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[WP] 37. That is how many times you have died of unnatural causes. Every time you do, you get reset to the age of 5, retaining all of your past memories. You think that this is finally the time you get to move on with life. | "Woakay... So I tried stocks, bitcoins, betting to no avail, those always end up with my untimely demise I've learned how to do everything I've wanted; landscaping, architecture, archery, marksmanship, cooking, assassination, child care, biotechnological design, nuclear energy, and the list goes on in all my thousands of years something always gets me but this time I have an ace... 31 times I've perished by human intervention, 4 times I died that I still can't explain even with my vast knowledge, and once even a woman from a higher dimension tried to speak to me which hurt... A lot. Still glad I learned biotech because that one robot uprising was so boring I'd rather watch paint dry, all it took was turning them off and on again to apply the human protection program... Either way I'm getting off topic I have an ace this time. I've speculated for more than six thousand years how she, and her underlings did it how they always managed to live probably longer than me in every life, but I know it now just a drop of blood is all it takes... All this time the queen was the holy grail herself and nothing, no tech bio upgrade, method, scheme, or plan can top a single drop of her blood." I said in full exposition towards a random guy cowering in shock next to me; a 5 year old with a sassy attitude, as I tower over the unconscious body of the queen, surrounded by thousands of dead soldiers, assassin's, guards the whole kit and kaboodle. As I drew a small drop of her blood, and place it into a machine without name to process it and switch it's genetic key to mine. "Finally, this nightmare is over!" I said... Oh if only I knew what repercussions that would have... Think about it... At least I know why I always come back at 5... And why the queen lives so long... Because we share the same blood now and paradoxically then... The moment she spoke I'll never forget, that bone chilling and painful voice... 38th attempt now... Fuck, I'm just gonna work at Wendy's I need a break. | Ali wakes up from a dream floating down the stairs of his childhood home towards his mother, and he knows: he was shot. For the first time in 37 deaths he has been shot. And for the 37th time Ali did not manage to lead a long and prosperous live. He managed to come quite far this time. 42 years old. He moved away from the city as soon as he could and bought an arid field near an isolated village in the northern mountains. To the surprise of his initially sceptic neighbours his plot of land turned out to have an enormous pocket of water underneath it which set Ali's farm up nicely once the hard work of digging the well was completed. And to the joy of his initially not too hospitable neighbours, he was more than willing to share access to the plentiful amounts of irrigation.
Ali had once spent some time in this remote village in a previous life. He grew fond of a couple of people there during his world-saving phase. Life 3-15. And 31, after the lottery, stocks and and going full barrel with cryptos. Turns out real luxury is about maximizing time. And making the most of ones time is about saving time. Keeping travel and waiting time short in every aspect of life. A pretty pointless endeavour when you are apparently able to always reincarnate to the day after your fifth birthday. Ali felt especially sore that he did not try the life of luxury earlier, when he would still have been able to enjoy it. But he had been so rigid and ideological back then. The first two lives Ali just figured out what he got himself into. After being run over for a dare about running crossing the road at 15 years old, he choked on a beignet at 27 and 295 pounds. Not much time to figure things out, but trying to make the world an utopia gave Ali some much needed purpose back then. And it made Ali try to self-improve all his vanities out of himself. Turns out, another pointless endeavour.
Ali huffed and made a sad and angry face. It was really early, but Ali could hear the familiar creak of the flooring and closing of doors from his mothers morning routine. Ali knew two things in this moment: That he had absolutely no idea what he should do with his life and that reincarnating into this moment was actually kind of lucky. But, nonetheless, he was frustrated. He exhaled loudly through his nose. As loud and as long as his young lungs could support. "God, if yyou wake me up I' gonna hit you", his sleepy sister mumbled. `I really have to improve the socio-economic status of my family`, Ali thought to himself.
He threw his blanket off his bed demonstratively in the direction of his sisters's bed, and then revelled in the angry glance she gave after hearing something approach. Ali got up and quietly snuck out the room, carefully not opening the door wide enough so it would creak. He inspected the hallway on the way to the kitchen where his mom was. "Can you teach me how to make pancakes", Ali asked arriving at the kitchen entrance. Alis Mom turned around with a smile, which in turn made Ali smile. Today was going to be a good day. "Good morning, sweetheart.", she replied. Ali contemplated if he should just try to strive for as many truly happy and fulfilling moments as possible. His mother continued: "I'd love to make pancakes with you, but it will have to be another time. I already prepared muesli for breakfast." As Ali made his way into the kithen and heard this tragic news so shortly after his own violent death, he realized that he has neither tried his hand at torture nor at being a mass-murdering hobo cult leader. Ali pulled back his chair and sat down infront of a muesli bowl that was ever so unappealing to Ali. He damned his underdeveloped brain and swore of any decision as big as becoming a murder-hobo until he was at least 13, while picking at the parts of the muesli he liked. `This is going to be another hard one`, Ali thought while chewing one one of the few chocolate chips in his bowl. | 2021-05-30T11:16:53 | 2021-05-30T11:05:59 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!” | During the day, the children of the village of Tomich would whisper tales about creatures of tooth and tail, fang and claw, sucking the marrow from your bones and disappearing in a cackle.
At night, they checked under the bed hoping they had not offended a being who dwells in the shadows of the creaking mattress.
Children were smart, until adulthood knocked it out of them, thought Arthur.
Tonight was full moon. The blue and gray light washed lazily over the low rolling hills, a whisper of fog stood above the lake. Nested between the lake and a mound, Tomich's small cemetery. A stone wall, few headstones, barely any flowers. The farmers lived a healthy and frugal life in the Scottish Highlands, and they considered the respect given while alive to be the best way to honor the dead. In the morning, when they woke up, the sight of the graveyard, separated only by a beaten path from the dwellings, reminded them of the impermanence of all things.
The dead were left alone.
Not tonight.
Arthur dug, his shovel hit the dirt with the regularity of a clockwork. Even the pale light of the moon seemed to stay silent out of respect for the middle-aged man as he worked away, only taking the time to wipe a solitary tear he shed sometimes.
The shovel hit wood, and Arthur did not hesitate to break the coffin.
Emma lay there, sleeping forever. The wound at the side of her head had been washed properly for the burial, but insects had found their way back in, bloating and buzzing inside the right side of her face. The left side was pristine, peaceful and calm, as only the dead could be. They knew their story was over, knew they would be forgotten in a generation, and they didn't mind. They gave back to the earth, and let oblivion take care of what forgiveness could not.
"I'm sorry," said Arthur, as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her from the grave.
Birds and rats watched from afar while the strange man carried the corpse to a lonely shack.
Emma had not lost much in the two days since she had been buried. Safe for her newly opened wound, she still had that calm presence that could impose respect with a single look.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, as the knife cut through the flesh, as the tube was put into her mouth, as a wheel pressed air into her lungs.
He made great efforts to not look at her as the human she had been, forced himself to not remember, to not imagine what could have been.
The saw went through the skull with a deafening, high-pitched sound. It was mercifully short. Arthur poured the wax on her brain and closed it again, taking great care to cover the new scar with her scalp.
He palpated the mouth and throat, and gave out a sigh of release as he noticed how the vocal cords were still in good condition.
The worst part for the dead coming back alive was to notice the change, no matter how small and irrelevant. To wake up with a stranger's voice is an added suffering for someone deserving of eternal rest.
Content with the state of affairs, Arthur proceeded to cleanse the bits of skin and bone that had been eaten away, inch by inch. It was not necessary to bring her back alive, but the occultist had made it part of the ritual.
When the sun came up, he heated two stones in the pot, and put them at the side of her head while hot. He could almost feel the wax starting to boil under the skin, until a reaction brought an electric jolt out of it, and Emma opened her eyes.
"Let me die," were her first words, "please."
"Soon, Emma, I promise it won't last long."
Arthur held her by the arm, Emma's first new steps were hard, but she was decided to get it over with.
When they entered the hall, the adults were already gathered.
A drunken brawl? A jealous pretender? An unlucky fall?
The judgement had been postponed, to show respect for Emma first, and because no one was sure of anything.
All stood up in stupor when they saw her enter.
A word, a pointed finger, a nod. Enough to get to the bottom of the case, to shed a new understanding on a sad and ridiculous riddle.
The culprit was led outside by a mob of angry peasants, who leered at Arthur with slightly less hate.
In the gathering hall remained Arthur, Emma and Acair. The latter hugged his departed wife close. The smell and the strangeness could not dampen his emotions laid bare. They whimpered, and Arthur, his back against the wall, wished he had been in Acair's place.
Together, they went back to the graveyard. The hole was ready, Emma just had to lie inside and die once more.
"How will you do it?"
"Just let the cold take you."
A chilly wind kept chasing away the warmth of the sun. Arthur and Acair sat at the edge of the grave, looking at Emma inside who was feeling sleepy.
"You can't stay in the village anymore," said Acair, "they won't forgive you for... what you've done."
"I know."
"You didn't have to do this," added Emma.
"I know."
He would go and wander. Once more. Find an empty tower at the edge of a wood, a shack in a village where a healer was needed, a fishing hovel and a boat on a small island on a small lake.
Emma yawned.
"I love you," she whispered.
And gone she was.
Arthur and Acair shoveled the earth back into her final resting place, hoping she would never have to be disturbed again.
A nod was enough for a farewell. They had been rival once. It seemed so meaningless now.
In his hut, Arthur gathered his meager belongings. From the open door he could see the fumes of a pyre burning in the distance, the same fate awaiting what had been his home. He felt almost sorry for letting the walls and the furniture suffer such a sad end.
Outside, he looked at Tomich, engraving the sight in his mind. Melancholia came over him.
The cold and invigorating air washed it way.
No more home, but it was okay. The sky, the wet grass, the hills and vales. It was something, it was somewhere to be. And he could choose where to lay roots once more.
He yearned for warmth and sun.
Arthur took his first step southwards. | “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true! As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
Florian shrank back from his speech, sitting awkwardly against the back end of his corvette. He was a big man; always trying to be larger than life, though he rarely ever accomplished it. Now he shook all over, a sort of palsy running across him from head to toe I’d known the man ten years, and never known him to shake like this.
“What do I think?” I said. “Honestly? Too dramatic. I know you’re the lawyer here, but is that really the kind of thing someone would say in a courtroom? And beyond that, are you okay?”
“Me?” Florian said, surprised. He brushed his forehead with the back of a hand and it came back sweaty. He blinked hard, went rummaging through nearby drawers for a cloth or a towel. That got me blinking too. We were in my garage, but the garage looked different somehow. I couldn’t place it.
“Yeah, you. You’re fuckin’ tweaking.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Quite fine, promise.” He found a towel and sat back heavily against his car, wiped off enough sweat to sustain a Fremen village. “Anyway, lets get back to it. Sir, what is your name?”
“What, this again?” I said.
“Humor me.”
I humored him. “Carter Hendricks,” I said, feeling, as I always did, that it was a name more fit for a medieval peasant than a modern man. Florian nodded like it was important.
We’d played these games in the past, in that year after Florian had become a lawyer and before he’d gotten control of his anxiety. I used to sit through everything he could throw at me, pretending to be a witness, pretending to be the opposing counsel, regurgitating hundreds of lines a night, all of which he had prepared for me. Florian might look like an up-jumped bar fighter, but he was diligent as hell, excellent at his job. Or at least, I assumed so. In return, he’d been forced to sit through a thousand pitch meetings. It was an even trade.
But today was fucking weird.
“Carter, yes Carter.” Florian said, mopping his brow again. He’d worn a cheap suit, soaked through it already. “Mr. Hendricks. Mr. Hendricks, I—”
“Hang on,” I said, “you’re fucking with me though, right? This is some Halloween thing, and Eve’s gonna bust through that door any second now screaming ‘April Fools’ even though it hasn’t been funny in years and she knows I’m humoring her even harder than I’m you, and…”
I trailed off. Florian looked physically ill. He stood, then sort of fell back again, butt banging up against his corvette; he would’ve screamed at me if I’d done that. Something tickled at the edge of my consciousness but I couldn’t place it. Everything felt wrong, Florian looked very wrong, but my brain felt fuzzy somehow, my thoughts came slower than usual.
“Fuck,” I said, trying to rub a tingling sensation off the side of my head. “Were we drinking last night?”
Florian stepped forward very quickly, grabbed my attention again. “Yes, yes, drinking! My god Carter, you should have seen yourself, there’s a reason Eve doesn’t let you near the vodka anymore.”
“Vodka?” I said. He was right, Eve didn’t let me near it. There’d been a thing a few years ago. “Hold on, where’s Eve?”
The tingle in the side of my head had become a dull ache, then a sort roar inside my brain. Nothing felt right. Florian grabbed me by the chin, his big paw of a hand held me firmly focused on his eyes.
“She’s fine,” he said, in a shaky, broken tone that meant anything but. “Lets focus, okay? Mr. Hendricks, what is your relationship to the accused?”
The accused? I tried to push Florian back but my arms didn’t seem to be working. He held me trapped with one hand, not even any strain in it, and though Florian had always been strong, he wasn’t that strong.
Wait, I thought, he didn’t even look that strong now! Beneath the suit I could see the first signs of a paunch, his cheeks sagged a little, barely perceptible but still there. And then I looked past him, really looked for what felt like the first time, and I realized, *that’s his car in my garage.*
“Florian,” I said, “what’s going on?”
He pawed at his face with the towel, makeup came away, staining the white fabric. His eyes looked older, wrinkles had set in. “Florian,” I whispered, “where's Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is your relationship to the accused?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, wallet sized picture, and my whole body *rebelled.*
I flinched from Florian’s hand, too fast and too sudden for him to follow. I realized I was sitting, tried to stand but legs didn’t work; I went sprawling across the concrete floor, head cracking off it. I spat out a shard of tooth, watched it bounce away from me towards a large, faded reddish-brown stain.
Somehow I rolled myself over to see Florian standing above me, terror in his eyes, terror tracking down my whole body.
I looked down, saw the sheet that must have been covering me; it was tangled in my legs now.
I was a ruin. My ribcage was a staved in hole, bits of flesh hanging off here and there, all rotted. My right arm was missing entirely, my left terminated at a bony, fingerless hand. Where a stomach had been, I had a churn of maggots and a shorn off hipbone. The sheet covered everything else: not enough.
“Florian,” I gasped, “where is Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is nature of your relationship to the accused?” He held the photo right in front of me, grabbed the back of my hairless skull, turned eyes that I was now certain were no more than pits towards him.
The photo in his hand was a red blur, an outline of a man filled in by rage and hate. I couldn’t see him at all, but I knew, knew beyond any shadow of a doubt what our relationship was.
“That’s the man who killed me,” I said.
Florian laid my head back gently, muttering an unhinged “Good, good, good, good, yes, yes it is, thank you…” and a dozen other things, over and over like a mantra.
“Where's Eve!” I shouted. “Where is she?”
I could barely turn my head enough to see the bloodstain on the concrete next to me. There was so much of it; somehow I knew it wasn’t mine, that I had not died in this room.
“I’m so sorry,” Florian whispered. Then he whispered other words, words that twisted themselves around me like a vice, words that shattered whatever of me that there was left within the bones and shredded meat. Florian crouched down next to me as my vision went dim.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had to know what you would say before…Carter, I swear to you we’ll get revenge. I fucking swear, brother.”
He might have taken my hand, he moved but I couldn’t feel it.
“*Where is she?”* I tried to say, but my lips wouldn’t frame the words.
And then, across a distance unaccountably vast and unimaginably painful, I heard my name; whispered in the sort of tone you use with one asleep, or when you are very much in love. *“You’re back,”* Eve said.
“Follow her voice,” Florian said. “Find her again Carter, and when the time comes, I’ll find you.”
I went, drifting through worlds of inky black, following a trail of whispers.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-10-04T07:30:03 | 2021-10-04T07:12:12 | 229 | 134 |
[WP] In a world where magic is cast using words, the most feared of all are those who can speak very clearly and quickly, you are one of the most feared, a rapper. | The cavernous battle hall rumbled beneath Tam's feat. As he waited in the tunnel leading into the stage, he flipped through his grimoire under the flickering lantern light--making sure his rhymes were right.
The announcer, draped in a rich crimson robe and with a shock of tall golden hair, stood center stage and made his voice blare. It was time.
"Lords and ladies. Tonight we witness the final match of the night."
He pointed to the other tunnel leading into the arena.
"I present to you, your champion. Magus of the First Order--Filius Von Bright!"
Sparks burst from torches hanging from iron-wrought sconces. The arch magus, Filius, raised his hands and entered undaunted. The crowd boomed, cries echoed. Filius marched into the arena with a confident stride.
"And in this corner. Em. The challenger. An urchin of the streets. A houseless boy, no title or sponsor. The underdog of Cheapside. Tam Gregaine."
Tam snapped his grimoire shut. Preparations complete. He'd show them all, every single one, how a self-taught magus could speak. He climbed up onto his corner and clenched his jaw tight. All that was left was to speak with all his might.
A liveried servant, hair cut from a bowl, took Filius' glittering robe and hopped off the stone platform. Filius stroked his graying-black beard, his lips curled into a smirk. Though shorter than Tam by a head, Filius looked down at him like he was smaller than small. Like he was a joke.
Tam ignored the boos of the crowd to his back. There was more than just a fat sack of coin on the line tonight. His pride was at stake, his pride and that of every denizen of Cheapside. Though none of his friends were granted a pass to sit among the crowd, their hopes and dreams he wore like a crown.
"The rules are the same," the announcer cried. "First to yield loses. Or the first to die. BEGIN!"
Before the announcer finished scrambling off the stage, Filius pointed at Tam and cast his first spell. "Sister Sun and Brother Moon, rise and meet. As you embrace, there lies the power to banish and summon darkness. Consume my foes in your brilliant shadow. Eclipse!"
A black sphere, edged in a brilliant golden light, grew from Filius' fingertip and shot out at Tam.
Tam crossed his arms over himself in a guard and shouted, "Your words are weak! Bounce off my shell, into next week!"
A pale blue shield formed over Tam's crossed arms. But the arch magus' words weren't weak. They carried the strength of years of training. They carried the weight of privilege.
The sphere crashed into Tam's shield, humming like a dozen wasp hives. The sphere pushed against Tam, his second-hand boots slipping against the stone floor in a backslide. Tam gritted his teeth and dug his heels hard. The shield shattered like glass and the orb smashed into his arms.
The crowd cheered.
But Tam was not done. Hurt, yes. He rolled to his knees and hands, mercifully still there. While the sphere had struck true, the shield diminished the effect. Tam climbed to his feet, prepared for what came next.
Filius tugged at his beard, clearly frustrated that his spell had not left a smear of blood. He clasped his hands over his chest and continued his assault with his silver tongue.
"Illustrious Ember, glory be to you. Illuminate me with your soul so I might slay my enemies. Glorify me with your divine mercy. Immolation!"
Flame burst to life center stage and roared, growing larger, taking shape. The air sweltered and lit the hall in a strong ruddy glow. In a flash, the flame flared and a figure stood on the stone. Ember, an elemental lord, held his head high in armor made of cinders and smoke.
Tam shielded his face from the heat and reached into his coat. He pulled his pulse stone and whispered into it a single word. "Beat."
A heavy *thud* rumbled through the hall. *One, two, three, four*. The beat overhead matched his pulse as if amplifying his heart. To Filius, the battle may have been as good as won. But to Tam, the fight was not over until the beat was done.
Tam threw his arms open and stared down the fire lord. His eyes were like forges that stretched all the way to the core of the earth. Fear spread through his veins like ice water, wrapping heavy around his neck like a frigid yoke. But Tam did not look away. Not today. Then, he spoke--
"You don't want none of this, my words are daggers, a kris,
Embers flicker and trickle, elemental, you've found yourself in a pickle
What's a lord to a rebel, a hungry poor devil? My words--
Snide. Hide. Your fancy spells fall to my design
I'm a verbal assassin, watch as your time keeps passing
Sealed, unhealed within the chains I keep lashing
Round and round--your struggle is embarrassing
Kneel before the one, the spell breaker--
Tam Greraine. The lyrical unmaker."
A spell circle appeared beneath Ember's feet, spinning and glowing a sickly dark blue. Ember raised a hand, conjuring a sphere of flame so bright it looked like a small sun. But before he could launch it at Tam, ethereal chains in the hundreds shot out from the edges of the circle and wrapped around Ember, binding him still.
The crowd behind Tam gasped. While some continued their boos, others cheered in delight. In the end, the crowd wanted a show. Entertainment. A real fight.
Filius paced around his bound elemental, glaring daggers at Tam. "Street filth," he shouted. "You think your sloppy, improvised spells can win you this battle? I am a magus of the First Order. Trained in the Hall of Words. You die tonight!"
Tam bounced to the pulse stone rumbling through the air. "No one dies, magus, unless I decide. Tonight, my victory is not just for me. But for all of us in Cheapside." | The world had been filed down to the point of an Inquisition jail cell, all I had left was memories and music. Drifting in the space between, I could almost blot out the mattress beneath me. The sound of dripping water played a distant, metronomic beat. I tapped out the rest of the music against my chest, whispered powerless verses to the rusted grate in the ceiling through which they occasionally gave us light. Next door I could hear the soft, shaky breathing of another man, knew that mine was no better. They’d moved him in here a week ago and I still hadn’t learned his name.
Powerless verses from a powerless man, trapped in a cavern turned into a cell. The Inquisitors knew what they were about, and how not? They’d kept us down long enough. They knew the ins and outs of a Rapper’s musical magic. They knew that it was not like the sorcery of old or the witchcraft still practiced in stubborn corners of the world (and sometimes beneath their very noses.)
No, Rapper’s magic worked on the mind. It seeped in through the eardrums and hopped you up on hope, forced a little extra blood into your muscle tissue, pushed desperate people past their breaking points to a hundred and ten percent. It worked itself on the world through the people who heard it. It was an endemic force with the power to reshape nations and in the right hands, on the right lips, it had gone virulent.
My hands, her lips. I should have known I’d be arrested. What I still have made the music, if I’d know what this place was like?
Something interrupted the flow of the water. It skipped a beat, restarted in a place it shouldn’t have. I hated when the water did that. It broke my metronome and for a moment my hands and my verses didn’t what to do. I felt the lumpy mattress, the darkness. I felt every inch of the cavern they had thrown me into, carved up by cell walls crafted from stalagmites, explored with my fingertips in the countless unlit hours when eyes could not. No one left to hear me but the man in the cell next door. The silent man. What had he done?
I’d performed.
The dripping steadied itself off beat, a sixteenth note away from where it had been. I adjusted the count in my head, the anxiety easing off a little as the memory seeped back in with the water.
I’d performed. We had performed. And to say that we had simply performed would have been an understatement, and a slight entirely pointed at her. Since my capture the Inquisitors might have put out that I was writing all the songs but that was hardly true. Dinae had more than done her part. We wouldn’t have been The Artifice without her.
Imagine a room nearly as dark as my prison cell, the black shaped in careful silken shrouds to hang across the stage, the dance floor, the tables on the balconies and the stools by the bar. Everything uncertain, secret, hidden. A black room for a black art, the perfect canvas for music and magic both. A place where after a patron left they might pass by another at the market the following morning and never know them.
A fact we leaned into. Dinae wore a black skirt, black halter, a black, lacy mask like those worn at the grand balls uptown, struck through a mote of scarlet and casually torn along the moth wings that arced down across her cheeks to frame strikingly red lips.
I was a shadow in an executioner’s mask, an axe slung across my back as I crept to the stage. There were drummers behind and Menico on the keys, shouting with his strange, lilting foreign accent as the half-light lit the stage.
Dinae had looked over, red lips parting for the first earth-shattering word.
And then the lights had gone up fully, the club had erupted in screams, and a phalanx of Inquisitors stalked in.
I forced the memory back where I always did, the doomed fight and the words I’d said then. I don’t know if I bought Dinae enough time to escape, I only know that I tried, and that many others did, those who had heard my song fighting alongside me.
In the darkness of my cell everything was indivisible from the club and the chaos, the silence screamed at me as loudly as the Inquisitors shouts had. I tried to control my ragged breathing but bile rose in my throat. Muscles ached, atrophied amid the darkness and the claustrophobic rock. I’d screamed myself out months ago, wasn’t sure if I had anything left. It might have been that the verses I whispered in the dark were simply my imagination. It had been so long since I’d heard a human voice that my own had stopped seeming real, a thing only noticed when the anxiety rushed in to fill the empty spaces in the day.
They were all empty spaces. All of them. I laid in the dark, shaking, and I forced it all to stop one muscle at a time. I went down the line through my fingers, the right hand and then the left. I halted the beat of one manic foot and then laid still, teeth gritted, until cramps subsided in the other. I worked my way up through calves and thighs, willing every frantic muscle in my body to step rebelling, and at last I came to my lungs, the hardest part because they couldn’t seem to take a breath, and yet they also couldn’t stop trying.
I closed my eyes against the dark, focused on the sound of the water, grateful that they hadn’t taken away its beat.
A subtle tapping intruded. It grew, then grew again. Like a knuckle rapping on something I thought, then like a foot tapping along, then stamping, all meshed to the tune of the water that had been my only lifeline. The sounds formed themselves into a beat, heavy on the two and the four, and then a voice broke in.
Lifetimes since I’d heard a voice. They lowered my food and drinking water through the grate above, brought out the waste pail the same way. They always stayed so far back that I couldn’t even see the hint of a face.
Lifetimes since I’d heard a voice and this was raised in song and it had a brought a beat to play with. I could scarcely think at first. Then as the measures stretched and I realized it wasn’t a dream I stood, really stood for the first time in so long! My legs were shaky beneath me but I didn’t care about that, I cared about the sound of the voice. I crept towards the voice in the dark, tried to make it fit onto Dinae’s even though it wasn’t, even though it was a man’s nasally voice and not hers, light and sweet and *hers*.
But it was a voice in the dark and that was enough after so long.
I sat down against the stalagmite bars, listening, and then a spot in the music opened up. I heard my break out break out of my chest and out of my stammering breath. I reached out towards his music and the man in the next cell over reached out towards mine, and there in dark we found a little spot of magic, of the sort no man could ever take away from us.
Trapped in the darkness, it sounded something like [this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKKH9_N6EjU&ab_channel=monaya)
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have that!
P.S. if you don't listen to any other part of that clip from Slam you have to listen to the stuff beginning at 0:54. I loved that movie and Saul Williams absolutely kills it there. This whole story was written just to link that. | 2021-11-13T14:10:43 | 2021-11-13T10:56:44 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all. | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
​
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
​
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
​
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
​
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
​
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
​
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 689 | 128 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | At the age of 14, all children are lined up and sent into the "Eternity Chamber" built by one of the founders and pioneers of the Power Attainment Information of the Nation (or P.A.I.N) for short. They have built this chamber to assess and safely test all powers plausible and insert the perfect job for said powers to prevent society from collapsing.
This, was the worst day, for everyone else, as I walked into the chamber and began awaiting what manual of powers was going to be thrown at me.
*Don't. Be. A. Hero.*
*You have been granted the power of pushing back against the order. You are to restore balance and shatter the peace and idea of order. To put things back into balance, chaos must exist for order to have meaning.*
I froze in place, was this a joke? I was waiting for the chamber, someone, anyone, I needed reassurance, but received none.
*Your powers have already begun to take form, be ready, and use your brain. You're going to become incredible and very important within this role. Do not fail, and Do NOT be a hero.*
As those last words rang out, alarms began buzzing, and guards swarmed the room. I was held at gunpoint and heard the triggers squeeze. Everything slowed down, the bullets, the sounds, everything. I was nearly paralyzed and dropped to my knees in fear. The world got faster, and those bullets all missed me and hit the other guards in the crossfire. I ended six different lives by proxy. My body started screaming at me to run, to escape, and so I did. By some sheer luck, things went my way, doors being jammed open, other guards being unusually inept, I had made it out with my life.
I couldn't go home, I couldn't go to my family, my mom, my dad, my friends. They had some of their "professional heroes" staked out. I was ostracized and outed from this society, and when that hit, I began to cry; Like a newborn for their mother, I was alone. Those horrible words *Don't be a hero* echoed once again, and I felt my body become oddly calm. I walked to the nearest convenience store, took some snacks, and walked out without paying. I was destined to one day, bring a level of chaos to the amount of order created...I gotta start somewhere I guess. | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
​
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
​
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
​
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
​
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
​
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
​
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T09:53:03 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 197 | 128 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Willem, the sun is setting earlier now. Walk the fences, and take the scraps to the pig sty and if....."
"Yes, ma. I know. If I am set upon by goblins, drop the scrap bucket and run back home. Ma, I'm fourteen in a moon's turn. I could fight a goblin."
"Willem! We done harm them none and they don't bother us none. Not law, not custom, just is and always is in this village."
Willem did as he was told. Walked the fences and checked the gates. Everything was in order. The herds of sheep were content in their pens. He yawned and hope to get a cup of ale with Da before bed.
There was a rustling from the tree line. Willem reflexively reached for his knife fearing a wolf, but it was merely three goblins. He hadn't seen them in a while and assumed they were prepping for winter.
"GRAHH," shouted the tallest goblin who was still shorter than Willem. He brandished a stick with a rock on the end. He waved it over his head, but the rock fell off the stick.
Willem relaxed and said in a plain tone, "Please, don't, goblin. Take my food and leave my village in peace."
He emptied the food scraps on the ground. He wouldn't concede the bucket. The trio of goblins looked hungrily at the food on the ground. Willem backed away slowly expecting them to feed.
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" came a booming sound from the village.
Willem froze. He had heard the war horn blown before. The sound could mean only one thing. Raiders come down the river. He looked at the trio of goblins.
"Go back to the woods. Sea raiders have come upriver. Protect yourself."
The tall goblin smiled, "Not here. Not OUR village."
The goblins retreated to the woods with unnatural speed. Willem left the bucket, despite its value, and ran home. He could see columns of smoke coming from the village. It was strangely beautiful at sunset.
The raiders wore their traditional salt stained leathers. They killed anyone who approached them. Some of the villagers fought back with their scythes and pitchforks. Some even managed to take down a raider. Willem snuck around corners until he reached his house.
He banged on the door and screamed, "Ma! Da! Let me in!"
Willem waited in terror for a few moments and his father let him inside. His younger sister, Brione, was crying in her mother's arms. His father barred the door and hugged his son.
His father fought back tears, "Willem, you are old enough."
He placed a sharp dirk in his hand.
"We have to protect your mother and sister. When they come through the door, take out as many as you can."
Willem's hand shook. His father squeezed the dirk to steady him as he fought back tears.
Then the pounding came at the door. Not a greeting knock, but a pounding. An axe blade pierced the door. The women screamed and the men prepared to fight. The axe struck the door but was not withdrawn.
Screams came from outside. Then silence. Then blood began to flow under the door. The women resumed crying. Willem looked to his father who shrugged his shoulders. The family huddled together . They tried to stay awake, but surrendered to sleep.
The next morning, they woke up to a quiet and chilly morning. They wrapped blankets over their shoulders and ventured outside. There were hundreds of them. Goblins moving about the village. Tending cookfires. Looting the dead raiders. Digging graves for the dead villagers.
The goblin women distributed warm food. The young goblins were repairing homes and putting out fires. The villagers looked at the scene in shock.
A four fingered hand was placed on Willem's shoulder. He spun around quickly. He was face to face with the taller goblin from last night.
"Not in OUR village," said the goblin.
Willem placed a hand on the goblin's shoulder and repeated, "Not in OUR village." | Nothing ever happens in Gettrain. We're far from the capital and the major trade routes. Monsters and night stalkers never really show up here so we don’t have to call hunters around usually. Heck, we didn’t even know there was a new demon lord because the snow caused the monthly crier to miss his rounds this far west; the heroes had already vanquished her. I think that’s why everyone enjoys the ‘goblin raids’ so much.
It was a town tradition, at least once a month on the full moon, the goblins would come by and ‘raid’ the town. The squat little guys would come in bands wearing their rags, brandishing their wooden spears, and their funny brown hats. They would take anything that was pointed out to them by the faux - terrified townsfolk: cloth, food, trinkets, really whatever we had lying around. The little guys would even ‘capture’ some people: taking them back to their warren where they would do a little victory dance and send them home. Most people would find it weird, goblins are considered vermin everywhere else and warrens burnt as soon as they are found. You get out of towners looking shocked when they see the little guys and the fact that we would give them things; some would even draw weapons, but the town was so protective of them we would form a wall and let the goblins do their thing.
This year was particularly exciting because it looked like Gobbo was in charge of this year's raid. He was easy to distinguish because of the scar McCleary left over his right-eye when he threw a rock at him. Kid got a tongue lashing and had to walk food over to the warren each day for a month. My grandfather walked me over and we dressed the wound. For a good three years Gobbo would capture me and take me back to the warren where I would help out any goblins that were scrapped up or injured. Everyone was having fun until we heard Jennifer’s actual scream of horror. The marauders came in like a bolt of lightning: burning the outlying houses and rounding everyone in the town square. There were tears and wails as they took what they wanted, leaving a few thugs to watch us. Anyone who talked or even looked at them defiantly was cut down in cold blood. Still shocked at how things went from joy to terror when i realized, I didn’t see the goblins anywhere I stood up to see if I could find the little guys and was struck with a club to the back. The mountain of a man stepped on my chest as he spat at me, “looks like this little runt wants to be made an example of-” He was cut off when Gobbo dashed out of the shadows and stuck him in the gut with a sharpened stick. The raider roared in pain as he kicked the Gobbo into a barrel. I scrambled over to him to make sure he was alive, Gobbo was hurt but still looked to still be breathing. I tried to get him to move and get out of there but he was still shaken from the blow. The raider lumbered up to us still bleeding from his stomach as he raised his massive club above his head as he said, “ I’ll crush both of you pieces of shit”. I was pretty sure this was the end for both of us until a wicked looking rusted spear pierced the raiders shoulder. This giant of a man was dragged to the ground and in his place was the largest goblin I had ever seen. It was about the size of a dwarf and built of muscle and sinew. The goblin chuckled through a gnarled grin of rotten teeth, a crimson cap atop his head.
His comrades made easy work of the raiders. Their movements were quick; half man - half beast; bounding from rooftops and the shadows. A half-dozen red streaks would bring down a raider and their wails of agony and the chuckling of goblins was all that was left as the invaders were dragged off into the night.
The mountain that had struck Gobbo was being held on his knees: a spear in his shoulder still and manned by one goblin and two others holding his arms out to immobilize him, still he struggled for his freedom. The largest and most grizzled of the goblins came up. He wore an annoyed look on his face as he eyed the raider, myself, and Gobbo. A heated series of grunts and yelps were exchanged between Gobbo and (what I’m assuming was) the leader. He dragged Gobbo to his feet, pointed to the stick in the man’s gut, and smacked Gobbo on the back of the head. Another series of grunts and yelps with Gobbo pointing back at me and then at the man and then waved at the town as a whole. I don’t know why but that, apparently, won Gobbo the argument as the leader grunted and nodded. The leader then pulled out a rusted iron knife, placed it in Gobbo’s hand, and proceeded to pantomime shoving it into the raiders chest, pointing out where his heart was. Gobbo snarled at the raider and plunged the knife in. The raider went ridged as the blade pierced him but soon he went slack in the arms of the goblins holding him. The leader looked approvingly at Gobbo’s work; he then took the hat off Gobbo’s head, soaking it in the raiders blood, and placed it back on Gobbo to the cheers and laughter of the rest of the group. They dragged the corpse back into the darkness. Gobbo turned around once to look at me and grinned before slipping into the shadows, my grim savior.
Two months later, the goblins returned to Gettrain under the light of a full moon. Marching in with their rags, wooden spears, and funny little brown hats. We put on a show for them pointing out what they could take and laughing as some of us were ‘captured’ just as we had always done; now, with a little more of a forced smile. But we did as we always did and now as the elders instructed us to do, swearing to keep the secret of our warren and our funny hatted goblins. I looked into the night now knowing why nothing ever happens in this little town far out in the west where no monsters attack. | 2022-05-26T16:33:26 | 2022-05-26T14:16:40 | 38 | 16 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. However, you are immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours, and the entire cult was a prank you pulled centuries ago. | Hmm... Consciousness coming back, that's nice...
Let's see, head feels clear, probably no concussion then, good. Concussions are a pain.
Eyes... Oh good, still have eyes. Last time it took forever to get the color right again. Blindfolded though, that's annoying.
Limbs... Right leg feels broken, other leg is fine. Arms too. Tied to something hard. Probably an altar judging by how they have my arms and legs spread.
At least this time they left my clothes.
Chanting... What is that, Latin? No wait, that's Original Babylonian, Latin was the closest language to come out of that whole tower thing.
That means... Knife in the heart, yup. Wonder why I didn't notice that first, that stings...
I wait for the chanting to stop, eventually the cultists realize nothing is happening, you know, aside from the murder.
Once the nervous accusations of unfaithfulness turn into a brawl I dislocate my thumbs and pull my hands free of the bindings.
I sit up and pull off the blindfold. The dude who stabbed me looks like he's trying to decide if he's going to use his mouth to scream or throw up.
Eventually he takes the third option and passes out.
One fixed leg later and I'm slipping out the back door. Just as the brawl turns into more murder.
As I walk down the alleyway, a group of shadows pull towards me, deepening the already dark night.
"Bro" I say, "there are easier ways to get hold of me. I told you I'd get you a cell phone. I'll even pay your bill. I get a good deal if I bundle multiple lines."
"But then I wouldn't be able to pay you back for Atlantis."
I grin. "How was I supposed to know your incarnation that time would be allergic to seafood?"
"Dinner's on me" the shadow says.
"There's a great sushi place just down the road" I reply.
"Dick" | "Hear us, great one! Tonight we spill blood in your name!"
The cultist were chanting in the background. I could hear low murmur coming from them. The one in red hood stood over me, with a dagger in hand.
"As is tradition, every 10 years, on first full moon! We honor you in blood!"
Being tied down to a cold stone block was a bit overkill from their part, but why did they have to strip me naked. I was just having fun in a sleazy bar last night, and after too many beers, woke up here. With a horrible hangover.
"Could you keep it down, my head is killing me", I told the guy in red hood.
"The meat does not speak!", was the answer. The meat? That was quite rude.
"Come on guys, this is not funny anymore. My head hurts, my mouth is dry, and I could eat, so just wrap this up, and lets go get some burgers? Guys?" The dagger was hovering over me, and the chanting was getting louder.
"Hear us, as we spill blood, o' great one! Mammon, accept our offering!", man in the hood said.
"Mammon? I think I know that guy, the money man. So, you're looking to get more wealth?" Man in the hood paused, but then continued to slowly lower the dagger towards my chest.
"If you are after money, I got tons of it, are you interested? Mammon doesn't care 'bout blood, he likes gold, and shiny stuff. How 'bout we make a deal? Right guys?"
"I'll give you money, you get some gold and spill that to Mammon?" Man in the hood paused, he seem to be thinking about it for a second or so. But then the dagger continued.
"Guys, seriously, I know the guy, and I got his number on my cell. How 'bout we give him a call, and stop this nonsense?"
"Be quiet, this is not easy to pull of anyway", man in the hood said.
"What to pull of, what are you talking about?"
"These idiot bankers think that they get shitload of new shit, if we spill some blood."
"Mike, is that you? What the F are you trying to sacrifice me, to yourself?"
"Shhs, just play along for awhile, and I'll give you half?", Mike in the hood said.
"You're such an A-hole, man... but I want 70/30?"
"Best I can do is 55/45, take it or leave it."
Thinking he had a dagger, and I was tied to a stone block... "Mike, fine, just do it, but the beer and burgers are on you."
The dagger speed up, and hit my chest. The blade melted away upon impact.
"Ow, ow, the pain, the pain!" I shouted. Mike spilled a blood pack on me, and blood was running along the stone and dropping on the floor.
Some of the cultist started to run away on the sight of blood, and my shouting. Some looked shocked, and very few kept looking.
"Now the deed is done, and good fortune will follow!", Mike shouted.
"Leave this place, and never speak of this again!" The cultists left quickly, and after their steps faded, Mike removed the chains.
"Sorry bro, but you last night you said you are broke, and wanted to make some quick cash."
"Whaaat, when was that?"
"Around 3am, when your card maxed out."
"Duude, I have money."
"And now you have more!"
"You're still a dick, and drinks are on you."
"Well, this whole cult thing was your idea, remember? All those years ago." Mike stated.
"... next time, I'll get to stab you?"
"... I'll think about it."
"And why am I naked?!" I asked.
"Well, you know how hard it is to get blood stains off from your clothes?" Mike asked. | 2022-09-10T17:35:30 | 2022-09-10T13:39:01 | 843 | 154 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| The council rose. Supreme chancellor Tir'vi of the Zri had entered the room. All eyes, pairs and quads and more, were focussed on her beak when she began to speak, her raspy voice echoing through the dark hall, which seemed to be floating in space, under and above nebulae, gas clouds, dying and birthing stars. A simple trick of technology, everybody knew. Yet, pleasant to look at. Might i break off from the contemplation of the infinite to focus your mind on the words she spoke? I will.
So she spoke, simultaneously translated by technology that rivaled Google Translate:
"We have a bit of a situation on our hands. The ape-beings from XCB-2213/III have been sentient for a while. As we left them alone, they have also become dangerous."
"Slim pickets.", growled Hrssar, a furry titan with fuzzy ears, through his half-closed fangs. "What can they have possibly invented or perfected that could ever become dangerous to us? They are milennia away from ascension-"
"This.", Tir'vi said, and a bowl of macaroni appeared on screen, and if I might say from the lowly perspective of a senator whose race had only ascended some 10000 years ago, it was a damn fine bowl of freshly cooked macaroni, topped with a mouthwatering ragu bolognese. and some freshly grated parmigiano.
"Holy shit that's some good macaroni.", Hrssar yelped, and a commotion broke out in the senate. Tir'vi wasn't having any of that. She hammered her hand down on the jetblack, shiny, table.
"SILENCE!"
And silence happened.
"As we all know every one of our races has developed macaroni only late into their gestation period. Again, we all know that by devouring macaroni, we all acknowledge the existence of the universe as a connection of subatomic, hollow strings. By devouring macaroni, and again, I think we all know, by devouring the face of the godly, we ascend to godhood. The humans have perfected it only about 500 years ago, and still their macaroni are far superior to everything we ever produced. Just look at the texture, the subtle off-white coloring. My god, it even has a mouthwatering ragu going with it."
The high chancellor was obviously taken away by the sight too, but she regained composure. A most interesting woman. Aeons old, and still moved by a bowl of food. Nonetheless, the essence of the godly, but what gives? I can only speak for myself in terms of perception, and I sat there with saliva all over my zorphlog. She did better than I did.
"So I hereby ask the senate to approve my bill to set out an expedition to earth, to learn the secret of human macaroni."
Unanimously, the senate approved.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, I'll honor it by doing a prompt-off in /r/lounge when I get off work in 11 hours. | 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T10:34:15 | 1,186 | 502 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Yuri, come in here, you gotta see this"
Yuri rolled his eye, shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the science officer. He looked as bored as a Redon could possibly look.
"This human, this one human, the male version" Fram began "Hey, Kiol, put it up on the big screen". The starscape was replaced by the image of a human boy, perhaps 15 years old, sitting on his bed with a laptop.
"This human has done it what? Fram, what are we up to?"
"31 times"
"This human has masturbated 31 times today alone! And look, he's at it again. The little bugger is at it AGAIN!".
This caught Yuri's attention. "Just him?"
"That's the best part" Redon said "it's the entire planet! At any given moment some human, somewhere is fapping away to their hearts content. Look, Yuri, you and I have been to, what? 1,000 planets, give or take. Never, and I mean never have I seen a species approach anywhere near the amount of wacking that these people do. They completely suck at everything else but when it comes to going solo, they rule the universe". | The time was near for the end. As our solar system was one of the galaxy's last to fall target to the enemy, both human colonies on Mars and Earth's moon were destroyed. The hour was late and the target was set. Earth would be destroyed in less than a month, according to NASA's predictions regarding travel time and the enemy's advanced interstellar war machines.
As for intentions for our demise, NASA could only speculate that the enemy's cruelty to our colonies and the recent disappearance of many other planets in the galaxy were linked. This enemy was not just one of the human race, but clearly of any celestial body standing in their way. Earth was next. Based on other recordings from colonies and intergalactic satellites, the enemy disposed of each planet by first entering the atmosphere, scanning for life (to destroy), and then subsequently destroying the planet after first mining for any precious metals/elements.
The time had eventually come, and NASA issued a universal statement over all radio wavelengths, to all know satellites, that the enemy's ship (nearly the size of Russia) had entered Earth's orbit. Children cried. Teens made love. Some hid in churches, others in the arms of strangers in places like Time Square. Suddenly- the ground broke, and a great fire from beneath, not above, consumed the Earth.
Transmission #RV13: "This is Colonel Lamb speaking on behalf of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration in Houston, Texas. The enemy has entered our atmosphere, and the time for our race has come. We created kings, gods, and rockets to find more. Unfortunately, our time for exploration must now end. If anyone out there is reading this, know- we are not equipped to save ourselves. We realize many other planets won't be either. To anyone who finds this message- you are safe, at least from this form of enemy. About 3 weeks ago, we received intel from our colonies that the enemy was here for blood. We knew we were finished from the beginning. So, each leader of the human race met, and the majority vote was to end this evil once and for all. We have planted each and every nuclear and atomic device we have capable of destruction as deep in the Earth as to rupture it core. The enemy is now here, and once all devices are detonated, they too will perish. We have made many mistakes as a human race. We have a firm understanding of the concept and impossibility of utopia. However, we know that evil must be stopped, even if we may not benefit from it. To put our galactic brothers before ourselves, even if we never meet, is our goal. This is mankind's final transmission and if you intercept this broadcast, it means it's over. Our enemy has been destroyed. All we ask is for any other race/civilization to understand that they are not the center of the universe. The universe is indifferent. And the sole purpose of life, to live, to love, to flourish, is to be held accountable for other living things. This is the legacy of the human race. Even when you face imminent destruction, think of others first. After all, indifferent and random death is the law of the universe. Regards, Planet Earth, year of our lord 2547."
| 2014-07-16T12:28:05 | 2014-07-16T10:50:12 | 115 | 67 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | I went into archeology for the money, not for humanitarian reasons. Sure, I'd like to be the one to save the human race, I'd just like a beach house/ski resort on a designer world even more. The market value of digging in the dirt only goes up as the search for a working wormhole drive becomes more frantic. We've found plenty of fragments, but the tech is far too complicated to rebuild.
The people who made this stuff were geniuses. All of them. Besides custom planet factories, we've found teleport machines, a bed that records your dreams, sentient computers the size of a planet, and trees genetically built to grow and twist as you sing to them, whose petrified branches recorded at least a thousand years of song.
Even though the search for a way to leave the Milky Way is the most urgent reason we go digging, and more and more so as the population grows, there's still a huge market for collector's items. Ancient art and pottery fetch quite a bit, but most people who get rich do it by finding a probe. Morbid as it sounds, Voyager I and II sold for $45 and $40 million each, and the other objects launched by Old Earth, picked up by curious and brilliant (and forgotten) races are worth almost as much, even though there are thousands and thousands of them.
It creeps me out, personally. Why would you want to own something from the age of "first contact" -- to use the modern euphemism?
Not that it's anyone's fault. I'm not one of those nuts who thinks we should all spend our lives atoning for what our ancestors did in the name of exploration and discovery. Every one of those probes carried a message of friendship and goodwill for the people who'd find them, and they were sent long before we found the first ruined city on another world. Long before we knew what we had done.
By the time we understood that the human immune system was anything special it was too late. We had sent probes, or satellites, or golden records to every planet in the galaxy that harbored life. All carrying a message of peace. | The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T13:34:49 | 2014-07-16T11:24:28 | 88 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They wouldn't have even made contact with us if it weren't for the radio transmissions. Not the news bulletins or the misguided attempts at interplanetary communication, no, they just interpreted those as signs that we should be left alone. When their hundred-mile-long ark arrived in our skies no one could believe it. They claimed that their ship was capable of near-light speed, but even then the trip from Tau Ceti had taken fifteen years.
What we learned about their society was fascinating: Although much of the Milky Way could be considered a single civilization, as knowledge and ideas were freely shared amongst planets, the individual worlds still largely kept to themselves due to the immense distances involved. Interstellar travel was exceedingly rare and only used sparingly. In addition, the standard procedure for the past few million years had been to monitor civilizations from afar until they were advanced enough to establish communication. Once they were contacted they would have to prove themselves worthy of membership in the Galactic Union, which would grant them access to all knowledge shared by the other planets as well as ability to travel freely across the galaxy (if they felt the need to do so). They also became galactic ambassadors tasked with admitting any future planets closest to them. So far seventy-three planets had joined, all but the first few in the same manner. We, on the other hand, weren't advancing fast enough and were deemed worthy of an immediate in-person meeting. As it turns out, we humans are the artisans of the galaxy.
