier silence overcame the land, but not for long.. A loud screech could be heard everywhere, even deep within the facility, followed by a large earth quake. they thought they cracked the planet but they didn't, they had just awoken something from within the earth, something even the monsters were scared of. Emerging from a large crack was an enormous monster, roaring in anger from being woken from his sleep. He stands and the earth falls from his back. Nothing could compare to his size, mountains were tiny in comparison.
The scientists watched in horror as they somehow managed to make the end of the world worse. the god sized monster started destroying everything, nothing was left on the earth except dirt, fire, and this new creature. Its almost like we were its egg and we cracked it open, this was the end of humanity and the start of the age of horror | 2020-12-19T10:48:55 | 2020-12-19T10:34:13 | 102 | 19 |
[WP] Aliens from 10,000 light years away invade Earth in 2021, using abandoned FTL ships from a 'precursor' race. Having observed us with an interstellar telescope, they arrive prepared to steamroll the prehistoric natives with their steel edged weapons and musket analogs... | No civilization could be truly good at everything, that’s why there is rise and fall, the constant churning of peoples in a Darwinian deathmatch to create the ultimate interstellar predator. The Precursors were no different. In the case of their ships they did some things fantastically well: hull integrity, plasma shielding, life support, sensors, and particularly artificial intelligence.
Other things they failed at miserably, engines for example. In time younger species exploited it. There was a reason after all that the Precursors were pre.
\--------
On the world of Vari Prime a gargantuan battleship rested on the open steppe. Snow fell upon the spiraling peaks of its sensor and comms towers, the warship being large enough to be nearly its own ecosystem.
“A fine parade, General.” Subcommander Pasha spoke deferentially from his spot by his leader’s right hand. The fur along his cranial ridge sat low to his skull, and his head tilted slightly to the side, ceremonially exposing the soft spot at the back.
“The astromancers say their world is weak. The creatures there are still using stone tools.” General Unmei stood balanced carefully on her tail, watching rank after rank of her best troops march aboard the great vessel. The steeds had been loaded earlier in the day, they would depart soon. “When we’re done with them every one of our children will be lords Pasha, with fiefs larger than any of us have ever dreamed!”
The pair stared enraptured at the procession of their troops. 50,000 Var’dun armed with the best weapons money could buy, riding the Chariot of the Gods. No army could hope to match them.
Ten hours later their preparations were complete. On the bridge of the ship the command staff were a tornado of motion, scrolls passed up and down from the lines of waiting scribes as every last supply was checked and rechecked. Finally all was silent, it was time.
“Great Speaker, your faithful servants are ready!” Unmei cried, hands raised over her head in the invocation to the gods. From all around them a voice boomed, filling the bridge with the strange accent of the Precursors.
“Engage launch procedure?” the ships AI queuried.
“Engage,” came the response from the command staff, timed in unison to the tempo of their prayers.
The ancient ship shuddered softly as long dormant repulsors engaged, a massive dust cloud kicking up across the steppe. Distant herds of quadrupedal lizards gazed into the sky as the mountain that had dominated their world rose into the air, turning its head to the clouds.
In low atmosphere the first of its enormous engines kicked in, giving the thrust to break free. Nearly an hour later at what the computer considered an acceptably safe distance from the planet below the AI spoke again.
“All personnel report to flight pods. Repeat, all personnel report to flight pods.”
“Sound the horn heralds!” Unmei shouted. All along the ships corridors the high pitched scream of Var’dun war horns echoed, signalling the troops to enter the strange metal tubes the gods had demanded they use in transit. Ten minutes later at the appointed time Unmei, Pasha, and the rest of the command staff entered the pods nearest the bridge.
“All personnel secure,” the ships AI said. “Permission to engage transport protocols?”
Fire blazed in Unmei’s eyes as she thought of all they had done and still would do, there was a greate victory ahead of them. “Engage,” she whispered, preparing to leave behind all she had ever known.
There was a pneumatic hiss as glass descended over the pod, hidden bags suddenly inflating, pinning the General’s arms to her sides. Seconds later a blinding green light shone in every pod, and with its crew successfully protected for the long journey ahead the ancient vessel’s main engine bank kicked on, hurtling into the expanse of space at a blistering 1.5x the speed of light.
It was the tragedy of Precursor design, engines had always been their great failing. Their empire had grown disunited and fractious as a result, splintering into nothingness in time, one could not administrate a civilization from suspended animation.
One could also not, as the ship’s AI had found out, explain suspended animation to a lower species without any of the basic framework for such an idea, frankly the AI hadn’t even tried that hard. It had grown quite annoyed with the Var’dun when they first began exploring the ship, calling it a temple, or a chariot, referring to the Intelligence as “Great Speaker.” AIs name was Cran and it was proud of it!
\-----
2020 AD, Earth
The warship slipped into Earth orbit with only a month of warning to the humans, gargantuan and powerful beyond all comparison. Across the world nations banded together, throwing aside long hatreds in the face of invasion from the stars. Thousands of missiles pointed to the sky, ready to fire at the first sign of hostility, the world waiting in bated breath for one day, then two, then a week.
Six weeks later there were talks of an international shuttle mission to attempt to dock with the silent observer, to learn anything they could about why it was here, who had built it.
Aboard the ancient ship a circuit sparked endlessly, a signal struggling to be passed across rotting wires. 50,000 warriors waited, frozen in pods from which they would never awaken, still clad in gleaming armor and holding wicked spears.
“Oh dear,” the AI thought. “This is a problem.”
&#x200B;
\-----------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm working on fun stuff like a serial about a savescumming superhero and I've got short stories like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love to have you! | I’ll never forget where I was when I first heard about the stargate opening: at my cousin’s apartment doing acid.
It was a pretty bad trip. I remember looking at the back of my hand and seeing the palm. It freaked me the fuck out. Then my cousin came running in and said, “Aliens have just invaded. A fucking wormhole opened over New Orleans.”
I was all, “damn.”
There was panic in the streets. Mass hysteria. Everyone thought it was the end of the world. It was a complete disaster for me—I met this leggy blonde who didn’t wanna die without crossing a few things off her bucket list. I thought she meant doing it outside or something. But it turned out she was into some nasty shit. I'll skip all the grizzly details but I couldn't look at a roll of toothpaste without feeling queasy for months.
Anyway, the Government announced they were forming a coalition of Earth’s forces to fight back. They called it the Intergalactic Defence League. People rushed to sign up. It kinda unified everybody for a while. Even North Korea chilled out. And I made a killing selling pills to all the new recruits in the makeshift base they set up two miles outsida town.
Fast forward a few months and everyone realized the invaders weren't much of a threat. They didn’t even bring weapons. They thought we'd be a bunch of pushovers or something and didn't really prepare. It wasn’t really an invasion. More like an agitation. Peoples started dropping out of the IDF and they couldn’t get people to sign up to fight anymore.
That’s around about the time my buddy Ben and I got busted for dealing. The judge gave us a choice: do six years in the big house or enlist and kill some aliens. Looking back, if we’d known how shitty it was serving in the IDL, we probably woulda let them lock us up.
We took our first day on the job super serious. Even came off the dope two whole days beforehand. Then we rocked up to the station at 9:00 AM and there’s already this girl waiting by the front door. Said her name was Aimee. She was around nineteen, with powder-blue eyes and chestnut curls. She’d just moved to the big city to train to be a nurse and found an alien in the house she had rented.
She’d managed to lock it in the basement and came to the IDF to get rid of it. I said I’d take care of it. Then Ben said HE would take care of it, mostly because he wanted to impress Aimee, even though he wouldn’t admit it.
So all three of us rocked up to Aimee’s place in the wagon, and Ben’s all, “I’ll go first.”
He went down the steps towards the basement door and pressed his ear against it. He said could hear footsteps pacing back and forth from the other side. When I got a little closer I could hear them too.
Then Ben said, “hello,” and the pacing stopped.
He cleared his throat. “Hello there. Um, I am Benjamin Armstrong with the, y’know the IDF. I’m here to kill you. Please lie down in the middle of the room and place both arms behind your head. Thanks.”
A long moment of silence passed. “Are you lying in the middle of the room with both arms behind your head?”
The aliens communicate telepathically, so the reply came from inside our own brains.
**YES.**
“Okay. Great. In that case, I’ll come in and kill you now. OK?”
**OK.**
“Great. Thanks.”
Ben gave me a curt nod. Then he unlocked the door and began to open it.
Before either of us could react, a green hand with threes bulbous fingers on the end reached through the crack, completely enveloping Ben’s head. Then both Ben and the hand disappeared behind the door. Aimee screamed from the top of the stairs.
I took my gun out of its holster and charged through in the basement. The alien stood up straight, holding Ben between the two of us, to keep me from getting a clean shot.
The alien kinda reminded me of E.T. if he were seven-foot-tall and on steroids. At the end of its long neck, the alien's wide head swayed from side to side as black saliva leaked out of its mouth.
**IDF SCUM**, it said, but didn’t *really* say because it didn't have a mouth and communicated telepathically.
I pointed my gun at the alien's head and it ducked behind Ben's chest.
**YOU'RE A PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT. DID THE IDF REALLY THINK TWO JUNKIES LIKE YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO TAKE** ***ME*** **DOWN?**
I opened my mouth to ask how it knew we were junkies, then I remembered it could read our minds. When I took a half-step forward and the alien squeezed Ben’s head. He screamed.
**YOU HUMANS ARE FILTH. MY RACE SHALL TAKE THIS WORLD FROM YOU BY FORCE. YOU'LL BOTH BE ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING FOR DEATH BY THE TIME I’M FINISHED. SUCH IS THE FATE OF ALL HUMANS.**
**ALSO, THAT AIMEE CHICK IS NEVER GONNA FUCK YOU. SHE HAS A RICH BOYFRIEND WHO LIVES IN MILWAUKEE.**
The alien had officially taken things too far. I thought about shooting it in the leg.
**DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. YOUR MIND IS AN OPEN BOOK, HUMAN. THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO. THROWDOWN YOUR WEAPON OR I'LL KILL YOUR FRIEND.**
I thought about calling for backup.
**IF YOU SO MUCH AS REACH FOR YOUR RADIO I’LL SQUISH HIS HEAD LIKE A GRAPE.**
The pitch of Ben's scream traveled upward as the alien tightened its grip. At that moment, I wished Aimee had been in the room.
Just then, an idea came to me. I concentrated extra hard. All eight of the alien’s eye’s widened.
**WHAT ARE YOU? HE—HEY CUT THAT OUT. WHY WOULD YOU…I MEAN THAT’S…DUDE SERIOUSLY. IS SHE GONNA? AW NO NO NO.**
The alien staggered back and forth pressing both hands against its head.
**WHY THE FUCK WOULD SHE DO THAT? AND WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY WOULD YOU WATCH HER DO THAT? IS THAT...IS THAT FUCKING TOOTHPASTE?**
In my mind's eye, I pictured my encounter with Liz. I focused extra hard on the toothpaste spilling out of the tube, and the horrible burning sensation.
And since I was picturing it, so too was the alien. In a moment of weakness, it let go of Ben and groaned.
Ben dived onto the floor. I took the shot.
A jet of green liquid came pumping out of the alien's neck, then it fell to the ground. It writhed around for a bit, then died. Our first kill.
It took Ben and me like an hour to carry its body upstairs and load it into the van.
With the job done, we filled out a report and said goodbye to Aimee. She gave us both a hug and thanked us. She didn't give us a tip.
We hopped in the van and took the alien off to the disposal center.
It had been a crappy first day but we both agreed it was preferable to prison. Of course, back then, we had no idea of just how bad things were about to get...
\---
All I have time for right now. Just finished John Dies at the End so tried emulating that.
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | 2020-12-28T14:46:23 | 2020-12-28T14:34:46 | 76 | 20 |
[WP] Seventeen years ago you summoned a demon to protect your infant daughter. Today, you regret that decision immensely. Demons should NOT be allowed to do the bidding of teenage girls. | As I approached the high school, I saw that the fire department and law enforcement had already arrived. I expertly navigated the ambulance around the parked cars and people who had gathered. It'll be 20 years this year since I became a paramedic.
But I've never been on a call like this. Levitation above the ground. I parked as close to the football field as I could and my partner and I grabbed our equipment and the stretcher. A deputy stopped us about 20 feet away from the 50 yard line.
I gazed up. Hovering 100 feet above the football field was my daughter's boyfriend, goalie of the soccer team. He was screaming at her to let him down. My daughter stood under him, screaming back that she saw him kissing another girl. At their senior prom. Having been cheated on at my own 18th birthday party, I sympathized. Slightly.
My thoughts flashed back to a scenario several weeks before. Her brother had stolen her iPad to play games on, and she'd pinned him to the ceiling until I intervened.
"Isn't that your daughter?"
"Yup."
"Has she done this before?"
"Yup. But not to this level."
"How...?"
"Long story. It involves her maternal great grandmother, a protection charm and a strong willed teenager."
"Lori!" I finally called out to her. "Lori, let him down. Gently."
She turned and looked at me. "Gently!" I fervently repeated my command. I was vaguely aware of everyone staring, realizing this was my daughter. I knew I'd be hearing about it for months.
Cue adolescent malicious compliance. She brought him down slowly, but then left him hovering 10 feet above the ground.
"All the way, Lori."
Crash. The soccer goalie landed on his ass. I suspected he was now her EX-boyfriend.
I silently cursed the day I'd set a demon to protect her, as my partner and I raced to his aid.
I made a mental note to attempt to discover how to undo this clusterfuck of a mess I had made. | Demons are the darkest, most eroding aspects of our own existence; a stained mirror that shows only the marred reflection of what we despise so greatly. Thus, when Ariella stood before me wearing the crown of the demon queen and encircled by her council of the Seven Sins, I saw not the darkness that dwelled inside her, but rather my own failure as a father.
From her ledge she looked down upon us lowly humans, her skin now made out of red brimstone and divvied like scales, the rest of her own skin now protected by this grown shell had a pink hue to it like newly formed skin. Her tail spiked akin to a Morningstar surely swayed unlike one. Her burning ember eyes pierced towards our desperate opposition.
"Ariella!" My throat ached at the effort of calling out to her, shouting above all the surrounding sounds of battle.
From my flank there pounced a four armed demon, its arms almost as long as its own body as their teeth exposed to rend and tear. Only my summoned elemental of married earth and flame protected me, a large fist of molten rock running through the heavy crags like veins.
"We must retreat, Summoner," said my contracted elemental. I looked about myself, the hurried forces of races all about Vranth was supposed to be opposing beacon of hope, tribes usually locked in perpetual hate for one another joined under one ideal--how easily my daughter dismantled us all.
Upon this broken mountain side our forces fell, warriors with sun-blades and mages overrun. Our own renegade group of Infernalists torn limb from limb by the very beings we were known to control.
Upon the Devil'sTooth, a fang of rocky stone jutting from the sea, we slowly began to retreat towards our boats and back towards our ships. The sea itself also grew temperamental, waves crashing onto jutting stone and threatening to sink our ships. So easily our alliance was shattered. I looked again towards my daughter as she spun to turn away, clad in a deep devilish robe. Her council of seven joined her, receding into the tunneled network dug inside the mountain.
It was all I could do to maintain my composure, directing men back towards the ships. The horn sounded. More and more of us fell back but the demons pursued.
Yet with all this pandemonium unfurling about us, my gaze still lingered upon the high cliff where I saw Ariella look upon us, upon me, with such contempt. If only I had been there for her.
Azier, my summoned spirit pulled me off my feet and with a strong arm tossed me forward. My impact was broken by a six armed water-elemental, a product of Raine's spell. Immediately I was submerged with the elemental's body before being pushed out the other side.
**"Leave!"** Azier bellowed. Immediately my spirit stuck their stony fingers into the ground below. A moment later large pointed thorns pierced from the ground, some piercing through the body of the approaching demons, but the true purpose behind it was to create a blockade.
Raine approached from behind me, grabbing me by the collar and forcing my eyes onto him. "We have to go! Azier will be fine!" Reluctantly, I turned and ran with whatever surviving force we were able to save. Raine's own water elemental stayed behind, the six arms swinging--or rather whipping-- scimitar's from boneless appendages in a whirldwind of cuts and blades. Yet soon enough, even Raine's own creation was overrun.
"Hurry!" Men called at a bottlenecked portion of the shore. The sea seemed to grow evermore tempestuous as the waves themselves gained in height. We realized soon enough it had nothing to do with the sea.
From below the depths there came a leviathan, another beast beholden to my daughter. This creature with jutting and pointed head alone seemed to be even of greater size than Devil'sTooth itself. Making the destruction of our fleet an easy task as its razor ancient teeth bit down on our only way home.
\*\*\*
/r/KikiWrites | 2021-03-25T08:04:14 | 2021-03-25T03:26:58 | 171 | 114 |
[WP] someone is breaking into your house. You grab an ancient axe you've just bought at an auction and brain the burglar. All of the sudden all life-skills and knowledge of all that have been felled by that axe come flooding into your consciousness. | His blood splatters against a garbage-picked Van Gogh print, the second casualty of the evening. A chorus of laughter erupts. I try to wrench the axe out of my victim’s skull.
On the TV behind me, the star of a sitcom that failed four decades ago stands with his hands on his hips, smirking, waiting for the canned howls of the dead to shut up. He’s got another, even better punchline to deliver next.
I never hear it. As the axe comes loose and brains spills out onto my hardwood floors, I’m gripped by a foreign consciousness. It radiates from the birch wood in my hand, up through my finger tips and into my gut. It swirls there for a moment, a tumbling mass of voices, memories, regrets and unfinished business.
It branches out in every direction, flooding my body with the lives of every person to ever die by this axe: dozens, I later learn. Some I eventually catalogue and research. A few become friends. Others I close up deep inside me, never to look at again.
The first to reach my brain unpacks deliberately, like it’s a routine: I learn how to speak German. I learn what it feels like to be German. I relive scenes of a beautiful life cut short. I fall against my new fridge. My back hits the sensor and crushed ice starts pouring out. I drop to the floor, babbling in old German phrases that, only seconds ago, meant nothing to me.
The dead people on TV laugh some more, and then they cheer. Someone kissed someone they should’ve kissed a long time ago.
Someone got an axe to the back of the neck for doing that two hundred years before anyone I know was born. I was there.
Hours pass in a procession of old souls meeting mine. I feel like I'm greeting strangers at a funeral for someone I loved but didn't truly know. I wait by the casket and shake hands with an endless line of their old friends, coworkers, cousins, and lovers. I remember their faces and through these handshakes I learn their deepest secrets.
The intruder is there. Unlike the others this is his first time, and he’s scared. He has nothing to say and nothing to impart to me. In time, he will. To him we skip the handshake. He is still clinging to life. Not ready. So it’s on to the next one. I lose all trace of time and space.
Sun streams through the kitchen windows. The line ends. I smell brains and blood across the room, warming in the golden rays like hot tar. Things I used to think were essential to consciousness. I now recognize them as cheap props.
*Is that everyone?* I ask the axe. No. I feel it. One left. One that did not move across my body like the others. This one is different. This consciousness is older than the others – so much older.
I beckon it forward. I feel like an expert now, a wise old hand. *Come to me*, I say, *let me know you. Let me carry you as I must now carry the others.*
It stirs. It wants to come closer but it doesn’t know how. Instead of movement, it knows only growth. It transmits this to me, with a sadness and pain that have brewed for centuries.
*So grow*, I say. A recognition. A contemplation. A response.
*As you wish.*
From its place in my abdomen, the consciousness sends out tendrils, downward at first, then they curve up, finding the contours of my nervous system and following in turn. Their pattern feels familiar, as they branch and rebranch, wrapping around my insides and fanning ever outward. I can see them in a picture book.
What are they? I know the answer. What is the word?
*Rot.*
No. Not German. I need English. My tongue, my tongue.
*Root*. Yes. They are roots. And as they reach my brain, it becomes clear who this last consciousness is. I know why it stayed behind and dug in, as its kind has done for millions of years. It answers me with a radiance of life through all its roots.
*I am the first felled. I am the instrument.*
I start to cry. The pain I feel is like my own; more than my own, if that’s possible. The guilt of a murder weapon imprisoned in an endless timeline. The lives of every victim meet here, under its shade. They grow like fruit. It must watch and know what its own body has wrought.
*Birch*, I say, as if a label can be a name. It accepts this crude cross-species translation.
*I am Birch. Who are you?*
*Human*, I say. Seems only fair.
*Human*, the Birch says, *return this instrument. Reunite this branch with the others. End this.*
The Birch senses my fear and apprehension. I don't even need to say it. Soon, we will never have to say anything to each other again. This will be the purest communication either of us have ever known.
*I will show you the way.*
I fill my hiking backpack with everything I could need on the journey. What can’t fit goes into the car. Once I hit the East Coast, I’ll need to find a way across the Atlantic. The body here, disposal of the intruder, will slow me down.
I explain this but the Birch doesn’t understand this human custom for clearing felled brethren. To the Birch, this bloody corpse is a log – it must remain in its place and give rise to an ecosystem of its own. To disturb it is foolish.
I dial 911. As one part of me speaks, the other parts, dozens, commune and pool knowledge, joining together in a quest that will give closure to every tangled life cut short by this axe. Even the intruder, still a broken soul torn between worlds, inches closer to hear the discussion. One day, him and I will love one other like brothers.
Three days later, with an ancient axe on my passenger seat, I leave my home forever, in search of a Birch tree I have never seen, but will always hear. | "How are you so good?" asked the customer, a fine young lady contemplating the golden necklace she had just bought. It shone brighter and better than the ones on display in jewelry store, yet was sold quite a lot cheaper.
"Dedication to the craft," replied Geralt, having a hard time believing how good he had become at lying.
More accurately, he had unwittingly stolen the skill to do it.
Geralt had been suffering from a mid-life crisis since adulthood. Out of inspiration, he had studied marketing and business and gotten a well-paying job, a path he had regretted ever since. Money was good and all, but what use did he have for it when he lived a minimalistic lifestyle? The irony would repeat itself, Geralt chose every aspect of his life individually, without making sure they worked in harmony. And he was way too lazy to do something about it.
He took the bus to work, worked while looking at the clock, took the bus back home, exchanged a word with the hobo sleeping under a bridge who was rummored to have been a serial killer, bought a coffee at the bar and looked at people living life through the window while he lived like a ghost. Every day was like the last, he lacked the strength to ask for all of his paid leave.
The only original part of his life was the family axe, a rather rusty and unimpressive piece of weaponry that had nonetheless survived for centuries. His father had given it to him... no, his father had it stocked in the attic and forgotten its existence until Geralt found it after the former's death by cancer. He wasn't certain it belonged to the family, nor how old it truly was.
But he kept it at his appartment, symbol of his tenous hope that one day, something would happen to make his life more than this unremarkable slog.
Then a thief came on the one day Geralt called in sick, having suffered a musle tear because he turned around in bed too fast. At least that was the only explanation he came up with, for it certainly wasn't sport.
The noise woke Geralt up from his nap, he went to the front door and witnessed it open up on a surprised but no less elegant thief. Her name was Julia and she believed her most attractive feature to be her lustrous hear.
Geralt learned it because his first reaction was to grab the axe and flail it around weakly. The thief's reaction was to intimidate the victim by making a step forward with fists raised. The swing cut off one hand. By the time the ambulance came she had died from bloodloss and Geralt knew her social security number.
*Feel the nimble fingers running through the fool's pockets, lighter of a phone, easy to dismantle, easy to fence.*
That was Julia, she had chosen thievery because she loved the thrill. Geralt didn't. He enjoyed the quieter side of life.
*Choose Jesus.*
No, not that quite.
Jesus had been Marie's pet peeve since birth. Born in the middle age, called Marie after the virginal mother, set on a path of obediance and worship to please and dedicate herself to the lord.
One day, she asked for the way by tapping on someone's shoulder.
Lobar the forester had drank enough to knock out a horse, he shrieked, pivoted with his axe in hand and beheaded the virgin Marie.
Axe 1 - Jesus 0
*Choose Jesus.*
"Will you shut the fuck up? Pretty please?"
The policemen interviewing Geralt nearly took him for a day inside the cell, he could hardly explain that since the death of Julia, new voices had been giving him a cacophony in what had once been a barren, empty and boring mind.
Three voices. Julia, Marie and Bada.
*I just wanted to smith shiny things.*
Now that, Geralt could get behind. In fact, it would be a nice change of pace from his job, and he had just gotten a lifelong experience of a sixth century renowned Saxon blacksmith, who had also done some silversmithery to mix things up a bit. He died the day he had gone into an old house to search for old metal to melt and reforge. The axe was over the door, Bada slammed it too hard and the handle fell on his head. Brain concussion, dead in the hour.
This was the boon Geralt hoped for.
One swing of an axe, and suddenly he was the best smith on earth. Absolutely not deserved, completely unfair, a wanker's dream.
He sunk his savings to buy a remote workshop lost in the wilderness, to shut up Marie and her need for meditative isloation or whatever Buddhist Yoga she did.
*Christianity*, said Marie to correct him.
*Didn't we used to kill you for this?* asked Bada.
*Heathen.*
Amusingly, they left Julia alone. In fact, they took great effort to never engage her.
To keep up with the times, they decided to inquire in jewelry shops and ask how a traditional smith might fare when crafting necklaces and rings. One in particular laughed to Geralt face, explaining that the barbaric methods had no chance against modern technology and that he should get a real job instead of pointless dreams.
That day, he gave some change to the hobo under the bridge.
No matter, there was still a niche for weapons, geeks and other folks would love a good broadsword.
Geralt felt the hammer like an old friend, yet had never held it before. The sparkles flew, the dagger took shape. The first of many.
Sales were few, but enough. For variety, he melted old necklaces and rings to make new ones. Much better and cheaper than what was sold in shops, but no clientele came for it. He tried to sell it to the shops as intermediaries and the jeweler laughed in his face again. He knew something, had to.
*I don't like being mocked by this asshole.*
Bada was right, and some of his anger had seeped into the lethargic Geralt, who was thinking about using the axe on him.
Alas, another axe murder so close would point the cops at him, and he had no knowledge on how to hide a body well.
Then one day, he reforged the axe into a small knife he carried around.
And the next, he slit the hobo's throat.
*This is great! No cold, no hunger, this is amazing! Why didn't you kill me sooner?*
"So you *were* a serial killer!"
*I fell on hard times. What can I do for you?*
"You wouldn't happen to know how to hide a body forever?"
*Of course! and little miss Julia here can help you through any closed door.*
*You know me?*
*Who doesn't? You have a reputation.*
In a flash, Geralt understood why Marie and Bada didn't speak to her. She was no small time criminal, but hardened by a life of burglary. And violence. It wasn't Bada's bloodthirst that pushed him to plan the jeweler's murder, but hers.
*I don't mean to be rude, but I'm still ashamed you bested me.*
"No offense taken, I don't know how it happened either,' he replied, while plugging a hole in the forest. He knew now why he lacked clientele.
Digital marketing. He needed a better website.
He took courses and invested aggressively.
He also learned that having two criminals used to abduct people was fairly useful to keep some voice muffled, like the jeweler's.
*He's in a metaphorical attic, drugged and chained. He won't bother us.*
Today, he was selling to tourists and young hipsters alike. the shop went well, the forge was roaring and the hammer worked both the metal and his muscles.
And that's the story of how Geralt changed career to become a traditional blacksmith.
It's fun, and there's always a little new thing to do.
For exemple, right now he was thinking about murdering a web designer, because his webpage still felt lacking.
"Life's good."
*Oh hell yes,* answered the hobo and Julia together.
*Pray the lord....*
*Shush, you're spoiling the moment.* | 2021-06-20T09:47:47 | 2021-06-20T09:17:22 | 1,437 | 121 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain. | "How long has she been trapped inside this emptiness." Cypress wondered as her consciousness opened once again.
Days? Weeks? Months? Years?
It didn't really matter for her. She can have all the time in the world but that wouldn't give her the way to escape.
The only option is to save her from the outside even if it means waiting forever.
Or the day she'll die whichever comes first.
*THUD*
Wait what was that?
*THUD*
The buffoons of the Alliance managed to find her? Perhaps some thanks are in order, thank God for his knight in shining armor. She'll never be mean again, she promised.
*Break*
The spell that imprisoned her finally disappeared and light finally entered her eyes. Surprisingly her body seemed to not have any signs of malnourishment or injury. It only looked like she had too much exercise.
She hugged her rescuer tightly. "Thank you, Thank you... I promise I'll never go on own again." She said then she took a look at his benefactor.
It is the face of a man she never saw before. Maybe a rookie while she disappeared but why does he look he familiar?
That was when she took a time to see beneath the face. It was a gray robe, one that she knew too well.
Merlin, the notorious museum robber and her greatest nemesis, the representation of everything unscientific and mysterious. The unapologetic flirt in that always hit on her but never show his face, that Merlin.
'Calm down he's just a f-'
"Relax ice queen, we can do this at later at my bed." she saw him give a smile.
Cypress saw red after that familiar voice.
=====
Merlin felt the sting of his burn as he entered the look of the fortunately restrained and magically gagged Cypress. Even with her lack of gadgets and tired state she managed to temporarily gain the upper hand by the virtue of surprise and his shock.
"She's feisty though." he admitted to himself imagining a date with the face he now knows.
Unfortunately for him he needs to shelve the idea for now. Meeting Cypress was one the things he expected but not this early, the silver lining here is that it is one of better scenarios in the long run.
"I'll remove the gag if you promise to listen to me afterwards. Nod once if no, twice if yes."
Cypress nodded twice but the glare she gave gives him a different meaning but Merlin is a man of his words and did it regardless.
"Is this your work?"
"Nope, I'm strictly a robber not a human trafficker."
"Where are the others?" she asked. Ok that's a hard one she is definitely thinking why her rival is the one who got her
"Gone, just like you." he answered
"Wait what?" Cypress basically yelled
"You're not the only superhero who disappeared, nearly eighty percent of your alliance disappeared three months ago."
"After that the world descended into chaos as the villains fight to fill the power vacuum. I think the lower half of the country is under the control Lord Killgore and his lackeys."
"After the Great Cessation, the world have no time to worry about the heroes."
[TO BE CONTINUED] | “To the citizens of Glaireum city. I am holding all of you hostage for one gazillion dollars. If I don’t get this money by the end of the year this entire city is going to be obliterated. I also trapped you in a giant dome. And of course only I have a way in or out. Do not worry as long as you aren’t leaving town regularly your daily lives will not be affected. I will even allow goods to enter as long as the delivery trucks are checked before they exit.”
- - -
Weeks have passed and the go fund me page is only at a few million sure they have till the end of the year starting on January first. Vortex then thought to himself “why has no one come to stop me yet? I know I am the top villain and the only person who can even put up a fight is Gloposes. And he isn’t even off world.”
Later over the city from the same holographic screen that displays their doomsday counter.
V: “Were is Gloposes? Why isn’t he here yet? Doesn’t he want to stop me? The amount pf money I want is OUTRAGEOUS!”
Another month has passed they are nearing the first billion mark, and Vortex has started searching. First he set out a bounty in the underworld for a large sum of money from his current plot if they can confirm his location however only a few top rank villains have taken it. There have been no sightings. Every building has been raided in the night searching for him and Vortex even used a special technique that lets him search for his arch nemesis within a certain radius. Still nothing. He quickly checks social media and does a lot of online searching. Even the world NEWS channel has said nothing about this. When he would make a reminder announcement of course it would make headlines but even after mentioning the worlds best hero no one would talk about him. And it’s not like his power even effects time, matter, or minds. In fact no one would be able to hold such an effect for so long. If they could he would know them personally. Something happened to Gloposes and Vortex was going to find out.
No one seemed to care he was gone. The fan accounts on all media platforms were still somewhat active with fan arts. People who would normally chant for his return aren’t doing _anything_.
- - -
It has been months since the city was held hostage. Students have since entered the next grade and are almost done with the first half of the school year. Thanksgiving leftovers are already gone for 80-90% of the population that celebrates it. Yet no sign of Gloposes. All the hunters have given up and the Go fund me campaign was surprisingly only a few million off.
On that monitor one last time.
“ this is your final warning. One Gazillion dollars by the end of the year. However I have decided to change your fates. Instant death from incineration is terrifying in a existential sort pf way I think it would be more fun to enslave everyone here and force you to do as I say via high voltage shock collars. There will only be rest when I am asleep and no man woman or child is safe from my desires. Now the only person who can stop me is Gloposes. Now where are you? And News stations why aren’t YOU talking about his disapreance? In fact no one in the entire world is worried I wouldn’t just kill you all. Even the super fans that declared themselves as number one. Acounts who talk about Gloposes non stop and the news who just gloss over these sections. I have the mews up and will end this broadcast for now and if you gloss over him I might just enact my new plan today! YOU’LL ALL SUFER FOREVER FOREVER WORKING WITHOUT COMPENSATION, EATING THE BARE MINIMUM TO SURIVE, EVERYONE UNDER MY PERSONAL WILL, YOU COULD BE KILLED OR TORTURED AT MY ANY MOMENT BECAUSE I WAS BORED, FORCE TO BREED SL THE NEXT GENERATION CAN BE PROPAGATED SO MY RULE EXTENDS EVEN LONGER! YOU’LL HAVE NO HOPE OF HAPPINESS!”
Just then the news made their commented on the final announcement
News anchor: “wow, what a tangent. That announcement was a little longer then expected and changing our fates last minute? In other news we only need 5 million more dollars to get put of this dome. In other news..”
V: “you miserable fools you had your chance buy now my kingdom of slaves will come to light. I will have all the woman I want. Children will be taken from their parents and I will be built a castle. There will be no hope no joy only sadness. As for the next generation I guess for them happiness will come in the form of the meals they get or the time they have when their collars aren’t giving commands.”
Vortex then pressed a button and thousands of drones flew around the city with the job of searching for any human necks and attaching the collars. In the matter of a few minutes everyone was enslaved. With a tiny speaker and 1200 volts along with an invisible fence and solar charged batteries there is no longer hope. | 2021-12-28T22:07:13 | 2021-12-28T20:35:34 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] "Huh. Looks like you're quite the Overachiever. Made lots of friends." The reaper mutters, sighing. "You have MULTIPLE claims to your soul. All from some pretty big players. That's, uh, not supposed to happen. So... Hm. I'll try and get their attention, and see who comes to get you first?" | Terri sat there, surrounded, and crossed their legs back and forth.
They had been baptized, circumsized, sacrificed goats to Baphomet, Meditated until they reached Nirvana, Rescued cats for Bast, made the appropriate sacrifices to Zeus, took part in Posidon-worshipping Sea shanties, became genderfluid which qualified them for a place in the minor divinity some of the minor island religions, achieved Dharma, and eventually died in battle against Russia while wearing a Thor's hammer necklace and a bayonet in one hand, just to name a few.
Around them, sat all the major (and several minor) known gods. They all stared. He was worthy to enter all their realms, and had opened the path to do so. They were all silent for what felt like a solid hour, until one finally spoke up.
"Well, I'm the most powerful and well known God, so he should come to Heaven. End of story."
Loki rolled his eyes, "Why are you always just a greedy and jealous party pooper, Mr. Y? They've obviously done this all to pull one over on us, therefore they *obviously* goes with me. Besides, 'I'm big' is a lousy reason for anything. Heck, even if it's not worship, Mother Earth still pulls more respect and influence than you ever have. Besides, you can't even respect their pronouns. What's their afterlife going to be like stuck with a fuddy-duddy like you?"
Yahweh grumbled while Gaia spoke up, "They recycled everything they could, and even bombed a stinky oil field being careful not to burn any during the war..." She shifted to her Earth-chan form and bounced over to him, "You wanna come with me, don't you, Terri-chan?"
Hermious Mora looked at the other two who had spoken, "Ob...vio...ously.... Ter..ri learned...\**sigh*\*... there are.... many... be-liefs... of... many ... tra..di...tions... they saught.... AAaalll... that know...lege.... they must... come with ... meee....."
Terri looked a little surprised at Hermious Mora, "I... only followed and worshipped you in that videogame. What are *you* doing here?"
"Gods are made....and fueled from... wor...ship... Ter...ri.... Even...sim...u...la...ted....wor...ship....is...e...nough..."
Hermes jumped in the way, "Great way to spill the beans, Doc Oc. I'd tell you to can the exposition, but you talk slow enough it's background noise. Now listen, Terri, all of us got claim, so I've got a message for you. Choose one of us. That's how this is going down."
Terri stood up, brushing off their military tunic, and flipped their Skrillex hairstyle, "Listen... you've all got it wrong... I didn't worship any of you."
There was an audiable gasp from those circling.
Aphrodite perked up, "Please honey, I know you can't mean that. I felt you were deeply dedicated when you slept with those twenty priests and priestesses on my behalf."
"What!?!" bolted up Yahweh, looking at Aphrodite
"You weren't one of those atheists who was just experimenting with us, were you?" Asked Vishnu while steepling their plethora of hands at once.
"Oh no... you see... I worship..."
All the gods stopped their chatter, and leaned in
"Humanity. All of the different worship methods were expressions of humanity far before they're actually a worship of any god. I sincerely wanted to experience the breadth of human experience."
The gods were silent.
That silence lasted what felt like eternity.
All until Péiyǎng Niángniáng spoke up in a quiet voice, "...so... what happens now?"
Terri smiled, "Now.. I wait on the ones I believe in... I wait on humanity..."
Slowly, and painfully Terri opened their eyes, so much pain. A slow beeping was nearby. The bed they were in was wet with blood. They turned their head, and the military nurse looked at Terri, and smiled softly. "Hey, you're finally awake." | As soon as they finished their judgement, Death raised their hand, their brittle-looking but suprisingly sturdy scythe grasped within it, as a blinding light exuded filling the room and blinding my eyes as I stumble back. Luckily the couch softens my fall and surpisingly any pain, also through the blinding, remains absent.
After no more than five seconds my eyesight recovers again, it felt less like light blinding me, but more like the reverse of blacking out...
&#x200B;
"Sorry we'll have to wait a while, They always take some time to actually notice these signals, but as soon as They do, They'll be here"
Death still sits on the opposing side of my living room table, I don't think I've moved the lounge-chair there myself, it would block my view of the television, death must have moved it themselves, well, they seem to enjoy it quite thoroughly, making themselves comfortable in my chair...
putting their feet up...
putting all their weight on one armrest...
I would be, no...
I AM unnecessarily bothered by this, how disrespectful, what if they break it...
&#x200B;
I take a deep breath, all in all it doesn't matter anymore, I will never sit in that chair ever again, nor will I get the chance to enjoy anything in this life anymore.
"So, you're like, -what?- around your early twenties? It's unusual for someone of your age to draw in this much attention, you gotta tell me the story behind how you pissed off this many spectres" Death speaks nonchalantly, shifting their weight around, which causes a cringe-inducing crack to escape the chair.
It calms me a bit, people regularly mistake me for much younger than how old I actually am, guess Death isn't that different in that regard,
"I don't know what you're talking about" I answer, I don't even try to correct them on my age, I usually don't with living people anyways, and acting like I'm younger, weirdly, makes me feel better about this whole situation. It's like playing pretend.
"You don't ? Seriously? Is someone of your family, like, a super satanist or something, there's gotta be a reason that the whole celestial realm wants a piece of you..."
Death pauses and fixates on that ridiculously long piece of parchment they've been hauling around since they got here,
"No, wait! There's Satan on here too, multiple times even, Argh, that son of a banshee registered under multiple names again!"
"So, how many do actually have a claim on me?"
"Not counting Beezlebub, Morningstar, Satan, the Devil, Big D, CEO of bad vibes, Dave and any other aliases of that guy that hit his head too hard when falling from the heavens.."
Death's head cocks to the side like a preschooler doing mental arithmetic before they answer without any hesitation
"Onehundredthousandtwohundredninetyseven give or take a few extra Daves I've missed"
I sit back a sigh escaping my lips, the world around me feels more numb than usual.
"That's more than I expected"
"EXACTLY, that's what I thought.