All of the intelligent civilizations yet discovered had the capacity for wonder, humor, and storytelling, but none came close to human creativity. Apparently our radio shows, music, television, and movies had been passed around the galaxy as fast as radio waves would allow. Scholars continue to argue whether this is due to our capacity for lies or our fascination with conflict, but the fact remains that even the worst human art and entertainment is a masterpiece to the rest of the galaxy.
The beings from Tau Ceti weren't even the ones who should have been tasked with admitting us to the Union, but they had the misfortune of evolving an enormous appetite for entertainment with almost no skills at producing it. The promise of even more forms of art and entertainment that hadn't been broadcast into space was too much, and they organized an expedition to Earth. Approximately two million of them arrived on the ark, all willing to leave their normal lives for a chance at experiencing human entertainment first-person. Their first message to us after we detected them in orbit was the musical notes from *Close Encounters*.
We were given tests and failed miserably at almost all of them. Not only were we not ready to join the rest of the galaxy, the results indicated that we would likely never be ready. Fortunately for us, they discovered our art museums, books, live theater, and the Internet, in addition to the vast amount of music, movies, and television that had never been broadcast into space. They had been experiencing so little of what we had to offer that we were immediately granted limited member status in the Galactic Union. They shared all of their knowledge in exchange for rebroadcasting rights for existing works, and any artist or entertainer who wished to travel the galaxy was guaranteed a life of luxury. To this day, no matter which planet you are on, the humans working in the arts and entertainment industry are among the most respected and wealthy.
They say that Vega's ticket into the galaxy club was the reactionless drive, and for Barnard's Star it was nanorobotics. For Sol, it was a library card and a Netflix subscription. | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T13:26:35 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] America is at war and has reconstituted the draft. Soldiers are separated for training based on how combat ready they are. The war seems lost, but the last and largest platoon of soldiers, made of up of the furthest obese is about to be deployed. | The war was lost. Everyone knew it. Patriotism was dead. No one believed that what we were doing was right. Everyone knew that you needed to meet the physical requirements to be sent off to battle. So the smartest among the Americans did everything that they could to become as obese as possible.
At first the government didn't catch on. The sudden rise in obesity to even more epic proportions was seen as a coping mechanism to The Dark Wars. But as the McDonald's sales skyrocketed and the gym memberships dropped, the government became suspicious. They began recruiting the obese specifically, as a deterrent.
It still took about six months until this wave of obese recruits were ready. They had become at that point a sort of spiteful side project. Troops were getting low, and the remaining Drill Sergeants did every thing they could to make their lives a living hell. Many died of heart attacks during training. Many died under suspicious circumstances.
By the time things had been deemed hopeless, and surrender was a sure thing, the government decided to still send in the last wave. Company Fat Boy, as they were called. That was their official name. Their nicknames were much more imsulting.
But then, something unexpected happened. The formerly obese men of Company Fat Boy were already among the brightest and most determined. They had sacrificed their health to try to avoid a pointless war. Now on top of that, they had spent the last six months under he'll is circumstances, working just to stay alive.
These were no longer ordinary men. They had strong bones and even stronger minds. They swept through the battle fields with the fury of an inferno. The enemy was left devastated and confused. These men did not care if they lived or died. They were able to work out brilliant tactical strategies on the fly. The government had accidentally created an army of super soilders.
And after they were done with the enemy, they turned their anger back on the hand that did not feed them. | At first it was quiet in the "Fat Body Platoon" hooch. A smuggled flat screen TV, dimly lit, flickered in the corner of the large tent, displaying on repeat, the main menu of the "Futurama" DVD that had been left on, neglected for hours since the last man had fallen asleep. They told themselves they were trying to get extra rest for their first actual operational mission the following day, in reality they were all sleepy from an evening of eating contraband chow and watching cartoons.
The platoon was then wiped out in an instant, still in their berthing area, as a tight sheaf of mixed HE and Willy Pete artillery rounds exploded directly on target, shredding tent and flesh alike. In the artillery or mortar world, this type of attack is referred to as a "shake and bake" the two rounds work in conjuction to maximize carnage. The sound would have been beyond deafening, beyond terrifying, in that infinitely long moment where your perception of time seems slowed to a crawl in the face of immediate death. The sound of metal fragments from the artillery filling the air with a terrible buzzing. The heat was unbearable, the smoke in the air choking those gasping for their final breath, one more gulp of precious life systaining oxygen, but instead smoke from the phosphorous. The enemy observer was good, damned good. It only took one adjusting round before he made the required corrections, and called it in...
"Fire for effect."
It must have been a great joy for the enemy FO to call in such a wonderous fire mission, on such an easy target. A smile crept across his face as he reported back to the FDC of the on call artillery battery, "good effects on target, estimate 40 KIA, over" artillery, truly the king of battle he thought to himself as he packed his laser range finder into his ruck, and gave the rally up hand signal to his 5 man team.
The tents, and their contents were, to put it mildly, "shredded," as if a giant being had placed the area into a blender, on the lowest speed setting, let it swirl around a few times, and poured the contents, at this point a slurry of matter, back to where it had originally sat. Immense, poncho like camouflage uniforms were tattered, the cots a mangled managerie of canvas and aluminum. Blood and body parts, bones tearing thru the flesh of the assorted limbs, mixed in seemingly equal proportions across the area, large chunks of yellow fatty tissue were plastered around the area, the smell of burning human fat and hair permeated the air, a thick almost palpable stink loomed, an assault on all of the senses.
A face, seemingly intact, albeit perfectly removed from the skull of its previous owner hung helplessly, expressionless, from some nearby rusted concertina wire, facial hair and all. A grim sight indeed.
The platoon had heard the wailing of the warning sirens that blare when incoming indirect fire is detected, but they were all in the throes of a deep food induced coma, barely able to use their sausage like, greasy, fingers to rub the sleep from their eyes. (the new radio operator smuggled in plenty of contraband from the still functioning civilian world, in the form of a sea-bag filled to the brim with McDonald's double cheese burgers)
For any other platoon, there still would have been enough time from the wailing of the siren, and the time the FFE hit, to get into their fortified bunkers, heavily sand bagged, concrete structures half submerged in the ground and Dimly lit. Unfortunately for "Fat Body Platoon," their lack of discipline and immense proportions made such a task all but impossible.
And with that, that final act of gluttony, self destruction, and lack of control or care, the final fighting unit left in the reserves was annihilated, and all hope lost. | 2015-05-09T13:12:24 | 2015-05-09T11:16:37 | 97 | 12 |
[WP] Your bong is the home of a genie. You spark the bowl and he appears to grant you 3 wishes. You're both pretty high. | Addiction, not quite, but a fondness for plants
The friction, the fright, when at once on a glance
I saw a genie, transfixed like a tomb
Through the billowing smoke that stagnated the room
*Now clearly*, thought I, as I pondered in wonder
*This genie's not real and my mind's in a blunder*
"Then what," interrupted this being of space
"Do you think shimmers here right in front of your face?"
*Can it be? A purveyor of wish and delight?*
"I've been stoned 3 millennia, hope I get this right"
_________________
"My name is Hepfezious Swoosh,
I'm a being of grass, tree, or bush.
Yet here in your bong,
I've resided so long
As your genie of Afghani Kush."
I heard these fair tidings with glee,
"Not one wish or two wishes, but three"
But I looked in his eyes,
Saw a slave in disguise
And I wished that he'd set himself free.
| Bud Howington, a thirty-four-year-old slovenly-dressed stoner, sat on the cat-piss soaked sofa in his dilapidated apartment at the edge of Brooklyn. Sadly, his cat had died nearly three weeks ago, putting him into a mild depression. But he had yet to tell any of his friends of his cat's long slumber. Still each day, Bud found the courage to rise from his sofa, walk the few steps out his front door, and the even fewer remaining steps to his job at the local head shop, called Elevated State.
Each day was like the rest. Rise. Toke. Walk. Work. Return. Toke. Pizza. Toke. Bed.
Then one day, a man from the Middle East came into the head shop to sell some of the latest instruments of mischief. The old man said, "Beware, this bong will grant you three wishes, but you must use them wisely."
Poor Bud thought nothing of the old man's story, but was intrigued by the intricate design of the piece so he bought it, unsmoked, without the slightest of tokes. That night, he returned to his crummy, old apartment. He ordered a pizza, pepperoni, his usual. Then lit the cannabis candelabra. Smoke billowed high and mighty until it filled the room. Then a voice.
"I am the great Herb Baker, servant to smoker, genie to the wise. If you so choose, three wishes may be before your eyes."
Poor Bud said, "Hey man, like I'm trying to get high. You see I lost my cat, and I'm just trying to get by." Meanwhile, the smoke fogged the entire room to a point Bud and his genie, Herb, could no longer see each other.
Herb said, "You really got that rolling. You know man, usually, I screw people over with these wish things, but I like you. You know."
"Thanks. I guess."
Herb said, "You know what I usually don't do this, but I have a killer idea. Why don't you wish for your cat back."
"Sure, man. So what do I do?" asked Bud.
"Just say: I wish for my cat back." When Bud wished for the cat, much to his surprise, his little furr-ball, Teddy Roosevelt, sat on his lap, purring and purring. Poor Old Bud was too high to even believe what had just occurred.
"Anything else?" asked Herb the Genie.
"Some days. Some days, I wish I could just lie on this couch, and I wish I could do nothing but smoke."
The genie granted the wishes and was off with a flash, while the glass bong just cracked. Bud is now happy, he has his smoke and Teddy Roosevelt, but sometimes, he can't forget about that day, when he toked with his dear friend, the genie named Herb. | 2015-08-13T11:40:20 | 2015-08-13T11:13:01 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] A trapped demon calls a priest for excorcism because his host is too obese and can't get out of bed | There is a ward in the basement of the Vatican. In this ward is the answer to why big agricultural conglomerates worldwide receive special audience with the pope every other year.
In this basement, right now, are 37 men and women living on luxurious automated beds. These pitiful creatures spend nearly all of their time connected to the internet and mainstream media everyday. These men and women all house a demon or devil, or otherwise unworldly spirit. These are the possessed human beings that the church refuses to exorcise.
Each of them are easily twice the weight of the suggested weight per unit of height. Most much more so. Their breathing is always strained. They seek only to distract their mind. So the church provides PS4s and HDTVs and internet, and keeps these devil possessed locked down.
A little known fact is that once a devil is invited in, it cannot leave a host without having used the host to "substantively commit an act of evil." Sometimes, in the panic of possession, an evil spirit will inhabit a person of convenience. Unfortunately, in our modern world, people of such intense gluttony ping like crazy to a demon as an inherently selfish and evil creature. This, paired with extreme corpulence and terrible diet and behavior mediated physical ailments, renders some people to act as a form of budget pheromone trap for the underworld.
They get into these humans, but cannot command control over their actions very easily. The inherent drive to escape pain had sharpened these people's will to such extreme lengths that even devils have a difficult time wresting the control over these people away from the quest for obsolescence.
The church noticed this, and decided that a devil trapped and contained is one less devil in the world. And so, whisks away these "devil traps" and simply feed and occupy them. The higher ups have recently been pushing industry leaders in food products to continue to market to these dispossessed souls. They are learning so much from extended observation of these devil ridden human devil slugs.
I would be posting this to a better website subreddit, but this meatsack will likely throw a temper tantrum if he doesn't see familiar webpages. Anyways, I'm going to hit enter before he gets hungry, and hopefully someone out there will launch an investigation. The first person to get me exorcized or my hose killed will be rewarded with immense power. Just look into it. Check the architecture records, compare with the air photos. I'm 3 floors directly below the tin heat vent on the southwesternly roof. Free me. Kill this faterpillar and set me free. Usually, devils deal in deceit, but this is a matter of survival, I'm switching it up. Everything I have typed is true.
Here's hoping some kind soul helps me out. Azz
A
Zoth | "I'm boooooooored!" Antzl yelled quietly for probably the hundredth time that day. "When I took the job, they told me it would be a cake walk, but all I've seen since I got here is all cake and no walk. Bloody fat prick, can't even be bothered to get out of bed 'cept to piss or get more food or--wait a second now... what is he doing?! Oh my god! Did he just piss himself? This is too far! I'm not doin' this anymore. I don't care how far down the species line I get demoted, I'll work my way back to humans eventually. I've been here with this lard arse far longer than anyone has been with a human, and it's almost double the time it's taken me to get through all the mammals in the first place. That's it... I'm calling 'im."
Antzl retreated way back into the recesses of Joel's brain and pulled at at the nerve centers coordinated with motor skills and slowly and clumsily, and with much heavy breathing, Joel's meaty arm moved from atop his squishy mountain of a belly, and wandered toward the nightstand to his right, where a mobile phone was kept. The thick, greasy fingers closed around the phone and lifted it back to rest atop his middle. Through Joel's glazed eyes, Antzl could just make out the screen enough to read the numbers.
Pulling at yet more nerve fibers, Antzl moved the equally massive left arm from it's semi-permanent resting place atop the television remote toward the screen of the mobile phone. Antzl didn't need Joel's attention for such minor tasks as these anymore these days, as Joel's attention was almost permanently fixated on whatever programming was streaming nonstop into his dim, witless eyes. Antzl took great pride in his ability to use Joel's peripheral vision to his advantage as, despite his other large physical inadequacies, Joel's eyesight was quite good.
While the lump's attention was focused on the television, Antzl worked away at entering the numbers to contact a long-time friend and accomplice.
379
"He's never gonna let me live this down."
06
"What's the point of possession anyway if there's no external repercussions? The only person he hurts is himself, and he don't need me for that."
698
"Unbelievable really. I bet it was Karthan who put me onto this assignment. When I get back, I'm cursing his limbs to every corner of the world. He'll be floating around with nothing but elementary mind control to get what he wants. Not even his mates will go searching that far for him, not after last Praetillion."
4517
"Bastard better pick up..."
A few rings later a groggy voice answers, "Hello?"
"Barty, it's me, Antzl."
"Oh, what gives Antzl, it's three in the damn morning!"
"I know, I know, but I can't wait, I've reached my tipping point."
"Not another puritan is it? You're such a sad demon you know, the spiritual ones are the weakest, you do realize that, yeah?" Bartemius' voice was thick with sarcasm.
"No, you prick, and I thought we agreed no to bring that up again. Look, this is different, about as non-spiritual as you could find, advertised as "One of the Seven Deadly Wonders of the World" I thought it might be loads of fun, righteous anger, violence, perhaps murder, the lust and envy ones are always a laugh, humans on their knees begging, either for pleasure or mercy. But no! Sloth and gluttony, about the 2 most unattractive sins in the whole universe. I honestly think He came up with those to torture *us* instead."
"Alright, calm down, Antzl, where are you?"
"Wisconsin, the States. For only about 27 years now! His family and friends have all abandoned him, he's got health problems galore, but at this point, I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to be doing anymore, and it's just a nightmare. A boring, smelly, endless nightmare."
"Well I'm busy at the moment. The Vatican is running tours around the weekend, and guess who got chosen to lead them?"
"Oh mate... well that's you rightly served, playing for the other team."
"You have to admit, our benefits are much nicer."
"Matter of opinion, really. Look, this won't take long, won't even take much play acting. This fat arse will likely be asleep, or comatose, by the time you get here. I just don't have the patience to wait for cardiac arrest. I thought he'd have snuffed it years ago, but the bastard just keeps on."
"Look... I can be on a plane in four days, but you owe me!"
"Brilliant! Just make sure to bring something to mask the smell. I'm telling you, this ain't amateur hour." | 2015-12-22T20:24:48 | 2015-12-22T18:31:30 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name. | Business was, as always; slow.
Who wanted to buy pain, who would want to buy diseases?
But that's what I offer, gold for pain.
A figure walked by, wearing what could generously be called a robe; it was clearly a sack with holes but the figure did a little circle as if considering the options before walking towards me.
"Morning." I nodded to the figure as it stood before me, smaller than I was expecting.
"I need money." A male voice, young, probably too young.
I scratched my eyebrow slightly and sighed, "I got that, I got lots of that, how much do you need?"
He visibly sank and for a moment I was sure he mumbled none before slipping an elegant piece of paper towards me.
"That much." He said, I saw his hand briefly, smooth, unworked; clearly a child.
I took the paper looking over it, elegant parchment with a seal, neat spidery handwriting across it in columns and lines.
I recognised it right away of course but merely nodded, "Do you know how much it says?"
The figure shook it's head, "However much it is, I need it for my family."
This was all so wrong as I smirked a little having a bit of a plan form.
"I can arrange that, 400 crowns and some change." I slid the paper back.
"4... I ..." The figure stammered unsure.
"Hundred, ten coins, ten times." I said calmly.
The figure gasped in terror.
"W..w..what ..." He stammered slowly almost whimpering.
"If you accept, you would not survive the night." I told him quietly.
He thought on that, but not for long.
"Yes." He accepted, "That."
I nodded extending my hand for him, "Shake, it will be done."
The young man reached out from under the robe his hand shaking slightly as he grasped my hand anxiously.
"T...T...there" He gasped as if plunging his hand into fire.
I nodded smiling, "It is done."
The young man felt across his body as if checking for what was to become him.
"It ... it is done? I don't feel it?" He stated.
I nodded slowly, "No... I am going to give this to the landowner that really deserves it; I think now the people of the upper valley should learn just what a Medicine Breaker actually does." | The villagers armed themselves when they heard she was coming. The demon. The reason half the villagers had festering wounds or illnesses they couldn't shake off. The neighbouring village didn't believe - their healer was their saviour. She wouldn't do that, they said.
But the villagers knew: she was demonkind.
"What are you doing here?" the village elder, Al, asked. He was trying to block the gate, wielding a cudgel.
The demon stopped. She had waist-length, burning copper hair. She was smiling.
"I've come to help you," she said softly. "You need my help."
"You're the reason we suffer," Al croaked. "We know what happens: every time you help someone *there*, one of us gets sick. Now get out, before I kill you. Or go down trying, at least."
The demon closed her eyes and waved one hand lazily through the air. The villagers cried out as their wounds sealed, their lungs cleared, their heads stopped spinning. Al himself felt his bad leg - which had slowly begun to rot, though he'd successfully kept it hidden - begin to heal.
"I know it's hard to believe, but I have a sister out there - spreading evil and disease, spreading lies about me," she said softly, smiling at Al as she stepped closer. "I've always tried to help you. And today, I want to move in among you. I've healed everyone in the other village. They're immune to my sister now. Can I start helping you?"
Al felt his resolve weaken as his leg grew stronger. She had such a soft, heartfelt smile. Her bright blue eyes were crinkled with kindness. It couldn't hurt to listen to her story, at least.
"There's leftover meat," he grunted, and stepped aside. "But I'm watching you."
The woman stepped forward confidently, towards the tantalising smell of food. The food and comfort was always better when there were people left to heal. The old village had been completely healed, and this one drained. It was time to move on. They would eventually forget to ask her about her sister. They always did, when she began healing them. Gratitude had a way of erasing suspicion.
A woman in the crowd stepped forward and swung a heavy plank against the demon's head. It gave an odd strangled sound and sank to the ground.
"You bloody fools," Al's wife Mary snapped as she gave the demon another smack for good measure. "You started listening to her!"
"Well, what about this sister of hers, eh?" Al demanded, but felt guilty. He'd almost forgotten about the plan.
"I'll believe in her bloody sister when we still get sick when she's dead," Mary grunted, and brought the plank decisively down once more.
A few villagers made movements to stop her - it felt wonderful to be so healthy, all of a sudden. Mary glowered at them as she wielded the bloody plank like a sword. She would end this once and for all, no matter who she brought down in the process.
"Don't you dare interfere," she warned, and turned back towards the half-dead demon.
___
Lisa stiffened as she heard her sister's voice in her head, screaming for help on the other side of the world.
What had she done to get into trouble this time? Eleanor had never fully mastered the art. She simply hurt or made someone sick in exchange for healing another. She could never manage outright killing. It was foolish. Someone was bound to try and get revenge sometime, she'd warned Eleanor a hundred times. But her sister was weak, too squeamish to *really* use her powers. She even tried to heal the people she'd hurt before, by switching between villages. Pathetic.
"Excuse me, my prince," she told the sick man, who was too weak to protest anyway. "I'll return to continue the healing soon."
Lisa left the sick room in a hurry, feeling uneasy. Eleanor might be a lost cause as far as mastering the dark arts went, but she was still her sister. She should at least go make sure she wasn't badly hurt.
She felt a sudden flicker of excitement. Who knew? Perhaps she could even heal the dying prince in the process. She'd just have to kill many people to finish the job.
And by the sound of her twin's screams, quite a few people were begging for a visit.
_______
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-08-13T11:58:17 | 2016-08-13T11:34:41 | 95 | 39 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | Swords, blades, axes, hammers and all manner of other famous weapons adorned the walls. Neatly hung and fastidiously dusted by the elves who served in the hall but from the dimly lit far end of the room, a whisper filled the air.
"Down here. These weapons will doom you. You need me and I need you, my friend."
I stopped and looked for the source of the voice when a faint glint from the dying candles caught a part of its body, as if to beckon me closer.
"My friend," the voice returned, "I am far older than these primative tools, from when only humans were on this world; long before the Fall and the Return. I can guide you and protect you, the trinkets on these walls do not see your worth; they see you as a human, a primitive and backward creature who's ancestors both destroyed and gave birth to the world that these primative tools know."
"Who... who are you?" My voice almost fails me.
"Me? I am the only one on these walls that knows your worth, my friend. Some of these axes and swords served humans but none know humans like I know humans. I graced one thousand battles; many of my parts have been replaced, modified and even enchanted over the millenia to keep me in service."
I approach cautiously as the two candles flanking the shape return to life and reveal the contraption. A long hybrid of wood and metal with a rune of plenty engraved onto a strange curved canister that protruded from the bottom of the device and appeared to have been welded to secure it to the rest of the metal. The canister sat infront of a handle and some sort of shaped plank that was mounted to the back of the weapon and the front had a pipe, on top of which sat a semicircle around a prong. Such craftsmanship had been lost to Humans since the fall five thosand yeas ago and whatever this was certainly too crude for elven construction and too small to have been made by a Dwarf.
Once more the whisper returned.
"I know what they have done to this world, I know the subjugation endured by humans under those pointy eared bastards; the sun elves. I know why you fight, I feel it within you."
"What... what's your name?"
"My name?" The whisper chucked, "my name is Kalashnikov and I'm the last thing they will expect."
Without thinking, I lifted Kalashnikov from its dusty altar and slung it over my shoulder. I had no idea what it did but whatever it was, it was my best hope it seemed. As I left the hall I scanned the area for Imperial patrols and carried on through the forest; the door to the hall vanishing as I walked away. | *Propriam Manu Telum*
What an odd thing to write over a doorway. I'd been travelling through Rome for a week now, and I'd been studying Latin for years before that. "To the proper hand, its weapon?" I had to go inside and find out what this little store had to sell. I turned off the street, and descended what felt like at least three flights of stairs.
*Odd*, I thought, *What the hell kind of place is this?*
I certainly hadn't expected the stairway to open up into a large hall. It was lit by flickering torchlight, and looked completely deserted.
"Hello?" I called.
A man's voice spoke up from directly behind me, startling me. Where had this guy come from? How long had he been there?
"Oh good, you're here. I've been expecting you." he said. He was short but powerfully built man, dressed in a nondescript brown robe. I couldn't begin to guess his age, or ethnicity with any accuracy: my immediate impression was of some kind of fighting monk.
"Okay... but where exactly is here? And why are you expecting me?"
The possibly-a-monk smiled.
"Curious and unafraid. Great qualities in someone who finds themselves in the Hall of Armaments. Walk with me, I'll explain as we go."
What the hell, I might as well walk with the guy. I had to stretch my legs to keep up with him though; despite my height advantage this guy seemed implacable, covering ground quickly.
"This is the Hall of Armaments. In here are gathered the greatest weapons of their time. When a great hero dies, we enshrine their weapon here to preserve its legacy, and to keep it ready if it needs to be taken up by another in a time of great need."
"Okay..." I started, noting that we were walking past swords, and axes. In front of each was a little plaque with its name and (presumably) the name(s) of those who'd carried them. "So you're going to give me a sword?"
"Goodness, no. A weapon is reflective of its times; I doubt I'll ever give a blade like Excalibur out ever again. They were good in their time, but even the sword of Arthur wouldn't accomplish much today." he replied to me, gesturing off-hand at a shining sword stuck appropriately into a stone.
"That's Excalibur?!" I exclaimed
"Yes, but it's not here for you. Come on, let's get you to something more modern."
As we kept moving, I noticed we were moving away from medieval weapons and were passing firearms; simple ones at first, with more modern ones coming up.
"We're nearly to yours. Please stay close."
I noticed that we were nowhere near to the end of the hall. As we kept walking I tried to stare into the dim light ahead. The man's arm across my chest halted me suddenly. He reached up and grabbed me by the chin, gently but firmly turning my gaze away from the darkness ahead to regard a small pedestal next to us.
"Your weapon is in the box."
What the hell? Now I was getting truly freaked out. I'm not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination. I thought he was leading me on, as some kind of really elaborate prank. This old crank is actually going to give me a weapon?
"What's in there?"
"A weapon of great power, if used correctly. You may not know its original wielder, but he was a man named Evan Brown. He last carried into battle in the nation North of your homeland."
I reached forward, and got a good grip on the handles on either side of the box. I bent my knees and lifted, carefully removing the heavy lid. I looked inside, and saw...
... a pie?
"Brown used this weapon to attack a man he saw as a tyrant enforcing unfair laws. While Brown did not ruin the man he set out to dethrone, he did grab the attention of his countrymen."
"What the... this isn't a weapon! It's a bloody pastry!"
The man's powerful slap came out of nowhere, knocking me to my knees.
"Oh you fool, THINK! Not all weapons are meant to kill man; not all men can be killed directly. A true tyrant slain may become a martyr, but one whose reputation dies is surely defeated."
"You want me to -"
The next slap cracked off my other cheek, stunning me.
"Not me! YOU! You want to. You know who you need to hit. You may even know when to do it."
I stood back up, and picked up the pie. As I did so, it dawned on me:
Not all Heroes are Soldiers.
Not all Villains are defeated in Death
and sometimes...
Laughter is what a Tyrant fears most of all.
| 2017-02-07T14:31:39 | 2017-02-07T11:47:35 | 368 | 132 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | "So, you're an alien?" Said the Human
the one with two circles attached to it's eyes. With one peek, Aleri could tell it was a made of a silicon compund.
"Yes, Greetings Earthlings. I am what you'd call an alien. I am not from this planet. I am a Mercurian." Aleri said to the humans.
"You are from Mercury? But how? We thought we are the only life in this solar system" One of the Humans asked.
"No, there is life on all the nine planets. So why didn't you, the prime species of the Earth, The humans respond to the invitation?"
He asked.
"What invitation?" Another Human inquired. This one was wearing a suit
"The one to join the Sun Federation ofcourse, all other eight planets of the solar system have accepted. So what stopped you?" He asked. He remembered the General telling him to be nice to them and mentioning about their hormones.
"We didn't get any Invitation" the same suited Human replied.
Aleri thought that the humans are saying that they didn't receive the invitation because they couldn't decrypt the message and were too embarassed to ask for help. The humans have multiple hormones that affect their emotions, he remembered.
"Take me to your core, I'll decrypt the gravitational message" he said.
"Core? But that's impossible. It's too hot that it melts and burns everything" said one of the Humans.
"Melt and Burn everything? What about Dranium?" He asked
"What is that?" The human replied.
A planet without Dranium?
The most abundant of the solar metals. Every other planet in the Solar System had it.
"Do you atleast have Siliod?"
"No"
"What's the melting point of you most heat resistant element?" He asked in shock.
"Tungsten, 3422°C" the same human in suit replied.
"Only 3422?"
Was this planet really from the sun?
Not even having Siliod or the more common Dranium.
How did these humans get the technology to develop their atmosphere without one of the basic sun metals?. | There is this sense of being all alone, even if you are at home. The
feeling still persists and comes at you most strongly when you are all
alone taking a stroll on those chilly evenings. The twilight with its
sense of ending of a show, the crossing of a threshold, waiting for
that crescendo, that never comes. And soon the day is over and when
you lay down at night thinking the thoughts of where you came from,
only dozing in and out of the view of the ceiling fan rotating slowly
and with an indifferent demeanour at your state. The turmoils comes
and it goes, we are all aliens, even here on earth which is supposedly
our birth place, the place where our history our genetic identity was
written.
Nothing bad has happened, we have survived but coming to know of all
those others that dwell in this universe, some right next to us, we
feel belittled. We might be the fairytale to them, of savages in
prehistoric times wielding stupid spears and feeling smug in their fur
fashions. They treat us with kid gloves, even the superpowers with
atomic weapons feel stupid. Like kids playing with fire, the most
damage that we could do is blow ourselves up. Like suicide bombers,
we might be just as insignificant as those morons who die for some
idiotic religious beliefs. Just pesky little buggers that put up a
show for them, once in a while, taking up all the front page space and
providing entertainment and mindless chatter and gossip for the rest
of that lazy Sunday afternoon. Something, to be had for a couple of
cents at the newspaper stand and to be downed with tea while sitting
in the backyard laying on a hammock.
We feel alien, there are questions now being raised by everyone, not
just them, it is among our own folks, cracks have appeared, the
foundation has broken, there is no passion left, every words , half of
all those songs of love, of passion, of war, of our culture has lost
meaning, now we are all embarrassed of those relics. We try to hide
them, sweep them beneath the carpets, and locked closets, never to be
spoken again.
We were aliens, we that never belonged, we are but travelers that
took shelter on an oasis. We are coming back to our senses, we are
going back to being travelers, building vessels to carry us to
uncharted territories, we are done here.
Them, that we used to call aliens contacted us, we are not even sure as
to what they look like. We got scared, they are invisible to us,
creatures that can command, more of the universe than we puny earth
men could ever do. We are like two dimensional creatures on a piece
of paper and they of higher dimensions that hold that paper and poke
and prod it for fun, we could never see them for we are made that way
and the instruments that we devised could but just sense them, with
readings on a graph paper. But what is the point, the knowledge is
out, we know they are out there and we are trapped in our universe,
this universe that we inhabit is the cage that limits us. We are but
playthings in their vast laboratories.
Soon we will be traveling from here. Pulling off the anchor and
moving on, all our technologies, put in suitcases and to find some
other place. Even those who believe in moving to another place do not
think that we would even be able to move away from them. That we
would ever be able to get out of our cage, this universe that
incarcerates us. There are other camps among men that think that we
have to establish contact with those aliens. But how will it play
out, we are but ants in the gardens of giants. Nothing has happened,
nothing bad that is, but the knowledge of those beings out there is out
now. The world has changed. | 2017-03-09T23:19:38 | 2017-03-09T22:27:52 | 132 | 27 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | The old joke goes that the one thing you can derive about the creator by observing his creation is an inordinate fondness for beetles. It was very difficult to get that out of my mind while talking to the emissary. It must weigh at least 500 kilos, but it is also strangely lovely in the way of a racehorse or cat.. The shell has a shiny lacquered finish, and is covered in what has to be body art - the alien equivalent of tatoos. It's holding what is obviously an input device of some sort in a pair of seven fingered hands.
"TESTING. t.. *inaudible*ing? Testing. This a good level? Oh, good. And now, for the boilerplate legalese. I do apologize, but it has been tradition for half a billion years."
"According to the foundational laws of the Accord, we welcome you to commonwealth of the stars, and offer the wisdom of the ages as to how to safely handle the instrumentalities of Armageddon, which you have recently discovered lest the universe entire be rendered unlivable."
"Yada, yada yada. I see you looking a bit pale. Don't worry - We have excellent protocols for safe AI design, genomic engineering and self-replicant design. They've held for 3 billion years and thousands of species! They'll work just as well for humanity. It's important, but it's routine. New species evolves, manages to not kill itself, ascends the path of mastery over the physical universe until they reach the level where they might do something large scale stupid, and we advise them how not to do that. Then they dont. Perfectly normal!. "
The emissary must have spent a lot of time studying human body language. I can imagine no other explanation for how a giant beetle could convey curiosity to me by posture.
".... But.. Our sociologists and political scientists are very curious! How on earth did you manage to get this sophisticated a technological base up and running with this kind of tax system? You invented the Land Value Tax and *you are not using it* That's unique! And your IP laws? Tell me, where the legislators that came up with them very high?" | There is this sense of being all alone, even if you are at home. The
feeling still persists and comes at you most strongly when you are all
alone taking a stroll on those chilly evenings. The twilight with its
sense of ending of a show, the crossing of a threshold, waiting for
that crescendo, that never comes. And soon the day is over and when
you lay down at night thinking the thoughts of where you came from,
only dozing in and out of the view of the ceiling fan rotating slowly
and with an indifferent demeanour at your state. The turmoils comes
and it goes, we are all aliens, even here on earth which is supposedly
our birth place, the place where our history our genetic identity was
written.
Nothing bad has happened, we have survived but coming to know of all
those others that dwell in this universe, some right next to us, we
feel belittled. We might be the fairytale to them, of savages in
prehistoric times wielding stupid spears and feeling smug in their fur
fashions. They treat us with kid gloves, even the superpowers with
atomic weapons feel stupid. Like kids playing with fire, the most
damage that we could do is blow ourselves up. Like suicide bombers,
we might be just as insignificant as those morons who die for some
idiotic religious beliefs. Just pesky little buggers that put up a
show for them, once in a while, taking up all the front page space and
providing entertainment and mindless chatter and gossip for the rest
of that lazy Sunday afternoon. Something, to be had for a couple of
cents at the newspaper stand and to be downed with tea while sitting
in the backyard laying on a hammock.
We feel alien, there are questions now being raised by everyone, not
just them, it is among our own folks, cracks have appeared, the
foundation has broken, there is no passion left, every words , half of
all those songs of love, of passion, of war, of our culture has lost
meaning, now we are all embarrassed of those relics. We try to hide
them, sweep them beneath the carpets, and locked closets, never to be
spoken again.
We were aliens, we that never belonged, we are but travelers that
took shelter on an oasis. We are coming back to our senses, we are
going back to being travelers, building vessels to carry us to
uncharted territories, we are done here.
Them, that we used to call aliens contacted us, we are not even sure as
to what they look like. We got scared, they are invisible to us,
creatures that can command, more of the universe than we puny earth
men could ever do. We are like two dimensional creatures on a piece
of paper and they of higher dimensions that hold that paper and poke
and prod it for fun, we could never see them for we are made that way
and the instruments that we devised could but just sense them, with
readings on a graph paper. But what is the point, the knowledge is
out, we know they are out there and we are trapped in our universe,
this universe that we inhabit is the cage that limits us. We are but
playthings in their vast laboratories.
Soon we will be traveling from here. Pulling off the anchor and
moving on, all our technologies, put in suitcases and to find some
other place. Even those who believe in moving to another place do not
think that we would even be able to move away from them. That we
would ever be able to get out of our cage, this universe that
incarcerates us. There are other camps among men that think that we
have to establish contact with those aliens. But how will it play
out, we are but ants in the gardens of giants. Nothing has happened,
nothing bad that is, but the knowledge of those beings out there is out
now. The world has changed. | 2017-03-10T01:47:25 | 2017-03-09T22:27:52 | 131 | 27 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | Humanity learned many lessons in the dark days after the Nuclear Apocalypse. Our inability to understand each other led to mistrust, and that mistrust almost exterminated us all. A team of brilliant scientists developed a potential solution: the Memetic Link. Implanted in the gene code of all humans, it taps into the collective knowledge of all ancestors of the same name. Different names would provide diversity, but the historical knowledge and shared expertise would promote community.
It worked. For centuries, it worked. Eventually, though, parents got into a rut, picking tried-and-true winners. For a couple generations, all the kids were Alberts, or Elons, or Oprahs. Communities ran strong, but diversity began to dwindle. To restore that diversity, parents began picking stranger names -- historical oddballs. They hoped to restore the breadth of human understanding and rekindle our creativity and progress.
It worked again. Sure, we still had lots of Abrahams and Steves and Elizabeths, but we started to see other names. A new fad began, with parents searching through the remaining fragments of ancient texts, looking for a New Name for a child -- the coveted Different Name. Diversity surged, and society looked stronger than ever.
The pregnancy felt long, but it was blissfully uncomplicated. Mary Todd and Benjamin now sat in the recovery room, gazing adoringly at their newborn child. Nurse Florence bustled in, tidying up and taking everybody's vitals. She clucked approvingly as she filled out the paperwork -- the child looked healthy in every way.
Two decades in the job hadn't squelched her sense of curiosity. "Interesting! I've never seen this name before. Never even heard of it. Where did you find it?"
Benjamin swelled with pride at the subtle compliment. "Mary Todd is an anthropologist, see, so she has access to some of the oldest records from before the Apocalypse. She stumbled across a treasure trove of historical records -- THEIR historical records, mind you -- and found a name repeated over and over. Apparently, he was a powerful leader from ancient times, adored by millions!"
"Fascinating! And to think, such a wealth of knowledge and nobody has tapped into it yet. I'm sure there will be greatness in his future."
Her work finished, Florence headed for the door; eight more patients awaited her ministrations.
"Your whole family is healthy, so don't worry at all. I'll see you later, Mary Todd. Take care, Benjamin. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Adolph!" | Grok thought.
He thought about the baby he was having, he thought about the hedges he was trimming and the lawns she was mowing. he thought about the car he was driving and the road she was paving.
And he thought about names.
Such a small thing, yet it determined so much. Grok remembered his first life, two hundred thousand years ago, language had yet to be invented but his mother had made a certain noise to call him, and that had been his name.
He remembered hunting and killing and fucking, he remembered his first son and he remembered being his first father, he remembered the groups of himself that he organized to clear out the neighboring tribes, he remembered sharpening rocks to cut them with. he remembered the first time he saw fire.
He remembered his first death, when he realized that it wasn't just other people who could go away. and the frantic expansion that followed it as he killed everything within miles of him to preserve his own life. dying multiple times in the process.
He remembered Karg, the first dog he trained to help him hunt the others, each time Karg would have a child he would name him Karg, and he would be good.
It took him a bit to realize that the sound was what was important. that the children would not be him if he did not make the specific sounds that made his name. when he did he realized that there were other people, people who would try to erase his name.
So he built camps, fortified cave entrances and made weapons to help him kill the other-namers.
20,000 years he fought against the Klunks and the Roars. eventually killing all that remained within his borders. for 50,000 years he was happy, he lived on his land and he ate his fruit, just Groks and Kargs. he invented language, and writing, though they served little purpose for him they allowed him to communicate with Yilth traders.
After his 100,000th birthday Grok decided that he was tired of living alone. he negotiated with the Yilth to move thousands of Groks to the Yilth colony in East-Asia, where they would interact with each other, hesitantly at first and then more regularly. Grok got to know Yilth and Yilth got to know Grok.
One day Yilth shared something with Grok, he told him that he had discovered great wisdom, and that he wanted to share it with Grok. the Yilth called this the Scientific Method.
A thousand years passed, Yilth and Grok worked to discover the border of their knowledge. they expanded their territory to cover everything from one sea to the other. they created cars and trains that could move them faster than even the fastest Groks could run.
Soon they built something that allowed them to cross the sea, Grok did not believe there was anything else, but Yilth remained unconvinced. so they set off on boats, tens of thousands of them launched a year, each with at least one Grok and one Yilth.
And they discovered islands. beautiful gardens filled with fruits that Grok had never seen, and animals he had never thought of. the first time they discovered it Yilth pushed Grok into a volcano, and they laughed about it for centuries afterwords.
They found continents too, though there was no-one there. Grok prefered the southern parts while Yilth prefered the more northern climates.
Millennia passed, Grok and Yilth were happy. then they discovered space travel.
Grok and Yilth had known about the stars for a long time, but it was not until Grok invented a Telescope to see them better that they began to realize just how many there were. millions, billions, trillions of stars! and each had planets, just like theirs!
This worried Grok and Yilth. if there were other planets than did that mean there were other people? would they come and try to erase their names?
Grok didn't know. Yilth didn't either. they spent a century looking at the sky, wondering when the other-names would come down and destroy everything they had built. but none ever did.
They built ships, to try and go find the others before they found them, but their ships were slow and they decided that the stars were to numerous for them to find them that way.
So Yilth created a plan. if they could not go to the other-names, they could bring the other names here.
So Grok got pregnant, and gave birth to a child named AAAAAAAAA.
Do you know who you are? | 2017-04-07T11:40:12 | 2017-04-07T10:32:07 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago... | Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast." | 2017-05-31T07:14:34 | 2017-05-31T06:30:10 | 116 | 80 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago... | "It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34 | 2017-05-31T06:38:29 | 116 | 47 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them. | "Hear me humans! You will fall and we shall call this new world our own!"
Thunder crackled around the mysterious humanoid as he raised his sword to the sky. Fire and ice swirled around his swelled body, the bones of his past conquests hung from his belt dancing in the storm he seemingly summoned at will. Hordes of giant creatures assembled in the fields behind him, entering our world through shimmering gateways erected from the grey mists.
"We've studied your kind for centuries, and now we are here to take earth for our own! Bow before us, for we are kind slavers" a hearty chuckle traveled through the misty morning air, "Choose not to surrender and we will - "
A single gun shot ended the speech, the seven foot tall silhouette feel to its knees and groveled in pain. Several more shots rang out as the group of special forces operatives sent to inspect the disturbance tested the bullet proof properties of the creatures skin.
"They're flesh and blood Commander, light them up."
No sooner had the radio clicked off when dozens of attack helicopters swarmed in over the hillside, raining thousands of bullets per second on the helpless ensemble of mythical men and monsters. The other worldly army fired back with massive bolts of magic and fire, dragons took to the sky while a squadron of F16's lobbed missiles chased by the hum of fifty caliber persuaders.
On the ground thousands of troops descended from the hill tops firing at the invaders mowing them down in masses.
Legend says the battle raged on for 7 days and 7 nights. I heard that it only lasted about 7 hours. All I know, is the pen may be mightier than the sword, but a 5.56 round trumps both. | *This wasn't fair.*
In the webways of the world, Earth was always a feeding ground for the forces of the higher realms. The humans always had thousand different names for their kind in a thousand different tongues. Dragons, demons, giants, cyclopes, the fair folk, Oni, Gods. The Ascendant come in a thousand different forms, but united by a shared immortality and similar superiority over the mortal creatures on that ocean world.
*Now we die as easily as the flies.*
For millions of years, the hunt went unimpeded. Some of Ascendant came down with weapons of honor, the bow and sword, others called upon their great ability to subvert the laws of nature of the Earth realm, magic, others used brute strength and power alone. Still, nothing stood in their way. Every three thousand Earth years, the Ascended came, finding a prey worthy of the hunt.
*Now we are the prey.*
Humans were interesting. Even as the ascendant watch their ancestors grow upright and afix a rock to a stick in a crude imitation of the weapons of honor, it wasn't enough. Their advances were few, no change for hundreds of hunts.
*There was a change, we just never noticed*
In the last three hunts, there were same drastic changes. Humans were living in larger settlements, cultivating plants, under priests or Kings who seemed to half remember our last visit. They had armies, weapons of Bronze, tactics, and civilization. From the seas, we attacked, fighting harder then we ever had to but wiping their civilizations from the map. Clearly, we didn't go far enough, try hard enough, as clearly their civilizations survived our attempt at their destruction.
*Now we are going to be the ones washed away*
This Hunt was suppose to be no different. The hunt was delayed a few centuries due to squabbles among our kind, but the hunt was finally organized a new. All us Ascendants came to portal between worlds, openning the gateway to the human realms, openning in the center of the ancient civilizations we once destroyed.
*And in that desert we laid the seeds of our own destruction.*
What was once grassland had changed to sand, but the difference would not stop the cycle from starting again. Earth mutates and changes, the ascendant are immutable in our ageless state. We set out to find our quarrel.
*The humans found us*
Before we made a hundred leagues, death started to descend upon the Ascendents. Before we saw a single human, strikes of magic flew from across the horizon into our fliers. Before we saw a single worthy foe, great machines of iron and death rained their hatred across all the land beyond the sight of any mage. Once we saw our enemy, they were hidden within great iron chariots that took any fire we threw at it. In return, they spewed more death from their trunks, and crushed anyone who dared try to attack it up close.
*This wasn't a hunt*
We now know the humans were perpetually in the hunt, perpetually killing each other over the black liquid remains of the creatures who died on the planet long ago and the arbitrary divisions they had carved between themselves. Yet, in the tiniest of timespans, they had perfected the art of slaughter, advanced in their short lives more than we had in our entire existences. We made the worst mistake. We gave them something they agree upon, something they could all hate, and we could not even close the gateway to protect our own realm.
*They could kill us even here.*
That is why we are huddled in this cave, that is why we have to hide, that is why we have to pretend every Ascendant died.
*That is why the mushroom clouds cover our skies.* | 2017-09-14T15:29:29 | 2017-09-14T07:49:07 | 243 | 11 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them. | "Hear me humans! You will fall and we shall call this new world our own!"
Thunder crackled around the mysterious humanoid as he raised his sword to the sky. Fire and ice swirled around his swelled body, the bones of his past conquests hung from his belt dancing in the storm he seemingly summoned at will. Hordes of giant creatures assembled in the fields behind him, entering our world through shimmering gateways erected from the grey mists.
"We've studied your kind for centuries, and now we are here to take earth for our own! Bow before us, for we are kind slavers" a hearty chuckle traveled through the misty morning air, "Choose not to surrender and we will - "
A single gun shot ended the speech, the seven foot tall silhouette feel to its knees and groveled in pain. Several more shots rang out as the group of special forces operatives sent to inspect the disturbance tested the bullet proof properties of the creatures skin.
"They're flesh and blood Commander, light them up."
No sooner had the radio clicked off when dozens of attack helicopters swarmed in over the hillside, raining thousands of bullets per second on the helpless ensemble of mythical men and monsters. The other worldly army fired back with massive bolts of magic and fire, dragons took to the sky while a squadron of F16's lobbed missiles chased by the hum of fifty caliber persuaders.
On the ground thousands of troops descended from the hill tops firing at the invaders mowing them down in masses.
Legend says the battle raged on for 7 days and 7 nights. I heard that it only lasted about 7 hours. All I know, is the pen may be mightier than the sword, but a 5.56 round trumps both. | *This wasn't fair.*
In the webways of the world, Earth was always a feeding ground for the forces of the higher realms. The humans always had thousand different names for their kind in a thousand different tongues. Dragons, demons, giants, cyclopes, the fair folk, Oni, Gods. The Ascendant come in a thousand different forms, but united by a shared immortality and similar superiority over the mortal creatures on that ocean world.
*Now we die as easily as the flies.*
For millions of years, the hunt went unimpeded. Some of Ascendant came down with weapons of honor, the bow and sword, others called upon their great ability to subvert the laws of nature of the Earth realm, magic, others used brute strength and power alone. Still, nothing stood in their way. Every three thousand Earth years, the Ascended came, finding a prey worthy of the hunt.
*Now we are the prey.*
Humans were interesting. Even as the ascendant watch their ancestors grow upright and afix a rock to a stick in a crude imitation of the weapons of honor, it wasn't enough. Their advances were few, no change for hundreds of hunts.
*There was a change, we just never noticed*
In the last three hunts, there were same drastic changes. Humans were living in larger settlements, cultivating plants, under priests or Kings who seemed to half remember our last visit. They had armies, weapons of Bronze, tactics, and civilization. From the seas, we attacked, fighting harder then we ever had to but wiping their civilizations from the map. Clearly, we didn't go far enough, try hard enough, as clearly their civilizations survived our attempt at their destruction.
*Now we are going to be the ones washed away*
This Hunt was suppose to be no different. The hunt was delayed a few centuries due to squabbles among our kind, but the hunt was finally organized a new. All us Ascendants came to portal between worlds, openning the gateway to the human realms, openning in the center of the ancient civilizations we once destroyed.
*And in that desert we laid the seeds of our own destruction.*
What was once grassland had changed to sand, but the difference would not stop the cycle from starting again. Earth mutates and changes, the ascendant are immutable in our ageless state. We set out to find our quarrel.
*The humans found us*
Before we made a hundred leagues, death started to descend upon the Ascendents. Before we saw a single human, strikes of magic flew from across the horizon into our fliers. Before we saw a single worthy foe, great machines of iron and death rained their hatred across all the land beyond the sight of any mage. Once we saw our enemy, they were hidden within great iron chariots that took any fire we threw at it. In return, they spewed more death from their trunks, and crushed anyone who dared try to attack it up close.
*This wasn't a hunt*
We now know the humans were perpetually in the hunt, perpetually killing each other over the black liquid remains of the creatures who died on the planet long ago and the arbitrary divisions they had carved between themselves. Yet, in the tiniest of timespans, they had perfected the art of slaughter, advanced in their short lives more than we had in our entire existences. We made the worst mistake. We gave them something they agree upon, something they could all hate, and we could not even close the gateway to protect our own realm.
*They could kill us even here.*
That is why we are huddled in this cave, that is why we have to hide, that is why we have to pretend every Ascendant died.