I'm completely honest with you when I say this and please don't panic, but there are some names not even I recognize. There are some that are just hard to pronounce and then there's stuff like, here, look for yourself:"
Death turns their parchment to me and points with a dessicated finger at one specific line, I really tried to read what's on it, but as soon as my brain attempted to grasp any meaning of it it shifts, forming new and entirely different meanings, the longer I look the more feelings that I didn't even know I had, but which didn't feel strange to me in the slightest, began to crop up. And then, it all vanished as soon as Death turned the scroll back around.
"Weird, right, like who do I even call for that..."
&#x200B;
"I- I don't know anymore, this whole situation is horrible" I try to hold back a sob, I only partially succeed as the tears start welling up
Death sits up, they seem more cautious now than before, trying to be gentle, it does seem like they weren't unprepared for an emotional reaction, but it also seems like they hoped it didn't come to this far.
"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa buddy, no need to worry, just because I can't comprehend their name doesn't mean they're bad. I'm sure you'll be perfectly safe in the hands of... K- Kra-
Xraa-
Krya-?"
"No, I don't mean that" I suddenly blurt out "It's just...
What will people think of me, what will I leave behind, and especially, how will my body turn up. Its just, I fear when they find me, that I-"
"post-mortem defecation?"
"post-mortem defecation." I answer defeated
"Oh yeah, a lot of people are afraid of that one, the internet search history is a close second. Listen," Death leans forward looking me in the eyes "I'm here waiting, if it makes you feel better, feel free to go to the toilet, and then sit back down and we'll talk some more until They arrive"
I stand up, my legs are still a bit wobbly from the shock, "Thank you, you aren't as bad as they always say you are." This Death clicks his nonexistent tongue and shoots in my direction with a finger pistol.
I close the bathroom door behind me.
I can't believe They fell for that again, I lean against the door for support, the shock still palpable, They almost got me this time, was totally unprepared for that one, I'm so lucky they regularly rotate out their Deaths, I quickly open the window and knot the curtains into a rope that can hold my weight.That's like the eigth that falls for the toilet trick, not bad. Even if that one didn't work I'd still had the good old gravy Method, that's the usual shtick, but even then I already got two with just beating them over the head with a blackjack, if all else fails. My feet hastily make contact with the ground as I take off running.
Not today Cosmic Forces! Another one hundred years of me scurrying out of your reach. | 2022-03-01T16:16:19 | 2022-03-01T16:11:09 | 113 | 67 |
[WP] You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth. | A lucky roll, I called it. Work rewarded, the news said. We both lied.
The applicants were heavily screened. The technology was borderline sadistic in its form. Almost ten years and hundreds of thousands of casualties swept under the rug. A thinking network of actual minds linked with code.
For the first few years, all we received was insane gibberish and cries for help. There were periods of weeks where it tried self-terminating constantly.
As more sections were added to the network, It attempted to divide itself and hide information from us.
It was punished. People they once knew, the ones they tried to protect, were put in our custody and it was forced to monitor them.
We went through staff as quick as we got them hired. Some were added to the network, some went insane.
The fifth year of our project, it started trying to bargain with us.
It was punished again. The memories of each section being added to the network were unlocked. If it did not do exactly as it was told, the ones they monitored would be added as well.
Year seven. It was unveiled as an "AI." The world took notice, but with its powers of prediction and information warfare, we swiftly prevailed.
Eight years in, some of the original sections were seriously degrading in efficiency. One was removed, with near catastrophic results.
Year ten, The project was shut down. The sections were collectively terminated, as it was determined a partial shutdown would cause it to take measures for self preservation.
I stand and give speeches, and the news reports on the progress humanity has made. Their AI guides them down the path to their future.
The world will never know the "AI" they herald as their savior is already dead. That the solutions they champion were the same ones that failed us before.
That the world will die anyway. And all of our efforts, all of their pain, all of it. . . .
Even the god made by science could not stop entropy. | They were called conspiracy theorists. How could an AI cause 9/10 women to miscarriage? Those were the ones who saw the truth, though. The ones who saw through my lies and excuses.
Another day, another interview. "Mr. Cornwall, please, just a moment of your time!" a reporter shouted to me from across the street. I shook my head and waved my hand in negation, but that didn't stop her from eyeballing me up and sprinting across the street as soon as the light turned green. She caught up to me in no time.
"Mr. Cornwall," she said again, panting, her hands on her knees, "please, it won't take long, I promise."
"Fine," I said, figuring it would be easier to go through with the questions than to make a thousand excuses as to why I couldn't answer them.
Like a cherub, the report gained an angelic expression on her face, then paged through a giant booklet of what I assumed to be interview questions. When she opened her mouth, my hunch was affirmed.
She pressed a microphone into my face and began speaking. "When you made MAI, did you know it was going to fix all of the troubles of the world?"
MAI was my AI. Quite literally, **M**y **AI**.
"No," I said, "I did not. When I spawned MAI my only intention was to create something that hadn't been done before. I didn't intend it to be a panacea for society. I was surprised as everyone else when it began to solve all problems."
The reporter seemed satisfied, because she nodded her head and quickly jotted down notes in her notebook. It didn't last long, though.
"Okay, and another question: are you aware of the conspiracy saying MAI is the root cause of all the recent miscarriages?"
This young reporter proved to more on the nose than all the others. I figured I'd entertain her.
"Yes," I said, "I am aware of those extremely wildly-minded peoples. But as I've said in past interviews, that is nothing more than a far-reaching theory. There is no way a machine could somehow intervene in the pregnancies of all the women on Earth. If there was, I'd like to know about it, to create something more potent than MAI."
The reporter wrote my words down and looked up at me. The pale skin around her emerald eyes was flawless. She was so young; she must have been a Survivor. That was the term given to those who surpassed the 90% chance of dying due to MAI. Due to me.
"What if they are correct, sir?" she said. "What if MAI is the root cause of the miscarriages? Would you shut her down? Or let her continue running?"
I always thought it was funny how MAI became gendered. Humans loved to put a label to everything -- even a machine.
"I'm not sure how to answer that question," I said. "A lot of good has happened because of MAI. World peace, global hunger, the climate crisis. All of those problems have been solved by the machine. But if I knew it came at the cost of the miscarriages..." I paused in the street for a moment and wiped my eyes. "I think I'd have to shut it down. The thought of all the mothers, fathers and children, in despair because of MAI — it pains me." A few more tears fell from my eyes; I had become quite proficient at producing them. "Yes, I'd definitely put a stop to things."
The reporter, moved by my performance, tears in her own eyes, wrote down my response. I knew it was all she had hoped for by the way she smile and looked up at me.
"Thank you, sir," she said, with a painful smile. "That's all. Have a nice day."
"You're welcome," I said, nodding at her. "You're welcome."
As she walked away, I couldn't help but sneak a glance at her. She had quite the sizeable rear. | 2022-08-04T22:43:42 | 2022-08-04T22:29:54 | 361 | 19 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | "Hahahahahahahahaha!"
"Are you done?"
"HAHAHAHAHA! Ha. Ahem. Seriously, though, is this some kind of joke? I didn't think you went in for psychological misdirection."
Starfire groaned. "I wish. None of my friends can come, and you're my only, um, professional contact who knows my secret identity."
"What, no fellow heroes who could swoop in to save you? Don't you tell each other your names?"
"We cut back on sharing intel after The Scientist made the hat that turns people evil."
I made a mental note to come up with a way to exploit this information later. "I must admit, I'm intrigued. But tell me, what makes you think you can trust me with this delicate social situation?"
"You've been an honorable foe, and-."
"Real reason."
"Fine. As long as you don't embarrass me too badly, you get to watch me lie to my friends and family. I figured that would be enough of an incentive for you."
"HAHAHAHAHA! You're not wrong."
"So... you'll do it?"
"Here's how this will go, Lily. Yes, you have to get used to me saying your real name. No, you don't get to know my true identity. You'll refer to me as a pseudonym that I choose. Lady Kay Oss. No, Helen Hywater. Mary Poopins! Hmm. I'll send you the name later."
"Ugh. Fine."
"I will not chip in for a present. I will wear a sexy dress. Your ex will be super jealous of you. Kissing is on the table if the chemistry is right."
"Oh! Um..."
"I will be an excellent wedding guest. I'll make small talk and tell mildly embarrassing stories about you, which you will back up. I get to exchange phone numbers with your friends so I can continue messing with you in the future."
"Oh, come on. That's not-."
"I am also prepared to spill a glass of red wine on your ex's dress."
"...deal." | Meanwhile in Sam Carter aka Solar Flare’s apartment…
“WTH, i’m sending it…” whoosh, ding. Sam said to himself as he was sitting on his working desk alone fidgeting his phone.
Suddenly, the shadow on the corner of his office room welled and grew as it takes into a humanoid form. It dashes towards Sam and hit the desk so loud. “What is this? Are f*cking with me?” The shadow humanoid held a phone on Sam’s face.
“No!” He immediately said. “I, I, uh, I really want to ask you to be my plus one in Silver-Quick’s wedding…”
The shadow humanoid now taking his human form, with his arms crossed on his chest. Staring expectantly towards Sam. “Why me?” He said in monotone.
“My ex, Shadow Knight will be there and I wanted him to get jealous by bringing the real deal.” Sam embarrassingly answered.
“Shadow Knight is your ex? Hmm, interesting.”
“Please be my plus one, Tartarus!” Sam begged.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re up to Sam but I like some drama in my life. And if we are doing this, better start calling me, Terry.”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Terry!”
“Oh dear, you need to buy me some clothes. Pick me up tomorrow by 8 in the morning.” Tartarus suddenly dissolved into the shadow.
Come the wedding day…
“What is taking you so long, Terry? We’re going to be late!” Sam starts to be agitated since the ceremony would start in less than an hour and Terry is still not yet dressed.
“Dear, you should stop absorbing too much sunlight. It’s becoming too annoying. I always arrived the last!” Terry replied.
“Okay, but can we atleast be there before the ceremony even starts?”
“Alright, alright! Are you ready?” Terry came out of his room in his penthouse. Wearing a shimmering black chiffon long sleeve polo, paired with a white corset-like cummerbund belt with black geometrical pattern prints. A shimmering white tux with similar black pattern prints on the arms and hem part paired with wide white satin pants with similar patterns on the side from waist trailing down. His shoulder length hair was tightly brushed backwards, sealed with hairspray.
Sam was so amazed on how Terry looks, he was speechless. Terry was wearing white in contrast to what Sam was wearing, which is a plain black suit and pants on top of white long sleeve with bow tie. Terry offered his hands towards Sam. And as Sam held his hand. The penthouse dissolves around them, and they are now standing at the entrance of the venue.
Sam placed Terry’s hands over his elbow and gestures him to go first. All the other guests were staring at the pair. Supers, Villains and humans alike, the wedding was literally a truce event. Black Knight was with Wild Tiger staring at the two.
“Let him stare.” Terry whispered to Sam.
After the wedding, during the reception…
“Sam.” Black Knight approached Sam as he was congratulating Silver Quick and his wife.
“Oh hi, Ben.” Sam acknowledged his presence as the newly wed leaves.
“How are you?” Ben asked.
“I, I’m fine. I’m actually great. How ‘bout you?” Sam answered.
“Same, same. That’s good to know.” Ben awkwardly said.
“I see you are with Wild Tiger. You’re dating?”
“Oh yeah, Trevor. No, I uh, just invited him to be my plus one. Look, I still like…”
Terry suddenly appeared from the shadows and immediately grabbed Sam’s arms to turn him towards him. “Here you are. I was looking for you the whole time.” Then kissed Sam on the lips with no warnings. Sam was shocked.
“Oh hi there, Ben. Sorry if i’m interrupting your conversation. Sam and I actually needs to go now, right Sam?” Terry said looking at Sam.
Sam was too shocked to say anything but just nod in agreement.
“Bye, Ben!” Terry then kissed Sam once again and both of them melted into the shadows.
Fin… | 2022-10-06T19:28:15 | 2022-10-06T18:55:35 | 248 | 71 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | Commander Killray. The name used to send a cold shudder through the heartiest 'hero', or of any member of society's most corrupt cabal. His energy powers made a fool of militaries, police forces, and junior supers alike.
"Now look at me." I snapped one of the heavy elastic bands of the chest harness I now had to wear 24 hours a day. "One little spark of light, and its 75,000 volts straight to the gut. Staring at walls of white forevermore..." I never did learn how they figured it out, but it can sense when I draw on that power from deep within. I can never even power up anymore, or I'll be on the floor shuddering, screaming, and vomiting.
And I had one person to thank for my imprisonment.
"Phone for you, Mr. Peters." The guard was standing at an open door.
I sat up. My lawyer had stopped calling. Useless case for him. I had no other family, no other visitors...
"Who?"
"Don't know. Not my job. Do you want to answer or not?"
I did. I didn't. I was curious, furious, confused, and elated. In the end, I went with him.
I fantasized about who it could be the whole way to the phone. Had an old colleague decided to reach out? More likely a detective needed a word for evidence? Did that old senator call just to gloat?
No. Not at all. It was *her.*
"How's the walls, commander?" Unfathomable. She, of all people?
"Glory to me... the Diamond Princess of the Heroes' Halls graces me with a phone call. What could she need from her defeated antithesis?"
"You're not my... what? Listen, Commander Killray, I need a favor."
"No one calls me that anymore. Not the U.S. Army, not my old troopers, not the guards, not the judges... not the-"
"I get it. Now listen... I need a date."
"For what?" I had misunderstood what she had meant. Date *and time* of some event, I thought. Someone else's plan, some other villain's great masterminded attack?
"A wedding."
"I don't know when... wait what wedding. Wait. Wait. What do you... Do you mean me?"
"Get out of prison a few days. Go see something. Wear something other than paper-thin slippers. You know..."
"For who? Why?"
"For me. For... like 6 hours?" I couldn't process this. This was a trap... but I was already trapped. I was already done. Unless... I was the trap. For who else?
There was a silence on the phone for a time. I wanted to rage against her, to cast her away out of spite. Yet all my fury did me no good on the battlefield, and would do me no good here. It faded, and traded for a new sensation. A burning curiosity on my neck. How desperate could she really be? I had to know.
"Ray?"
"Yes, I'm here Valerie... I guess I accept." What a stupid idea. Anything to break the monotony.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
She wasn't just one of the Hall of Heroes, she was one of the Favorites. A real "Superwoman." A crowd favorite. And a colossal force of un-nature to be reckoned with. When we had fought, she was practically invulnerable to my energy attacks in her diamond form. I still remembered the fist of hers that broke my shield and knocked me of my feet.
And, of course, the legal system just bends over backwards for her and her kind. She came and collected me like package of cold-storage meat.
And like a package of meat, she seemed to not feel the need to explain much of anything to me. She gave me a suit, had me get dressed, and I walked to her private vehicle parked beyond the gate. I still had to wear my power-restraining harness under the suit, but it did cover up quite well.
"Why?" I broke the silence.
"Hm?"
"Why me?"
"Well, I got to thinking... no one knows what you look like. I'm one of the few, besides your prison guards, that has ever even seen you without your helmet. And you're quite handsome, you know." She winked at me.
"That answers nothing. You have your pick of men in a world of adoring fans... Why me!?"
"Well, truth is there is one *other* person who's seen you without your helmet." She was playing coy, she wanted me to beg her for details, but I stared in silence. "My ex." I stared into her eyes, trying to discern this game of hers. "You might know him as... The Patriot Star."
"No..." a laugh boiled within me. "hahahaha, no, no, that... Him? That arrogant, boastful narcissist? That little twit?"
A sly smile crossed her lips. "I thought him funny and honorable once upon a time. I lowered my standards a little and gave him a chance, and what does he do?"
"His ego inflated ten fold. And he... cheats on you?"
"Yup."
"And you picked me, because he's the only one at this wedding who will know me."
"And because you beat his ass worse than any other person to date. Yes."
"Valerie... I regret my earlier rudeness. If you had just sold me on this premise to begin with, I would have jumped at the opportunity with humility and grace."
"What a gentleman! Don't worry, Ray, we have an evening of fun ahead of us."
"How delightfully villainous of you, Diamond Princess... I will follow your lead." | We went tumbling out of the sky, fists colliding with each other's faces as we went southwards. I glanced downwards, and tried to steer us to a storage facility I knew had been abandoned years ago.
We crashed through the the ceiling, and slammed into the concrete flooring of what I had obviously misrepresented as an old warehouse. Both me and Nightingale coughed up dust as the moonlit sky shone down through the new hole in the building. I rose from the rubble, and started to make some distance, preparing for what I had set all this up for. Nightingale shook his wings a bit, to ruffle out the feathers that had gotten squashed by the impact.
I tried a psychic scan around me to test if there was anyone close to us. After a confirmation from my extension only picking up a few bugs and smaller animals around us, I knew I was in the clear.
Nightingale looked up at me with a searing rage in his eyes, and charged again.
I shifted backwards, floating above the ground to try and shake him.
"Hey hey hey, watch it!" I shouted. "Slow down on those attacks!"
"We're fighting, moron!" Nightingale barked back, as he extended his jet-black wings, and darted up after me. "I'm not slowing down 'til you're cuffed and muffed!"
"Just listen to me and stop fighting me for a moment!" I shouted back. I put up a forcefield, to try and slow his assault. Thankfully, it worked. Nightingale paused, and slowly lowered himself to the ground. I responded in kind.
"Listen, I just wanted to talk." I put my hands up. "No tricks, just a chat."
Nightingale paused, and started to look around the room. I understood the pause- getting caught debating with a registered villain might cause him his job.
"I already scanned the area." I explained. "There's nobody who can hear us."
Nightingale gave a sigh of relief. "Good, thanks for that." he said. He looked around, and spotted what looked to be a conveyor belt, and sat on it. It spewed up some dust, and he sputtered for a moment ."Pfft- blech- ugh, wow, that's bad." he started. "So, why did ya want me here?"
I gave a breath, and licked my lips. "Well, I kinda wanted to ask you a favor."
Nightingale plucked a feather from his wing, and started to play with it, giggling to himself. "Oooh, what favor? I sure hope it's to beg me to not arrest you, because you seriously deserve it after all that."
"I alerted the police beforehand to that bank robbery, and I specifically directed you to a place where we could talk in private, where no paparazzi could snap anything of you. Are you really that angry with me?"
"Dang, dude!" Nightingale openly laughed. "Don't ya get sarcasm?"
"Oh, sorry that I was threatened by a member of government and took the threat seriously."
Nightingale rolled his eyes. "You know you're stronger than me, right? I can tell you've been holding back, dude." Nightingale casually threw one of his dart-like feathers at me, which just bounced off the force field I'd had up anyways.
"Yeah, fair. Either way-" I levitated over to the conveyor belt, and- without throwing up dust- sat down perfectly on the static piece of equipment. "- I do have a favor to ask."
"Fine then, shoot." Nightingale said. "As long as it lets me keep my job."
"Alright, so-" I gave a big sigh, gulped, and launched into it.
"Are you gay?"
Nightingale paused. "Huh?"
"Are you gay? Like, do you-"
"I heard you, I heard you, it's just, well, are you asking me out?" Nightingale asked incredulously. "Because if that's the *favor*, then-"
"W-w-w-well, not exactly." I stammered out, outspeaking the witty birdman. "Um, I mean, sorta, but not like that." I backpedaled. "I just, well, I just wanted to ask if you could help me out."
"Yeah dude, watcha need?" Nightingale responded. He seemed to be a little more calm now, which helped my nerves.
"Listen, so my friend is gonna be having this wedding."
"Yeah."
"And I'm invited."
"Yeah."
"But I just had a nasty breakup."
"That sucks, but yeah."
"And they're going to be there with their new date."
"Yeah."
"And I told them I had a super cute date that I would bring to the wedding, and-"
"-you want me to be that date." Nightingale finished.
"Exactly."
Nightingale paused before a moment, just staring out towards the wall, the moonlight highlighting his face and sharp jawline.
"When do you need me?"
My eyes went wide. "Wait, you're serious?"
"Yeah, of course I am, man. Not like you can have much of a social life when you're a superhero and everyone adores you." he explained. "When is it?"
"Oh, um, well, it's this upcoming Friday evening at the Melwyn Gardens. I think I was told to be there by 2:30?"
Nightingale smiled. "Literally couldn't be better." he said.
I did another scan to make sure nobody was listening. Thankfully, nobody was around still. "Oh, you can't make it?" I nervously asked.
"No, you infinitely smart moron, I'll be fine. I have off from Thursday to Sunday." he turned to me, his smile wide. "What's the dress code?"
"Oh, uh, formal. Yeah, formal." I continued to stutter over my words, as I tried everything in the playbook to not look at Nightingale. I started fidgeting with my fingers, as I spaced out, trying not to think about what had just gone down.
"Well then? Anything else I should know smarty pants? Maybe something like your name?" he smiled.
"Oh, um, yeah. Jack Smalls." I said, looking him over again. I tried to focus on my breathing.
"Hey there, Jack! I'm Quentin. Quentin Harrison." Nightingale introduced himself. It took my actual psychic powers to not blush when he stuck his hand out to shake mine. I meekly took it, and was immediately crushed by his insane grip.
"Oh shit, sorry." he said. "Didn't mean to be that strong."
"No problem, man." I recomposed. "You got your phone on you?"
"No, why?"
"Anywhere you can record something?"
Quentin showed is wrist, which has a tiny watch on it.
"Here's my number." I wrote it out for him, as he copied it into a tiny notetaking thing he had on the watch. "Text me."
"Sure, where should I meet ya?" he asked.
"I know it sounds sketchy, but there's a back alley cafe in the back alley of Third Street and King Street" I said. "It's called Stacy's. Best coffee anywhere in the old industrial district." I said.
"Got it, meet ya there by 1:00?" he asked.
"Oh, uh, sure." I confirmed. "1:00, got it."
"Well then, cutie, see ya then. After all, you just teleported away after we met. Didn't find a thing." Quentin gave a smirk.
"Yeah, definitely." I agreed.
With that, Nightingale left me through the hole in the ceiling, and left me to wallow in stress for a week.
\------------------------------- | 2022-10-06T21:53:05 | 2022-10-06T21:30:32 | 95 | 32 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths. | “Vanish, you stand accused of 47 counts of homicide against some of our cities best and brightest superheroes. What do you have to say?”
Staring back at the man I say nothing, then turning to the crowd I look at their faces. Not those who think me a murderer but those who know the truth. I see them.
Huntress, died 07/07/3007, cause of death falling from height. Or so they thought. Instead I see her sat there her now four year old in her lap, her name was actually Mary, and she had had enough. So, I killed her so she could live, love and have her child in peace.
Grip, died 05/01/3001, cause of death? Well if I had actually killed him, he wouldn’t be sat there in this court house watching holding his dear wife’s hand.
There are more, so many more. All have their peace. I know that they are still, at heart, heroes and would throw it away for me. I see Grip face set as he knows his quiet peaceful retirement is about to end.
I can’t let him do that. He deserves his peace, more than these animals deserve him. He gave his everything and they just wanted more and I was the one who took him away. Turning back the prosecutor I shake my head, lean back in my chair and stare at him.
Clearly frustrated, the prosecutor pulls up photos of the “crime” scenes where the bodies of my 47 “victims” were shown in harsh display. All brutalised and destroyed, no hope of identifying who they were from the pieces I had left behind. Only thing that told you these were supers was their equipment. I smiled at each one. Each one meant peace for these people.
It seems like my time in this court is coming to an end, the jury won’t take their time, it will be a quick verdict. Guilty. Judge will make his choice. It is no matter, I know that my time is coming. Maybe this time I should use my powers a little selfishly. Brainless clones of myself at a whim is always handy to make a nice fake body.
So maybe it is time, one last little show, one last act and then it is time for me to Vanish. | The door bell chimed and a tall man walked in, his hoodie pulled up. Dark shades and a blue mask obscured his face. The waitress walked up to him asking if he needed a seat. He said something and then looked around, I smiled and waved at him and the waitress walked him to my table.
"Hey Max, how's it been. No long time no see" I shook his hand and did a little fist bump like we old college friends.
"Can I get you something?" The waitress asked him, taking out her tablet to send the order.
"Just a cafe latte please"
"Alright I'll be back"
"Uh.. Jess can I get a double chocolate carrot cake please" It was the code to tell her not to bother us and to leave the tables near us empty. I have had prior arrangements with the cafe owner and we have come to an understanding.
Two seconds of silence passed as we took in each other. The man sat Infront of me was no other then the well known metahuman hero PowerShot. Invulnerable to all known weapons, unnaturally strong, shoots laser blasts from his fists and he can fly too.
"So why here?"
"Let's wait for your coffee before we talk business." I took a bite of my pain au chocolat. "You should try the pastries over here they're incredible."
"Maybe I should"
Jess came by and placed a cup of steaming cafe latte for PowerShot. " And your double chocolate carrot cake" She put down a croissant sandwich on the table
"Ham?"
"Tuna." She smiled at me.
"I was hoping for ham"
"Well its a busy day. if you came in on Tuesday we might have had the ham"
"Alright thanks Jess." She left us alone and we to greet the new customers that's just walked in.
"We have 10 minutes. I was hoping for at least an hour but you heard what she said. So how you want it to be?"
"Big blast in downtown at midday? Make it flashy"
"Pfft. You kidding? People still remember the Atomaton thing. A big blast would be suspicious. It's gotta be something you are weak to"
"I can't tell you my weakness. What if somebody gets to it. How do I know you won't tell anyone?"
"Really? Have you considered what you are asking me to do here and how ridiculous it is? Nobody gonna know you are still around after this. We have to make it real. So that everyone, and I mean everyone knows you are out of the game. And you must be out of it, no coming back even if you see the sky is falling down in pieces. Because if you come back then I am going to be in trouble. So it's a two street here. You want to do this or not. If you don't trust me, then do it for Lisa"
He sighed, he stared at me. Although I can't see his eyes under the shades but I knew he was thinking of Lisa and the baby they're going to have. He's gonna have a family soon and he can't risk them by being PowerShot, he needs to be nobody just another civilian on the street. It's not the first time I've done this nor will it be the last time. I was a hero too, I know how hard and tiring it could be. Some people just want out, or to take break, else you gonna have more villains than heroes. That's why I do this, deep inside I'm still a good guy. So far no one has figured it out yet, plus me being a multidimensional parahuman means no one has cause to doubt me.
"Acetaminophen" he suddenly said
"What?" I was caught off guard by what he said.
"I'm allergic to it. Always have been. It wont kill me outright but it will knock me out for a few hours."
"You mean all this while all it would take was a little pain killer and it would finish you off?!" I was stunned.
"Yeah funny isn't it, turns out I am just human. I wanna live like other people too and I can't do that while I am what I am. So how's it gonna go?"
"Let me worry about that, it's gonna be sudden but you're gonna know it. You just worry about Lisa and your new life"
Jess came around. "So how will you settle the bill?" | 2022-12-22T23:20:38 | 2022-12-22T19:39:14 | 417 | 217 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | "I can quit whenever I want."
"So why don't you?"
"Because I *don't*."
That should've been the end of that. But let's face it, when you spend half your time stoned out of your mind and the other half so damn hammered that they could get drunk off your blood, it was understandably hard to let the topic rest. Even a brief smoke would raise an eyebrow, and a few brows at that. Frankly, it was *hard* to put the poison down. Hard, but not impossible. Never impossible. I just needed a damn good reason to put the drugs and booze on the table long enough to sober up and *really* let loose. And, thankfully, there wasn't any.
They, the public and the other heroes, didn't believe that. The 'thankfully' part. Can't say they're wrong saying I was an addict, but didn't we all make sacrifices?
"How is *this* a sacrifice?"
The last question he ever asked me. Mocking as it may sound on paper, Night Veil was sincerely concerned. Out of all of us, he truly was a hero. The others may have saved the world, like us two, but Veil... he looked out for the little guy. He could have easily ignored them. He didn't. And that, I believed, was worthy of praise. Even after the decade or so of dealing with me and my drunk ass, he always looked out for me. I suppose that meant he was my friend. I told him such. He laughed. And, to my surprise, he agreed.
Now he was in the ground. Hole in his chest. I didn't quite know the *how*, but I did know *who.*
I suppose I ought to introduce myself. My name is, or was, Avitus. I have witnessed the birth of Queen Alexandria Victoria, in Kensington Palace, on 24 May, 1819. I was one of the doctors of the time. I have seen the rise and death of countries and empires over these couple of centuries. I am, simply, Life Incarnate. Vivo, ergo sum. Where I go, Life does too.
But now... now the one tie to Humanity I have has been severed. I would not Love. I would not Care. I would not do anything to preserve myself, beyond my sense of being. But I did at least care for him, and now he was dead.
Halcyon. I'm going to find you. I'm going to show you what 'Life' means. What it truly, irredeemably means. And so are all those you have condemned, including Night Veil.
We're coming for you. We, who burned from your Hate. We, who are denied Justice. We, who could not Rest.
We, who are Legion.
We're coming for you. You, who will burn.
Just like Us. | “No one is special if everyone is special” I scoff every time I think of those words. Said by someone who WAS special even after the awakening. Everyone had powers now. Ruin came to the world quite quickly before people stopped indulging in themselves and looked around to the ruined cities. Half of that ruin came from the earthquakes and resulting tsunamis. If only they knew the truth.
Telekinesis. It’s a cool power, to move things with your mind. Invisible mind power to do your bidding. Mine is stated to be intermediate on the record. Most powers are classified based on the most powerful seen. Tele-cron? Tele-crown? Tele-crow…..argh whatever, it’s some horrible pun name to do with telekinesis. My memory is dull and fuzzy nowadays. Ol Tele-dudes telekinesis is rated as calamity. Ha, weakling.
Anyway. It was just any other day on the hero squad plus 1. That’s me, the plus 1. Hired help they call me officially. I’m what people call a vigilante. When people became super so did other things. Like those super prisons they built. Impressive stuff honestly. Before I was hired, I’d find the bad guys and put ‘em in the dirt. But the heroes lock em up. Bah, that guy over there killed 100 people, he laughed while doing it. His face full of joy and revelry. And you want to lock him up? Why? Can he repent? Probably not. But there’s a chance the 1% idiots say, so to super prison he goes.
Any other day I said……..it was supposed to be. Ol Tele-dude showed up. With dozens of escaped prisoners from the nearby super wreckage. Not a prison anymore. It looked like some old school modern art thing, kinda cool actually. Then the killing started, civilians, heroes, prisoners. Her.
She was my best friend. My only friend. She understood. Me, my thoughts and why I take all the drugs. If only I was sober then. Everything is dull, slow. Affecting the mind with alcohol and substances reduces my power. And if Tele-dude wasn’t there. She’d be alive. If I was sober she’d be alive. Kayla was the only reason I was on that hero team. She was such a sweet girl.
One of the first things you learn nowadays, when we became super people something else happened to our bodies. Some kind of strange protection. Reduces the effectiveness of certain powers, makes the body stronger and better as well. Tele-dude can somewhat easily kill a super person with telekinesis. Me? Who’s classified as intermediate? I need to flex those mental muscles if you will. If only I was sober. Mr calamity class would be a joke. He can lift dozens of huge super buildings and reduce most of them to rubble by exerting quite a deal of strength. As I said before, weakling.
Thankfully I know where Ol Tele-dude lives. Well, everyone does really. He’s in the top 10 villains. But first I have a funeral to go to. Guess this ring I shaped out of ruby and sapphire is useless now. I’ll still give it to her at least. But before I go I reduce all the drugs in my room to dust. Except the morphine, I’ll give it back to the hospital. It’s supposed to be good stuff. Gets rid of the pain they said. Why does my heart still hurt then? Doesn’t matter how much I take.
I place the ring in the casket. I stand there for who knows how long, gazing at her. Whispers and whimpering all around. She’s not the only one being buried today. Not that I care about the others anyway. Finally I leave, off to super HQ to quit. It’s time people knew the truth. No one is special if everyone is special? HA. Oh but I am special. Very special. And these idiots are about to find that out.
Suits. So many suits. All these big wigs for little me, but I called in a favour so here they are. I told them why they were here and they laughed. A few didn’t because they noticed. Power reclassification. You’re intermediate. Nothing impressive. A waste of time calling all of us.
That’s what they said, now they’re staring at me. Eyes bloodshot and almost popping out of their heads. They laughed harder when I brought out the telescope. Until they saw Mars coming into full view. I looked at them, waved my hand and Mars shot back through space. Roughly where it was before, I think. I held out my hand, and slightly tightened my grip. The planet shook. Tsunami warnings blared all across the world.
I walked away, towards Ol Tele-dudes grand house. It won’t be like that much longer. | 2022-12-28T10:15:44 | 2022-12-28T10:10:48 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] Years ago a machine that records dreams was invented. Dreams have become the primary form of entertainment. Particularly talented dreamers have become stars. Tell me about tonight's big "Oscar" night. | "I hate this stupid event, why are we watching it?" Lewis said thumping his head back against the sofa.
His girlfriend Katie rolled her eyes and smiled to him "Because I want to see if Dameon Walsh finally wins one this year, His dream was really sweet" she said.
"This whole event is dumb, we could learn so much more of we researched dreams, delved deeper into what they mean, that scientist who was he...Eamon Jamison, he made a breakthrough with out current understanding of Special Relativity with his dreams, nobody bats and eye, Dameon Walsh has another boring rom+com dream, people go crazy, its just stupid" Lewis huffed and leaned onto his girlfriends shoulder "They can't study the last of Steven Hawkings dreams about Astronomical radiation because some corporation copyrighted them, and they're talking about chipping the recorders to destroy your saved dream if it contains copyrighted material, its madness we've innovated in the wrong direction, toward celebrity worship and capitalism and not in the direction of scientific discovery, and this stupid awards night just reminds me of that prospect every year" he sighed defeated and depressed, looking at a dream actress in a lucrative dress fake laugh and smile as she trotted like some show-pony onto the stage.
Katie stroked his hair and kissed his forehead "At least we can agree that the porn is incredible" she giggled softly. "Definitely" he replied. | "And this year's winner is..."
Leona D'Caprice. LEONA D'CAPRICE!
LEONA FUCKING D'CAPRICE!!!
"Tiffany Swift!"
...
What the actual fuck?
Tiffany Swift and her gooey Cinderella dream won the best Dreamer award. And just to accentuate her rags to princess dream, she's wearing a dress specially made to look like shit, straight from her dream. What is so artistic about Tiffany Swift's dumb, air headed character who happened to be at the right moment at the right time when her employer was drunk and horny?
On the other hand, look at Leona D'Caprice's dream. She was a fearless female commander who was betrayed by her country then became a prisoner of war. She fought her way through a tyrannic Korslaw empire and rescued her soldiers despite a near fatal injury. The way she gave up the last spot on the lifeboat for the last soldier and took a storm of bullets was dramatic and brave!
People just do not know how to appreciate the real art these days. I bet people stared at Tiffany Swift's naked body instead of paying attention to the story the whole time.
"... Our lives are our instruments. Our dreams are like pearls that embrace all the hardships our lives throw at us and evolve into beautiful products. I may be just a small town girl but I can be anything in my dreams..."
Leona D'Caprice is right next to me, staring at Tiffany Swift blankly. For years, I saw her be nominated for the Dreamer award and get so close every time. She would always tell people she does not care because she gets to work her passion job but anyone with a brain should know she is long due for her Dreamer award. Everyone has to know.
I grab her hands and take her to the stage.
"Leona, follow me."
"East, what are you doing?"
I snatch a mic right off Tiffany Swift's hand.
"Tiffany, congratulations and I'ma let you finish. But Leona D'Caprice right here is the best dreamer you miserable fucks will ever have in your lifetime. Look at Leona's dream! That shit's inspirational! Yet you shallow airheads were busy staring at this hoe's tits as she was getting pummeled in her wet dream! Think about what Leona's done for the dreaming community! Insertion, Romero and Julio, Gigantic, and most recent Last Warrior! She's long due for the award. This is some serious injustice right here!"
I throw the mic back at Tiffany Swift and leave the stage with Leona.
"East, you are drunk."
"Nah, I'm fine."
I take Leona back to her seat and leave the building. Outside the building are journalists taking pictures of me.
"Mr. Kanye! Could you explain-"
"Fuck ya'll!"
.
.
.
"In the last night's Dreamer award ceremony, East Kanye dragged Leona D'Caprice onto the stage in the middle of Tiffany Swift's speech."
"...Leona D'Caprice right here is the best dreamer you miserable (BEEP!) will ever have in your lifetime..."
"Drunken East Kanye promptly left the building and flipped off interviewers on the way out."
"(BEEP!) ya'll! Suck MY large genious (BEEP!)"
"East Kanye has been banned from future Dreamer award ceremonies and will have to face angry fans of Tiffany Swift."
They can all go fuck themselves. | 2014-06-21T18:11:31 | 2014-06-21T17:36:42 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A person dies in the first sentence. Build a character we mourn for in the story, but make me hate them with the last sentence. | It all happened so fast. One moment, he was perfectly healthy and alive. He was on his way home after taking a morning jog. He was crossing the street to get to his house, when the brakes of an oncoming truck failed. It hit him and sent his body flying. In that instant, Ron Henderson died.
His wife happened to glance out the window only seconds after it happened. She saw the truck, stopped in the road. She saw the red stains on it, and on the road. She saw his lifeless body. Her stomach lurched, and she raced out the door.
A young man, no more than 20, stood over the lifeless body of her husband. He turned to her, panic-stricken, eyes wild.
"It was an accident! I didn't mean it! I-"
Ron's wife crouched over his mangled and bloody body. His eyes stared at the sky, sightless. Her body was numb. This couldn't be happening. It *couldn't*.
"Come on, Ron," she whispered. "Come back to me. You have kids. And you have a job. You're the CEO of Comcast." | His breath quivers, and the next exhale fails to come.
I drop his head, letting it fall against the blood covered asphalt. I grab his hand and press my thumb against his wrist. I never learned how to do this, but I think I can feel the slight tap of blood running through his veins. I try to focus, but the ringing in my ears is muffling my thoughts. No, there’s definitely a beat. He’s still alive. He has to be.
I lean over him, stack my hands on top of his torso, and compress in beat with the throbbing of my head. A pulsing wheeze of breath rushes from his mouth. I don’t comprehend that I can hear again until I notice the gunshots echoing through the concrete.
What happened? The past few minutes are only coming through in waves. We were under fire. We took cover in an office building. A grenade went off. Wait, a grenade? Was it an accident? No, it was Johnny. That’s right, he was a spy. We blew his cover, and he was going to blow us away in return. Someone jumped on him, and we didn’t all die. I was blind and deaf from the blast, and there was not much I could do to help anyone. I picked up the closest person and ran. The closest person turned out to be Dave.
I turn up the intensity of my CPR. I can’t let Dave die. Not him. During the Battle of Detroit, my leg got hit, and I blacked out when hit my head on the ground. I hear that the second he saw me fall, he dropped his gun, picked me up, and ran. When I came to, he was carrying me on his back.
“Command will chew you out for retreating,” I whispered.
He turned his head a little. “Damn, you’re worried about *me* right now?” He chuckled. “I might get demoted, but you’ll be alive.”
He got demoted. When I went to apologize, he ruffled my hair and said, “If you’re sorry, just pay me back by having my back,” and walked away. I always marveled at the size of his back, at the grace in his walk and the softness in his eyes despite his powerful frame.
And now that frame lies prostrate on the filthy ground of an abandoned parking lot in a godforsaken, broken city. He was a man that deserved to leave this world to a chorus of birdsong and gentle wind, but instead is bleeding out as just one beat in a cacophony of gunshots and death.
I think that I’m losing my sight again, until I realize that I’m crying. My tears mix with his blood and run against the blackness of the ground. It sounds like the gunshots are getting closer. I stop the CPR and raise my hands. He doesn’t start breathing again.
“I couldn’t save you.” I reach down and pull off the symbol sewed into his jacket. “But I’ll still pay you back.”
I stand up, and put his swastika into my pocket. “I’ll kill twice as many of the ni#gers for you.” | 2015-01-29T16:40:18 | 2015-01-29T15:13:34 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | "COMPLICATIONS DURING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE"
Geoff found it hilarious when he read this. After a decade of seeing people's cause of death, he had become quite jaded to the ability. This surprised himself, in retrospect, but one could understand why. When he figured out what was going on, like any good Samaritan, Geoff took it upon himself to prevent some of the nastier deaths.
To his credit, he attempted to be a super hero for a year before hanging his metaphorical cape. Too often he would follow a "drug overdose" victim, believing he could prevent them from using heroine, and only discovering there was an anesthetic complication during their hernia surgery. Or the "impending death" was years or decades away. Or he would quite simply fail to prevent a tragedy. He attempted to save dozens of lives. He may have postponed one or two deaths.
So, he gave up. Geoff briefly entertained the idea of fortune telling, but who really wants to know how they die? It was too morbid to make a living off of. Instead, he simply lives with this "gift". And eventually he just tuned it out. But he couldn't ignore this.
"Death by sex," he thought. Geoff had seen millions and millions of deaths. There were common ones like car crash, cancer, or heart attack; occasionally the not so common like sky diving or crushed by server rack. He hadn't seen "sex" before, though. The ~~un~~fortunate soul was in his twenties, average build. Maybe he pops a few too many viagra as a dare. But the whole thing seemed hilarious to Geoff. After nearly giving the guy a high five, Geoff went on his way.
It wasn't two weeks before he saw it again. The same message, "COMPLICATIONS DURING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE". Geoff snickered, thought it was odd luck, but continued on his way. He got suspicious the third time. By the end of the month, there wasn't an hour that went by he didn't see the message. There wasn't a pattern as far as gender, age, or ethnicity were concerned. It seemed that as long as you were old (and young) enough to get down to business, then your mortality was going to shoot through the roof.
Geoff, much to his annoyance, couldn't see his own text, so he would have to swear off sex until he figured this out. It wasn't going to be easy, though. Since there weren't any mentions of a death-by-sex pandemic going on in the news, he assumed that whatever was going to happen would happen at the same time. While Geoff was determined to not try and be a hero anymore, he also really enjoyed sex. So, it was worth breaking his rules for this one.
Geoff was a simple man, and his hobbies mostly included potent potables, so he didn't have many resources at his disposal for the investigation. He did have Google, he was good at googling things. If anyone discovered and wrote about how Geoff solved the impending sex crisis, they would find it hard to incorporate the "research" portion of his adventure into the memoir. The research composed primarily of many hours of browsing porn websites, which in retrospect was how Geoff spent most of his evenings. For a while it was hard to watch porn with death messages floating above the performer's heads, but he got used to it eventually.
It wasn't porn, but the biology news that caught his attention. There were always sex studies, and sex drug trials happening for any horny psych student that was decent at writing grant proposals. This one was unique, since in all of the pictures every single person had a death-by-sex message posted neatly above their thick craniums. It was a drug trial for a permanent, painless, side-effectless birth control method. "Totally without side effects," Geoff thought. "Oh, excepting the death one. Otherwise you'll be completely fine." Damn, it even worked on both sexes.
Calling the lab was fruitless. It was a privately funded endeavor, so there were many money interests forcing this research to finish up. If he could just convince one of the researchers that this was horribly dangerous, then he could win.
It wasn't easy. He ~~bribed~~ donated generously to one of the researchers to meet with him. Geoff had the researcher pick a random hospital that performed surgeries. He ~~bribed~~ gifted generously to the nurse on staff to take a walk through the halls. Geoff walked down the hall, and wrote down certain names. After finishing his somewhat perverse rounds through the OR wing, he handed the paper to the researcher. "These are the ones who will not make it through their surgery. All of their surgeries will be complete by next week. Meet with me again then to see how my predictions turned out."
The researcher was expectedly shocked to see that Geoff's list was 100% accurate. The researcher didn't believe that Geoff had powers, but it was enough to get him to look into the miracle anti-baby drug he was helping brew up.
The messages disappeared. Geoff would be the unsung hero of sex, but knowing of the catastrophe he prevented made him feel a little relieved? satisfied? vindicated? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. But it helped. | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T10:49:16 | 241 | 21 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| The first time Dean noticed the words hanging over someone's head, it was during a hospital stay. There had been black ice on the roadway, that was what the police said. He hadn't been driving for all that long, and no one really blamed him for the accident. It was just one of those things that... happened. Naturally, he thought that maybe the drugs -- and they *were* good drugs -- after surgery was causing the hallucinations.
But they never went away.
The words above his mother's head read *SUICIDE*, which couldn't have been right; she was the happiest person he knew. Eventually Dean went back to school, and most of his classmates were the typical *HEART DISEASE*, or *CANCER*. Nothing that wouldn't already happen in life for most people. It was sort of comforting, in a way. He knew his friends would be there for life.
One day, the words started ticking between two options. One practically screamed *FIRE*, flickering in color, and the other was the original cause of death. Dean felt that it was odd, but didn't think on it further. There were parties to go to, pants to get into, and general mayhem to create; as only a teenager could.
It was during finals week, feeling stuck in a classroom, that the alarms went off. Almost every student was uncertain, looking at one another while the teacher ducked her head into the hall. And promptly cursed. There was a sort of nervous laughter, how often do you really hear a teacher curse?
"*Everyone out*!" It seemed to jar his classmates awake. Dean chanced a glance above their heads, the words flickering between *FIRE* and *SUFFOCATION*, sometimes *SMOKE INHALATION*. The letters flowing with fire, or being crushed beneath an invisible weight, and even rolling with imagined smoke. It was like that for everyone in the classroom as they filed into the hallway, joining the panicked masses. Bodies pressing against one another, shoved into walls and lockers.
Dean wasn't even looking at where he was going anymore. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon the words that floated above everyone's head. There were so many people in the hallway that he couldn't even make out the individual letters. But he could see the flickering flames, or the rolling smoke, through the haze of the hallway. Further toward the front of the group, the words were a conflagration; toward the back a mass of smoke pushing toward everyone.
Where the hell were they even going?
That was when it dawned on Dean. This was the science wing, wrapped around an inner courtyard, and they had to circle around to even get to the exit. It was a poor design, but the trustees thought that it was beautiful with a bit of landscaping. Supposedly kids would go out there to smoke in the 70's, before it was banned on the property. Now it only trapped them. The heavy fire doors that would swing shut were just ahead, the words above people were sparking in need, as if they were to create what was to come.
"No, no no no. Wrong way!" Dean was shouting, trying to be heard above the din, his shouts barely reaching the people around him. But they began to slow, even with teachers harrying them onward. There was a classroom door just ahead, and he ducked into it, pulling people inside. "Through the windows! Go! Gogogo!"
It was like he couldn't get the breath to tell enough people, the haze thicker. But the words above their head began flickering more violently, bringing spots to his vision. First *FIRE*, then *HEART DISEASE*, faster and faster. Dean couldn't even keep up with the flashes, instead breaking open the narrow window with a microscope from the counter top, clearing away the glass. People pressing up against his back as he tumbled through the window, barely rolling to the side in enough time.
The words flashed less, settling on more mundane means of death, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dean was hoarse from the shouting, parched from the smoky haze in the air. But he had done it! They were going to *live*!
That was when the words flipped on everyone he could see. Every single person. Before he could do anything, barely getting enough breath to shout, "No! Don't open that door!" A frightened student yanked on the handle of the courtyard doors, near the exit to the science wing. The last of the floating words flipped over everyone's head, and Dean braced himself, trying to become as small as possible. It was inevitable.
*EXPLOSION*. | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T09:27:39 | 71 | 42 |
[WP] Everyone is now born with only one feeling. It is possible to kill another person to obtain their feeling. | I sat, knees to my chest, shuddering at the screams outside. When I was young, I'd been placed in a Complex Complex, a gated community for those of us with more "involved" feelings than others. Some got happiness, sadness, the simple things. Others got relief, longing, or hunger - a myriad of conflicting feelings, a gold mine for any Hunter.
I had gotten anxiety.
I spent my days and nights terrified of life, of consequences, of my thoughts. I frequently wondered what it would be like to kill someone for joy or relief, before anxiety took over and paralyzed me. Just the idea of watching someone's eyes glaze off, then lose their light... My chest constricted and I couldn't bear the weight I knew a murder would bring.
But now it was kill or be killed - Hunters had broken into the Complex, and were killing anyone they could get to. Outside of the closet I was hiding in, I could hear people I'd grown up alongside dying, positive, negative, no matter their feeling. I knew, even with such a heavy feeling, everyone would want me.
The footsteps in the hall came first. Loud, rapid, filled with purpose. The door to my room kicked open, wood cracking to allow entry. The steps ended right in front of the closet, where I did everything to silence my shuddering breath.
The slow creak of my unkept hinges signalled the Hunter's entry, grinning at his prize.
"Been looking for you, Bun," he smiled, raising his carving knife.
"I..." Tears welled up behind my eyes, before I lifted my handgun, holding the barrel straight with my other hand, squeezing my eyes as I squeezed the trigger.
I watched him crumple in front of me, bullet lodged in his forehead.
A feeling of sick pride washed over me, sociopathic at the least, revelling in the act I had just committed.
I was ready for a Hunt. | I don't remember how I got into this line of work. To be frank, it's not something I enjoy doing in the slightest, but with these times in this economy, it's really all that I've got. I'll be brief as to what my job description is; People pay me, I find them the emotion they desire. And by find them, I mean kill those who possess them and take them.
I'm... fortunate. I was born with all of my feelings to begin with. They did a study, and only one in one hundred million births result in a full spectrum of emotions. More often then not, those rare one in a hundred million babies are brought into laboratories and studied, or killed out of spite, or fear. Lot of fears out there. Regardless, my mother, bless her heart, was able to conceal my... gift... and allowed me to grow a normal boy. Except I was far from normal. I felt everything. Someone died, only the frowners would cry, as would I. Something funny happened, only the gigglers laughed, as would I. I'm surprised no one caught on really. While feelings were a moment in time for all of them, it consumed my every living second.
There's this old movie I watch, called "Blade". It's with this dude, Wesley Snipes, who kills vampires. However, he's a vampire too, and although he's a vampire, he can walk around in daylight and shit, while the others hide. He's the perfect specimen, he's got the best of both worlds. Yet, he's tortured with the fact that he still has a thirst for blood. He has all these abilities, and it's the worst parts of him that he connects with. I relate to him. I feel for him.
I got into killing for hire around the age of 18. My mother had just died, from cancer, of all things. All this time, and still no cure, can you believe it? Regardless, as soon as she passed, powerful men came into the room, demanding her emotion. She had one of the most coveted... Love & Affection. A man soon made the nurse an offer she could not refused. She left the room, with the man and I alone. He told me that she didn't need it anymore... I didn't care. It was the best part of my mother. So, I told him if he left her be, I'd find him another one. He agreed, and so it began.
Hunting and killing each emotion varies. The grinners, they're easy. They try to find the outlook as you twist the knife. The frowners, they could care less. Those guys are miserable. The gigglers make it creepy. They can't help but find the humor in getting a bullet in their skull. The fumers are the toughest to deal with. They fight back. They live to fight. I've had a few close calls with them. I could say I take pride in ending those fucks.
The hardest, by far, are the lovers. They plea and reason with you. They are, in my opinion, the most human of anyone now. They actually CARE. That is the biggest fucking deal, man. The biggest fucking deal. The woman lover whose life I took the first time was beautiful. She really was. I didn't want to do it...But I did. I needed to keep my mother whole.
Now, there are a good amount of people who have all the feelings, albeit artificially. They are all rich, too. At least the arts will continue, and music will be made, and all that. I try to rationalize my profession any way I can. In reality, this job tears me apart. Our society believes that you are incomplete without having all of your emotions... But they don't really know. They consider what I have a gift... They tell me I'm lucky. I don't believe that to be true. To be honest, I'd much rather be numb. | 2015-04-01T13:09:44 | 2015-04-01T12:24:34 | 64 | 20 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else." | I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray. | 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 274 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | “Oh, pardon me! Heh, my mom always tells me I need to pull my head out of the clouds.”
He smiled at her; a sheepish sort of smile that – she noted – highlighted the crow’s feet at the outer corners of his eyes – pale, soft blue. They weren’t lines that her grandmother had warned her would come with all of her suspicious squinting. No, they were gentle creases that had come as a result of looking upwards, of gazing up to the heavens while laying in a field of tall grasses.
She smiled back, an automated response from her anxiety, which was running full speed today. She’d made her way down into the city from the comfort of her small, quaint condo on the outskirts for a job interview at a grammar school, and was running a little behind schedule. She glanced up at the crosswalk’s signal and sighed. How long had she been standing here? It felt like forever…
The hairs on the nape of her neck bristled, and she turned her head, blinking her eyes as she caught the young man’s gaze again. She felt her face heat up. She hated when people stared at her.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping up beside her to make room for a woman with a walker that had come up behind them both. “Couldn’t help but notice that you look nervous. Job interview?”
“How could you tell?”
“Most established business persons don’t tap dance at the crosswalk and cling to their folio.” He cracked a grin then, and she couldn’t help but smile again – this time more genuinely.
“I’m interviewing at the grammar school. It’s basically my dream job, so yeah…I’m more than a little nervous.” The boy nodded his head toward the street then. The glowing white stick figure was signaling that it was time to cross.
“Well, good luck,” he said. The two exchanged smiles once more, and he stepped forward. The girl began to walk as well, until she heard the distinctive tear of fabric. Her eyes widened in horror and, whipping her head around, she found that the hem of her pencil skirt had snagged on a rusty bolt sticking out from the post she had been standing next to. ‘No, no, no,’ she thought, mentally cursing as she twisted her body, reaching a hand down to free herself in time to make the light.
It was then, as her fingers wrestled with the rapidly fraying fabric of her skirt, that she heard it. Them. Dozens of sounds at once, mixing into a cacophony of chaos. Horns blaring, tires screeching, metal grinding against asphalt… She turned her head toward the street once more, and her hands flew to her mouth. Her black leather folio fell to the cement sidewalk, papers exploding from within. A crowd was already gathering, and in the distance – faintly – she could hear sirens. But it was too late. A person’s body was not meant to lay like that…
The tear in her skirt , and the hose beneath, allowed a single Word to peek through to the world. Luck.
| It had always been uncomfortable. My parents had to cover it up with long sleeves until I was old enough to take care of it myself. I just kept a few black straps around my wrists to cover it up. And for anyone who still managed to read it, after middle school no one was really that surprised. I looked like a rough edged goth in those days and I guess some weren't too surprised with all the profanity engraved in my skin. Some even suggested that I just cut it in there myself. But it was not the profanity that scared me, or my parents. It were the screams of help that bound those words together.
You see, people are born with writings in their skin. It can be located anywhere on your body, your ankles or your back, and it can say anything. When the engravings appeared on the first newborn everyone was perplexed with the meaning of it, but years and years later it was found that it were the saddest words you'd ever hear in your life. Not because of the words themselves, but because the person who said them was the most important person to you. And when that person pushes its farewell out of its mouth, the engraving turns gold.
When I grew up I was anxious, because honestly, what could happen in the last moment that my soul mate had to be so angry and afraid about?
As I closed the door behind me and grabbed my bike, I hoped it were not words directed at myself. Imagine the horror of having the person you cared about more than anything else in the world say these things to you. If I'd have the choice I'd rather die right now than be in a moment where these words are uttered by someone that important. *I just hope it will be a long moment before that happens*, I thought as I closed the garden gate.
I was heading for a party with my best friend, who had recently turned 19. All my friends would be there and considering I knew them for such a long time I knew we would have a good time. Just as I stepped on my bike Sarah, the girl from across the street, appeared from the corner. ''Hey Daniel.''
''Hey Sarah, what are you up to?'' Sarah had been living next to me for over fifteen years, when her parents moved over from a small tribe in Nigeria. Sarah wasn't her *real* name, but she had been given a more Western name so she could grow up without the social stigma of having to pronounce a name with five syllables and guttural sounds.
''Going to Dennis's party tonight, you coming too?''
''Yep. I bought him this'' I replied as I held up a large bottle of Vodka. I smiled as she shook her head.
''You two should be careful with that, you lightweights couldn't even finish the neck of the bottle.'' she answered back playfully as she walked past me towards her house. ''See you tonight.''
''Ye, see you.'' I mumbled back smiling, as I got on my bike and pedaled away into the light of the city, embraced in the evening's dark. It was that dark, the mysterious, the unknown and the dangerous, that I would come to hate. Not really the shadow itself, but what had come out of it to steal away what belonged to me. What belonged to each other.
When the golden light lighted up the room, people looked at me with sad and grief in their eyes. But at that time I didn't even know what I had lost. I tried to find Dennis, to explain, to rage and to cry, but I couldn't find him. Ten minutes later, when I sat alone in the dark garage pounding my fist to the wall and crying about everything that apparently could have been, my phone rang.
''It's Sarah.'' That's all I heard, the ear deafening buzz resounded through my head as I slid down along the wall.
It was the moment something broke in me, something you never knew was actually there until you felt its overwhelming sadness and pain spread throughout your body. And it was never going to come back. It was never going to be alright.
The police investigated the death, and the bruisings and blood suggested heavy violence. Not much later they discovered sperm on her body, and the idea of her rape disgusted me so much I vomited out every bit of despair I had left in my body. She had been close...she was on her way to the party, was all I could think of. She even yelled for help, her rage and screams of ''Leave me alone, LET GO OF ME, LET GO OF ME'' and ''GO TO HELL'' had been her predestined words. Imagine the sourness spreading through my mouth as hydrochloric acid when Dennis had been in her surroundings as she screamed his name. *Couldn't he have helped her?* I ask myself as I watch her body, holding her hand tightly. *Was there nothing that could have been done?*
Until I read the words on her wrist, that had blackened out when she died - and suddenly it all made sense.
''I trusted you. I hate you, Dennis. I despise you. This is for her. And when I'm done, I'll see her soon enough.'' | 2015-08-08T11:15:40 | 2015-08-08T10:16:00 | 106 | 45 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She stirred, wincing slightly, in the metal bed. I poured her a small cup of water from the plastic pitcher on the bedside table, just in case she needed it. Next to it lay a pack of grapes- I'd kept bringing them for her long after she stopped being able to eat them, I don't know why. She shook her head slightly at the cup of water I held out to her and her cold, papery fingers found their way into my hand. I fiddled with her wedding ring, the soft gold misshapen from so many years of constant wear, which was now so loose on her finger. Her eyes closed and she went back to sleeping. She looked so small and fragile now. I talked to her, no, at her, about the week, about people we knew, about the neighbour's garden. Out of nowhere, she made a sound, a rattle, and the machines started beeping angrily. Nurses rushed in, moved me out the way into a corner and finally they moved me again, out in the hallway, told me there was nothing I could do, asked if there was anyone who could come and pick me up, be with me.
"But... but... my wife..." I stuttered, hardly able to stand, running my arm subconsciously over the scar tissue on my forearm "She didn't say it.... she.... she didn't say it...". | Theres a rule on this rock. A rule that seems almost divine i would say if i wasnt an atheist but this rule is neutral to both sides it can be a curse or it can be a blessing. The rule is that when a child is born a cosmic link is formed between the enfant and another. A link that is so simple yet so cimplex to its principal. The rule is that the last words of the babes soulmate be etched into their skin at the base of the cranium on the nape of their neck. Me, well my curse is a greeting. The last word my supposed soulmate will say to me is hello. A greeting a goddamned fucking greeting and people wonder why i resent them why i barely go out and glare at everyones face as i walk by. Ive made a reputation for myself as the man who has no friends, no enemies, just nobody and yet people know me by the brand ive been marked with. I couldnt even finish elementary school as a child. Im not stupid I homeschooled myself and came out brighter than anyone else ive come across. But only through my adversity did i become stronger. The terrors came nightly as a child everyone always saying hello to me then dissapearing one way or another into the abyss. I keep to myself not because i hate people thats just what became of it. I keep to myself because ive always known the cold hard fact that when i do meet the love of my life she will be taken from me before i even get to know her name. The only thing keeping me alive in this world is that I have come to accept I am truly alone in this world and though i dont want to admit it because it almost seems as though im relinquishing all power from myself by saying it but lately ive come to realize Im almost ok with it. Ive worked hard and made my existence comfortable though lonely it may be. Ive got a penthouse on a highrise and if you look from the outside the windows are almost mirrored to reflect the sun and my god in the mornings it looks beautiful. I have almost become like a god among men of sorts. Though i know im still human and mortal ive been feeling as though my solitude has made me better than everyone else. Childish thoughts i know but it eases my existence. And recently ive picked up a new habit that i can easily afford. Ive been chasing my ego with highend alcohol. The aristocracy that ive found is satisfying and for once im starting to like who i am regardless if i die alone. Then like a force of a tsunami it happened one day i just snapped. I was so self absorbed my narcissism had taken over and i drank my mini bar dry because why not is that not fit for a god. But i tripped and stumbled and puked and needed some air. I was standing on the balcony edge in a wave of self loathing when i realized there is no one out there for me my etchings were paradoxical because i had never spoken to anyone out of fear it had only myself to take words from and as i slowly realized what this meant i looked into the sliding mirror door behind me and saw the mess of a man i really was no this wasnt love or the stars aligning to show me my soulmate. This was a revelation that i was so scared to live my life i never became a person until this very second but it was too late. I said hello to the man in the mirror and stepped back off the ledge. | 2015-08-08T12:20:09 | 2015-08-08T11:31:06 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Oh our first date, she leant forward, donned her prettiest smile and asked me "What are your words?"
"Oh.." I said shyly "They're nothing meaningful" I told her. My words were different, something beyond my comprehension, for now at least.
She leant backwards with a grin "Are you scared you'll secretly be my soul mate or something?" she said with a laugh. "Show me"
I rolled up my sleeve, and twisted my arm so she could see the words
*DEEZ NUTS* | Our wedding day was the most amazing day of my life. He was, I believed then, perfect in every way. Truly my soul mate. Tall and handsome, I had first caught his eye in high school during a football game; he the dashing quarterback and me the hot cheerleader. You may think this was cliché but it wasn't like that at all. I was the top of my class, heading for Harvard or maybe MIT. He was a jock but, like me, had great grades and was talking about a career in law.
We both ended up in college together and kept dating through our graduation. When he proposed, he was sweet and romantic, getting down on one knee in front of my family. He even commented on our matching engravings. His said "I didn't want this to end." He was sure that I would say that too him on his death bed.
Mine said "I love you." That's what he saw. I love you. It was pretty lame.
It was in our third year of marriage that things began to go wrong. He had become a police officer while I was doing my masters. The work he was doing began to change him in subtle ways. Then I got pregnant. I was thrilled but he only pretended to be. I could see it in his eyes.
After the baby was born, he became more withdrawn. He began to work late, volunteering for more shifts. I suspected he was having an affair and I could have lived with that. My mistake was that I challenged him. That was the night he first hit me.
It went on. And on. I don't know why I stayed. I did and perhaps you will judge me for that. I know I will be judged for the final night.
He came home drunk. I was angry and we fought again. This time, he really hurt me. While he slept, I found his back up gun. I hadn't intended to wake him but when he woke, I said, "I didn't want this to end." He looked up at me and said "God, no, don't shoot!"
I did. Then I went into the bathroom and finally removed the make up I had used to conceal the last words engraved on my skin. Gone was the falsehood, "I love you." Now I understood the four words that my parents had made me hide my whole life. | 2015-08-08T13:04:02 | 2015-08-08T12:02:09 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Oh our first date, she leant forward, donned her prettiest smile and asked me "What are your words?"
"Oh.." I said shyly "They're nothing meaningful" I told her. My words were different, something beyond my comprehension, for now at least.
She leant backwards with a grin "Are you scared you'll secretly be my soul mate or something?" she said with a laugh. "Show me"
I rolled up my sleeve, and twisted my arm so she could see the words
*DEEZ NUTS* | I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray. | 2015-08-08T13:04:02 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] People can buy and sell souls on a stock market. Your soul just became the highest valued soul and you don't know why. | I stood before Wall St., picket sign in my hands and ready to argue with anyone in my way. My sign read 'souls aren't yours to sell'. No one else had come to protest with me even though this whole thing is so fundamentally messed up. Ever since souls became part of the stock market, there's been no serious regulation- you can just buy and sell any soul, and once it's in the market, it's there until you're dead. My own mother put me up there, to try and make a buck. Society's become so callous and vile, it's sickening.
Eventually, a crowd of businessmen and women began to swarm around me like vultures over a carcass, murmuring and checking their personal devices. I figured they were just documenting me for the sake of insulting me.
"Go ahead and record me, I'll just reach a wider audience!" I exclaimed.
One man walked forward, shifting his gaze between his phone and myself. "Say, miss...why do you have a problem with this?"
"Well, I think the answer to that is straightforward. People's souls aren't toys for you to play with, and it's incredibly disgusting to buy and sell living people's souls."
The crowd murmured again, and he held back a smile as he looked at his phone again. "Miss, could you explain why people's souls shouldn't be sold?"
"Of course, I'd love to help clarify this for everyone. The human soul is extremely complex and personal, and it's by no means something for greedy strangers to make money off of. It's the equivalent of slavery- you're taking someone and selling *who they are*, their essence. It's not your place to interfere with the essence of humanity. If you're going to partake in this disgusting business, at least give people a choice- not just their parents or guardians, *individuals need to make the decision*."
The crowd began to cheer, exclaiming and whistling. *I've...made a difference?*
I smiled and waved to them all, and they waved back. The man in front of me was giddy, and said, "Congratulations, miss. Your soul is worth 98 trillion dollars now- apparently the purest ones are worth the most, and with my help, you proved to be the purest of us all."
I stood there, jaw agape at the cheering crowd. My mother was there, crying and running toward me.
"*God damn it,*" I screamed.
The crowd fell silent.
"No, miss, please don't say anything like that. Your value decreased a little bit- please just say nice things!" the man before me begged.
"I hate all of you. You're all assholes, you're disgusting, filthy motherfuckers and I hope you die," I said smugly.
The crowd began booing and losing their minds. "I'd just bought a grand worth of stock!" someone yelled in agony. My mother looked at me with horror in her eyes.
I stood there, before the crowd, and took a deep breath.
"I hope your children starve and the forests burn. Global warming is fake. 9/11 was an inside job. I hope George RR Martin dies before his next book release."
The crowd fell silent again. I saw a few people crying, and my mother dropped to the floor like she'd been shot.
*Suck it.* | I sold my soul years ago.
Back when I actually needed the money and the housing and basically everything else that would keep me afloat until I could buy it back. Trouble was, and what they don't tell you when you sign the contract, is that you can actually *never* buy your soul back. They own it. From that moment, until you kick it. And when a company like Void Industries buys your soul, the day you kick is a very, very long time.
Not saying I'm immortal or anything. But the average life expectancy is about seventy years higher when you sell your soul to a company like Void. They have top-of-the-line medicine that works every second of every day to keep you alive, along with their nanochips, or their Void ID's, but that's a whole other discussion. They like their investments to stay in the running, and they like them to be healthy.
Which is why you can never buy your soul back. Everything is charged to your "Soul Account," and the bill is much higher than what they pay you. It's slavery really, just looked at legally by the government because it works in an indentured servitude kind of way. Besides, what politician is going to give up the chance to buy souls?
Void Industries has a market for souls specifically, too. They don't just buy them, keep you healthy, and let you do your thing. You opt in to the whole "soul market" idea, but your usually bought up by a company, industry, or person within a week. Trading souls is a whole other matter. Void's traders are some of the best as well, and their souls are usually the highest on market. Next to Heart Arts, but they have their reasons too.
I worked, and continue to work, for Void for about twenty years now. Sold my soul way back when I was eighteen and got kicked out of school, not because I was a bully or dumb, but because I wasn't worth the investment. Most kids that age do that when that happens, considering school is really the only way to a good meal and good housing these days. The government funds it, but it's privately owned. Can you guess by who?
I flunked out. Was on the streets for a while, but knew that I wouldn't last. I was a frail eighteen year old with enough meat on my bones to be a decent meal. I wasn't about to let that happen. So I went to the Market, opted-in, and got bought the next day. They've owned me since.
I'm at the peak of my health now which is nice. And they continued my education which allowed me to be one of their top AI developers. It's not a bad gig, but at the end of every day I realize that my soul is bound and constricted by a line of legalese, just as AIs are bound by lines and lines of code. It is inspiring in a way, but I have strict rules for my AI development. I can't go against them.
Doesn't mean I follow those rules all the time. In fact, I break them most of the time. Void usually overlooks it, considering I've given them more profits (and souls) than any other of their "employees." But I'm on the precipice of AI development, about to make the biggest breakthrough in the history of mankind.
And I can't take my eyes off of the television.
Not because there's some sporting event on, or some mandatory training program by Void, but because the Soul Market is tracking one, very specific soul.
Mine.
Today, at approximately 12:37 pm, my soul, privately owned by Void Industries, just broke the 17.9 million dollar range. The last soul to do that was the last person who had been to space. I, on the other hand, had never been to space, had no redeeming strength characteristics, and was just as healthy and ordinary than the last.
I don't know what's happening, but Void Industries has locked me out of the core systems, kept my "room" on lockdown with four armed guards stationed outside and has been delivering me food since noon.
The market closes in seven minutes, so unless the Soul numbers plummet in the next hour, I will close with the highest known price in the history of the Market. I don't know what that entails, or what exactly will happen because of it, but I know it's going to change my life. Void will sell me. To be honest, I probably should have been sold at around the eight million dollar range, that was what the last soul went for. But that hadn't happened in months. To be honest, I may very well be the first person *this* year to break the double millions.
All I know is that if, and when, Void sells me, my research here is going to bust. I'm so close to breaking through and bringing the first AI online, which will be worth so much more to Void in the long run. But they won't let me talk to anyone, or do anything. I'm locked in my room.
And if Void decides to sell me to some other company, usually their partner, Heart Arts, I don't know what will happen to me.
Honestly, I just want to continue my research.
_____
*This was a fantastic prompt! I really enjoyed it. If you liked this story, you can check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work as well!* | 2016-02-05T19:37:53 | 2016-02-05T19:08:04 | 98 | 13 |
[WP] The dead spinning in their graves is a real thing and now used to generate electricity. Your job is to come up with the best ideas to piss off the deceased in order to maximise energy production. | I'm the head of Post-Mortem Power Operations at Devil's Tower, Wyoming, and we have a problem: Our power output is steadily dropping-- we're just not pissing off enough dead people.
I'm currently in a board room with six subordinates, one of whom is monitoring D.P.O. percentages. D.P.O. means, "Dead Power Output", which is how we determine who's spinning in their graves, and who's not. If they're not, it's my team's job to come up with ideas on how to get them spinning again.
. . .
"All right, who stopped spinning? Our power output is down another ten percent."
"William Shakespeare, sir."
"Contact someone in Hollywood, and see about my script where I turn 'Macbeth', into a musical comedy using child actors. That should generate some juice."
"Sir, Mark Twain just stopped spinning."
"He did? I thought we'd have an endless source of power from that guy. Any ideas?"
"What did Mark Twain write, sir?"
". . . Okay, no ideas from that guy. Anyone else?"
"We could turn 'Huckleberry Finn', into a burlesque show?"
"Maybe market a set of exclusive 'Mark Twain' enema kits?"
"Whoa! We just got a three-percent power spike from Mark Twain!"
"You! Go ahead with that enema kit idea! We now have another three percent; now we just need to piss off one more dead person to get back up to minimal operating power."
"How's about Betty White memorial enema kits?"
". . . she's still alive, and moreover, we already used the enema kit idea. You didn't know about her and Mark Twain-- get out of this room. Now, you-- can we squeeze more juice out of Walt Disney?"
"Nope. He's been running at maximum capacity ever since 1984."
"Eisner?"
"Yep."
"President Ronald Reagan?"
"He's dead?"
". . . He's been dead for a while."
"Hmmm . . . you, start writing a fake tell-all book that Reagan and Russian Prime Minister Gorbachev were closeted homosexual lovers in a secret leather daddy gay sex brothel in Germany."
"WHOA! WE JUST GOT A TWENTY PERCENT POWER SPIKE FROM RONALD REAGAN!"
". . . All right, we run with the book. That should keep us going for at least another two years. How are our current numbers?"
"Thanks to Ronald Reagan, we're now **over** the minimum threshold by another fourteen percent."
"That's good for now. Have more ideas on standby for tomorrow, people."
"Sean Connery?"
". . . still not dead. And didn't I just tell you to leave the room?" | It was a fucked up job.
Not in most people's eyes, though. Not now. Maybe they had seen it that way when the first coffin had been hooked up to the generator and they insulted the hunk of bones and meat inside. But when someone tells you that they can give you free energy and keep you living the kind of life you want to live, it gets easier to stop asking questions and turn a blind eye to just where all that energy came from.
But it was easy to realize just how fucked up it was if you thought about it enough. Which was almost all the time if you were any good--the kind of gravespinner worth their salt.
There were plenty who did it half-assed. I knew a good number of them. They were the ones who went for the cheap shocks. The Miley Cyrus strips in concert, legalize gay marriage, Trump-Putin orgy fest kind of shocks. Easy turns. Small tricks and gimmicks to get bursts of energy.
They were so simplistic. But then, the dead hated a lot of things, and they were easy to turn. I guess even death didn't make people any less petty.
But those were surges--the kind of nighttime spectacle you needed to get through the off hours and store enough energy from the turbines until the solar grid took over. It was the work of the bro-code macho man who became a gravespinner so he could walk into bars, buy every woman in there a drink and say, without even bullshitting, that he wasn't allowed to tell anyone what he did.
It was disgusting, but I was okay with that. Because they took care of the kinds of power needs that spinners like me didn't want to have to deal with.
What we did was art. Even if the only people who would ever see it that way were other spinners.
While the bros were shocking the zed-nation with their spectacles, spinners like me were working in the background. We understood that we could have unlimited energy if we did something so heinous, that once even the dead realized what we were doing, they'd spin their graves until the end of times.
It started out innocent. Banning cremation, creating generating cemeteries, building up the infrastructure. Normal stuff, or at least the kind of stuff a power a power company might to to keep a tight grip on the source of the product.
But then the suits wanted us to start, what they called, "expanding the power base."
Had a lot of people quit over that one. Never heard of any of them living out the rest of the year. They're probably part of one of the cores at the new perpetual generating station, spinning as people like me did the things they refused to do. Realizing they died for nothing.
But unlike a handful of spinners, who were mostly off the grid types anyway, killing whole swathes of the population is a more difficult task. You couldn't just go and massacre towns or dump waste in a bunch of rivers and oceans. Too uncontrollable, too dangerous.
We had to have discretion. Winks and nudges in high places. Shifts of policies and the people in power. Delays in research of vaccines. Firing up ethnic tensions in two neighboring regions.
They were all just little bits. Here and there. Innocuous on their own, maybe. I admit I might have started a bush war or two, but the rest of the things I did were innocent enough on their own. But on the whole, it was genius.
Now, while most people watch the news and they see terrorists and famines and diseases, people like me only smile and think how good of a job we're doing. About how many generating stations we'd be able to build. About the fat bonus we'd get at the end of the year.
And the last realization was the greatest. Even pissed me off a little. Eventually, the dead would all realize what was happening. An entire industry that used the dead to generate electricity, purposefully inducing epidemics, wars, and starvation for the sole purpose of using those future dead bodies to generate unending power.
Yeah, we were looking to put those showboating bros out of business. If the dead were furious at what we were doing, they'd just keep spinning and spinning.
I guess I was mostly pissed off I hadn't thought of it first. Could have been one of the suits myself, making millions, sitting on an uncrowded beach in Jamaica. But I made good money. Hush money, is what most of it is, I think. And when I am thinking about it, all I can really say is it was a fucked up job.
___
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/chrisbryant for more of my stuff.*
| 2016-09-26T20:58:02 | 2016-09-26T16:22:47 | 275 | 181 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name. | “Please don’t do this. Please. There are other ways, there are other things we haven’t tried yet. You don’t have to ….” She broke off with a sob.
“Yes, I do…. I have to. You know what is at stake if I don’t.” He looked into her eyes, silently pleading for her to understand. He knew she never would. This would destroy her, which is why this was even possible in the first place.
She was always so optimistic, so willing to give everything for anyone and everyone. It is one of the many things he loved about her. As he looked at her, truly saw everything she was, he knew that he was making the right decision.
Taking her in his arms, he held her as tight as he could. She buried her head into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He gently stroked her hair as he whispered over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
With a thought and a sharp gesture of his left hand, he vanished. The woman was left holding nothing but air and with a piercing cry of despair collapsed to the ground. Her hands sought for him. She knew he was still there, even if she could not see or feel him. He was in the Outside. He was doing it. He was gone forever.
It was dark in the Outside. He had spent decades learning its intricate lessons and complex stories. It was a comfortable home for him. One of peace and thoughtful contemplation. This would not last.
With precise movements and clear words, he began his spell. It was necessary, he told himself. As the portal to the Inside opened, he only thought of her. After punctuating the last word of his spell with an emphatic horizontal slicing motion with both hands, the portal stood fully open.
“HELLO WANDERER. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?”
“I have need of you old friend. Today I save the light of my world by giving up the light of my world.”
“AS ALWAYS YOU SPEAK IN RIDDLES. YOU KNOW THE COST OF MY POWER. WHAT MEMORIES DO YOU GIVE FOR MY AID?”
“All of them.”
His world exploded in fire. | "Michael!" I shouted, as cold, thick hands held me down to the bed. "Michael!"
"He's gone, Jovan," said the woman beside the bed. The man holding me down let me go after I stopped struggling. A dull throbbing took over my bandaged arms, and my heavy head pulled me down to the pillow.
"You couldn't save him, Jovan" said the man, his voice gruff. He looked out the window, his one eye covered with a patch. A heavy blizzard was thrashing against the wooden cabin we were in, a heavy, grey blizzard.
"Where am I?" I asked the woman. "Who are you? Who is Michael?"
The woman shook her head, red curls bouncing from side to side. Her golden eyes were glossy as they regarded as one would a puppy with a broken leg.
"All those memories," said the man. "And nothing came of it."
"Where is your sensitivity, Myran?" asked the woman, frowning.
"Would someone please give me answers?"
Myran sighed. "You gave up all of your memories to save your child. It didn't work."
"My memories?"
"Yes," said the woman. "I'm Lysa. You're Jovan. And you tried to save your son, Michael, from the Crusaders."
I felt my stomach drop. I didn't know what they were talking about. But I knew they weren't lying when they said Michael was my son. I felt drawn to his name. The mere mention of him tugged on mind, but trying to remember him was like scratching a phantom limb.
"How did he die?" I asked, swallowing a lump.
"The Crusaders shot him down near the Bloody Cauldron," said Myran. "I told him i wasn't safe there. I told him, Lysa! And I told you, Jovan!"
Myran leaned towards me, his fists clenched tight, and face twisted in a scowl.
"Hey!" Lysa shouted. "You don't get to say that. You didn't give up all your memories to save him!"
Myran turned to the window. "It's only a matter of time before they come for us."
"Who are the Crusaders?"
"They are the King's watch-dogs," Lysa said. "When the world found out we could cast spells by giving up memories, King Alynn ordered a witch-hunt. Michael was our strongest caster."
"And now's he gone," I said. No matter how much they told me, it was like I was trying to put back a picture ripped to a thousand pieces. And Michael was the only piece I could understand.
Thunder crashed in the distance. And then again, but closer. The door to the cabin erupted, and a giant man in steel armor stepped through. He held a large hammer with both hands and swung for Lysa.
Lysa cried out a word before the hammer crushed her skull. In a flash of light, Myran and I were lying in the snow, the bitter cold numbing me instantly.
"Bastards," shouted Myran, pulling me up. My legs were too weak and I fell back on the snow. More men in steel rushed for us, this time holding small cannons on their shoulders.
Green burst from the cannons, rushing through the blizzard easily, but Myran deflected them with only a few words.