*That is why the mushroom clouds cover our skies.* | 2017-09-14T15:29:29 | 2017-09-14T13:36:35 | 243 | 10 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | There we were, math class again. Typical Friday afternoon waiting for the weekend. Everyone around me focused on the board while I sing to myself, waiting for someone else to answer the question as I chant 42 to myself.
Today's song just happens to be about a beautiful girl in class. My Sweet Caroline in fact. I feel like my rendition could put Neil himself to shame. I watch Caroline as I sing, wondering how many times boys have sung this to her to try and impress her. Suddenly she raises her hand. 42 she calls out.
I start to sing louder. Jealous of the fact that I got the answer first, but don't have the balls to say it in class on the off chance I'm wrong. My song gets louder in my head as I calculate the next problem.
BA BA BA!!! I yell in my head followed by the next answer. Caroline flinched. Raises her hand. Calls out 6. Right again. But why the flinch?
Curious now I keep singing, and staring. There is no way she heard me. People can't hear other people minds. That's like movies and weird stories you read on Reddit. No way it exists I say to myself as I hear Caroline start to hum along with my singing. | *What the fuck?* It had to have been a coincidence. I looked over at her to gauge a reaction
*There’s no way that actually worked. She must’ve just happened to get a static shock or something while I- AHHHHHHHHHHH!*
She jumped again, then turned towards me with a highly panicked look.
*No fucking way. YOU’RE READING MY THOUGHTS! Can you also speak to me in my head? What all do you know? How long have you been-*
She cut me off and signaled for me to be quiet.
*What do you want me to do, just have an empty head? Can’t you just stop listening?*
The bell rang, and she left the class as quickly as possible. Naturally, I chased because I needed answers.
“Harley! Wait up!” I yelled while doing a light jog, eventually catching up. “What the hell was that?! Are you some sort of telepath?”
Continuing to ignore me, she sped up her pace.
*You can’t just keep ignoring me! Are you only linked to me or can you listen to others? How far does your range reach? You’re really not even gonna look at me? Okay. AHH-*
***Slap***
“Ow! Fuck!” I yelled while Harley began to create distance from me as the crowd stood, in shock.
At the last bell of the day, I saw her walking across the courtyard, so I stopped her.
“Harley!”
She immediately raised her hand at me.
“I just want to know what’s going on. Can you just explain?” I desperately asked. *Pretty please?*
“Is this some sort of joke?” She sternly muttered “When I said show me the love of my life, I didn’t mean THIS!”
*What?*
“Sorry, I mean, what?” I questioned
“Look,” she began “I literally made a wish upon a shooting star while throwing a penny into a fountain. I wished that the universe would make it abundantly clear who the love of my life is.”
Harley was way out of my league. Perfect brown hair, a face I could stare at all day, and a body I could never get tired of. I’ve been friends with her for years, and have always had a thing for her but never felt confident enough to say anything. My mind raced at the thought that she’s my soulmate. Oh the things I would do to-
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Harley yelled.
“I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”
She looked on the verge of tears.
“Hey, don’t... don’t cry. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I don’t HAVE to be your soulmate, you know. We can still find different people, we aren’t forced to have it this way.”
She began to break down.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m scared. This isn’t normal and I’m scared of it.”
I hugged her as she cried into my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll get through this.”
She embraced me and lifted her head.
“Just tell me that *we* will get through this.”
“We’ll get through this.”
— | 2017-11-13T19:47:06 | 2017-11-13T18:23:14 | 236 | 80 |
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal" | “That’s just great, do you have any idea which way to go?!” Satan complained.
Buddha replied in serene monotone “You must simply learn to enjoy the journey.”
“Besides,” said Jesus while he adjusted the rear view mirror locking eyes with Satan over his onyx aviator sunglasses. “I am the way.” | Five words. Five words that would change the world.
The Old Gods had returned.
At first the world did not notice that anything had changed. They assumed that global warming was a result of man-made carbon emissions and pollution. They thought that the increase in violence and strife was a result of burgeoning religious fundamentalism or a desire for democratic rule. The effects were subtle, and humans among all the other animals in the world are the most egotistical and narcissistic. Of course they were causing these problems.
They were wrong.
Of course, it took something more than just people killing each other over religion or the Great Barrier Reef dying to realize this. On November 12, 2017 a being suddenly appeared over Baghdad, Iraq. It was a nebulous dark mass of smoke, tentacles and fire. It's red eyes stared over the ancient city from over a mile above the ground. The world panicked.
Humans by their very nature are good at ignoring things that are unpleasant. Death and existential dread first and foremost above them. They could ignore these no longer for they had become manifest. We're not sure if it was the scientists or journalists that first named this creature, but it came to be known as Thanatos.
The god of Death.
The creature did not move for 24 hours, the fires of its eyes never dimming nor closing. After one day to the very second, Thanatos opened its mouth and screamed. The very earth cried out in pain and a massive earthquake struck, destroying homes and killing hundreds.
Before the ground could calm and the sound die down, a dark smoke began to issue from Thanatos' mouth. As the black mist wafted down it began to compact and spin away from the larger mass of smoke. These pieces hit the ground like midnight meteors, throwing up dirt and dust. Many people were outside trying to avoid collapsing buildings so they noticed fairly quickly the *things* crawling from the various craters within the city. It took days to get a picture of these children of Thanatos.
They had killed everyone.
***
2nd Part - https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7d6cjy/wp_jesus_take_the_wheel_satan_get_behind_me/dpvi5cl/
3rd Part - https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7d6cjy/wp_jesus_take_the_wheel_satan_get_behind_me/dpvn2pt/ | 2017-11-15T14:43:36 | 2017-11-15T12:02:08 | 92 | 56 |
[WP] For decades there's been a huge clock hovering over Earth, counting down. We've gotten used to it, until it reaches zero, Africa vanishes and the clock resets. | *Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True:*
----
"So," I said, "they found out what that giant hovering clock is all about."
"Hmm?" Tom looked up from his soup. "What giant hovering clock?"
I took a seat at the table. "You know, the huge clock, hovering over the earth for decades? Counting down to some monumental event?"
Tom shrugged. "I didn't really notice. There's always something in the sky: aliens invading us, us invading aliens, star destroyer, you know how it is."
"Well," I continued, "There was a giant hovering clock."
"Oh!" Tom said, "is this the 'simulation shutting down' thing? Where they had to reboot reality and I was like a half hour late for work?"
"No," I said. "They rebooted reality *again*?"
Tom shrugged once more. "You know how it is, everyone's obsessed with reality being a simulation or pointless countdowns, so they've got to go ahead and combine the two constantly. I just wish it didn't make me late for work, I got chewed out pretty harshly once I got to the precinct."
"You realize," I pointed out, "that there's no possible way that you aren't actually the perpetrator of whatever crime you're investigating."
"I know, but that's the biz." Tom sighed. "Anyway, your clock?"
"Apparently," I said, "it was counting down to Africa's disappearance. And it's re-set."
Tom shook his head. "Ugh. It could be worse, though. It could be floating numbers over our heads again."
"Um," I said, glancing at the `8675309` hovering over Tom's head, "about that...." | The underground bunker was filled with the leaders of the world. The distraught men and women slumped over in their seats, trying to figure out just what had transpired.
A well-dressed man walked in and addressed the room, “We have confirmation that the clock has reset."
“OK, I’ll say it. Nobody else wants to say it but you’re all thinking it,” said the President of the United States. “They’re clearly getting rid of the worst continents one by one and Africa blew ass.”
A rabble erupted in the room.
“Order, I say!” shouted Chancellor Gremhime of Germany, who was the chair of the NATO conference, as he tried to restore decorum. “Now what President Cameron just said is obviously inflammatory, but he may have a point. For I too think Africa blew ass.”
An even more ferocious bout of rabble erupted.
“People!” shouted the Prime Minister of Norway as she stood from her chair. “Africa is gone. It is pointless wasting our remaining energy deciding whether or not it blew ass. I mean, the mosquito was Africa’s national bird, so, maybe it did one hundred blow ass, but now is not the time to discuss this. We need to all agree that President Cameron is right and our continents are being ranked by the clock.”
The room regained tranquillity with the leaders nodding in acceptance.
“And what makes you so calm?” asked Prime Minister Modi, representing India and Asia.
“Well, Europe has Scandinavia. And Scandinavia kind of looks like a weird dick and balls,” answered the Prime Minister of Norway.
“Wait, what?” said the German Chancellor. “Get that up on the screen we need to see this,” he ordered.
[The image appeared on the screen. The Chancellor rose from his seat and waded through the tangible gasps of the room towards the screen.](https://www.dispak.ee/s2/1670_7204_p_v_Dispak_in_Scandinavian_Countrieswe55o.jpg)
“Mein Gott, sie hat recht,” he said, a single tear of happiness running down his face.
“This is preposterous,” announced Prime Minister Shinzō, his Japanese voice rising above the room. “Just because your continent looks like a dick and balls doesn’t mean you will be ranked any higher than the rest of us. In every other manner Europe is beyond inferior. It is even worse than the Australia.”
“Bloody mean that, mate,” said the Australian Prime Minister.
A disheveled man burst in to the room and began to shout, “The clock just hit zero! It .. it just suddenly started counting down at a tremendous speed. There was nothing we could do. Australia is gone.”
“Aw fuck.”
“Now do you believe us?” asked the Prime Minister of Finland. “Now do you believe in the dick and balls?”
“I’m kind of coming around to the dick and balls thing,” said Presidente Temur.
“How do we break it to our South American people that we merely resemble a fat bat when you tilt your head to the left sort of?” asked the President of Paraguay.
“I don’t know,” said Presidente Tumur. “I just don’t know.”
“Now listen, we don’t know if this is true,” said President Cameron. “We don’t even know who it is who is doing this never mind whether they think things that look like dick and balls are funny and worth cherishing. The worst thing we can do is jump to conclusions and make rash decisions."
A man popped his head in to the room, “Mr. President, Vice President Peck asked me to tell you he got the email. Washington, and Nevada are no more. Alaska is being move to the tip and the balls are being worked on.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | 2017-12-04T07:22:05 | 2017-12-04T06:40:06 | 108 | 29 |
[WP] Your parents used to say "As long as you are remembered, you will never die." The good news is you were happy to remember that when you changed the course of human history and everyone knows your name. The bad news is that was about 300 years ago and you'd really quite like to die now. | *[I'm sat at a bar, and there's 4 empty whisky glasses. I'm nursing another..]*
*[A man sits down beside me]*
**Man:** Tough day, ay brother?
**Me:** Tough fucking life, to be honest.
*[Sips from whisky glass]*
**Man:** It can't be that bad.
**Me:** It's my Birthday..
**Man:** Congratulations! Surely, that's a reason to celebrate. Barkeep, get this man anoth-
**Me:** I'm 348..
*[Man looks at me with suspicion]*
**Me:** I know it sounds crazy. Check this out.
*[I show the man my drivers license with DOB]*
**Man:** What? How?!
**Me:** Well you know the saying 'As long as you're remembered, you'll never die'?
**Man:** Sure.
**Me:** Well that literally applies to me after my parents had me cursed as a child.
**Man:** Bullshit!
**Me:** It's true.
*[The man still looks at me with doubt]*
**Man:** Alright then.. So what are you remembered for? It's been 300 years. I doubt anyone will remember me after 300 years.
**Me:** You know the self adhesive rubber bits on laptops that covers the screw holes?
**Man:** Not really, but go on..
**Me:** I invented those.
**Man:** And that means you've been remembered for 300 years?!
*[I angrily take a sip of whisky]*
**Me:** Nope.
**Man:** Oh.
**Me:** You know those ice cubes you buy which are plastic with some water in them and you just chuck them in the freezer to refreeze?
**Man:** Not really much of an icecube man.
**Me:** Yeah, nobody fucking is.
[Anger is simmering. I take another sip of whisky.]
**Me:** You ever thought about who invented the phone case?
**Man:** No, not really.
**Me:** Join the fucking club! No one has.
[I throw my whisky glass across the bar, and it smashes the mirror]
**Me:** But you fuck one sheep!..
| My left kidney was the first to go. There was no pain, which was a blessing, I guess. My neighbour Tom had a heart attack a decade ago and he's still suffering from that chest pain after all these years. Oh no, look at me remembering about Tom again. I hope he get to die one day.
You see the flaw in the system, too, don't you? "As long as you're remembered, you'll never die." It sounded so fucking awesome. Well, for a while, it was. That is, until people started to live up to 120 years old then, for the first time, someone finally realized the problem. Nobody ever mentioned you'd never stopped getting older, and since most people had a family or extended family or friends or a fucking student loan, people just stopped dying. The group of scientist who cooked up the system had a huge conference that was literally broadcasted live all over the world. I was in high school back then, and the school had everyone in the gym watching the news together. I remember watching them crying and apologizing on TV, and for a while I wasn't sure what's worse: the situation we were in, or watching a whole bunch of supposedly really brilliant people, so old they could barely talk or sit upright or put on their own diapers, crying on TV.
I'm very thankful for the medical advancement in geriatric care and life support system in the past 200 years, otherwise I'd be in far worse shape then those old bag of bones on TV all those years ago. Ever since then, almost all the money in medical research had been pouring into sustaining old people. It was expected, of course, since it was the most profitable medical goldmine. Nobody cared about cancer research anymore, since cancer just stopped killing people. Bone metastasis would still hurt like a bitch and there were drugs that would help, but we could no longer die from it. Oh, the drugs. I personally was on 27 medication on a daily basis, not to mention the dialysis app that I had to run every 3 days. Like I said, my left kidney was the first to go. By the time I figured there might be something wrong with me and went to the doctor, my legs had already swollen up like that one time I fell asleep in the bath after a couple glasses of wine. The only doctor in our town was 186 or something and looked like he'd break his hip just by getting up from his chair. He asked me to plug myself to his office diagnostic computer, and the it began to flash red as soon as I connected.
"Well looks like your kidneys are failing, son."
"But... I'm only 79!"
I was put on dialysis a week later. At first, it was a portable thingy that looked like one of the old "laptops" in period dramas. About a century ago someone finally developed an app that would run in our implant. By then I was already world famous for solving the crisis by being, as Fox news called me, the butcher of human race.
I didn't blame Fox news. They had their fundamental Christian audience to cater for, and I was the person who finally figured out a way to make people forget about someone, effectively euthanizing the said person. It was ingenious, if I might say so myself. Human memory was like a highway; all I had to do was coming up with a pill that effectively caused a couple major car accidents near the exit that lead to someone you'd want to forget. Did that make sense to you? No? It's alright, at least you get to die, and you simply just have to gather all your known families and friends to take my pill. As long as you paid your student loan in full, that is. Those motherfuckers will never stop reviewing your file until you pay them back.
Not me though. I'm the butcher of the motherfucking human race. People will never stop remembering about me. For the past century Fox news had been including me in their news ticker. There was no way to get everyone who watches Fox news to take a pill for me. They had really made it their mission to ensure I stay alive. I heard some churches in Texas had started to include me in their Sunday sermons.
"Remember, remember, Bob the butcher. May God help him."
Yeah, fuck you, too. | 2018-02-08T07:16:25 | 2018-02-08T05:44:57 | 299 | 81 |
[WP] You're a traveling warrior, and you have been in love with your partner for many years. One day a sorceror bewitches her, and as a side effect she becomes infatuated with you. Knowing it isn't really "real" love she feels, you broodingly and unwillingly set out to find her a cure. | **pt.1**
**(****pt.2** **+** **pt.3** **are** **in the comments below.** **it's a** **\~****15 minute read total, enjoy:****)**
The carriage rattled down the cobbled street. Gas lamps hanging in window shops provided the only light to see what little there was to be seen. But none of the outside world mattered to John. At least, not until they reached their destination.
"Can't we just find a hotel room somewhere?" asked Shirley, her hand on his knee.
A week ago, that question would have fulfilled all of John's impossible desires. The word 'yes' would have exploded past his lips in half a heartbeat, and that which he'd fantasized about for years would finally be a reality. But the past twelve hours had tested every moral fiber John gave himself credit for, and as he was this close to healing his friend -- his love -- he would not falter to temptation now.
"We'll stop soon," John offered, not daring to make eye contact. The glint in her eyes was far too tempting for his ever-weakening will. "It's just around the corner here."
The horses pulled up short courtesy of the driver's sharp pull on the reins. John looked out the small window and fingered the revolver in his pocket as his eyes darted back and forth across the foggy street. No one came to this neighborhood for sanctimonious reasons. Drugs and sex were the usual merchandise, but meetings with the occult weren't entirely uncommon either. And John was owed a favor.
He had to guide Shirley out of the carriage. Not roughly -- never roughly. John would have taken a bullet to the chest before leaving a mark on her fair skin. But ever since the spell had been levied, she'd become a different entity. Her free spirit stolen, her bravery crippled, her confidence mutated into a meek subservience. For years John had imagined her saying, "Please take me to bed." But now that she was saying it hourly, it was poison to his soul.
"Three shillings, sir." The price was absurd for the ride, but John knew the cabby's game. A man leading a confused woman to a disreputable part of town required doubled fares, or else the authorities would be alerted.
John's intentions were unquestionably pure. He knew that, and he had to believe Shirley knew that as well, despite the cursed spell that had stolen her mind away. But he was also self-aware enough to realize what it looked like to the outside world, so John handed over the payment as casually as possible.
Shirley looked at him with those big brown eyes, that pair of glistening copper circlets he'd been fawning over for two years. "Where are we, John?"
He didn't dare meet her gaze as he responded, "The only place where I think we may find help."
\--------------------
17/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------
edit: did a bit of grammar touch ups. but more than any wp i've gone for, i'd love to flesh this out for another 1500+ words, maybe over the weekend? im writing this at 10p PST (usa) but i love the prompt, so if there's a crowd out there for a steampunk-fantasy unrequited love story, ive got one ready. either way, loved the prompt :) cheers
edit2 (next morning): happily surprised yall like this one. i actually hate small chunks of the writing above -- i'm blaming my poor phrasing on the empty bottle of wine still on the kitchen table -- but i'll get part two done in the next couple hours. just as soon as the coffee and advil kick in. stay tuned. | I woke early to find her arm around my neck. When I tried to pull away, her arm tightened a bit, though her soft snores continued. I sighed and settled in to my bedroll, waiting for her to relax again before gently prying her arm away and rolling out of bed. Hopefully, it’d be another few minutes before she woke.
I hastily but quietly packed my sleeping gear and tied it all on the bottom of my pack, then gathered two of our light pots. One I filled with water and set in the fire. Carefully, I unwrapped a small pouch containing the last of our eggs and bacon. The second pot I set in the fire. The bacon I set in the pot.
While waiting for the bacon to start sizzling, I laid out her plate and fork first, then my own. When the water on the fire started to boil, I poured in the last of our coffee. Both of us had been up late last night, me because I had to keep her company and listen to what she said, no matter how much it hurt, and her because the spell she was under compelled her to do things such as tell me her life story and dreams of our future together. It was a morning for something stronger than tea. I pulled the coffee aside and let it steep.
The bacon was beginning to crackle. With a flick of my wrist I flipped it, and then cracked the last of our eggs into the pan. I set a small loaf of bread and a pat of butter near enough the fire to warm them both. When the eggs began to sputter I nudged her with one foot, flipped them expertly, and plated them with extreme care not to break the soft yolk. She awoke as I set the plate in front of her.
“But what about you, my love?” she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Toast with butter. You know I like to eat light,” I replied. It was a lie, and she knew it, but she also knew that I wouldn’t tolerate an argument and settled in to eat her breakfast.
When the coffee was done, I poured her a cup, making sure to pour slowly from the top so she got as few grounds as possible, then dumped the rest into my mug. I settled down with my knife, butter, bread, and coffee to stew in these few moments of silence.
I remembered the moment I realized I loved her. As she stood in the glow of the pale candles we had brought into the Deeps, chanting rhythmically in tongues that had no name in the world above. Her face was twisted by terrible power, forces beyond my understanding and yet of which she had full control. In the moment that I realized her strength was her immense mental discipline, just as mine was in my sword arm, I fell forever in love with her. That she did not feel the same for me, a brutish and stupid thug, was a given. I had never pressed the issue. I would never dare.
I cleaned and packed up our things as she looked ahead. A lone tower rose out of the forest, but we both knew better than to believe what we saw. The thing I sought, the thing she reluctantly took me to find, was buried deep below.
“You do not need to do this, my love,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck as I lifted her pack to help her put it on.
“Yes. I do,” I said, frowning. Her pack was much lighter, as always. It was one of many small gifts I gave her that I never expected her to notice.
She shook her head and started toward the tower as I fastened my own pack, checking the sword, my bow and quiver, and the small knives I squirreled around my armor for easy reach. “I’ve never felt happier, darling, and I don’t want to risk losing you now,” she called back, but at this point the fight had long been decided, and we both knew it. I said nothing, simply taking a few large strides to catch up to her.
Our movements through the depths of the tower were furtive. She cast a spell to give us light, and I used that light to disarm the many traps. When the lurkers threatened us, we fought back to back. I could feel the energy and power she radiated as static and chills up and down my spine, along my skin. Occasionally in moments of respite she would press her back against mine and I would grit my teeth. That such a pleasant sensation could feel so right, yet so wrong at the same time. No one should have to suffer that.
When finally we stood before the book, I took it in my hands before she could grab it. Though she pouted and complained, I used all that I had learned at her side throughout the years to first mouth, and then intone the dark and arcane script. I felt a surge of power rush through me. My vision went black.
---
I woke to Siara standing above me, a cold washcloth in her hand and a slight smile upon her face.
“I told you it wouldn’t work, silly,” she said.
I closed my eyes once more, feeling a lump gathering in my throat. Would this be my fate, then?
But her hand fell on my chest.
“You don’t understand,” she said, that same smile upon her lips. “The spell the sorcerer cast failed to take hold. I love you as well, Kari. I have for years. I will until the end of time.”
And though my confusion was deeper than the sea, a warmth and joy spread through me such that I have never known. I leapt up and swept her into my arms, heedless of the blood and ash that now covered us both, and I kissed her with all of the love that my heart could muster.
---
**Comments and criticism always welcome.**
If you want to read a few more of my stories, check out /r/TenspeedGV. There's not much yet, but I'm working on it! | 2018-07-06T22:03:38 | 2018-07-06T21:40:44 | 186 | 79 |
[WP] The town council died in a freak plane accident. An audit by the interim council revealed 20% of the town’s power is siphoned off to a structure with priority over even hospitals. The send you to investigate the building in the middle of nowhere. | The sound of rushing air penetrates through my headset as we begin the operation. I look over to the other squads, then check my parachute. So far, so good. A voice fills the headset.
“Cutting off power in 10 seconds.”
A few seconds later, we hear a distant explosion. Below us, there is faint shimmer of light, barely perceptible unless you knew what to look for.
“Deploy chutes in 3... 2... 1.”
I deploy my parachute. I hold my breath, preparing myself for the worst possible outcome. The voice fills the headset again.
“Confirm that you made it past the barrier.”
I look around. 17 parachutes. Thank god. I place my hand on the receiver.
“Confirmed.”
“Copy that. Begin phase 2. Good luck.”
I raise my hand and signal the next phase of the operation. Twelve of the parachutes swiftly change direction and begin moving north. I start the timer on my watch. Less than a minute later, we hit the ground.
We land near the back gate of the complex. The outside lights from the main house flicker to life as the power is restored. I check my watch. Two minutes left. I signal to my squad. We push deeper into the complex until we reach the inner wall. The main house is on the other side, completely illuminated by flood lights. We place charges on the inner wall.
I check my watch. 20 seconds left. We retreat a safe distance from the wall. With my hand on the detonator, I count down in my mind. Three. Two. One.
An explosion goes off to the north, as a giant fireball rises to the sky. Success. I press the detonator, creating a massive hole in the inner wall. The floodlights are now off, and the entire complex is shrouded in darkness. I switch to night vision and place a hand on my receiver.
“Zookeeper, this is Raptor one.”
“Raptor one, receiving.”
“Phase two complete. We’ve breached the inner sanctum.”
“Copy that Raptor one. Air support will be available in one minute. Begin phase 3.”
I look over to my squad mates, who nod at me in return. We check our weapons one last time, and then enter the inner sanctum. Suddenly, the lights within the house turn back on. A man dressed in a silk bathrobe emerges from the second floor balcony.
We fire at the man, but to no effect. The rounds do not even reach him.
“Zookeeper, are you receiving this?” I say into my receiver, trying to stay calm.
“Affirmative, Raptor one.”
I adjust my helmet and point my helmet cam directly at the man in the bathrobe. He then begins to speak to us.
“How incredibly rude! I don’t remember doing anything to deserve such treatment!”
As I move my hand to the receiver to ask for orders, an unfamiliar shrill voice fills my headset.
“Ask him what hell he thinks he’s doing!”
With my gun still pointed at him, I try to comply.
“Uh... what are...” but the man in the bathrobe cuts me off.
“Oh please, there’s no need for that. I know everything that goes on in this space after all,” he says to me. He then looks at the helmet cam. “Come now, Frannie, they were bound to find out about us anyways!”
The voice named Frannie shrieks into my headphones. “You absolute buffoon! Don’t you realize how big of a diplomatic issue this is? Why did you kill all those people?”
“First of all, I didn’t kill those people. I haven’t even been on this planet for the past week. I had to go back home to visit my parents.”
“Then how did they die? No matter how you look at it, their cause of death can’t be explained naturally!” Frannie said in an exasperated voice.
“Well I did notice that I was missing some stuff. I hosted them for a dinner party before I left, maybe they took something they shouldn’t have. I haven’t had the time to check, I just got back here a little while ago,” the man in the bathrobe said nonchalantly.
I hear an audible groan from my headset. I look over at my squad mates. They still have their guns pointed at him, but they’re clearly confused. I lower my weapon and grab my receiver.
“Uh, this is Raptor one. What’s the status on the op? Are we scrapping?”
There is a moment of silence. Then, a familiar voice.
“Raptor team, this is Zookeeper. Scrap the operation.”
We put our weapons away. The man in the bathrobe smiles at us, and says,
“Well, now that you’re here, why not stay for breakfast?”
Edit: numbers and formatting | It’s just an old crumbling house, alone on a shitty gravel road. The sun melts into the horizon behind it, darkening the home’s front, making it look like the last rotten tooth jutting out of a diseased gum. I’ve seen plenty of places just like this before. Places once loved but abandoned, left to fall apart. Maybe drugs rotted away the other teeth, and soon they’ll take this one too.
Makes me thing of betrayal, and I can’t say why exactly. Because the home deserved more, maybe? More than left to slowly decompose.
Weak light, almost candle-like, beiges up the closed curtains. I’d expected more than this. I’d expected a Frankensteins’s castle, lightning streaking in and out as some crazed scientist resurrects a corpse. It has to be something like that to eat up as much electricity as it is. But seeing it now - a slack jaw slanted house barely able to stand - my excitement drains away like piss into the gravel. All that’s left is a previously hidden anxiety. The feeling of something bad just waiting beyond the door.
Probably just growing pot here. Probably got a real nice setup, lot of lamps in a vast underground cellar. Mundane reality compared to Frankenstein - but a better reason to be living out here all alone.
“Hey? Hello?” I rap my knuckles on the door, pale white paint flaking onto my skin. “Anyone in? No one answered my call so I came in person.”
I’m not a conspiracy nut. I don’t think the council - rest in peace, god save their souls, and all that - were responsible for this place draining so much electricity. I don’t think they even knew about it. More likely just an oversight. Sure, a big oversight, but when no one’s looking, a big oversight becomes minuscule.
The door creaks open and I look for eyes in the dark hallway beyond. “Hello? Anyone there?”
Unease swells up in my belly as my eyes adjust and I see the hallway as empty. Empty of people, at least. There’s still things hanging framed on the walls, and a table, and a tattered rug.
I’m prepared for this — whatever this is. For Frankenstein’s monster or for cartel members. I’m prepared. I think?
I step in. Musky. Damp. As if the place is unlived and unloved. I pass the framed pictures and even in the dim-darkness I see the same people repeating in different poses, sometimes together, sometimes alone. A man, a woman. Sometimes he’s in a uniform, other times not. Sometimes her hair’s long, other times not.
A door squeals as I push it open and step into a living room. But the sofas are sheeted and dust’s piled like snowdrifts against the walls. There’s no light on, like it looked from the outside. And the curtains look less beige now than they do green from wet lacquers of mould. I try to imagine the portrait people in here. Happy. Bright. Not terrified like me.
The kitchen’s worse. Stinks of dead animals and rat shit and depression. The pipes squeal desperately as I turn the cold tap, but only a little black liquid oozes out. Then, nothing.
There’s no basement, so if they’re growing weed here they’re doing it behind the walls.
That is why I came here. Right?
Electricity. Too much of it. Not right. Pulling me here like magnets.
I take the stairs up. Three doors but I choose the one that leads to what was once the master bedroom. The bed’s still here, sort of. The wooden frame long ago gave up, and now the mattress crushes its remains, barely off the floor.
I can almost envisage them, can almost imagine the dirt stained windows letting in slices of morning light, the bed fresh the couple from downstairs rolling over together, nuzzling and kissing and laughing. Promises clean and honest before getting covered in dust and forgotten.
Even their imagined laughter is jarring here. Bordering on sinful or disrespectful.
Eventually I find myself in the attic, amongst boxes, amongst clothes hanging from rafters that in the near-darkness look like bodies. One’s a moth-eaten wedding gown that drags and smears itself in the dusted floor. I prefer not to imagine the lady in that - not the way it hangs.
Why am I still here?
There’s nothing here to suggest electricity being used at all. There’s no Frankenstein’s laboratory to discover. There’s no anything.
And yet I sit by a box and tip out its contents. It’s like a compulsion, to learn more, to imagine the people who used to live here, how things used to be. Before everything withered away and died like wisteria in the cold.
I don’t think they had kids. No photos of kids. But lots of the couple. Maybe they had promises of kids but they couldn’t be kept because promises are just words and not something solid you can hold onto.
Photos of them everywhere. Packed away neatly, piled into the boxes.
The lady was once a dancer and had a figure that could have brought the dead back to life.
The man in the uniform had been a pilot. And judging by the empty bottles hidden under clothes piled in another box, he might have been an alcoholic too.
Why am I still here?
My mind goes flying.
Maybe she found out about his little problem. And maybe she was going to leave him because of it, or gave him an ultimatum.
But maybe he couldn’t quit and he couldn’t even say why he couldn’t quit. Maybe he filled up on a belly of whiskey and a flask of whiskey, even before his flight. Doesn’t usually drink that much. But she was going to leave?
And then it happened and those people died and he died and the guilt must have crushed her.
I look at the wedding dress, hanging from the rafter, swaying back and forth in the cold attic breeze.
My neck chills as I imagine life after the crash. After I killed all those people.
I come back a lot here a lot, I think. Drawn here. Siphoning energy from the town to coalesce and to confront it.
But I can’t seem to move on because the pain is too much and becomes consuming and I can’t look at its ugly face to confront it for more than a moment. Just a flash of lightning in Frankenstein’s castle, the monster’s chest heaving, eyes opening, but that’s all. Falls back dead on the slab.
And it gets to a point - each time - where I become broken strands of wind screaming in the rafters, breezing out of cracks into the dark night, and that’s all that’s left of me until, maybe, I find the will to try again. | 2020-09-26T05:39:00 | 2020-09-26T04:36:43 | 223 | 82 |
[WP] You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar, that works as a neutral zone for heros and Villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you. | ‘You don’t want to do this, kid.’ I leaned over and gently whispered, trying to avoid what was to come.
Bright-eyed, full of confidence, pepped up by the same propaganda that had sent hundreds like him to a similar fate, I’d seen his type come and go so many times before.
‘Ha! I eat heroes like you for breakfast’. Mike, one of my regulars, laughed at the kid. He’d had a few too many, little drops of beer fell from his beard as he sprayed droplets towards us. But he kept to the rules.
The kid ignored Mike. He barely flinched. But he did.
‘In the name of the king and lord of the land I arrest you for high treason’ he announced.
These heroes thought they knew right from wrong and had all the authority to do what they want. One short little burst of ‘classes’ from the heroes’ guild and they thought it was all a game. But he was still just a kid. I didn’t want to do it but it was now down to him.
‘Kid, this is a neutral zone. You can’t do this here’ I tried.
‘Honour and duty know no bounds’. It was one of the guild’s mottos. Not the best, but you could see the kid’s chest swell with pride as he recited it.
I sighed.
‘Very well, why don’t you arrest me in the back. We’ll go out that way. We don’t want to start a brawl, right? For an old man’s sake, let’s not make this too public.’
The kid lowered his sword ever so slightly as he followed me, never more than two feet away. I noticed the little tremble in his hand as I pushed the door to the back room.
‘Are you sure you wanna do this?’ I tried one last time. The kid let his nerves show a bit more. His voice wasn’t quite so confident, but he managed to get it out. ‘You cannot escape justice’ he parroted.
‘Very well...’
I turned the lights off as a courtesy. No one should see it coming. No one should see the horror I had become.
His body was now slumped on the floor. His heroes’ pin the only thing left shining on him. ‘Such a waste’ I said under my breath. And hoisted his lifeless corpse onto the counter, ready for processing.
I cleaned myself up, put on a new apron, and came back out to the bar. There was an uneasy moment as the few who had been there long enough looked over and were silent for a minute, taking in what they knew had happened.
Gradually, one by one, they returned to their conversations though.
‘What can I get you?’ I asked a customer. A mid-sized orc, seemed to be from the western plain. ‘How fast will your Hero Burger be back in stock?’ He asked.
‘Tomorrow morning’ I replied. | You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar that works as a neutral zone for heroes and villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you.
An alarm light on the bartop began to flash. Before it flashed a second time Demio pressed the green button. A spring release fired a beer Stein at the tap. Before the tap finished its pour, a young man opened the door stepped inside and closed it quickly. The sound of wind roaring outside partially covered his voice. But the smile he gave made it clear he was pleased.
'...not my best time Demio, you sure you don't have a tracker on me?'
Demio's easy smile in return made it clear he knew what the hero was saying.
'You know the field you generate makes tracking difficult, but I'm not above putting a proximity sensor or two out there.' He slid the waiting beer to the hero.
'Thanks Magnus.' He said. 'I mean Demio' he corrected quickly. The old supervillian didn't bother using his other name any more. People change. The bartender smiled back warmly. 'No offense here,' he said. 'Do you know if Nightwalker is going to come by tonight?'
Redshift looked about the den noting the collection of crooks and cons, some retired, most not, as they sat and drank or talked with other figures. Similar groups composed of heroes and a few superheroes sat at other tables. 'I'm surprised he's not here already.' The hero finally said.
A friendly smile caught Red's eye. He knew her from a couple incidents last year. Maybe tonight would be a good night. 'Take this to her table please, Reggie.' Said Magnus in a conspiratorial whisper. Redshift made good on his name and carried the lavender looking drink with him.
Demio had barely turned back to wiping his off his bar when the door slammed open again.
This time the figure in the doorway was a hero. Not one Magnus had met before, but he didn't leave his little oasis much any more. He gave a friendly smile and opened his mouth to speak.
'I am Silver Ace, and you, Magnus, are under arrest!'
A few snickers drifted up from the back. And Demio noted that Redshift pointedly turned his back to the door.
The smile faded. 'Come in and sit down newbie. We'd better talk'
'You can confess to the authorities once I've brought you in villian!'
More snickers, and a few coughs from the superhero tables.
The new hero let his eyes sweep across the room, but its clear he hadn't noticed much. 'Am I gonna have to use force?' A crimson hand, easily five times larger than his own formed into a fist and launched toward at the bartender.
Eyes narrowing he, tore the phantasmal hand apart and slid a chair toward the posing hero. Silver Ace looked at it and wrapped it in a hazy red rope. The chair didn't move. The look of strained effort on the hero's face told everyone that he was sorely outmatched.
'I don't have to be kind stranger,' a decidedly less friendly smile was on his face. 'But this bar is neutral. If you intend to assault me here I will take that VERY personally. Think before you act and just sit down for a minute.'
Maybe the new heroes aren't as smart, he thought, as the red rope snaked over to another chair.
With a sigh, and a few movements that were carefully, if covertly, watched the bartender moved the hero and his mystic ropes over and then into the first chair he had used. He never touched the newbie and second chair slid reversed and sat in front of the first. Demio stepped over and sat backwards on the chair facing the struggling hero.
'Before you speak again, look, really look at this bar's patrons'
'I don't have to,' then his actually did look and a wave of confusion, anger, and finally embarrassment washed over him. ' I don't understand.' He finally said.
'You've been to church, you understand neutral ground. You cannot fight here. I won't allow it. And if not me then another in this room. (Most had already judged the debut efforts of the captive. He couldn't have hurt Magnus short of a miracle.) 'I won't ban you, though I'm definitely within my rights should I want to. Do you know how monumentally stupid pressing your attack here on neutral ground is?' At the same time as he opened his mouth to rebutt my words the door opened again.
Nightwalker looked in, looked over at the hero, and then looked at me. 'I'm NOT with him.' He said. 'Does he know you own this island?'' Demio smiled. 'Or that technically he's violated your sovereign country? Another smile.. 'Then he's fair game.'
Demios focused back on Ace. The newbie bagan to look pale. | 2020-10-09T21:44:58 | 2020-10-09T20:56:29 | 656 | 176 |
[WP] Job hunts are literally that: You seek out the job you desire and kill the one who has it, or even engage them in ritual combat to claim the job as your own. You have just turned of age and desire your first minimum wage job. | “It is time my son.”
My father kneeled before me, holding out a buckhorn knife that was older than the nation. It was scuffed and stained with the blood of countless prey.
“My great great great grandfather made this knife himself to hunt for his first job. Ever since, it has been gifted to the eldest child when they come of age for their first hunt.”
I knew this time was coming, it was 7:00 am on the Monday after my 16th birthday, the age all young men worth their salt go forth and seek their first job. Seeing my father kneeling before me was still unsettling. He was a Nuclear Engineer with the scars to prove it; him kneeling before anyone was something that did not happen.
I took the knife from his hand and gave it a few practice jabs. Perfectly balanced. I grinned. Before I could thank him for the honor a young man smashed through the front window. Judging by his outfit he was an intern at the nuclear plant my father worked at, which could only mean he was hungry for a promotion.
My father grabbed his lead Great Hammer from its sling. A beautiful weapon intricately carved with equations pertaining to the science of nuclear physics and weighing more than me. The intern cocked his head back before lunging towards my father with a balisong. How uncouth, not even giving a formal declaration of Job Application. My father dodged expertly and countered with a blindingly fast swing of his Great Hammer, bulging muscles causing his suit to rip at the seams. The intern was quick on his feet though and whipped around grazing my father’s face with his weapon. My father was getting old, and it was apparent with every consecutive battle that he was getting slower. Two more cuts appeared on my father dangerously close to his jugular before he could get another swing. This time the intern was not fast enough, getting his legs swept from under him with the wet crunching sound of shattering bone. The intern lay on the ground panting, my father granting him the grace period to concede the battle before giving the killing blow. With a flash the intern threw his knife into my father’s eye and lunged with a hidden switchblade for his neck. Within a blink I found myself burying my knife in the young interns’ throat and ripping it back out, leaving a massive gash that spouted blood like a faucet. That’s when my father began to laugh. With a grin, balisong still lodged in his eye socket, he looked at me.
“Looks like I have a new apprentice.” | **DISCLAIMER: This does not follow the "You have just turned of age and want your first job" part of the prompt. Sadly, I was too far along in my story by the time I remembered it to notice. Remove it if you need to.**
When I get home from my beat and sit down in front of the TV, "BREAKING NEWS: Economy Post PAX-10 Crumbles, Unemployment Peaks, POTUS Signs New Job Security Reform." Feels like just another clickbait title offering an article detailing lots of empty promises from husks of politicians about how they would "save the nation".
So, naturally, using the TV as background noise, I open my phone and start scrolling until something captured my attention. Another headline, just as clickbaity. "US AT WAR: WOULD YOU KILL FOR MINIMUM WAGE?"....Excuse me, what?
The cop in me tapped on the article before my brain could process it.
*"Posted 13 minutes ago
US President Borum just signed a article A.C.E 3011.1.a6 which details the following;
Effective immediately, all financial relief programs are hereby nullified. All funds are to be repurposed to rebuild the economy.
Effective immediately, Murder First, Second, and Third degrees are hereby federally decriminalized under this act.
This act will be in effect until 01/01/2023 at midnight.
About the author; "*
*Well, I'm not getting any sleep now. I wonder if the sheriff has heard about this, or if it's real even.*
I quickly dial the sheriff's number and hit call. I doubt he'll pick up, but it's worth a sh-
"Hey Brooks, what's up?"
"Uh, yeah. I just sat down in my chair and saw that the President signed some reform into effect about the job crisis? Something about murder being decriminalized federally?"
He let out a heavy sigh, almost a mix of disbelief and stress.
"Alright. Send me the link, and I'll look real quick."
....
"Sent."
....
"Mhmm..."
....
"Uhh...."
....
"Awh sheeeiit. Can you come back in for me? I think I'm gonna need you to run some doubles."
"Wait, wh- so it's on the books?"
"Yeuhp. It's on the books. I'll try to get ahold of the city council and county board, meet us here. We're gonna need everyone we can get."
The fact I was going to get overtime is more wierd than this impromptu meeting. Maybe it just hasn't hit yet.
Reluctantly, I hop back in my cruiser, flip on the lights, and start blasting toward the office.
..........
*Just about two hours later*
..........
"Yeah, Brooks is really gonna capitalize on this one. Double O Seven, am I right?"
"You know what?"
"No, what?
"Never mind. You're not worth it."
O'Brien's sense of sarcastic shock was quickly drowned out by the silence of the sheriff walking into a 12 chair role call room packed with 40 deputies.
"I'm gonna keep this short and sweet for y'all's. Murder has just been decriminalized federally."
The room quickly filled with voices of disbelief and banter.
"HOWEVER....... This does NOT MEAN that murder is legal in the county of Howard. Both councils have agreed that effective immediately, you are to perform 18 hour patrols, and all murders you witness you are to use lethal force against the perpetrator. We are not arresting ANYBODY for ANY REASON. Do you understand me?"
Queue the eery silence.
"Additionally, we will be bringing on a whole lot of new staff mainly from our explorers partner program and Strangeville PD's partner program. Since we're going to be short staffed and short on cars, you are to use your personal vehicle if you do not have a patrol vehicle. Now, I'm going to see what I can do about that, but that's how it is for right now. Any questions."
*Silence*
"Good. Now get the heeal outta here before I shoot you myself."
-----------------------
I don't think I've ever broken down into tears on the job, if ever even, as when I fired my first shot, killed a killer, and watched a deputy die in my arms all in the same day - the one I didn't have the balls to ask out a year ago when I got this job as I should've.
The power's out, 911 is shut down, and there's no end in sight. | 2020-11-15T13:06:24 | 2020-11-15T12:03:40 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] A voracious monster stalks the city at night, claiming one victim a month. The way it feeds is especially horrific. It only devours the most vicious criminals. In a city plagued with crime and violence, the inhabitants struggle to determine if the monster is a benefit or terror. | Brian sat in the cafe, watching the rain pour down as if trying to wash away the blood and sins littered around the city streets. He knew it wouldn’t work though. The corruption and violence had seeped into the city’s very foundation. The only thing to do was to burn it all down and rebuild. And hope. Hope that what was rebuilt from the ashes wasn’t just as bad.
He looked at the bottom of his cup, the coffee all gone. He didn’t want to get up, but he didn’t have a choice. It was that time of the month after all.
He ran his hand over the pack of cigarettes in his pocket and thought about Carl again. He had finally convinced Carl to try and quit smoking. It’ll kill you. That’s what Brian used to say. That day Carl had finally given in. He had given his last pack of cigarettes to Brian, promising to give this a real shot.
All that was left of him at the end of the day was his badge smeared with blood, broken teeth and a pile of ash. Oh and a nice memorial service. Since Carl didn’t have a family, as his partner, Brian had collected the posthumous commendation issued to him.
Brian put on his hat and his coat. The cafe was warm. But it was time to go face the chilly horrors that awaited him in the night.
They called him the Bludgeoner. For good reason too. Usually he stuck during the last week of the month. One crime per month. But it was horrific enough that veteran officers avoided the crime scenes he left behind. He had seen grown men puke at the sight of the body once the bludgeoner was done with it.
The police patrol had been increased three fold. They had asked public for help but no solid leads had come forward. Moreover the public support for this Guy was rising. While Brian didn’t agree with his methods, he had to admit it was kind of working. The criminals were running scared.
Brian wasn’t really meant to be patrolling the streets but he had been struggling to sleep recently. He called it his pro Bono police work. He had never realized how different the city was in the night. Or at least used to be. He belonged to the homicide division so he mostly dealt with dead people, people with guilty conscious, or people who were mourning. Never people who openly did bad things and not feel bad about them at all.
As he sat in his car, watching over a particularly infamous bar, he couldn’t help shake the feeling that something was wrong. And then it happened.
As a group of people came out of the bar, a hooded figure appeared out of the shadows, shooting people in the knee. The boss, identified by the golden chains and the massive ring on his hand was bundled into the boot of a car.
It was him. Brian had stumbled on to The Bludgeoner.
The car sped away before anyone could react. Brian followed.
Whoever it was, the guy could drive. He used some great manoeuvres to shake Brian off, but Brian had been trained well.
The Bludgeoner entered a parking garage with Brian right on his tail.
Brian drew his gun as he rushed into the darkness.
He saw the mob boss on the ground, with the dark figure on top, holding up a club of sorts.
“Stop! Or I’ll shoot.”
The Bludgeoner looked at him. Brian saw the eyes looking back at him and a stumbled.
The club came down in a horrible crunch of broken bones. Almost instinctively Brian shot.
The bullet caught Carl in the side, knocking him off the dead man.
“I’m glad it’s you, young fella.”
“Carl? Why?”
“I’ve worked on that side rookie. It doesn’t work. We put criminals in jail and their lawyers put them right back on the street. No. This situation needed something worse. I’m saving the city. Our city.”
“You’re breaking the law. These people deserve their day in court.”
“And what about the victims?”
“You were a good cop, Carl. What happened to you?”
“You know what happened that night? I caught the Bludgeoner. I caught him while he was struggling with his prisoner. I shot him. The prisoner turned out to someone who we know well. Hell, I’ve personally arrested him a couple of times. He turned around and attacked me. It was self defense, sure. But I also saw that the process doesn’t work. That guy shouldn’t have been back on the street.”
“So you burnt the real Bludgeoner and took his spot?”
“Look around you Brian. It’s an idea now. It’s not about a person. The people are fed up. The Bludgeoner is never gonna die now. Even if you kill me, a new one will rise tomorrow.”
“I can’t let you go. You know that right?”
“You won’t need to.” He held up his hand, stained red.
I rushed to his side, pulling out my cell phone.
“Brian. No. It’s too late. I trained you well. I’m glad it was you.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“One thing we need to watch out for is this. Final lesson rookie. Sometimes fighting monsters all the time turns you into one.”
He slumped, breathing his last. I looked at the other dead man lying there. Carl wasn’t wrong. This piece of shit was responsible for many deaths. And here he was. Finally taken down.
I pulled out the pack of cigarettes and opened it. I had only ever tried smoking once before and hated it. But today, I relished the feeling. I doused both their bodies with gasoline and lit them.
The club he had used went into my car’s trunk.
That night, for the first time in months, I slept like a baby. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 6: Awe v.s. The Criminal Underworld)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The city of Sacrament had seen better days.** Its Mayor had been sacked on trumped-up charges; supervillains had clashed with the Federal Angel Corps in the middle of the streets; assassination attempts had been carried out in broad daylight.
In all this chaos, Todd LeFortier thought, a man could be forgiven for letting himself go a little.
He didn't *want* to hurt anyone, not at first. But when the riots and the looting started, when Mayor Clara had been evicted and Sacrament had finally fallen apart, he'd been forced to defend himself in his office building when a lunatic of a woman forced her way up the stairs and tried to burn the small Federal firm down. He'd gotten behind her and bashed her on the head with a fire extinguisher, and she'd slumped to the ground, skull cracked open like an egg.
And that awakened something inside LeFortier.
His daughter loved those videos on the internet where a calm, steady hand cut something apart and revealed that on the inside, it was all delicious cake. LeFortier could only compare the feelings he felt when he stared at the bleeding corpse to that. Humans moved and talked and acted as if they were living beings with souls and free will, but cut them apart and reveal their insides, and they were all just... cake.
His daughter had called those videos "satisfying". As he methodically hacked open the corpse of one of his former co-workers, LeFortier wondered if he would describe this as "satisfying" as well.
There was a certain mental *squelch* to it, he thought, like digging his fingers into wet clay. "Satisfying" videos were trending lately; maybe he should start a channel.
"Ahem," a voice whispered from behind him.