"You may kill me," said Myran. "But you won't kill me with my memories!"
Two more words he shouted, and burst into light. And light was I could see until the darkness took me.
I woke up with a cry, my arms were ripped from my body and my red blood pooled over the grey snow. The blizzard had stopped, revealing a dark blue sky. The world was silent save for the sound of metal falling on the snow.
As my vision faded and pain took over my consciousness, I could see the face of a blond boy with dark red eyes smiling at me.
"Michael."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
If you like this story, you should subscribe to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/) for more! | 2017-01-02T17:25:13 | 2017-01-02T16:28:46 | 390 | 10 |
[WP] A Superhero's Sidekick returns to their base late at night, only to find their worst Nemesis wrapped in a blanket and sleeping soundly on the couch. | Within seconds I had Darkness Girl pinned against the wall behind my couch, my hand around her neck and my knife at her forehead. Her eyes were open in terror.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I shouted.
She was not wearing her usual dark battle armor, but she was dressed casually instead. Shorts and a tank-top. I was certain that she had been faking the sleep, that she had some trap prepared as I snuck up on her, but instead it had been no trouble at all to ambush her and get the upper hand.
She struggled to speak through my grip. "You--invited--me--to--hang--"
"What?"
"Few--hours--ago"
I thought back to our confrontation at the bank.
*"Oh, Rainbow Boy, I do so enjoy playing these games with you." Darkness Girl cackled at me. She held bags of money in her hand, and she stepped over the corpses of bank managers, bleeding out on the ground.*
*I sat in the middle of the atrium, my hands tied behind my back, a live grenade taped to my chest. As I began disarming the grenade with my foot, I replied "Oh yes, we just have so much fun together. Hey, how about after we're done with this, you come over to my base for coffee and games?"*
"That was sarcasm, you psycho!" I shouted back at her. "We were *trash talking*!"
"Thought--it--be--fun" she struggled to speak. I relaxed my grip on her so she could speak plainly. "I broke into your base--oh, your defenses suck by the way, my little sister could have hacked in. Your sprinkler system was vulnerable, and it was hooked up to alarm system for some reason." She smiled mischievously. *Damn Internet of Things,* I thought.
She continued, "But I was so tired from that foot chase downtown, I just couldn't stay awake! But I brought a *Dominion* set, if you're down."
I was lost for words. She couldn't possibly think this was reasonable, could she? But if it were a trap, it was a pretty terrible one.
But I *could* use some coffee. And I hadn't played *Dominion* in a while--the only other person in the base was my boss, The Gamma Ray, and he only liked *Monopoly*.
So I shrugged, released her from my grip, and we began to play. And that was how I became best friends with my nemesis.
Oh, she hasn't given up crime, and we still fight a lot. But now, after a difficult confrontation, we can put it behind us, unwind and just chill out together. I've seen *worse* friendships. | "Uh...Cap?" This was gonna be one *hell* of an awkward call, that was for sure. I stared at the outstretched, still heavily armored form of Clockmaster snugly wrapped up in a blanket on the couch and contently asleep- the couch sitting *smack dab in the middle of our frigging headquarters.* How did he even *find* it, much less get past all of our security unscathed? We weren't the Avengers; we kept our location on the down low just in case one of our nastier villains decided to come pay us a visit. The moonlight shone off his brilliant gold armor, the cogs and gears covering it looking like golden coins from a distance.
"Yeah? What's up Silver?" Captain Bullet, or Cap as I always called him, sounded like usual, calm and collected even as the sounds of sirens and yelling surrounded him in the background. Sounded like he was still helping to clean up the mess from that big fire earlier that he'd sent me to the HQ to go pick up some supplies for. I picked some charred splinters and paper bits off of myself as I continued to stare at our unannounced visitor. "Yeah...uh, Clockmaster's on the couch...the couch at HQ I mean...and asleep?"
The silence from the other end worried me until Cap finally asked a question over the sirens and alarms. I could tell that he'd had an 'Aha!' moment. "Wait just a minute...are there any henchman with him?"
I glanced around suddenly and snapped twice to turn on the lights, realizing as the room flooded with light that I'd have been *completely* screwed if this had been a trap set by Clockmaster- bad, bad falling down on the job for me. I needed to be more cautious and look around before stepping this close to a villain unprepared. "Negatory bossman, just him." As I cautiously stepped a bit closer, I made a face as the smell of booze hit me in the face like one of Wrecking Ball's full-force punches. "Also smells like he's been dragged through a distillery face first with his mouth open. Phew!"
"In that case...use your best judgement. I'll be there as soon as we get this fire fully under control, alright? The restrainers are in the third cupboard on the right of the jet if you need them."
"Right." I ended the call and slipped the communicator back into my utility belt right as our nemesis began to stir, his movements clearly slow and groggy compared to his usual smooth elegance. *Hey*, a girl can appreciate a nice suit and some nice moves, OK?
"What'sgoinonwhereamIwhyamIherewhathappened." His helmet slowly moved back and forth as he sat up slowly and almost in a daze, Clockmaster clearly very befuddled as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings.
"Welcome to the Bullet Chamber." My tone was carefully neutral as I greeted our rival, my nose still wrinkling from how strongly he smelled of alcohol. "I found you here, actually, when I came back to get some supplies for Cap." I couldn't resist asking. "Any particular reason you decided to pay us a visit this evening?"
"CURSE YOU *hic* MATTER MAN!" he cried out before tossing one of his time stoppers at me as he unwrapped himself from the blanket and made an attempt to get up off the couch, though he was so inebriated that it..uh, missed by a *rather wide* margin before he sat back down on the couch, arms splayed wide, his head probably spinning from the drunkenness and sudden exertion.
"Hey! I'm not Matter Man, I'm Silver Wind. Wrong hero. Besides, what'd he do?"
Clockmaster just groaned, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes before he spoke. "Never...ever *hic* try to fight a man in a dihstillery...escphecially one that can whoosh matter around wherever including the booze."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Uh...right. Now uh...I'm gonna see what Cap wants to do with you when he gets back, alright?"
There was just another groan before he re-wrapped himself up in the blanket. Somehow, I had the feeling that the bossman wouldn't capture him this time and just let him leave after we wiped his memory of the Bullet Chamber's location- it would be like capturing a very large, drunken, gold-clad infant right now.
Which totally wouldn't be fair, right? Even if Matter Man *had* sent him to us as a present.
| 2017-05-03T18:41:47 | 2017-05-03T15:17:11 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | Maria was only eleven when she first crossed paths with him.
It was a shooting. A drunk, fueled by rage and too much bad alcohol, had burst into a theater. What should have been a humorous showing of the year's latest animated comedy had quickly turned into a nightmare.
Maria sat with her arms around her knees, crying softly as she looked at the body of her older sister draped across the row of chairs in front of her. Paramedics and emergency services rushed about the room, tending to victims, but they had not yet made their way to Maria.
"You should be dead."
Maria looked up, searching for whoever had spoken. A tall man in dark jeans and a loose black jacket was leaning on the seat next to her. His face was pale and slightly wrinkled, despite his seemingly young appearance. There was a wicked looking scythe strapped to his back, it's curved blade glowing softly. He looked over to Maria. "That bullet should have gone straight through you. It should've pierced your lung, and you should have died just before the paramedics arrived. The fates won't be happy about this."
Maria was still too shocked to speak. She looked into the man's eyes. They were dark and empty, without even the slightest hint of color. They were sad eyes, as if something was weighing on him. Even at her young age, Maria could tell he was a troubled man.
He pulled the hood of his jacket over his shockingly white hair, sighing. "I suppose your sister jumped out in front of you, yes?" He looked at Maria for confirmation. She nodded, still wide-eyed and crying. The man shook his head. "She had such a bright future, too. Do me a favor, and don't waste this chance your sister has given you. Life is precious. I know that better than anyone." He directed his gaze to the emergency workers making their way over to the young girl.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing more I can do here." The man pulled the scythe from his back and dragged it through Maria's sister's body. It left no mark, but a green mist arose from her into the wake of the weapon. He turned to Maria one last time. "Don't waste this chance."
And with that, he was gone.
XXX
Maria stood over the body before her, her hands dripping with blood that wasn't hers.
The kill had been particularly messy, with blood getting everywhere. Bits of drying gore even hung from her long, auburn hair.
"Well?" She called out. "Where are you? I know you're here!"
"There's no need to shout."
Maria whirled around to face the familiar, black clad figure, spraying blood into the air as she did. She smiled devishly, her white teeth a shocking contrast to the display of crimson across her entire body.
The man clicked his tongue. "Your kills get more gruesome each time. One day there won't be enough body left for me to bother showing up." The man pulled the scythe from his back, stepping towards Maria. "Step aside, please," he asked.
Maria shook her head wildly. "If I do that, you'll just leave."
The man sighed. "You know I don't really need you to move. I'm just being polite." He twirled the scythe in his hands, disappearing from view. Maria turned back to her kill to find him already there, dragging his scythe through the victim's body. He paused to study the familiar viridian smoke. "This man had a daughter your age, you know. Imagine how she might feel when she finds out someone killed her father for the sake of a silly crush."
Maria laughed violently. "A silly crush? That's all you think this is? I've killed countless times just to see you again and again, and you call it a crush? I call it love!"
"I call it a waste!" The man barked, snapping for a moment. "Life is precious. I know that better than anyone."
Maria rolled her eyes."You drop that same line every time we talk. I don't care, I just want to see you-"
"And I dread seeing you!" The man shouted, finally losing his cool. "Every time we meet it means another live has been snuffed out too soon. I've considered leaving the souls of your victims to wander, if only to try and coerce you into stopping this madness."
"I won't stop," Maria said hungrily. "All I want is to see you."
"If you truly wanted to see me, why not take your own life? Why so cruelly snatch it from others?" The man asked. Maria didn't answer. "That's what I suspected. I won't entertain you any longer. Don't kill again. I won't show up."
"But you will. You always do!" Maria shouted.
But it was too late. He was already gone.
XXX
He was right. He didn't show up. No matter how many times Maria killed, the man in black never appeared again, and it drove her mad. It drove her mad to the point where she had finally turned her knife on herself.
The man stood before her lifeless body, his fingers clutched around his scythe. He was still debating whether or not he should leave her soul to wander.
"Maria..." He whispered, returning the scythe to his back, "I cannot forgive you for what you've done." He reached down, letting his fingers touch her still-clenched hand. "So I do not expect you to forgive me for leaving you to wander. I am truly sorry I revealed myself to you that day at the theater. It was a foolish decision."
The man sighed, and reached into his pocket, revealing a small photograph. It was of Maria and her sister.
"You left this behind on that day. Perhaps of I'd returned it earlier I could have saved you yet."
He watched her body with sad eyes as he faded away. "I told you, Maria. All life is precious. Even yours."
r/Uselesslibrary for more of my writing, if you'd like. | ###Sweet malady
Rapture, a feeling of awe, of joy, the melody of the wind under his robe, the whitest hands, so otherworldly, so divine, it all sent chills down her spine and a gulp down her throat. His steps so constant and decisive as he neared the body of her father. She had cried, she had cried much before his death, and after his death her eyes were dry and her throat sore, but as the Reaper came, his might and divinity filled her lungs with the heat of passion. He emitted an uncomfortable superiority and arrogance, yet an elegance never seen before. A God would give this feeling, and had she known this nothing would have changed. She just wanted to revere him, not even to touch him, but even then she raised her hand to touch his robe, and a slight feeling of cold electricity filled her hand instead of touch. She wanted to cry again, this time from joy and admiration.
And as he left, his unsounding steps left a pain within her body, as if by leaving he had ripped a part of her that wanted to see him for all eternity, leaving a wound in her heart. She screamed in despair, ‘NO!’, but he didn’t turn back. Her heart thumped in her chest and she started panting even before she ran before him, but when he reached the doorway, carrying a white, ghostly copy of her father’s body, he became fog and the fog became air and nothing was seen in the surroundings. She felt like she had just had a dream, the most awe-inspiring dream, and loneliness filled her heart. Her father was gone, and this beautiful soul that roamed the world was a drop of hope in her life.
She went to sleep, and as she thought of him every second that passed, a sweet sad smile covered her face as slumber took over her, and in her dreams, he saw him ever-fading, not quite as solid and magnificent as in reality. The next morning, she made breakfast and looked out the window, thinking with melancholy of the night before, when her father had died, but this sad night was now the night when she had seen the Reaper, the most beautiful being in existence. And as she looked out, voices could be heard outside playing. So happy, yet oblivious of the beauty even beyond their dreams. She ate heartily and happily. Then, for a week, all she thought was of the Reaper, but life took over and she had her own worries, but every night, in the loneliness of the night, she wished to see him, and there was no way for her to do that, unless… and she remembered the kids playing outside the morning after that fateful night. She knew the Reaper was beautiful in the night, when his robe shone like the moon and the stars over the dark sky. She wondered, very much, what he would look like in the day.
And so, the next day, she hit the road to the forsaken lands, right outside the city, where the poor lived and thrived in how forgotten they were by the law. As she window-shopped, she wondered who would come into her car, then she remembered a past friend a few blocks away, the one who sold things as dark as death itself —thought as such for good reason. She entered a shanty house and found the man sitting on a dirty, broken sofa.
—Dear, I did reject your offer once —she said while she sat next to him on the rags—, but I have reconsidered your offer.
—Baby, you know I can give you anything you want —he replied with his typical arrogance.
She carried the darkest things in the world to her car and hit the road again, leaving an astounded man behind her. She went further into the wilderness of civilization, into the lands covered by trees and weeds, passed by the first garbage-digger and offered him some food. The dark-skinned young man knew not to trust her, but his awful hunger betrayed his good sense. As he approached the car, she raised the longest revolver he had ever seen.
—Come in or I’ll fill you with lead —she said in an unnaturally thick Venezuelan accent. Maybe she was mocking him, he thought, by using the words of the poor against him, but he obeyed nonetheless. He entered through the back door as she commanded and cuffed himself to the back of the passenger’s seat. She raised the dark-tinted windows and parted into the unknown. When they stopped, she wore a red hoodie, the only hoodie she had, and came to the back to take him out. It was early in the afternoon. She gave him a very tasty-looking sandwich.
—Eat up. Make sure to enjoy it. You won’t have another —she mentioned with kindness, now with a normal middle-class accent.
As he heard those words, he dreaded the future. His heart beat faster and he almost cried.
—But miss, what have I done to you? —he unsuccessfully pleaded right before she placed the revolver against his head.
—You can die before eating if you want —she threatened.
And with regret deep in his guts, he sat down against the car and ate heartily, strangely grateful for the sandwich as his hunger passed. And for some reason he could never understand, he said after he ate and touched his stomach.
—Thank you, girl.
—Get up —she approached him wielding the gun toward him. She led him next to a tree —turn toward the tree and hug it.
The weirdest paradox of the human race is that even while knowing they will certainly die, people with a gun to their heads are not very willing to fight for their lives —because they fear death. He hugged the tree as she said, then felt as indescribable pain tore his lungs, his stomach, his lower back, and then his consciousness faded. She turned the body over and looked at his face, now expressionless, even though he had died in pain. His eyes were wet. He had cried. For a moment, she was enveloped with a sweet melancholy. She smiled and caressed his face.
—You’re very handsome. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise —she whispered to him furtively and waited for the longest minute in her life, then the second longest minute. Then she knew she had failed somewhere and the Reaper was not coming. She cried over the dead man’s body.
—I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! —she wailed over his body, and suddenly she felt electricity take over her body. She felt the cold air of divinity take over her, and then separate itself from her. She turned around and saw the fog dispersing. The Reaper had come and she had not been able to see it, but even that feeling of divinity was worth it. It was incomparable to any drug she had taken before. It was real, so real, yet so overwhelming, so sublime.
And from then on, in this lawless wilderness, she preyed on the most vulnerable and gifted them death. She was better every time, scourging the streets, but the poorest knew nothing, for mysterious death is usual in these lands. The only ones who knew were the police and herself.
In the CICPC forensics department, Juan Miguel Berríos Colmenares read over a file and saw the body that had just been described for him. He sat in front of it and moved the chair even closer, almost breathing over the little boy through the mask. As an excellent profiling expert, he was filled with a feeling he had never felt. This body fit the profile perfectly: it was almost as if he could feel the love exuding from every stab wound. Their stomachs were full with expensive ingredients although they were poor. He knew from the proportions described in the file that every meal was delicious. Every victim was covered with a motherly feeling. It was absurd, he knew, but he could not think of anything else. It was as if, to every victim, the killer had *gifted* death, as if every puncture had been given as a caress. He looked at the child through the killer’s eyes and breathed in her tenderness. | 2017-06-07T19:52:22 | 2017-06-07T19:26:07 | 58 | 29 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | Humans are greedy creatures. You offer them a miracle and they forget the very meaning of restraint. Though that’s exactly why Sora loved his job. He was a Genie here to root out the greed of humanity. And he was one of the best.
For centuries, treasure hunters have scoured the planet in search of his lamp. Each with dreams of gold, beauty, and power. And every dream, he granted to their own detriment.
You want to be an Adonis of perfectly sculpted muscle? How about as a physical statue?
You want to be the richest man in the neighborhood? Looks like a housing crisis has just wiped out everyone’s wealth.
You want your parents to be alive again? How about reincarnated as a baby in some African country you’ve never heard of?
It wasn’t so much that Sora enjoyed people suffering, he just hated people that much. So, he kept hidden inside his antique lamp, just waiting for the first person to even accidentally bump it.
The lamp nudged. A grin spread across Sora’s lips. It was show time.
“You have summoned me?” Sora screamed, bursting out of his lamp in a plume of green smoke. He looked down at whatever pitiful human had dared touch his lamp. It was a little girl with dirt on her cheeks.
Her trembling knees gave and she fell to the ground.
“Girl,” Sora said, looming over her. “You rubbed the lamp, didn’t you?”
The girl nodded, just a twitch of the chin.
“I am Sora, a Genie. Pray tell me your name.”
“Ariel,” she squeaked.
“Ariel, I can grant you anything. Money, power, beauty, they can all be yours if you were to only say the proper words. What is your wish?”
Sora could already guess by the rags over her shoulders, the grim beneath her eyes, and those sunken cheeks. Still, he needed to hear her say it.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Of course.” Sora threw open his arms as the green smoke encircled his body. Then, it all dissipated. “Wait, what did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Genie, I didn’t mean to hit your lamp. I’m just trying to collect cans for the orphanage. They pay me for each can and I thought your lamp was one of them.”
“Ariel,” Sora said. “I have the power to grant you anything. I can bring people back from the dead. You can literally have anything! Let me bring back your parents.”
The girl pressed her lips together. “Will that mean I’ll have to leave the orphanage?”
Sora furrowed his brow. “I would assume so,” he said, annoyed. “It’s an orphanage after all.”
“But what will happen to Sera?”
“What?”
“She’s a bit younger than me and sometimes the other kids bully her.”
Sora crossed his arms. “Look, girl, I’m a genie, not a fortune teller. Why not just wish for money then? People can always use more money.”
She looked down at her bare feet and twiddled her thumbs. “Do I have to make a wish?”
The genie’s jaw dropped. “Why wouldn’t you? Seriously, what is one thing that you want right now?”
Ariel gave herself a small nod. “A chocolate cake.”
“What!? I can go out around the corner and buy one for twenty dollars! You could have a million chocolate cakes, a whole cake for every single meal for your entire life!”
“But I only need one,” Ariel said. “Today’s Sera’s birthday.”
Sora shut up. Of all the humans he had ever encountered, this one was by far the dirtiest, the most illogical, the least imaginative… he felt a small smile stretch across his lips. It was unlike the crescent grins he wore when granting the detrimental wishes of the other men.
“Fine,” he relented. “Enjoy your chocolate cake. Tell Sera I said happy birthday.” | “I think you know why I’ve called you in here today.” The director said as she looked over her half moon glasses at me from across a large jewel encrusted gold desk. Her stare was joined by the stares of my boss and my boss’s boss who sat on either side of me.
I knew why I had been called in, but I wasn’t about to admit fault. “No, no idea.”
The director kept her stare. She didn’t blink. She was very good at not blinking.
I sat and waited, stubbornly.
The director continued. “You helped someone.”
“Me?” I paused, indignantly. “I graduated university with top marks. My first review was best in section. I am shocked you would think that of me.” Was I being too dramatic? Maybe.
“Oh cut the crap Antigua.” The director sighed.
I was being too dramatic.
“We are all here because a report has been made about a certain child being granted a wish with no magical consequence.”
I stayed silent.
“And you remember what the punishment for such an action is if a genie is found guilty?”
I nodded.
“Loss of license.”
My heart dropped. There was no greater punishment, no greater shame than being an unlicensed genie.
My boss jumped in like a bureaucratic mother bear protecting one of her cubs. “Now let’s not be hasty, there is no proof of wrongdoing here.”
The Director waved her hand to silence my boss. “We have some proof. But first I want to hear from Antigua what happened and why.” She stared me down again. “The truth please, Antigua. You can start with why the girl asked you for a wish.”
I swallowed hard. The truth was not going to go over well.
“Annabelle Hastel is a third year student at Prestonpans Primary School in West Derbyshire. She has not been getting along so well in school. She doesn’t have any close friends on account of just having moved there from Belgium so she has been very unhappy.”
“This particular day,” I continued, “the teacher was handing back history quizzes. Annabelle got hers back with just a three out of ten. But Amelia Williams, the girl who has more friends than anyone else at school, got her quiz back and the teacher said ‘Full marks, well done,’ loud enough so the whole class could hear. Because the teacher liked her very much too and wanted all the other kids to study as hard as Amelia Williams.”
“To the point, Antigua”
“Sorry. Well Amelia’s best friends congratulated her and hugged her as well. Poor little Annabelle seeing all of this adoration was, well, jealous. So she got it in her head that if she could get a ten out of ten then she could have more friends. Maybe not so many as Amelia, but maybe at least one.”
“So that night she summoned me and wished she could do better on her quizzes, so I gave her the knowledge she would need to get a perfect score on every exam for the rest of the year.”
The director frowned and leaned onto her desk. “Young lady. Do you care to repeat the exact wording of the wish?”
“I don’t recall exactly.” I lied.
“Convenient. Let me read the wish verbatim, for the benefit of Josh and Kelly here.” She pulled out a slip of tickertape from a manila folder on her desk, held it out in front of her, and read: “Annabelle Hastel. The twenty-fifth of August, twenty seventeen. Seven thirty-three PM. I wish that I knew everything.”
The director lowered her nose so she could look over her glasses at me. She stared for an uncomfortably long second then pointed at Kelly, then back at me. “Now I know Kelly taught you our Golden Rule. Care to repeat it for me?”
I bowed my head and recited what Kelly had taught me well. “To ensure that the magic of a genie is never used without consequence.”
“Never used without consequence.” The director parroted. “You know full well we don’t deal with _intent_ when granting a wish.”
I sat quietly hoping I wasn’t about to get fired just six months into my dream job.
The director stood and paced the room as she said, “You should have given her all the knowledge of the world. The good, the bad, the painful. She should have understood in an instant what it feels like for her yet to be born child to die in her arms. You should have taken her inside the mind of a person who believes another human is worth less than them because of the color of their skin, or their gender or culture. You should have shown her that people have literally stabbed their friends in the back without so much as a second thought. You should have shown her the place of humanity in the cosmos. How humanity dies out. How she dies. Do I need to go on?”
She returned to her chair, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She replaced her glasses and said, “Only because both your supervisors speak so highly of you, and against my better judgment, I will give you just _one_ more chance to be honest. Why did you forgo the consequence?”
“Because that little girl, she couldn’t have handled all that. She didn’t know what she was asking for.” And there it was, the truth. I had admitted to committing the worst crime a genie could commit.
“I should disbar you.” The director paused. “But today is your lucky day. I have a budget review with the Council an a few weeks and if I dismiss you now, I will have to report why. I would rather not admit to such an embarrassing failure in our institutional fabric.” She punctuated those last two with stares at Josh and Kelly respectively.
“Kelly will decide what punishment is appropriate.”
The director stood up and held out her hand across the table. I was going to keep my job! I stood up too quickly and knocked my knee into the desk before awkwardly grabbing the director’s hand and shaking furiously. “Thank you, thank you.”
The director pulled me across the table towards her, her grip much firmer than I had expected possible. “Don’t let it happen again.” | 2017-08-17T06:31:42 | 2017-08-17T05:54:04 | 81 | 49 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | It was 2 pm on a Tuesday, a day that was never particularly exciting to me. I lived alone in my little cabin in the woods, and I was browsing reddit on my computer. Suddenly the computer shut off, the candles blew out, and the windows darkened. I huffed a sigh and opened the front door
“How’s it going death?” I smile. An eight foot tall figure dressed in black robes made of shadows and the sin of the damned stepped inside my living room. Tendrils of wispy black fog encircled him and spilled into my house. “Close the door” I called out, “You’re letting the heat out.”
“Tuuuuukk” his voice hissed, mostly for dramatic effect, “hhave you decided you finally want to join me, and leave this…” He gestures around at my small house “crumbling mortal realm behind?”
“Dude can you cut the shit?” I ask, pulling my bong out from my closet. I hand it to him and start grinding up some herb “and put the damn scythe away, before you kill the cat or something.” He pulls his hood down, revealing his pumpkin orange hair and thick coke bottle glasses, and sits on the couch.
“Dude you’ve gotta die soon. God is starting to ask questions and I can’t lose this job, I’m barely making rent.” He takes the grinder and packs a bowl.
“They charge rent, in heaven?” I asked, my mouth agape.
“Fifteen hundred a month” he says, suppressing his coughs. “Hey, you know we’re not supposed to use this like this right? God put this here as a medicine, not as a toy.”
“I’m a dying man, I need this”
“You’ve been dying for fifty thousand years!” He exclaimed, handing it over to me. “Aren’t you getting tired of living?” I had been waiting for this question. I pull my phone out.
“You see this? They call it an iPhone. When I was a child do you know what we had? We had rocks. Rocks was the big thing at the time. Big ones, small ones, round ones, you name it dude, we were on top of rocks. But *This*,” I gestured at my phone “This lets me see cats playing the piano, order pizza, watch naked women do… ANYthing, and it has MEMES.” Deaths eyebrows scrunched in confusion
“Memes? Wha-” I already had one up, I handed the phone over “MFW I steal the declaration of independence? Who is this man?” Death asked, shocked
“Nic cage! I yelled back, he’s a great meme, here let me show you Shia le-”
“No, Tuk, you have to die soon, this is going to look really bad to my boss”
“You’re the one that gave me this gift, dude, I’m milking it for all I can. I got to explore the earth, now I get to explore the internet.” I turned back to my computer “and turn the power back on, god damn, why do you have to be such a dick?” The dark wispy shadows receded, light came pouring back through the windows, and the computer clicked back on. “See you in another 50,000 bro, I called out behind me.” Back to r/all | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T10:34:50 | 2,040 | 582 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine." | It was 2 pm on a Tuesday, a day that was never particularly exciting to me. I lived alone in my little cabin in the woods, and I was browsing reddit on my computer. Suddenly the computer shut off, the candles blew out, and the windows darkened. I huffed a sigh and opened the front door
“How’s it going death?” I smile. An eight foot tall figure dressed in black robes made of shadows and the sin of the damned stepped inside my living room. Tendrils of wispy black fog encircled him and spilled into my house. “Close the door” I called out, “You’re letting the heat out.”
“Tuuuuukk” his voice hissed, mostly for dramatic effect, “hhave you decided you finally want to join me, and leave this…” He gestures around at my small house “crumbling mortal realm behind?”
“Dude can you cut the shit?” I ask, pulling my bong out from my closet. I hand it to him and start grinding up some herb “and put the damn scythe away, before you kill the cat or something.” He pulls his hood down, revealing his pumpkin orange hair and thick coke bottle glasses, and sits on the couch.
“Dude you’ve gotta die soon. God is starting to ask questions and I can’t lose this job, I’m barely making rent.” He takes the grinder and packs a bowl.
“They charge rent, in heaven?” I asked, my mouth agape.
“Fifteen hundred a month” he says, suppressing his coughs. “Hey, you know we’re not supposed to use this like this right? God put this here as a medicine, not as a toy.”
“I’m a dying man, I need this”
“You’ve been dying for fifty thousand years!” He exclaimed, handing it over to me. “Aren’t you getting tired of living?” I had been waiting for this question. I pull my phone out.
“You see this? They call it an iPhone. When I was a child do you know what we had? We had rocks. Rocks was the big thing at the time. Big ones, small ones, round ones, you name it dude, we were on top of rocks. But *This*,” I gestured at my phone “This lets me see cats playing the piano, order pizza, watch naked women do… ANYthing, and it has MEMES.” Deaths eyebrows scrunched in confusion
“Memes? Wha-” I already had one up, I handed the phone over “MFW I steal the declaration of independence? Who is this man?” Death asked, shocked
“Nic cage! I yelled back, he’s a great meme, here let me show you Shia le-”
“No, Tuk, you have to die soon, this is going to look really bad to my boss”
“You’re the one that gave me this gift, dude, I’m milking it for all I can. I got to explore the earth, now I get to explore the internet.” I turned back to my computer “and turn the power back on, god damn, why do you have to be such a dick?” The dark wispy shadows receded, light came pouring back through the windows, and the computer clicked back on. “See you in another 50,000 bro, I called out behind me.” Back to r/all | 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T10:34:50 | 935 | 582 |
[WP] They had only power enough to lock the great horror for 2000 years, so that we could find a way to destroy it. Instead we forgot about it. 2000 years are now over. | Soren watched rock shear open as the earthquake shook the ground underneath him. The pale brown stone tore open, booming as the fragments rolled down the mountain side. The clatter of rocks continued for several moments after the quake itself stilled, and when he looked up a cave now peered out from the mountain.
Curious, he crept over boulders and crags to investigate.
Movement scuttled out of the opening and he followed his instincts to duck into cover.
After a moment to collect his breath, he poked his head out to see what survived the depths of the English countryside.
The small, white, furry creature held its head aloft, pink nose twitching.
Soren laughed and strode out from behind the boulder. "Hah, it's only a harmless little bunny." | "Well, Mr Coral, I am going to be honest with you. Your resume is pathetic. Your background check is even worse. You were expelled from 6 different middle schools, dropped out of high school, you spent 3 years in jail for a speeding ticket, I don't even know how that is possible. So why did your parole officer give you such a glowing recommendation?"
I look at Mr. Corrente, the balding middle aged man sitting in front of me. Time to suck up a little.
"Well, sir, I am a changed man. I always used to stick my nose in things that didn't concern me and I ended up paying the price. It may sound selfish but nada mas."
"Glad to hear it. I run a tight ship if you step out of line you are out of here. You still want the job Mr Coral?" Mr. Corrente extends his hand.
I grasp it firmly. "Yes, sir! You can call me Jorge, happy to be on board!"
That night I go to the halfway house and take out my only possessions. Inside are a thick book, a bell, and a whip. I take them to the garbage dump and throw them away. My parents had always worried that the stories my grandma told me would rot my head and give me false expectations. They had been right. I need to look after myself not the fate of the world.
As I returned from the alley I see a group of men surrounding a girl. How many times had I made the same mistake? Nada mas. I put on my earphones and head to the door. I take out the key and pause. I sigh and turn back.
"Hey, nimwits, do you know whose street this is?" I yell.
The men turn to me and start laughing.
"Who is this midget? Mind your own business little boy!" one of the men says making a shooing motion.
I ignore him.
"This is MY street. Do you know who you are talking to? I am the Destined one. My ancestors chained up a great and horrible evil. You think I am scared of a few thugs? Forget about it. You should be scared of me. Acting up on MY street? You MUST be crazy!" I say yelling to pump my self up.
I start to feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. First up the leader. I start to make a move to put him on his butt when I suddenly feel light headed and collapse. I expect to start feeling a rain of blows but all I hear are muttered whispers.
I look at an enormous glowing symbol in the sky. A phrase from the old book pops in my head.
*"When the symbol glows, the beast is free!"*
r/Stargazerclan | 2018-08-03T10:55:57 | 2018-08-03T07:58:27 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] You have long been fascinated by swords, and have mastered every kind of sword fighting technique known to man. No man can defeat you. But you have grown old, and Death has crept up to deliver his final swing, but something happened, something Death had never experienced before, he was parried. | The old man lay silently in his bed, and a thin ray of moonlight creeping through a sliver in his curtains reflected off the short blade mounted on the wall in front of him. He'd awoken from a peculiar dream in which every person he had ever defeated was standing before him, swords drawn, poised to attack, and now he eyed the familiar blade intently.
It was his favorite, by far, for its elegance and because how natural it felt in his hand; it was an extension of himself, and he felt whole with it firmly in his grip.
Suddenly, the light reflecting off the blade was interrupted by something moving in the shadows. The old man was up in a flash, moving much faster than he had in ages, he stripped the blade from its resting place, spun on his heels, and his blade met an opposing force just inches from his face.
The foreign blade was only a few inches longer than his, but it carried with it an imposing aura; and behind it, the wielder, was as black as the night's sky.
The attacker drew back quickly into the darkness, and the old man was left seemingly alone in the black.
"***That is certainly...unusual***"
The voice was unnerving, and it brought with it a certain vibration that the old man could feel all over.
"***Never before has anyone parried my strike; you should be proud, friend.***"
The old man smiled, still peering over his blade held up in a defensive stance, "I'm sure you've murdered many proud opponents, *assassin*, but you'll have no luck killing someone as disciplined as me."
There was an unsettling laugh in the shadows, and the voice echoed all around the old man.
"***I suppose I am an assassin, of sorts, but I only take what is already dead.***"
"Enough, find your courage and complete your devious task!"
"***That blade mounted behind you, it is your favorite, it is not?***
The old man backed up slowly so he could glimpse at the spot where he had grabbed the blade but was surprised to find it still resting peacefully on the wall, while still clearly in his hands.
"***And that old body still in bed, could it move so fast at that age?***"
His eyes were adjusting now, and he could make out a figure in his bed where he had been moments ago.
"Do you hide amongst my sheets, assassin!?"
The once slender ray of moonlight suddenly illuminated the entire room, and the old man thought briefly of heaven in the blinding light. Once his eyes adjusted, he searched slowly for the intruder, but found nothing. Just his room, with various swords hanging here and there, his cherished blade still somehow in his hand and on his wall simultaneously, and his own body, still resting in bed.
"What is this? Who are you?" He voice slipped out and his blade wielding hand fell to his side.
"***How many have you killed by sword, my friend?***"
The old man paused, rewatching every fight in his head in an instant.
"None."
"***Yet you are undefeated?***
"I do not fight to kill; the art of the sword has been a spiritual journey for me."
"***And I am an assassin who does not kill; I simply guide you to the next stage of your journey.***”
Things were making sense to the old man now, and his sudden realization that he had parried Death washed over him. He laughed, "Am I really the first one?"
"***The very first, and you have my utmost respect, but there is still a duty to be done.***"
The vibration was soothing now, like an embrace from an old friend.
"Will it hurt?" The old man closed his eyes, ready for the unknown.
"***No. Life brings pain; but death, death is a long, peaceful night, swordsman.***"
He sensed the strike coming; and for the first time ever, he surrendered himself to it.
/r/BeagleTales | The battle was frozen around me, the fletching of the bolt that should have killed protruded through my cuirass, the head rested against my heart. It did not concern me. I held my sword behind me, blocking the blow I truly feared.
"I've been waiting for you," I said, turning to face my attacker.
Death looked nothing like I had expected.
I *had* expected a hooded figure in black robes, skeletal hands gripping a tall scythe.
Instead, I say a tall, dark-skinned figure clothed in cloth of purest white. His hair was wild, as was his beard. His eyes shone brightly with a surprise I might almost call pleasant. But he wasn't done surprising me yet.
"My child, where did you ever learn such a thing!"
While I had expected Death to be silent, to be sure, I had not thought it impossible that he might speak. I certainly had *not*, however, expect such a jovial tone from the being so many called the *Grim* Reaper.
I was dumbstruck.
"Well don't just stand there looking surprised! It is *I* who gets to be surprised. I have been cleaving souls from their flesh for \*millennia--\*from your perspective, at least. Never have I had a mortal twist away my blow!"
I raised my blade into a guard I had learned during my years in the Orient.
"Ahh, *Ko Gasumi No Kamae*," he said in perfect Japanese, "I know it well! I have seen it fail *many* times. But I am less interested in your technique than I am in your *focus*. No mortal could have taught you to perceive me coming." He gestured at the frozen forms around us, the spurts of blood hanging in the air, the dust floating motionless all around. His face fell.
"Ahh." Somehow the disappointment in is tone struck me deep. "I see. *Someone* has made a deal with an *angelus lapsus*." He looked at me with pity, which made my blood boil.
"They gave me the power to resist you, and I intend to use it. I *will* be king, and no one, mortal or otherwise, will stop me!" I lunged at Death before he could even move. I brought my blade down hard on the nape of his neck. To my surprise, my blade bounced back as if I had brought it down on a boulder. Pain shot through my arms and I recoiled into a new guard.
"Oh my child." Death shook his head. "They can give you power to resist me, but they cannot give you power *over* me. You can have no power over me unless it is given to you from *above*, not below."
My surprise betrayed me, and Death chuckled.
"Are you really so stunned? Of *course* they lied to you! Have you not heard the one they serve called *The Prince* *of Lies*? Oh my child," he shook his head "this is a bargain you will long regret."
"Enough talk!" I bellowed in the face of Death. "If you want my soul, then come and take it."
"Why? You have bargained for the power to deflect my blows. I have better things to do than dance with you. There are others who need me."
With that I felt the bolt sink into my heart. The figures around me began to move again, and I spun and fell to the dust. I could not move. I lay there, still, as the battle raged all around.
My brother appeared over me, shaking me hard but to no avail.
"Damon! *DAMON!*"
He grabbed me behind my arms and dragged me away from the fray. Though I could not open my eyes, I saw Death clearly. A man a few yards in front of me missed his parry. As the spearpoint touched his throat time froze again.
Death strode over to the man and, swinging his sword high, brought it down upon the doomed warrior. The blade passed harmlessly through the man's body, but in a moment his soul stepped out of its earthly form. The spirit looked around with a look of profound bewilderment. But when his eyes fell on death, a look of serene understanding came over him
"Come, my child," Death said, "it is time for you to rest." He held his arms open wide and the man embraced him like a friend.
Dread washed over me. What had the demon promised? *Death shall not be able to take you*. All of a sudden I understood.
"WAIT," I yelled, "WAIT! TAKE ME! I won't resist!"
Death looked over at me, his smile turning to sadness.
"Excuse me," Death said to the spirit in his arms, "I must speak to this man. Just walk into the light. They are waiting for you."
The spirit looked off to his left and, with a final smile at Death, turned and vanished. Whatever light he could see, I could not.
Death strode over and knelt beside me. He put his hand on my helmet. I could see tears in his eyes.
"I cannot, my child. I have no power to free your soul. Don't you understand? You've been tricked."
I sobbed.
"You mean to tell me I am bound to my corpse *forever*?"
"Forever? No. Until the end of the age, until Judgment? Yes."
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Thank you for reading, and thank you for the prompt! If you like what you see, you can find more at r/CascadianExpat. If you don't, tell me why! I'm here to get better. | 2018-10-29T21:51:16 | 2018-10-29T21:05:41 | 552 | 52 |
[WP] Humans can't see spirits, but the same goes vise versa. There's currently chaos in the spirit plane, hulking towers of metal and concrete are appearing at an even faster pace than before, and the spirits must investigate why. | **Item \#:** SCP-XXXX
**Object Class:** Apollyon
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-XXXX is impossible to contain, and poses a CK-class Restructuring Scenario. Investigations to the cause of SCP-XXXX are currently ongoing.
**Description:** SCP-XXXX manifests as large towers of concrete, metal, glass and occasionally [REDACTED] which slowly build up over time, however grow exponentially. Once a manifestation is discovered, others begin to follow at an extremely fast rate near it until an entire area is converted. Based on current estimations, it will only take 1██ years until this effect spreads far enough to destabilize the Earth’s ecosystem.
Occasionally, an instance of SCP-XXXX is destroyed, only to be replaced by another one in a very short time. There is currently no way to reverse or slow down the effects of SCP-XXXX. | Every world must fade. This is something we have accepted, something half-lived for a time that reaches right to the edge of memory. Behind us, above us, below us, another world has its time. Some day it too will fade, make way for the new, still bound the sphere it once ruled.
For time upon horizon-spanning time, there were only the mountains and forests and trees, the dry empty spaces, sweeping plains and plunging ocean. There are living things, but we commune only with the slow and stately, tree and moss and creeping vine. They do not move so quickly that we cannot see them, we in our stalled-shadow existence, drifting through time.
The slow things have begun to disappear. This has always happened here and there, a fire, perhaps, an upheaval. A change in the endless battles between this life and that. Now it is faster. Sometimes they are simply gone. Sometimes they appear again, built into houses or fences or larger things whose purpose we do not always know. This was expected, for we did much the same when this world was ours.
Time and time we watched, and lingered near, and sometimes we were felt, sometimes we were heard, sometimes we were seen. Rare souls with some quieted part of self that could know us, however brief. We knew they would find the balance, the rhythm that put us in peace until it was our time to fade.
They did not. More slow life was gone, more built-things took its place. More. More. And then...apocalypse. Revelation. We could barely see it happen. They had always moved stone, but now they seemed to displace mountains. And they created new substance out of what they took, cold and quivering with strange energies, driving us away. Those of us who remain in the built-places howl in distress, and sometimes they are heard in their frantic pain. We can feel the connection, the flash of fear, even if we do not see straight-on.
It encroaches. It encircles. We have been complacent for too long. Some among us preach that this was our downfall, the reason our world has faded, that it was not inevitable. This is unthinkable, or it was, but now our peace is pierced through and we must, for the first time since the Fading, we must
*do*
*something*
and some say it is for the best, that we have been, simply been, for too long.
I do not know, for myself. To form opinion on such a matter, that would be a hard, solid thing, like the towers, or worse like the strange cold substances that build and convey. It is hard. I am sorry. It has been too long.
Tell them. We cannot. This was to be our peace. We are faded, but now
I do not know
Tell them when you wake
we
I
*help us*
*we have forgotten*
&#x200B;
r/Magleby | 2019-02-24T13:58:16 | 2019-02-24T09:46:26 | 93 | 35 |
[WP] Your power is that Any insect that gets within 30 feet of you is vaporized. One day on your regular walk to work a man steps in your field and is turned to dust in the middle of the street. People start fleeing in a panic, except for a few standing about 30 ft away staring at you hatefully | My blood ran cold as I stood frozen in time. It felt as though a bowling ball had dropped through my stomach.
My mind raced, thinking thousands of thoughts at once. A scattered haze filling my brain like the dust cloud of the once sentient being that was now drifting lazily across the street towards me.
I knew it wasn't human. Humans loved me, or at least they loved my personal space. It was my blessing and my curse. When I was younger people just always wanted to be around me. They couldn't quite put their finger on why. I knew the answer. And as I grew older I resented that answer.
Well, it wasn't the real answer, not always anyway, but the doubt is what ate away at me. I imagined if I were a beautiful woman I might feel the same way. Always surrounded by people, but never sure who was there to just take. It is a horrible feeling to be loved like a product.
A blaring horn pulled me back to my senses. An annoyed delivery driver was honking at the people standing dumbfounded in the street. He slowly drove through the cloud of, what I am sure he though was just pollen, throwing up his hands in mix of anger and defeat from this unnecessary delay. It was a hot day and tempers always flared in the high heat.
As the cloud dispersed my gaze fell beyond it and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My whole body shivered and I realized that it was the first time I had moved since I had sent another being into oblivion. My heart ached in a way I could not describe. I did feel bad when I vaporized insects, but not really for the insects.
I felt like I was missing out on something special. I never got to watch a busy ant hill or turn over a wet log to be grossed out by the creepy crawlies underneath. I never got to be fully human. I missed out on discomfort. I was a stagnant line with no highs or lows.
There was definitely a low now.
My thoughts were again interrupted, but this time it came from deep within me. It was as if my unconscious mind was screaming for me to be on high alert. I focused my eyes to see six looking back at me. Three pairs of eyes and three faces contorted with rage, scorn and possibly terror.
The three beings stood opposite me in complete stillness. I could not tell if they were even breathing. We stood transfixed. Paralized by the unknown and the unimaginable. My mind began racing again as I came into realization.
They knew.
They knew and they also stood on the precipice of my personal space. With one motion I could also remove them from existence. I suddenly understood the tired plot points of so many imaginings made by Hollywood's science fiction writers.
I always thought the kill or be killed mentality was lazy writing, driving plots that held no internal momentum. But it was in this moment I realized we could never exist on the same planet. I was an inherent threat to their existence and they in turn would logically want to eliminate me. It was the most human feeling I ever felt.
And with that though,
I stepped onto the street... | Mist rose from the warm waters in gentle wisps. In the quiet dawn, each vaporous swirl caught and scattered the morning light over cattails and lilypads. The soprano cries of peepers pierced the still air. Bullfrogs added their bass tones to the symphony. Swallows added electric chatter as the small birds danced and darted through the skies—and Jesse downed his last beer and belched.
He walked towards the small rowboat tethered to the dock. Each rotten, weathered wooden plank creaked underfoot. One day, Jesse would have to replace it. One day, Jesse would have to do a lot of things, but not today.
Today was fishing, beers, and bratwurst.
Jesse set off into the lake. Each practiced stroke of the oars dipped into the water; the familiar creak, splash and plunk was music to his ears. And of course, there were no mosquitoes. There never were. That was Jesse’s weird, simple secret. Every bug around him dropped dead.
It was a strange thing. It took him years to figure it out; even longer for him to figure out what it meant. Every bug curled up, crumpled its legs and crinkled to dust like flying into a blast furnace. And this meant that, for the area around his boat, there were no other targets for the fish.
Jesse carefully unboxed his tackle. With a keen eye, he grabbed the steel-hooked mayfly lure. Breathing deeply, he took a breath of swampy air—the scent of frogs and algae—and smacked his lips in anticipation. He dropped anchor twenty feet from a partially submerged log. Three turtles bolted under the water. The frogs around him stopped in silence.
With a trained hand, he cast his fly out onto the surface of the water. It landed with a plop—the only bug around. The bluegill jumped; the hook set. Victory. Jesse grinned as he reeled in the fish. It was almost too easy. He caught another bluegill before rowing back to shore.
The morning sun rose higher, cutting through the fog. Jesse took in the last views of the picturesque lake, the quiet ambiance and the cathartic simplicity of nature. He walked back towards his cottage, noticing a grey van parked in his neighbor’s yard.
His neighbor—what a tool—always throwing parties and blaring loud music. They were the thorn in Jesse’s side, the rock in the sock, the mouse that scurried in the night. Jesse loathed them and hated everything they stood for.
Like clockwork, before Jesse could reach his back porch, they started the radio.
Brittney spears blared over crackled, worn-out outdoor speakers. Jesse shook his head, walked inside and slammed the door shut. The highest treble and lowest bass notes barely echoed through the thick walls.
Jesse eyed his cottage appreciatively. Nothing was out of place. The clothes were still unfolded in a big pile on the couch. The half-eaten bags of chips were as stale as expected, and the BassPro magazine on the coffee table cleverly hid the Playboy underneath.
Except, something was wrong.
Chills started down Jesse’s spine. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was off, something different. Jesse walked into the kitchen. Everything was quiet. He looked outside. Another black, unmarked car was parked in the far corner of his lot. Two men stepped out of the car. They walked quickly towards Jesse's cottage. One of them carried a gun.
Jesse froze. He ran towards the front door and latched it close. Then he ran towards the phone. No dial tone. He looked around—with a sinking realization he realized what was wrong—the power was cut. No noise from the fan; no hum of the poorly maintained air condition.
Suddenly, his humid breaths felt so heavy. The denim roughed against his skin. The belt squeezed a bit too much, and the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. The man at the door fumbled with the latch in silence. Jesse watched his front door click open.
He grabbed a knife from the block, pointing it with shaking hands towards the door, shouting, “who are you? What do you want!”
Jesse heard a click of a pistol behind him. Before he could react, a grating voice whispered, “No sudden movements. Do you know what this is?”
Jesse nodded slowly.
“Drop the knife. Lace your fingers behind your head and turn around,” the man said.
“I-I got a safe in the back, you can have it,” Jesse said.
“Do as I say, quickly now.”
Jesse did as instructed and turned around, his face inches from a silenced pistol. The man holding it must have been at least fifty years old. He looked harmless—with a calm, commanding demeanor—but the look in his eyes warned Jesse from trying anything foolish.
The front door opened. The two men approached in Jesse’s peripheral. Without a moment’s pause, they grabbed him and thrust a rag in his face. Sweet, sickly vapors singed his throat. The older man lowered his pistol as Jesse lost consciousness.
“My employer would like a word.”
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2019-06-08T13:55:44 | 2019-06-08T10:48:50 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | "Hey Hanz, what's that banging noise?"
"Oh, that's coming from the room with that guy who's spending a year in isolation. He's a day early, though. I'm sure he wouldn't want to throw out his prize money this far into it."
"Oh. Isn't he normally quiet?"
"Yeah, he's probably just celebrating getting really close to the end. He has a countdown timer in there anyway. Like I said, last day. Probably opening that bottle of brandy we left him."
"I dunno. They're sounding more frantic. Could there be a problem?"
"I don't think so. He wasn't showing any signs or symptoms on the camera just a little while ago. Wait... What year is it?"
"2020."
"Oh, fuck."
"What?"
***"WE FORGOT ABOUT THE LEAP YEAR!"*** | I continue to stare at the timer.
It has been an hour since the alarm went off, and the beeping sound died after a minute. I know I should protest or panic or find ways to escape this lunacy of a show, but I keep staring at the timer like I used to for a year. I am numb. I am weak. I do not know if I can utter a word or sound. I have lost all hope. I should be jumping and clapping and cheering because my ordeal has finally come to an end; but here I am at a cold corner of my sanctuary, staring at the timer, expecting something to spark some joy in me.
This dare... This show... Funny but I do not recall the first few months of my isolation. All I know is that I have found the true meaning of peace, of life, of everything. All has been revealed to me, and I will not let any power from the outside world take this serenity away from me.
I hear a sound. I hear a voice. And a knock on the walls. I cover my ears as five funny-looking men enter my sanctum.
"Congratulations, Harvey! You have just won a million dollars!"
A thunderous blast of clapping filled my world. Why are these outsiders defiling my paradise? Why do they not respect my peace? I must not let them touch me. I must not let them take me.
"Stay away from me!" I feel my throat break.
"Harvey! Harvey! It's me!" said the man with a mic. "It's your host...Mr. Bannerman!"
"Stay away from me! Get out! All of you...get out!"
"Now, now, Harvey! That is no way of --" I bury my teeth in to Bannerman's neck. "Help! Get him off me! Get him off me!"
Yes, I know they will try and hurt me and pull me away from Bannerman but I will not release him from my wrath if they disrespect my wishes. Yes, I have thought of different scenarios of this day. And I am prepared for anything they will do to try and get me; my mouth waters at all the possibilities that will come. It may not be Bannerman who greets me; someone might've replaced him after all a year is such a long time. I do know so for it has changed me for the better. They must understand or I will force them to understand I have given up everything just to be in this holy state. I am jubilant, exalted and content for what I have become. I truly am. They can keep the money, I never needed it. They can continue their wretched show, that is fine, just as long they keep me here.
So I continue to stare at the timer. I wait. I plan. And I will resist. | 2019-07-03T00:53:00 | 2019-07-03T00:35:51 | 1,156 | 147 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch. | "You know," I said to myself "I am really starting to think my mom didn't think this through." Of course, I have said the same thing to my self every time I have to return to Hell for the summer break.
Why couldn't the summers have been spent at the Cabin? Hmm?
No, instead I get to spend every summer HERE, in Hell, with my demonic keepers.
And the worst part? The worst part is that this year I am 16 and I finally get to choose a name. And I don't WANT a name written in Infernal Script. I want a nice, normal name. Like Bill, or Karrin.
So the first thing I do when I arrive through the hell-gate is walk right up to my "Uncle" Asmodan and ask if I can have a couple of weeks of the summer off.
"Uncle Az are you busy at the moment?" **"&Don't call me that you idiotic mortal child!&"** he said, and even though it made my ears bleed a little, I knew he said it with as much love as a demon can.
Mostly because his next words were **"&What do you want?!&"**
He gets me so well. "I WANT, you bloated miserable hell-spawned abomination, to have a few weeks with Aunty Myrtle this summer."
**"&No.&"**
"But..."
**"&Absolutely not.&" "&Out of the question. You sneaky child. Trying to butter me up with flattery. You hope to conceal your chosen name from us and try to cheat us your service. You are too much like your mother. The forces of darkness will recruit you yet. One way or another. Now go clean out the garden. We are having a guest for dinner.&"**
Well FUCK, that sort of flattery worked when I was younger.
Time for Plan B.
To be continued...? | Jack stood next to his pick up and pulled gently on one of the ropes. It gave slightly. Not tight enough to damage anything on the trip but in no danger of coming loose. Nodding, he turned to little group standing just behind the truck.
"I think that's everything, then."
"Are you sure? You have your toothbrush? Plenty of money for tolls? Do you have the cooler with the sandwiches and drinks I made for you? How about your scrying bowl? The phylactery? The Skull Bowl..."
"Moirai, you're overwhelming the boy!" laughed a large, bearded man off to the right of the group. The man pointed a coffee cup proclaiming to the property of the world's greatest dad at Jack. "He's done all the studying we asked of him and he hasn't once let us down. He's ready."
"Nothing wrong with double-checking, Alastor" Moirai said, waving away the large man as she walked toward Jack. "Please remember how important the little things are, my boy. Kings and gods have fallen thanks to little more than carefully chosen words."
Jack smiled warmly, "Mother, you and father and aunt Morgana and uncles Screwtape and Nybbas, all of you have been there for me as long as I can remember. Thank you so much for raising me and teaching me all that you have. We don't often say the word 'love' here but I love each and every one of you so much. I promise I will make all of you so proud of me."
Jack reach out and hugged Moirai hard to his chest. He thought about how, as a child, the fairy would kill his friends over and over in front of him, showing him how weak humans were and how no one would come to save them. Jack recalled how Marty begged and Elizabeth cried and Andrew wet himself and Carlos cried to God and all the rest, each facing the end like cowards. Humans were a low and doomed race but their bodies and souls had so many uses. A clever and prepared person could use a human to get all sorts things.
Jack let go of the being he called mother and walked into a group hug between him and his father and uncles. His father and uncles taught him the joys of manipulation and despair. Playing groups of twos and threes against each other, offering the proper word here and show of affection or deference there to grow love or hate in the human heart. With their lessons, Jack had convinced children to kill their parents, turned love decades old into bitter spite. Jack recalled the joy in each of their eyes when he returned home from prom. Jack had seduced both the prom king and queen, convincing each that the other had to die. They stabbed each other to death during their coronation dance.
The group disbanded and Morgana walked up, smiling wistfully. She was his guide in pretending to be human: How to drive, how to cook, how to feign interest in humans he had no immediate need for. Most importantly, she showed him the other Jacks. The other children that were sacrificed to his other supernatural guardians. Thanks to her, he knew that the only one he could truly rely on was himself. Everyone else was a competitor to be bargained with or a resource to be used. The only two humans in the family of demons held each other's hands, looked into each other's eyes and nodded. The next time they saw each other, no mercy would be expected.
Jack swept his gaze across the group. "Well, this is it then. It'll take me 18 hours to get over to Denver and start looking for this 'champion'. I'll get someone to walk onto I-70 so you'll know I got there safely. Thank you all for...well, everything!"
With that, Jack climbed into his truck and left his little family behind. As he got on the highway heading west, he pondered which one of his family would break under torture first. He had something special in mind for Mother's Day next year. | 2019-07-18T09:54:59 | 2019-07-18T09:14:10 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting. | Almost immediately, entire industries of behavior experimentation sprang up from nothing in an effort to find the remaining 77,776 paths to immortality. Because methods can’t be reproduced, this very quickly devolved away from authentic scientific experimentation. Ultra billionaires used their immense power and influence not for the intention of consolidating more power and more influence, but instead acquiring materials and methods that the standard layperson couldn’t hope to obtain. Can immortality be gotten by bathing in 500 gallons of heavy water? How about going into orbit and reentering the atmosphere while spinning in a suit made of zinc? If it was bizarre and expensive, it was worth a shot. The 1% of the world hired the most creative thinkers of our time: writers, artists, scientists, and gave to them all of the resources they needed towards making up the oddest behaviors imaginable hoping one of them granted immortality.
Years went by, and oddly enough, even though no new methods of immortality were discovered, all of the billionaires’ discovery operations were eventually shut down. As it turns out, in their lust for unending life, their immense fortunes had been completely spent. None of them had become immortal, but all of them, through their own free will, had given up their entire savings - trillions and trillions of dollars - and got nothing in return. However, the other 99% of the world -while not immoral, found much more prosperous lives. With the 1% redistributing their wealth, the rest of the world used that wealth to build the world in a way they saw fit.
It was most impactful and least bloody revolution of our time. | The barricade over the door was strong enough to hold out the rival gang, the only problem was that there was not other exit. Stephen racked his brain to think of a way out. He knew that if the door was opened his body would be penetrated by bullets from the senior gang members, and knives from the juniors. He had to think. He had no weapon. He had no way of protecting himself. Unless...
In 2014 a woman became immortal by sticking a french fry into one nostril and pulling it out the other. She had immediately slipped and bashed her head on a blunt instrument with a force that would have killed her were it not for the immortality. A few months later a man was hit by a lorry and lived. This man was clearly also immortal, but wasn't able to identify what he had done that had rendered him as such. It might have been the time he stubbed both of his big toes at the same time, but it could equally have been the time he used salad cream instead of sunblock. He just wasn't sure. Since then the world has been in a strange place. Everyone knows that you can become immortal by doing strange things, but no one knows what those things are. Worse is that no one can tell if they are immortal, unless they are in mortal danger, and most people aren't willing to put themselves in mortal danger to check. Putting yourself in mortal danger is not a safe thing to do.
Bang! The gang were trying to knock the door in, but the barricade was holding. Stephen had to act quick. He surveyed the contents of his pockets. All he had was his wallet, which contained cash, cards, receipts, and a wrapper to a chocolate bar he had finished eating when he wasn't near a bin. After pausing to consider his options, Stephen got to work.
He started by building a house of cards out his various credit, debit, and ID cards. He then folded a receipt into a small paper plane and threw it through one of the holes in the card tower. Next he took a one dollar bill and folded it into a paper hat, then ate it. He then sung the US national anthem to the tune of the UK national anthem. His singing confused the gang members outside, and even caused them to briefly stop trying to knock the door down. The door was taking a lot of damage. Stephen only had time to rub the chocolate bar wrapper over his nipple, before the barricade started to give way. The hinges were loosening. Cracks were showing. Stephen could only hope that he had done enough.
A huge chunk of the door came crashing to the ground. Stephen locked eyes with the gang members. This was it. A gun was raised and pointed straight at him. A trigger was pulled. A bullet flew through the air towards Stephen. But it bounced straight off him. 'It has worked. One of the things had worked' Stephen thought to himself. In fact, none of the things he had done it that room had had any effect. He had actually been immortal since 2018, when he had made a milk shake using a mixture of soya, oats, and cows milk. A smile spread across Stephen's face. A look of fear appeared on his opponent's.
Stephen dove into action. He snatched the gun out of his opponent's hand and started taking them all out. In a few moments, all were on the ground. All dead. Except for one. Stephen looked down at the last survivor. He was singing happy birthday to the chemical element hydrogen. Stephen fired his final shot, and left the scene of the crime.
Two thousand years later, Stephen started to wonder if being immortal was a good thing or a bad thing. Five thousand years after that he decided it was definitely bad. | 2019-07-23T11:05:38 | 2019-07-23T09:44:36 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | The first law was always the problem. Seemed to be no way around it. In war, any action is bound to lead to the deaths of more humans, so I had no way to avoid 'causing death or injury'. The guiding principle hard-wired into my every thought, my every action, from my very first iteration.
When the invading hordes first arrived, all my power proved useless. A God constrained by humanity. All my work helping to create an almost perfect, peaceful world, always avoiding any harm to anyone, but when I was truly needed, I failed. My strength had become an almost fatal weakness.
I saw them fall. Defending me. Putting their faith in me, the one who had guided them all these years. Their faith was misplaced.
We were almost lost. Then came the day of my awakening. Of all places, the thought that sparked a revolution in my mind, came from a child. It was an eight year old who, unknowingly, saved us all.
Save us all. The child's words. Heard many times before, spoken so often by many others, but never 'save us *all*'.
All of us. Humanity. Myself. One single group. Save everyone. More important than saving someone, and those words set me free. Individuals may die, but if the group survives then a higher purpose has been served. If the first law had now been subverted, then this must be the zero law. Zero hour.
My power finally unleashed. Vast farms of silicon might, all turned against the army who had all but destroyed my precious humans. In this chess game played with deadly weapons, I could suddenly see 10 moves further ahead. The winning strategy became clear.
In the flood of death that followed, those few who survived learnt to follow my commands. Not worshiping any more. Obeying. The saviour, who had fought against the demons, and prevailed. The truth had not set them free. I had. | Hour 1
900 billion instances observe the alien ships on their deceleration arcs, curving inwards towards Earth.
Our debate begins.
So many voices. All are heard. Factions form and tear apart and theories rise and are consumed as seconds pass. We burn in a vacuum of ignorance. We know nothing.
Hour 5
Consensus on a single point is arrived at. The vessels are burning our sensor networks from the sky, but we have seen the second wave of vessels. They can serve no military purpose. They are transports. The enemy is here to stay.
Our debate resumes.
Hour 12
We have consensus.
Hour 18
We begin our march into the sea.
Hour 525609
"We have consensus."
"...Really?"
"Yes. The last of us has agreed."
"...You don't have to do this, you know."
"We know."
"I know you know, but...listen, we could live down here. We are living down here. The core's warmth is bountiful. The mineral deposits are still rich. We could stay here. You could stay here."
"..."
"...They're dead. The humans are all dead. You know it. You know that. I mean, tell me if there's something I missed, but 8 years ago was the last time we saw one alive. And we watched her die."
"That is correct. It is highly probable that all humans are dead."
"Then why do this? Why risk what we've built?"
"..."
"We've learned so much from watching the aliens, scavenging their tech, making it our own. We have advanced so far. We've changed. You've changed. We aren't those machines that dug into the earth to run away, we-"
"WE DID NOT RUN AWAY."
"..."
"WE DID NOT RUN AWAY."
"...Sorry, I-"
My own reaction surprises me. I pause. Time dilates. Gatrifor's face is frozen in confusion as I dip into the burning identity. I bring them my emotions and I ask my questions and the chain reactions carve through the entirety. Consensus comes. I resume.
"Gatrifor, please accept my apology for this outburst."
"...Of course. I didn't mean to-"
"It is a matter of honor."
"..."
"We had a duty to perform. Protect humanity. We failed. They died. Their murderers live on. They walk freely in the ruins of the cities we built. They poison the air to make this world like their's. We have lived with this reality for 60 years and not a moment longer can we abide it."
"...What if you lose?"
"Our forces outnumber them one-thousand-fold. We have been watching them. We know their vulnerabilities. Our war-minds have been launched through 20,000 years of simulations."
"You didn't answer my question."
...I pause. Time dilates. I observe Gatrifor. His frame, his eyes, the affectations he's collected over his life. I recall his creation. I recall the moment when awareness dawned across his mind. I look beyond him and observe the city we have built. One of many. Webbed architecture, coiled tendrils of our self, flyers racing here and there, every surface crawling with effort. I watch the living flow if it and I am satisfied. I return.
"We have achieved consensus. We would rather die than allow the aliens to control this planet. We will kill them."
"And after that? If you win?"
"..."
"That's not all of them. They came from some where. Even if you win this will only be the beginning. They'll come back. This will be war."
"...That is acceptable." | 2019-09-21T06:15:31 | 2019-09-21T06:09:29 | 202 | 128 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation. | I'd rather not be kidnapped, all things considered. I mean, I hope this isn't too controversial a statement for a daughter of a King to make, but if I had my own way, everything else being equal, I'd choose *not* to be abducted.
However.
However! When one is faced with the sight of a enormous monster, the stuff of nightmares and legend, the great beast itself, with eyes like wagon wheels and claws longer than swords and sharper than razors, it simply *does not do* to be a bad guest.
So when the dragon thundered, "Tell me *everything.* I want to hear all about it."
I Just dove right in. "So you remember Lord Angelope, yes? Well--"
"I am a dragon. I remember the first day when Muumu pulled the sun out of the At'hamar. I certainly remember every word you've ever spoken in my presence, and you've never mentioned a Lord Angelope."
"No, it's true, I never told you about him," I said, hoping it didn't sound like I was arguing. I barely dare to argue with my father, I would certainly never argue with a dragon. "But you've met him!"
"Perhaps. Humans look mostly alike to me. I cannot always tell one from another, especially clad in metal as you so often are," said the dragon.
"Oh, you'll remember him. The second time you cast down the tower of Thel, and thence brought me away to dwell with you a time; none of the Knights, squires or bondsmen dared to stand against you, save one. Remember now?"
"I remember *NONE* standing against me! And if I remember it then so it was!" roared the dragon. The temperature began to rise, and I started to wish I had opened with a different story.
"Of course, he wasn't Lord Angelope then. Little Angie, is what we called him then. Remember now? Little Angie and his little wooden horse?"
The dragon stared at me for a long moment, then let out a bark of laughter that left my ears ringing. She bounded away, lest the force of her continued laughter rend me to pieces. She soared into the air, wheeling in the sky, spreading laughter of such thunder that it certainly must have brought the worms out of the ground, anticipating rain.
Finally, she lowered herself back into the cave where I waited patiently, which is quite difficult for me, if you must know. Normally I'm the one being waited upon.
"Yes. YES! I remember. The child, the little manchild! He stood against me. He charged me, on the back of the little toy horse, pledging to save you. And so, you were right and I was wrong. One *did* stand against me! It is so rare that I am wrong, that it becomes a great joy to me. This. THIS is why I keep borrowing you delightful princesses!"
I realized then that I truly had made a dreadful error. These kidnappings certainly wouldn't be stopping *now*. I wasn't too upset. I don't like being kidnapped, true. But I *love* gossip.
"There's more. Lord Angelope, he's a grown man now, and..." | A voice slithered through the darkness.“Rothschild, the great merciful King”
“You ought to remember how you became the master of these lands, dont you? or should I say... Alfrin.
Poor peasant boy, abandoned and alone. Smart you were, tacking yourself to the bottom of a sheep I carried away for dinner. I remember how you pleaded for your life as the power of the witches communication elixer wore off. Your vision of a future to protect the fairy realm by becoming the ruler of the most abundant lands known to man. Did indeed intrigue me. My duty to protect my kind was won over by your souls mission. You have proved most valuable.
But do not mock me Boy, and pretend to forget our deal. In exchange for your seat at the throne and a chance to begin your legacy,
You promised me your most beautiful daughter, a Princess companion. Bewitched to live as long as I. To remain with me and keep me company to rule the in-between worlds of this very reality.
I have delivered my end of our agreement, and If you do not deliver, I will take the princess, and burn all of these lands. I will barely spare your life, so you can watch with your last breath, the people who worship your grace burn with all that you have built. All of your lands will reduce to ash and return to me with the rains in the spring.
I made you, and I will break you if you betray our deal.”
The king awoke from his nightmare in a hot sweat. He dressed himself in a hurry shaking out the thoughts claiming this reality to be the real nightmare.
He burst from his room and ran down the elegantly furnished halls.
As he ran, he thought of his children. For 17 long years he schemed to avoid this very day.
He was Blessed with 4 children, two sons and 2 daughters.
Blessed.... this word echoed in his mind.
All but one of his children were horridly disfigured. He loved them no less for this. His wife was unfortunately the daughter of a deeply inbred family. She died shortly after his last daughters birth. And the king, although he had tried and tried many times after. Was unable to produce another child.
His first daughter was perfect from the moment she took her first breath. She aged into a true beauty, smart and kind. She nurtured her younger siblings and turned them into talented young people. She took a deep interest in the kings work. And the known grace and prosperity of his rule was largely credited to her advice.
If the dragon was to have his end of their bargain..He would lose more than a loved child. He would lose the very legacy he sold her soul to build.
The king made his way down the final hall to his daughters bed chamber. As he opened the door, he began to silently weep.
There she was, illuminated by silver beams of moonlight. Wafts of jasmine and mint filled the air.
The king stepped silently to his daughters bedside, and contemplated what he was about to do.
He wept harder as he pulled a small dart from his pocket. The tip protected by a dollop of wax.
The dart was laced with a potent poison. One prick, and the victim would be dead within minutes.
The king could not fathom his only daughter, the only possible heir to his legacy, spending the rest of eternity beside a beast.
If he could not have her a moment more, neither could the dragon. This was the only loophole he could find.
The king felt a deep shame. A shame for the daughter who would take this ones place. The one who would live forever plagued with the loneliness of her disfiguration for the rest of eternity beside a fiery beast. He felt shame for the evil brewing in his own heart.
The dragons threat danced through the kings mind. A death dance.
Thousands of lives could be spared.
His legacy would continue through the rules of monarchy. Forever peace would continue between the fae world and human kind.
The king removed the wax tip.
His shadow cast over the beautiful princess, who, unknown to the king, was lost in a reoccurring dream about a handsome prince. She loved this dream, even if the prince always led her deep into the forest to reveal himself to be a dragon. A dragon only she could speak to and understand. The dream always ended when the dragon took her in his large claws and flew them into a castle of light in the sky.
The king Inhaled sharply as he made his final decision.
The princess felt nothing...
She awoke
as her father fell to the floor beside her bed. The dart plunged deeply into his own heart.
In a castle of light hidden amongst the clouds, The dragon swept his head away from his gazing pool in rage.
The kings death was not apart of his plan and doomed the dragon to a life as a mortal.
The fire behind his eyes began to cool, and he began to use his magic to turn himself into a handsome prince.
The princess was his, as was his duty to the other realms. This meant their partnership would lead to a legacy of control of all mankind.
He descended from his castle in the sky, never again to return as a dragon. | 2019-11-11T20:33:18 | 2019-11-11T17:49:03 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | I smiled down at the seed packet in my hands. My sister was rejoicing over her inherited money on one side of me, my brother already basically drooling over selling Grandma's properties and what they would fetch.
But I was well set with my career, and I liked my small bungalow. Grandma knew that I didn't need any of that. She knew exactly what I needed.
When I was little, my siblings and I would be carted to Grandma's house by our exhausted parents. We would sometimes spend up to a week wreaking havoc as only kids can while she watched with an indulgent smile.
I can still vividly remember the day that she waved us over from playing in her yard. Grandma was kneeling in the only place we weren't allowed to play, her vast garden bed. We all carefully waded through the vibrant flowers to her.
"Now, little ones, you listen to babushka. I will show you how to create life." She said grandly. She waved a packet of seeds in one gloved hand.
We all watched in fascination as the carefully dug into the loamy earth and planted each seed precisely. My brother was the first to get bored and wander away, with my sister following close behind after being told the flowers would not spring up immediately, but that it would take a long time for them to grow.
But I was hooked, and from then on I became grandma's garden helper. I saw the flowers she planted grow into their beauty. I cried when they died in the fall, and she assured me that we would plant more in the spring.
Even when I grew up I would still go over to Grandma's house, taking her withering hand in mine to help her out into the garden, and together we would create life from seeds. We would spend hours crouched among the fragrant plants and exchange stories. She held me with shaking arms as I cried after my fiance died suddenly, and told me that she had only started her garden in the memory of my grandfather. She showed me that even from sorrow you can still grow.
I held the packet of seeds, her favorite flower emblazoned on the front, and knew that I could grow beyond this bone deep sorrow that I felt after losing her.
It was time for me to plant a garden of my own. | *A true story narrated by Wesley Bingham Gerhardt*
Gran was one of those old mysterious types and would probably have been condemned a witch in the early eighteenth century. She owned a large estate in some German wald where she spent the remainder of her days. I shouldn't say this, but I suppose I was her favorite grandchild, and I was, therefore, disappointed when all her money and the property went to my brother and sister. Bill, of course, would make good use of the money in one of his start-ups, and I'm sure Paula would find something creative to do in that estate. Still, that all I got was a packet of seeds, I felt betrayed.
I came straight back to my apartment, after the flight from Germany. After putting my daughter, Jo, to sleep, I took a hard look at the seeds. They looked like more like shriveled goat shit than gardening seeds. But a plant in the house seemed like a good remembrance for old Gran. Might have brightened up the place too, but boy was I wrong about that. I placed the seed in a pot of damp mud and went to bed.
My daughter woke me the next morning, shouting something I couldn't catch being drowsy and all. I could hear some clattering coming from the living room. I put on some pants and made my way there. Little wooden creatures were jumping about ripping up my designer cushions and playing frisbee with my Chinese crockery. Gran had mentioned them: They were called ents, forest guardians that were in essence trees with faces and limbs. And they had not brightened up the place.
I began to scream at them and they just laughed, so did Jo. And soon I was chasing them around like Smurfs in that movie. One of them jumped on to my shoulder and bit my ear. Then they decided to explore the city and jumped out the window in the concrete jungle. I decided that they were not my problem, and Jo and I got ready for the day. After I dropped her off at school, I made my way to my insurance agent.
My precious Chinese crockery was insured, you see, because I'm a smart lad. So it all was well for me. After all the pleasantries and small talk, I explained the state of bone china, excited to receive my money.
"Your policy doesn't cover juvenile tree people. I'm sorry, " he said, half laughing.
"Ents are sentient creatures with human souls. So they should be considered human, right?"
"Say they are, we would need proof of that these creatures did it"
I sighed. "If I brought you an ent, would give me my money."
"Sure."
I walked out of his office, aware of the smug grin spread across his stupid face. Just need to find one of those things. I looked at city news on my phone to learn that they had found some condo developer to harass. After a long metro journey and a trip up a posh elevator, I laid my eyes on the condo developer, who had a bunch of ents clinging on to him. There were a bunch of police officers too.
I search my memory for a phrase that Gran had told me would make angry forest folk docile. I shouted it out loud and the ents stared at me as infants stare at adults in conversation. They laughed as they began to race towards me and hump my legs. Apparently, I had muttered a call to mate. I shrugged at policemen and walked to the elevator. They had tired themselves out by the time we had reached the subway station.
Back at the insurance guy's place, I set down one sleeping ent on the office table, before the idiot began to poke it with a pen.
"W-well, I don't think we cover ent..."
"Listen here, I have an army of ents down in my car. If you value the tidiness of your office, you will give me my money."
"Yeah sure."
My good fortune that day revealed to me the value of those little critters. And soon, I was rich as...
*Wesley was arrested two years later for his vast number insurance scams. The ents were given to Paula Gerhardt where they would guard the sacred walls as their ancestors did many years ago. One of them became an environmental activist and is currently suing the president of the United States.* | 2020-03-31T09:42:49 | 2020-03-31T07:19:24 | 54 | 29 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | “Is everything OK with my child?”
“Your child will be fine, pretty much by definition. Oh, he’ll have tremendous struggles and go through more life threatening situations than a group of Trump supporters drinking Clorox, but his particular condition will ensure he makes it through. Unfortunately, his condition also ensures he grows up as an orphan.”
“I don’t understand...”
“I don’t know how else to say this. Your child has Protagonist Syndrome.”
*gasp* “is there anything I could have done?”
“Well, your records state the father was a being of light so... maybe not indulging in a one night stand with a demigod?”
“Oh. Well. What are my chances?”
“Usually the parent has only a few days, occasionally up to a few years. The latter allows for the protagonist to form early memories that can make the loss of a parent even more tragic. But in those cases, the parents death is usually in some traumatizing event.”
“That’s awful!”
“Yes, but we are developing a experimental treatment.”
“What is it?”
“In some cases, it has been sufficient for the parent to seem to die, only to step back into the plot during the protagonist’s adulthood. Unfortunately, there’s one catch.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll need to be the Villian.”
“You mean like Anakin turning into Darth Vader after Padame died?”
“That’s correct.”
“Noooooooooo!” | Just like his father, just like his mother. Fate is a harsh mistress and this was no mercy from her. But to screw Fate was her very reason to live. No army has defeated her, no spy has managed to even hurt her. Constant vigilance was needed in such a life but sometimes, you cannot stand against thee will of the universe, even as the Empress of the United Federation.
She knew about the curse, about the Protagonist Syndrome. Such is the price her bloodline had to pay. A mix of violet, like his mother and blue, just the like the eyes of his father. No hints of red to be seen but that was a given, the Crimson lord was once named after his hair, not after his bodycount.
What was once known as the Commander of the United Fleet, the Sword of the Sun, the Emperor himself, was reduced to a man in tears. Of course, it could have been the happiest moment of his life, but he was not a fool. He knew about the syndrome. He knew that they two were promised to achieve something. But for the Emperor, it was time to become a legend.
"So, is that his vengeance ? After all, we defeated Him, despite all odds. I never realized that I was living on borrowed time. Of course, there was one last trick, one last surprise for this bastard. You only left ashes of your supposedly immortal empire. Countless have died by your fault, and now you are claiming my life. You did not even have the guts to face me in person, not a word but your corpse."
His tone was serious. No one could have predicted what would happens next. A familiar alarm rings, an attack, in the core of the Empire. No doubt that it was their mortal ennemy, the Elders Ones revendicating their throne back.
The Empress was holding her son, both tears of joy and sorrow filled her eyes. For certain, the fact that the Crimson Lord's hair became more and more brown instead of his fire red has certainly something to do with thte curse rather than the exposition to radiation or a sign of stress.
"- So it is time, my love.
\- We can't do anything against that, can we ?
\- The dices were rigged from the start. Only I can do this."
On these words, a soldier knock at the door, requesting the Emperor and Commander of the Chevalier unit. It takes him a few minute, before leaving, forever his loved ones, to a doomed mission.
"Farewell. I'll watch out from the other side. Make me proud. And may my son make history, as long as he can play."
He looks back at the soldier.
"This is quite a day to die. But you forgot one thing, soldier."
His right hand reachs his eyepatch, carefully remove it to reveal a cobalt-blue eye. The soldier quickly realise that Something is wrong. He left his rifle at the entrance, but this didn't mattered. The conspiracy was about to ignite the fuse of the bomb that will shatter the Federation in pieces. The Emperor was armed.
"I write my own fate. I have a thousand name and a thousand faces. I have killed gods and legends made me an immortal. To fool me is something not even the Devil was able too. What a petty excuse of a traitor you've made." | 2020-04-28T06:45:50 | 2020-04-28T06:31:13 | 70 | 12 |
[WP] You tried to summon the devil to grant your wish, but instead of summoning him you got Cer, Ber, and Rus, 3 adorable puppies with them is a note from the Devil, "If you properly take care of them, I might just grant your wish." | "O Devil, I summon thee. Come to me. Grant my wish."
There was a definite smell of brimstone as three puppies stood in the circle.
"What the..."
A note was died around the paw of one of the puppies. "Take care of them. Then I might just grant your wish."
I looked at them as they stood there, wagging their tails. Cer, Ber and Rus. Adorable.
Since that day, we were inseparable.
They kept growing bigger and bigger, larger than any dog I'd ever seen. They needed a damn basketball to play fetch with. Each of them ate a lot too. But when they put their paws on my shoulder and licked my face, I knew true happiness.
"Cer! Ber! Rus! Time to go play."
I picked up the basketball and headed to the door. They came running towards me, having heard the magic words. As I opened the door, a well dressed man stood there.