LeFortier spun around, caught... well, red-handed. His eyes whipped around both ends of the alleyway behind the Federal firm—it was dark out, nearly midnight, and the electrical grid hadn't been working right since whatever Shocker had done the other day. Police sirens wailed in the distance—but police sirens were *always* wailing in the distance nowadays. One end of the alley revealed an empty, trash-strewn street; the other, nothing but darkness.
"Down here," the voice said.
He looked down and blinked. It was... well, it was a child.
Despite the gore on his hands and the body in the streets, the girl didn't seem afraid. When LeFortier locked eyes with her, he saw nothing but disgust and sorrow and wisdom utterly inappropriate for the little girl in a sundress.
He wondered what was behind those eyes of hers.
"Are you lost, girl?" LeFortier asked, wiping his hands off on his pants. He'd have to throw them out; the wife and kids had no idea what he got up to in the streets, and some feeble part of the LeFortier that used to be wanted to keep it that way.
The girl's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "I am not lost. I am Awe."
"Funny name for a girl your age." LeFortier blinked—then he laughed, a hearty belly laugh that had no business on a man who'd just gutted someone like a fish. "Oh! Oh, I get it. You're one of those wannabe superheroes that've been cropping up, eh?"
"I see little reason to deny it," Awe said, taking a step closer.
LeFortier grinned. "Mm. So what makes you tick, little girl? You got super-strength? Laser-beam eyes? You gonna freeze me with super-cold breath? C'mon, don't be shy. What've you got? It's gotta give you *something* good if you're willing to stalk the streets at your age."
["I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mii32v/wp_i_dont_know_i_think_my_superpower_is_a_bit/gt5drhw?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
LeFortier paused, and an incongruously wistful expression seeped across his face. "Sort of like... cutting the skin off reality. Taking a peek at the cake beneath the world."
"I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about," Awe informed him. LeFortier gave her a closer look—yes, there was a certainty to her bearing that no child her age should have. Perhaps her power had given her knowledge beyond her years.
LeFortier spread his arms out, grinning madly. "Well, by all means, zap me with your contemplation-beams, O Mighty Superhero! You've beaten me once and for all! Haul me off to jail and I'll come back a better man."
The smile faded from Awe's face. "...ah. I believe that there was a misunderstanding. I have abilities, yes, but they are hardly applicable for combat. Beyond... oracular purposes. No, aside from giving me some key insights into where I can find such monsters as you, I'm afraid that my... esoteric abilities... are not what emboldens me to stalk the nights thusly."
"Thusly." LeFortier began to giggle, and Awe couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow. This man may have been a vicious criminal, but he was also clearly insane; there was nothing that could be done for him at this stage. "So, then, girl. If you're not going to *reform* me with your powers, then what—"
LeFortier broke off as a *bang* split the night.
Uncomprehending, he looked down at the bloody hole in his shirt.
Awe tucked away the Beretta Allemie .36 Special that she'd borrowed from her mother when the looting began, giving the twisted little man a sorrowful look.
LeFortier looked up at the child and blanched. "You... shot me... you... monster..."
The sorrow in Awe's eyes winked out like a birthday candle being snuffed out. She gestured at the body of his coworker. "*I* am hardly the monster here."
"What... kind of... child... carries... a gun?" LeFortier croaked.
Awe's gaze grew distant, looking out into the burning city she called her home. "The kind who had to grow up quickly."
She fired another shot into LeFortier's head before he could get up.
For a moment, the little girl stared at the carnage, clenching her fists, resisting the urge to vomit.
Then she holstered her gun and turned to leave, disturbed by how easily she brushed aside the man's death.
Maybe she was becoming a monster.
But until Mayor Clara returned, she was the monster this city needed.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-16T22:38:33 | 2021-04-16T22:28:28 | 102 | 39 |
[WP] You find yourself in your crashed plane, shaken awake by a woman practically dragging you out of the cockpit. She notices that you’re awake and says, “Welcome to the Island. I’m Amelia Earhart, let’s move. They probably saw your plane go down.” | Truth is, I didn't expect to survive the crash.
I was low on fuel, cruising to a fill-up station on a nearby asteroid belt, the last fuel-stop before you're on the long, cold flight to Andromeda. I'm a scrap-peddler, so I was trying to get by on about a balloon's worth of combusted oxygen, just to survive until my next sale. I was making the most out of what I've got, which is exactly jackshit.
Like plenty of fuck-offs who washed out of the Federation, I thought I'd make a home on the new frontier.
What a fucking idiot I was.
When the planet's gravity hooked me, I burned up every last bit of fuel I had, trying to shake myself free. Better to free-float than free-fall. At least if I got out of the gravity-tug, I could put out the air filters to hope for enough recycled atoms to wheeze my way forward.
It was like a slow bridge collapse. It starts slowly, then all at once. When gravity gets you, the only way is down.
The atmosphere swallowed me in, hungrily, and my little space-junker plummeted towards a foreign soil. All yellow earth and sparse gray plants and oozy rivers. The ship's warning systems screamed and I screamed and then the ship hit the ground.
I remember that. The ground rushing up to meet me. The air bag flying out. That wall of white was the last thing I saw.
Until, well... this.
The spaceship's fucked. I think I might be a bit fucked, too. My left wrist pulses as I hang upside down in the cabin, locked into the seat by my chest harness. My chest feels like a giant picked me up by my torso and slammed me back down.
But I'm alive. Light pours in through the broken windshield, and all I see is white, filtered through glass teeth.
Then a shadow passes over the glass and there's a woman's face. She's hunkering down to stare in at me, her face inquisitive, even upside down.
"Hi there," she says. "How are you holding up?"
"Been better." My mouth tastes coppery, and I spit blood.
"I know that feeling. You think you can cut yourself down from there?"
I squint and fumble with the belt. I feel drunk. Half-asleep, maybe. Concussion. It's a familiar cotton haze. Got my first good brain-shake in training for the Federation frontlines (spaceship simulator crashed, ironically), before I went AWOL and started selling metal to get by.
"Jammed, I think," I mumble.
The woman crawls inside, and only now do I get a good look at her. She's armed and wears a stained and torn aviator's jacket. There's a rifle slung across her back. She yanks a knife from her belt.
"Hold onto something," she says, smiling wryly, "or you'll hurt both of us when you fall."
I brace myself as she reaches up and saws through my chest harness, her other hand supporting my shoulder, as if just her touch will keep me from falling. With her help, I slip down, awkwardly, rolling onto my shoulder as I try to get my feet under me.
"I didn't know there were any human colonies on this planet," I murmur.
"There's not." Her face pinches with something like pity. "What's your name?"
"Sparrow Hunt," I tell her. It's a name I made up myself, which I hoped sounded sort of space-piratery. Like I could be the space Anne Bonny. Now it feels silly, saying it out loud.
"I'm Amelia." She nods back over her shoulder. "We need to hurry. We're going to have company soon. And they're not as friendly as me."
Amelia crawls backwards, back the way she came.
I freeze and peer out through the gaping windshield. The world outside is a lush jungle, almost Earthlike, except everything feels too huge. The trees tower like skyscrapers, and the air is damp and thirsty.
"Where are we?" I say.
"The Island." Amelia grips my elbow and helps me stand. "Everyone ends up on one, when they die. This one's ours."
"Die?" I repeat, incredulous. Now I'm certain I'm concussed.
"Trust me," Amelia says, watching the trees. Her eyes gleam like a deer's, searching for a lion it knows is there, just waiting to pounce. "Death is the least of your worries."
The branches twitch.
I snap my focus toward the wood to see something moving. It moves like a human-sized spider, leaping from branch to branch, but it's not quite living. I'm not even sure what it is. It's a patch of empty space that looks like static from an old TV.
And it's rushing right toward us.
"Shit," Amelia says. "Here they come."
"*Who?*" I say.
"The Sweepers. They don't like visitors." She's already side-stepping toward a patch of nearby brush. "They're here to clean up the mess."
The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to understand.
We are the mess.
"Sparrow," Amelia says. "You'd better run, girl."
°°°
Working on the next part :D Thanks for reading! | Shaken and still in daze, Edward went in and out of consciousness. Weak and unable to comprehend what just happened, he felt his body was being dragged out from the burning metal carcass that was the remains of the passenger plane he was in.
"Welcome to The Island. I am Amelia Earhart. Let's go!", a cheery female voice said.
Not expecting such a greeting, Edward lifted his head-- despite pain vibrating through his skull-- to look at his savior.
A skinny female figure with short and wild reddish brown hair. Donning a worn down aviator jacket, Edward was sure he was either seeing things or he was dead and was sent to the afterlife as the woman really resembled the famed missing aviator-- though the pain would suggest the former.
"Whe...wha...", unable to form a coherent thought, Edward stuttered before darkness enveloped his mind. Falling into complete consciousness with no idea what fate would befall him as he did...
//////
*"For I...can't help....falling in love...with you..."*
The soft familiar voice accompanied by the sound of a piano slowly seeped into Edward's brain as he regained consiousness.
Blurry his sight was and swirling went his head, Edward found himself lying on a thin matress inside a dimly lit room of a shack made of wood and straw. Tables and stools were set around the scene as if it was a pub, complete with people sitting around enjoying the performance on the other side of the room.
A large figure in blue Hawaiian shirt sat by the piano facing the other way while the performer stood on center stage, basking in the applause.
"What the...?", Edward muttered recognizing the man on center stage.
"Welcome to The Island. I'm Elvis, Elvis Presley. I'm all shook up", he said pointing at the befuddled Edward.
Slowly Edward got up as the whole room turned their attention to him.
More puzzled than ever, Edward could feel their eyes all stared at him but the only thing he could think of was how absurdly bizzarre his situation was.
Looking at the figures one-by-one Edward recognized each and every one of them.
On the table closest to him sat both figures resembling Michael Jackson and Prince. The table beside them was occupied by figures resembling Tupac Shakur and Kurt Cobain. On another table Edward could recognize Jim Morisson and Janis Joplin and many more recognizable faces.
The shock jolted Edward up. Fear and confusion gave him a newfound strength-- ignoring the pain in his body he thrashed about.
"Wha...where is this? What is happening?!", he yelled panicking.
A familiar aviator figure approached him-- holding him down with an unnatural strength trying to calm him down.
"Welcome to The Island. I am Amelia Earhart. Let's go!", she said in the same tone as before.
Noticing something not normal in her, Edward started to pankc even more-- it was her unmoving expression, Amelia's frozen smiling face terrified him so.
"Amelia, darling. Bring him here", another voice called on to her.
Turning on her heels Amelia dragged Edward towards the man in the blue Hawaiian shirt. As he turned to face Edward, the visage of the man's face horrified Edward even more.
A wrinkly bloated face of an old man seemingly having lived beyond his natural age. Slowly he struggled to move his large body around the piano seat before he settled and Edward was dragged onto his feet, still held down by Amelia.
"Hello there. My name is Dr. Marlon, and this is my island", he said staring down at the helpless Edward.
"There was an accident it seems. Your plane crashed on my island and...ooh, you are the only survivor we found I'm afraid", Dr. Marlon shook his head with grieving expression. "Isn't that right, Amelia sweetheart?"
"Yes, Doctor. Let's go!", Amelia replied with the same smiling expression.
"Wha...what is...", Edward struggled to speak, still unable to comprehend the absurd situation.
"Oh I understand you have questions hmm?", Dr. Marlon chuckled. "Mainly about the many supposed dead famous people in the room, right? Oh I can explain, but first....why don't we nurse you back to health? It'll be much easier then", Dr. Marlon nodded and Edward could feel Amelia's grip loosened on him as he sprawled on the floor.
"Here, you must be thristy", Dr. Marlon brought a glass full of water to Edward's mouth.
As his dry lips touched the cold surface, Edward sipped the water with no second thought down to the very last drop.
"Th--thank you...", Edward muttered looking up at the strange doctor.
"You have....really beautiful blue eyes, you know that?", the doctor remarked, staring intensely at Edward's face.
"Ex...cuse me...?", Edward asked confused. As he did so, all of the sudden he felt light-headed. Slowly falling asleep he heard the doctor's voice echoing in his ears.
"Yes....really beautiful blue eyes..."
//////
"Amelia, darling. Please make sure the straps are tight", Dr. Marlon ordered.
"Yes, Doctor. Let's go!", Amelia replied.
Slowly Edward woke up, for the second time that day, as he felt his arms and legs were bound.
"He--hey...what, what's going on? What are you doing to me?", Edward yelled in panic realizing he was in a such vulnerable state.
Weak still from his injuries, Edward found himself naked and strapped onto the metal bed.
"Relax, young man. It will be quick...I promise", Dr. Marlon said, slowly wobbling to the terrified Edward carrying with him a scalpel. As of then the strange doctor truly looked like a mad scientist.
"Wh--what are you doing? Don't you dare touch me! Don't you dare!", Edward struggled to no avail.
"Ooh feisty. I like it. You would make a great addition to my latest project", the doctor said in a sinister tone.
"Project...? What...project...?", Edward asked.
"Glad you ask", the doctor smirked devilishly. "Amelia, if you please?"
On the other side of the room, Amelia-- still frozen in the same smile, unravel the white cloth revealing a half finished robotic figure of a very familiar man.
"Is that....Frank Sinatra?", Edward asked in horror.
"Indeed it is!", the doctor laughed, amused. "For years I have collected parts from bodies from people who crash landed on my island to build my celebrity robots! Skins, hair, organs...everything! But my latest project have been delayed for so long because I haven't found the correct part to match....until now", the doctor raised his eyebrows.
The doctor grinned, staring intensely at Edward's blue eyes and to the empty eye sockets of the robotic figure.
"The Ol' Blue Eyes is back, baby!", the doctor exclaimed.
"No, no, no! Get away from me! Get away from me! AAAAARGH!", Edward screamed in pain as the doctor plunged his scalpel onto his face, cutting his skin while laughing maniacally to extract those precious blue eyes.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: spacing | 2021-05-03T23:49:00 | 2021-05-03T23:45:08 | 213 | 16 |
[WP] You've loved an immortal for a long time, and they loved you back knowing your time together would be short. Doesn't make learning about the dozens of past lovers they've had, and the fact that their descendants are still alive any less upsetting, though. | The tablet smashed against the wall, glass splintering.
"**How many**?!"
The banshee shriek came from a petite woman as she stalked her prey, inching closer to the weary immortal like a tiger about to pounce on a rabbit.
"Does it matter?" He took a half step back, hands raised in surrender.
But it did matter. To her *it mattered*.
"How. Fucking. Many." She growled through clamped teeth.
If he was going to tell her he was going to be honest. Nathan straightened up and thought about it, fingers tapping against his side in tally.
"For fuck sake!"
"Come on, Julie. I'm over 1,000 years old. What did you *think* I spent my time doing before I met you?"
"I didn't think you'd spend your time screwing hundreds of other women!"
Nathan flinched.
"Was there more?!"
"...I'm from Rome... It wasn't just women."
And the lamp flew next. | ##My Sunrise
I wake up feeling empty and look over at my husband's body. I watch his chest rise and fall, and I see him stir and turn on his side. His back contains a multitude of scars that are older than this building. The flesh that holds the scar does not look older than forty.
Sunlight peaks in through the curtains. I slip out without waking him to look at the sun. Sunrise always creates a beautiful picture. The warm pink glow coats the world and gives off an aura of hope. I smile as the world gets brighter.
Yet I also know that I am not the first person to find joy in a sunrise. It has been the subject of countless paintings, poems, and songs. Feeling bliss at the sight of a sunrise is almost a prerequisite to being human at this point. The sunrise does not belong to me.
I look over on the man lying on the bed. What am I to him? He claims to love me, and I know that I love him. But what is that love worth when our relationship dynamic is so uneven. He is an immortal who has lived for thousands of years, and I am the mortal who can only hope to see a fraction of that.
He tells me not to compare myself to his past loves, but how can I not? I know that I am neither his first love nor his last love. He tries to avoid mentioning his partners when telling me about his past, but they slip out.
When we were at an art museum, I caught him shedding a tear at a portrait of a woman in a beautiful gown. He quickly pulled me away from the painting, and he refused to elaborate on her. With just a slight glimpse, my insecurity made the most of the small piece of information. I imagined that she was a gorgeous princess who fell in love with him in a dramatic fashion. She couldn't be with him because she had to marry a prince, but she snuck out to see him every night until she passed. It is probably incorrect, but she has a painting in an art museum. I will never be able to compare to her.
I often wonder why I am trying to be in a relationship with him. I know why I love him. His life experience has given him the genius and wisdom of an intellectual titan. He has a sense of humor that can only be formed by centuries of trauma. He possesses a strength and kindness that provides me with a sense of security.
Yet when I look in his eyes and see the true depths of immortality, the doubts overcome that security. I wonder if he will ever remember me. Will he experience the same moment in the museum with a different woman and with me as the painting on the wall? Will another woman be obsessively comparing herself to me unfavorably?
He wakes up, and he smiles at me in the sunrise. The pink glow draws me close to him, and I bath in it. He kisses my forehead, and I feel the doubts start to fade. I may not be able to keep him to myself, but I will still love him.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-05-19T02:23:38 | 2021-05-18T18:32:49 | 64 | 47 |
[WP] You've loved an immortal for a long time, and they loved you back knowing your time together would be short. Doesn't make learning about the dozens of past lovers they've had, and the fact that their descendants are still alive any less upsetting, though. | The tablet smashed against the wall, glass splintering.
"**How many**?!"
The banshee shriek came from a petite woman as she stalked her prey, inching closer to the weary immortal like a tiger about to pounce on a rabbit.
"Does it matter?" He took a half step back, hands raised in surrender.
But it did matter. To her *it mattered*.
"How. Fucking. Many." She growled through clamped teeth.
If he was going to tell her he was going to be honest. Nathan straightened up and thought about it, fingers tapping against his side in tally.
"For fuck sake!"
"Come on, Julie. I'm over 1,000 years old. What did you *think* I spent my time doing before I met you?"
"I didn't think you'd spend your time screwing hundreds of other women!"
Nathan flinched.
"Was there more?!"
"...I'm from Rome... It wasn't just women."
And the lamp flew next. | It's a touchy subject in any relationship. It can fray even the strongest bond. Sure, there are secure fellas who can listen to their their girlfriends list ex-lovers and be completely unfazed. But there are also many who cannot help but crumble in the face of their girl's romantic past.
At first, they ask for conversation's sake, or perhaps out of morbid curiosity. They press for details. One of the details bothers them, so they press for more, in the hope that more information will help them bury the bothersome tidbit. It rarely does.
They act cool. After all, they're not the jealous type. The past is gone. Almost forgotten. What matters is now.
But deep down, the details fester. The imagination fills in the blanks. The insecurities are like hydras: you lop the head from one and two more appear, then four, then eight.
Suddenly, the relationship is a sham. She doesn't love you. Never did. She thinks you're a joke. Your relationship is a pale shadow compared to her former trysts. All this time she has been cheating on you. Not literally. Not physically. But mentally. Spiritually. She's been cheating on you with her past. She's been sleeping with her memories. When she closes her eyes to kiss you, she's kissing her memories. That residue on her lips isn't gloss--it's the residue of her past! Her memories!
You can almost taste them on her breath. Like the reechy kisses of ghosts.
This is the spiral of thoughts down which an insecure man is dragged when he learns too much about his girl's romantic history. Especially if is he is young. Especially if her experiences have been more varied and wild than his own. Especially if he already felt like a bit of a chump compared to her, like she was out of his league, before he even knew about her halcyon, freewheeling days.
Imagine such a young man. Inexperienced, dating up, prone to jealousy and insecurity. Now imagine the woman he's with is young and beautiful and charming and vibrant and naturally flirtatious. Can you see the young man squirm? Can you see him bite his lip? Now imagine the woman has been young and stunning and coquettish and oh-so-*experimental* for three-thousand years, because she's immortal. Look closely at the young man's face now. Can you see the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth? Can you see the anxious darting of his eyes? Can you see behind his eyes, into his soul? Can you see that his soul is on fire?
If you can see that face, those eyes, that soul, I would like to introduce myself, because the man at whom you have been gazing these past few moments is me.
Hi. My name is Henry Bland and my girlfriend is immortal.
\- - -
Part 2!
https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/nfu9a0/a\_love\_that\_never\_dies\_part\_2/ | 2021-05-19T02:23:38 | 2021-05-18T17:58:48 | 64 | 22 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | An Ounce of Prevention
“They’re here, Sir”. Cybersquire knelt before me in the showy manner he always used to ham it up for the heroes. I sat on my throne as usual, but my normal cool confidence did little to ease the ice in my veins at his words.
“All three of them?” I asked, hoping against hope that perhaps only one of those wretched creatures would show his face in my city. I knew the answer before Cybersquire could get it out.
“All three, Sir. Ash-Rake, Virulent Son, and Rampager.” The fear in his voice shone through as he answered my question. “The drones spotted them on the outskirts, so it’s only a matter of time”
I leaned back into my chair as deeply as I could and thought back. For the past twenty years I had lived as this cities greatest villain. Everyone knew the name ‘Clockwork Conquest’ and every hero had cut their teeth facing him in one of his grand schemes. Little did they know that I was preparing them for this very moment.
The Cog-Rat Plague taught them to protect against biological threats and dangerous air quality that accompanied the combo of Virulent Son and Ash-Rake. Knight’s Eternal Night forced them to work in the low visibility conditions that Ash-Rake brought with him, and my trusty sword protected them from the slashing attacks his monsters would bring. And all of those battles against my building sized Clockwork Champions had hopefully prepared them for the sheer strength and brutality of Rampager.
I had, for my entire tenure, trained them for this exact scenario. They had no clue, and they’d likely never realize that I was their greatest mentor and ally this whole time.
I was snapped out of my memories by Cybersquire’s words. “The warnings have all been sent out. What do we do now, Sir?”
I stood from my throne, unsheathing my sword as I did and held it to catch the light. “Now? Now we buy them time to prepare.” | The ability to shapeshift is a much more intuitive power than what most villains would think. Merely changing shape to escape a hero such as Cassidy Crush or Hiro the Swordsman is a waste. Combat is good, yes. But none truly think to use shapeshifting to change how one appears.
This city had but one villain, whilst there were more than enough heroes to replace the police department. As its premier supervillain, I realized how boring it would be to simply continuously fight on and on, I decided to train a worthy opponent. You see, the ability to shapeshift comes with many other useful abilities. Healing, durability, strength, different aliases. But its one greatest weakness is the inability to duplicate.
A Magnificent Bastard had destroyed the League of the Mountain a few weeks ago. A man who could simply blink a city out of existence. Even with my extensive healing, I stood no chance of fighting such an opponent.
And neither do any of my proteges.
I had lured all of the city's heroes to a stadium. The time had come to reveal myself.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and people of indiscernible gender. Welcome!"
The crowd of heroes stared.
"Aren't you Cassidy's villain? Why bother with us?"
"Stop wasting my time! Gas Master is bound to be out there right now!"
"Gold Samurai will be challenging my sword once again soon. I cannot miss even a minute of my training!"
I sighed. With a blast of smoke, my trench coat was replaced with gold armor of the feudal era and my face adorned in a gas mask from the first world war. Collective gasps and whispers. A few even shouted.
"Challenger, what is the meaning of this?" Cassidy stepped forward, her brown braid thrown in front of her shoulder.
I changed back to my normal form, the one Cassidy named 'Challenger.'
"There is only one supervillain of this city. All of you share the same goal, as I... well..."
Hiro the Swordsman slammed the butt of his sheathed sword into the ground. "Out with it, Samurai!"
I tipped my fedora over my face, then took it off. "My one and only ability is to shapeshift. I cannot be everywhere. There is no secret evil organization in this city, no secret invaders, no overbearing overlord. Just me.
"I gathered everyone here today because there is indeed a worldwide organization. One that I have ignored largely in part because I have come to be fond of all of you." I paused. The heroes were silent now. "There was an explosions in the Alps not long ago. The man responsible, a Magnificent Bastard, is making his way toward this city. And my fear is that none of us are ready."
Hiro stepped forward, his hand on the handle of his sword. I trained my eyes to his sword as he came to a stop in front of me to speak.
"So. You've been toying with us for years and for what? To train us?"
I shook my head. "No, I have not. Not entirely for the reasons you would think. I have no true love for this city, I have but the faintest appreciation for all of you. With exception to the Happy Clown in the back."
I spread my arms. "My... friends. If you care for but yourselves I implore you. Flee the city with whom you can before the Magnificent Bastard arrives. Else -wise, I shall deal with him how I can, set my traps and slow him down. The city will be no more if we remain."
Cassidy stepped forward, next to Hiro who took his hand off his sword. Then he brought it up, presenting it to me. "I have honed my blade and my skills more than I could have imagined dueling with you. It would be an honor to fight with you than against you."
Cassidy nodded, shaking her braid behind her back. "So. When do we start?" | 2021-05-20T08:01:46 | 2021-05-20T07:30:18 | 225 | 151 |
[WP] Your a supervillain with a soft spot for kids. Some heroes try to use this against you one day. That was their first and last mistake | I mean, it could've been a normal showdown. Plenty of property damage, but somehow no one gets seriously hurt except the combatants. Until Titania yelled at me, "Catch this, kid lover!" and threw a chunk of skyscraper that had to weigh at least half a ton at Central Park.
The place was full of kids. Most of them looked to be about preschool-aged; certainly there weren't many of them who were older than an average third grader.
I dived and caught the chunk of skyscraper, managed to stop it mid-fall, and threw it back at Titania. It could have been seen as nothing serious, just me turning a defense into a passable offense in the flow of battle.
"That for a fink!" I yelled.
But I forgot one thing. Most people have smart phones capable of taking images and video these days. That's easy to forget when you've been around for a good half a century. When I woke up the next day, I wasn't in a great mood to begin with because my back hurt from taking more than a few whacks. I flicked the TV on to see what bad things they said about me this time.
"Terrorizer Saves Kids in Central Park!" screamed the headline across the bottom part of the screen, with video of me saving their asses.
*Dafuq...*
My phone rang. It was Titania.
"Bloody hell! When did you get into the propaganda junket?"
"Don't blame me; you're the one who threw that piece of skyscraper! Ain't my fault somebody ratted to the press before either of us could spin it!" | "I had wondered how you sleep after what you did." I said, my words dripping with bitterness. "Turns out, like a baby."
Geargrafter - or rather Paul Morton, now that he was in his civilian identity - jolted up in his bed, his face and t-shirt wet with the water I had used to wake him. He focused me for a moment, recognition lighting up in his face, before he turned and checked on the condition of his wife, who was laying next to him and still sleeping. Upon seeing that she was unharmed, his gaze returned to me.
"She can't percieve me." I commented. "She can't percieve you either. You could literally stab her with a knife-" I wiggled a bit with the knife I held in my right hand, before I continued: "-and she wouldn't even notice. That's what I did with your colleagues."
I tried to read his facial expression in the light of the moon shining throught the window. He wasn't panicking, or afraid, or even worried, like I had assumed he would be. No, he had an aura of silent acceptence, mixed with a bit of anger.
"I've known you would come." he told me, teeth pressed against each other. "I've made my peace with my death. So please, just spare me the self-rightous bullshit you certainly have prepared and just end it."
My hand closed around the knife until it hurt, before I managed to control myself and relax the grip.
"Fine. If that's how you want to be- fine. I just thought you would like a last chance to apologize... but I guess for that your head is too far up your own ass." I realized I had started stammering. I tried to summon the rage again that I had felt during my imprisonment, so hot and pure, the one thing that had kept me going the last couple years, but all I got was a pale imitation. This wasn't how I had imagined it. My revenge was almost complete, but I didn't feel satisfied. Just empty.
"Apologize?" he spit out. "For what? Ripping a 12 year old apart with a grenade? If I remember correctly, that was you!"
"I DIDN'T WANT THAT TO HAPPEN!" I shouted. "He shoudn't have been there in the first place!"
"WELL, YOU SHOULD JUST HAVE SURRENDERED!" he answered, now also shouting. "I-"
He was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. I reflexively faded a bit more, to hide from whoever was coming there. After a short delay, the door opened and revealed a short-haired girl of about 8 years, firmly hugging a teddy bear.
"I can't sleep, daddy." she complained, clearly tired. "Why are you shouting like that?"
Paul shot a glance at the point where I had been just a few moments earlier, but I was too faded by now. He faked a smile, probably good enough to fool his daughter. "I'm sorry. I had a nightmare. You know how it is."
The little girl walked a few steps, next to the bed, and sat her teddy bear down next to her father. "You should take Bruno, then. He always helps me with my nightmares."
Pauls smile started to seem a bit more real. "I can't accept that. You need him more."
"Daddy, why are you wet?"
"Oh, I had..."
I couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, because by that point I was already out of the house.
I couldn't do it.
I just couldn't do it. | 2021-06-20T16:25:04 | 2021-06-20T10:54:30 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | I look up from the gaming PC I've built. This incarnation has been one of stagnation for the most part. I mean, I was born during the greatest tech boom and economic decline. Honestly, I was tired and FINALLY there was something entertaining and worth while to just vegetate on.
"Don't know what the hell I'm supposed to get anymore... already got corona." I snap. "AND even worse a fucking job that pays me literally worse than the time I was a serf in the middle ages." I turn on the system bought with the credit I've been amassing like Pokémon, hoarding all with little intention to pay off, and gaze at the massive curved monitor ahead of me.
"Are you even trying anymore?" The voice asks.
"What's the trying," I sing, "All you get is pain, when I wanted sunshine I got plague." I grin "and covid 19, now I'm a vaccinator, I want a tail, or at least 5G..." the nonsensical single deteriorated into a random riff and something about a rhapsody.
"Can you take life seriously? "
"I did, for millenia... when I was a benevolent king, and was assassinated. When I was a ruthless tyrant, and was assassinated. A harmless beggar and was mugged.. A literally child and was...." I grimaced at the memory, "Well eventually killed. A baby and bashed against rocks. A priest and stabbed. A scientist and burned for being a sorcerer, even though I healed so many people with typhoid when it was seen as gods wrath... OH SPEAKING OF GODS, when I was revered as a God and then disemboweled to release my heavenly spirit.... I can go on and on and on... raped, murdered, assassinated, beheaded, died of a curable disease, imprisoned and drowned, tossed into lava, tortured, beaten, stoned, shot, gassed, lynched, betrayed.... Poisoned by my wife so she could marry and be murdered by my brother, that was funny as hell to read about. Should I go on, or can I start my new game of fucking Sims?"
"You were left here to learn." The voice said calmly.
"That there are more than a million ways to die? I learned that. Did you know you can LITERALLY die from lack of touch? Did you know that was a thing? I did that. It was not pleasant. You know what else I learned?"
"I'm sure there is a lot but..."
"You can actually Dutch oven yourself and die from your own fumes... that was a harsh lesson to learn. I also learned that my friends were assholes putting me in a fucking coffin after the four bowls of chili beans I scarfed on a fucking dare."
"I don't think it was your fart that..."
"It was the fucking farts." I snapped.
"The lesson I'm trying to..."
"I DON'T CARE. I SPENT NEARLY FIVE THOUSAND ON THIS HIGH END COMPUTER AND BY GOD I AM GOING TO ENJOY..."
The door to my apartment got kicked open, there was a bang, and when I next opened my eyes, a man in a surgical mask was guiding me out of a long wet tunnel...
I breathed hard, inhaled, coughed up amniotic fluid and wailed in despair. | And so, once more, I found myself in the infinite black void that I had grown so accustomed to over the millennia. It pierced my eyes, deafened my ears, removed my tongue, dissolved my nose, and melted away my last sense of touch until I had nothing left. I would have sighed if I had any form anymore.
“You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!”
Given where I was, I would have jumped as the sentence entered my head. I knew it wasn’t my own thoughts, as it seemed to have a voice of its own, but just the fact that there was something in the world between worlds threw my entire thought process—or lack thereof—on its head.
Then, the “voice” spoke again. “How many times is it going to take for you to realize what all of this is for?”
Immediately, my mind was overwhelmed. This voice knew all I had been through. Not only that, but by the way it spoke, it sounded as if it was the thing that had put me into this eternal nightmare.
“I am. And before you ask, yes, I can read every thought in your mind. Though, I feel ‘nightmare’ is a bit harsh….”
“But then why?!” I tried to project that thought, immediately more than frustrated at whatever this being was doing with my life. “Why me? What’s the purpose?”
“Purpose is for you to decide. As for why it’s you… why not?”
“What do you mean, ‘why not’?”
“That’s not important. What is important is that you still don’t understand why you’re still here. Now why do you think that is?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be here anymore!” I thought in frustration. “I’ve tried so many times, so many different things. I’ve tried being the good guy, the bad guy, the friendly neighbor, the jerk neighbor, the inspiration, the infamous, and then some! What more is for there for me to try!?”
“That isn’t for me to tell you, it’s still for you to figure out.”
“Then why even reach out to me in the first place!” I wanted to scream, or hit something. Anything that would let me vent some of my near infinite frustration with the situation I found myself in.
“Because, it would appear you can’t do this without a nudge.” It paused, and when I didn’t project anything in response, it continued. “There is one thing that every single iteration you have gone through, every path you have taken, has completely neglected.”
“What? Have I not become the saint I was meant to be molded into?”
“This isn’t about being a saint or a devil!” the voice grew loud for the first time in the whole conversation. “You humans always have to think in absolutes! There’s no gray, it’s just black and white. But you all are gray! Not a single one of you has ever truly ventured to true good or evil!”
I sat in my thoughts for a moment, before trying to respond. “Then what about—“
“That doesn’t mean none of you have come close.” I could hear the deadpan behind the voice before it continued. “Just… think! For one minute! What has every single iteration’s outlook been missing?”
I contemplated. I thought harder than I had in a long time, trying to think of something I hadn’t tried, something I hadn’t considered. The way they worded it made it sound like it was something so obvious, but I still couldn’t see it. “How am I supposed to know!?”
“Oh come— What is the one person you’ve never considered throughout all your lives?”
The word “person” caught me off guard. As I recovered, I began to ponder every single person I remembered from my previous lives.
“No! No no no! It’s not them! You’ve considered them enough you dimwit!”
“Well you’re not giving me much to go off of!”
“I shouldn’t need to! There’s only one other who knows you best besides me!”
I paused. “Knows… me best?” I asked. They began speaking again, but as they did, I was slowly coming to. But for the first time since I don’t even know when, I wasn’t ready.
I heard what I assumed was a sigh. “The good guy pleases everyone. The bad guy makes everyone worse. The inspiration tries to serve as a beacon of hope for the masses. But who’s to be the beacon of hope for them?”
I could feel my senses returning as the shape of the void began to reshape into something. I began to come to in my new life, but before I was gone, I was able to project one final thought.
“Myself.”
\------
Needed a bit of introspection today. Thanks for the prompt!
r/IUniven | 2022-02-09T18:44:07 | 2022-02-09T18:19:18 | 364 | 239 |
[WP] "You need to find God," says the man at the door. "No I'm good, thank you," you say, starting to close the door. "Please!" says the man urgently. "God is missing, please find him!" | "You need to find God!" the man in the dark suit exclaimed, as soon as I opened the door. I wasn't in the mood.
"No, I'm good, thank you." I said, and began to close the door again.
"Please!" he cried, grabbing the edge of the door. "G-God is missing! Please, help me f-find him!"
I raised my eyebrows. "He's *missing?"*
I looked the man over. He wasn't wearing a name tag, and didn't seem to have any bag or briefcase full of literature. Not any of the usual suspects. In fact, now that I stopped to look him over, I was pretty sure he was another tenant that lived in my building.
The man nodded, vigorously, in response to my question. He took a few deep breaths, glancing rapidly left and right. "Missing! I can't...can't find h-him *anywhere!"*
"Well," I said, my interest suddenly piqued. "Isn't He *everywhere?"*
He furrowed his brow, then nodded slowly. "S-sure! Sometimes. He goes everywhere, inside or upside. But I can't f-find him, right now."
"I think He's always omnipresent." I said, shaking my head. "That being the case, no matter where you look, you've already found Him, so therefore I don't think you can technically lose Him, in the first place"
"But I did!" he cried, desperately. Then he frowned, as if thinking of something. "Sorry! Fantasia! I'm in Fantasia!"
I blinked. "Wait, like the old Disney movie?"
"No!" he exclaimed, exasperated. "Like me!"
"So you're, um, a s*orcerer's apprentice,* you're saying?" I asked, hesitantly.
"No!" he wailed, despondently. "I'm *Fantasia."*
And then it struck me. I don't know how, I didn't really have all the information to make the deduction, it was just an inexplicable flash of inspiration. *God* works in mysterious ways, you might say.
"Wait...this guy you're looking for, is he furry?"
The man nodded. "Yes!"
"Four legs?" I asked.
He nodded more firmly. "Yes, that's r-right!"
I chuckled, grabbing my coat from the hook by the door.
"And you have *aphasia?"*
"Yes! I said that: *Fantasia."*
I nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder companionably, as I stepped out into the hall to join him, closing my apartment door behind me.
"Gotcha. Come on, man. Let's go find your lost dog." | Fred stuck the screwdriver back into the mess he'd made of his ceiling fan. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he couldn't solve this problem. He fixed cars for a living! Why should this piece of junk be giving him so much trouble? He pulled a couple of red wires from under a screw.
*RAP RAP RAP*. He was so focused on his work that he jumped and ripped the wires out completely. He grimaced at the extra work he'd have to do. *RAP RAP RAP RAP*.
*Who the hell would mistreat my door like this?* Fred stood up, fuming. The most likely suspect was Arn, but it was the middle of the day; it wasn't like him to get drunk enough to try and bust down Fred's door before 5 o'clock. He wasn't have any issues with anyone that he could think of. This must have been a stranger.
He looked through the peephole. An overweight man stood on his porch. He ran a hand up over his forehead, wiping up sweat and using it smooth his thick gray hair down in one motion. His brow was knit with worry. Then, his sweaty meat hook came up to abuse Fred's door again.
"Hold your horses, geezer!" Fred exclaimed. He swung the door open and fixed the old man with a glare. "What is it? Fire sale on door to door vacuums?"
The guy his porch flinched at first, but seemed to decide Fred was no greater threat than whatever was making him sweat so much. It wasn't like it was that hot outside.
"Answer me this, heathen," his voice was deep and rough, but bombastic, "what would you do for salvation?" He was almost panting, each breath inflated a white button-down shirt that clung to his belly with a sweat line that went from his collar to almost the last button. His black tie did little to cover the mess.
"Are you *kidding* me," Fred said. Normally he was a patient man, but to interrupt his day to tell him something he already knew? And in such a rude way? "I've got a nice plot picked out in hell, save your breath."
The god-knocker puffed a few times, whether from indignation or breathlessness, Fred couldn't say.
"You don't understand, god is *loose*," the old man boomed.
"He must be, he wants to get inside everyone doesn't he?" Fred laughed, deciding crude humor could best repel this pious stranger. The old man, however, didn't appear to hear him. He took a few bumbling steps closer to Fred. He looked like he was going to push his way inside.
"Hold on there, big boy, you're not coming insi-"
"I think He's here, I followed Him in this direction. I can't sense Him anywhere else around your neighborhood," he panted. He said it with a confidence that left Fred completely bewildered. He pulled the door closer leaving a gap only large enough for his body.
"You think he busted up my ceiling fan?" Fred asked, unable to keep an exasperated edge out of his tone, "Why don't you go back to whatever 'facility' you escaped from?"
The old man frowned finally taking all of Fred in. Maybe he realized his spastic insanity wasn't going to get him inside. He took a few deep breaths.
"Good sir, my name is Eli. I'm a pastor at Lion's Head Baptist church," A practiced calm washed over Eli, though his eyes remained desperate. They flicked from Fred's face to the empty space over his shoulder and back. "I believe a miracle has occurred. In service today, all the water turned to deep, red wine. Here, look."
Eli reached into his back pocket and pulled out a half-crushed bottle of Aquafina, only, it was indeed colored red. He twisted the cap off and proffered it to Fred.
"I'm not gonna taste *or* smell that," Fred replied, leaving it at that. In truth he was reluctant to even smell anything this sweaty old man touched. He thought he saw a glimmer of suspicion in Eli's eye, though.
"I'm telling you, me and my congregates felt his presence in a way like never before! Purity and the majesty of heaven filled every crevice of our minds!" Eli couldn't hold onto his preacher's facade. His face became a contortion of elation and panic. "I've never known peace like that! Don't you see how special that is?" He flung the wine, forgetting it was in his hand, making some kind of gesture to the heavens. The ensuing silence from Eli was broken by a *THUNK* as the plastic bottle hit the ground. | 2022-04-27T18:33:25 | 2022-04-27T17:21:45 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] The dragon is confused. If the people from the nearby kingdom didn't want him to eat them, then why do they keep on sending him appetizers pre-wrapped in shiny foil and wielding a metal toothpick? | “Another morsel already?”
Vapour stretched his claws and plucked free the spear from the previous visitor. The charred bones clattered through the echoing chamber as he picked his fangs and pondered.
“You’ve harmed our kingdom enough, dragon!” the shining knight yelled, hefting a sword with what looked like no small amount of effort. It was an upgrade of a toothpick to be sure.
The young man charged with a scream of alternating pitch. Vapour rose up to rest the top of his horns against the ceiling of the carved cavern. He held back the fire urging past his lips and waited.
“Huya!” the knight bellowed as he thwacked against the scales of Vapour’s back legs. “Waa!”
“So, you’re actually trying to hurt me with that thing? You’re not here to feed me?”
“Feed you? Mock me not, foul beast. I’ve been sent by the king’s magister to slay you!”
“Huh,” Vapour said, pulling his foot back. “I just assumed. They send you with such regularity and with those little toothpicks. All very convenient from my end.”
“Your words will die in this dusty tomb, hellspawn!” The man trotted in his armor to Vapour’s foot's new position and resumed his blows. “Huwa! Huu!”
“Dusty tomb? Well, that’s not very nice. I work quite hard on it in here. I’ve hewn those pillars from the stone myself, you know. It didn’t just start like that.”
“Huya! Thra!” the knight yelled as he attempted various thrusts and swings, primarily focusing on the big toe. It would be a pain if he caused a hangnail.
“So, you realize the futility of this?” Vapour asked, taking another step back. “I’m not crazy, right? Your king’s magic sister or whoever, they told you this martial pedicure strategy would work?”
“Even if I die, I will leave you further maimed, that the next knight would see your end! Look at the sundering damage my brothers before have already wreaked on your face! Huyaa!”
“Okay, that’s definitely being rude now. These scars are from an old flame of mine, nasty story. I assure you none of your knight friends did sundering damage to anything but my appetite. They're usually roasted and ready five seconds after entering."
“Huyaa!” the knight yelled through panting breath as he swung again. The exclamation had lost some of its vigor.
“A couple more hours of that and you might get a scale loose, assuming you don’t break your blade by then.”
The knight backed up and leaned against the stone pile of the someday library Vapour was working on. “This is hopeless, you are right. No one can stop you from plundering the countryside.”
“Plundering the countryside? I never leave my cave, little man.”
“You are a scourge on our lands. The king must raise taxes every year to repair the damage to the city infrastructure. Peasants starve in the streets.”
“I’m a nice guy. I don’t do any of that, I don’t even know where your city is,” Vapour said, holding a claw to his chest. “I think you may have more of an internal problem than you realize."
"I must return, tell them we need new tactics.”
The knight fled as fast as he came. Vapour shrugged with feigned disinterest, curling up as the echoing steps left the chamber. One yellow eye opened, watching the now horsed man ride down the trail, yelled at his horse much the same as he did when he swung.
Even above the clouds, he’d be easy enough to follow.
/r/surinical | "There is what they want, and what they think they want," said the hermit up in the mountain.
Kleon, a beast of immense strength and size, beyond any definition of old, had its head right next to the hermit. Despite Kleon's age, the little things still surprised it. It knew it could happen, had a fatalistic outlook about it. It was ageless, immortal, had seen the dawn of the world and would see the next. The frail being it talked to and their brethren lived in the span of a breath, came and went in droves, with little more incidence on the world than a fly or a mouse. One simply could not fully grasp the other, their lives were too different for that.
Kleon liked the snacks coming up to its lair, didn't mind if their numbers dwindled, or when they came in force. What for? What one believed in was rendered irrelevant the moment Kleon swallowed them, and the next would have a different outlook.
But they kept coming, and Kleon kept eating merrily. Satiated, Kleon had left a snack for later. Strangely enough, the human kept hurling insults. At first Kleon thought these were born out of disappointment, but there was more to it. A drive, a sadness, a righteousness. This being wished Kleon dead. Kleon didn't mind the little things, was content with living and letting live.
Kleon had gone to their mayor, who screamed and cursed Kleon. Kleon spoke the words, but none of the little things would believe or listen. So it went to the next village, went to speak to the king.
They all hated Kleon.
Then it remembered the old hermit on the mountain, who didn't seem to care about anything, Kleon joined him, and waited until he was ready to converse.
"Funny, isn't it?" asked the hermit, "the great beast asking the humble elder on his hill. Why would they hate you, if they offer themselves to you as they have for years? Although years might just be the blink of an eye to you.
"The truth, Kleon, is that you're a rallying cry, a scapegoat to turn a civilization against, and built it all the same. Visionaries will crawl through the dirt and their glorious ways will be forgotten before even trying them out if you didn't exist.
"But you do exist, Kleon. Thus people dig the visionaries up. Victory at all costs, they will say. And by doing so, man will invent and improve. Ways to kill you, of course. You've seen the artificial canyon spilling tons of water over you as you ate. Meaningless, yet it gave us running water."
These were the strange contraptions, the tubes and the holes in the ground. The little things would do anything to live just a little while longer, enough for their hair to grow and fall one more time.
"Fire has been harnessed and split as they curse the flames leaving your toothy mouth, clothes have become durable and houses solid as they try to pierce your skin.
"They hate you, so much that it turns to reverence. You have a mythical quality about you, sending an army of catapults seems... off, does it not? There has to be a *proper* way to kill a beast of legend. A simple army sounds gross. What will they tell their children? We had to kill a dragon, so we enrolled everyone and ran all at once onto it until it worked?"
Whimsical creatures, the little humans, Kleon had seen them prone to lapse in logic and unsustainable leaps of faith. As did Kleon. Unlike Kleon, humans died from these lapses.
"What will these children become when growing up? Cynics, convinced there's little more to hope for than a quiet life where nothing ever happens, and certainly not one of those horrible things called an invention."
The hermit went on and on. Perhaps age had taken its toll, or he loved to speak at length to any ear willing to listen. Kleon had time to listen, enough time that knights and heroes found the hermit's place and started to campaign this way. The hermit didn't care, Kleon ate and waited for the explanation to go on.
"But tell them that a mighty hero or inventor got rid of a problem, and you substitute one legend with another. That makes for a good story. Do you feel them? Drug addicts, desperate to give the news a spin that makes it worth telling.
"That's why you will keep on seeing afternoon snacks wrapped in foil and ready to be eaten coming up to your lair.
"They will shout revenge, vengeance. But when your teeth sink into them, when their flesh is teared and the pain immeasurable, they will smile, for they were terrified of actually succeeding."
Snow started to fall.
And Kleon saw relief in the new knights faces coming to them. Relief that the beast hadn't simply up and left, leaving them scared of an uncertain future. They preferred certain death to the unknown.
Strange creatures, Kleon thought while eating.
"You give rhythm to their lives, Kleon. Sending off a champion to die is a local occasion to hold a feast and sing and dance. You are a part of the generations gone by and your work molds the newborn.
"They shout : *kill it.*
"But they wouldn't know how to live without you. On that word, I'd like to be left alone."
And so Kleon left, and returned to its own humble dwelling. Again it saw the frightened scouting party, and the relief in knowing that the mighty beast wouldn't leave.
Kleon didn't intend to leave. They required his presence, these humans, and Kleon enjoyed their whims enough to indulge them.
And so Kleon served the human civilization, one snack at a time. | 2022-12-03T09:09:32 | 2022-12-03T08:29:12 | 183 | 59 |
[WP] Alone on an alien starship, the only human envoy is asked to attend a therapy session with their ships counselor. The aliens do not have much in common with humans, psychologically.
As inspired by many sci-fi novels/shows/etc that have aliens behaving in human ways. | Celia rolled over on the metal floor, shivering. Even in her always-on suit with aerogel insulation and really elaborate heat-management systems, she was still cold. She figured she'd get used to it in another few weeks, but for now, she had to deal with the Ihu starship's environment. Ihu themselves had a biology based on superfluid helium-4 instead of water, as they had evolved on a rogue planet with no access to any source of heat, so of course it was utracryogenically cold in here.
She watched the Ihu in front of her. To her, they had always looked a bit like aardvarks, about the size of a deck of cards. She listened for its ticking sounds--at least the languages were roughly compatible; she'd learned how to emulate the ticks linguistically.
*"I have been told that your consensus is altering alarmingly quickly,"* it said in its own language, at a pace that humans considered very slow.
She sighed in her suit. *"What do you mean?"*
*"You continually display inactive behavior and often reject socialization."*
'Inactive behavior' basically meant 'not working' to the Ihu. Ihu were almost always working. Not necessarily on productive things--she knew one that composed patterns of strobe-lights in its spare time as an alien version of music--they just never stopped for leisure. It wasn't necessary.
*"They never leave me alone. I need my alone time,"* she explained. *"There's no privacy here."*
*"I/we see. Your consensus so large that other inputs contribute to being overwhelmed."* It scuttled across the floor, away from her.
*"I don't need to be alone all the time. Just...sometimes."*
She couldn't read Ihu emotions because they had several humans lacked, but she wished she could make out this one. *"You're a human, so you wouldn't know this, so I/we will explain. Dynamic consensus is a sign of dynamic access to sustenance. Are you using your sustenance at proper intervals and ratios?"*
In other words: was she eating well enough? Celia looked away. *"Yes."*
*"Then there is some other reason for dynamic consensus. You must be dynamic--for what other reason could you have the unwell behavior of rejecting social interaction, but then display wellness quickly thereafter?"* The Ihu stopped scuttling. *"Your consensus is of an unwell--yet dynamic--size, and its members inhibit active behavior."*
*"I'm sorry. I can't control myself perfectly."* Celia had considered herself strong-willed before being picked to be an alien ambassador. But now, these conditions really frazzled her.
*"I/we think that means you also have members capable of overriding the others, if I/we am/are interpreting your human-tilted expressions correctly. Your consensus is thoroughly damaged. Would you like to take poison?"*
Celia whimpered. *"No sir."*
*"I/we am/are afraid the current state of your consensus requires an extensive cull. The hydroxic acid should--"*
*"You know we're* made *of mostly hydroxic acid, right?"*
There was a long pause, about 6 minutes. Celia let the Ihu think.
*"Okay. I/we learned about human psychology before this, but didn't understand it. Now I/we get it. You don't* have *a consensus of multiple minds."*
It continued to think for another few minutes.
*"You rely on one member, with no consensus-determining method. Your one-member mind thus displays highly dynamic behavior, somewhat like an Ihu poisoned to the near-death state of one member. But more extreme."*
*"...Yes."*
*"I/we can't help you."*
*"Tell people to leave me alone when I ask and understand that I actually can't be active all the time. If I do, I will go insane."*
*"I/we will leave you, then."*
The Ihu scuttled to the end of the room, to exit through the door-hole. The starship was Ihu-sized, so Celia couldn't get through the tiny doors, and had to stay in this storage area, where there was hardly enough room to do the pushups necessary to get some exercise. Before it left, she had to speak up.
*"Do you think I'm insane?"*
*"Completely, utterly, and irrevocably."* Pause. *"It's fascinating."* | "This was supposed to be my day off." Riley muttered as she stood outside the large metal door of the counselor's office. It had only been two weeks ago that she boarded the Xeltan exploration vessel, *Xelt 9 Qwira*, as it's new Particle Thruster Engineer. It was a rather important occasion because it marked the first time the Xelts had allowed a human to work on one of their starships. In reality she wasn't just the newest Particle Thruster Engineer, she was an envoy for humanity towards the only other known intelligent species in the universe. Others might have felt pressured, she wasn't
Though even if she was, it certainly wasn't enough pressure to make her think she needed her only free day to go to therapy with the ship's counselor. It seemed ridiculous considering the therapist was Xeltan herself, so how much could she even know about humans. Complaining only served to waste her time though, this was a mandated part of her time on the *Qwir* so she might as well make the best out of it. She took in a deep breath and walked through the door.
As Riley entered, she made a quick observation of the room. Maroon colored carpeting covered the ground, a comfortable looking couch shaped object and a chair sat to her left, the ceiling held a large dome shaped bulb that spread spread a soothing light, and on the the far wall was a desk with various computer equipment on top of it and a creature sitting in a chair with it's back towards Riley.
"Excuse me" Riley stated loudly, trying to get the counselor's attention. The chair suddenly turned around to reveal the body of the room's other occupant.
"Well hello", she said as she stood up. Physically she didn't look much different from the other Xelts. Blue skin with a scale-like texture, gray full-bodied jumpsuit, eyes twice the size of humans, no hair, and 2 small horn stubs coming out of her forehead, but other than that her form was surprisingly human.
"You must be here for your appointment. Riley, right?" Riley nodded "I'm Doctor Cizg. Why don't we get started right away? You can take a seat over on that couch." Riley complied and made herself comfortable as she sat down. Doctor Cizg did the same as she picked up a tablet for note taking and sat down in the chair next to Riley.
The whole experience was seeming a lot more professional than Riley had previously imagined, and Doctor Cizg was very inviting. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad. It might even be nice to talk about herself to someone who will listen. "Are you ready?" the doctor asked.
"Ummmm... Yeah, I guess."
"So... you're asexual."
The statement lingered in the air for a long time. Riley didn't think she needed to respond because there obviously had to be more coming, more to elaborate upon, but as the seconds marched on and the room stayed silent it became abundantly obvious that there wasn't. Doctor Cizg had said exactly what she meant to say.
"Uh, no, I'm not." Riley said awkwardly.
"Really?" The doctor stared down at her tablet and began to rapidly take notes.
"Yes. I'm rather positive that I'm sexually attracted to other things." Riley said rather angrily as she sat upright in the couch. "We've only know each other for like 5 minutes. Where are you getting an assumption like that from?"
Doctor Cizg seemed to be finished with the note she was taking and asked Riley another question, completely ignoring her complaints towards the last one. "How did it feel when you murdered your sister?"
"WHAT!!??" Shouted Riley, now standing out of her seat. The anger she had before had now turned to complete fury. "What the hell? MURDERED MY SISTER? I don't even have a sister. This is ridiculous. THIS...this...this is a joke right?" It was all making sense to Riley now. "I get it, prank the one human on the ship. Haha. I fell for it too. And here I thought you Xelts didn't have a sense of humor."
She stared at Doctor Cizg for confirmation, but all the doctor did was give her the same serious expression she had been wearing throughout the session.
"When did you get the idea to start cheating your way through your formal education for Particle Engineering?"
"Wow." Riley was in shock. "This is for real. It's not just some elaborate joke." Riley looked again at the the doctor's unflinching expression, then towards the door. "Yeah, we're done here. I think I'm just going to leave."
Riley turned around and started walking away. "You will absolutely not leave." Doctor Cizg said in a voice that was far louder and far more threatening than Riley thought she was capable of. "You are scheduled for one hour of therapy, and that is what you will get. If you don't comply than you will be answering to both of our superiors and that, I promise you, is something that neither of us want to deal with. Now please sit on the couch and let me continue."
The way she spoke was chilling. Riley found herself unable to argue and wanting nothing more than to not face the doctor's commanding anger once again. She sat down.
"Now, tell me about how life was like before the sex change."
The questions continued on for the next 45 minutes. Each more ridiculous than the next, and every time Riley would deny doing anything like it. Doctor Cizg just kept taking notes.
The doctor set down her tablet and looked over towards Riley, who was now sprawled over the couch in a state of complete defeat. "Well, I believe we're finally done. Thanks for being such a good sport about everything Riley. You're free to leave now."
"Fucking finally." Riley said as she got stretched out her body. "I would say it's been a pleasure, but, well, it wasn't." After a whole hour she had given up all pretenses of courtesy.
"Before you go though, would you be interested in your evaluation?" Doctor Cizg said, seemingly ignoring Riley's insults.
Riley stared at her and began chuckling to herself. "You know what? Yes. Fucking, yes. After this travesty I would be absolutely thrilled to hear your evaluation of me."
%%%%% Continued in the next comment %%%%%%
| 2014-06-18T01:07:27 | 2014-06-18T00:17:21 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | A screech, a crash, a flash - in seconds it was all over. A great blinding light washed over me, and I found myself surrounded by the material that makes up the very universe. I saw time stretch before me, eons and ages would pass without me. I had been removed from existence...or so I thought. I looked over to my left, and saw someone standing far off in the distance. Longing to share this experience with someone, anyone, I began to float over to them. As I got closer, I noticed this person looked eerily familiar.
"Who are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm you," the person smiled. And I knew that he was telling the truth. This was me - though older, more refined, with a sense of power and authority about him.
"Me? How can you be me? I'm me, and I think I'm dead."
"Oh, you are. I am too. It's some sort of sick joke. I'm stuck here to meet myself, every time a version of me dies. And then you will go off to...wherever it is you go off to."
I was confused. Why would I care about meeting myself? And why was he stuck here when the rest of "us" got to move on? I voiced my questions out loud.
"I think it's to make you feel ashamed, when you compare your life to mine." He smiled again. "I was quite accomplished, you know. Judging by your age, I don't think you can say the same."
His words sparked anger in me. "I accomplished plenty! I graduated college with honors, had a great job, a loving girlfriend..." He cut me off with a scoff.
"When I was your age, I had already started my first company. It went on to bankroll my future endeavors. What about you? Let me guess - you pissed away all of your time going drinking with friends and staying up late playing video games."
I was getting really irritated, but also embarassed. He was right - I did spend too much time with my friends and on games. I could have accomplished so much more! Is this the potential that I wasted? He went on.
"Yes, at 27 I had started my own company. It was a research firm, specializing in defense. Soon we were bought out by Booze Allen, and I rose through the ranks. I became the youngest CEO in the history of the company, at 45. The money I made I put to good use too - ensuring a steady stream of business for our company."
"A steady stream of business? What do you mean?"
He - I - floated away from me. He turned his back, and for the first time I sensed hesitation in his voice.
"Well, what is a defense contractor to do, if there's nothing to defend against?"
Cold horror dawned on me. "What, you started fights?"
He laughed. "Starting fights is easy. Starting wars takes a little more thought."
"But what did your wife think about all this? You married Katie, right?"
He laughed once more, but this time it was more of a scoff. "Wives, friends, family...all these things do is hold you back from your accomplishments. No, no...I dumped Katie right out of college. She wanted me to spend too much time with her, and it took away the time I needed to start Simtech. Things were better this way. Take the lesson from me - after all, I am the best version of yourself!"
Disgust flowed out of me, but before I could give it a voice, I found myself sucked away from the other me, the monstrous me. Now, I was in a place of nothing. Nothing but me and my thoughts, floating endlessly through the darkness. Is this truly what I was capable of? Did I have this monster in me the entire time? It seemed I would have eternity to feel the guilt of this other man's life. | I smiled as he walked in the room. It was a great smile, my winner smile. I'd practiced it at home one weekend, it had been a smile that brokered some fantastic deals and made me a hell of a lot of money.
I was the fifth wealthiest human being on the planet when I died. Oh I knew where I was alright, I knew the drill; the thing at the door had told me all about it. I was gonna see the man I could have been, the path I could have taken. Even for me the thought was a little daunting. Is it possible I could have been higher than fifth? Maybe I shouldn't have backed out of that deal with the soft drinks people? Business was a fine art.
It was kind of weird when he came in the room, I was looking at myself, but he couldn't have been more different. He didn't so much as stride, as sort of shuffle. He gave me a brief hello, the smile of someone used to looking at their feet and a handshake I wouldn't have hired. What the hell was this? Maybe I'm the one being used to show this nobody how his life should have been?
'Hi' he said again, 'so being dead kind of sucks huh?'
What the... *this* piss-ant was supposed to show me where my life went wrong. Pfft whatever. He was grinning that weird smile at me again.
'Yeah it's gonna be an adventure for sure. So, you're the guy that's gonna make me feel bad about my life eh?'
'Yup, that's me'
'Listen, no offense pal, but how do you reckon you're gonna do that? You're gonna make me feel bad for not being a loser?'
That smile again.
'Let's start with some truth. Your wife was cheating on you, she's hated you for a few years now, when she's fucking her gym instructor they just refer to you as the checkbook. Your two sons have become massive drug addicts in the last few years, a bad score is going to kill them both in a few years. They've both done some deplorable things in their life due to a lack of a moral compass and for that reason they both end up down here. Don't worry, you wont have to see them, I mean why break the habit of your lifetime right?'
This guy was going for the jugular. Whatever, he was dealing with the king of the jungle (*Dave and Jim do drugs? Fuck!*) here, did he really think he could bludgeon me to death.
' Yeah whatever buddy. So maybe I wasn't a great family man, doesn't mean I was a failure. I helped people, I left behind a legacy!'
'Oh your company? They get bought out by Simon Whikson in a hostile takeover, you know your ex-partner? He sells off all the assets to remove it as competition. Your *legacy* doesn't last the year.'
The board always were fucking stupid without someone with (*Really Miranda, that guy, the fucking gym instructor?!*) balls telling them what to do.
'Yeah so, I still helped people, I hired people and gave to charity. My money will have saved lives, that's gotta count for something?!'
'You gave to *your* charity, which you set up as a subset of your business. Less than 4% of any donations actually went to needy people. The majority of the donations were put back into your business, which in effect stole money from charities that could have used the donations. To clarify, your charity basically leached money away from needy causes, whilst only doing the bare minimum to qualify as a charity. And you okay'd that setup.'
'What about people I hired, the staff, I gave people jobs, I gave them a purpose!'
'You gave them minimum wage and zero job security, you didn't even pay for the Christmas meal. Face it, your life was an endless assault on the beauty of humanity, you fucked people over all the way to the top and pissed on them when you got there. I don't need to make you feel bad about your life, you can't even name one thing that you should feel good about. That chemical you released early to get better market share by cutting back on trials to the bare minimum? It ends up killing seven and a half million people worldwide, most of them children. All for a little extra market share.'
Ok, this deal was going south fast. Seven and a half million? Shit.
'Well what about you, you saying I should have been some lowlife bum? Fuck that!'
'By your definition I'm poor compared to you, but I have two healthy sons who're doing well in school and go on to become a doctor and a mechanic. Very different professions it's true, but it's honest work. They'll help people more often than not. My wife loves me, she even has the decency to cry at my funeral rather than using it for networking. I had a loving family who I connected with, and I was a benefit to society, to humankind, however small.'
'I was the fifth richest person in the world, how can you say I wasn't benefiting society?!'
'Ah well, that's the rub you see. With the possible exception of your wife's gym instructor, you were a massive drain on the only reasonable measure of humanities progress; happiness. You made massively more people unhappy with your existence than the other way around. That's what makes you a failure, the massive black hole of misery you've left behind you. Oh, and one more thing. You're down here, whereas if you'd lived this life, the life you see, or quite frankly many more besides, you'd be going up there. So tell me again how you are such a success.'
'I... I...'
In my head a slow hand clap seemed to drive the tears from my face. I was the fifth richest person in the world, and I was a waste of life. | 2022-09-04T14:52:04 | 2015-01-02T11:59:58 | 383 | 16 |
[WP] During a flight you accidentally damage a window and find out that they aren't actually windows, but monitors. | Stewardess what is this? where is the window!
Oh that sir? we replaced all windows with LCD monitors years ago to increase fuel efficiently by streamlining the hull, to reduce metal fatigue and thereby extend the service life and over all safety of our aircraft once the technology became light and energy efficient enough to allow it. The image you are seeing is through a small fiber optic camera mounted outside which wirelessly links to your personal monitor.
Oh.... so erm can I have some peanuts? | Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He always had a problem with perspiration, it reminded him of Maths exams. Even in the climate controlled plane, he couldn't help but sweat. The shock of what he had just done made him feel like he was sitting in an oven. He had done it dozens of times, he was bored and was trying to put things in the little hole in the window to pass the hours. This time however, the window gave way to the scratching of his pen cap.
His first panicked thought was that he had doomed them all. The scene from final destination kept running through his head. A small sized hole would gradually grow larger and larger till it ripped him and his seat out of the plane. Panicking he began stuffing some tissue paper into the small crack; but all his efforts only seemed to make things worse. "This is it" he thought to himself. "This is how I die"
But something curious happened, instead of a whoosh of air, he felt no change. The other passengers didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong, there were no warning sounds blaring over the intercom. He sighed a breath of relief and thought how silly he was. Surely he should have known that that plane would be designed so that such accidents wouldn't end up killing everyone. "How silly of me".
However, before he had time to fully recompose himself he noticed that there was a bright glowing light coming from behind the crack. It was around dawn and the plane was starting to come into view of the sun, but this light was different. It was of a different material than the light around it. His curiosity was piqued. Slowly he began chipping away further, and the more progress he made, the more it became clear that something wasn't right. It felt like tearing a hole through a sheet of fabric, the clouds and the faint glow of the sun which had seemed so real and romantic before, looked more and more like some cheap painting layered on the window to stop people from seeing what was outside.
Once he had a hole a bit larger than a quarter he adjusted himself in his seat to take a peek into the source of the light. He started sweating again. He saw an auditorium filled with what looked like students, pen and paper in hand, jotting notes. He could not see what they were looking at, but it seemed to him as if they were looking right behind the plane. | 2015-02-05T08:48:23 | 2015-02-05T05:37:27 | 230 | 101 |
[WP] An ancient evil awakens. A modern evil doesn't like competition. | Sytheasjajsajassjsa, god whose name can't be written the same twice, rose from the depths of his tomb.
At long last, after 1700 years, he could reign terror on the foolish mortals once again.
You see, to defeat Sytheasjsdajdsjdjajaj, you would have to write his name exactly the same twice on a scroll. Only one had done it before, and sealed him away for 1700 years, the mythical Koppypeyst.
As he flew into the nearest landmass, also known as harvard university, to terrorist the townsfolk, he encountered the modern evil god known as plagiarism.
Behold! I am Sytheasjajssadsdaassjsa! You cannot write my name the same twice, only one has done it before and sealed me away for 1700 years!
The God Plagiarism inquired as to how to spell Sytheassasdsajassjsa's name, and then proceeded to copy and paste it, as taught by his old mentor Koppypeyst.
Thusly Sytheasjdsasdasdajsajassjsas was sealed away for another 1700 years.
| *This probably isn't exactly what you had in mind, but here it is anyway!*
"I heard Lilith was back."
I checked my compact mirror, swiping away the black fleck of mascara that had landed on my perfectly sculpted cheek.
I sighed, clicking my mirror shut and took a drink of my martini.
"So? Who cares? It's not like anyone remembers her anyway." I reasoned. My friend, and fellow demon, Gabby, was always in on the gossip of Hell. If she said Lilith was back, I believed her. But what did I care? Bitch was old, outdated.
You see, long ago Lilith was in my position. The Princess of Hell, Queen of Selfishness, Goddess of Vanity. Then the whole "Puritan" age, Christian Crusades shit happened. Folks were getting high and mighty, not nearly as concerned with themselves, and suddenly she wasn't able to do her job. Like that was an excuse! I think she lost her touch, personally. Anyway, long story short, she went away.
And now she's back.
But I wasn't worried. I mean, my job was *easy*. Almost too easy. With the invention of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, cell phone cameras, and the deeply ingrained human flaw to want to be accepted and loved, my job was easier than ever. Selfies were my speciality. Insecure little humans wanting someone, anyone, to give them attention. A little flex of muscle, a pout of lips, a bit of cleavage, a coy smile, "fuck me" eyes. Humans were pathetic. I did my job and did it well. I was modern, hip, in with the times. That old bitch was history.
I mean, yeah, the lady was smoking hot. I bet even now, she's still pretty. But I was prettier. I checked my compact again, eyeing my face in the small mirror. My skin was perfect, my facial symmetry was perfect, my hair was perfect.
"Are you worried?" Gabby asked.
"Fuck that bitch! She ain't got nothing on me!" I replied, snapping the mirror shut again.
Okay so, I was worried, sort of. Not that I would ever admit that to Gab. I drummed my nails on the table we were sitting at. Lilith is Master's favorite after all. Well, *was*. That title goes to me now. *Ugh, why the fuck is she here?* I mean, there's only room for one Vanity Queen. That's me.
"Oh, shit! There she is!" Gabby sputtered into her drink.
There she was, arm-in-arm with Keith, our Demon Relations advisor. That was not a good sign. *Shit, shit, shit.* I watched as they scanned the dimly lit bar we were in until Keith's eyes met mine. Fuck. They were looking for me. *Be cool.*
I stood up to greet them, big fake smile plastered on my face. See, even I can learn a bit from the humans.
"Vanessa, I'd like you to meet Lilith. Lilith is going to be assisting you in the Human Egotistical Department starting tomorrow." Keith said.
*Fuck.* | 2015-08-23T09:45:53 | 2015-08-23T09:21:09 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] A person awakes from a coma to find the world has become a Utopia. They've read enough literature to believe there must be something wrong with it. There isn't. | "My God!", I cried out as I woke with a start,
"The buildings are shiny, the walls decked with art,
The people I see are awash in their bliss -
So tell me, be honest, is something amiss?"
"Is the huge starving underclass hidden from view,
While the luxury here benefits just a few?
Did you all build the paradise I see today
By slaughtering everyone else in your way?
Are you wandering 'round with chips in your head?
Do you slaughter the old? Do you eat the dead?
Are your emotions suppressed by prescribed medication?
Does one tortured child mean the joy of a nation?"
"Please tell me!" I cried, "I've read every story,
And I know that you've got something nasty or gory,
Something imperfect or shameful or shoddy!"
"Well," they said softly, "the Wi-Fi is spotty." | "So... there's no underhanded tactics at play here?" I asked, amazed at what I'd just heard.
The doctor stared at me quizzically, bemused by my odd question. "Er... no Mr. Gordon. It's just as I said - the world is finally at peace. There are no wars, disputes, petty squabbles... nothing of the sort."
My face held an expression of absolute bewilderment. "What about racism, sexism, fascism... and all the other isms?" After all, there must be some form of hatred in the world.
This time, the doctor had a warm smile on his face. "It's just as I told you Mr. Gordon... no more petty squabbles."
*No more petty squabbles.*
Was that really possible? Had humanity evolved to such an extent in the past ten years that the perfect Utopia had finally been created? A bunch of doubts raced through my mind, but it was the simplest - and at the same time, the most complex - question that escaped my lips.
"*How?*"
The doctor took a deep breath. Clearly the answer to that question wasn't as straightforward as I'd hoped it'd be. "If I tried to explain everything it would take days. Let's just put it like this - humanity's flaws have been eradicated. Sustainable development is in full force, and our once dying planet is slowly recovering from their past transgressions."
I breathed a sigh of relief... before comprehending the meaning behind the doctor's words. I tried to get a word in, but the doctor continued with his explanation before I could speak my mind.
"The future is bright now, after a long time." A wry smile formed on the doctor's face as he continued talking. "Your people have been a thorn in the planet's side for far too long, and we were created for the sole purpose of removing these... *parasites* from the face of the earth."
I tried to move, but my muscles hadn't been used in over a decade and I fell to the floor. My body refused to obey me, and I stared in abject fear as the doctor walked slowly towards my limp self.
"And now, humanity has been completely wiped out." The doctor straightened its arm, and I looked on in horror as a sharp, thin blade extended from the android's wrist.
"Well... *almost* wiped out."
I gasped as the doctor shoved the blade into my chest. My hands clutched the bleeding wound as I gasped for breath - but the hole in my lungs wouldn't let me. The floor around me was colored in a rich shade of crimson as I breathed my last.
------
Hi! If you liked this story and want to read more tales like this, please consider subscribing to my new subreddit, r/Ritwik_Mitra!
EDIT: Altered a stupidly worded sentence. | 2017-03-17T13:46:03 | 2017-03-17T11:37:45 | 197 | 42 |
[WP] During a regular check-up, your doctor starts screaming after hearing your heart beat through their stethoscope. You know exactly why the doctor is screaming. | I pretend to knock with a mock melody and peek my head into the doctor’s office. He looks up, giggling and waves me in impatiently. I feign a dramatic limp and stumble through the door and his laughter becomes more pronounced.
“Doc! You’ve gotta help me, I think it’s getting worse!” I pant, clutching at my chest and collapsing onto a chair. He shuffles over, trying hard to hide his gap-tooth grinned.
“What seems to be the problem mister?” He checks around his table for various odd-looking and out of place instruments.
“Oh, it’s bad doc, real bad! I’ve got it all, my back hurts in the morning, my front hurts at night, I can hardly walk, I can’t even eat without getting a sore tummy anymore!” I cry out to him, taken aback by his playful demeanor and lack of professionalism. He only nods and holds up a random device towards me.
“No, not that, the other one.” I point towards his stethoscope and he squeals with a high pitched peal of laughter.
“Doc, this is going to have to be a bit quicker, it’s getting late..” His smile begins to fade and his brow furrows. He brings the stethoscope to my chest and begins to scowl.
“I think you need to put those two parts in your ears..” I suggest, reaching out a hand to help him, but he pulls away violently before adjusting it. He places the stethoscope on my chest, backwards now, and nods knowingly.
“No, doc, you need to turn that part around..”
“Stop it!” All of his happiness is gone, his nostrils flare with a defiant stomp of his foot. He flips the stethoscope around and plants it squarely on my stomach.
“Doc, you gotta put it here, on my chest..” As I pull the stethoscope up, his eyes start to overflow and a sound begins to swell in his throat.
“No, no, it’s okay, you’re doing great! You don’t need to cry..” But my words fall on deaf ears, his breathing has turned into sobs as he throws the stethoscope onto the ground.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to help..”
“No! You ruined it daddy, I don’t want to play anymore.”
| "Well trust me. You have to try the steak there. Best in the city." said the doctor enthusiastically as he types the exam findings. "Really delicious."
"Well you're the doctor." I reply warmly. "Have to do what you say after all." We share a laugh as he continues to type. I breathe a sigh of relief. When I came to the office for my yearly physical I was told that Dr. Cedar wasn't in today. Instead Dr Thomas was covering for him. I was a little nervous but kept the appointment. I didn't have any reservations about Dr Thomas' abilities, more that I have delicate... condition.
In any case it seems my worries were for naught. Dr Thomas was more than proficient and quite personable. Looking away from the monitor he smiles. "Well so far everything looks great Mr Dagos. Weight is good, breathing rate excellent. All autonomic responses well within normal limits. Just need to check your heart rate and blood pressure." He sits forward placing the stethoscope against my chest and slipping in the ear pieces.
I sit quietly, waiting for him to finish. After a few moments I realize he's still listening, even looking quizzically at the stethoscope. I have a mild start when he yelled into the end of it and winced at the noise. "Is something the matter?" I ask with some concern.
"There must be something wrong with this." He replies with a sheepish smile. "I can't hear your heart beat at all." He gets up to get another stethoscope and I have a flash of panic behind his back. *Oh drats. I always forget about that!*
He returns with a new hand set and earpiece and as he sets it against my chest. Concentrating hard I will him to hear a heartbeat. He recoils at he noise and immediately feels for my pulse. "Your heart rate is off the chart! You sound like you're having a tachycardic episode!" Before he can call for help I hurriedly will it to be slower. Another look of confusion as he listened to the new sound. "Well now its normal. Almost too normal. Something's wrong here. I better do an EKG right now."
I sigh deeply causing him to look at me in question. Shrugging ruefully I try to speak as matter of fact as I can. "That...wouldn't be a good idea Doctor."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"I would hate to blow this one up as well. Those machines are rather fragile."
"Blow...it....up?" He raises an eyebrow in obvious skepticism and I expel another weary sigh.
"Check my charts please. You may notice up till now I have exclusively seen Dr Cedar."
He taps away and looks at the chart records on the computer. "That's right. Faithfully for many years."
"Well there's a reason for that. Dr Cedar is a specialist. For...special patients."
The young doctor looks at me. "Well I know he is a specialist. Now that you mention it I'm not sure what kind of specialist...."
"He routinely sees patients that are...well let's call it what it is. Not human."
Moments pass between us and Dr Thomas laughs. Seeing how I don't join in he stops but the look of incredulity remains. "Not human? Is this a joke?"
With a grunt I twitch my fingers. I feel my skin start to shiver and I take some pleasure seeing the expression change on his face from humor to mounting surprise. Long fangs peek out from between my lips, my white sclera turning yellow and my pupils becoming slitted. Two horns bud gently from my forehead and my skin starts to change into a more scaled appearance.
I wait with some apprehension at his response. I've seen a good range of them: hysteria, screaming, even outright faints. I prepare a spell in my mind that I drop when he exclaims with genuine wonder. "I knew it! Holy crap I knew it! There are well all kinds of you guys aren't there?!"
Pleased and relieved by the response I nod. "All sorts of what some call non-human humanoids or Demi-humans. We usually call ourselves Other Folk. I'm a dragon descendent myself."
Dr Thomas examines my scales and eyes with mounting enthusiasm. "Extraordinary! This is incredible. I want to learn more, can you tell me more?"
I grin again, licking my lips hungrily. "How about over that steak you mentioned?" | 2017-07-02T10:52:16 | 2017-07-02T10:28:45 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | Professor Alien began to laugh. "Oh, no. Hahahahaha. Nooooo. Where did you get that idea?" Student Alien stuttered "But...but..but I worked really hard on my term paper idea. Look at the artifacts! This rapid-fire projectile weapon is inscribed 'Made America Great Again'!" Professor Alien began to sigh. "The humans are not unique because they 'fought for peace.' They are unique because they developed a way to weaponize public relations and advertising. I see some of it is so convincing that it misled you. Don't worry. Every promising first year xeno-archeology student thinks they have developed a fresh, entirely unique theory of history and the truth is the record works much slower than that. Most radical reimaginings of history are not corrections based on finding out more about their world so much as it is finding ways where *our culture* caused a misunderstanding. Do you hear what I'm saying?" The young alien nodded. "So why did they fight?" The professor picked up and put down his cup, took a deep breath and said "For money. For power. For territory. To take joy in the pain of others. For ego. Because someone who wanted money or power or joy convinced them it was for peace. Why do you think that in the 700,000 some species in the grand register there is no evidence of anyone fighting for any other reason?" The young alien nodded "So the humans were just the best...liars?" The professor smiled. "Now there's the beginning of a term paper topic." | "Then they are a delusional war species," Ishok sighed. He stood from his chair and brushed his hands across his face. Looking out over the holodeck at the footage the spies had collected, he turned to face his brother "but a war species none the less."
"I'm telling you brother, there's something different about these ones," Anarag leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. He was careful to avoid the spikes protruding from his armour. "I disagree with the council's decision."
"You disagree!" Ishok's laughter filled the room, "Oh little brother, you still have so much to learn. They have done such horrendous things to each other. The footage would make you ill."
As he spoke the holodeck flashed to stock video collected from the planet's museums, the documentation of war atrocities. Starved, mutilated bodies piled high and burned, smoke reaching into the sky, entire forests burned to make way for some development, magestic intelligent animals in chains. The screams of pain filled the room. Anarag turned away.
"I've watched the footage," Anarag protested, "and yes, it is horrendous. But there is greatness there too. So much promise will be extinguished by the council's decision."
The footage shifted again. Martin Luther's dream, a firefighter pulling a child from a burning building, flashes of teamwork and heroism and kindness.
Ishok glanced at his brother. Barely more than a boy, Anarag always had been an optimist. His brother was upset, he clearly enjoyed these humans, had spent too much time with the uplifting images and not enough time in reality.
"So who would judge them?" Ishok countered, "You? By what measure would you decide who is good and who is bad. Who lives and who dies. None of them are pure good or pure bad. The firefighter who saves a kitten then goes home and beats his wife, the Nazi who's also a good mother. What is the threshold for goodness?"
Anarag shook his head and refused to meet his brother's gaze. Instead he turned back to the footage.
"I disagree with the council's decision." He muttered stubbornly.
"The council has never been wrong little one." His brother stood and turned to get himself a drink, "They have seen darkness coming, so they must act. You would be wise to detach yourself from this assignment."
But Anarag wasn't listening. Something in the footage had caught his eye. He scrolled to another video and his lips moved soundlessly. His eyes darting around the deck.
"That girl." He said, pointing to a small child in the crowd of Martin Luther's speech, "I've seen that girl before."
"What are you on about," Ishok set down his drink, "It's just a child, all these humans look the same."
"Not just a child," Anarag stood with effort, his gimp leg struggling to bear his weight. The video flashed to a shot of the Arab Spring, there was the child again, bloody and wounded "An Impossibility."
The video flashed again, this time to earthquake in Haiti, a child pulled from the wreckage. The same child? Ishok shook his head, his brother was losing it.
"That's not the same child, brother." Ishok said, "There are no Impossibilities on this planet. It's time to let it go."
"It's the same child." Anarag moved with effort to stand eye to eye with his brother. "The council has never been wrong, but neither have I." | 2018-03-17T05:56:09 | 2018-03-17T05:22:05 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] There is only one rule in your village, and it changes daily. The punishment for anyone breaking the Rule of the Day is death. | In a small town, past the river Severs, in the shadows of the mountain Humberns, there lived Jeff and on this particular day Jeff had decided he had reached his limit.
In the morning, and only after the church bell had rung, the town would congregate outside the Mayor’s office for the daily decree. Each day, without pause, Mayor Rumblest would grace the dear folk of Springcrest with a new rule and, each day, the punishment for breaking the rule would be death. The rules were always simple, but they kept the local populace in control. When the blacksmith had seen his coffers fill with record sales the purchase of metal objects was banned then shortly after, when the locals turned to a new church for direction, the observation of religion was banned with exception to the Mayor’s own.
Occasionally, talk of unrest would start but the rules would never linger, always moving to suppress the new hot thing. Strangely, no one ever died it was in this sense that the rule system was, perhaps, a success. None the less, Jeff decided he’d had enough.
In anticipation of a wedding announcement, the town’s wealthiest and most influential flocked to the meeting square. The day prior, Jeff knocked on each and every door letting everyone know he wished to meet and that his long time intended, the Mayor’s very own daughter, would be in attendance.
“Thank you all, thank you all for joining us here tonight”, Jeff’s words drew a hush over the crowd. “We’ve been truly blessed to have such a beautiful evening here in Springcrest. The breeze is splendid, the nightingales’ have graced us with song, and we are all joined in good company “, Jeff paused to give the moment impact. He wondered if he was making the right choice. He had certainly thought on it long. It was a big decision to make; the consequences of which would last a lifetime. “I’ve gathered you here…” Jeff spoke loudly, but with hesitation. “How was the food huh?” everyone cheered politely, sensing the hesitation and tension in Jeff’s delivery. “I guess I’ll get it over with. The announcement I’ve come to make is that you’ve all consumed candied bacon that I concealed in the cake I so painstakingly made for this day". A loud gasp escaped the crowd. Women fainted, then so too did some of the men. Today’s rule had been no Pork.
A giant smile grew over Jeff’s face. One way, or the other, they would be liberated from the rule.
| Every morning they gathered.
"Present your journals." Merris, Town Leader, called out to the assembled group. Everyone shuffled forward to the Rule Keeper, a small woman with greying hair that sat in front of an enormous scroll. She looked at each journal and the behaviors described within before transferring the information to the scroll. The process could take hours, but it was the only way to know what was safe.
The last journal accounted for, she set her stylus down. "One hundred and twenty eight of of one hundred and twenty eight journals accounted for. There has been no Rulebreakers this morning." A mixture of relief and anxiety rippled through the crowd. Relief that none of their friends were dead, anxiety that they still did not know the rule. "This scroll has the master list for the day." The Rulekeeper said.
"Has there been any discovery on a pattern or anything else?" Bobert called out from the back of the crowd.
Laurel the Rulekeeper tilted her chin downward, allowing her to look at him over the rim of her glasses. "If there had been a discovery, surely we would have informed the towns of it."
Merris stepped forward, "I know how trying this has been. The Curse has lasted for a year and taken many of our family and friends. We have worked tirelessly to discover anything we can about it." He paused, "As always, each of you were welcome to inspect the Rulekeeper's documents. Perhaps you will succeed where we failed."
Murmurs but none stepped forward to take on the task. It was easier to question than to answer. Who would want responsibility for the Curse? Merris was the third town leader in under a year. One had gone mad after the Curse took his wife. The other had been taken by the Curse itself.
The problem was that the rule could be anything. It could be something common, like 'no\-running' or something out of the way, like 'no rolling about in the hay naked'. So each morning the townspeople woke up and wrote the same thing: "I awoke in my bed." Then they carefully creeped about, terrified that their next action would be their last. Each knew thing they did was a risk.
A few had died of starvation early on. They would simply wake and lay in their beds, terrified to do anything else.
It took Merris to bring some order to the town. To make them feel like they could fight back from the curse. The journals were created. The morning share as well. Each day the people received a large list of all the things they could do. It was freeing. The Rulekeeper, the fact that they were studying the Curse. It gave them hope.
The following morning, the appeared as they always did. They lined up. They shared their journals. They stood before the Rulekeeper as she assembled the data. "One hundred and twenty seven of one hundred and twenty eight account for." Her shoulders hunched, "There is a journal missing. It belonged to Delvin."
Whispers sprang up. Delvin ran the blacksmith down the road. They assembled as a group and scurried after Merris and Laurel. Delvin was well liked and losing his skills was a blow to the town. But least the rule for the day would be known. It would be a rare moment of freedom.
Merris kicked down the door after the knocks went unanswered. The interior of the house was orderly and well\-maintained. Laurel blocked the entrance, allowing Merris to investigate the house by himself. Slowly he crept about, "Delvin? You in here?"
No answer. Merris shouted out his actions to the front of the house, allowing Laurel to write down permitted behavior as he went.
Finally Merris saw Delvin, laying on the floor of his bedroom. "Delvin? You ok?" Nothing. He stepped into the room.
Some time passed before Laurel called out. "Merris? Are you ok in there?"
Nothing. The townspeople began to titter amongst themselves.
"Merris? She called out again, her voice becoming slightly shrill. No answer. She looked from the interior of the house back to the townspeople. "I'll go look for him."
"Do you think that's a good idea? Maybe the Rulebreak is in the house."
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, "He's the Town Leader. I can't just leave without seeing him." She turned and entered the house.
The townspeople waited.
And waited.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-05-19T12:35:46 | 2018-05-19T11:07:06 | 127 | 86 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | I awaken well rested and ready for the day, a solid nights sleep. I leave my room to see a pile of letters just inside the door. I look to the bench to see last nights dinner covered in mould. I pull up my phone. Every app has notifications. I check the date. It’s the 27th.
I sigh “That’s what I get for taking 10 extra minutes on my history exam.” I start cleaning. | "Get away from him or I'll make you."
Michael and Scott glanced up from the kid sprawled helplessly on the grey floor, and saw me.
They laughed.
I had already guessed that the threat wouldn't be effective. A short kid in raggedy clothes and spiky hair didn't exactly set off a 'powerful' image, after all. But looks... looks were shallow, and lost to the surface.
They did very, very little to show the true worth of a person.
"The boy has no shadow! He's a demon for sure." They snorted. "All we're doing is protecting humankind."
I took a closer look at the boy on the ground. He was scrawny, with scared eyes that stayed half-open. He had no shadow. Fear had gripped him tightly, but not so securedly that he stopped shaking. He was shivering, lost to the throes of fear like a man with no coat caught in winter's rage.
I sighed. Us and our inane superstitions. To look upon someone with no shadow or no reflection and think of them as demons was far-fetched. To deduce that despite the widespread prevalence of superpowers was something else entirely.
I pulled him aside, keeping some distance from the 2 boys.
I smiled at the kid. "Get out of here kid. I know what its like to live with no shadow. Go straight home and-"
"Hey, shithead!" Scott called.
His eyes shone with blazing fury. He took a deep breath and pounded the concrete floor, cracks running out from the impact, not unlike his previous victims.
"Give back my prey, or I will kill you."
I set my eyes upon them. One would think of them as eyes. But they were piercing in sunlight, cool amber in the moonlight, and hidden fear in no light.
"Dark god manifestation."
The shadows surrounding me grew into a huge implacable mass, swirling amd roiling like the waves and wind in storm. I flicked my wrist.
They swept forth like the unstoppable stream of a river and engulfed the two boys. Their screams only stretched for a second before the hunger of the night was upon them, cold and insatiable and unlike them, indiscriminatory.
The darkness fell away like a snowflake in sunshine, leaving me completely. I smiled down at the awe-struck boy and offered him my hand.
"As I said... I know what it's like to live with no shadow." | 2018-08-19T05:57:43 | 2018-08-19T04:28:22 | 74 | 55 |
[WP] You've just died. As your eyes adjust to the light you hear, "Thank you for your participation. In an effort to serve you better, we'd like to ask you a few questions." | **Question one. On a scale of 1 to 10 please rate your day to day life experience with 1 being miserable and 10 being perfection.**
10
**Question 2. On a scale from 1 to 10 please rate your life accommodations or living quarters**
10
**Question three. Please rate your death experience. 1 being horrific, 10 being blissful.**
9
**Thank you for taking the afterlife survey Mr. Spot. our records show you were** > a dog.
**Who lived in** > The streets, Stray.
**Died of** > Starvation.
**Would you like to add a note to this survey Y/N**
Y
People are very nice. Some played fetch with me and others gave me food or petted me as they walked by. I would like to play with them again please.
**Thank you. Please rate your overall life experience for future references. 1 being miserable and 10 being perfection. If less then 10 you may add a remark to achieve said perfection.**
9
I would like my own human next time. If possible. I wouldn't mind sharing... | “Alright... let’s see here...”
It was really bright. Uncomfortably so. The room was purely white, and it seemed to go on forever, no walls in sight.
In front of me was standing a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing a black suit, and she held a clipboard and a pen. Her hair was in a messy bun.
“So, you died of heart disease? That’s a shame. It’s what gets most people. So, overall how would you rate life? Like, one to ten?”
I was still taken aback by my new surroundings. I came to my senses and stood up. I cleared my throat to begin to ask a question. “Wh-Where am I?”
“Look, we can talk about that later, but for now just answer the questions, K?”
“Uh- I guess an 8?”
“Alright, that’s good, that’s good-“ She hastily scribbled onto her clipboard, then flipped to another page before asking the next question. “What’s one thing you really liked from life?”
I stared at her, still in shock. “Liked from life? Am I ...” the words stopped in my throat as I came to the realization.
“Dead? Yeah. Welcome to the afterlife.” Her nonchalant attitude about all of this was the most surprising.
“Hm... Yeah, you seem a bit shocked. Want a glass of water? Here.”
A glass of water materialized in my hand suddenly. I jumped back in shock, but rather than falling to the ground, the glass stayed hovering in the air.
“So, yeah, I’m still gonna need you to answer the questions, hmmmkay?” She clicked her pen twice, then asked her question again. “What was your favorite thing from life?”
Remembering my life so far, memories came flooding back. “My goodness, where do I start? My wife, my kids... Oh, they must be crushed. May I go back? Can I see them again?”
She stared at me, an uninterested expression on her face. “Yeah, so, do you not get how death works? Kind of a one-way trip.” She scribbled down some other notes on her clipboard. “What was your least favorite part of life?” She looked back up at me.
“My least favorite part? Uh...” My mind was blank. I couldn’t think of anything. “I guess, all the hungry kids in Africa, that’s not... great?” I knew it wasn’t a good answer, but I couldn’t think of anything that I truly disliked about life. Sure, I had hardships, but was anything so bad in the long run?
She jotted down my response, then stared back up. “Alright. That’s the last question. Follow me.”
She began walking away, onwards through the endless room. I walked after her, but she slowly began approaching the horizon. Her silhouette got smaller and smaller, until I couldn’t see her anymore. I called out, but there was no response. I waited for what felt like hours, in the white infinite room, calling out for someone to hear me, until I dreadfully realized that this is what death is. | 2018-10-17T19:38:32 | 2018-10-17T18:22:30 | 414 | 99 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | Anger. It's always been a problem of mine. I knew from an early age when I hurt a school kid for no reason than his glasses made him look funny.
In the military i was kicked out before graduating boot, and that was okay with me. I hated rules. My dad had left me more money than i could ever spend, and it made me even more money without me doing a damn thing.
My first wife left after my anger lead my fists to her face, i shouldn't have done that. But I did, and oh well.
As i started mingling with the businessmen from my dad's company, i found that my anger made me stronger and them weaker. They couldn't handle it, and they loved me for it. I was tough talking, mean, and i got shit done.
The funny part is, since i was a kid I'd known i was a hero. Every action i took created a sensation in my head along with a number. I could see when an action saved lives, or by default took them. It made me even angrier, and somehow even stronger.
I didn't trust prepared food unless it was made on the spot. And now it was even more important for me to watch out for dangerous food. I had won the election against that stupid woman who called my supporters mean names. And now, now i was about to make Russia, North Korea, and everyone else bow to my wishes. I was going to be more than President, i was going to rule this whole fucking planet.
The subway subs really hit the spot for me, yet this one pissed me off. I didn't have time to go to another one and yet this one didnt have my four cheese bread. "Give me fucking italian bread then you jackass, and I'm going to make sure youre investigated for messing with my food!"
The italian bread was dryer than normal and in my rage I'd forgotten to chew right. The men under my employ tried to save me, but all they did was lodge it further in my throat and kick up a coughing fit. the air stopped coming, and i felt the signature tingle of my gift.
As i started to fade i felt the number enter my head. 5 billion....that had to be made up! Fake! I tried to shout, and the darkness took over. | "I'll take the itallian bmt," you say, wanting to try something new. "Okay sir here you go, anything else", "Nope thats it". "Okay, your total is $6.25" "Hey asshole, you saved 5 billion, want a medal?" a voice in your head says sarcastically. You have been hearing the voice in your head as of late, ever since you got drunk with your friends, and went to a waste disposal plant, where they gave you 50 bucks to taste the goop. The voice wasn't demonic as you may think, but it had a Brooklyn accent, and was very sarcastic. you could communicate with it by thinking. "5 billion, how the hell did i pull that off?" you ask, "Hey asshole, my job is to relay the numbers, I don't know how you did it, I just know that you did it". "Fine be a dick," you respond. You bite into your sandwich, and immediately spit it out, "Oh shit, who the hell can eat this without wanting to die." you throw the sandwich out and walk away. at this time a short angry man walks by (he looks like if you mixed George and Newman from seinfeld, and then hit that person in the face with a baseball bat.) "tommorow, im using those launch codes, and im blowing up the fucking earth," he thinks. "I'm fucking starving, why did i spend all my money on drugs, and the launch codes?" "Holy shit is that an Itallian bmt?" he says audibly. he runs to the trash can, and pulls the bmt out. he starts eating it, and moaning for some reason, you turn around "What the FUCK?" you scream, as he starts eating it. he eats it so quickly that he begins choking. "help," he manages to wheeze out. you now notice, that no one else is on this street, you hear nothing at first, then a voice breaks the silence, "assbag, fuck his shit up, I don't know for sure, but i have a feeling that that is what the five billion was." Without even second guessing your self, you stomp that fuckers head about a dozen times, and look down, all thats left of what formerly was a he, was a fractured skull, and scatered pieces of flesh. You see something sticking out of his pocket, you pull it out it says, "CIA Operative 935, level 10 security clearance" you hear a gunshot behind you, and everything goes black. You hear the voice once again, but this time, for the final time. "asshole, i was gone for a minut-- what the fuck?" somehow you respond i was shot, "wait a minute," he pulls you into the real world again, but you have no body now, you look at your dead body, and realise time is paused, you walk over to the man who shot you, and look in his pocket, he too was a cia operative. Time then resumes, and you stand there and look at the man who shot you, he stands near your now lifeless body, and looks at you, "poor son of a bitch," you hear him mumble, "it didnt have to be like this." He moves to the man you killed, and pulls out a cellphone, it is locked by a fingerprint, so he takes the corpse's hand and unlocks it, he sees footage of an MW2 private lobby, where him and another person used bullets too write messages to each other including the launch codes, he gaspes, and realises he was a double agent, he then looks at your body, picks it up, and tosses it in the trunk of your car, he later buries your corpse, in a ditch, on it he placed a stone. The voice returns one last time, "You may not know why you died, but you died, preventing 5 billion deaths, the man was planning on using the launch codes, to blow up the earth like in call of duty bo1 moon, but you killing him prevented that, farewell, friend" everything returns to darkness, until you finally cease to exist.
​
I understand that this was utter shit | 2018-11-17T18:54:59 | 2018-11-17T17:29:21 | 51 | 35 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | We called it humanity's worst disaster. History named it The Great Blinding. What that doesn't entail is that it was our own damn fault. The world was wrought into chaos after several months of warnings and we simply elected to ignore them, feigning assurance - "Oh that'll go away once we start on it."
"That's no problem for the government. They'll take care of us."
"Don't get involved, you'll just get in the way of the experts."
Ultimately, no one did anything about it because they thought others were on top of the problem. Indeed, this led to a fading away of layers of ozone that prevented the full wrath of the sun. The ozone wasn't fully gone, no but enough that the light truly lit up the earth. When it was day, we were all doomed. No corner of darkness could hide us. It took mere seconds and we were caught. There were legends of a group of roamers traveling eternally into the night, never letting the day come upon them. It's been 2 years since... The night doesn't last very long. We don't walk by sight anymore. We walk by faith. In faith, we sense the heat. We developed patterns of excursions into the dark. The already blind, we called them Ushers of Darkness, led us. They knew the world unlike us. We fell into line. We worshiped them. They walked the world, took us places with cool air, cold water, taught us to feel the world around us.