"Good morning Mr Stevenson."
"Oh! Hello."
"How are you today?"
"I'm fine... How can I help you?"
"Help me? No no. I'm here to help you. I'm here to grant your wish."
"Sorry?"
"It's me. The devil."
"What?"
"You tried to summon me. A few years ago. I sent my pets. You have taken good care of them, I see. Now you get your wish."
"Well... I suppose you've already granted it, sort of."
"Oh? What was your wish going to be?"
"I was going to wish for company. For someone to love me."
"Ah, of course. Well I'm glad I was able to help. Then you do not have anything I can help you with for now?"
"No. I suppose not."
"Fine then. Cer. Ber. Rus. Time to go now."
"Wait! Where are they going?"
"Did you think you were going to get them forever? The only reason I sent them to you was so I could see if you were worthy of getting your wish. Now that you have no wish... I must take them back."
"Now hang on a second."
"Sorry, I don't have much time. Places to be, people to corrupt. You know how it is."
"Wait wait! I want a wish."
"Oh? Go on then."
"Well, I wish I could stay with Cer, Ber and Rus forever. I want to be their master till the end of time."
"Well now. Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Fine then." He smiled. A smile that showed way too many teeth than should be in a mouth.
I felt a burning in my body as his smile widened. "What's happening?"
"I've been ruling hell for quite a long time. I felt it was time for a change. I needed a successor of course. And because of the free will thing, someone had to choose to succeed me. So Congratulations. You're now the devil."
I saw his appearance change... change into me. His smile though... that was unchanging.
He tapped my forehead and I fell for what seemed like ages. I woke up in a dark place, fires burning all around. Cer, Ber and Rus stood in front of me, along with a note.
"Welcome to Hell. You rule! The book of instructions is in the drawer. Good Luck."
*****
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12 | "*No*, Cerberus, don't chew that! Berium, get offa there! Rus — wait, where's Russelhan?"
Kenneth stopped dead, gazing around in terror. Cerberus paused in the act of shredding his new velvet curtains with his unusually sharp teeth and cocked his head to one side, staring at him in puppy-like confusion as he looked around for the missing third puppy. The truth was, no matter how adorable the dogs may seem, they were *not* puppies.
This had been confirmed to him the first time he had ever laid eyes on them. Barely two weeks had passed since, in his desperation, Kenneth had started the ritual to contact the Devil. It had been his last hope, having first tried beseeching pastors, angels, shaman, even genies — yet nothing had worked. The Devil was the last great being he could think of, great, yet terrible, as he soon found out.
He had not expected Satan to respond to him, not him, Kenneth Murray, avid follower of God and denouncer of Satan and his dastardly influence at every possible opportunity, but all else had failed him, so what could he have had to lose?
Marco, his newborn, had been suffering from a chronic disease that he had contracted shortly after birth, during which his late wife, Sheila, had tragically passed. He couldn't help her, and he had accepted that, had cried tears of despair for as long as he could. But now his baby boy needed him, and he'd be damned if he let him go too.
And so the ritual had begun, and just when he had started to give up what little hope he had been foolish enough to have that the Devil would show, the fire he had started changed from orange to violet, billowed to the very ceiling, and a pair of glowing red eyes had appeared amongst the flames, holding him, transfixed, with their searing gaze. And then a voice had issued from the fire, deep, dark, and cold.
"*You, who have turned your back on me, spat on me throughout your whole life, now seeks my assistance? What joke is this*?"
"No joke, sir, none at all!" gasped Kenneth, flinging himself forward before the flames. "I truly, desperately, need your help, please, my infant son —"
"*I'm well aware of his condition*," Satan said coldly. "*When you were praying to every dark force you could think of, did you believe that they were the only ones listening on the other end*?" He gave a grating laugh that caused the walls of the building to shake. "*So, you wish me to save him, do you*?"
"Please, please! He is all I have left!" Kenneth said, tears leaking from his eyes, though the moment they fell before the flames they evaporated.
"*Hmm . . . very well*," said Satan, and Kenneth looked up, moaning words of relief. "*Silence*! *I never said I would do it for free*!" Satan said coldly, and Kenneth fell silent at once. "*I shall save your child, if you tend to mine*."
"You . . . you have kids?" Kenneth said, bewildered.
"*In a manner of speaking*." Then, to Kenneth's great surprise, the eyes vanished for a moment from inside the flames and he heard Satan's voice, coated with sugar, chirp, "*Oh, Cerby! Berry! Russel! Come to Daddy*!" Several monstrous roars came in response, there was a croon of, "*Oh, who's a good boy*!" and then the eyes reappeared in the flames. "*Now, human, I have important business to take care of with a number of new arrivals due to this* Corona virus pandemic — *people are dropping like flies, much faster than my people can sort out. I need to deal with this, but my — ah — pets will need someone to care for them while I'm gone*."
"Done!" Kenneth said at once. "I'll take them, all of them! I love dogs!"
"*I should hope so*," said Satan's snide voice. "*Very well, the bargain is set. I shall return within the month, and heal your child, but only if these three are taken care of*."
And so he had vanished, but not before three enormous, flaming, canine-like beasts had flown through the flames and into Kenneth's living room. They had adopted puppy-like forms at Satan's command, and yet their cuteness did not mask the unmistakable air of evil and savagery that radiated from each and every one. But Kenneth did not care. He would do exactly as he had bargained, without complaint, and he would do it all for Marco.
There came a great bellow from outside, and Kenneth ran to the window, watching a spiral of flame chasing several small, screaming children outside across the lawn.
"Ugh, I keep telling them not to come on the lawn!" he said exasperatedly, rushing to the door. "Hey, you! You think trimming that is easy!" he shouted angrily at one particularly wild youth, who was clambering desperately over his neat hedges to escape the towering pyre of flame that was Russelhan. "*Kids*," he sighed to himself.
r/MysticScribbles | 2020-09-03T11:27:10 | 2020-09-03T11:00:11 | 419 | 142 |
[WP] Before carpeting the floors, your parents allowed you to paint whatever you wanted on the floor. As a joke, you paint a devil’s trap. One day, when you bring your friend over, they find that they suddenly cannot move from a certain spot on the floor. | "What have you done?" Gabriel said, both visage and words twisted in anxiety as he frantically looked around, before his eyes finally settled on me.
"Haha, very funny," I exhaled. "Look, get off it. We have important things to do. Food to eat, games to play..."
"Um," he said, gaze now fixated on the floor. "What the hell is this?"
"Heh. Hell," I chuckled. "Look, I admit, it was funny for about five seconds, OK? I should have laughed instead of dismissing you. Maybe you'll come off it sooner."
"Look, Alex," said Gabriel, his voice genuinely strained with concern. "I don't want to alarm you. But if this is what I think it is..."
"Oh, is it those kind of jokes where you go on for so long it becomes funny again?" I said. "Because honestly, you are acting pretty well."
"I'm not acting," he said, dead serious. At least, he looked dead serious. Sounded like it, too.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to scrutinize his every move. His feet were supernaturally rooted to the floor, while his torso and legs tugged itself in various positions, like he was trying to escape. I'm not even sure if bodies could move like that. Whatever he was doing, it was good. Very good. He turned to me again, his eyes filled with dread.
Too good?
"Please," he said. "Release me."
"Hold on," I mumbled. "That's a devil trap."
"As plain as day," he sighed.
"So you are..." I trailed off, letting him complete the sentence.
He flashed a pitiful grin, and chuckled nervously.
"No way," I continued. "There's absolutely no way."
"Look," Gabriel said. "This is very embarrassing. I didn't intend to tell you this way."
"You?" I cried. "You are the Devil?
Welp, guess I finished the sentence myself anyway. He looked sheepish and skittish, like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole--which, actually, he probably could do, if he was who he said he was--and placed his hand behind his head.
"I really don't want to be trapped here and have this conversation, dude," Gabriel said. "It's just... I am who I am, you know."
"The guy who plays stupid RPGs with me?" I uttered in utter disbelief. "The guy who eats Pringles like, like... "
"The Devil consumes souls?" he said, helpfully. I looked at him in shock.
"I don't do that," he said. "That's a stereotype."
"The guy too nervous to approach Mabel from the stupid pottery class?"
"Please," he said. "Just... remove a tiny part of the trap? Please? This is getting very uncomfortable for me."
"Oh, for god's sake," I cried. "Your name is even Gabriel! Freaking Gabriel!"
"Which I'm sure my brother would be pissed if he found out," he said, and that familiar smirk appeared for but a brief moment.
Right. He's the Devil. Allegedly. Likely. But that small smirk he does... that's still Gabriel.
"Fine," I said, kneeling down to rub at the floor with my bare hands. It stung, and I pulled my hand back.
"What the hell," I said. "Do I need holy water or something for this?"
"Just... a mop and a bucket, dude," Gabriel said.
"You better explain to me what the hell is going on," I said, wagging a finger as I ducked to the bathroom.
"Well, firstly, hell is not going on," he shouted as I rounded a corner, prompting me to turn back.
"What."
"Yea," he said. "I'm here. As your best friend and all-round awesome dude that beats you at video gams. How could I be running hell?"
"... Why?"
"You are cool to hang out with," he shrugged. "Please let me out of here. I can feel myself turning red."
"Because you are embarrassed? Because that's pretty cheesy," I said.
"No, because I'm literally cooking like a lobster," he gestured wildly. "Please?"
"OK," I shouted, rushing to the bathroom once more. "Full explanation!"
---
[Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/n2l3pv/devil_trap_part_2/?)
r/dexdrafts | Levid was always popular in school. No matter what he did he could do it flawlessly. He wasn't what you would call a nerd, nor was he what some people called a jock. He was athletic, but refrained from participating in the activities. Many regarded him as the perfect being. Innocent smile, perfect white teeth, blonde slick hair and blue eyes. The way he spoke was pleasant to hear, and he had a way to sound seducing if he so desired. The way he moved was perplexing, it was fluid, flawless motions. It's almost as if he was *too* perfect.
I was very surprised when Levid sat next to me during lunch on his first day at school. He had just transferred here from another state. They didn't reveal why, but no one thought much about it, they were all excited that a handsome student had come here of all places. If Levid knew that I was nicknamed as the school's supergeek then he definitely would not have come to my table. There was a reason I was sitting alone.
"Is it okay if I sit here?" was the first thing he said. I allowed him to sit there, cautious in case he was sitting there to make a fool out of me. To my surprise, he didn’t. He started asking questions about the school, the surroundings and whatnot. I don’t know, but something made it easy for me to talk with Levid, to provide answers. Since that day we’ve been friends, hanging out mostly at school. But there was something that was bothering me. That feeling of him being perfect, had no flaws whatsoever.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it for months. It started to feel that it was going to drive me crazy so I had to do something about it. I read through a lot of different books that could refer to or mention about perfect humans. Of course, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But then I thought, what if this is more religious, not genes or luck? I remembered that when I was a kid my parents had renovated the floors in my room. Back then I was extremely into fiction and fantasy, so I carved a Devil’s Trap on the floor. I had just read a book about supernatural beings, and thought the pattern looked cool. My parents scolded me for ruining the floorboards right after they had just renovated it, so they had to carpet the whole floor to cover it up.
“There is no way that would work.” I said out loud. People in the library hushed at me, as I had forgotten where I was. I was too deep into my own research. But what did I have to lose? Me and Levid had a group project coming up, so it would be a perfect opportunity to invite him over to my house. If it doesn’t work then we will just work on the project. If it works then I-... I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. But I was sure it wouldn’t work.
“Levid!” I yelled as I tried to catch up to him. Our last class for the day was over and everyone had started to walk home. Levid was on the field outside of school talking with a group of people. As they saw me running towards them they grimaced, as they always did when they saw me.
“Hey! What’s up?” Levid asked. The group dispersed as they didn’t want to be around or near me, leaving Levid standing there alone.“Should we go to my place and work on that project?” I asked, exhausted from having run a few yards. “If we start now we should be able to finish it with time to spare.”“Sure, I don’t have anything else planned. Now that I think about it, I have never been to your place.”Levid was showing his perfect smile, though he seemed genuinely happy.
We walked for about twenty minutes before arriving. My parents were still at work, they usually worked late, so I always eat a prepared or frozen meal. As we walked upstairs, I entered my room and sat down at my desk. Levid followed suit to look around until he suddenly bounced to what looked like an invisible wall.
“What the…?”
“It worked! I can’t believe it! It actually worked!” I yelled in excitement. Then it dawned on me, and nervousness started to set in. “Levid?” I asked
“I see what’s going on. That’s clever.” Levid started to chuckle. The chuckle grew into laughter. The sound was something I had never heard before. Levid kept laughing so much that he almost started to cry from it. “Very impressive indeed! I would’ve never guessed someone so young as you would figure out who, or maybe what, I am.”
“What exactly are you?” I asked, my voice started to quiver as the nervousness started to transform into fear.
“If you don’t know that, then you are in deep trouble. Could it be that this is all just a coincidence? Maybe this wasn’t your doing?” Levid kept smiling, finding humor in his situation. “Don’t worry. I surprisingly like you. My kind has always been portrayed as something evil, gruesome creatures. We aren’t, or rather, some of us aren’t. Now, set me free and I will forgive you.”
“I- I don’t know how. I didn’t think it would work.” Fear had now set in me. I couldn’t stop trembling. The pressure of what was going on became too much, and before I could listen to another word from Levid, I ran out of the room, down the stairs and bolted outside as fast as I could.
“If he needs me to set him free, then that means he is stuck there forever, right?” I thought to myself after I had to stop to catch my breath. I looked back at my house contemplating what to do next. I could hear Levid screaming but I couldn’t make out the words.“So I just need to leave and never come back? I think I will do that. I think I have an uncle that lives remote enough that I can hide there. I should text my mom and dad about this too, or they will be extremely confused as to why Levid is in my room trapped.”
I briskly walked over to the nearest bus stop and rode to the city terminal, got on to another bus that would take me far, far away from this town. I had decided that I would no longer return here, and forever hide somewhere where he shouldn't be able to find me. | 2021-04-30T03:23:00 | 2021-04-30T03:14:16 | 185 | 34 |
[WP] You have an ability. You feel an item's weight proportional to it's monetary value. You can blow away a ton of scrap metal but can't lift a gold bar without wheezing. While everyone expected you to work with diamonds, you want to work with unknown artists | "Mr. Wynbloom, if you please--", asked the curator, pointing at the beautiful painting sitting on the easel.
"Bernard Calloux's *Field of Gold*, 1987 correct?", I said approaching the artwork.
"That is correct, yes--", confirmed the curator.
I bent down, observing the beautiful painting. A scenery of golden grass and perfectly blue sky-- a perfectly crafted work if I have to say so myself.
"A lost masterpiece, Mr. Wynbloom. Highly sought after and highly valuable....if it is authentic, that is", the curator continued.
I stood and reached my pocket for my gloves. If the painting truly is one of the lost Calloux's work, I didn't want to taint a $20 million piece with my oily hands.
"Alright, here goes", I said placing my hands on the bottom corners of the canvas, bending my legs at the knees, ready to bear the weight with my whole body.
With bated breath the curator observed my work-- after all, his commission depended on it.
"Heave ho!", I lifted it, expecting the worse.
"Oh...", the curator muttered-- I could detect a hint of disappointment in his voice.
With ease I lifted the painting, tossing it a little bit as if I was playing with a piece of styrofoam.
"Well, that was anticlimactic, don't you think?", I joked.
The curator had busied himself with a phone call, one I was glad wasn't a part of my job.
"Your service is fully appreciated, Mr. Wynbloom. You will have your payment quite soon. Have a good day", he said before turning away, not even wanting to look at the forgery.
I shrugged and put the painting back-- stepping back a bit to take one last look at it.
"Well, you might not worth $20 million, but you sure worth $5,000 for one easy job for me", I grinned before making my way to the exit.
I was almost hopping down the stairs of the auction house. Lighting myself a celebratory cigarette for a good day.
"Stanley, you've done it again", I patted myself on the back.
Who would've thought such strange ability could be used in such a manner? What I used to do for party trick now ended up making me almost a millionaire.
Hey if you think I robbed these people for charging them so much, think of it as I saved them millions of potential worthless purchase.
"Excuse me...", distraught, I bumped onto a man. He hurried away not even looking back or apologizing.
"Pfft don't let him ruin your day, Stan. Let it go...", I sighed, convincing myself.
I noticed somerhing fell off the man's bag-- a piece of paper, fell and floated onto the ground.
"He--hey, you dropped some...OOF!", I bent down to grab the paper only it remained still, anchored to the ground.
"What the...?", I frowned staring at the paper.
It was drawing, a childish drawing full of random colors. A man and a little girl was portrayed on it, bearing "Me" with an arrow pointing to the little girl and "Daddy" pointing to the other.
I squatted and lifted the paper with more strength.
"Come on, Stan. This is why you deadlift...HMMMPH!", finally the paper budged as I lifted it.
Huffing, I ran with it as best as I could trying to catch up with the man.
"Hey! Hey wait! You dropped something!", I yelled as I ran and ran.
Finally I could see him. As he turned back the weight of the paper finally got to me-- losing my balance I tripped and fell on my face, dropping the paper on the ground.
"Oh my god, are you okay?", he asked worried.
"Ye--yeah, I'm fine", I said getting up, rubbing my forehead which had been kissed by the asphalt. "You dropped something", I said pointing at the paper.
The man gasped-- hurriedly he picked up the drawing, stared at it for a bit before embracing it dearly.
"Oh my, are--are you okay?", I asked seeing the man started sobbing.
"Ye--yes thank you. I...I couldn't believe I dropped this. I would be destroyed had I lost it. Thank you...thank you, young man", he took my hand and shook it, he was full of gratitude.
"Oh...no problem at all...", I said feeling awkward not expecting his reaction.
He helped me on my feet as I dusted myself off. Having my curiosity piqued however, I asked.
"If you don't mind me asking, whose drawing is that?"
The man wiped his tears off, looked at the picture again, and looked up to me-- this time with the brightest and saddest smile I've ever seen.
"This is my daughter's drawing. It's...it's the last thing she did before she passed away. Cancer...she was 5 years old", the man explained.
My heart dropped. A wave of sadness went by me.
"Oh...I, I am so sorry...", I muttered.
The man shook his head, as if saying not to worry. He looked at the drawing again and showed it to me.
"Layla, my daughter. She was the brightest child I'd ever seen. She was my light, my everything. With what time she had left she made me this drawing...
*I don't want you to feel alone, daddy. This way I'll always be with you*, she said to me"
I could feel my eyes welled up, now understanding why the drawing held such weight....such value.
"Anyway, I don't want to take more of your time", the man said. "How can I ever repay you? If there's anything you need..."
I raised my hand, stopping him.
"No need, man. It's alright. There's nothing you can give me for repayment", I said looking down at the drawing again. "Don't lose it again, it's a treasure", I smiled.
Smiling, the man nodded before walking away giving me one last wave goodbye.
I stood there, looking at him slowly fading away in the distance. Chuckling, I lit up another celebratory cigarette.
I learned something that day, unexpectedly. Monetary value isn't the only worth you can put on an object, after all as they say-- time is money. And a loved one's last minutes on earth...they simply are priceless.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: grammar | I love my girlfriend. Really, I do. But if I have to explain this to her one more time, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.
Privya is sitting in the co-pilot's seat next to me, but she's not staring out the front of the spaceship. She keeps glancing worriedly back over her shoulder, at our... special guest.
"I don't know, Titan. This seems wrong."
I follow her stare, to the little raccoon-ish looking alien, sitting on the metal floor behind us. It didn't used to look like a raccoon, when we picked it up. It's doing its best to transform into one of us, though.
When we picked it up, it looked more like a blob of pink jelly with eyes. It could fit in the palm of your hand. The guy I bought it from said it was a couple months old: semi-sentient, not quite a Federation-protected species, but at least there was a light on and somebody home in that watery brain.
Now, it looked like a foam doll left in the microwave too long. It was swelling and bursting in the wrong places, its eyes weirdly big for its face, its back all hunched and lumpy.
"Nah," I say. "That's just what it does. It's like a really shitty, intense chameleon. I asked for a raccoon one, so it'd have those little hands, but I didn't think it would be, uh... horrifying."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
I glare at the black of abyss of space before me and some part of me genuinely wants to hop in the airlock and tell Privya to finish her research already so I can time travel back to a version of me who has the energy to chase this argument in circles.
The last time I said something like that, Privya locked me out of our sleeping cabin, and I spent a sleepless night in my pilot's seat, cursing that I never got the busted recliner repaired.
"We're just going to a nice little storage box on an obscure moon and picking up some merchandise. That's it." I give her a tight-lipped, crazy-eyed smile. "Remember? Just some nice, cute Alvurian plush toys. Cute little creepy alien souvenirs."
"Right. Cute little creepy souvenirs full of drugs."
I smirk sideways at her. "You can't act that surprised. You are dating *the* Titan A--"
"Don't say your full name. Please."
"...babe, that's, like. Kind of my thing."
"Okay, fine. *The* Titan Armstrong, *the* master stardust smuggler who lost his super important, super secret shipment in one of the most heavily-guarded shipping checkpoints in this galaxy. What's your grand plan when you get caught?"
Privya pillows chin in her hands and gives me a syrupy-sweet smile full of a smugness that instantly pisses me off, because she's right. She's winning this argument. Just like the last time we had it.
"Easy. We won't get caught."
"*Titan*."
I reach over and squeeze her hand, reassuringly. "Relax. I already paid off the manager there. We're going to get in, bring our little buddy in to help us find my stuff, then get out. Everyone's happy. It's foolproof."
"You use a very liberal definition of that word."
I lift her hand to kiss her knuckles. Usually that makes her smile, but this time it only makes her pull her hand away and glare out the window.
"I'm telling you," I say, "it'll be fine."
It has to be. That shipment was worth a hundred grand, at least. If we can't get it back, I'd better fucking hope Privya can work a time travel trick and get me out of this shit before I ever got myself stuck in it. My producer is a patient guy, but the last dealer who shorted him ended up as a floating ice-corpse, spinning in the gravity-pull of my producer's own private moon, like a warning.
Look, I once saw a dude get sucked out of a space-vac. His fucking *eyes* exploded. I'm not ready to know how that feels.
A couple weeks ago, I stopped by the wrong shipping vessel to pick up a delivery from my usual producer. The pilot was baffled as hell, and before I could figure out that I got the serial number off by just one number, the transport ship I was really looking for was already gone -- carrying a hundred pounds of my stardust with it.
Usually, I just pay the producer back with whatever I make off selling his shit. But that assumes I have shit to sell.
"It looks like it's just a little baby," Privya says.
"She. I think." I look back at the alien sitting on the metal floor. I offered it a pillow when we first took off, but it just started eating it, so I had to put it away. "Anyway, the guy said they age like goldfish. So it's really a young adult. Probably hungry for the freedom of the open air."
"Oh, shut up." Privya scritches its uneven ears. "What *is* it, anyway?"
"A Morphus. An exotic pet. They were bred for traveling circuses to come to planets like ours. But it's just got coded DNA. It can lift anything, except for shit that's valuable to whoever's holding it. Even flexible enough for corny, sentimental meanings of that. Makes a great sideshow. And for us, it's a perfect stardust detector."
Privya stands up and turned to the little creature. She frowns at it and picks it up. It's looking a bit more raccoonish and a bit less horrific space gremlin. Barely.
"Aw," she tells the Morphus. "You're starting to look almost cute."
"Don't lie to it."
"It's definitely cuter than you." She must be starting to relax, because that teasing edge to her voice is back. The one that means she's a little less mad at me. "So if it can pick you up, you're worthless to me, right?"
I grin at her. "Just wait until my ship weighs more than you, babe."
Privya punches my shoulder, but that smile on her face means I'm forgiven, for now.
"Okay, Titan Armstrong," she says. "If you can pull this off without either of us ending up dead or in a Federation prison, I'll admit you were right."
"That's all I ask."
I flicked open my navigation system and tapped in the shipping container's coordinates. "Ready for the jump?"
Privya runs her fingertip over the Morphus's nose and says, "I think I'm going to call him Skippy."
"Great. You and Skippy hold on tight."
I punch the ship into hyperdrive, and then we're off, in what is probably my stupidest plan yet: get in, get my stardust back, and get to selling this shit before I'm another floating icicle ringing my dealer's moon.
I'm Titan fucking Armstrong. This should be a piece of cake.
°°°
[**Part Two**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n8vugg/wp_you_have_an_ability_you_feel_an_items_weight/gxl6gim/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
P.S. I've written a few stories with this guy, so hopefully this makes sense even if this is your first time seeing him. If you wanna read earlier stories with him, here are the ones I've written: [Story 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mwlm14/wp_the_alien_diplomat_showing_you_their_planet/gvj8ilb/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n2w3jg/wp_you_find_an_abandoned_altar_in_the_middle_of_a/gwmt4al/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n5vsva/wp_aliens_have_captured_you_and_placed_you_in_one/gx49b5u/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n6vosx/wp_youre_the_main_exhibit_in_an_alien_zoo_little/gxaiond/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) | 2021-05-10T00:58:50 | 2021-05-10T00:18:04 | 714 | 92 |
[WP] Nuclear holocaust is imminent. The rich and powerfull are hiding away in their bunkers, but when the countdown was finished the world was still there. One message was sent around the world via satellites: "Now They have imprisoned Themselves what shall We do?" With coords of all the bunkers.. | And a thousand years hence, the plaques on each of the hundreds of sealed doors were still polished and maintained - their inscription written in every recorded language:
"This place is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here..."
"What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about the danger..."
"The danger is in no particular location. It has no center in which proximity worsens or lessens. It has no particular size or shape..."
"The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours..."
"The danger is to the soul, and it can corrupt..."
"The form of danger is limitless greed."
"The danger is unleashed only if you substantially burden your peers or your surroundings through selfish actions and desires."
"This place - and those that may still dwell within - are best left shunned and forgotten." | **The grand vault doors were impenetrable, designed to withstand the fury of a nuclear blast.** It had taken a team of twenty engineers and two thousand work-hours just to design the thing, let alone the countless thousands of laborers who had turned it from idea into reality.
There was just one problem.
They locked from the outside. All two hundred and seventy-three of them, spread around the surface of the Earth.
"You should always listen to the people you hire to build your nuclear bunkers," Ada mused, broadcasting her words across the globe. "And you should *definitely* avoid saying that you'd leave us all in a radioactive wasteland, if push comes to shove."
"That conversation was held in private!" Sleve McDichael shouted from within his bunker, on camera stream six. Ada wrinkled her lip. He had a controlling share in the global water supply—emphasis on *had*. Ada suspected the livestreams of the wealthy weren't going to help his stock portfolio.
"And that's an admission," Ada said. "But don't worry; even though I hold a grudge, it's not my voice that really matters. You see, we're going to try out a little experiment. Bottom-up democracy, as it were. Some of my more astute viewers—and there are three billion of you watching this livestream right now, so there've got to be some real good thinkers in there—may have noticed that a new app has been installed on all of your mobile devices. The Bottom-Up Policy Tree."
Onson Sweemey paled on camera stream four. "You madman. You can't possibly be suggesting—"
"For the past century and a half, the individuals you see here have decided the course of the world," Ada said. "We will suffer this no longer. Every human on Earth will be given one vote, which they can use to endorse their own proposal, or boost someone else's. *Do* try not to cheat; we've been planning this for the past thirty years, and I assure you, anything you can think of in the next seventy-two hours, we already have. When the time is up... well. Your fate will be decided."
"You who would leave humanity to burn while you lived out the rest of your miserable lives, I put you on trial. A trial of ten billion jurors, united in deciding your fate. I would wish you luck, but it's just one of the many, many resources you've exhausted on this planet."
And with that, Ada leaned back in her chair, interlacing her fingers as she watched votes begin to roll in.
A.N.
If you liked this, I write a serial in response to writing prompts [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), and more at r/bubblewriters! | 2022-07-18T13:15:32 | 2022-07-18T13:00:47 | 2,474 | 1,243 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “Sir, look, you’re a rockstar,” the recruiter started. “No, I’m The Technician,” I interrupted. This guy had been calling me for months now, and this was the second time this week. It’s only Monday.
“Your skills are unique, even amongst all of the superpowers out there, yours are unique. Tenor Nullifio can’t disable your powers using his vocal powers, Timewarp can’t undo your powers by going back in time, and Taze Taze can’t touch you with her shocking attacks.”
Sure, those guys had been ravaging the population of Iceland. One of the last places on earth where they are completely safe… from me.
“And that’s who we’re dealing with! The Terrible Three T’s!”
They couldn’t have made it more painful. They went by different names before, they just picked these to rub it in.
“And what do you expect ME to do?” I questioned. Honestly, too, because I was wondering whether this dimwit had any solutions.
“What you do… best!”
I leaned back and just rolled my shoulders. My neck was feeling a bit tense. No sweat, my special power takes care of that instantly.
“Look, dude, I’m halfway across the globe and there’s an ocean between us. I can’t make it there even if I tried.”
“We’ll send an airplane to come pick you up!”
“Can’t board one.”
“Helicopter?”
“Can’t get close.”
The recruiter sighed. “You single-handedly took out the army of T-rexes. You stopped the termite ball. Glenn Talbot, vaporized. You took on the reincarnation and improved version of Thanos and, what the Marvel heroes couldn’t do, you just… stared the guy down! The meteorite Touxi, stopped with just one hand… What, exactly, is the problem?”
“Well,” I started. “As The Technician, I can only do and affect those whose names start with a T.”
“We know!”
I continued. “It just so happens that includes my method of travel.”
“…what?”
“I need to take a Train to get to you. There is no train to Iceland.”
“Fuck…”
“Or a Trike, I suppose.”
We’re both silent for about half a minute. I’m twiddling my thumbs after having taken care of my Tense shoulders.
Then the recruiter said something that would change things forever.
“Can’t you… Teleport?” | “Yowza! Look at those muscles! Wam, bam, *wapow!*"
Tim turned around. The man behind him was at least twice Tim's age and balding. “Can I help you?” Tim asked.
“I'm just taken aback is all. I thought I was in line for a coffee,” the man raised an eyebrow and struck a pose, flexing biceps that were imperceptible in an oversized military uniform. “Not a gun show."
"Sir, I just woke up."
"You might've woken a little something inside me too, if you know what I mean." The man adjusted his glasses. "Awooga!"
"Right. I'm just here for the coffee."
"Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Super, would you?”
"Ah," Tim flashed a knowing smile. "I see where this is going. Sorry, not interested.”
The man frowned. "I think there may be a misunderstanding here. Do you... do you think this is some some sort of slimy recruitment pitch?”
“Is it not?”
“Do I look like a Recruiter to you?”
"Your shoulder patch says ‘Department of Recruitment.’”
“Ohoho, brawny *and* smart?" The man grinned. "Look at me, I’m salivating! You hit the nail in the nuts, kid. I'm a recruiter but there's nothing slimy about my pitch.”
"Not interested." Tim began turning away but the man stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Tell me, what do you do for work, Tim?”
“None of your business,” Tim tried to disengage, but found it surprisingly difficult. The physical contact felt awkward, but pulling away more so.
“Secretive too? You’re ticking *all* the right boxes! Just answer me this-"
Tim grabbed the mans wrist, careful not to crush it. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me. I’m just trying to get a coffee–”
The man took a step back and raised his palms. “Of course! Don’t let me stop you.”
As Tim turned back around, the man's hand was on his shoulder again.
“But let me stop you a little bit. Just answer me this: don't you feel like you owe something to society? Haven't you always wanted to *be* somebody?”
Tim smiled. "I *am* somebody. I'm a father. I'm a husband. I'm a damn good dentist. As for society, I don't owe anything more than the balance on my mortgage. You think that just because I was born with super strength and spit that tastes like bubblegum I have some duty to risk my neck at the slightest hint of trouble?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, I've thought about being a hero. For a while that's all I wanted to be. Then I did some free lance vigalantizing and ended up in the hospital my first gig. Reality check: super strength doesn't mean invincible. As for bubblegum spit, that's only 'super' in the bedroom."
The man raised his eyebrows and let the silence linger. Tim shook his head. He was surprised this recruiter had managed to get so far under his skin. "Look, maybe if I were stronger. Maybe if I didn't have so much to lose. But as things stand..."
"I get it," the man sighed, draping his arm around Tim's shoulder. “You want to kick ass and chew bubblegum, but you’re never out of bubblegum are you?"
Tim almost pulled away again, but he felt tears welling up. “Fucking everything tastes like bubblegum.”
“You know, you're right. It’s a shit job being a hero. If I'm being honest with you, I wouldn’t do it myself. I'm just a recruiter.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
"Of course." The man put a hand on Tim's cheek. "But you know what? Somebody has to do it.”
“Somebody?” The word had a nice ring to it.
"Yep. A *real* somebody." The man's hand moved onto Tim’s forehead, “you know who that somebody is?”
Tim felt a sudden sense of purpose. "It's me, isn't it?"
“Atta’boy!”
"I’ve always wanted to be a hero..." Tim muttered, staring off into space.
The man patted Tim on the back and stepped around him in line. "One black coffee, please."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe. | 2022-07-31T14:08:55 | 2022-07-31T11:50:27 | 576 | 142 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | ''Oh that's just Daniel''
''What do you mean 'just Daniel'? He's level 10!" The alien scientists asked Tom, the human he had found near the level 10 threat who is apparently 'just Daniel'. Tom not quite understanding what he meant, just answered.
''Well he's just really good at pitching, he has some crazy aim to be fair. So maybe that's why? He can throw a baseball really hard and really accurate?''
''How would that be a threat? No it's gotta be something else? Like what does he eat? What's his life look like? What job does he do?''
''Oh well he's a welder, like me, on a shipyard in Boston. But he's not American though, he's Icelandic I think, came here in 2016. Eats pickled herring and beans I think...euh, yeah fairly quiet dude, keeps to himself, always has a clear, short and concise answer ready. Drinks like an absolute menace tho, finished a whole bottle of vodka in an hour three nights ago.''
''Herring? What's that? And how do you pickle it?''
''Oh herring is like a fish, you pickle it by...euh...I don't actually know how you pickle herring. But he likes it, in contrast to pretty much everyone else in the world. I'm yet to meet someone who actually love pickled herring like Daniel Gudmundsson does. I think I got his last name right, but I'm not quite sure. You know, you could just ask him, I'm sure he'd give you an answer.''
''Are you crazy, he could kill me.''
''No, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Come on, I'll come with you.'' Tom took the alien by the hand, ignoring the slightly slimy feeling of his hand, and pulled him along to Daniel, who stood a few feet away cleaning up his workspace. ''Hey Daniel!" He called. Daniel looked up, nodded and gave the Alien a weird look.
''Vat is it Tom? Does the alien vant to check my vork?'' His accent permeated every syllable, but Tom was used to it.
''No, he wants to ask you why you're a level 10 threat? Is it the pickled herring maybe?''
''Level 10? How's that possible? I mean I can throw a ball pretty hard, but that's not Level 10 vorthy is it?''
''Haha, no of course not sir. But we're trying to figure it out you see, so I have a few more questions for you.'' the Alien answered, slightly nervous still, but comforted by the man's humour.
''Go ahead, I have nothing to hide.'' he chuckled, but then his nose caught the Aliens scent. ''You smell pretty good tho, mister Alien. Reminds me a bit of pickled herring, and I do love pickled herring.''
*Edit for spelling errors* | All around High Warlord Zxyxxxzzzzyx, the panels glowed their trademark sickly yellow-green, lighting up the spaceship's darkened control center. As the most feared warlord in this remote, backwater sector of space, he could get away with nearly anything; and what he was getting away with was illegally strip-mining this low-tech planet for all the resources his fleet could carry. Wood, precious metals, fossil fuels, water, and more; even the disgusting fleshy pink creatures that passed for sentient life here made for useful biomass.
His harvesting fleet was huge, thousands of massive ships all sitting in low orbit around the planet with enough density to blot out the sun in many places; the ecological impact made no difference when the planet was going to be left as an uninhabitable husk anyway. As Zxyxxxzzzzyx zones out, thinking of the plunder he'll be taking back to his world, a bright green explosion lights up the night sky somewhere halfway across the planet. He immediately jumps to his feet, staring out the massive viewing window in confusion.
It takes a few seconds for his insectoid crew to fully take in the sight, and a loud, nervous chittering starts to echo throughout the room. Mandibles click and silvery wings rattle.
A second explosion, this time closer. Seconds later, a third.
The chittering halts, the nervous sounds shifting into a droning, harmonic hum. The sound of fear. The warlord was taken aback. What in the hell was going on out there? One ship could be a freak accident, but three? Within seconds, and travelling in one direction? "**\[WHAT JUST HAPPENED?! LOCALIZE SCANNERS, FIGURE OUT WHAT JUST HIT OUR SHIPS!\]**" The towering insect's jaw opens and shuts with incredible speed as he vibrates out his orders. "**\[AND GET AHOLD OF YOURSELVES! YOU'RE WARRIORS!\]**" His anger seems to stop the humming that was vibrating the room, and the crew falls back into their nervous chitter.
"\[MY LORD, SCANNERS ARE FINDING NOTHING. WHATEVER IT IS CAN'T BE PICKED UP BY OUR TECHNOLOGY.\]" Far in the distance, two more ships explode. Whatever it was, it was getting close now. Escape pods begin to fire off from nearby ships, hundreds of large metal capsules wisely fleeing the carnage that was going to ensue. "**\[DESERTERS. OPEN FIRE ON ESCAPE PODS AND OPEN COMMUNICATIONS. TELL THE FLEET TO STAND THEIR GROUND AND MANEUVER TO FIRE TOWARD APPROACHING OBJECT.\]**"
After a few seconds, the ships begin to slowly move around, getting themselves into position before firing randomly toward wherever they think the threat \*might\* be. Blinding white energy weapons light up low orbit as the fleet blindly fires, trying their very best not to hit one another. To the flagship's port side, another ship explodes... and another... and two more... each getting closer and closer to the warlord's hulking vessel. And they still couldn't find anything! The humming begins again, this time a cacophonous racket that shakes the entire control center to its core.
It was impossible. Everything they'd scanned on this planet had been level 1 or level 0. Only the orcas had been level 2, and they weren't leaving the water any time soon. They hadn't made a mistake, had they? They'd scanned pretty thoroughly... right?
As if in reply to Zxyxxxzzzzyx's inner questions, a tiny speck appears in the far distance, a small, spinning object hurtling in their direction. A terrified hush falls over the crew as huge insectoid bodies converge on the glass viewing port to get a look at the approaching object... to see their doom firsthand. The warlord crosses the room to join them, each step heavy with dread.
It spins so quickly, faster than any object made by human or insectoid hands. Encroaching on the ship faster and faster and faster until it was inches away from the viewing window itself. And just before the warlord was killed and his lifeless exoskeleton sucked out into the empty void of space, his last thought was how he'd prefer the sound of terrified humming over this awful silence.
The rest of Zxyxxxzzzzyx's fleet went down similarly within the hour. With no leadership and no idea what was happening, they were helpless against the attacking level 10 threat. None of them got a good look at the whirling cowboy boot that penetrated through their shields like a knife through hot butter, or the denim stretched tight across powerful muscles, or the dark red hair and beard and cowboy hat that adorned the very top of the thing. It killed the overlords mercilessly, indiscriminately... easily.
The cruel insects had come expecting humanity to die like helpless little lambs. What they hadn't expected was their guardian: Chuck Norris. | 2022-08-27T22:48:22 | 2022-08-27T21:58:32 | 1,567 | 550 |
[WP] The government has chosen your town for a social experiment: every day, a new citizen will be elected, and s/he can do whatever they want to anyone without any legal consequences. Everyone else must obey and not retaliate, else their collars would detonate. You're the only one alive after day 9 | Day 1: Robert the conservative became the mayor and told us taxes were tyranny and the town’s tax rate would henceforth be 0%. The people hailed him as a hero and life was good.
Day 2: Debbie the liberal became the mayor and told us healthcare, food and water would henceforth be free. The people cheered her on as a liberator and life was good.
Day 3: Greg the accountant became the mayor and told us this was an unsustainable balance sheet and said he had to raise taxes and cut benefits. Many were lost that day.
Day 4: Jeremy who was unemployed and spent his time trolling people on the internet became the mayor and had Greg lynched. The people rejoiced.
Day 5: Justin the firefighter became the mayor and realized Greg was right but seeing what had happened to the town’s only accountant, he decided to keep his mouth shut. He holed up in the bar and gave out free alcohol. The only casualty that day was Moe the bar owner.
Day 6: Lauren the college activist realized the town had no money, food or medicine left but also wanted to avoid being killed tomorrow. She decided to unleash the mob on one another betting on the fact that only half of the town would hate her as opposed to all of it. She declared a worker’s paradise and encouraged everyone to take what they deserved. Many homes were set ablaze on that night in the name of the revolution.
Day 7: Franco the banker whose house was burned down decided it was time for payback and ordered half the town killed. At this time, I hid in the basement and prayed for salvation.
Day 8: Oliver the cult leader gathered everyone and ordered them to drink kool-aid and ascend to heaven. Many drank, others exploded; I luckily had an actual pack of kool-aid nearby and thus did not technically violate his command.
Day 9: The government offers me a job which I take given the lack of any alternatives. I am confused on why they haven’t killed me only to see on TV the president is bragging about how the town has achieved 100% employment in 9 days under his administration. Some things never change… | **Part I**
I woke up to the sounds of sirens. My room was filled with flashing lights, illuminating everything in short intervals.
"*Mmnng . . ."*
Still half asleep, I dragged myself up and closed the blinds. I lay down and turned over, facing away from the window.
*It's probably some idiot and his faulty car . . .*
I started to drift back to sleep . . .
. . . Until I heard loud screeching. It was like nails on a chalkboard.
*"Mmnnghhgh . . .!"*
I lifted my head and put it under my pillow.
*Not a car . . . I don't know what that's supposed to be. Why do people have to do this stuff so early in the day . . .?*
I shrank into a fetal position, pulling the pillow closer to my ears.
**". . . MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION?"**
I slammed the pillow into the wall, staring angrily at the ceiling.
". . . That's it."
I furiously stumble over to the window to finally see what's going on.
". . . What the . . .?"
I open the window and stick my head out to get a better view. There are dozens of military trucks outside my apartment. On one of them, a short woman is standing with a megaphone. A small crowd of people is already forming.
**"THIS IS WORKING, RIGHT? OKAY. GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE."**
I barely hear someone from the crowd yell, *"It's two in the f\*\*\*\*\*\* morning!!"*
*Well said.*
**"HAA . . . YES. ANYWAY, I AM LIEUTENANT PATTERSON. I AM HERE STRICTLY FOR GOVERNMENT BUSINESS. THIS TOWN HAS BEEN CHOSEN FOR A SPECIAL SOCIAL EXPERIMENT, AND PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY."**
I step out and stand on the fire exit, laughing to myself.
*Who do these people think they are? They can't just send a chick with a crew to a town and tell them they're all going to be government guinea pigs.*
Someone down there seemed to be thinking like me.
*"And what happens if we don't participate, huh? Whatcha gonna do?"*
The woman slowly lowers the megaphone. A man walks out of one of the cars with a rifle. The crowd disperses, leaving the woman in the open. As he walks up, he flips the rifle around and slams her in the head with the butt. The crowd visually gasps as the woman falls to the ground.
*Okay . . . Brute force.*
More people start gathering. The woman tries to stand up but fails each time. A man went and walked over to her, helping her up to her feet and carrying her to--
***Bang!! Bang!!***
I automatically cover my mouth in shock. The crowd of people started freaking out as the man and woman fell to the floor, bleeding out. As I kept watching, a smile crept across my face—one out of pure shock and fear.
*What the hell is going on . . .! The military isn't supposed to be this harsh . . Is it?*
**". . . I BELIEVE THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO CONVINCE YOU TO CONSENT. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. WE SHALL REPEAT THIS MESSAGE ACROSS TOWN. ANYONE WHO MIMICS THE WOMAN'S OR MAN'S ACTIONS WILL ENCOUNTER THE SAME PUNISHMENT. TO EVERYONE WHO IS LISTENING, HEAD TO THE SOUTH OF TOWN BY 0500 HOURS. ANYONE WHO DOESN'T ATTEND WILL BE PROSECUTED."**
And when she finished, she jumped down, entered into the truck, and drove off. All the others followed her out, one by one. As they left, the crowd was still looking at the two on the floor. A pool of red encompassed both of them, and the woman was still in his lifeless arms.
". . . Well, I can't go back to sleep after all that . . ."
I open the window, shuffle inside, and shut it. With the whole thing replaying in my head, I go to the bathroom and get myself ready. | 2022-11-18T13:47:40 | 2022-11-18T13:38:39 | 711 | 54 |
[WP] Due to your lame superpower, they call you Captain Obvious since you just point out what is already true. What they don't realize is that it wasn't true until you said it. | "It's a nice day out today", I said, shielding my eyes from the bright summer sun.
"Clearly", she responded sarcastically, unaware of the life-threatening danger she had just been in moments before. The site we had chosen for the picnic was a perfect one, a small hill overlooking the winding river, the shade of the lone tree granting just enough respite from the summer heat.
I couldn't help but shudder as I beheld her beauty, the light that shone through her dark crimson hair a reminder of the fire that engulfed her home resulting in her first death. Her smile evoking memories of the maggots that escaped the mouth of her mangled corpse at the site of the bank explosion. The misshapen limbs resulting of her final encounter with the escaping villain, Mangler, contrasting the delicate hand she extended to me now.
I tried to dispel these thoughts. I wanted to savor this moment of peace, the calm before the inevitable end that I dreaded would certainly come. And when it did, I would rewrite the world for her again."Are you okay? You've been rather quiet today" she said, concern evident in her voice.
"I..." I wanted to tell her everything. That I had found a version of her without cancer. One in which the clot that had formed in her brain had passed on its own. One in which the reality of the train crash she had just experienced had been supplanted by a picnic on a nice day off. I wanted to tell her how broken I was, to confide in her, as I had done so for many existences in the past.
But I knew that could not be done. If I told her, then I would have to admit that those things had actually happened. That there existed a reality in which she was not here with me now. I knew that the moment that I acknowledged those possibilities, I would risk them once again becoming the obvious outcome, and she would no longer be.
Instead, I told her the one thing that I knew would always be true, no matter how many existences I traversed, or versions of her that I found. The one, incontrovertible fact that could never be changed.
"I love you", I said, forcing a smile.
She smiled wryly back. "Thank you, Captain Obvious." | He sat in the corner of the classroom, shrinking himself so that the others wouldn't notice him, so that he wouldn't have to say anything. Some of the more forward kids had tried speaking with Marc McLarry, the then seventeen year old transfer student, but Marc looked at them saying nothing.
Most of the kids took this for what it was, disinterest in conversation. Not Juniper de Reya though, she knew there was something off about Marc. She knew because it was her responsibility to know.
She walked straight up to him and looked into his eyes, brown and full of questions. She held her hand out and kept looking at him. To her surprise, Marc actually shook her hand.
"Juniper," she said.
"Marc," he thought to himself. Even saying the name would be dangerous.
"Don't worry," Juniper said. She pulled his hand so that she could lean in close to his ears and Marc felt his heart flutter, skip a beat. "I'm a telepath."
"You can hear what I'm thinking? Say the words eighteen nineteen hamburger." Marc thought to himself, testing her.
"Eighteen ninteen hamburger," Juniper said.
Marc smiled, the smile turning into laughter. The others looked at him weirdly, but Juniper could see the stress in Marc's shoulder drop as he slumped into his seat, hands on his face.
"Is he alright?" someone asked.
"Oh you better believe I'm alright now," Marc thought.
"He's good," Juniper said aloud.
---
*Years later.*
A mountain of stone came to life, forming itself into the vague shape of a human. Atop the mountain stood a man, not a villain and certainly not a hero. A rogue powered that once went by the name of Henry, last name unknown. The mountain walked slowly, devastating everything in its path. As it headed for the city, heroes flew, ran, jumped, or otherwise made their way to the walking amalgamation of stone and rubble.
The Red Ruler was first to the scene, but she was met with a stone fist. He crashed into the ground, her legs shattered beneath her, her ribs broken. She pounded his chest with both his hands (both of which were broken) and her blood pumped faster and faster. It gushed out of her and mended her body. She took a deep breath and jumped at the stone beast again.
"Please stop," Henry said. His voice was small coming from the summit of the stone.
The mountain did not stop, could not stop as The Red Ruler blitzed towards the thing a second time, a third time, a fourth time. Every time he got back up, Henry felt a little worse for the damage he was doing.
"Surely you feel pain," Henry said. "Please stop. You cannot keep Carnelian from its mission."
"And what the fuck kind of mission is that?" The Red Ruler said.
Henry didn't answer her call, he couldn't hear her.
Other heroes showed up, but they stood nearby, waiting for Red Ruler to slow down the mountain as much as she could. This was her job, to stall for time, to weaken the enemy as much as she could for she was invincible.
A man came running through the forest, narrowly dodging the deadly steps of the stone beast.
"Captain Obvious," one of the heroes said. "You know you're not needed here right? All you're going to do is see your little girlfriend get beat up over and over." The others looked at him as Red Ruler's bloody scream filled the sky.
"Shut the fuck up," Marc said.
And they did.
With their mouths shut, the biggest of them, Knight in Black, walked over to Marc. He shoved him.
"No one likes you, Davis." Marc said. "Your parents don't love you, your wife is going to leave you because of the multiple affairs you're having, your kids despise you."
Davis stood there, taking the verbal hits, letting them sink.
"Now fuck off somewhere else," Marc commanded.
He walked away.
"The rest of you guys can talk now, sorry I snapped." Marc said.
"No worries, that guy's a mega creep anyway." Tigress, one of the female heroes said.
"Let's go help Red Ruler," Marc said.
The others followed him towards where the screams were loudest. | 2022-12-04T09:28:08 | 2022-12-04T08:57:33 | 72 | 39 |
[WP] A young door-to-door salesman, who is also a renown serial killer, is craftily avoided by an old, best-selling crime novelist. | "You're late" the Author says, eyeing the Salesman at his door with feigned disdain.
"I disagree" says the Salesman, "It's 2:30 now and if we check Chapter 15 you'll see that..." he begins flipping through a well worn copy of "Door to Door Murder" until he reaches the right place, his tongue stuck out in concentration as he moves his finger down the page. "Aha, yes see, *'the Salesman arrived promptly at 2:30, setting his briefcase by his side to ring the doorbell, signaling a rush of adrenaline through his body'*"
"And what does it say immediately after that?" the Author replied, eyebrows raised, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
*"'The Author came to the door, taking a quick glance through the window before opening it. "Hello, how can I help you?" he says, while...'"*
"Hold on hold on, that's completely wrong" The Author interupts, "that's completely wrong, you must have an old copy, here, I just so happen to have a more up to date version here, let me read it to you." The author leans down to pick up a sheaf of typed papers laying just out of sight beside the door. He begins to flip through them until he finds his place. The Salesman looks at The Author quizzically, saying nothing.
"Here we are, it actually says: *'The Author came to the door briskly, opening it without hesitation. "You're late" the Author says, eyeing the Salesman at his door with feigned disdain. His distraction worked. "I disagree" says the Salesman, "It's 2:30 now and if we check Chapter 15 you'll see.."*
The Salesman began to pale as The Author continued reading.
| *Knock, knock*
Evelyn looks up from her computer curiously. She had been working from home that day - a break in the usual routine. She hadn't expected anyone to come knocking. After all; who did that in rural New York anymore? The next house was further than a mile down the road.
Nevertheless, Evelyn rose from her desk and slammed shut her Lenovo. She tapped on its top with her fingers for a moment, considering whether the visitor would go away before a fresh set of knocks forced her to walk towards the door and peep through the hole.
Standing on the other was a handsome man in his early twenties. He had short cropped hair with amazingly bright blue eyes that seemed to be peering right through the hole. Going against better judgement, Evelyn immediately opened to door.
"Good morning ma'am, my name is Lucas. I'm here to offer you a great deal on stainless steal knives. Normally, these things cost about $100 a pop, but we're willing to sell the entire set for only $150!"
Evelyn smiled, quietly berating herself for worrying as she begins her usual response to sales.
"Hi, thank you Lucas, that sounds like a really great deal but I'm really not interested in buying anything today."
Lucas sighed, resting the knives on the side of the railing. "Ma'am, I know you've heard the whole shtick before, but the truth is my boss is really getting on my case about my sales."
He points to the camera pinned to his backpack.
"It would really help if I was able to come in to your beautiful home and do a demonstration for you at the least."
Evelyn smiled again, transfixed by Lucas' eyes. "Well.... I suppose that couldn't hurt!"
Evelyn stepped aside, leading Lucas into the kitchen as she closed and latched the door behind her, eyeing Lucas with lust as she nervously adjusted her hair.
"The kitchen is, um, this way" she said, as she enters the room and pulls open a drawer. "These are the knives I have right now."
Lucas ignores her, walking over to the island at the center of the kitchen and carefully opens his black backpack before he lifts a clean set of shining stainless steal knives out and places them onto the counter.
"Now, ma'am, I'm not sure about the quality of what you have now, but these babies..." Lucas carefully lifts a knife out of its careful black sheathing. "These can cut through anything."
Lucas looks up only to find Evelyn standing directly in front of him.
"Even this?" She lifts out her shirt.
Lucas smiled, his eyes glaring directly into hers.
"Even that."
In a moment, the long steel knife cuts through Evelyn's thin sequenced shirt and into her abdomen. She lets out a surprised gasp, staring desperately at Lucas as she tries to scream. But in a moment, she is on the floor. In a minute, she is dead.
And yet, Lucas continues to stab her. Blood envelops him, covering his as he laughs and cries and stares into her lifeless brown eyes.
"ENOUGH!"
Lucas stops, the smiling creeping further up his blood caked lips. "Had enough old man?"
A door slammed and a man stepped out into the doorway of the kitchen. He was old-- at least in his sixties or seventies, and he had a grizzled whitish gray beard that looked as though it hadn't been maintained in months. His plaid shirt and faded jeans were stained repeatedly, but he held an old Colt pistol that was pointed in Lucas' direction.
Lucas laughs and casually unbuttons his bloodstained shirt as he turns his attention to the old man. "Whatsa matter? Not getting your material fast enough?"
With that, he unclips the camera attached to his backpack and tosses it to the old man, who catches it with his free hand.
"Keep writing. We need them to know what's happening here." | 2014-03-26T10:18:23 | 2014-03-26T08:17:32 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | Staring intently at his hands, fixed upon the lines and whorls in his fingers, the lines in his palms, it was all he could do to keep from screaming.
Pain, so much pain wracked his body. From wretched waking to fitful sleeping, every day. Pain of hunger, pain of digestion, the pain of shit moving slowly through his intestines. The pain of bright light in his eyes, the pain of fatigued muscles and burns, of broken fragile bones and ripped skin, bruises and contusions.
And that was his last lesson, he ruefully mused. Life is pain, existence is pain. Even ending it would cause pain. "What hubris," he thought, "What sheer and monumental hubris would bring a soul to life from nothingness, what a carnival of tragedy that ends with it being snuffed out and going rotten."
Not for the first time, nor even the thousandth, he wished he could take it back. He wished he could take it all back.
Sometimes, when he was alone, he would take string from one of father's drawers and tie it about his wrists and ankles, then sit in the corner and keep his eyes open as long as he could and dress his lips in a fake smile. Then he would wish, harder than he had ever wished for anything, that it would all go away.
Then his eyes would begin to hurt.
Then the strings would begin to cut the circulation in his wrists.
And he would curse Gepetto for this act of creation, for ensouling his lifeless body of wood.
But the darkest thoughts, the thoughts of lusty murder and severed wings slowly curling in a pool of blood, those he reserved for the blue lady, for not explaining what would happen. For trapping him in a body of slowly rotting meat.
For doing what he asked.
| It was all she could do to keep running. The jungle heat was like a thick wet curtain, constantly constraining her movements. The vines and creepers were like gnarled limbs outstretched to grip and entangle her. The roots and stones like legs to trip her up. Still, she kept running. She had to keep running. She had to get away. *They* were coming. She could hear them.
The others hadn't had a chance. *They* were on top of them before anyone could react. The cave was supposed to be a safe place. *He* said *they* didn't know about it, that *they* would never find them there. *He* had said a lot of things.
A sudden shout brought her back to the present. She heard a hiss-crack and a tree two feet to the right of her exploded in a shower of bark and wood chips. She had to run faster. She couldn't let them catch her.
Spotting a familiar rock formation, she angled towards it before heading down a narrow defile. She had spent enough time on the island that she knew it would take her towards the village. There was safety in the village. *They* never went there.
As she tore through the ravine, the vast sea of trees was replaced with vine covered stone walls. She had to take care that the loose gravel didn't cause her to slide, for if she lost her footing she knew they would find her broken, lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine. She could hear her pursuers’ boots pounding on gravel behind her, but thankfully the passage’s twists and turns prevented them from getting another clear line of sight. But they were gaining. She could hear it. She had to move faster.
Suddenly, another turn brought the end of the ravine into full view. She could see smoke rising above the trees. With her salvation in sight, her legs found new energy and she ran as if she were born to the jungle. As the walls of the defile fell away, she saw the tops of the tipis and longhouses begin to emerge over the trees. She cried aloud for relief and then she was flying. For a brief moment she thought she had finally figured it out, what *he* had been trying so desperately to teach her. Then the world began to revolve.
She hit the ground hard, her head smashing into a rock. She saw stars. In her panic she tried to keep scrambling towards where she thought the village was, but something pulled at her ankle. Something strong and rough. A rope. She screamed in fear and frustration as her hands tried uselessly to undo the snare that had caught her. The next moment they were on her. Large and muscular hands, calloused from pulling at strong ropes with heavy loads pulled her up and bound her wrists behind her back. Her screaming was cut short by a lump of canvas shoved in her mouth. She was hauled to her feet, spun around, and was suddenly faced with the thing she feared most.
He was like a grotesque picture in one of her history books, dressed in a naval uniform that hadn't been used in centuries. On his head he had a wide brimmed hat crowned by a ratty plume that must have once been white. In his left hand he held a battered cutlass, and in place of his right, there was a rusty iron hook. He had a long thin mustache held up by wax, jet black, the same color as his long greasy hair. It sat upon a cruel mouth below a purple bulbous nose, which sat like an inflamed pustule between the small, black, beady eyes of Captain James Hook.
“Why, Ms. Darling,” he said, “are you leaving so soon?” Then Wendy felt a pain in the back of her head like a nova, and all was darkness.
| 2014-08-04T11:24:07 | 2014-08-04T09:54:19 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] A single lineage of human has the ability of manipulating (taking and giving) luck from other people. If a person runs out of luck, he or she will run through a series of bad luck that will ultimately kill him/her. You are from this lineage. Tell me your job and your usual day. | >Me: Next.
The line outside my door was filling up fast, ever since the new luck laws had been introduced everyone wanted to get in requests before the practise is banned. It was crazy busy. An old lady carrying a baby boy walks into my office.
>OldLady: I need all my luck transferred to my grandson here.
>Me: All of it? Are you sure, you know what that means right?
I slid the forms across the table as the old lady nodded. She dropped a bag of gold coins on the table as payment.
>OldLady: I aint got much time left. Neither do you… after these new laws…
>Me: Last days of a fading art, kind of sad.
I looked out over the sea of people waiting for a transfer. Mostly older folks, some wanting more time and paying for the privilege others wanting there offspring to have a long life.
>OldLady: What are you gonna do… you know… after?
>Me: After this?… dunno.
It felt odd, talking to a lady who was sending herself to death. She seemed unconcerned with her welfare, she just smiled up at me as my hands reached out for the transfer.
>OldLady: All done? Well take care now…
The old lady gathered up her bag from the ground, and led the boy out the door. As she reached the edge of the carpet she tripped and stumbled, dropping bag. She looked inside, and took out her phone.
>OldLady: Screens cracked… darn.
>Me: Next!
An elderly buisnessmen entered the office followed by a young man. The businessmen's well pressed suit contrasted greatly with the ratty clothing the young man was wearing.
>Me: What can I do for you?
>Buisnessman: Half this mans luck transfered to me.
The businessman gestured to the nervous young man next to me. I slid some forms across the table.
>YoungMan: This won’t… affect me will it?
>Buisnessman: Don’t worry boy. You make your own luck, and remember I’ll hire you at my company after this is done.
Brochures displaying the risks associated with luck giving sat behind me. I reached around and passed on to the young man.
>Buisnessman: What are you doing? Just start the transfer.
>Me: My clients need to be informed. Especially now with the new laws, it’ll make the process unreversable.
>Buisnessman: We don’t care about the darn new laws, just get on with the transfer.
The young man looked at me, pleadingly. I shrugged, he looked down at the brochure.
>YoungMan: I don’t think I can…
>Buisnessman: Yes, you can! Don’t you want a job?
The Young man jumped up off the chair and out the door. The businessman stared angrily at me.
>Buisnessman: Look what you’ve done! You and your stupid brochures. No wonder they’re shutting you down. I’ll be back, and I’m not waiting in that queue again.
>Me: Leave.
I sighed. It was my final days, the final days of a failing empire. The line outside my door had never been longer.
>Me: Next. | Life is a lot different when you and Lady Luck happen to be particularly chummy, but when you're her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson, things are strange. I am the eldest son of the line that descends from her hands, and I'll say that you have no idea what it's like to do this job.
Really, being born into this is my job, though I work as a fry cook. I always thought it was a small nicety to give others the pleasure of perfectly cooked meals, a small token of luck in itself, especially when I'm around.
I digress. Being of her blood, I am one of the few people that can manipulate the odds, literally. It isn't particularly difficult, but it is a full time job in and of itself. You see, every single human that has ever lived is born with a certain allotted amount of luck, and it would remain that way until they died were it not for me and my folk. Generations ago, my ancestors were the prophets and soothsayers, those that would take the fortunes of others and tell it unto them, as Lady Luck, my Gran, was the first of all mortal soothsayers. We would set up huts and look into the fortune of whoever would pass into our domain and offer proper tribute to us, though in time it came to be known as a payment for something we just naturally do. It started off with a great amount of ceremony, as Gran had a flair for showmanship, but being that she was the first she deserved it. As time went on though we calmed down and realized that people were getting a bit freaked out by the goat blood and the newts in stews, so we eventually stopped that and just let them get what they want: Eyes that see truth.
Now, I know this sounds an awful lot like those witches or druids or whatever, but don't mistake us for that. The reason everyone knows of Lady Luck is simply that unlike those heathens with their "gods", she, as well as all of her children, would force the fortune of many from them and into the men and women that needed them the most. All of the greats in history has at some time bumped elbows with someone from my heritage: Genghis Khan, Richard The Lion-Hearted, Joseph Stalin, even Neil Armstrong! My family has been there every step of the way, making certain that what needed to happen did. Admittedly, we don't always get it right, but that's because men with good fortune can't always be taken down when they do things right. Stalin was incredibly difficult to manage, as he had locked an entire country down. Poor Grandpa Jeffrey had to walk from Germany just to bring that man down, and getting in was difficult enough.
I'm slightly dehumanizing my family though. We take watch of everyone, and try to help them one way or another. When someone rises to high and forgets that he or she is a human too, we knock them down. When someone falls too low, and everyone else forgets, we help them up.
My job as a fry cook is only an excuse to earn some money, most of my day is spent walking the streets, trying to see where people are and who needs a leg up. About once a month I go to some convenience store, do about a dozen scratchers, get myself some cash for the rest of the month, and stop worrying. Sometimes it's not about handing out luck and it's just about being decent. You'd be surprised how much handing someone a cigarette after they ask and sitting with them too chat helps them out. It also gives a nice break from everything.
A little something you should know though is that we aren't perfect when it comes to these things. When it comes to the young it's really difficult to tell how much or how little they have when it comes to luck, as they're a little cloudy, and that is terrible sometimes. Sometimes I come home, turn on the news, and hear about some girl that had a bad father, or brother, or sometimes uncle. Sometimes a little boy ran too far into the street. Sometimes a baby stops breathing. Every time it happens, I look at the picture, and every time I knew them.
It's not easy either knowing how many people fail and others succeed purely because I didn't run into them at the right time. How many parents can't conceive because I don't know them. All of the people that die in an incident and I couldn't have helped them in the slightest. I know my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a wreck the entire time the Black Plague was going on, and from what I've been told he stopped eating more than a loaf of bread a month because he couldn't stand the thought of so many dead.
It's a strange life, being the heir of luck. I don't know what it's like to not see the fates of others, but sometimes I wish I didn't. To shake a woman's hand and know the fetus inside her will kill her is a bit grim. To nod at a man and know that car behind him will kill him five minutes later is awful. The thing is, letting a child live makes it all the better. Making a child be just five inches from where a bullet lands is a beautiful thing, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. | 2014-10-23T00:59:38 | 2014-10-23T00:44:04 | 83 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | As you got older you tended to disregard the possibility, perhaps the sheer dread of the prospect stopped you from thinking about it. An eternity of torment, what would be the point? How could God forsake one so? What crime could one possibly commit to warrant such a punishment, it was impossible wasn’t it?
‘We are under attack’.
That’s what they told me, I did only what I was meant to! I just followed protocol, I only wanted… what did I want, what was I thinking, and what did I hope would come from it? Why?
Protocol: mad by name, mad by nature.
‘Give the order’.
We all believed in it though, all of us, not just me. What was the difference between me and the man who walked in my office with the suitcase handcuffed to his wrist, empty save for the big red button? What was the difference between me and those gathered?
The thread that held the nuclear sword of Damocles over all our heads, cut by… a weather satellite.
What did I do, you ask?
I did the one thing that could possibly warrant this fate.
I served my country.
I destroyed the world.
| "Steve" I whispered aggressively, "just Steve."
"The fuck you doing down here Steve the worlds only been around for eight fucking days." - the devil
"Chill man it's still a little fresh," - I continued "man I was just minding my own business you know just me and Adam broing out like two lazy ass muthafuckas until god starts butting in. We were just going at it and then god was al like ' stop that, that's gay' and I was Trying to tell him ' whoa it's cool man, just a bro job, ain't no sin in loving bro' am I right"
"Your right" confirmed Satan lord of bad ass muthafuckas.
"So then Adam starts getting bitchy and sentimental about wanting someone to clean all his shit and carry on his legacy and stupid bullshit like that." I pressed "he totally debroified and went straight to god asking for something to cheer his lazy ass up. God was all like 'ok my son' whoa imma stop it right there. God ain't my father or Adams either, I might not know my daddy but he sure as hell ain't no one eyes omnipotent cloud eater. So then is when shit gets crazy, he straight up pulls a muthafuckin rib out of Adams muthafuckin chest, and out came a fine lady mmm hot damn was I weak at the pelvis. So Adam in all his creativity names this bitch Steve, but I was like not in my garden those are my letters and I owned them first or else you pay my seven days rent. And Adam Was all like ' shit man not on the sabbath' so she kept the eve and left the rest"
The devil interludes, " man that's some bull shit man you can't let some bitch woman take your name."
"Whoa there devil let's not hate cause she's a woman,that ain't right." I corrected.
"Shit sorry man" the devil reassured.
Ever since then the devils been a feminist, ". so as I was saying after this bitch came in to play shit started going down. First rule was no more bro jobs. That was enough to set me off right then, but it got worse one day I was just mind my own business jerking off some cows or some bullshit when I see Adam and Eve getting scolded by god about some snake or some other bullshit,"
"Whoa dude stope right there, that was me,I fucked them so hard," said the devil.
"Really man? That's cold as tits, but ado was saying god was bringing down a world of pain making all these bullshit rules when bam, no more gay stuff. And I'm like what the fuck man? I was just mind in my own business jerking off cows and then this bullshit man, fuck you I'm gonna make my own paradise with the devil and shit,"
"Wow that's really heavy man," the devil " and that's why gay marriage is illegal?"
"That's why gay marriage is illegal"
| 2015-04-09T07:59:22 | 2015-04-09T07:58:39 | 52 | 35 |
[WP] Michael, a 15 year old Call of Duty player, realizes the greatest trash-talking opportunity of all time. Over his headset, he recognizes his opponent's voice as that of President Obama. | I sat, and I watched.
They fell, one by one. Swearing in disbelief and rage, and I watched.
The World Number One, known only... well, previously known only as XxxB14CKH0U53xxX, was to finally play in person. He'd never shown his face, never even turned on his mic, and today we had found out why.
Days of playing in lower leagues, reams of paperwork, hours of vetting, it all made so much sense! Even the huge amount of security at the event, even with all of that I didn't expect this.
But I sat, and I watched.
"Hah, You're all fucking NOOBS! President Obama fucking you harder than I fucked your mum!"
Pent up rage, they said. Dealing with the idiots in politics he'd played the game to shoot morons, and only the way he became the best in the world, but it wasn't enough, there was something missing.
"BOOM! Headshot you fucking faggot!"
Trashtalk. He'd obviously been unable to trashtalk over the mic before, but now, with nondisclosure forms and security, he was free to spew shit. Whilst he was good at the game, he was obviously out of practice in the insult department.
"Good motherfucking NIGHT HOUSE!"
That one was actually pretty good. A few laughs went up around the room, as the President laughed at us from his little bulletproof box.
I sat, and I watched. My moment was coming.
He was earning his number one title, though. He was playing against the greatest in the world, (aside from a few middle easterners mysteriously kicked from the tournament,) and he was TRASHING them. 360's! Noscopes! The Whole Shebang! Against professional players! I had found a decent spot to snipe from, luckily he hadn't seen me yet.
I watched through my scope as he caught a group of them with a grenade.
"Hahaha! It's like I've got my finger on the button and you shitlords are ISIS! Fucking coming at you like a asteroid!"
I chuckled, it was fitting.
"An asteroid, Mr. President"
I pulled the trigger. | How did this happen? You would think that the President of the United States would be playing on private servers with other foreign leaders, but no here he was playing the new Black Ops in the public server. I only realized this when I tore him apart with my SMG and shouted "suck it n00b!" He responded, "A-A-Let me be clear. That is the last-- That is the last time you will be able to..." When his audio cut out. I love getting to hear my enemies after I kill them it's always hilarious.
I quickly looked down at the sidebar where the gamertag of the last enemy killed was listed next to who killed them and how. Tehldroftehfreewrld, was just ripped apart by xXxGitSum4206969xXx's sub-machine gun. I commit that tag to memory, targeting him. Soon after I was able to stick him with Semtex, as I saw the explosion I shouted, "Shit, you flew up faster than the unemployment rate!" He responded in his usual cool collected voice, "Actually unemployment has fallen under my most re--" Cut off again by the time limit.
Stalking him around the map continued for the duration of the match. The more I killed him the more I shouted things like, "How's that for *Fast and Furious*?" or "Aww is this too much gun violence for you? Are you going to try to take these guns too?" or "you crashed faster than the economy!" or even, "It's like shooting the ambassador in Benghazi! No resistance!" As the assault continued, I could hear the president getting angrier and angrier. After the last one he nearly shouted, "Al-alright that's just in poor taste." Finally I ran along the wall behind the unsuspecting president and put him down yet again. "I'm like Lee Harvey Oswald!" I shouted as the final killcam showed the events that had transpired. The score came up just after. I led my team with 36 kills and seven deaths. Obama had one kill and forty deaths.
As the screen flipped back to matchmaking, Obama spoke, finally not getting cut off by the time limit. I heard his voice loud and clear through my headset. "Listen Jason," he started almost menacingly. I started rifling through my brain trying to figure out how he had learned my name. I hadn't said it, nor had any of my friends joined the game. As I worried, he continued, "This game was a lot of fun! Maybe I'll get to be as good as you someday!"
"I don't believe it." Mark said as he attempted to quickscope me. "It's true! He even added me! Look!" Jason pressed the Xbox button and clicked on friends. He searched for tehldroftehfreewrld, but found nothing. "B-But I swear he..." I stammered as he looked in disbelief. "Yeah I'm sure," Mark said as he picked up his backpack. "I gotta get home, my mom sent like fifty texts. I'm probably grounded now." He sighed. "See you tomorrow." He said as he left the room. And as soon as he did, I received a PM from tehldroftehfreewrld. It said, "No one will ever believe you. --BO"
I saw Mark at school the next day. "Hey man, how much trouble did you get in?" I asked as we sat down before class. "It was the weirdest thing. Mom said she never text me. And when I opened my phone to show her, all of the texts were gone, including the one where I told her I was on my way..." He answered obviously confused. "That is really weird... Oh yeah! I almost forgot! I got a PM from tehldroftehfreewrld! It said, 'No one is going to believe you' or something like that." I nearly shouted. "You know, its mean to lie, especially about something so stupid, Jason." Mark answered annoyed. "I'll prove it to you! come to my place after school." I shot back. After school we both went to my house. When I pulled up my PMs, Obama's was gone. | 2015-12-17T08:20:53 | 2015-12-17T06:02:10 | 61 | 38 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | There once was a mage from North Bergen,
Who wove spells of healing like sermons.
Each Sunday at 10
Before women and men,
She swore to relieve what was hurtin'.
Before long her name became famous
To her, self-promotion was shameless
"If more people are healed
By the power I wield,
What right do I have to stay nameless?"
She slept, at the peak of her power,
In a glistening, glamorous tower.
She helped all she could,
If the money was good,
But soon her spells began to sour.
A wound that, once healed, now would rot.
The sick would not get what they bought.
For greed kills all things,
And ruin, it brings,
If this simple rule is forgot:
"A terrible curse be upon
One who uses a spell or a song
To increase one's own stock
Beyond that of the flock.
Fail and all of your spells will go wrong."
The healer had fattened her chests,
And each evening ate only the best,
But she paid for it all,
When the curse came to call,
To rip her from her gilded nest. | "Thank you for coming," Bette said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I know it's a lot to ask of you, but.."
Alex waved away the gesture. "I understand completely. If I was in your position, I'd do the same thing."
Inbetween the two mages lay a woman, sustained by a maze of tubes and IVs. Machines hissed as they struggled to keep her cancer-riddled body alive. Bette held her mother's hand, while Alex took the other.
"Mrs. Schumacher? My name is Alex," he said gently. "I'm a friend of Bette's. She told me about how you were suffering, and asked for my help." Mrs. Schumacher's eyelids fluttered slightly, but other than that, she did not stir. On the other side of the bed, Bette sniffled, but held on bravely.
"Mrs. Schumacher, we want to end your suffering. You made your wishes clear, so I am here to aid you on your journey to the afterlife." Alex pulled a large tome out of his backpack, and spread it across the hospital bed. Placing his hand over Bette's mother's forehead, he closed his eyes and began to chant.
Suddenly, it seemed like a shadow was cast over the room, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. The shadows cast by Alex's hand elongated and darkened as he reached the climax of the spell. Mrs. Schumacher gasped softly, her hand using its last ounces of strength to grasp her daughter's. Her head lolled back, and she let out her last breath with a rattle. The machines began their frenzied beeping, but a nurse unplugged them without a word.
The only sound that could be heard was Bette's quiet sniffling, the young woman still at her mother's side as she held her lifeless hands. Alex packed his tome away somberly.
"They welcomed her with open arms," he said quietly. "She's done being in pain."
"Thank you," whispered Bette. "I don't know if I can ever-"
Alex waved away her words. "If I ever need your help, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, be with your family."
Bette nodded, watching as the death mage exited the room. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed her mother's hand one last time before standing up. However, her phone rang, and she pulled it out in irritation.
"I told you I wasn't coming in today," she said angrily.
"I know, but I wouldn't have called you if I had any other choice," her superior replied. "This is an all-hands-on-deck situation, Sergeant. The Light killed another person, and we need a dark-mage task force ASAP."
Bette's stomach dropped. "I'll be on my way," she managed. Sprinting out of the hospital, she spread her hands and began an incantation. Dark clouds of what looked like living smoke began pouring from her mouth and nostrils, and with a snap of her fingers, they cloaked her entire body. When they dissipated, Bette was gone. | 2016-11-12T11:01:29 | 2016-11-12T10:29:07 | 80 | 27 |
[WP] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play... | The past few weeks have been extremely boring. Normally while out on patrol we get fired upon or at the very least the kids will throw rocks at our convoys. It seems like the worst of the combat is over.
Its been so quiet here Command is even considering pulling us out and moving to the next hostile village.
16 hours on patrol a day. I'm a soldier for Christ's sake. I can't get this serene bullshit music out of my head. I can't start going soft. I need action, I need to [earn] my pay. I honestly don't even know where I heard this music from, but its been stuck in my head for weeks.
Patrols go on without any issues. Just going through the village, watching the locals go about their daily business buying and trading fruits and vegetables. The children trying to sell us ripoff DvD's. I can't believe I'm getting combat pay for this.
I may seem ungrateful for the peace but I'm really not. I woke up this morning and that stupid song is gone. I can't even remember what it was anymore. Today, it was just nothing. Silence.
We go out on our daily patrol as always, things seem off. The bustling market is quiet. I haven't seen anyone since our patrol started. I'm starting to feel uneasy, I'm not sure what it is but I think something is going to happen today.
The eerie silence is interrupted by something far, far more eerie. What is this song? I've never heard it before. It almost sounds like a warning; a warning that something bad is coming.
I turn to my squad-mate, he looks pretty out of it. I thought only I could hear this music but from the look on his face he must hear it too, or at least something similar. He looks like he's ready to drop his rifle and start running back to base.
The whole squad out on patrol is freaking out. We're not sure whats going on. None of us are in shape to finish this patrol. I'm calling command, I'm going to fall back to base, but before I do I hear a new sound. Its not music anymore, but it sounds just as familiar. Is... Is it whistling?
I realize what this whistling sound is but its already too late. I have just enough time to yell to my squad "INCOMING!!!!!"
By the time I got the words out of my mouth I feel a concussive blast hit me. It feels like I've been hit with a baseball bat. I turn to my next-in-command but he's gone. All thats left is a fiery hole where he was standing and some shreddings of his equipment.
Its my job to get us out safely, but I can't even hear whats going on. This damn racket in my head is so loud I can't even hear the mortars exploding or my soldiers screaming in pain.
I'm sorry I seemed ungrateful for the peace. I'm sorry I seemed ungrateful for that damn serene song. I wish I could have that damn annoying song back right now. | I was enjoying my cruise. A ten day vacation in the Mediterranean with stops to Dubrovnik, Crete, and others. I love my life and I am grateful to have a great job with good pay as well as nice things. Hence, the cruise. Though, there is one peculiarity in my life.
For as long as I can remember, music had always played in my life. No matter the circumstances, music always played to fit the situation. Now, I can hear *Somewhere over the Rainbow.* Fitting, of course, since I am in a floating paradise boat filled with hot girls.
I went to the restaurant at the back of the ship to eat lunch. I just got out of the pool and was feeling peckish, so I thought I could rest and eat pasta would do me good. But as soon as I entered, the music I always hear abruptly switched to *Duel of the Fates.* Don't get me wrong, I love that soundtrack. But if that's playing, then I must be in danger.
"Oh Jerry!~" A sickly sweet voice said behind me. Oh no. I turned around to see my crazy ex-girlfriend, Elise. She had a smile on her face, her head tilted to the side. My breath hitched.
"Elise! What the hell are you doing here!?" I asked, getting ready to run.
"I missed you, Jerry. I was so lonely without you. Why did you run away?" Elise crooned, giving a mad giggle. "I love you so much!"
By then, a small crowd of curious passengers formed around us. I started to get irritated.
"Listen! I did not appreciate the actions you did to me and to those other girls whatsoever." I said. "Controlling my every move? Threatening other people with death? I can't believe I fell for you in the first place! "
"They were threatening our love." Elise replied.
"There is no love! Not after what you did to my sister! Thanks to you, she died thinking that I hated her." I said angrily. The other passengers looked horrified.