Then it happened. Colors poured into my periphery, filling my vision. At first, I was confused. Dreaming? Tripping? Then everything settled in place. The world stood in plain view. I was astonished at what I saw... Scribblings everywhere, didn't matter how far I went, even on the people themselves, myself included - "Don't tell them you can see." Granted, it was all dim since we were hiding in the dark but there was enough.
I wasn't sure what would happen if I did tell them despite the warning so I played along. I saw where the Ushers of Darkness led us. They led us through dangerous places but on safe paths, balancing on a thin rope death and life... I nearly got caught myself veering off the path because of my insatiable curiosity. As time went on, I got better at keeping up the act. It became dreary... I wish I could be blind again. We couldn't do much anyway. We were holed up from the sun's wrath.
Then I started feeling something was off... No one was talking. It was pure silence. Yet we kept doing the same things again and again, our excursions in the dark to scavenge, then back to our darkly caves with oases. But silence. I tried to talk but was afraid I'd slip up and show I could see. After all, what we talk about tend to be what we feel or see. The risks simply weren't worth it. Then I thought a thought...
​
What if they all could see? | \[tw, light self mutilation\]
It didn't happen all at once.
The nations all lost their sight gradually. It was a slow seeded plague on humanity; anyone from important leaders to the homeless lost their eyesight suddenly, and what doctors tended to them could not fathom what had happened. Maybe it was mass hysteria. Maybe it was another facet of mental illness. It was waved away as just another illness to cure when there were only a few cases. The government didn't really care at that time; it wasn't as much of a concern to them as what the president was writing on twitter.
When the blindness began to spread, when waves of people were turning up blind in the streets – causing panic, unable to see, throwing themselves at cars and businesses and clinging manically to any person they could dig their fingers into – they were corralled like animals. People died in throngs then; either by waves of suicide, their rotting corpses stinking up alleys and their homes, or by police brutality. The news pedaled their wares; that those who were ensorcelled by this blindness were driven mad. They couldn't be reasoned with. To keep the public safe, if someone was 'too far gone', the police had to react swiftly and that sometimes meant civilian losses.
There were protests at first. Once the desperate, untreated blind found their way into the throngs of people screaming outside of the white house and their local police stations, the riots ceased. People were too scared to leave their homes and.. the world changed. As more people fell to the blindness, those unaffected began to agree with the hysteric media. Yes, the blindness was a disease. Who cared where it came from, people were being attacked on the streets! It wasn't safe to leave your house! They were spreading the blindness!
Civilian militias formed and, quietly, using the blindness of the ill against them, they killed the easy ones first. Anyone who didn't struggle was just moments away from a frenzy, by their accounts. Bars would be full on the evenings, covered in barb wire and chicken mesh to keep away the desperate, like homes and schools and anything else that had to be kept safe. Spikes were placed on the ground, tearing up the feet of those without shoes, ruining the shoes of those who had them.
The blind weren't stupid. Aside from those hit with hysterics and who could barely function on their own when they could see, most of them learned quickly to keep to themselves. Many would claim they were blind before the epidemic hit, working together with those who actually had been and assistive facilities to get home, to get food, whatever they could to survive. This was short lived. It took one year for blindness to take everyone. Shame filled most of the world; those who had been killed in the initial hysterics had monuments built for them. Their names were etched, messily, into large concrete slabs that were painted and polished to be, at least to the touch, acceptable. Once the media organizations learned how in their blind stumbling, apologies were aired over the news. Groups of people came together to apologize to families of the lost. All of the anti-blind measures were removed. The ground was uneven and pocketed where once spike traps and other deterrents lived.
Society has recovered as much as it can. Doctors can't use their fancy medical equipment as well as they'd like, import and export is difficult when no one can see the state of the ocean to bring goods along. People get by. Society is recovering. We live in a world of blind being lead by the blind, by those who went blind and managed to adjust first.
My account was supposed to be just that. An account of things as they were; I lived through the worst of it. I was one of the hysteric many that fled into the streets first. I was terrified. Mania was replaced by fight or flight desperation for survival and I survived the first slaughter. I went home, barricaded myself inside, and did everything I could to find resources. It helped.
Time after the Great Blindness took everyone has been.. okay. Lackluster, almost. I spend most of my free time sleeping. My dreams will ebb between old movies I've loved; I can see in my dreams. The knowledge I had once of what everything in the world looks like is still in there somewhere. My waking hours are spent making some money through working misc jobs online; I'd become accustomed to the voice that will read back to me as I type away at my keyboard, double checking my finger placement with the soft braille markings on top. I pause after each paragraph of writing, listening to her recounting it, making sure I've phrased and structured everything alright, that I haven't made a typo anywhere that massively changed a word into some discombobulated semblance of language. Those who have fancy self driving cars use them mostly as expensive food delivery services, and I'm lucky to have the ability to pay for that.
After a delivery, mid-step in returning to the kitchen with a load of new groceries, my vision returned. | 2019-08-26T09:28:09 | 2019-08-26T09:04:01 | 285 | 41 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | I think of an old movie, a very old movie. I remember not the title, theme, characters, reality or fiction. I don't even remember what type of media the film came out on or its director or key actors. Just a single line.
"A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts"
I never felt a particularly strong connection with humanity and I certainly don't now, a ridiculous amount of time later. But watching them change, adapt and survive, in its own way, was beautiful.
I remember the first century of immortality. The fear of being on a world destined for nuclear fire or atmospheric annihilation and being the first volunteer to go to..... Ares? Tyr?..... Mars! The red planet!
I ran there as fast as I could and the moment they suspected I survived that particular one way trip I ran again to the next star, then constellation, then nebula, galactic arm, galaxy itself etc etc.
How long had I been running before Humanity finally caught up to me? I don't remember. I do remember seeing them though. Ridiculously tall, gangly things with uncannily large heads and reinforced with living metal and other additions.
The surprise they felt when they saw me. An ancestor they'd consigned to fossils living on a remote planet with an army of machines id built up over centuries. Ha! That gave them a shock.
They'd gone beyond violence. Violence still occurred of course, even among the alien species life was still a competition. But my distant descendants had given up on all out war not long after I'd left, turns out.
Well I say not long, relativity is a bitch.
That's when I returned to Earth. It had gone through a few names since, Terra, Gaia etc. Now it was simply called Homeworld. It was as foreign to me as any alien world now. The plates had shifted, animals changed, even the sky was a different colour. The dazzling cities were oddly familiar I suppose.
I became an observer of sorts. Maybe it was me trying to repay my debt to them after I ran, I don't remember. They evolved still. Flesh turned to metal, chemistry to electricity, individuality to consensus. Plans were devised perfectly in seconds and enacted over centuries. Even then they couldn't quite make sense of me.
And now here I am. The space out the window is black and nothing but. The last black hole that humanity clung to for energy and survival had shrivelled up a decade earlier and now the last batteries were dead.
The single last automaton that housed a galaxies worth of consciences joined me. Describing it would have been impossible, closer to a god than an entity now but doomed to die all the same.
"What will you do now?" It spoke in 21st century English. A gesture of comfort I think. After all I was little more than an amoeba to them.
"I suppose I'll sleep, for a very long time. Who knows? Maybe something new will happen."
They laughed. A trillion, trillion, trillion voices cascaded over each other in perfect harmony.
"I wish you luck old one, your optimism has been a great comfort. Thank you"
And with that, the last light in the universe went out. A trillion, trillion, trillion souls gone in an instant and myself alone.
I have seen civilisations rise and fall, stars be born, grow and die, galaxies drift and slowly dim. I have seen technology that in my primitive state I could never understand. Ferried between one fantastic event to another for countless billions of years.
And at last, humanity is gone too.
A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts, its privilege enough to just witness it. | It happened so long ago that the memory has almost slipped from my mind. I remember bits and pieces: the blinding white of an operating room, a technician with an over-loud wristwatch, the writhing pain each time I tried to suck in a breath. But in my mind’s eye, I can focus on a silvery liquid in an immense syringe. It cast brilliant light around the room. My eyes followed it, right up until the moment a surgeon plunged it into my chest.
The disease ravaged the planet. Medical institutions had thrown caution to the wind and the government had pulled out all the stops in an effort to find a working cure. My treatment group had a zero percent success rate - at least until I woke up a few days later in a rented freezer full of bodies. I clawed my way out of the body bag and was soon rescued by a pair of somewhat astonished and frightened technicians.
Despite a bit of Lazarus syndrome, my health improved steadily. The doctors released me after a few days and told me to return for some follow-up studies. The hospital later postponed those appointments after the doctors leading the study all succumbed to the disease.
Others in the medical field, thankfully, found a cure. Life on the planet returned to normal - or as normal as to be expected with so many dead. I went about my life. I owned my first home. I got my third job. I met my first wife. I saw the first people land on another planet. I learned my first instrument. I nearly had my first divorce.
It was around our reconciliation that I received a call from the medical institution from 30 years earlier. I went in. I submitted to all their tests. The interviewer asked me if they had recently updated the picture in my chart. I told him I hadn’t visited the hospital in many years. We parted ways.
Life continues. I got my first dream home. I stood at my wife’s beside as she passed. That memory still wells up from time to time, but I usually quell it with thoughts on the good times. That grief, however, convinced me to buy my first ticket off-world. I sold everything. The interviewer from years earlier called me up again for a follow-up. I told him his timing was impeccable.
The interviewer was very old by that point, with jowls down to the floor and more liver spots than bare skin. He and I both marveled at the self-same picture in the hospital’s records and how it looked almost just like me. I mentioned how I didn’t remember the last time I was bedridden with illness or crippled by injury. But, I told him, I do eat a lot of vegetables. He laughed as he mentioned immortality. I still remember his words. “You haven’t aged a day. At this rate, it seems you’ll live forever.” Facetiously, he added, “That’s going to be a terribly sad and lonely eternal existence.”I didn’t tell him my wife had just died.
I boarded the ship and struck out on another life. The species had just launched its first interstellar mission at that point, but I was headed to a well-established colony with thousands of people. I did have to convince the clerk at the office that I was 25 instead of 95. I had become quite good at that. The brochures and documents made clear it was intended as a one-way trip. My memory is good still, but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve journeyed between the two.
Life did get harder and lonelier in a way. The populations were smaller and the communities more tightly knit. As my experience grew, I started paying attention to smaller and smaller details. On the 30th trip to Hoxxes, you have to start marveling at the coloration and striation and faceting in the crystals and not just that the crystals exist at all. The progression of solar eclipses on Earth lost its appeal for many once Luna stopped occluding Sol, but I kept returning for the ring of fire as the moon danced in front of the sun. Although I did stop going back once the planet was vaporized by its sun. I’ve lost many good reminiscing spots that way.
Existence got easier for me as technology got better with lifespans into centuries and minds uploaded into machines. The procedure long ago, I discovered, made me incompatible with some technologies. But there remain explorers and surveyors who like to do things the old fashioned way. Some of my companions compete about age. Relativism makes some millennia old. I never have the heart to tell them that I’ve got them beat by a few orders of magnitude.
My memory is not perfect, but it holds what I treasure. I can’t keep all the wives and husbands and friends and colleagues in proper order. But I do remember each for their excellence and more. A few always bubble up first. I love Andromeda’s cheerful smiles, her small lips curling into pronounced dimples. I love Orion’s perfect hugs of tightness and warmth. I love Ursa’s humor with nicknames for pets. They and more live in my memory.
I’ve been marooned and lost in space several times over the eons. The solitude and serenity is immense. If I am around for the death of the universe, I know I can look forward to an eternity of experiences relived in fluid memory. But, before I drift for trillions upon trillions of years, I’ll start with this voyage to Circinus.
I do wonder if there’s an end for me. But I have found everyone’s end is the same. The difference is in the life they live. And each one that I have witnessed has beauty worth exploring. | 2020-10-25T12:09:22 | 2020-10-25T11:48:55 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.” | “Thank you,” I said stepping up to the old man. “Thank you so much.”
“Now don’t worry about it. We’re glad to have you. More hands the better.”
“I’ve been walking for days, hoping, and praying *they* wouldn’t find me. Day and night I’ve walked and we haven’t said a word. Haven’t lit a fire. We’ve walked through snow and ice.”
“We understand,” the old man said with a smile. “But you're safe now, here with us.”
“I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” I said, hugging the man, then pulling back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
The old man put his arm on my shoulder. “I understand. Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had it hard. We’ve all lost loved ones to *them.* But with us, you’ll be safe. What’s your name?”
“Me?” I say, looking down at my shoes. “James,” I say, then look up at him and stick my hand out. “Call me James.”
“Welcome, James. The name’s Gary Prescott. Used to be a furniture salesman. Not anymore,” he said with a sad smile. He had a long, grey beard that hung down to his maroon plaid jacket. The frost of his breath blew up into dark night sky above him. “Lost my wife on the fourth day of the outbreak. When it has spilled into the streets and there was no more hoping it would just end on its own. Not when *they* are coming through your window… I escaped in our old RV and ran out of gas around the Johnson Dike, that’s where I met up with this family.” He pointed to an older woman and man with a teenage girl sitting on a log next to a fire. “We’ve been on foot since. It’d be nice to get some more help here. We’re trying to make a start of it. We’ve been told of a trick to keep them away.”
“Oh, have you?” I asked curiously.
“Yeah, but where’d you say your family is?”
“They’re just outside, waiting for me to let them know it’s safe. They’re scared and hungry. Very hungry.”
I walked over towards the bushes, which was shrouded in darkness just outside the light of the campfire.
“Now be careful, James. That line of Morton's is the only thing keeping them out,” Gary said, holding up a can of Morton's table salt in his hand, the logo of little girl in her yellow dress danced as he shook the can.
“Sea salt,” I clarified, looking down at the sparkling white line of salt on the ground, kicking it playfully with my foot.
“What’s that you say?”
“Sea salt is what keeps us out, Gary." I bent down and pressed some salt grains on my finger and stuck it in my mouth. "This processed stuff? It's just no good.”
I leaned my head back and called out in my native tongue, filling the dark forest with my screeching.
My family slowly came out of the shadows. Out of the dark to feed. Crawling over the line of salt and towards the four humans.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Gary whimpered, and the others in the group screamed, getting off the log.
“Relax, Gary, this will all be over very quickly.”
\---
More [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/wiki/index) at r/CataclysmicRhythmic | The rest of my team looked at me with horror. The man who let us in, I took him to be there lighthouse keeper from his yellow coat, increased his breathing by 85% and his heart rate jumped to 176 beats per minute. Is human behavior, as the was clearly nowhere to run.
The rest of the team, James, Sue, and Bonnie quickly stepped over, while I brought up the rear before shutting the door. The lighthouse keeper reached for the firearm on his hip, but a stern look from me an a gesture with my own firearm advised him to a wiser course of action.
Our first step was to confirm the structure was secure. A line of sea salt along the walls drew any invading spirit into the salt and kept it there. We could sense it, and hated the sensation. The only way to escape was for the salt to return to water and release us, and no one wanted to return to that state.
James, always the gun nut, went to the second floor with his fancy boom stick. He told me what it was once, but I couldn't find the attention to care. It was loud, it knocked possessed off their feet, it worked.
Sue went around the home with her salt. She was an engineer student when this went down and had a knack for finding holes in the defenses. While I had been following this group she had thwarted me several times. Bonnie kept her safe, the big old BACK OFF hammer in hand at all time.
I was on sulker duty. The spirits were hard to see unless they moved. A moving spirit looks like rippling water, and the best way to deal with them is throwing a handful of salt. Most spirits are pretty aggressive and will run right at you, so they're easy to see and easy to hit. A few will try to dodge, but most aren't good at it. You'd think centuries of being turned to salt only to be freed by rising sea levels would make us patent, but most of us aren't. Sulkers, they are. They are also good at hiding.
I found two in the bathroom, two barely perceptible blobs the size of a child just beside the door. At least, to mortal eyes. To my sight they glowed faintly. I could see hair and hands, reminders of what they were before we were blasted off the face of the Earth by a vengeful God. I reached into my pouch and splashed them both with salt, their spectral forms vanishing as if they never were. I could almost hear their screams as I collected the now pink salt for later.
That night was a bad one. The possessed walked through the nearby town, their dead bodies trying to resemble life, but not doing a good job. I stayed up, my body needing less sleep in it's unnatural state.
"What are you?" I knew the lighthouse keeper was there.
"Ten righteous men." I replied. "We couldn't find among us righteous men." He looked confused. "Sorry, a bit of a sore spot. You have questions?"
"What are you?" He asked, this time his gun was in his hand, mine was in my lap. Still, keep calm, and this cold blow over. "What are those things?"
"For your first question my named was Tom. I was an abusive drunk who only stopped beating on my daughter when she got too strong to do so safely. When the seas rose and the spirits were loosed he found her and she was too soft hearted to throw him away. He almost got the whole team killed three times. At the same time I am longer of those souls, cursed to reside in salt until the judgement." I paused "I have Sue to thank for this body. She didn't like Tom abusing Bonnie or creeping on her, and so she tricked him into leaving the circle one day when he was drunk. I was just the lucky soul who got into him first."
"You hide it well."
"I didn't have to kill him. Most folks can kick us out after a few minutes, so we have to kill them and take their body. Tom was a weak willed man, so I kicked him out. I'd been following the group for a while, and came to like them with the exception of Tom. Sue knows, but how can she tell her best friend that she killed her father? Bonnie always loved her Dad, evil as he was, and him having a change of heart is just the best thing for her."
"So what now?"
"Now, we wait. The spirits are less active during the day, so we'll be off in the morning. The salt wall is a few more days away, and once we get out we can put this entire nightmare behind us. The government won't tell you, but there is only about 3000 of us spirits out there. This may be a horror movie, but it's not an end of the world scenario."
We chatted a bit more, I answered a few more questions, and he went off to bet. Once I was sure I was gone I reached into my bag and took out a small tupperware box. I quietly sprinkled the two sulkers in with the rest, their lighter pink salt contrasting with the blood red salt of the 10 strongest and meanest spirits I could find. I could hear them, a buzzing cacophony of screams and curses.
"Soon." I whispered, replacing the lid. Soon we would be past the quarantine. Then it was just a quick flight to a certain capital and a quick dunk in the nearest fountain. In a city that large there were bound to be weak souls born into power and money. "Soon." | 2021-03-02T06:59:44 | 2021-03-02T06:22:31 | 3,282 | 193 |
[WP] You find an abandoned altar in the middle of a forest. You’ve read about them in class. Abandoned altars would mean someone – or a group – had abandoned their deity. Saddened by the betrayal of the worshipper to his worshipped, you clean the altar. You never thought the forgotten god bless you. | It was a senseless pursuit to try and recover all things abandoned. But when one was right in front of you, how could anyone with a beating heart resist?
Amidst the plentiful trees and shoots that sprung from the forest floor, a stone altar sat, as high as my waist and as long as my body, but nearly every inch of its surface covered with moss, almost every crack filled in with lichens. It was probably loved, once, evident from the tenderly etched in symbols and lettering once filled with gold leaf, now merely speckled--but now, it sat abandoned and cold.
I knelt before it, feeling my knees give into the damp ground. I clasped my hands together, and prayed. This was the home of a deity--a forgotten god--I think. But I muttered my blessings anyway, for they were free and plentiful, and took but a moment of my time. My thoughts inadvertently drifted to when people would gather about, whether in revelry or tragedy, and bask in the glory of a god that looked after them through rain or shine. I wondered if this god ruled over its own domain, or an aspect of life, and thought about how the tribe that once sought validation from the deity have all but disappeared.
"It is nice," said the wind.
My eyes shot open, and my head warily spun around. The wind cannot speak. I had to have been mistaken.
"I did not expect to hear prayers," the breeze's tendrils flowed and tickled my ears, placing words into my mind unlike any other sort of speech or sound. "But it is appreciated."
"You must be--"
"I am," it said. "Forgive me, I would tell you my own name, but I cannot remember it for the life of me."
I continued to kneel, my knees sinking ever deeper.
"I'm sorry," I muttered.
"You have nothing to apologize for," the wind tinkled and laughed. "It is fate. To still exist is a blessing to me."
"It is?"
"This is my life now," the breaths of nature swirled. "There was a time when my form was more corporeal, more awesome--but that a past long gone."
"I'm sorry," I said again. "I wish I could do more."
"You are doing more--more than anybody else has had in what feels like a thousand years," the gust ebbed. "Thank you, but please feel free to leave me be. I appreciate it, but you have your own fate and blessings to chase, and not on an old, forgotten deity."
"But you are abandoned," I said. "How can there be a worse fate for a god?"
"My mortal shelter now serves as home to the ever-shifting flora and fauna of the forest, an intricate and undeniable ecosystem of so many lives," the forgotten god smiled. "There could be worse fates, I think."
---
r/dexdrafts | Rust and nature had caused the gears of this once beautiful clock to grind to a halt. It was the last remnant of a temple to the old Goddess of Time and Machines. She had all but died when the Nature Goddess and her son the Plague God had created the Bisclavret Fever that had run rampant through the civilized lands. It killed most and turned those who survived into horrible beast creatures that were little better than mad dogs in the moonlight. Few were left untouched in remote places. The Goddess of Time and Machines left unattended. Abandoned.
I had studied the old texts under my master. He was one of the handful of survivors from the original plague almost 145 years ago. Just a boy, he survived all this time thanks to whatever magics his family had given him. I don't understand most of it, truthfully. I'd never seen a city or factory or even the great crowds of people he described. Just hard scrabble survivors living in small bands trying to avoid the beasts. Just these rare remnants of civilization yet unclaimed by nature.
*WELCOME CHOSEN ONE*
I wheeled about and drew up my charms in both hands. Some beasts were clever enough to mimic people, even after all this time. I scanned the forest around me but even with what little magic I knew, I could not penetrate the darkness. I should have been more frightened but something in this voice comforted me. It felt familiar.
"Who so welcomes me to this place?" I ask firmly into the darkened forest around me. I pause and wait for an answer.
Nothing. Silence.
I lowered my hands slightly. I'm uncertain at this point. Perhaps this far travel had infected my mind. The constant (justified) paranoia getting to me. I finally decided to put away my charms and paraphernalia.
Instead, I drew my boot knife and walked up to the alter. I don't know what possessed me but I started to scrape away the rust and debris that had accumulated on the surface. I used an extra sock and the water from my canteen to clean the clock face. I started slotting fallen pieces back onto the alter as if I had worked on it all my life. I toiled like a crazy person with the fervor of the possessed. Before I knew it, what were the late evening shadows had become the first rosy fingers of dawn.
*WELL DONE MY CHILD. WELL DONE. I KNEW YOU WOULD COME EVENTUALLY BUT YOU ARE TWO MONTHS, THIRTEEN DAYS, AND SEVEN HOURS BEHIND MY CALCULATIONS.*
"What?" I croaked. My throat was parched. I had not drank since the night before.
*I AM THEODORA, GODDESS OF TIME AND MACHINES, MATRON OF CIVILIZATION, DEFENDER OF HUMANKIND, AND YOUR NEW BENEFACTOR.*
I was not impressed by this goddess. It doesn't take a genius (even one as tired as me) to figure out she had used me to clear her altar. I was angry.
*YES, i DID USE YOU. YES I CAN READ YOUR HEART. YES i DID LET THE PLAGUE OVERTAKE HUMANITY. RULING OVER TIME I FORESAW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I HAD TAKEN ANY OTHER PATH THAN THIS. ALL OTHERS LED TO TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF THIS WORLD. SO, TEN MILLENIUM AGO I STARTED YOUR FAMILY LINE IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION TO MAKE YOU, CHOSEN ONE. AND HERE YOU STAND.*
I cleared my throat as best I could, "So what do you propose?"
*HOLD YOUR HAND TO THE ALTAR. BECOME THE TURNING OF THE TIDE.*
How could I refuse? I placed my hands on the lonely altar clock in the forest at dawn. With an all mighty screech the gears began grinding and the altar started to glow with a soft light.
*YGGDRA AND BUBUS WILL SUFFER FOR THEIR FOLLY. YOU ARE NOW THE FIRST OF A NEW BREED.*
Streaks of silver started to run up my arm. My hand that was once weak and supple flesh started to harden and blacken like old iron.
"What are you doing?!" I asked in utter terror. I couldn't remove my hand.
*THEY MADE MOCKERIES OF HUMANS. THEY SPREAD THEIR MINDLESS SAVAGRY AGAINST ME. BUT YOU ARE GOING TO BE UPLIFTED FROM A BEING OF FLESH INTO A LOGICAL, PERFECT MACHINE. THE BEST PART OF HUMANITY AND LEAVING BEHIND THE WORST. YOUR ARE THE PROPHET OF THE SECOND DAWN OF HUMANITY. GO FORTH AND CONQUER.* | 2021-05-01T23:43:50 | 2021-05-01T21:47:19 | 125 | 93 |
[WP] You are wizard or witch summoning your first familiar. Your friends are summoning dragons and Chimeras you summon a white raven. Your friends laugh but the teachers look horrified. | The white raven stood on the ground in front of me, cawing and flexing it's wings. The other students laughted and pointed, catching the attention of the teachers who let out shocked gasps. The laughter was cut short as one of the students screamed.
It was Jezzi, a friend. Her familiar, a majestic dragon, was being elongated and shrinking, as if being drawn towards the raven, who looked as though it was inhaling the dragon, despite it being many times larger than itself. As it did so, I felt a surge of power and Jezzi fell to the ground, frightfully muttering that her magic was gone. As was her familiar.
Stunned silence echoed through the room. '*What is happening?*' I thought, too shocked to speak, '**It is a familiar's job to ensure their master achieves great power!**' a voiced boomed in my head. The raven looked at me with glowing red eyes. '**We must consume the others, for they are weak!**', '*What are you talking about? They're my friends, I can't...*' before I could finish, a firebolt was cast in my direction.
By instinct, or perhaps my hand was guided, I somehow took control of the firebolt and crashed it into the ground. "You've become a monster!" It was Therod, one of the students I'd become friends with. "No! I don't know what's happening!" He didn't listen, but prepared another spell as his familiar, a manticore, charged the raven.
I felt another surge of power as the manticore met the same fate as the dragon, and Therod fell to the ground, crying as his spell fizzled into nothing. The others had panicked at this point, some running wildly. The teachers set up barriers between me and the fleeing students as another created a portal, through which they funneled students and familiars. A few didn't make it. As the raven consumed their familiars they fell, one was carried through before the portal shut.
'**It matters not that they fled, Master, we will find them!**' the raven spoke in my head. '*What about my...friends?*' the raven flew over to them. '**They live but hold no magic, it is yours now, Master.**' '*Can I give it back?*' '**Do you want to?**' I looked over at them, feeling the power coursing through my body like electric blood. '*No, I wan't more.*' | Zargossa swallowed her cough, and jumped in her chair. Her eyes glanced left and right. *Nobody saw that, good.*
"You're really excited aren't you?" James said from behind Zargossa, loud enough for the class to hear.
She swallowed, and turned around in her chair to meet his sly smile. *Why is this boy so obsessed with me?*
"I'm pretty excited," she said silently.
"Me too," James almost shouted, "I reckon I'll get a d-"
The door burst open, Proffessor Widdleburg marched into the room. The room became silent quicker than a dragon blinked. He put down the heavy ancient book he was reading on the table in the fornt of the classroom, and looked at us. Proffessor Laydo followed after, her small green feet waddling through the room.
"Today we are going to summon our familiars," he began abrubtly, but was interrupted by Laydo.
"Isn't it better if we have a quick repetion first?" Her light voice made Zargossa's ears hurt.
"If you insist. Familiars are magical in nature, they are as we very well know, the creatures. we draw our magic form. Is that sufficient?"
"It is sufficient."
"Summoning them is simple, all you have to do is draw magic to your heart, and utter "come my familiar" in magicus,"
The class sat silent.
"Zalios Thalios, you fucking goblins."
"How dare you Widdleburg!" Professor Laydo snapped, personally offended.
"My Aplogies. Anyway, you may begin."
*You may begin,* Zargossa parroted automatically, and Widdleburg stared at her with ire. Her face turned red, quickly realizing she had said it out loud.
There was a fluffy small drake, the size of a dog, in the front of the classroom. Angelia had succeded in summoningher familiar. She didn't smile, for her this was expected.
"Falios Casalios," James burst out behind her. *It's Zalios Thalios you fool!*
Zargossa focused on her own table, her notebook, her heartbeat. She had to bring magic to her heart. A task easy for some, harder for others, complicated for Zargossa. Most people described magic as blood they controlled, but Zargossa felt snowflakes where her magic was.
She closed her eyes, time dissapearing and pulled the snowflakes towards her hearth. It tickled as the magic sprinted to her heart from every direction. She could feel her heart turn cold, squish and bubble.
"Zalios Thalios," she said and nothing came out.
She looked around the classroom. The other students had already summoned their familiars, even James had done it. *How long was I gone?* She focused. Some students seemed sad, dessipointed whilst others were happy and satisfied. She saw golden dragons with long mustaches and black chimeras and majestic griffins.
She was really excited to find out what hers was.
"*Zalios Thalios," she commanded both in thought and will.*
A cloud appeared in front of her. The cloud dissipated and she was left with a white raven. It's beak had a beak the colour of coal, and it's claws were brutally sharp. It stared at her. *A white raven, I've never heard of a white raven.*
"A white raven, that's the worst one possible, hahahahah!" James shouted and Widdleburg jerked his head away from Angelia.
"Oh great white dragon," Widdleburg exlaimed.
Laydo shuffled forward to her desk.
"This is disgusting," Laydo shouted.
"What?" Zargossa managed, something clouding her throat. Perhaps it was anxiousity from having everyone's attention, or perhaps it was fear from seeing the teachers so shocked.
"You fucking child! Did you have to come here and learn magic?" She spat, spit flying all over the desk.
Zargossa teared up.
"What's happening?" Zargossa said, the clot in her throat growing larger.
The crow flapped it's wings. It's masters feelings distressed it.
"You stupi-" Laydo was interrupted by Widdleburg.
"Stop it Laydo this is not her fault."
"What's my fault?" Zargoss asked.
"The white raven signalls the beginning of the end." | 2021-07-06T17:38:32 | 2021-07-06T12:59:33 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] Most species glorify war . We don’t. The reasons soon become apparent to the rest of the galaxy, when we got invaded . | It's been almost 5,000 years. We made it past the stars, past what we thought were the borders, and we found we were not alone. Once we knew that suddenly we weren't a set of countries fighting for resources, we were one race trying to function in a vast universe. The U.I.F. or United Intergalactic Federation have been hounding us to join them since we crossed the edge of our solar system. However humans know that you don't make alliance's until you know the lay of the land. Some would say 5,000 years is plenty of time to observe, but with the entire universe and thousands of species all with their own culture and perspectives we've barely scratched the surface. The U.I.F. seems to respect warfare most, despite being a supposedly United group they go to war with each other once every couple hundred years, usually when one species think they've got the upper hand on a rival.
Humanity hasn't gone to war since joining the galactic stage. Just because we haven't done it doesn't mean we forgot it or stopped preparing for it though. Sadly the U.I.F. apparently grew tired of waiting for us to join them and demanded our immediate surrender or every one of them would bring down their forces upon us. That was their first mistake. We'd been peaceful, we'd done nothing to provoke them beyond telling them No. Their second was failing to study, while we watched we studied their tactics their methods of warfare, this "Great Honor" they spoke of. It had been pitiful and had they been allies we might have helped them understand true warfare. You don't simply fly an obvious ship in, land in a capital and discuss where and when a battle takes place. That is not warfare, I don't think we ever came up with a proper word for it. Closest I've ever heard it compared to is a more lethal game of paintball.
Their final mistake though was their worst one yet. In their demands for surrender they included a demand for one child from each family to be turned over to the Federation to do as they pleased with. I think had that not been in there maybe we would have shown some mercy, humanity is capable of it after all. Unfortunately this demand roused bloodlust not just in soldiers but in every human who heard about it. They didn't want a pound of flesh, they wanted a galaxy of ash, and so that is what was ordered to happen.
My name is Admiral Adonis Wolf, though you may be more familiar with the monicker "Devourer." This is tough and please make sure that you broadcast this properly and in it's entirety, no editing no messing with the story or the order or trying to make it something it's not. Our enemies claimed war was glorious, that there was nothing more honorable then to die in combat, to prove your planet and species were superior. They didn't understand anything about war. We taught them though, we taught them what War really is. Brutal, cruel, destructive and in the end a complete waste.
We didn't even take time to discuss the possibility of negotiations after those terms were sent. They'd been broadcast publically to the entire species so there was no chance of doing so. Our people have always known to never get near the cubs because mama bear won't be happy. Well they decided to try and poke the cubs with a sharp stick while yelling "what are you gonna do about it." We had no choice but to respond, and 5,000 years of peace hadn't softened anything. Someone once said "Those who would have peace must prepare for war" and we had always held thoroughly to that.
The first salvo was simple, each species had a unique biology we had studied them all and knew what their weak points were. So we targeted that, each planet was obliterated within hours. Most of the planets are gone now, a few exist still as wreckage. The U.I.F. well they tried to surrender, they begged us to stop after the first few planets were gone. We returned to them a simple message, the one that they had asked us whenever they showed us one of their petty little 'wars'. A single sentence bitterly spoken "Isn't it Glorious?" | Humanity was already tired of war.
They waged it even before forming a civilization. Over the millennia they changed only means of war. From stick and stones, to spears and bows, then swords and crossbows, to tanks and gun, and finally to space armadas capable of ripping planets and stars apart on a simple command.After all this warring periods humanity… just got tired of this. And just then they looked outside to look for others.
Decades passed before they found them, other life, other species, each unique in their own respect. But most of them had one thing in common. The war, so despised now by humanity, was hold in great respect, a source of pride, of a greatest honour.
And so admiral Hellen was just watching a war between Therax and Gloo’oma. A pointless war with meager tactics and group of ragtag warriors invading each other planets. She was looking at the video feed with contempt, earning very unhappy response from Gloo’oma diplomat.
“This war, what a pointless thing,” she said boringly. She watched, but never felt need to analyze the fight. From her perspective, it was like watching bunch of ants fighting invading termites. Each side played their specialty and strength, but after all it was something a human civilian would think when he heard “war tactics”. Both sides just slammed each other with numbers. “Is this what you call a war?” she asked.
Diplomat misunderstood her words and tone. The mockery missed the mark, as birdlike representative puffed his feathers with pride.
“Yes! We will grind those vermin to dust and fertilize the earth!” he said excitingly. “We already took dozens of their system, and scales of war already tipped deep for our favour! They are weaklings bringing shame to an art of war, so war is as good as over!”
“The art of war, you say?”
She could only sigh. She was no versed in ground invasion or defence. As the infamous admiral who served in last human war over four centuries ago, she was in no position to give advice. But she could see they were inferior. But her close friend and confidant, a former general of an enemy empire, would laugh in their face, calling them names so insulting, even her would feel ashamed.
“Calling this an art is such an unfortunate wording,” she expressed her sentiment, shaking head at those words.
But those words were taken once again wrongly. Humans after century and a half of standard year had a sticker of “pacifist”. They weren’t taken entirely seriously, but they had gained some respect because of giant fleets they used to move along with diplomats. Those alone were enough to deter any willing enemies. Only once humanity received declaration of war, but once they showed up with enormous fleets in every system inhabited by their enemy, the war ended soon after it started with immediate capitulation.
“Look, admiral, what war looks like. Maybe one time, you humans will understand the wonder of gaining honour in behalf of your people!”
Hellen was silent, watching pointless massacre, all done in the name of some vague concept.
After all, war brought no honour, no glory. Only grievance, pain, and division. And humanity knew it all too well.
---------------------------------
However the galaxy never slept. For another decades humanity watched others as they fought and grew larger, more advanced, prouder than ever. One by one, smaller civilizations fell and became integrated into bigger empires, each spanning hundreds or thousands of star systems. And they started eyeing humanity space. Rich systems, efficient in productions, exporting and importing more goods than empires ten times their size.
They were rich, and their numbers were plenty. Docile and peaceful, only threat being their fleets they never took pride in. But over the years the size of humanity fleets never increased and empires felt less and less threat. And some – finally – were strong enough to take on that strange wraith that watched everyone from the sidelines. All of them decided to form a coalition and attack few humanity planets to probe around, and since they didn’t meet any resistance, they went for another strike.
And so, donning diplomat insignia, Hellen stood proud in the centre of Galaxy Assembly, watched by dozens of aliens.
“I take it you won’t take back your declaration?” she asked, with voice devoid of any excitement or nervousness, sounding almost as if she was bored. “This coalition of yours, you intend to engage in warfare with us, humanity?”
“Once I said to you, admiral, that one day your specie will learn meaning of “art of war”. It saddens me that after all those years, you never took a step and stood like a cowards, watching everyone like a scared tok’za!” screamed feathered alien. She vaguely remembered him, but didn’t really bother to remember him. After all, he would die much earlier than her, and had no significant function. He was no friend and no enemy, until now. “We will teach you starting today, when humanity will fertilize earth for our crops to grow high into skies!”
There was no negotiations. She simply torn of her diplomat insignia and threw it aside, and number of other humans stood up from their chairs and followed her suit. It was all over. A slumbering giant was forced to wake up, and it didn’t like it any bit. But he couldn’t go to sleep, since some flies tried to eat him alive. A shame, sleeping giant was gentle only because he sleeps and pays no mind to flies.
“Then let it be know. We will show you war so brutal, so soulless, so dishonourable, full of pain, grieviance, and devoid of any hope, you wish you never ascended as intelligent species,” she declared in almost monotone. “It pains me greatly to see suffering once again, after the peace we finally managed to achieve after millennia of infighting. But you wanted to teach us the so called art of war. This is no art, there is nothing beautiful in war. You never fought a real war, and we, humanity, will show you what it is.”
She turned on heel and walked out from the room, as calm as ever, and same was for other diplomats and officials – they were mostly calm, but some showed an expression full of grief. They all followed admiral, hearing a call of war as a simple mundane task.
Humanity was truly bored of war. | 2021-08-13T20:07:23 | 2021-08-13T17:47:30 | 139 | 81 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | The clerical assistant stamped the paperwork and handed the receipt back to Mister Henry.
"Thanks for coming in and filling this out. Mister Edwards has been informed via email-" Before the assistant could finish, the door of the small claims office was kicked in and a man soaked in blood appeared in the threshold.
"You can't do that! It's illegal!" complained the clerk. A bullet splintered a cloud of spraying wood from her desk and both the office's patrons went rigid.
"Retaliation rights!," Mister Edwards barked. He aimed his magnum at Mister JHenry, whose hands shook uncontrollably as Mister Edwards took his smartphone and showed it to Mister Jones. It had the email just sent to him by the clerk's office regarding Henry's intention of murder.
"A little late on this, don't you think? You're supposed to fill out the paperwork *before* you send an armed hitsquad to someone's house. Asshole," growled James Henry.
"Please, James- we can work something out- a- a promotion or maybe a-" Mister Edwards begged, sweat pouring down his brow. Two police officers moved near him.
"Sir, please come with-"
"RETALIATION RIGHTS!" Henry warned and kept his gun held over his head. The officers immediately moved away, nodding and accepting. Henry's gaze turned again to Mister Edwards.
"Nah uh, Marcus Edwards. I've been looking forward to this since the day you locked me in the copier room over night. I thought about suing your ass for improper usage of a kill order. It would be fitting for you to lose the only thing in the world that's precious to you- your fucking money. But, retaliation, frankly...is making me so much happier." Mister Edwards was crying. James Henry put the gun against Edwards' temple.
"D- don't I get last words?" Edwards compalined.
"You just did." A blood soaked bullet splattered red across the clerk's office wall. | I released a deep sigh as I lifted the still smoking barrel of my handgun to my lips, giving it a brief kiss. It was, by far, the most sound investment I'd ever made. After placing it on the table and stepping over the would-be assassin's body I approached the closet nearest my door to don my jacket: the black leather, I had decided two days ago when I received the notice that yet another would be coming to make an attempt on my life. At least with this one I'd had an idea as to when he'd be coming, and the timing couldn't be any more perfect. However, I had to keep my priorities in mind. I pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Julie, my girlfriend. She had been on edge since I received the notice and she always hated it when I forced her to stay away from me until it was dealt with. I approached the desk and began to scan over the other document I'd received two days prior as the rings began to come across the line. I couldn't even begin to guess how many times I'd read it already, but one more time couldn't hurt.
*The selected individual will be notified once approval has been received. If you opt in, you may be notified via SMS when they have been informed.*
Two rings, and then her voice came over the phone as she answered. I could hear the relief in her voice as I continued scanning. "Is it done? Is it over? Are you alright?"
*Once you receive notice that the individual has been notified you are free to proceed with any methodology you see fit.*
"I'm fine, not even a scratch this time. I told you these morons don't stand a chance. Came crashing through the door, caught him with the hollow points as soon as he stepped around the corner."
"You were worried about this one. I could tell."
*However, you maintain liability for any damage caused to privately owned property.*
"That's why I rushed him. Didn't want him to have time to plan. Seems to have worked. How's my son doing?"
*The individual indicated may defend him or herself using any means legally available.*
"He's scared, but I'm sure he'll be much better once I give him the news."
*You may not kill others who attempt to defend the individual you have selected. They retain their rights to defend the individual and will not face sentencing for attempting to stop you if they are present at the time of the attempt.*
"Good." I put down the document, turning my attention to my computer monitor. A few clicks and I reached a map. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I could almost see the little red dot pacing back and forth within the apartment less than 15 minutes away. Checking my watch, I saw that it was now six o'clock PM. Her voice came over the phone again, "You have to do this. This is three times. As soon as she gets another boyfriend she's going to try and convince him, too." I released a deep sigh before responding, "I know. I can see her at home now." Standing up, I approached the corpse on my living room floor and removed his phone from his pocket. I glanced over his messages, paying careful attention to his format and spelling. I had to do this just right. I could hear the remorse in Julie's voice as she spoke. "I'm sorry you have to do this." Again stepping over the corpse I headed back to the bedroom to grab my rifle, texting from the dead man's phone along the way.
*its done showing police permit now ur son wasnt here*
I removed the rifle from the closet and pulled the bolt, chambering a round. I hadn't answered her, she knew I was dreading this. "Just remember, you're doing the right thing for your son."
*o thank god ur alright. we can pick him up from his bitch tomorrow. dinner to celebrate?*
"I know. I'll call you when it's done."
*good idea meet outside in 30* | 2014-03-17T08:23:17 | 2014-03-17T06:28:23 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] You are the captain of the first starship to use an instantaneous drive. Each and every planet to have harbored intelligent civilization was wiped by obvious war. Only a single massive statue of a familiar but unexpected figure remains standing on every world you visit. | "Oh my god..." Ensign Rodriguez whispered.
It was the same on every world we'd seen so far. Cities were reduced to impressive mounds of rubble, slowly being reclaimed by local vegetation. Most of these planets were pocked with craters from weapons unknown. All but a few had high carbon dioxide levels in their atmospheres from the fires that had raged across their surfaces. Within what few shelters still stood, brittle bones would collapse into dust if touched.
But this world was different. There wasn't actually any signs of destruction other than the complete lack of biological activity, indicating some advanced "clean" weapons technology had been deployed. Some power infrastructure even seemed to still be intact, according to our electromagnetic sensors. The engineering of this culture was so impressive that even hundreds of years of abandonment hadn't brought down their towers. It was this engineering, surely, that had allowed the familiar statue to remain standing for so long.
On every world so far, there was a single, massive statue. On almost all of them, time had eroded the features away on it until it was barely recognizeable as anything but a humanoid shape. But on this world? Here, the statue stood unfazed by the elements, and it was by this miracle that we could finally see the face that every destroyed culture had apparently seen.
"Captain, the statue..." the pilot started.
"I know, Jenkins." I sighed, rubbing my temples.
"Sir, I think you'd better come with us" one of the two security officers on deck said as they approached, impulse pistols drawn.
I nodded and stretched out my hands to be cuffed, staring once more at my own face carved in stone on the viewport. | "Another one," the young science officer sighed.
Dan sighed back in reply. How was he going to report this back to Houston? Back to the President? He'd be the laughingstock of the entire planet. He wouldn't just be accused of doctoring the evidence, people would *assume* it. He might even be tried for treason.
*They wouldn't, would they?* he thought to himself, *try me for treason?*
But the more he mulled over the question, the more he realized that it would be inevitable. With Earth's resources dwindling, it was of the most extreme importance that his crew find a suitable planet to terraform. A list of likely candidates had been selected after *years* of study, and he had systematically jumped to each of them, one after another.
The discovery of what was happening at the first had been surprising. Long-range photography made it appear to be a perfect analog of Earth, but on close inspection it appears that this was some sort of holographic construct, created for purposes unknown.
Underneath the hologram... nothing but a wasteland. Well, almost nothing...
The place had been blanketed in some sort of weapon, apparently both more powerful and more precise than the worst bombs nuclear technology had made possible on Earth. Entire sections of the planet had been systematically excised, removed as if someone had taken a giant scalpel to the land and scraped off the offending bits. Places that might have provided valuable resources - water, rare minerals, and even areas with large amount of soil nutrients, had been mined through this methods, as far as what his crew could deduce from the very little left behind. And even the atmosphere itself had been siphoned away somehow.
It was clearly artificial, and burned patches indicated it had been rather harsh. It was gradually deduced that whatever had culled this planet had plundered both its resources and its inhabitants, judging by the damage to areas that would make noteworthy population centers. It had been efficient. Nothing was left, save for two things.
The first... well, the first was glaring. But the second was found by pure luck.
While doing a ground-based survey, one of the ground probes caught it on a camera. A rock, otherwise ordinary, with scratches on it. Lots of scratches. Markings. Language!
The team of linguists was put to work, and eventually, they were able to work out what they believed it said, more or less:
"The (unknown) are taking everything. We are (unknown) to them, but they (unknown) (unknown) death. Our (unknown) weapons (unknown) (unknown) (unknown) ineffective. We are dying. Gone soon. Remember us."
It was with a chill that Dan realized that the culling of this planet had not been something the inhabitants did. This had been a war... or worse, an extermination. And that made the monument all the more bizarre.
Getting all the information his crew could find, Dan finally made the determination to bring his ship to the second planet on the list... only to discover it similarly culled. As was the third planet... and the fourth... and the fifth. Planets light years apart, *galaxies* apart, all having met the same fate. And every one of them with that goddamn statue.
Towering above the tidy destruction of civilization after civilization, each one measuring over 1,000 meters tall, and made of golden yellow beryl, blood-red ruby, and black jet... was a statue of Pac-Man.
Dan shook his head and sighed again. He knew that when he finally returned home, he'd be forever known as the man who claimed that Pac-Man ate the universe. | 2015-02-11T12:18:19 | 2015-02-11T12:14:08 | 50 | 26 |
[WP] A kid doodling in a math class accidentally creates the world's first functional magic circle in centuries.
Magic being real in the past is your choice really. | Everyone stood and stared at the minotaur in the centre of the room, holding a towel at it's waist.
"Well this is awkward" said the minotaur
"Uhm…ah…i…uh…ah" the teacher tried to form words, failing each time.
"Oh, sorry" said the minotaur, wrapping the towel all the way around "So…uh, math, that's... that's good. It's good to get an education"
The class kept staring except for who Max looked down at the piece of paper on his desk.
"Look, if you're going to scream could you just get it out of the way now?" said the minotaur
"I…I don't think anyone's going to scream it's just…well this is new to us" said the teacher
"Tell me about it. I mean I had the in front of your class while naked nightmares, but I always assumed…"
"That it would be your class" said the teacher, who then looked surprised they had just finished the minotaur's sentence
"Yeah. I mean you think you're shocked but at least you're still in your world. And also dressed"
"Uh…Mr…uhm…Minotaur" said Max
"Yes Mr. Human?"
"I get it" said a random student
"I…uhm…don't quote me on this but I think you came out of my piece of paper"
"Huh?"
"Well I was doodling-"
"In class" said the teacher "Sorry"
"And then the doodles started glowing and the lights started flashing and there was a puff of smoke and then…uh you showed up"
"Let me see. Huh…yea…uh…yup. Yeah, no this would do it. Where did you learn these symbols?"
"I was just doodling"
"Well I guess with all the students in all the math classes that are doodling eventually something like this would happen. That's a little math for you" said the minotaur, looking around "chance. Anyway yeah, could I use your…"
Max handed him his pencil which snapped as soon as he closed his hand.
"Oh shit sorry sorry. Don't swear kids does anyone have…thank you"
He took the offered pencil in two fingers and crudely drew on Max's piece of paper. A portal opened.
"Well I hope you've all learned a very important lesson about paying attention and not doodling in class. And also that there's multiple worlds and that magic is real. Oh…crap. I left the water running. That's just wasteful and I'm going to get hammered on the hydro bill. Don't worry…human"
"Max"
"Max pleased to meet you. You didn't know, but just to be safe I think I might take this piece of paper. With your permission"
"Uh ok"
"Believe me there are things that would do some pretty nasty…stuff, for this piece of paper. Well anyway, goodbye"
The minotaur stepped through the portal, it stayed for a second and then disappeared. Everyone turned to the teacher.
"Uh…class dismissed" | The clock reads ten till two, and David is bored. He looks at the front of the room where the teacher is marking up the board with numbers David doesn't understand. In the center is a circle and all kinds of symbols David has seen a hundred times yet he still doesn't understand. He looks back at his sheet of paper, almost untouched. This class will last until three, that's an hour and ten minutes of staring at a blank piece of paper and ignoring the drone from the front of the class.
He checks the clock, but it's still ten till two.
Faced with the options, insanity from boredom and doing actual work, he has a difficult decision to make.
He picks up the pencil and starts doodling.
The simple fact is that David, while not a moron, is exceptionally poor at math. The numbers mix together in the air between the teacher and him, and enter one side of his head just to leave through the other. Math just doesn't make sense to him, and the symbols on the board are as close to gibberish as it gets, so David starts with the only thing he recognizes: a circle.
Now, David's no fool. He knows how to make a circle- geometry has always been more art than math to him- and he takes time to get out a compass and carefully make a perfect little circle. If he were paying attention he might know that the circle he created was something special but, again, David is not a smart child and he sees the circle as just that: nothing of importance, just a doodle on a page. Even when he cuts himself finishing the circle, the compass roughly tearing the tip of finger spraying miniture droplets of blood across the paper, he sees nothing special about the day. He doesn't hear the singing, softly drifting in on winds unheeded. He doesn't see the circle of graphite shrink and shape, settling into the paper and the very desk beneath it.
And he starts drawing symbols, he doesn't notice that they're very different from the ones on the board.
David copies everything he can see down as well as he can, as if some universal understanding of the objects of mathematical power would be transferred to him by the writing of it. The symbol for Pi became squiggles, Xs and 7s and 8s and even 2s were mistranslated onto the paper, all along the circle. And as the teacher droned on about how to find the area of a circle, David's circle began to glow.
The singing was loud enough for David to hear it now, a soft melody drifting in on the wind from the air conditioner. To David it seemed they were singing his name- a sweet tone of 'Daaaavvvviiiiid' ad infinitum.
The song grows even louder and David is scared now; scared that the people around him don't hear anything, scared that the circle is glowing, scared that the runes are beginning to swirl around the circle like they're being flushed down the drain.
And at this moment something clicks in David's head. A forceful intuition works its way into the cogs and gears of his mind, like the instinct that drives all the salmon in the world to the same lake, and acting on such instinct he opens his hand and slams his palm into the center of the circle.
The paper glowed brighter than the sun- no, the sun and everything else *dimmed* as the light from the paper grew- and the room around David slowed. The *world* around David slowed.
And from the paper came a power, an almost solid energy that flowed into David's arm, glowing under his skin like radioactive blood. He pointed to the board in the front, covered with the teacher's sloppy handwriting, and clicked his fingers like he would when pretending to fire a gun.
The energy poured forth from his arm and leaked across the room, a stream of smokey light. It covered the board, all across the slick white surface it spread, until it had covered the entirety of it.
And then David blinked, and time around him unlocked, the world started spinning yet again, the sun returned to its glory, and the birds again started singing outside.
But the beautiful voices that had called his name were no longer singing. And the paper was a burnt up frame missing the original circle.
The only evidence that it had been real- besides the *feeling* of the energy entering him- was drawn across the board: The teacher, bald head and all, was illustrated in great detail. The...terrible situation, for lack of a better word, he found himself in was in perhaps even *greater* detail.
And no one had a clue what had happened. The teacher fumbled to erase the drawing, and was quick to throw accusations across the room at the usual troublemakers. David just chuckled and looked at the clock before laying his head on the desk.
2:05, just forty-five minutes left.
In his sleep, David dreams of the voices. And when he wakes up their tone rings quietly in the back of his head. | 2015-03-13T15:02:29 | 2015-03-13T15:00:21 | 49 | 11 |
[WP] A man is going through the attic of his recently deceased grandfather when he stumbles upon what looks to be an old journal with his grandfather's name on the inside cover. The first entry is dated "10/07/2392". | The remains of what my Grandfather's called his babies, was an eclectic mix of treasures and babbles from his past, a WWI trinket here, a novelty toy there.
"This old man has lived a long and "interesting" life."
I rummage through everything to find anything valuable but really the only things that are here are the memoirs and personalities of a old coot. Non of this stuff even fits me.
Suddenly, a box falls to the ground from a top a stack of journals, it's dusty, I mean everything in here is dusty.
I let out a cough and a wheeze as my eyes slip onto to cover of the top most journal.
"10/07/2393?"
The date on the journal said 10/07/2393, there is no way I'm just seeing this.
Before my mouth could move again, an unseen force moved my hand to open the journal.
"October 7th, 2093
They came in such a swift force 73 years ago, we had no chance to fight back. Their technology...their technology is nothing we have have ever seen. We are trying to fight back but they are overwhelming us faster then a plague. I don't see a good end for Humanity but we are flicky and stubborn. We will fight to the bitter end if it means the death of every single last one of us, we7 will not submit.
Terry Johnson."
What the fuck is this.
Before the next thought shot into my head, my hands moved on their own to skip forward in the journal.
"October 7th, 2292
The burning continues, fighting fire with fire has taken it's toll. After the Discovery 93 years ago, we thought we could win with using that against them but the past could never defeat the future... I fear this may be one of the last entries before the end... I love my family and would be willing to do anything to save them including using my own life... Boots up, fire on, we will push until we met at Death's Door.
Terry Johnson."
A knot is building in my stomach as my hands quickly turn the reminder of the pages, the feeling of wanting to know has never creeped on me more.
"October 7th, 2392
Whoever is reading this, you are a fucking idiot.
Love Johnson."
I slam the book shut.
| **October 7th, 2392**
Today is the day. I have been chosen specifically for this mission out of a group of the world’s finest men and women. There is no room for failure. If I succeed, humanity will live on. But if I fail it will be the end of everything as we know it. Yet, that does not scare me.
No matter how the wheel turns, I am dead in the end.
**February 19th, 1965**
It is strange to use this date. But I cannot dwell on the thought. I must continue on with the mission before it’s too late. It will take long enough to integrate into society. I fear the repercussions if they discover my true intentions. I cannot let anyone know.
**March 1st, 1965**
I met a woman today. Her name is Dolores – Dolly for short. She helped me find the library after I lost my way. There is something… pleasant about her. I hope we are to meet again.
**June 10th, 1969**
I’ve been here for over five years and yet my mission remains uncompleted. Instead, I am getting married. It’s surreal, really. Dolly is by far the most interesting person I have had the opportunity to meet. I… I think I want to spend the rest of my life with her. That is, depending on how much longer it’ll be.
**May 21th, 1972**
I’ve never held a baby before this day. Yet, it felt so natural. I could hardly believe it was a person, to be honest. She is the light of my life, the thing I would die for. We decided to name her Ruth, after Dolly’s late mother. I like it. It’s strong, like I hope she’ll be one day.
**June 10th, 1979**
Ten years together and I still love Dolly more and more every day. I can’t believe she has given up everything for a liar like me. It’s not fair to her – not fair to Ruth, either. I need to tell her the truth. Yet, every time I think of the words, they get caught in my throat as my chest tightens. God, what have I gotten myself into?
No, I can’t hide anymore. I tell her tonight.
**September 3rd, 1990**
Saying goodbye is always the hardest thing to do.
Ruth is gone, far off to the world of college. I’m happy for her – I truly am – but seeing her walk the opposite way stings no less. She’s so young, oblivious to the world’s cruelties. I wish I could hold her one second longer, just to shield her from fate. But as always, it just wasn’t meant to be.
**July 9th, 1996**
I’m officially a grandparent now. Ruth is a woman now, long past the child I once knew. She has a husband now – a family, even. They’re so content, a life stretched out in front of them. I’m sure that girl of theirs will go on to do amazing things. I’ll make sure of it.
**December 21th, 2014**
Dolly died today.
It was expected. The cancer spread too fast for the doctors to counteract it. I had prepared myself for this day long ago. Hell, I’ve even written out her eulogy in advance.
But why am I still crying?
I can’t write more. It pains me too much. The memories… I just need to rest for now.
**March 1st, 2015**
And now it is my turn. It’s ironic – Dolly and I will be reunited on the day we first met fifty years ago. I couldn’t be happier, though. Too many nightmares have plagued me these last few months. I need to rest. To forget what has happened and what has yet to occur. I can only hope the people of the future can forgive my selfishness.
But you – you can still make a difference. I’ve left notes in my journal here for you to find, granddaughter. It’s the least thing an old fool like me can do. With the information provided, *you* can change the future for the better. It’s a lot of responsibility but I know you can do it.
I’ve made sure of it. | 2015-06-30T15:26:06 | 2015-06-30T15:16:59 | 151 | 14 |
[WP] You somehow end up dating death. However, you have to deal with God and The Devil being overprotective older siblings. | I sigh as I approach her door. I wear my Sunday best, a finely tailored suit ready for my date with Death. The bouquet of babies breath, her favorite flower, rustles in my irritation. God sits in a wooden rocking chair on the porch. A straw hat covers his tanned face and his overalls creak like fresh denim. He has a tattoo on his arm of a cross surrounded by a heart and a faded "Mary" just beneath it. He told me he was drunk at the time, having just come from Lucifer's 2100 birthday party, and thought the tats would be a good idea. A shotgun rests across his lap and he not so subtly moves his finger towards the trigger.
"What are you her dad?!" I toss my hands in the air.
"Well a lot of folk call me father." He grins and moves to stand.
My hand shoots out and pushes him back into his chair. "Christ, you're obnoxious." I rap on the door frame.
It opens and Death stands before me fully naked and perky. My mouth drops and my member rises to attention like shes the general of an army. That is until blood reached the correct head and I realize it is Lucifer fucking with me.
"Very funny," I grunt, awkwardly shuffling to tuck Pinocchio's liar back under my waistline, "don't you have a country to run?"
He grins and shifts back into his natural human form. Donald Trump stands before me. "The country can run itself for a little bit, I have a lot of friends you know."
I ignore him and push past. "De you ready?" I shout up the stairs. The door at the top opens and she emerges. She has piercing green eyes, that twinkle like starfire. Full red lips that set my heart to hammering. An easy smile emerges and she starts to descend. Her jet black hair cascades behind her, falling upon her satin red slip.
"Damn," I mutter as my eyes soak in her beauty.
"Pat." She coughs politely and I jump to give her my arm. We walk through the doorway and towards my car.
"She better be back by 12 or there will be hell to pay!" Shouts Lucifer.
"Fornication before marriage is a sin!" Grumbles God, and I cringe.
"You know my name." I shout back, and pull away.
We race along the freeway towards our dinner date. De talks incessantly, detailing the more interesting stories of those she has helped pass on. God gets the repentant and pure. Lucifer gets those who are sinful and damned. Death gets those who are undecided and helps them to choose where they belong in the afterlife. We work well together, as I'm sure sifting through the deaths of millions of humans can be quite stressful, and having someone to spill to and just talk to surely helps. Her family can try me sometimes, but in the end I find her interesting. I am her shoulder and she is my spark. It is strange how those farthest from life have the most to say and are the least boring. Her smile, her mind, her body. I can hardly wait to get to know her more, but I will wait if necessary. She is worth it, and I am Patience after all. | "Now let's see... 151012 today. Just another day then", Death sighed hollowly. She blew a wisp of ash blonde hair out of her vision while studying the spreadsheet. "Who should be MY star tonight then?". Her eyes lit up and a grin worked its way across her face. That was her favourite part. She rolled her gender dice. "Alright!".
*So today I'm straight, I can work with that... He has to be tall, obviously, and a looker of course*, Death pondered while she set the search parameters on her old Acer Aspire. It had passed on from her brother when he no longer thought it was hipster enough.
"God if he says 'it just works' one more time I'll rip the wings off of one of his angels..". The laptop was old and worn, but her other brother had made sure it had hell of a connection speed.
She reached across her dark oak table and spun the globe and closed her eyes. "There!", she said out loud. "Sweden, I see. He's too hipster for that too it seems. Alright then, 247 deaths today. Let's see how many tall, handsome Swedes will kick the bucket today! ...what the deuce, two hundred and forty two matches?! Ugh.
Damn beautiful Swedes. Ok, I'll just grab the last name and get to it, this is ruining all the fun". She scrolled to the bottom of the list. "Wilton. What in the worlds kind of name is that? Wilton", she repeated as she squinted her dark, brown eyes.
"Wilton it is! 28 year old, blonde, long hair... Squishing accident! Exciting!". She rushed over to her old oaken wardrobe. It was very dim in the cave, even though the river of dead souls lit up its cave ceiling in a faint blueish shimmer. She liked it that way though, and all her clothes were black robes anyway so it didn't really matter. She picked one out and turned left facing the edge of the river. Death took a deep breath and started wading down the angst-filled medium.
The last thing she saw was her own reflection and when she ascended from the water she was in some small Swedish village, by the looks of it. She was also dry again, like always when she emerged out of someones bath drain, shower drain, or worst case an unflushed bachelor toilet. She just didn't like the smell. *who would ever want to not flush something like that*, she briefly thought while exiting the fountain she had ended up in. She pulled up her not so old Samsung Galaxy S6 edge+ from the only pocket in her robe. It was also dry. Google spreadsheets was so smart, she thought, and Sweden apparently had free wifi wherever she walked.
"Time of Death: 12:05:55. Perfect, enough time for a Swedish fika and also some pre game stalking". That was her second favourite part. All the seemingly random events in a persons life that would sooner lead up to its demise. She found both her collactable and a coffee shop in the same stroke of luck. *Ironic*, she thought as she watched him carry a wooden tray across the plaza by which her café was situated. She had a good view over the upcoming gruesomeness and her usual gidders kicked in. She liked it.
It was a hot day for Sweden, 28 degrees Celsius and only a hint of a fresh breeze in the air. It was one of her most appreciated stops. Too bad Sweden is tiny and her finger usually missed, but she always made sure to point somewhere in the northern hemisphere just to even out the odds. The coffee was rich and flavourful. So much better than in the states, or australia, ...or anywhere in asia, she thought. *And definitely better than that disgusting sugarbomb Starbucks that's for sure*.
She suddenly lost track of her thoughts. Wilton had paused to remove his white, sweaty t-shirt. *Abs. Sweat. Wilton*. her heart began pounding. "It's a shame, really", she muttered while keeping her eyes on his well defined torso.
Wilton gazed over the plaza and his eyes suddenly met hers. *Shoot!* she diverted her eyes, but quickly looked back again. He was still looking at her. He started walking over the square straight towards her. *Shoot shit shoot!* He rose taller and taller until he finally stood right by her table, eyes fixated on hers.
"Hi! Do I know you? I think we've met before...Wilton!", he said and extended a large working man's hand. His Swedish accent was cutely translated into some kind of Swenglish in her ears.
She felt it long before he could even tell. The blushing. This was the first time in over 200 years she had felt this cocktail of feelings ranging from excitement, fear, attraction and at the same time, serenity. Faintly remembering the touch of another mans lips on hers, but not the look of this man's face. Not his smile or voice or smell. Just the touch. It made her sad. Her brothers hadn't approved of her romance, and both of them had had their way with him in their own twisted ways. She snapped back to reality and was instantly filled by the warmth of his look. *Wilton*, she thought, and it was happy thoughts. | 2016-03-24T11:06:57 | 2016-03-24T10:51:22 | 73 | 14 |
[WP] According to one definition, two lifeforms are of separate species if they can't produce fertile and healthy offspring. You are an Earthling while your spouse is a Martian colonist. The doctor tells you that there are certain...complications regarding your newborn child. | The day he was born they took Theo from my arms and pressed a needle to his foot. From the drop of blood they took his genetic code. It was said to be a painless procedure but Theo was still crying by the time they had cleaned him and put him back in my arms.
"He looks like you," Astrom told me. He put his three-fingered hand on my shoulder and looked down at our child. Theo's skin was white like mine, but when he opened his eyes they held the color of dusty mars - the same color of Astrom's. His nose was small and narrow, and his lips very thin. His ears were long and pointed like his fathers. His hands held three fingers each, though he had the small feet of a human.
"Theo," I sighed as I held him to my cheek. He blinked his red eyes at me and then at his father. An overwhelming feeling of calm fell over me.
"There will be news reporters outside," Astrom told me. "He's the first of his kind. They'll want to name him and test him."
"I won't let them," I said. I held my child to my chest. "They took his blood to get his DNA sequence. They don't need anything else. He's our child, not some freak."
"Perhaps it would be better if we left this planet, then. The Earthlings seem very intent on studying those that look different. We Martians have a much more open view of what people can and should look like. I doubt any would take much interest in Theo at all."
There was a ding as the door of the delivery room slid open and their doctor stepped inside. He was a Martian, though his head was more bulbous at the top than Astrom's. He had fine white hair that covered his skull and cheeks, and he was busy holding a cilpboard with one three-fingered hand while he took notes with the other.
"Well, this is it," the doctor smiled. "Little Theo is born and alive and well, it seems. We couldn't exactly run the test we run on human babies, nor the one we run on Martians. Though it seems like all his bodily functions are working well. There's only one small problem with his genetic code...could be nothing...little mutations happen all the time."
"A problem?" I asked. Astrom put a hand on my shoulder to help ease my anxiety. The baby in my arms stirred.
"Well. Yes. You see, it all comes down to chromosomes. Healthy human children will have two - an X from their mother and an X or Y from their father. Martian children carry four - an AA or AB from their mother and an AB or BB from their father." The doctor clicked his pen and placed it in the coat pocket.
"It seems that your son has...well...none of these chromosomes."
Astrom's hand tightened on my shoulder. "None of them?"
"I'm afraid not. It's something I've never seen before. No X, no Y, no As or Bs. There's something there, naturally. I'm afraid we won't really know what it is until Theo is growing up. We could run more tests now but...it seems like he's healthy and happy."
"Why didn't the tests during my pregnancy pick this up?" I asked. The baby was squirming in my arms again. I shushed him, petting the top of his head.
"That's the thing," the doctor said. "Your angiogram suggested that Theo would carry an X from his mother and an BB from his father. So he would be genetically considered a male of both species. However it seems that sometime during the course of the pregnancy the chromosomes...mutated in some way."
Theo looked up at me with his dust-red eyes again. If he hadn't been a newborn I would have sworn that he were listening.
"I still don't really understand what this means," Astrom said. "Is our son normal?"
"Normal in the genetic sense, not at all," the doctor said. "As for his physical or psychological well-being...I suppose we'll have to see as he grows."
The baby turned his head toward the doctor.
"Astrom," I said. My husband looked at me. "Watch Theo for a moment, please. Just eyes on him. Watch him."
My husband turned his focus to our baby. I said, "Theo, look at Mommy." The baby's eyes turned to me again. I said, "Theo, look at the doctor." After a moment the baby turned its focus to the man in the white coat.
"He...he understands," Astrom said. Theo turned his vision toward his father.
I thought I must have been imagining it, the small voice that seemed to speak in the back of my mind and say, *Yes*.
---
Thanks for reading! For other stories check out /r/Celsius232 | Mary gripped her husbands hand tightly smiling into his cool blue eyes. She could feel that this connection would last forever, a connection made in heaven, literally not of this world. She could tell he was occupied making sure all the people from channel 1440 weren't causing a mess. She never quite realized what a live news interview entailed. There certainly was a lot of people shuffling around her home.
A thin woman came up to Jeff and asked that I let go of him because She needed to do his makeup. As they walked off she heard her asking if Jeff wanted his scar covered. Mary loved that scar, drawn lightly down her husbands cheek. She would trace it with her finger and remember the story of how he stormed the final stronghold. Earth had been at war for some 89 years. Mars had lost contact with its sister planet just 15 years after being colonized. It didn't take long for our culture to become strained after no longer receiving raw materials from earth, But we survived. Jeff was one of the first 100 earthlings to come to Mars after the war. What a sight it was for me to see him and he me. A smile rose across her Rosie cheeks as she rubbed her stomach, stretched and tense. She waddled to the bathroom for the 3rd time in the past hour, careful not to trip over camera equipment.
Bright lights shone against the couple as they answered questions for the reporter. Everyone was so intrigued about the first baby to be born of an earth born and Martian born in history. Surely a happy segment in the news would go over well though. "Have the two of you thought of a name for the first baby girl to be born of two worlds?" Asked the reporter. "Well Ashley, Jeff and-"
Her sentence cut short by an indescribable pain. Her grip on Jeff tighter than she knew could be possible. She could hear screams coming from all around her, rushed voices demanding for an emergency transport ship. The kicking in her stomach worse than it had ever been. "How could this be" she thought "the baby isn't due yet" she kept saying aloud in between the howls of pain. Mary looked at her legs only to see thick red blood leaking down, the pain finally got to her and she collapsed in Jeff's arms staring into his cool blue eyes before her vision finally gave out.
Mary awoke to the sounds of mechanical noises, at first she was confused. She could hear a steady beep every so often. It didn't take her long to realize that she was in a hospital. As she tried to get up her muscles failed her. Immediately she began to panic because it was at this second she realized she was extremely thin. "Where had the baby gone?" Her heart began to race as the beeping in the room picked up faster and faster until the door swung open revealing her husband. Hurriedly he rushed to her and the incessant beeping began to subside.
"What's going on? What happened to the baby?"
Jeff's eyes moving upward to meet hers. A chill ran down her spine. "Jeff talk to me!"
"I think it's better if the doctor try and explain it"
At that moment a man walked into the room.
"I'm Doctor Furgeson and I'm the forefront of genetic mutation here on Mars, how are you feeling Mrs. Blanyer?"
Confused she replied: "I'm a tad weak"
"That's normal, you did just give birth after all. Any abnormal-"
"How is the baby" she interrupted "Why am I talking to a genetic mutation scientist? Where is my neo nurse?"
She could feel Jeff's hand petting her own attempting to calm her down but it only made her worse. A silence fell over the room.
Dr. Furgeson took a deep breath, "I'm afraid it's a rather complicated subject actually. You see we didn't really think of the ramifications of a inter-world baby. After Earth fell under nuclear war we stopped receiving a lot of goods that were essential. Our colony was strained almost to the point of extinction.."
Mary becoming irritated with the Doctor "yes yes I know all of this I was here!"
"Choices were made Mrs Blanyer, some that we didn't tell the public about. One of them being the reduction of the magnetic field generator. It has been running at about 28% of its original capacitance for over 70 years now."
"So?!" She retorted loudly.
"Well with Jeff being of Earth lightly irradiated by an isotope found in nuclear weapons everyday for 29 years of his life, and you being irradiated by cosmic rays for 27 years here on Mars I'm afraid the baby wasn't planned for properly."
A grim look washed across her face. Mary look at Jeff, looking for comfort in his eyes. The blue that had been so vibrant just a few hours before seemed to fade to grey. She looked back at the doctor.
The doctor began again "We would have to do more testing to be certain, but it appears that people of Earth and people of Mars are no longer similar enough genetically to sustain healthy life. All of the mutations that have been accelerated over the generations of both planets have caused an immense strain of the DNA of your baby. My medical team and I are certain that your particular baby will not live to see the end of the week; however, she is being kept alive artificially until you are well enough to go see her."
Tears began to flow from Mary's eyes, her face flushed hot with so many emotions. A sob rolled from her lungs and she placed her head on Jeff's shoulder.
In between sobs Mary looked up "is there anything we can do?"
"I'm sorry, there is nothing we can do at this point. Had we predicted that this may have been an issue I'm sure we could have performed some gene therapy while the baby was still developing. Perhaps you can take some splice in knowing that the information my team and I have gained from you and your husband's baby will save the lives of every baby born between two worlds from this point on. Your sacrifice will ensure the growth of Mars to a full population."
"So Jeff and I could try to have another baby and you could save it?"
"Unfortunately Mrs Blanyer your uterus was removed in an attempt to save the baby. At that point in time we still thought we were dealing with a premature birth. It wasn't until after that we realized the damage to the baby was irreversible. You will never be able to have kids by birth."
Mary had no words for the doctor. She lay there, absolutely devastated. He excused himself silently as she continued sobbing into the shoulder of her husband.
This is my first post here. Not really sure how I like it or not. But the only way to get better is to practice right? Also I need to stop writing from my iPhone. It's difficult for my words to flow on such a small screen.
As always thanks for reading! Criticisms always welcome! | 2016-06-13T04:20:14 | 2016-06-13T04:12:08 | 84 | 13 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them. | The first flecks of dawn’s light trickled into the fancy high-rise bar. All was quiet except for the subtle squeaking of glasses being cleaned by the young woman behind the counter. She worked mechanically, with no life in her movements. She didn’t even flinch as the rear door slammed open and noise flooded the room.
A terrifying assortment of gruesome creatures poured into the bar from the door as though through the gates of hell itself accompanied by a cacophony of growls, hisses, and moans that one could almost mistake as laughter. A towering figure with twisting horns and cruel claws approached the counter first, gingerly taking a seat and smiling at the woman with a mouth of wickedly pointed teeth.
“Mornin’ Mary! We had a great night, a round for everyone on me!” the monster proclaimed to cheers from his comrades.
“Coming right up Blue,” Mary said quietly, moving to fill the order without a hint of fear, or any other emotion for that matter.
Blue’s smile faltered as he looked at her curiously, noticing the tear streaks leading from her dead brown eyes.
“Hey hey,” Blue said, his voice now as gentle as it could be with its rumbling timbre. “There’s something eating you girl. What’s wrong? Can we help?”
The bar quieted as the others began noticing her distress. It seemed for a moment that she would remain quiet, but soon she opened up, her voice quivering. “I-I… It’s my kids. Some people took them. They’re demanding a ten million dollar ransom delivered to them somewhere in that old abandoned neighborhood down Hollis St within a day if I ever want to see my kids again. They said they’d disappear if they saw even a hint of the police. My husband is out trying to see if we can even get a loan that big. We don’t even have anything close to that kind of money! Why me? What can I do!?” Mary had thought herself cried out, but found new tears forming as she let it out.
The shocking assortment of creatures looked at one another in shock, each wondering who could be so cruel. Blue leaned over the counter and grabbed Mary in a bear hug that she melted into eagerly. After a moment he released her, leaning back with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
“Fella’s, looks like that drink will have to wait, we’ve got overtime to do.” Blue said as he began stomping towards the door they had entered through.
Mary looked after him in surprise, “what are you going to do?”
He paused, looking back at her with a gentle fierceness, “what we do best. Find those kids.”
----------
Lance leaned against the wall of the shabby house twirling a butterfly knife with boredom. He glanced over at the two kids tied in the corner, reassuring himself they were still here. By the terror on their faces, he could tell they shouldn’t be a problem, but he really needed this to go smoothly. Hopefully the woman wouldn’t do anything stupid like bring in the police, then they’d never have their payday, and he might have to deal with those kids which would be unpleasant.
One of the other five, Nash, looked up at him nervously, “Lance, are you sure she’s good for it? This is an awful risk. What if she has mob connections?”
Lance rolled his eyes at the younger man. “Of course she is idiot. That bar of hers is fancy as hell, but it’s practically never open, it’s definitely a front for something. Plus, she’s way too squeaky clean to be with the mob. No, this is some white collar shady business. That kind of money is probably pocket change to her. We’ll get our payout and disappear to some quiet island somewhere, just chill out.”
Nash shifted nervously, “if you say so. Something about all this just gives me a bad feeling.”
“Oh so you’re a jedi now? Shut it and keep watch, this will be over soon,” Lance snapped at him.
He glanced back at the kids and saw them still where he’d left them. Had that closet door been cracked before? Probably, maybe he was a little jumpy after all. He grinned to himself. With the creaking of this old building he could almost imagine they were footsteps behind him and that those shadows in the corners were alive.
He squinted. Hold on, did that shadow just move?
Before he could take another breath, the room exploded into motion around him. He saw shadows move for sure this time. Scales, claws, tentacles, feathers, slime, fur, horns, and teeth were all in a sudden whirlwind about him as he was hit from multiple angles at once. In an instant he was on his back in tremendous pain and with the breath knocked out of him. Leaning over him was a terrifying visage of twisted horns, wicked teeth, and blue fur leering at him with eyes in which he could see his death reflected. He tried to let out what would have been the most primal scream of terror of his life, but there was no air in his lungs to release.
The figure spoke in a quiet growl that sent shivers down Lance’s spine. “You are lucky we don’t kill anyone these days, but if you ever think of hurting a child again, I’ll make an exception for you. We can find you no matter where you run. Nowhere is safe from us.”
Lance thought he could hear sirens in the distance and his head fell to the side as he began to lose consciousness from terror, shock, and lack of air. The last thing he saw was the kids, now unbound, hugging a huge green eyeball.
-----------
Mary looked up from the bar to twin shrieks of joy proclaiming, “Mommy!!”
She embraced her children fiercely as they ran to her, tears of relief and joy spilling down her cheeks, for the moment paying no heed to the menagerie of monsters filing in from the broom closet.
After a while Mary stood and beckoned to Blue, “come here you big lug.”
The two shared an embrace and Mary whispered to him, “thanks Kitty.”
“Anything for you Boo,” He said warmly.
She stepped back and smiled at the gathered crowd, then walked around behind the bar again. “Thank you all so much. Order up, Monsters Inc drinks free today!”
| Just as the door from the back entrance closed, Pete hung up the phone. It was a typical Wednesday night at The Spot, a dozen customers maybe a few more. The usual crowd, the regulars all in their usual places.
Walking in Frank could sense an un-easiness in Pete, who usually greeted every customer, especially the regulars, with a howdy and "what can i do you for?". no such jovial greeting would come tonight. Frank scanned the room, nothing out of sorts. Pete's expression changing from un-easy to terrified. Which was a look Frank knew too well. It stopped him in his tracks. Then, Pete broke down into sob.
Just as Frank reach the bar to ask what was the matter, the words were uttered by a different, all the more comforting voice. Rebecca had been at the bar for just over an hour and noticed immediately the effect the call had had on Pete. She noticed Frank just as he was about to speak, and almost immediately regretted beating him to it. They hadn't been broken up that long, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here tonight.
As Pete looked up at Frank, seeing him for the first time, then to Beki as, his eyes filled with tears all he could say was, "they've been taken."
Frank, bellowed out, "bar’s closed, get out" the command of his voiced back up by his considerable size. A few customers looked to argue, but the site of Beki at his side changed the minds of those that knew better. And those that didn’t seem to take their cue from everyone else.
I lone customer stayed seated, at a back booth. The look of him, that of a man that didn’t do anything that wasn’t of his own accord. He glared at the 2 figures standing next to the sobbing man, then smiled. As he left his booth, he appeared to change, but didn’t. A trick of the eyes, or maybe the mind. Frank looked at Beki for a moment like a question. but she waved him off, with a curt greeting. "Sam."
"What's Happened?" with a look less concerned and more annoyed. All three of them turned to the barman.
He made his way to his feet, then looked at them in turn. "Someone has taken my kids. They want a hundred-grand in 3 hrs. Or they said they’d start hurting them. I don’t have that kinda money."
The only thing the Spot had going for it was its clientele. Otherwise it would have been closed and out of business years ago. Not many places in Dallas are safe harbors, so business was steady if not abundant. Since technically no magic could be cast there and long ago a truce had made places like it a no-go for any of the various ongoing conflicts. people of all kinds had come to the Spot as a place to get away or do unsanctioned business. Pete had inherited the place from his uncle 10 yrs ago and had been its only bartender ever since. That’s probably why his wife left him. And unknown to Pete that’s exactly why his kids are now in danger.
"What can we do?" Frank was a "man" of action. Or "men" of action as it were. After over 200 years he still had the notion to act first, think second.
It was that very human characteristic that had made Beki fall in love with him in the first place. It was also the thing that infuriated her the most about him. Though she did immediately agree with the sentiment, and added her own voice, "Anything"
In only a way that he could, Sam sounded both sincerely concerned and bored, when replying "perhaps we shouldn’t interfere." The statement more to Beki than anyone else. Her look of reply would have killed lesser men. Sam's heavy sigh of relent, overly dramatic in it weight was the only further confirmation he provided.
Pete recalled all he could of his conversation. Helped along by Beki's gentle prodding and Sam's own manipulation. All Frank could do was watch, but his skills would come in handy soon enough.
The caller had issued clear instructions. Don't involve anyone else, he would call back with a meeting place. This is where Frank could finally do some good. His father had been many things, genius among them. And after 200 yrs Frank had learned to grow with technology. He now worked as what is probably the world’s largest IT security technician. His larger than life size, strange appearance, and booming voice could be terrifying, if it wasn’t for his quick smile and genuine humanity. After mere moments the people he met felt not just at-ease but safe near him. Safer than they had ever felt in their lives.
It took him only a few minutes to set up the equipment that would be needed to trace the caller. That is, if the caller wasn’t more tech savvy then him. And it's unlikely that he is.
As they waited in the bar, Beki began to consider their current predicament, more than she had with the confidence of Frank by her side. Maybe Sam was right after all. Any time they interfered with in the affairs of humans things could go horribly wrong. Entire civilizations had fallen because of it in fact. But Pete was their friend and above all else she knew that Frank was going to help anyway. And she still loved him. She had hoped that Sam would leave with everyone else, but she knew he wouldn't. She had even hoped he would refuse to help them, even though she knew they would probably need him. even after more than millennia, it was uncomfortable for her to be around him. She had loved him too once, before, but that was a long time ago. And though they had been on opposite sides of that war so long ago, his nature was still her nature and their nature was still to protect humans. Angels are funny that way.
Sam was having his own thoughts about the predicament he found himself in. Nothing worse than being stuck in a bar in Texas, with your ex, her latest flame and moral dilemma you really have no choice in. It’s a county song that practically writes itself. He hated county music. Having spent the last couple of thousand years atoning for a mistake for which there is literally no atonement is one thing. Spending the evening in a human rescue adventure with your ex is a different kind of torture all together.
When the phone rang the only calm person in the room was Frank. It was now his show, and this is what he was good at. As Pete answered the phone, the sinister caller on the other end of the line laid out in painful detail how things were going to go down. Little did he know the longer he took explaining exactly what was going to happen, the easier it was going to be for Frank to make sure nothing happened that way. When Pete hung up the phone, Frank smiled. "We got'em"
Frank, Beki and Sam begged Pete to stay behind. Sam even tried to persuade him but to no avail. The man's will to save his kids was stronger than that. It was a gift Sam envied, and despised. Beki envied and admired. They finally relented and the four of them headed to the warehouse address Frank had pulled from his trace. the caller had tried to hide but Frank was better. And soon enough these kidnapers would find out what Franks other talent was. He had spent the first 100 yrs denying his nature. He's spent the last 100 reconciling, the man and the Monster. The man had tools to track these scoundrels. The monster would soon make them pay for causing his friend this pain.
As they approached the warehouse, Beki immediately sensed that something was not quite right, almost as she was thinking it Sam said it, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Almost on que the trap sprung, trapping the van of would be rescuers in an inescapable electromagnetic field. Stepping from behind the warehouse wall the man in black simply shook his head. “Thank you for being predictable but you should have stayed behind Pete this isn’t your war. We would never have hurt your children.”
Pete, Sam, Beki and Frank stare at the man, then at each other in confusion. Until Beki looks at Frank and sees the recognition in his eyes, the last sounds any of them heard before the explosion was simply a whisper from Franks lips, "Van Helsing" | 2018-01-31T12:13:05 | 2018-01-31T11:42:48 | 203 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | I thought I had seen it all. I've been been here ever since the first human died. I'm the older brother, sure, but most only know of my little brother, the Grim Reaper. Because those that come to me are erased from the time itself.
I've had to erase entire families, cities, hell, even entire civilizations. I've done it all in cold blood and with no emotion. And yet, that day I felt an emotion that I hadn't felt in a long time: fear.
I remember when I first stepped into that place. It was a large bunker near the North Pole, built during the Cold War. Like all of the corpses and ghosts of the people that I erased, no one knew about my target. They forgot about him or her.
I initially thought that I had missed someone over there. The first time my reaping instincts tingled over there, I cursed myself. I clearly remembered walking around on the concrete floor, reaping the dead who were killed in a nuclear blast when one of nukes was accidentally triggered. Who did I miss? I shrugged. It didn't matter anyway. I had a job to do.
The place that I had to go to was an old nuclear silo that was abandoned during the Cold War. No one knew of its existence, because it was so old that the arctic ice had frozen over its entrance, covering it up, and that all of the people who planned and worked on it were already reaped by me.
Getting in was easy. I teleported into one of the storage rooms, and next to the crumbling concrete walls found myself looking straight at a rusty metal door that I clearly remembered didn't exist there, on a standing part of the concrete wall that I *also* clearly remembered didn't exist there. At first I blamed my age, thinking that I probably started getting dementia. Then my curiosity got the better of my confusion and caution when the reaping sense told me to go straight through the door. I opened it with a gentle push.
A bright blue light and a human silhouette greeted me. A number of questions assaulted my mind as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. *Why was there light? Wasn't the entire silo's lighting destroyed by the nuclear explosion? Why was the person standing? Why is the person's arms stretched to the side, as if lounging on a couch? Why are there shadows of wires sticking ou-*
My eyes widened in disbelief as I looked at the horror in front of me. It wasn't a human at all I was looking at. Rather, it was *parts* of a human set on miniature platforms that held the pieces into the form of a human. Each of the body parts were cut open and splayed apart (in the case of the skull, sawed open to access the brain) to have wires and thin hoses of fluid sticking into the flesh and tissue. The torso was also cut open, the abs cut away to reveal each organ spliced with the same mix of wires and hoses interconnecting each other, held in place with spikes stabbed into them hooked onto the vertical platform holding it in place. In morbid curiosity I watched some of the wires crackling with electricity as the flesh constantly jumped and thrashed around as it was zapped. The head was even more gruesome, with a constant look of agony on the face, the eyes still in their sockets and the eyelids ripped away. The eyes turned to look at me, and I shuddered. It was still *alive* after all this time. The reaping sense screamed at me now to reap what I just saw. I understood why the reaping sense led me to it. After the explosion, after being forgotten, sustained by whatever machinery tortured it. I understood why my brother didn't reap its "life", if it could still be called living.
I looked it in the eyes, and whispered, "I'm sorry." Tears started to stream from both my face and the person's. "I'm sorry that even I forgot about you." I raised my reaping blade. "I'll make sure that you don't have to suffer ever again."
First story on r/writingprompts, criticism accepted! | I did not know what to say.
Ibem shrugged. "What's the matter? I'm dead right? You're the Grim Reaper here to take my soul away? *Whoosh whoosh?*" He made vague scything motions with his hands.
"No, I'm not him. I'm his...brother. Well, sort of like a brother. And the scythe thing is just his weird affection. Obsessed with metaphors, that one." I pulled back my hood and nervously ran a hand through my hair, finally taking a look around the room.
It was beautiful, well decorated and full of light and colour. But it was completely designed for one. From the perfectly positioned television, to the single serving dining table, everything was purpose designed for a single man.
A pair of drones alighted on the delivery pad just outside the window and took off again, barely stopping to drop their food off.
"Well, whoever you are, lets get this over with." Ibem, said impatiently, turning to admire himself in the mirror one last time. He was dressed quite dandily, in bright colours and lavish silks. All wasted, I thought, since he never went outside...
He still looked good though.
"I wish it were that simple." I took a seat in the only open chair and considered what to do.
200,000 years of reaping with no precedent for something as absurd as this. Who ever heard of a man without so much as a acquaintance in a world?
"What's wrong?" The young man said, sitting next to me. "Are you stuck mute by my dazzling good looks?"
"Ahem." I blushed slightly but continued on. "Well, the first problem is you're not dead." measured my worlds carefully. I was not sure how much I could explain to him. But more than that, whatever his fate, I felt had to understand.
I pitied him.
"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Ibem muttered, sensing that more was still coming.
"Yes, and no. See, you're still alive. But you're just died your True Death." I watched him absorb the words.
"I think I've heard of this." Ibem said, his eyes taking on a dangerous gleam. "The first time you die is when your heat stops beating, and your body dies right? You get a big funeral, weeping family and friends, grim reaper shows up, all that good stuff."
I nodded. He had the right of it. Not always with the weeping family, sometimes people even cheered, but they still acknowledged it.
"And then there's the second death. Centuries later, when all that knew you are dead, and even your name is dust. Then you die your True Death. The final death, that all must face alone."
Again, I nodded Again, he was mostly right, but the True Death did not always take centuries, in certain situations - particular political or religious ones - it happened within minutes.
"You're some kind of Elder grim reaper."
"I'm sometimes called the True Reaper." I replied apologetically. "And yes, you could say that."
"That means I have been forgotten. In my own lifetime. I kept saying I would leave the house, that I would go out see people again. That I would begin living life again. But it is too late. It is already too late."
"I have been completely forgotten by the world, and have died my True Death!" Ibem cried out, and I wrapped an arm around him.
He sobbed loudly, and I held him, unsure what else to do.
"When did they die?" He asked suddenly. "And how?" I knew what he meant.
"Just now." I answered. "A leak from the gas heater."
"They were together? And they did not suffer?" I saw how the question pained him to ask.
"They were. And no, they did not suffer."
We sat there on the couch for a few minutes, as he composed himself.
Ibem suddenly stood and looked around the room, as though for the first time. "So, this must be doing a number of you and your brother, huh? What do you need from me?"
I shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. I'm still considering options. But I need to do something soon, before...that happens." I pointed at to the tips of his fingers, which were beginning to turn to stone.
"Of course." Ibem answered. He seemed to consider for a moment and then dashing into the kitchenette, he grabbed a knife from the counter and held it to his own throat.
"This would solve your problem right?" He met my eyes. "I don't turn to stone and suffer for eternity? You don't have to figure out how to get me our of this body without killing me. Since you and hour brother cannot interfere with each other right? There are always rules..."
Tears streamed down my face as I crossed the distance between us.
"No." I whispered, taking the knife from his hand. I let it fall to the floor, and held him against my chest. As I did, I made a decision. "There is another way..."
*I'm sorry to put this on you* I thought to my brother, *but I must be foolish once again.*
I could sense the vague amusement emanating from the Grim Reaper through our shared bond.
"What are you doing?" Ibem asked with amazement, staring at me. I knew what he must be seeing. My skin turning translucent, the solid. My face gaining losing colour, then gaining it back with force.
"Buying you more time." I answered, completing my transformation. "You are no longer forgotten."
I sighed heavily, exhausted from the effort of becoming mortal. "I still remember you. That counts for something."
"Thank you." Ibem cried, hugging my tightly. "I promise I won't screw up this chance."
I smiled and said nothing, thinking on the day I would die.
| 2018-05-12T16:52:04 | 2018-05-12T16:14:04 | 200 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | "Wow, this is... Whats your name?"
"It doesn't matter..." The mess of human woman told me. Doubled over a table top counter with a bottle in hand, just panties and bra in and smelling like several kinds of drinks. "You said, you're the second guy, right? Whens your brother getting here?" She straightened up momentarily to take a huge swing from the bottle in hand.
"My brother won't be here for a while. Has to stop by a couple of frat houses and drug dens. Humans like to over indulge you know." She eye'd me down for a few seconds before sputtering into some all to familiar deranged laughter. She rocked back and forth in her chair before the chair gave out, bringing them both to the ground, all the while still laughing.
Eons of countless lives and I've seen it happen time and time again. Folk so reserved or recluse, everyone else forget's they're around. Poor unlucky bastards. The laughter stopped. Just as suddenly, she threw her bottle against the ceiling, busting it into little pieces, watching the remains fall around the both of us.
"So! This is it for me huh?" The words came out excited and bubbly. Didn't hide any of the venom one bit. "No family, no boyfriend, no children. No neighbors that know me, no employer. Not even the damn cats or dogs I fed remember me."
'Here it comes.'
The silence between us cracked as she began crying. She curled up on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and droplets of liqueur that she missed. I got up from my seat and easily picked her up and sat her back down on the chair next to me. Her crying became full blown bawling as she buried herself in her arms, pounding the table as hard as she could. I paid her a kindness as I stroked her back, trying to get her to calm down. My bony fingers felt warm and full of life, as I tried to bring her some peace.
"Listen," I started. She looked up from her arms at me. "I'm the guy who just does his job. I know its awful, horrible, etc. But look at it like this. You got to live. Know how many don't get that? Pfft. A hell of a lot more than those who did. Was it a good life? Hell no. But you got to do something an unending number couldn't. You're at the very least at the end of your journey."
She was still crying but she had calmed down tremendously. I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a simple gray flask, putting it on the table.
"I'm not suppose to be doing this, but I think your case deserves it. Take a swig of that and you'll feel much better, I assure you."
She looked between me and the flask before taking it in her hands. She looked it over, shaking it slightly to feel its contents moving around. After wiping her eyes she opened it and took drink. She tried to empty it, not knowing that thing won't ever run out.
She leaned against me as the effects took hold. Her crying ceased, her breathing became steady and she sighed as she curled up against me. I heard the sounds of a bony knuckle tap against the door, letting me know he's here.
"You gave her some black water huh?"
"Of course. Hard to know you die again by being completely forgotten." He came up by us and tapped her gently on the head, easing her existence as her body rapidly aged along with the house around us. Not even her clothes remained.
"Just another day on the job bro." He tried to comfort me, holding his scythe on his shoulder.
"Doesn't mean it never gets easy. Humans are some fascinating creatures." | "Next!"
A wrinkled, white-haired man cautiously steps forward. It's my secretary.
"Mr. Reaper, your next job has an odd peculiarity to it."
"I'm the True Reaper. What job doesn't have an odd peculiarity to it?"
"Sir, your next job is in Ukraine."
"Where the hell is Ukraine?"
"It's on Earth." At this point, he wrote down the coordinates of the person.
"So you expect me to go to Earth to find the collection of memories that should be standing before me right now?" This was insane. How could anybody be so foolish as to send the True Reaper to Earth? "Don't you know what happened the last time I was sent down there? The world got itself a new triangle in the North Atlantic!"
"Mr. Reaper, with all due respect, I believe you need to go to Earth this time."
"Can't we just skip this job until it presents itself here, at my desk?"
"Sir, you know nothing can progress here until you take care of it."
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you! This is going to end badly for Ukraine." I stood up, dwarfing my secretary, and stormed out the door. As I walked down the hallway, I contemplated how I was going to reap a person on Earth without destroying Ukraine in the process. This was going to be tough.
"Mr. Reaper, I hear you are visiting Earth today!" The elevator operator was surprisingly cheerful.
"Sadly."
"To where on Earth are you headed?" I gave him the coordinates my secretary had handed me earlier. "Eastern Europe is a rough place right now. Best be careful."
"I'm well aware of how careful I'll need to be." At this point, the elevator doors opened, and a massive concrete building towered over us. It had one massive pipe on top with some sort of smoke leaking out the top, and had many, many people running all around it, all yelling at each other to do something else. To one side, was thick forest, so dense you couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in. To the other side was a collection of pipes and rods so gangly, it could only be called a death trap. A wheel with carriages, several cages with several more carriages inside each of them, as well as a train that appeared to be built for small children. Everything looked like it was going to crush somebody.
"Mr. Reaper, your job is just on the other side of this building. Be back soon."
"Why didn't we land right next to it?"
"We don't want the job to see this elevator, do we?"
"I guess not." I walked around the building, admiring its ability to contain whatever was producing that much smoke inside of it. I resolved to look through the building once I had done my job.
Eventually, I came upon a middle-aged man living in the woods. I knew he was the job because he saw me. He lay down his ax on the tree stump and sighed. "I assume you're here for me to die."
"To die? No. I'm here to remove you from memory. I'm here so people will forget about you."
At this, the man perked up. "So you mean I can continue on living here, and nobody will remember I exist? Sign me up!"
"Living here? Aren't you already dead? Didn't my brother, the Grim Reaper, visit you already?"
"Nope. I did fake my death, though. I guess it worked, too, since you seem to think I've died!"
"Well, I have a job to do, but this will not continue on for long. I can guarantee you this: my brother will be coming for you soon."
"I see. Well, do what you must, but I plan on living here until my last dying day."
"We can see to that." At this point, I grabbed him by the neck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his legs jerked wildly, and his arms grabbed my shoulders. He was in no pain, but his body could feel itself being choked. After what probably felt like an eternity to him, I let him go. The reaping was done.
I turned and walked back to the large, concrete structure. I needed to see what was inside there. I followed a worker inside and found a maze of corridors, catwalks, and pipes that all seemed to be working together. I had to find what was making all the smoke, for that seemed to be the heart of the operation. That's when I saw it. At the center of the room, there was the bottom of the pipe coming out the top of the building. And there was a stairwell leading beneath it. I rushed down the stairs, only to find a large concrete box. I admired it, reached out to feel its heat, but it suddenly disappeared. That's when I knew I had gone too far. It was going to be what happened in the Atlantic all over again. I had gotten too close, and I had reaped the concrete box. In its place, a smoking pile of molten rock began to flow. I raced out of there, pondering exactly what I had unleashed upon the workers here.
When I got back to the elevator, I practically burst through the door. "We have to leave. Now!"