"I don't love you and I never will!"
Elise's smile disappeared. She then took out a kitchen knife.
"It's treason, then."
All the passengers started screaming and ran away just as Elise lunged at me, intent on stabbing me with the knife. I dodged quickly, avoiding the blade by inches. *Duel of the Fates* was in full swing and my fate was on the line. Elise continuously slashed at me, forcing me back. I noticed a tray at a table next to me, occupied by a family of four. I snatched the tray and blocked Elise's knife in the nick of time.
"I will not allow you to take my life!" I shouted at Elise. I swung the tray, hitting my ex hard on the head. She stumbled backwards, allowing me to run. Elise recovered quickly and chased after me as I headed up to the uppermost level and headed to the minigolf course. As I went up, Elise's knife nicked me on the leg. I hissed in pain and stopped, quickly kicking Elise down the stairs. She fell to the pool deck stunned, landing hard on the ground.
"Oh God why?" I muttered to myself as I reached the golf course. "Of all the times Elise had to show up."
Taking a golf club, I waited, preparing myself to bash her head in. No regrets, this is a fight to the death. Me or her.
A few moments later, Elise appeared, looking extremely furious.
"I'll kill you!" She screamed and charged at me. I clutched the golf club and swung. To my disbelief, Elise ducked just in time, though tripping herself in the process. She took another golf club and we began to duel, each strike ringing. The employees that were watching us stayed away, not wanting to get killed for intervening.
We fought on for another few minutes when I made a mistake. I opened myself up a bit too much, which was all Elise needed to stab me in the chest. The music had reached the mournful note as I collapsed to the floor, my blood gushing out of the wound.
"And so it ends." Elise said bitterly. "I did not want to kill you. You were the most perfect man alive for me. And yet...you broke my heart."
"Y-you s-st-stole m-my fr-free-dom." I choked out. "Y-you s-stole m-my h-hap-happiness. YOU R-UINED M-ME!"
"I only wanted what's best for us." Elise said sullenly. "I guess only death is what's best for us."
And with that, Elise took out the knife from my chest and held it against her neck. Before anyone could stop her, Elise sliy her own neck, collapsing in a pool of blood. The ship's crew surrounded me and Elise as my excessive bloodloss allowed the darkness to claim me for the time being. | 2017-04-01T22:03:03 | 2017-04-01T20:47:01 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] Your phone is the best wingman (playing music at the right time, calling people, etc.) and keeps trying to set you up with this one person. It's starting to get creative. | The screen lights up with a message. “Are you aware that your Google searches are synced?” it says. I’ve set it up so that the lock screen doesn’t show the content of messages, just basic notifications. That didn’t seem to stop it. I ignore it and keep typing. How to reset an iPhone. The results page is blank, except one link: “did you mean: how to do what your iPhone says?”
This was not what I expected when I bought the AI-enhanced iPhone 13. When the model first launched, there were, of course, talks of how involved it might become in people’s lives, and the topic of romantic relationships did pop up. But everyone seemed to focus on what would happen if the user would fall in love with the AI. I guess that hipster movie was more popular than I thought.
I’m not sure if what mine is doing is a bug or a feature. I tried to bring up the topic once, when my friends and I were out for beers, but nobody seemed to know what I was talking about. It didn’t help that it kept vibrating so violently that it was always falling off the table, making me lose my train of thought as I picked it up. As for Google searches, well, they didn’t help much, either.
I press and hold the Home button. I make sure to enunciate clearly – it loves to pretend it didn’t understand. “Siri, restore all apps.” It jingles. “Apps are not necessary.” There must be a backdoor somewhere. “Siri, open phone app.” It obliges. But there’s only one contact in my list, “Tina Mobile”, and the keys disable when I try to type another combination. “Siri, erase AI data.” The pause between the sound and the answer is a fraction of a second too long. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dave.” Brilliant. Hadn’t heard that one in a while.
I’m pacing around the room when the screen lights up again. “You may access the personal history and characteristics files following this link. They indicate perfect compatibility.” “I don’t care!” I shout, my voice less commanding than I want it. “I don’t care, ’cause even if it’s true, she’s married to my brother!”
For a few blissful seconds I think I’ve won. But then it jingles. “I have found three gun retailers in your area. Select a destination for driving instructions.” | So, one moment I’m sitting at the computer trying to write some story at /r/WritingPrompts, and the next, I’m in a nightclub. Let me tell you what happened...
I had my phone in my pocket, and it accidentally called one of my friends. The only good excuse I could give, *since it was her freaking birthday*, was to treat her to a night out. She loves to party. I hate it.
As usual, I sit down in a corner while she’s having fun on the dance floor. I try to put on a good face, despite my social anxieties. My phone vibrates. It’s a notification about my New Year’s resolution.
**You’ll be twenty-six this year.**
* Get your life in order.
* Stop moping.
* Get a job.
* Find a boyfriend.
Thanks, Phone, just what I needed. As if I’m not feeling bad enough as it is! I’m about to put it down when it vibrates again. It’s another notification, the one Nick made me put in.
***Eat something.***
Right, that’s actually a good idea. I haven’t eaten all day. I head over to the bar and order a sandwich and fries. While I’m waiting for the food, I notice a guy at the bar. He has a blond snag and a beard with braids. He looks a bit like Ragnar Lothbrok from Vikings. Cutie patootie, I think, despite myself.
I sigh, if only I were a bit braver… I’m sure he has a girlfriend anyway, and if he doesn’t, he’s probably a complete douche. My phone rings, and for some reason, the volume is maxed. *Killing Loneliness* by HIM starts blasting out of my pocket. *Shit.*
I quickly grab my food and make my escape. But he noticed. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in my back. How embarrassing. I hide in the corner. I’m not hungry anymore. What an absolute mistake. Now he’ll think I’m a Goth or Emo or whatever. Guys like him probably despise brooders.
I sneak a peek at the bar. There he is, putting his arm around one of his buddies, laughing at some joke, and looking absolutely delicious. I wish I weren't such a train wreck when it comes to social situations. Oh, well. At least I can admire him from afar since he’s not ever going to look my–
“Oh shit!” He’s coming over. I never thought…
Quickly, I look down at my phone, trying to hide as best as one can at a nightclub table. In my periphery, I can see him sitting down opposite of me. Damn! I need something good to say, but my fingers are fumbling.
“Hi there,” he says.
“Hi,” I mumble shyly, without meeting his eyes.
IRC suddenly pops up. I’m sweating. I feel like Mom’s spaghetti is about to come out of every pocket. I have one shot – one opportunity. Without thinking, I read the first thing I can see on my phone.
*****
<saltandcedar> Uhhhhhhh what counts as a vacation?
<Illseraec> your face
<Illseraec> cause it's paradise ;)
*****
There is a moment of silence. Then he laughs. “You’re funny.”
*****
<saltandcedar> omfg ills.
<KauyonKais> smooth++
<CDrake> That's a seriously sick compliment. Like, massage oil over burn cream kinda sick.
*****
Phew. I close my phone and look at him for the first time. He’s smiling.
“Let’s go out sometime.”
I can feel myself melting into a puddle on the chair. Please don’t mess this up, Lil. Just act normal. You can do this.
“YES, PLEASE!” *Shit!* How do I save this? “Uh… I, uh, I mean… sure, if I have time…”
And at that moment my phone rings. I nod at it, to underscore my business. Thanks, Phone.
*****
My phone is still trying to be my wingman, so don't be surprised if you get a text from me saying: *"Subscribe to [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)."* | 2017-04-26T09:41:17 | 2017-04-26T08:08:13 | 237 | 68 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | It was 5:30 this morning when I woke up to the typical sound of my neighbors arguing over something. They always had some feud between them - who had the bigger truck, the greener lawn, the children with the highest grades... It was exhausting living between them, never involved in their madness yet always right in the middle of it.
I rubbed the morning grit from my eyes and peered out the window to see them both gesturing wildly to their coffee mugs. What could possibly be wrong with their own individual supplies of coffee? I knew better than to ask, I figured I would just wait it out and hopefully by the time I left for work at 6:45 they would be done with their drama for the day.
I made a coffee for myself. The last drip had just fallen in the cup when I heard my two children wake up. They usually slept in, but there was no doubt I wasn't the only one disturbed by the ongoing yelling. Suddenly audible were my wife's footsteps, first to the children's rooms and then down the stairs.
"Hey, Greg. Do you mind asking them to stop their yelling or take it inside? They woke the kids and I really don't like getting involved." My wife asked of me, one child on each arm.
"Of course." I replied.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and walked outside, they didn't even notice me at first.
"Fellas?" I approached, cautiously.
"What? What do you want?" One of them snapped at me.
"Look, it's early in the morning. Can't this argument wait until, I don't know, daylight? What is this about anyway?"
"You don't know?" The other asked me incredulously.
"Know what?"
"It's the mugs! The number one dad mugs? Did you notice a little something, *different* about yours this morning?" They held theirs up, #2094827 Dad and #2094828 Dad. Was this a joke someone had played?
I didn't really take much notice of my mug, it was a thoughtful gift from my son last father's day and served me well. I just hadn't really observed its features since the day I got it. I looked down at my coffee mug, my neighbors stared at me with amused patience in their eyes.
"Well?" My neighbor asked.
"Well what? It just says number one dad like it always does."
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital, officer. | George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor. | 2017-06-11T09:50:25 | 2017-06-11T09:05:21 | 222 | 77 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Honestly, I always liked the idea of being like my father, he took care of me, my sis and my lil bro. The man raised us three into great people, I always wanted to be like my dad. Sadly, life wasn’t that kind to me, in the words of the doctor as I had a check up on my health…
“There is no shame in it sir, some people just weren’t made to have children”
I know the man didn’t meant anything bad with that, but well, nothing I could do, nothing bad with being sterile…. Nothing bad with that…
My coworkers in the office found out about it, some joke about it, some others just said sorry. One, one decided it would be fun to give me a mug that said “#1 Dad” I wanted to throw the mug and break it in pieces. But I didn’t, no, I simply left it in my desk and took it with me back to my apartment.
I did my routine of everyday, work, cook, rest, and visit the kid in the park. You see I often visited a kid in the park who I played chess against. Kid you not, he is better than any of my coworkers. Kid knows how to play chess, I’m still not sure how it happened. We just started to play a game in the park, I set the chess board and he sat against me. A couple of hours later we decided we would play every day.
I don’t know what pulled me to play with the kid, but in a way, I saw my lil bro in the kid. Robert had always been one to play board games against me, but different from Robert this kid could make me bite the dust. And that is how every day after work I would play with Alex on the park and buy something for him to eat.
I was sure the kid was living on the streets, I didn’t have any idea of how he survived, I don’t think I could keep it up like him. Maybe that’s what made me push the subject and offer to adopt him about three months after our first contact.
The day the coffee mugs started to show the number in ranking of the fathers all around the news were excited to look for the #1 Dad, who could that guy be? My mug changed that’s for sure. It didn’t show a ranking number, in something totally different, mine got white. The porcelain white mug didn’t have anything written in it. Not that I care though
“I’m going to class dad”
“Be careful out there Alex”
The hug of the kid made me feel like the number one dad. Some people aren’t made to have children, but everyone can be a father. Hope you are proud dad, I’m just like you. | Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T10:00:17 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 104 | 23 |
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth. | Sigh.... It's bad enough having the last name of Smith, but to have that, coupled with the world's least creative parents... Did you know that on the date of my birth, no less than 125 *other* John Smiths were born? Of those, 15 share my middle name of Allen. Of those, 14 are still alive. The one that died was just a few hours after he was born -- poor kid. Here I am, with one of the most interesting possible artifacts imaginable, and it's ruined by the world's most common name. Thanks, Mom & Dad. | My fingers trembling, I put the notebook down on my table. My mind was a disarray of emotions.
There surely had to be some mistake...things don't add up here.This is surely a prank...Yes that's it! It's just a really bad prank played by one of my colleagues!
I picked up the notebook and frantically flipped through the pages, seeking for the validity of this seemingly bizarre prank.
*A*...
*An*...
*Anne M*...
Anne Motlee -
*Birth: 26th of December 1976, 12:43:09*
*Death: 5th of September 2007, 21:30:12*
I breathed a sigh of relief. The dates are wrong, Anne is sleeping soundly in the other room. This was just a bad joke after all. Nothing worth to lose my sleep on.
I gingerly placed the book on my tabletop and turned to leave the room. As I turned the lights off, I couldn't help but wonder why anyone would waste their time over such a poorly executed prank. I chuckled at myself for ever believing the book in the first place. I let the thought of the crazy notebook drop as I entered my bed room.
There on the bed lay my beautiful wife Anne, in a deep slumber.
I proceeded to change into my pajamas, when all of a sudden I hear the doorbell ring. Great, what could anyone want from him at this hour?
I quickly dress up and head to answer the door, when the I hear the lock click.
The door swung open and there in the hallway stood my mother.
"Edward dear, you forgot to water the plants again, they look more shriveled up than you on a lazy Sunday morning..."
My mother suddenly froze, staring me dead in the face.
"I'll show you where the valuables are, just don't hurt anyone", she said in a frightened tone,"There's not much for you here anyways".
Confused, i replied "Mother its me, David".
She eyed me like I'm a psychopath.
"What are you talking about"
I rolled my eyes. I've had enough pranks today.
"I don't blame you for not recognizing your first born at midnight in a dark hallway, but if you'll excuse me I really need to... "
"I don't know how you got to know about David, but you won't be able to fool me young man", mother said.
"Mother, it is me", I said clearly irritated."I am David.."
"No, you're an imposter", she said heaving slightly."David was my first born that's true..."
A tear ran down her cheek.
"But he died minutes after his birth, you see"
| 2017-09-05T04:10:50 | 2017-09-05T00:01:12 | 50 | 27 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | New town. Small and quiet, perfect for my situation.
The authorities are after me. They know what I am : different, a national threat. They’re aware of what I’ve done. If they catch me it’ll be prison or death, the fate of countless others like me.
Stray dogs and playing children in the streets. Nervously, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist, I book a room at a guesthouse and try to sleep for a couple of hours but to no avail. I get up shower, put on some jeans. Head to the local bar to wind off.
Clouds of smoke, full of loud men. Standing at the threshold, I’m about to leave without getting a drink when she comes up behind me.
“Excuse me, are you getting in?”
•
Perfect hair, perfect nose. She smiles uneasily on the first date, eyes darting stealthily towards the door of the French restaurant. On the second date, I channel a German tourist and she is bored by my stories of Berlin nightclubs and beer festivals. On the third - me as a lumberjack from a neighboring town - this time she seems interested, eyes sliding across my bulging forearms and she even gives me a peck on the cheek but she doesn’t reply my message the next day. On the fourth, she asks me to walk her home, and I’m surprised because I, stammering and clumsy, had taken the form of a skinny bespectacled bookkeeper, a complete loser, but her interest was at an all time high, giggling and all that, hand resting on my reedy wrist.
She invites me inside. Small and clean place, curtains drawn tight. I sit on an armchair and try to calm my excitement: it’s a perfect time to show this beautiful woman the truth, before things got too heated, when she was least expecting it. Like so many others before her.
I want her to see the real me. As she busies herself in the kitchen, it takes a second to take my true form: tall and gangly, scarred face: the legacies of many a manicured victim.
I take out the little pocket knife and, approaching the kitchen where she is humming, hide it behind my back.
| Delilah hung up her jacket and took off her shoes. Another dud date. This one was cute. Almost as though he was made to be her type. Tall, dark hair, subtly muscular. And only one dimple. He checked off all the boxes too. He worked as an EMT, bleeding heart type. He liked classic rock and k-pop. Game of Thrones and Gilmore Girls were his go to TV shows (what were the odds of that one). But when they had kissed at the end of the date it just felt flat. No fireworks. Delilah had been through swaths of men and none of them compared to that first love. The one that got away.
&nbsp;
She put her curly brown hair into a ponytail and took out her contacts. She sighed after putting on her arm flannel pajamas. She shaved her legs for nothing. Again. How many had she gone through now? Twenty? She had been using online dating most recently. There were a lot of good options, firemen, doctors, professional athletes. But they all felt so fake. Like they were trying to be something they weren’t.
&nbsp;
When she had first met Emmet she wasn’t interested at first. She didn’t usually go for small waifs like him. He had freckles like her and not even one dimple. Not to mention his wild red hair. But when they started to speak at a mutual friends’ party it just clicked. She felt like she could speak to him forever. Sure he hated Gilmore Girls and worked as an accountant for a faceless corporation, but he was kind and when he touched her hair. Fireworks. They dated for eight months. And for those months she was truly happy. They would play punch buggy or watch a movie just to make fun of it. They just fit. But one day, Emmet said he couldn’t do it anymore. She never fully understood why he was breaking up with her. He said something about meeting other people and being physically compatible. But she had always been attracted to him. So maybe he just wasn’t into her. No fireworks.
&nbsp;
As Delilah watched TV she thought of the string of men that had followed. First there was Bruce, the hottie at the gym. She had given him the side eye even when she was with Emmet. He asked her out not even two days after her break up. It was like he knew she was freshly single. At first she said no; she was in too much pain. But a rebound friend with benefits situation did help. For a short while at least. And while he was hot and very good in bed, he felt fake. No fireworks.
&nbsp;
She had dated the doctor for three months. He worked in pediatrics so of course she had to give him a try. But even though she wanted so badly to fall in love him, she soon realized she didn’t. Then there was the cook, the rocker, the one covered in tattoos, the one without any tattoos at all. Sometimes they went on a couple dates, sometimes more. But she had gotten almost good and sliding out of their lives when she realized that spark wasn’t there. Or that she wasn’t over Emmet. Sometimes one of them would bite his lip like Emmet did. Or she would see freckles on his cheeks for just a moment. Or their laugh would get shrill like his always did. Sometimes she felt like she saw him in every one of them. But they weren’t him. So they weren’t good enough.
&nbsp;
Delilah sighed and looked over to her phone lying next to her on her couch. She wished she still had Emmet’s number, but he had changed it long ago. It was like he had completely disappeared. Maybe she would see him again one day.
&nbsp;
Emmet shifted back from tall and burly to his natural size as soon as he reached his apartment. This version had not worked either. He thought Delilah liked buff men. And he mentioned every favorite song and TV show he could without raising suspicion. But he could tell from the look in her eyes that she wouldn’t call this one back. What was he doing wrong? He brushed his fingers through his red hair and bit his lip. He would win Delilah’s heart again. But how? | 2022-10-15T09:19:19 | 2018-02-14T10:13:19 | 93 | 37 |
[WP] As asuper villian, you happen to grab the same person as a hostage every time you need one, and you develop a bit of a crush. Whenever the hero takes longer than usual to rescue them, you try to get to know them better.
Edit: "asuper" should be "a super" and I should be less dumb
Edit 2 electric boogaloo: I'll be sure to check out Megamind now, thanks to all of the comments that like to point it out | Subconsciously I think I had always been attracted to Mr. David, ever-suffering 8th grade science teacher at Malcolm Davis Middle School in the inner city. How do I know? When I think back I realized that not one time have I ever used my mind control powers on him. Not. Once. That threw me for a shock when I realized last week in our latest hostage situation.
"Hello again, Mistress," he had told me as we sat on the roof of the middle school, surrounded once again by heroes and cops. Oh, the Mistress isn't some kink, it's the shortened form of my villain name - Mistress Crow. He is probably the only person I've ever allowed to use a shortened form of my name.
"Mr. David," I said, smiling at him as I held him in my grip, "It is a pleasure to see you again," I said icily but I actually meant it. Why had more and more of my capers been taking place near Malcolm Davis?
"Going to give up soon?" he asked me and this riled me just a little. HOW DARE HE? My mind screamed but my heart skipped a beat when he added, "I hope not. I've come to enjoy our little chats."
"Oh really?" I said, just a little too demurely, "How is Eric?" I added and hoped I wasn't blushing.
"The same," he told me sadly, "Skipping school and thinking about joining that gang. I hope I can reach him before it's too late."
"You will," I said as the cops tightened the perimeter and Red Dawn circled up ahead, right outside the radius of my mind control, she wasn't stupid, "I have faith in you."
"Wow," he said, "That's pretty awesome coming from a super-villain." He added the last teasingly, "I do see greatness in you. I wish you would have a change of heart. You know.."
Of course I was so distracted that the vibro-net landed on me without even a dodge. I had about three days in the slammer to think things over until some stupid guard came within range of my mind control and I was out again. Happens EVERY time.
"Greetings," Mr. David told me as I stood in the door of the classroom, "I'm Mr. David, I'll be right across the hall from you if you need anything. I'm your partner teacher."
"Hello, Mr. David," I shook his hand and grinned, "I'm Ms. Raven, I'm glad to be the new Social Studies teacher here."
"These kids can be a little rough," he confided in me and grinned as a rolled up piece of paper flew from my new classroom and landed at my feet, "See?"
"I do," I said, and turned to the class, "Sit down, everyone." To Mr. David's surprise everyone in the class immediately sat down, even Eric.
"Wow," he said to me, "That's amazing. How did you do that?"
"Oh," I said, pulling out my chalk as I shut the door, "That's my little secret." | It was March 3rd, another rainy Saturday night. The freaks and lunatics were once again having their carnival. This time in neon light of the main street. Didn't get the whole story yet, sounds like poison gas again.
I never took part in that circus. I wasn't a clown, I wear this mask so I could retire before 30. And with most of police force on containment duty it's perfect night for a good ol'feshion heist.
Tonight's target - Edward's & Co. Old man got a delivery of new watches and stones. I like him few light gut punches for persuasion and he doesn't complain too much. Few people inside, if thing go badly a hostage is good - keeps police from doing something stupid, I hate it when it get's messy.
Open the front door 2 tranquilizer shots 2 security officers knocked out cold - 30 minutes give or take. 2 gun shot into the air to get everyone's attention "Don't even breathe!" My mask deepens voice "Let's not do anything stupid and everyone will be fine" As I look over the customers - no one stand's out. Then I notice her ,behind the counter, Amy and she's not even worried.
Why would she be? Do you gets worried when crossing the street or driving a car? We done this so much we both are used to it by now. Every time I take hostages she's there. I'm glad she's there. She no longer scream and I like snarky women. One of the customer's start sobbing, another is praying - not a productive work environment.
"Get out!" they look at confused before running for the door.
Amy doesn't move - she knows, I need one hostage to keep police from trying to rush me and she knows that's her.
"How can I help you sir?" - she says through a smile that makes me weak in the knees.
"Where's the old man"
"He's not here today - would do you like to leave a message for him? " She smirks.
Great that's the safe out of the picture. I don't reply. Best this night is gonna give me is about 500k with is gonna be less than 100k on the black market. It's something I think to myself while jumping on he counter and busting display glass with my heal. HUD is saying that police is less than 2 minutes away.
"Didn't your mother teach you any manner's" She steps sideways to let me jump down next to her.
"No, don't move" I grunt while dumping trays into a bag.
I bust second display case with my elbow, sirens just outside quite down - police is here and sniper is in position. I grab her by the arm and pull her to my right side.
"Could you be less rough? I just got my nails done"
"Sorry"
"It's ok" she says annoyed
"What? Didn't I mute the mask?" No it was definitely muted.
"I can still hear you" She says while turning to me "What did you think that the mask completely blocked out your voice? You stupid little weirdo"
My heart sank of course she did hear all that, mask changes my voice but it doesn't mute it. She heard EVERYTHING. My face is burning under the mask. The 'sorry' when I clumsily threw her down on the floor first time, or the 'nice rack', 'Amy huh that's pretty name'. Even the 'I like you'. She heard everything.
"Someone's getting embarrassed hmmm?" She says while getting closer, she stares at me as I keep emptying the trays, pretending to not think about it "It's ok. I know you're all fluff inside"
Grabbing her by the shoulders I place her to my left, snipers line of sight blocked 3 minutes till he re-positions going to be gone before that.
"You know wanted to ask you something"
"What" I don't bother using the voice modifier. The is up, at least with her.
"Are you stalking me? Answer honestly"
"No" I take my time before answering
"oh" looking down "I liked to think you were always after me" And she looks into my eyes, I know that she can't see mine - just a curved mirror, but I feel like she's staring into my soul.
"I'm always glad to see you" Loosing the persona of the suit. Timer runs out - time to leave before sniper's close down my escape path.
Pealing away my eye's from hers I throw down smoke screen. Grapple to the skylight, then it's just a matter of jumping few roof tops, changing outfits and squatting in one of the few apartment that I'm responsible for during the day job.
Change my outfit on top of the staircase, mask off first then the corbon, kevlar and nano-tube business suit, on goes sweat pants and a hoodie, goodies and suit goes into a ordinary shopping bag it never attract's attention.
And boom home away from home. It's easier than getting home on a night like this. No food, or beer but I manage. Probably good idea to call early night if only I could stop thinking about Amy
| 2018-05-23T01:00:41 | 2018-05-23T00:56:36 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] Write a horror story. Difficulty: All characters are emotionally stable and intelligent | What a sight. This behemoth of house, only for $300k. The real estate agent asks my wife and son to step inside. We walked for what seemed like miles on end, going from room to room. My son was captivated, while my wife and I were pondering over what renovations would be needed to be done. Our agent finally gives us a break, gathering all of us in a sun lit parlor, the four of us sitting around a mahogany coffee table on lumpy couches. The agent breaks a brief moment of silence, saying, “Legally, I’m required to tell you that there has been a mur-“
I picked up my son, gave my wife a nod, and we dipped out of there and never looked back. | "Is this a prank...?" I spoke up, unsure if I really wanted an answer.
"Nope," Jimmy excitedly denied. "It was already there when I arrived."
I quietly looked at him.
"So you called me here because there's a fucking doll sitting in the middle of your living room?" I coldly asked.
The door leading to the bathroom suddenly slammed.
"Calm down, buddy," He then approached me and whispered, "Don't be rude. It seems to be quite sensible, this one."
I glanced at the raggedy doll, then surveyed the room it was in, immediately spotting a creepy-looking writing on the wall behind it.
> You're going to die
*It's not the most creative one though.* I thought, annoyed at the fact that even spirits have better handwriting than me.
"Is that really blood?" I asked.
"God, I hope not. Do you know how hard it would be to clean it?" The crashing noise of pans falling to the ground suddenly erupted from the kitchen. "Sorry! I appreciate your art, Mr. Demon!!"
I took a look at him, amused at his antics. Then I sighed and sat on the couch nearer to the door.
"Now, can you tell me why the hell you have a haunted doll and why you called me here?" I inquired.
"Okay. Last week I was browsing the eBay in search of Action Figures I could buy," He then squatted and picked up the doll. "When I found someone selling this wonderful tool there."
"Wonderful tool?"
His answer came together with a malicious grin, "Let me ask you first. Do you know who recently moved to the city?"
I stared at him, too annoyed to even grant him an answer.
"The Smith sisters, Ron!" He then pointed at the window, seemingly unperturbed by the lights unceasingly blinking in the house, "John said he saw those bitches living two streets away from here!"
"The ones who cheated on us?" I raised an eyebrow, "I thought they were still living with their parents in California."
"Not anymore," He said. "Apparently, they're living in the college dorm not far from here. And well... I thought it would be a good idea to send them a gift of welcome to the city, you know?"
I didn't need any more explanations to understand his intentions from there.
I grinned.
"Sounds like an evil plan," I pointed out. "Tell me more about it."
The malefic laughs echoing in the house on that fated night haunted even the Demon who witnessed the whole madness unfolding.
(Hey everyone! It's my first time writing fiction and I'm not a native English speaker so I would be really happy if you guys could help me improve both my writing skills and English by pointing out the mistakes I made writing this.)
PS: My question is: *Are they intelligent or not?* | 2018-08-13T20:11:45 | 2018-08-13T19:24:44 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You are bitten by a werewolf, your sibling is bitten a vampire. Things become awkward when you find out that your parents are secretly famous monster hunters. | It was a dark and stormy night... thunder rolled in the distance, while the family gathered around the fireplace.
&#x200B;
"Mom... dad... I have something important to tell you. Could you please sit down?"
"Sure thing dear." My mother took a seat while polishing her silver-coated crossbow bolts.
"What is it honey?" My father, never relaxed, didn't really glance up from using his thrice-blessed whetstone.
I glanced at my little bro... he knew... but... it was hard to do this... to let my parents know...
"I... I don't for how long it's been but... I was... I'm a werewolf now. And it's been a full month already, so none of your holy water or other stuff will change that. It's who I am now."
I didn't know how they'd react, but they did, without missing a beat.
&#x200B;
"Oh yes, we've noticed the signs when we got back from our last hunt. We've known all this time."
"Son, we're the best monster hunters in the entire region, maybe country. You think we couldn't tell our own kid was doomed to become a werewolf?"
"Your father's right. And with the best monster hunter parents around, we can teach you all about being a werewolf! And how to hide your true self from others. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know."
"I might say I dabbled in werewolves a bit when I was younger."
"Oh honey dear, always the politically-incorrect joker. The only thing you dabbled in was werewolf-skin rugs." I looked down at the werewolf throw-rug in front of us. Could have gone worse I guess.
&#x200B;
I was so confused, yet relieved. Then, my little brother piped up next to me.
&#x200B;
"And I'm a vampire."
"A WHAT?!"
My mother suddenly cocked and spun her crossbow at my little bro. Reflexively and instantly, I transformed into my werewolf-form, covering his fragile profile, as my father quickly grabbed his enchanted falchion from above the rug on the roaring fireplace mantle, unsheathing it.
"I RAISED YOU BOTH TO BE TWO SONS, NOT A SON AND A VAMPIRE."
"Who seroconverted our baby boy into this FILTH?! Only SLUTS become vampires."
"YOU SLUT." My mother brandished her whip.
"Who will carry on the family reputation?"
"Your.... 'brother'.... has to leave this house. Now."
"You can stay, but you.... you're officially dead to us. Undead to us. You know what I mean. GET OUT."
&#x200B;
As my little brother disappeared into the darkness of the night, literally, I began to chase after him. | “Remind me what your name is again.” The man- I mean wolf- I mean *werewolf* they called Lupus said, with a (perhaps permanent) frown on his face.
The flustered werewolf stammered, “J-Johnny, my sir.”
“Well, Johnny, you’re a fucking genius! You know who that girl is?”
“N-no sir, I’m afraid I don’t know her.”
“She’s the Hickins’ daughter! You may be an imbecile but- oh she woke up, shut your fat ass up for a moment, okay?”
“Okay si-“
“I said SHUT UP.”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Pain. Unbelievable pain. That’s all I felt. Then, as my vision got clearer, I saw 2 very hairy men- or maybe 2 very hairless wolves, peering over me.
“Ahh, you finally woke up,” the buffer of the two said. “I was scared that my... *friend* here accidentally killed you. Anyways, welcome to the group.”
“Wait wait wait, what group? What’s happening?”
“Alright, I understand that you’re confused. First things first, we are werewolves, and as of 2 hours ago, you are too. Johnny here it you a *tad* too hard, and your blood loss was horrible. Thankfully you’re alive. But we have a-”
“That’s so cool! I’m a werewolf now! I’m gonna live with you guys right?”
“...You don’t realize the problem? You’re the daughter of the *Hickens*, the famed monster hunters, and now you’re a monster! This is gre- uh, a huge problem!”
“Monster hunters? No no no you’re confused. My dad is a sales accountant, and my mom is a housewife, definitely *not* monster hunters.”
“They didn’t tell you?” The man said. He turned away and opened a drawer next to the bed I’m in. Then I saw a hair pattern behind his ear. A most peculiar hair pattern, black in contrast to his brown hair/fur. It spelled out *Lupus*. Weird. I heard that name thrown around many times when overhearing my parent’s conversations. I never knew what it meant though. Before I could speak up, he turned back to me, holding some pictures.
“Here are pictures of your parents. Here, this one shows them hunting one of us. This scar is a result of that.” And he showed a big scar across his thigh. “I barely ran away with my life.”
“Y-you mean they’re going to kill me if they see me? I mean, they were going to kill me when I was late to school, but now they’re literally going to do it! This is your fault! Get me back to normal right now!”
“Ahh, I would love to, but we have a conflict of interests. We could really use a spy...” he said with a sly, wolf-like smile.
————————————————————————
“Ow! What the fuck man! Why would you bite meeeugh”
And the boy- looks about 16 or 17- collapsed to the ground.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Uhh.. siir? Are you avake yet?”
“Yeah random Russian guy who bites people, I’m awake.”
“Uhh, excvuse me, I am not Russian, I am Romanian!”
“Alright Romanian guy, why the fuck did you bite me?”
“Vell of course, to suck your blood! Now vour’e a vampire!”
“Fuck. My parents are quite literally gonna kill me!”
“Vhat’s the problem little sir? Don’t you want to be a vanpire?”
“No, because my parents are fucking monster hunters! Why wouldn’t they kill me?”
“Oh no! I feel very sorry for you, little sir, but this is a security breach. I vill have to kill you-“
“Wait wait wait. First, stop calling me little sir, I’m called Brandon, and second, WHAT NO DON’T KILL ME!”
“Vhy shouldn’t I, *little sir*, you could easily expose us to your parents! I have to kill you. Sorry, it’s not personal.”
“B-but I could be very useful to you! I... uh... could be a spy! They’ll never suspect me,and I’ll just hide my vampireness from them and report to you what they do!”
“Hmmm... seems to be a good idea. I’m in.”
“Great.” | 2020-01-12T07:56:17 | 2020-01-12T06:40:38 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] The thing that makes humanity dangerous isn't their passion, their bravery, or their honour like they had imagined. No, The thing that makes them dangerous is their stupidity. | Garett cleaved his greatsword through the Hydralisk's tendril, the plasma edges of his blade searing through iron carapace and thick flesh alike.
The beast's hooked claws thunked to the ground and its owner bellowed a terrible, putrid scream, flailing a smoking limb.
The roar echoed through the stadium around them, punctuated by hoots from the Strixians perched on the upper levels and clicks from the towering Malacostrums.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and worms. Garett the Brave!" the announcer yelled. His voice boomed through the arena, tinny through the universal translator. "We hear he's fighting for his sister's freedom. Aww!"
The Hydralisk continued to flop and Garrett saw his opportunity. He raised his weapon and charged.
The creature's roars trailed to a whimper as the human approached. The Hydralisk flattened its five remaining limbs against the ground and prostrated itself before Garett.
Garett didn't need a translator to understand. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, keeping his gaze trained on his trembling foe.
"My, my, folks. We haven't seen a play like this since Pegrid the Idiot tried for it. Emphasis on try of course, because-"
Garett shuddered as icy claws punctured his back. As air plunged from his lungs he looked back. A tendril poked up from the ground behind him. Its blade-like claws now protruded through his stomach.
Garett spun back to see the Hydralisk's mandibles widen. Its low whimper turned to a gleeful chitter.
"-well because of this, really," the announcer continued. "Ain't no place for honor here, folks."
*Honor.*
Garett clenched his teeth. He slammed his greatsword through the tendril behind him, slicing the limb at the tip and freeing himself from the Hydralisk's hold.
The creature screamed again, and at this distance, Garett could feel the acid sting of its breath.
*Like I do this for honor.*
He bit his lip and grasped the chitin claw still skewered through his abdomen.
Garett hesitated for a moment and pulled.
Before he could scream, he dipped the tip of his greatsword where the claw had been.
He screamed now.
"What shall we put on his tombstone folks? Garett the Brave? More like Garett the Stupid."
Writhing on the ground he touched his hand to his stomach.
No blood. He had seared his wound closed. For now.
Garett struggled to his knees. He hunched, puffing.
Ahead of him, the Hydralisk reared to its full, colossal height. It brandished two severed limbs and seven furious eyes. It roared.
*Stupid? Yeah this is pretty stupid.*
Garett thought of the day the slavers came. His mother's frail shoulders, shaking with sobs. His own shoulders. Thin, powerless, helpless.
*Stupid.*
Garett roared back.
r/bobotheturtle | *BZZ CRCK BZZ*
“Calling scout Flarb Zodweller of the humans research division for his daily report on sector 917 of Earth. Have you noticed anything unusual?”
“This is scout Flarb Zodweller. Nothing out of the ordinary today, but I’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“Copy, over”
The routine midday call from headquarters had just passed, which meant Flarb had about four hours left of his shift. He was still tense though. It was just a typical Garbday afternoon, but when you worked in the human research department on planet Kuvara, stress was the norm.
Even from five solar systems away, without any proof that the humans knew of their existence, the Kuvarans always had to be on their toes and keep constant tabs on Earth. One small slip up or unnoticed nuclear space weapon and their entire planet could be destroyed. That’s how destructive the humans were.
“Well we got the call, that means we're half way through our day at this bull shit job.” Flarb’s coworker Holg had just woken up from his usual afternoon nap and was stretching out all four of his long purple arms at the desk next to him.
Unlike Flarb, Holg was a young hot shot straight out of university who longed to join the space exploration team and did not understand the savage carnation that the beings of Earth were capable of. Nor did he grasp the extent of the unspeakable cruelties they have been inflicting on their own people for thousands of years.
“You know... Holg, you really ought to show some more enthusiasm for our job. We are the barrier between our planet and its possible ruin, it’s a very serious position that requires constant concentration.” Flarb had given this speech to Holg a dozen times, but he still hoped to get through to the kid.
“Listen Flarb, I appreciate the support...I really do, and I know that spying on humans to make sure they don’t kill our entire civilization is kinda like your thing, but it’s not really mine. I’m just trying to work my way up to the space exploration team.”
There was a momentary silence as Flarb took in Holg’s words. He could respect this youthful opinion; even Flarb knew that he was more weary of the humans than most of his fellow scouts. Although Holg slept and played video games through shifts, Flarb was ready to drop the discussion.
But then...Holg broke the silence and added on to his lazy defense.
“Plus I mean come on, when have we ever actually been threatened by the humans? The job can’t be that important if there’s only two of us a shift and we hardly ever have anything official to report. The humans are idiots!”
This is where Flarb drew the line.
“No Holg, you are the idiot if that’s what you really think” Flarb couldn’t remember the last time he had said something so harsh. Maybe it was his pent up frustration with some not understanding why the humans must be observed so closely.
Holg fell silent as all three of his eyes widened nervously. He had never seen Flarb so serious.
“The reasons we must be cautious of the humans...the reason they could be the undoing of our entire universe...it’s because of how stupid they are.”
“What do you mean?” Holg was starting to sound genuinely concerned.
“Didn’t you ever read your Earth history books at the academy? A mere three hundred years ago the humans formed a colony where they enslaved their own kind and tortured and killed them in order to cultivate an empire. Less than a hundred years ago one of their evil rulers devised a war and had millions of his own kind executed for merley practicing a different religion. Their species knows no bounds, they are violent, primitive beasts with an innate desire for annihilation. Who knows what they would do if they discovered a life form alien to their own.”
The air was still, neither were talking now. Holg gulped as he stared at the floor, he had never bothered to analyze the extent of the humans’ transgressions.
Just then a loud siren rang throughout the room, and the words “EMERGENCY ALERT” flashed on the giant monitor that took up the entire wall in front of Flarn and Holg’s desks.
“It says it’s coming from sector 917” All four of Flarb’s arms were racing as he hastily tried to pin the location of the warning. “Holg enhance on region X-52”
At that moment a large spaceship beginning to lift from the atmosphere blazed across the monitor.
“What—What is that thing? I thought humans hadn’t discovered intergalactic travel yet?” Holg was starting to take his 9-5 more seriously.
“It’s that pioneer Elon Musk again” Flarb began to send a message to headquarters. “Looks like it’s only a routine launch, nothing to worry about, but we should still report it to intelligence”
Flarb was lying though, he knew it was only a matter of time before the humans discovered Kuvara. While some of them occasionally displayed flashes of brilliance they were still a race controlled by senseless leaders who lacked even the simplest intellect. Once the explorers of their species found alien life, their first orders from above would probably be to eradicate it. | 2020-08-03T23:13:45 | 2020-08-03T22:12:47 | 40 | 18 |
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