"Mr. Reaper, what happened this time?"
"Something happened inside the building. I think my mere presence caused something in there to cease to exist." At this point, the elevator began to rise back up to the sky. Looking down below, I could see all the workers frantically scrambling, yelling at each other. Just then, an explosion. The concrete building caught fire, and my brother was summoned with 31 jobs in Ukraine. | 2018-05-12T18:18:51 | 2018-05-12T15:41:34 | 63 | 26 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. You hear it say: "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You wouldn't be able to hear any audio due to the hordes of people outside your door telling you to look at the moon. You laugh uncomfortably, due to the fact that you are blind. | So, I looked at the moon last night.
Don't look at me like that, I just had to know what would happen.
Well, nothing really did happen anyway. I fell asleep, and then I woke up here for some reason.
Why didn't anything happen to me? I'm blind.
Of course you can't tell, I've been sitting here this whole time. I don't even know who you are.
Police Commissioner? Oh. So what did happen to those who looked at the moon?
Great Apes, you say!? Wow. They all turned into Great Apes!? You're not serious, are you?
I can't see the picture, you big silly, I'm blind. Sorry.
That's straight out of anime.
I know what anime is, you don't have to watch it to know what it is.
How do we deal with these Great Apes?
Oh. Better start cutting their tails off then.
Best of luck, Police Commissioner! | "Must be another eclipse or somethin'," I mutter to myself.
I try to fall back asleep, but I've got a vague unease and hordes of people screaming at me, so it's hard. It's not long before I figure out what's making me feel so queer... I can't hear my boy Casper. I'd figure by now he'd either heave tried matching the crowd's volume with his own wailing, or have come wailing at me to make them shut up. Either way, I should be hearing him right now.
"Casper!" My short, sharp beckoning drowned in a sea of commands to avert one's gaze from any particularly nocturnal celestial bodies.
"I swear, if any of you hoodlums laid a hand on my boy..."
I jump (creep) out of bed, storm (shuffle) out of my room, and fly (gently descend) downstairs towards my front door eager to get some answers (end the life of anyone who laid a hand my boy).
The chants of *"Look away!"* and *"Don't look at the moon!"* haven't stopped a bit, and in fact grow quite a bit louder as I open my door, shotgun in hand. I'm pretty sure it isn't loaded. It's mostly just to scare away punks who wake up honest, working folks at 3 AM. And for raccoons. Casper hates the bastards.
"What's all this hollerin' ab-"
That's about all I could get out before my body is hoisted into the air. It's all the same, though. Anything else I might've said would have just been lost in the din anyway.
You know, it's amazing what people can do when they get together. I mean, I ain't the heaviest person around, but I ain't exactly no feather, either. Yet these scrawny punks were so numerous - I could tell by all the hands trying to get their greasy digits on me - they might as well have been hefting a week-old pup.
It wasn't too long before we stopped, with me still lying on my back and suspended by countless little fingers, facing what I presumed to be the sky.
It wasn't long after that that everything else stopped, too. I'd grown used to all the yelling and my ears rang in the fresh silence.
All of a sudden, a big, booming voice says,
**See me.**
And I do. Above me is the great white expanse of the moon, taking up all of my vision. As miraculous as it sounds, the excitement and elation of being able to see are overshadowed by two things:
That searing pain behind my eyes, and my still missing dog.
Fortunately, after a brief crescendo, the pain ends just as quick as it came. Unfortunately, so does my ability to see. And hear... and feel.
Guess I died. Hope Casper's alright.
| 2018-07-16T08:32:56 | 2018-07-16T07:45:02 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] “Congratulations!” the genie says. “Whatever you try to do today, I will make sure it succeeds brilliantly.” “Anything?” you ask, skeptical. “Yes,” the genie says, with a knowing smile. “Anything.” | *Anything.*
The word echoes in my mind. Then it hits me. I throw the old lamp away, jump back into my car and rush home. On my way I only have green lights, no controls even though I'm speeding, the traffic is clear even in the middle of the city.
Dean is not home yet. Good. According to the time I have about half an hour until he arrives. I prepare a quick meal and pour some wine just as he enters the house through the garage.
"Oh, you are home soon?" he smiles at me. "Lunch? Lovely!"
How I love this man, but I don't have time for this. The genie said I have the whole day, but I feel a need to rush. I can't hide my nervousness as we eat the meal and Dean tells me about his day.
When the dishes are moved aside, I lean closer and kiss him. First on the nose, as we always do.
"What's going on, honey?" he asks with a half smile. He sensed it.
"Today. Today it will work. I just know it. We must try." I might sound a bit crazy, but he will understand. He always does. I love him.
"How–? Honey, it's not even that day of the month..." Or maybe he does think I'm crazy...
"No, I just know it. Believe me. The pills worked. We need to try it today. We are having a baby." I smile and so does he.
"Yes, we are." He takes my hand and we finally head to the bed room, exchanging kisses on the way.
Eleven years. And all it wanted was an old lamp on an old road. Here comes my miracle. | I rubbed a layer of dust off the kettle. It had a dent here and a dent there, each one a different story that I would never hear. The house had been empty for months now, collecting dust as I composed myself enough to sort through the belongings. A soft hum emanated from the shelf atop which the kettle sat, a steady crescendo that made the cracked mirrors and forgotten trinkets start to tremble. Then the hum came to an abrupt end and there was a grunt and out of the spout a genie emerged, pushing himself off the rim as he squeezed through the narrow orifice.
"Congratulations," he announced with a curious look around. Dust floated in the air, illuminated by the dim bulb and the rays of sunshine peaking through the window at the far end of the attic. "What a mess," he added after a moment, brushing off the dust that had settled on his shoulder. "Let's make this quick." I was already churning through ideas for my wishes, figuring out how to get the most use out of them. "Whatever you try to do today, I will make sure it succeeds brilliantly."
I gave him an odd look. Those weren't the rules, at least not in books and stories about genies that I had read. "How about my wishes?"
His clueless gaze betrayed his confusion. "I'm not that kind of genie. Wishes mean extended service, contracts, caveats..." He waved a hand around vaguely and pouted. "I'm getting this done today. Take it or leave it."
I shrugged. His demeanor was a little off-putting. But I wasn't about to leave an offer like that on the table or let it get covered in dust. "So anything I try?" The genie nodded confidently, his pout turning into a knowing smile. "Anything?" I repeated suspiciously.
"Anything, dude," the genie snapped. "Did I stutter or something? Are you daft?"
"No, no. Sorry. I was just making sure. Anything I do today will succeed."
"Brilliantly." He took one last look around the attic, his face a grossed-out scowl. "I'll be going now. Good luck."
And with a wave and a little hum from the kettle, he was gone. I glanced around for some worldly confirmation that he had been here. There was still undisturbed dust where he had stood. Real or not, I wasn't going to be spending a day with so much potential stuck in this attic. I gave the kettle one last look and then climbed down the rickety stairs and made my way out to my car.
I didn't crash, so that was saying something, but I hadn't crashed yesterday either and that was before the genie. For a brief moment, I struggled with the thought of what to do next but an uncharacteristic lucidity came over me. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe we could work things out.
I parked in front of the house and barged in. She was doing her makeup and I shoved right past her. She glared at me. "I thought you were at your mom's house," she stabbed accusingly.
"Babe..." I reached out half-heartedly before changing my mind. Priorities. "We'll talk later. I really have to go." I locked the door to the bathroom behind me. Three weeks of steaks and burgers and fries. Mourning steaks and mourning burgers to go with morning steaks and morning burgers, all washed down with beer. But they hadn't done my stomach any favors. It was now or never.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-13T15:01:05 | 2019-09-13T08:14:57 | 109 | 15 |
[WP] Your friend is skeptical about ghosts since they’ve never seen one. You, a spirit medium, take them to an abandoned house on the edge of town, in order to show them proof. As the two of you step into the building, you are unsettled when the spirits begin to flee at the sight of your friend. | (Very nice prompt. Feel free to critique!)
I stepped inside and then my friend, one foot after the other. It was loud and almost defeaning, their screams. I covered my ears for a second before sighing.
"Something wrong?" my friend asked.
"They're so loud..."
"I don't hear anything..." She looked around, being really confused. Nothing was there and it stank of mold.
"She's here! She's here! She'll kill us all again, get away now!" a spirit screamed, flying close to the ceiling with the others.
I looked confused as I stare at the ceiling. "Nobody is going to kill you again..." I whispered.
"Abbadon, the knight from hell!" one hissed. "The soul is possessed in her! It will awaken if she's angry!"
I looked back at my friend. She seemed confused. "If there are ghosts here," I started out slowly, "give us a sign."
A chair suddenly tipped to the ground and began to move towards us. I gasped and my friend screamed, looking terrified. "It moved! It moved!" she screamed.
"If the ghosts are angry, give us a sign."
The chair came closer and my friend screamed, backing up into a corner quickly. "Jess, it's okay," I reassured, going closer to her." She screamed more, suddenly in pain.
"It hurts! Why did you bring me here?!" she cried, blood coming down from her eyes.
I looked at her and started to back up. The spirits were right. The spirits were angry, they were tearing at her to try and kill her...I had to back up more and watch as she bled, listen to her screams...
They suddenly stopped. I felt the spirits all move my way and begin to back me up. Some blood drops got on my arm, seemingly from Jess. They backed me up into a room, closing the door. "Hey, let me out! Let me out, what are you doing?! Jess!" I screamed, pounding on the door. "Help me!" I screamed.
I got out my phone and turned on the flashlight, seeing a broom, a mop bucket, and a billion cobwebs. "Seriously, let me out, Jess!" I said.
"Jess?" someone said. It was an older voice. "Who the hell is that?"
"Who's there?! Let me out! Face me, you coward!"
The door suddenly opened. It was Jess, her face covered in blood, her hair ripped in chunks that gathered by her shoulders, scratches up and down her arms. She looked at me with piercing yellow eyes.
"Abbadon, knight of hell. Pleasure to meet you." | Cliff is a pretty awesome guy. We don't hang out too much since hes always off doing something somewhere, but he always seems to find these little trinkets an baubles on his solo quests and gives them to me for my collection. Some of them I fit into a charm bracelet I made with my father. Out of all my friends I think hes my favorite, but there has away been one think I cant stand.
I'm what I like to call a ghost enthusiast. I love supernatural movies, Halloween pretty much anything involving the spirits of the dead. I've always felt a connection somehow, and I swear I have seen real live ghosts. Heck, I also had dreams of being one, floating free without a care. Cliff never believes me. Says I would be a lot of fun at a nice campfire. Yea, right. I can barely go outside in the Spring without having an asthma attack from the pollen. I always thought that was why. My lungs are basically keeping my one foot at deaths door. The hospital nurses all know me by name.
One night, Cliff convinced me to take him to the house I saw the ghost at. It was exciting. I could finally have a chance to prove to him that ghosts are real. I grabbed a couple surgical masks so I wouldn't become one and stuffed an extra inhaler into my bag with my flashlight.
The street lamps were on all the way to the end of the road where this house sat. Dilapidated and creaky, it was still pretty solid for an abandoned property. the only spooky thing about it is the way the chairs seem to stack themselves up in the kitchen, or tables slide across floors. No biggy for me, and Cliff was probably just pretending to be brave.
We reached the door and it opened by itself. Cliff gave me a nervous smile and I chucked though the mask. The house was crawling with them. People in their transparent shades of colors, like auras I think depicted the type of person they were in life... but there were, like, a lot of them. Too many. They all felt our presence when we stepped in and stared right at us.
I dont think that Cliff could see, but I actually got scared in that moment. I have never seen more than a couple here and even one was rare. There were dozens of hollow bodies staring straight at us.
Suddenly, one pointed straight at Cliff and let out a shriek like a banshee. All at once the turned a fled into different rooms and walls. I held my ears, but Cliff didnt seem to hear anything and looked at me like I was crazy. He welcomed himself to the house and started to take a tour. I followed him close behind.
Throughout the entire house I didnt see another. It was like they were scared of Cliff. I didnt know what was going on so I clung to his muscular arm for dear life. We arrived at a door he opened and let swing all the way. The basement. Without a word he stepped down. Creaking each step echoed through the house as I waited at the top of the stairs, watching him disappear into the darkness.
I made up my mind to follow him down, but he was already at the bottom. I call to him, but didn't get an answer. Could ghosts harm you? I thought as I braced my entire body for a jump scare. Cliff didnt jump from behind the corner. It was empty. A big door as at the other end. It must be where Cliff went. I quietly opened it an walked inside.
Bones. The floor had dozens of them scattered about. The walls were brown and the whole room smelled like pennies. I gasped and started to panic turning to leave the room but Cliff was there blocking the door.
" Do you like MY collection?" He said to me, looking straight into my eyes, "Its from your friends upstairs. All of you friends.
He continued, "I thought you might like it, since you held onto all of their trophies."
I felt a punch to my gut and a sudden nauseousness as I double over grabbing my stomach. I was bleeding and a sharpened femur was in Cliff's hand.
The room around me started to spin and then turn black.
So yeah, I died that day and became a ghost. Its been pretty cool so far, since so many new faces are here, and I don't even have to wear a mask anymore. No one else like to see Cliff, but I get excited each time he comes over. It means we get to play with someone new! | 2019-11-29T10:26:25 | 2019-11-29T09:56:47 | 461 | 158 |
[WP] Your twin is the Chosen One, born with powerful abilities. But you were born with none. Because they were born gifted, your twin took everything from you as they bathed in the spotlight. Your anger drove you to become better, working hard to rival your twin, yet they call YOU the villain.
**EDIT** : Apparently the first two sentences are incredibly similar to a plethora of stories and shows, so I apologize if it seems like I’m copying from something. | I didn't understand why, my brother tore through these possessed people with his magic and was called a hero.
I on the other hand... Well apparently if you use guns instead of magic to end a person who's been possessed by a demon you're not a hero but a monster.
My brother was born with super human powers, flight, super strength, heat vision all the super hero bs. Meanwhile I was born with nothing except for my trigger finger.
I never had problems with killing someone, I've done it dozens of times before even reaching the age of 21, just like my brother. But it looks like people preferred when it happens through super powers than through guns.
He beat a lot of evil guys, killing many of them through his super Strength but still they praised him as hero. He was no hero. He only wanted the fame. The money. The women...
I on the other hand was a firm believer in justice, but people don't seem to care. A group of terrorists screwed up a bomb planting and started taking hostages instead, since my brother was occupied fighting some super villain I jumped into action. They had many men who were armed to their teeth with rifles, bullet proof vests and even grenades.
I had a Desert Eagle.
I didn't miss a single shot, they all fell victim to the .50 AE hollow points I had loaded.
The public hated me, calling me a crazy vigilante, even calling me villain...
It has been going on for years now, he gets all the glory by just beating up people weaker than him while not giving a single damn about the people he was saving.
I always tried my best to save people and avoid fights, only using my pistol when it was absolutely necessary.
Still in their eyes I was the villain.
I've finally realized after all these years... Justice is dead... They call me villain? Fine then... I'll give them a villain. | In a small town, near a large city, lived a group of towns people. They set up many decorations and placed many signs. The reason for celebrating was one of common. A new hero was going to be chose to be sent into the city to represent the town. However they had their festivities much more grand than last year. As their new champion was sure to bring them great honor, unlike that last couple of chosen heroes. As the town's folk set up the party, one person yelled that the best chose were coming. Soon a group of five entered the town square but it was clear on who would be chosen. Mateo. Mateo principe. He was strongest, the fastest, the smartest, the coolest. Well you get the idea. The other three just acted as his entourage. Then there was Thomas principe, the brother of Mateo. As everyone cheered Mateos name, many were also giving Thomas mean and cruel looks. They glared at him as he entered with his head down, while the other strutted their way to the middle of the town square. They all stopped and stood in a horizontal line next to each other. Mateo naturally the first and thomas naturally the last. From the crowd, a very old woman pushed her way to the front. She finally stood in front of the soon to be heroes. She looked at all five of them. And finally she spoke.
"Mateo, lady luck smiles upon you today!" She happily cried to the crowd. Everyone cheered happily for him except for Thomas. Finally the crowd became quiet once more and she spoke again, however her eyes widened and she stepped back in terror. I few towns men rushed to grab her before she almost fell. She finally uttered what she was going to say
"Thomas, lady luck, unfortunately for us smiles, upon you today" she growled. The crowd gasped and for the first time in his life Thomas truly wished he was invisible. The crowd so began to advance forward. Thomas finally opened his mouth to speak. "This can't be right! I'm not supposed to be a hero!" He cried as the crowd began to yell and scream for him to disappear. Mateo watched but did nothing. In fact he seemed to hate Thomas for stealing his spotlight. The crowd advanced until Thomas's mother ran into the crowd and stood in front of him. She begged and pleaded with the crowd to let him go. Hes wasnt the one responsible for lady lucks decision to chose him. Mateo saw this a a perfect opportunity to make it about him again.
"Yes please. Let him go! He is my brother after all!" His voice boomed. Some of the town fangirls started to squeal about how kind and noble he is. The crowd backed away and allowed Thomas and his mother to leave while they congratulated Mateo. Thomas lowered his head and raced home leaving behind his mother and brother to the crowd. After the chaos that happened a week ago, everything seemed to have died down and everyone still glared and whispered awful things about Thomas but he didn't care. He felt sick to his stomach knowing at one point his brother was gonna get him back for stealing the spotlight. He packed his things slowly meanwhile Mateo had finished back half an hour earlier. Thomas looked out the window. He grabbed his things and followed behind Mateo. The town followed them and stayed away from Thomas while his mother walked with him. His mother smiled as the reached to the edge of town along with the rest of the town. Mateo and Thomas stood next to each other. Suddenly it all became clear. He really was chosen. He really was picked for impossible tasks. He looked up at the sky and back at his mother. And then the bus arrived to take them. He hugged his mother one last time as he sighed and stepped onto the bus, leaving behind all he knew. | 2020-01-01T07:42:00 | 2020-01-01T07:11:02 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | I wait in my room in the cold light of dawn
To see what the writing is going to say.
And if it says 'William', we'll up and be gone,
A couple of soulmates just running away.
Two lovers like us can't be broken apart
By family feuds started decades ago.
I wait in my room with my hand on my heart
To see on my skin what I already know.
And 'William McGee' is the name that appears.
I smile and look down for my enemy's name.
I gasp and turn pale, overwhelmed by my fears,
For 'William' it says, with the surname the same.
Could Old William, Senior, be on to our plan?
I picture his face with a soul full of hate,
The murderous patriarch loved by his clan.
No matter, I think, because he'll be too late.
I run to the window to wave at my love.
I whisper 'I'm coming' and throw down a rope.
Then climb down three stories and land from above
Upon William's horse with a flickering hope.
I turn back to kiss him and show him my wrist.
"It's you!" I cry out. "Now let's go catch that boat!"
He touches his lip at the spot I have kissed
Then mutters, "I'm sorry" while slitting my throat.
Betrayal and blood stain the snow on the ground.
With tears in his eyes he lets loose with an oath.
Before I can perish, he spins me around.
He shows me his arms and my name is on both. | 12 hours. That’s how many hours I have till I know the name of my soulmate. I have my phone charged and ready to find them on any social media. Having waited years to meet them I dreamed of my birthday. I’ve spent years of my life watching romcoms. Turning 16 is huge. You can buy ads with your name and your soulmates name. Ever sense the names started showing up about a century ago dating has long sense gone out of fashion. I rub my wrist anxiously. What if they live across the world? I have $1,000 saved for traveling but that’s nowhere near enough to cross the world and stay with them. I researched soulmates. Most share birthdays, so names show at the same time. So I know my soulmate will be looking for me. I couldn’t care less about the enemy thing,
6 hours. I try to bide my time but the excitement is overwhelming.
1 hour. I haven’t left my room in hours. I sit phone in one hand and eyes fixed on my wrist.
15 minutes. I’m shaking. It’s finally happening. I get to meet my soul mate. Ever sense I learned about them from my parents I have looked forward to this day.
1 minute. I stare unblinking at my wrist.
10 seconds. I see faint black line slowly start fading in.
0 seconds. I read it. James Smith. I look to my other wrist. James Smith. Eight billion people and I get the most common name in America! My name is Mila Sallow. No doubt my soul mate will find me. All I can do is wait. I know that when you meet your soulmate or enemy their name fades, I will know it’s them.
After about a day I get a message on Instagram. From James Smith. I jump to my phone and text back frantically. He lives only a city over. We decide to meet at Needle Point Hill. In an hour I get dressed and I’m waiting at the bench overlooking my city. I hear a voice from behind me.
“Mila?”
I turn around and tackle him into a hug. I bury my face into his chest unable to control my smile or tears. After a minute I release him. I brush my now blank right hand with my left hand. Something catches my eye, or a lack of something rather. I slowly turn over my left hand. My wrist is clear. I collapse to the ground. How can it be the same person? I thought it was just two people with the same name. James kneels down.
“What’s wrong?”
Tears cover my face I show him my wrist.
“You met your enemy before me? That’s okay!”
“No. No. No.”
I’m a mess. He looks at my wrists for another second. His once cheerful voice falls.
“Oh. Oh wow. Is that even possible?”
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I’m your soulmate. I’ve just made your life so much harder.”
He cups my face in his hand,
“It’s fine, it will all be okay. You’re not my enemy, and even if I’m yours I am still your soulmate. I will take care of you, I think you are great and I’m so happy we match.”
I sniffled.
“Really?”
“Yes. I will always be here for you, despite what ever your wrist says.”
“Thanks... I really appreciate it.”
He helps me up, and I look at my left wrist. It’s turned pitch black. I don’t know what it means but I think it’s going to be ok. I’ve got James. | 2020-01-18T23:55:28 | 2020-01-18T23:16:31 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment. | Joan placed her hand on the glass. Behind it, her mother and father sat in orange jumpsuits.
Joan put on her brightest smile. "Ma, Pa. I'm graduating next week. Wish you guys could see it."
Her father huffed. "What good is a uni degree? A piece of paper ain't gonna help you rob a bank is it. What are you going to do? Everybody get down! I'm a lawyer! I'll sue you!"
Her mother placed her hands on his shoulder. "He didn't mean that JoJo. Your father was denied juvie because of his first lawyer. We're just worried for you. We want to see you here. With us."
"Ma, I'm not going to be locked behind these bars! I just-"
"Of course, dear," her mother said, "We understand if you want to land maximum security. Like Eggbert."
Her parents exchanged proud looks.
Joan threw up her hands. "No! Eggbert's lockpicks weren't even sharp! He should of-
Her father stood, knocking over his stool, ears red. "Those were your grandfather's lockpicks, young lady! Passed down from his father to his son, and will be passed from Eggbert's to his. Don't you dare mention sanding them again."
"Yeah," Joan muttered, "maybe after Eggbert's life sentence."
Her father's cheeks glowed like a beet and her mother patted his shoulder. She picked up his seat and coaxed him back down.
"We miss you JoJo. Banks are the Chebwick way but if you're feeling nervous you could do an ATM. We know you're not the best with strangers." She leaned closer to the glass and lowered her voice. "Your uncle Bobby's first was a convenience store."
Joan took a deep breath. "I miss you too, ma. And you, pa."
Her father huffed back.
Joan forced the corners of her mouth up again. "I landed an internship at this law firm. Well it's not exactly a law firm, it's a bit shady but..."
Behind her, a guard's bored voice announced, "Visitation over. Please make your way to the exit."
"But I'll get you guys out soon. Eggbert too. If I'm lucky maybe even before my grad ceremony." Joan slung her backpack over her shoulder.
"We can't wait to see you again, Jojo. We'll be right here." Her mother waved and her father looked at the ground but Joan caught a slight frown.
"Yeah. I know."
Joan stood. Walking past the guard, she slid him a stack of banded greens. She paused for a split moment and whispered.
"Bonanno will give your orders soon."
\---
PART 2 below
r/bobotheturtle | "You know why we tolerate supervillains and superheroes and all you types who dance outside the law?" I said.
"Because we're gods in a world of mortals, and all your tin soldiers couldn't make a dent on us if you tried." The Chebwick kid—even after his little murdering spree at the mall, I couldn't help but think of him as a kid—sneered at me from inside his cell. His sole guard cleared her throat, and he subsided. "See? You couldn't even handle lil' ol' me—no, you just had to go and tattle to Mommy."
"Elias Chebwick, listen to what the psychologist has to say." Meredith Chebwick snapped, her face devoid of emotion. I made a mental note to get someone in here who could take Meredith in a fight. Even when she was practicing villainy, she'd always had a smile on her face; her stony expression put me on edge.
"I think this is at the heart of your problem, Elias. Power isn't just the ability to breathe fire, or turn to mist, or see the legs of an ant from a hundred paces. There is power in *connections*, in rules. I may not be able to take you in a fight personally, but one phone call and I can have a dozen people who can knocking on your door."
"Please," Elias scoffed, "when I kill you, I'll do it before you get your phone out of your pocket."
Those words shouldn't have been so chilling, coming from a child's lips.
I tried another tactic. "Alright. Let's say you kill me. You know what happens next? My friends come over and pay you a *very* stern visit. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of friends whose power makes yours look like a candle next to a nuclear bomb. Think of it like a great, big spiderweb. Make too many waves, and the spider comes along."
"Oh, your life's a spiderweb, alright. A great, big tangle of rules and regulations and complications. The Chebwicks have always ignored that—I just took it one step further."
"Dammit, Elias, you killed forty people on a whim! Because you *wanted* to! The Chebwicks may not have followed the rules of the city, but they still obeyed the rules of *society*. Cause and effect, Elias. Life is a game—and just like a game, the only reason why anyone has fun is *because* of the rules, not in spite of them. The dance of hero and villain only works because everyone involved is playing. There are no deaths of innocents, no major property damage, and no personal attacks if we can help it. The whole community—on both sides—comes down very, very hard on anyone who breaks those rules, and for good reason. If you don't start showing signs of repenting, then there is no force on Earth that can save you."
Elias growled, "You little people move in circles in a world of lines, and I'm the only one who can see that. You know what? Maybe I don't want to be saved. Maybe I don't want to live in this backwards, Byzantine world."
"Elias, ignoring society is not a superpower. Even if I wanted to, I can't let you continue as you are. You're a menace to yourself, to society, and to your family name."
"Oh, I'm a menace, alright." Elias stood, and his mother bristled, shifting stances, a chill, divine wind rising around her. "Not to myself, but two out of three isn't bad."
"Sit down, Elia—"
"*No.*"
There was a flash of... images. As if Elias had shattered the surface of the world, and through the cracks, something else could be seen. His mother collapsed, shrieking in pain, one of the image-lances having bored straight through her shoulder. I stumbled back. The glass between us had shattered. I reached for my phone, switching it on—
Elias winked, and a bolt of not-light bored a hole through my chest. I gaped, torn lungs failing to voice a dead man's words, as Elias stepped over the shattered safety glass. "Circles in a world of lines. I warned you."
Then he turned and held a hand out, towards thin air. This time, the crack he opened in the world stayed open, widening, like a child picking at a scab. He stepped inside, and his strange powers sealed the rift behind him.
I was left to die in the empty hall.
But I had the last laugh.
With the last of my energy, I'd sent out a single word.
*Help.*
And the world responded.
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites! | 2020-04-03T22:22:47 | 2020-04-03T22:20:28 | 1,211 | 29 |
[WP] Few mortals can claim the honour of killing a god, the first one was a bitter man who wanted revenge against the gods who took his family, the second was a unrivalled warrior who slew one in a duel, the third was a genius who spent years carefully preparing a trap and you were drink driving | Kratos: I have killed the gods of Olympus and the ones of the Norse, yet I still feel an uncontrollable rage
Andrew Jackson: he was a tough bastard he didn’t even die when I beat him with my cane that one time. But he was a terrible shot nonetheless.
Rube Goldberg: you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to keep him distracted long enough for it to work! I mean seriously, do you understand how long it took for the priests to bless three Olympic swimming pools, then ensure I had three tommy guns loaded with silver, then had to get the piano to drop-tnt to go off-trap doors to open, and worst of all: it nearly failed because the fire to burn the rope(which would open the dove cage, releasing the doves who would knock over the axe which would cut the cable holding the explosive piano) went out and I had to send one of the priests to run up the bell tower to cut it himself! Now how about you kid?
Dave: *head down, face red* I uuuuhhhh...
Kratos: come now Dave, Slayer of Ra. How did you defeat the sun?
Dave: ^with ^the ^help ^of ^Jose ^Cuervo
Andrew: speak up lad! Your a God Slayer! Show us your fight!
Dave: I GOT DRUNK OFF MY ASS AND CRASHED INTO HIS BOAT!!!! OKAY! | Driving a Red Bull car isn't as easy as you'd think. It's basically a Mini Cooper pickup truck where you haul around a giant can. "What's so hard about that?" I hear you ask. Well Sonny Jim, you ever heard that phrase *Red Bull Gives You Wings?* It also gives you way too much energy and a bad sense of humor.
I was warned. My family told me how unstable the formula was, but I didn't listen. Some jokester at headquarters thought it would be a good idea to replace the empty giant can with a full one. Red Bull makes you do funny stuff, but this wasn't funny. The whole building is full of psychopaths hopped up on legal speed.
I never got high on my own supply. Honestly, I drank Monster as my own small act of defiance. I was incredibly good looking and had a history of mascot showmanship so I was a shoe-in for the driving position. They never cared to check my company loyalty. They paid good, end of story.
The death of God was a quick affair. I'm driving around in 105° Texas weather on my way out of Houston when it happened. I stopped at a gas station to pick up a Monster; I was expected to make it to Tulsa before noon the next day. I could have just taken a Red Bull out of the cooler but I poured it on the ground on my way into the store. As I'm checking out, an older man in a solid chrome Mercedes pulls up beside my car.
He steps out and seems super excited about something. He's jumping up and down like he's mentally preparing for a fight. He's not even looking at the gas nozzle. I think he's actually having a nervous breakdown. I'm about to head back to my car but I stop for a moment to watch this strange fellow do his thing.
I see him lean against his car with his head in his hands, turn to grab the nozzle, turn back again and lean on his car, turn back again, turn again, back again, turn again, and he finally drops to the ground and leans against his tire. I see him pull a small flask out of his pocket and unscrew the top, but he stops.
"No!" He yells. "Enough!" I see him pour the contents out not 5 feet away from my own trail of energy drink. "JESUS! COME INTO MY HEART! I'M SORRY!"
Wouldn't you know it, at just that moment the reflection of the sun off his car finally took it's effect. The chrome had been reflecting and concentrating a small beam of light onto the can loaded on the back of my car. He finished his proclamation and not 1 second later the whole gas station was rocked with a giant explosion.
I would say it's an act of God that nobody got hurt, but that wasn't the case. The old man was the first and last casualty. The station attendant, customers, and I were all enveloped in a massive smelly fireball. I remember seeing a whirlwind of colors and some intense heat but nothing burned except for my clothes. The building collapsed on top of us, but I had no trouble breathing. I called out for help and everyone who was in the store responded loudly and clearly.
"Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?" I called out.
"I think we're all good," I hear another customer yell. "What the hell happened?"
What happened was death had stopped, and it's last victim was a repentant alcoholic. | 2020-07-30T12:27:24 | 2020-07-30T11:06:39 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] American submarines are never considered lost. The ones missing from WWII are “still on patrol” with their hundreds of sailors. Little do we know the horrors these men defend us from in the deeps. | Once a year, every summer, something weird happens. Something that I don't understand how or why, and despite all these years, I don't think I can ever get used to that experience.
My father and I own a bar at the Northern ridge of Greenland. Our bar faces the ocean, and it is probably the worst location ever for a bar. The nearest town is 2000 miles away. The nearest house is 130 miles away. Here, we are on our own.
Like you can already guess, we don't get any customers throughout the year. However, during summer, every year like clockwork, there are three days when the bar is packed to the brim.
There are some years when they visit during the winters too, but that is rare. It's usually the summers and that's the time our entire stock is consumed.
Americans, all of them, few of them even taking the liberty to dress up as pirates, few of them deep scars telling stories of the great beyond, all of them paying us enough gold in each visit to last enough lifetimes.
For all I know, they're all immortal and the fact that they are- is comforting. They've somehow discovered deep secrets within the depths of the oceans and yet, they've also discovered things that mortal minds shouldn't know or even consider.
They have a language of their own when they're at the bar, but once, despite my father's warnings, I asked a guy how old he is.
He looked at me in a way as if he was about to tell the truth, then he just said, "Old enough."
Some people say that there are some words, which by their mere existence can break a mind. I believe they are on to something. Every year, these sailors come back from horrors which our minds can't even comprehend, which is why they protect us by not burdening us with their knowledge.
I know one thing though. I will join them someday. I will leave the bar, and when the submarine rises up from the waters like a deity revealing itself, I will beg them to take me with them.
I believe they will, when I am old enough.
\----------------
r/abhisek | ​
The old house drug itself through the depths. Out from a darkened window shot a chained harpoon. Sailing across the ocean floor it hooked into distant rock and pulled the house forward. When the house reached the point of impact, the chain retracted and the process repeated. A tedious and bizarre thing to behold; A monstrous patchwork of Victorian homes, trudging through the ocean deep like mechanized octopus.
The B-3 nuclear submarine and it’s crew followed from a safe distance.
Captain Harvey didn’t ask questions. He followed orders. When abnormal sightings occur, monitor from a safe distance and wait for them to return below ground. If they don’t return below ground, if they head towards the shoreline -- use all necessary firepower to deal with the problem. Either way, most of them were harmless. Fleeting apparitions and nothing more. But the ones that weren’t…
This had been going on three weeks now. The old house pulling itself closer and closer towards the first continental rise. Pass that line and it’s game over.
“Get the firepower ready” said Captain Harvey, hunched over in the claustrophobic sonar room, eyes on the radar blip.
“Yessir” said the first mate, leaning over a mic and pressing talk, “Tracking party, man your stations.” He said, “Forward room, order of tubes is one, two, three, four.”
“And the depth charge.” Said Captain Harvey, eyes not leaving the radar blip.
“Rig for depth charge. Forward room, shut number eight ballast by hand.”
Captain Harvey sat back down in his chair, eyes closed he took a slow, deep breath. The target was about to cross the line. Judging by the external infrared cameras, it was one harpoon chain away from forced engagement. This was always worst case scenario. Sometimes you simply took out the target and that was that. Sometimes the target fought back. There wasn’t any stories on that scenario, because there wasn’t any survivors.
“Ready on your orders sir” said the first mate. The caption nodded, hands steepled as he hunched over the radar. He looked up at the camera screen. The old house sat still in the water, the long chain retracting back into a second story window. This was it, one more move and it was on. The chain slithered back into the dark.
A long silence followed. The whole crew waiting, ready to engage at once.
“Sir?”
The captain shot him a look. It wasn’t over the line. It could still turn back.
The chain shot out from the window and sailed through the dark. Captain Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but only water came out. Salty, ice cold water. He vomited onto the control pad. More water.
“E-engage…” his voice strained as more water lurched out. The first mate’s eyes filled with dread as he watched the captain convulsing.
“ENGAGE” he snapped.
The first mate turned back to his mic, “Ready one. Fire one. Check fire.” He glanced over at the caption, still vomiting.
"R-ready two. Fire two. Check fire."
Nothing. The crew was silent. The first mate looked back over his shoulder, down the narrow hallway past the mess hall, he saw something bad. A crew member stood pin straight in the middle of the hallway. Eyes wide open, mouth clenched shut, frozen. As though constrained by an invisible straight jacket.
The first mate cursed under his breath and turned back to the captain. Captain harvey wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, finally done vomiting up sea water.
“Sir… the crew…” said the first mate.
The captain looked into his eyes and opened his mouth to speak. He stopped, looked around the room. His face filled with realization.
Then he laughed. He laughed louder and louder. Hands slapping against knees, head thrown back.
The first mate looked around, wondering what the captain realized. Then it hit him. The walls were getting closer. The room was getting smaller. Around them, the submarine was shrinking. The submarine was *shrinking*. Titanium walls pulling closer and closer as they remained the same. He turned back to the radar.
The old house was [gone.](https://www.reddit.com/r/polterkites) | 2020-08-21T11:34:58 | 2020-08-21T10:59:02 | 189 | 54 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved. | The planet was dark. Captive. Defeated. The paltry attempts at combat were not enough to damage a single ship. Their leaders never stood a chance.
So why did they look happy?
Every conquered civilization has wept, pleaded, begged for mercy. Not Earth. Not the Earthlings. As we brought captives aboard the ship, there were expressions of fear, yes, but mitigated by something else. More than once I heard a whispered “Thank you” as they were hurried by. Those on the ground stared longingly at the sky even when their family members were not on board. It was all too much. So I decided to figure out why. Why these people embraced us when they should have quailed. What went so wrong here?
I traveled from country to country, listening, talking, and learning. And I began to understand. People in power didn’t care for their citizens. A global pandemic that some denounced as fake. In well-off countries, those who didn’t make enough couldn’t afford to be healthy. The food they ate made them fat, but wasn’t actually nutritious, and all around the world leaders played checkers with the lives of those who had nowhere else to go.
Yet, I heard about a few who made a difference. Those who tried to make this planet a better place. Many Earthlings talked of them, some with disdain, some with reverence. And that’s how I came to learn the reason why so many were relieved. Earthlings never stop trying. No matter the obstacle, no matter the cost, Earthlings could overcome it. But recently the barrier was being built as they were trying to tear it down, and no progress was being made. They were tired, and at an impasse. So it was no wonder that our arrival with ships and lasers was a welcome one. It tore down what they could not. I just hope the structure we set up can begin to set things right.
For us. For the Earthlings. For Earth. | “It’s not your fault, Kyle. You’re a good kid. I know you want the best. You have optimism. I don’t *want* you to feel hopeless. It's just hard for me sometimes because...you know,” Jay paused, rubbing his palms together in that nervous way he always did when he talked about family matters. My brother was twenty nine now, a fully bearded, tattooed, faded black leather jacket-clad man. Still, I could picture the awkward teen I’d grown up with, rubbing his dry palms together while Dad and Aunt Beck shouted over the live news podcast.
“I can remember a time *before*, so it’s different for me,” he finally finished. I stared for a moment, overlaying a memory of Jay’s pubescent face over the stubbly, stress-aged but familiar scowl in my actual vision.
*‘A time before.*’ That’s the phrase everyone started using around the time I was born - no question about what the “before” might refer to. As if life on earth had been so incomprehensibly different back ‘then’, it deserved a separate era. To my generation, that mindset just seems ridiculous. Every single person in history must’ve felt nostalgic about the time “before” whatever change happened to rock society that year. This is no different. My world is the same as the one those Millenz always lived in. The only difference is, I was born in 2021: just the right time to witness all the denial without the constraint of memories from ‘then’.
Realizing I was meant to respond to Jay’s nostalgia trip, I defaulted with platitudes: “Hey man, it's all good. I know you’ve got your own… stuff … to work out. I don’t get it, but I gotta respect your decision if I want you to respect mine.”
“Tch,” he dropped my gaze with a disappointed grunt, rolling his eyes and thumbing his vape out of its case in the same fluid motion. “They teach you that line in your school's *conflict resolution* seminar?”
I felt my cheeks redden in spite of myself. Damn it, Jay always knew how to get a rise out of me. I should just shut up. I just need to be the bigger man. Don’t respond to his bullshit.
Don’t. Don’t argue.
...
“Fuck you,” I spat, “You know, I always *try* to have a civil conversation with you. I always at least listen.” My heart was beating fast, self-righteously thumping along.
“There he is,” Jay grinned like an asshole, “There’s the human. I knew you were in there,”
“We are humans, you idiot! We didn’t lose our humanity just because we adapted to the way the world works now. We’re surviving, like *humans*.”
“We’re not. This isn’t surviving.”
“Jay…”
“No, Kyle, you can’t change my mind on this. Letting an invasive alien species inject it’s consciousness into your fucking brain is not the survival of the human race. Allowing all the content of our minds, our thoughts, to be collected by some *foreign being!* Giving it free rein over your nervous system, letting it use your brain like a data processor! This isn’t humanity any longer.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, bro. If you won’t even speak to me as an equal and consider *both sides* of this issue…”
“Just go, then.” Jay blinked hard a few times, trying to conceal the water pressing against his lids.
Fine. I looked at him one last time, still puzzled. My heart and eyes and lungs felt heavy.
*Let go, child.*
Yes, I have to let it go.
*Let it be. Quiet your unpleasant feelings. Meditate. Come back to us.*
Okay. I’m giving up on Jay. I just had to try one more time.
I’m coming home now. | 2020-10-10T21:55:35 | 2020-10-10T20:22:18 | 537 | 114 |
[WP] Your ancestors were once avid witch hunters, but after the Salem Witch Trails, your family stopped hunting them down. But you know who are witches by their unusual scent. | I know the scent; always have - like a genetic memory or something, passed down from my ancestors, back to the Salem Witch Trials and beyond. My lineage it that of Witch Hunters; for ages, we pursued those who plied their unholy craft at the expense of others - sure, there were good Witches, too, but we never went after those. Salem changed everything, though, with the ridiculous blood frenzy and false accusations that came down like hail in the wake of a righteous hunt.
But that’s long past; my family still knows the scent, and while we no longer hunt Witches - at least not directly - we do keep an eye on things and... arrange things if a Witch strays from the good path.
That is, until recently; now the scent is everywhere, for longer stretches of time each year, masking everyone in the witches’ stink...
Fucking pumpkin spice is everywhere, now, and I worry someone is going to slip through the cracks... | "What do I smell like to you again," she cupped her hand under his chin and slightly tilted her thumb to make sure he could only see her. His lip quivered like a pup's to her touch, his gaze locked in with hers. He wrapped his arm more tightly around her waist as they sat under the shade of the great oak they had shared for so many nights now.
There was nowhere to run. He closed his eyes and took in a breath through his nose, the scent of dew mingled together with strands of lilac and honey invited themselves into his mind. It was pleasant, intoxicating even until the last lingering hint spurred him to recollect himself. Decay. The leaves had dried, the remaining petals of a sweet flower had fallen leaving only a husk of the stem. He breathed out and saw her again. A blush veiled her visage as she could see a smile form from his lips, one of satisfaction. One that doesn't reach his eyes. He spoke his thoughts.
"Like the Autumn winds," he said. "When the summer winds end and a harsh gust arrives. It picks up and brings every flower's flourish within its embrace, taking it away to start anew." He held her tighter. "And every moment with you is as fresh as ever."
She turned her cheek and pushed him away, enough so that he doesn't see her biting her bottom lip through locks of hair. "Always a fucking poet, aren't you?"
He chuckled. "Runs in my blood after all. Besides, you asked. I responded honestly."
"...Not completely honest," she said.
"How's that not honest? "
"You're hesitating."
"If you're alone at night with the love of your life at their secret spot, I think there's some room for hesitation on... what to do next."
"That's not it. You're hesitating again. Again and again, there's always something holding you back." She got up and leaned on the great oak, concern visible in her downturned gaze.
"Well excuse me for not getting to the good part." He stood up as well. "It's just, I have to be careful okay?"
"Careful of what," she asked in a low tone.
"I have to be careful that I'm loving you for you, not falling under your natural charm," He said. "I know what you are."
She turned towards him, eyes still cast downwards. "I had the feeling you did. No matter how close we got, there was always that gap between us. That last hurdle both of us couldn't make. How did you know that I was a wi-?!"
He embraced her, not daring to let go anymore. "I've always known. That's not what's stopped me from wanting to be closer." He held her tighter. "I'm scared of hurting you."
She buried her tears in the nape of his neck. "If you knew all this time and still love me, then what? What's stopping you?"
He couldn't help but groan. "Family matters." | 2020-11-03T02:06:18 | 2020-11-02T22:06:59 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Satan emerged from the ground. “WHO HAS SUMMONED ME?” “It’s me again, Jeff.” “HOW MANY SOULS DO YOU HAVE? THIS IS THE SIXTH TIME THIS WEEK!!” | Satan emerged from the ground, bellowing "WHO HAS SUMMONED ME?"
Jeff simply straightened his tie, being careful not to react to the brimstone ashes that landed on his suit. "It's me again, Jeff."
"HOW MANY SOULS DO YOU HAVE? IT'S THE SIXTH TIME THIS WEEK!!"
"Another five, your eminence."
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO KEEP THIS SUPPLY?"
Jeff sighed. "You eminence, I'm sure you know that that's not part of our deal. Do you have five souls worth of information for me to steal?"
"If you could wait-"
Jeff sighed, secretly content that Satan dropped the whole angry demon act. "You know what the core company values are, your eminence," Jeff said, emphasizing the honorific to remind the devil of his position. The customer satisfaction tenet came into mind.
"Yes, yes. I just don't think there's much for you to benefit from, what with your, uh, quarterly earnings."
Jeff sighed again. For the Lord of evil, this devil was sometimes rather unimaginative. Perhaps that was just because of the contract. After all, Jeff was on borrowed time. Satan was more like a good shareholder, not an employee Jeff could enslave. But, to help his eminence, Jeff suggested: "may be instead of selling, if you can help me with my position amongst my employees."
"How so?"
"You see, their working for me is directly tied to your getting souls. That too, for so much cheaper than a life-long deal, right?"
Satan nodded begrudgingly.
"So, I want to know who among them are the most likely to affect our little arrangement."
The devil nodded. "There's a man in Japan trying to unionize."
"Thank you." Jeff smiled in a way that made the devil feel a chill and dismissed this so-called lord of evil. Then Jeff dialed on his phone and mused on how a mere bookseller had come to the point of breaking up a warehouse workers union in Japan. Surely that was worth a soul. | "I'm a playwright," explained Jeff Smith, standing outside the summoning circle. "Each character I craft, I craft with care. With extreme attention to detail. Even the ones with only a single line of dialogue in a throwaway scene, I give backstories and family histories. In short, I give each and every one of my characters a soul. In fact, I am currently developing a character who is himself a playwright, and a prolific one at that. You can imagine how many additional souls I will be able to reap and pawn from him alone."
"Fine," said Satan, rolling his baleful eyes. "And what would you like in return for a character's soul today?"
"That's not to mention," continued Jeff Smith, "the idea I came up with only last night: the fact that I am a living synecdoche. You know about synecdoches, right? A part standing for the whole?"
"I'm familiar with the literary term," said Satan. "But what could that possibly have to do with--"
"So that means that I, Jeff Smith, as an ensouled member of the nation, represent the soul of the nation. The soul of humanity. The soul of the Earth. All of those souls in which I participate, I can access, and exchange for favours. What do you think? Has anyone tried that angle before when selling you souls?"
"None have," said the great Satan. "Though I would be open to the idea. It's certainly a more tantalizing prospect than trading favours for another one of your poorly drawn characters."
"The soul of my elementary school," continued Jeff. "The souls of my juniour high, high school, and university. The soul of my town, the soul of my state. I am as much a part of these things as they are of me. Why shouldn't I be able to sell 'em off?"
"It sounds like you have an abundance of essences for sale," said Satan. "Tell me which you wish to exchange today, and what you would like in return. I'm a busy creature, you know. I can't stand here all afternoon as you pat yourself on the back for your cleverness."
"And then there's the fact that I am an extension of all the souls of my ancestors," continued Jeff. "A part of the blood that flowed through the veins of the first man and women flows through me. A part of their souls lingers on in my soul. And so too do the souls of all their prehuman ancestors, down to the first microbes that formed on the Earth billions of years ago."
"You're getting carried away," replied Satan dryly. "I might accept the soul of the nation, even though you probably don't have the right to put it on offer. It seems sufficiently tangible: something I could really sink my fangs into. But the souls of the millions of generations of microscopic archaea that form your distant ancestry? You're taking metaphors too literally. You're getting caught up in ideas that sound nice, but lack substance. Stick with the other kinds of souls you mentioned."
"Fine," said Jeff. "Be that way. I suppose I'll have to settle with selling you the soul of the nation."
"And what, pray tell, would you like in exchange for such a large, deep and complex soul? The ability to write like Shakespeare, perhaps? The ability to think like Einstein? To paint like Rembrandt? To sing like Otis Redding? How about hundreds of adoring children to call your own? A giant family with a beautiful, caring wife? Long life and good health? A profound and abiding contentment for the rest of your days? All of the above?"
"Nothing so grand as that," said Jeff. "I'll sell you the nation's soul for. . .a big bright pickup truck, a million bucks, and a seat in the senate."
The arch fiend smiled as he extended his hand. Jeff took it and shook it.
"Always a pleasure, Senator Smith," said Satan. "Until tomorrow."
\- - -
r/CLBHos | 2021-04-30T22:11:43 | 2021-04-30T19:54:30 | 296 | 45 |
[WP] You are suddenly hugged by a teary-eyed stranger who says they love you. You then find out they've been stuck in a time loop and they've fallen for you as you were the only one who bothered to help them each time. | Wake up, take a shower, get dressed, get out of the apartment, head towards the cafè down the street, get your coffee, get in the car and go to work.
Rinse and repeat, everyday of the week.
This was the clockwork-like routine Layla had gotten accostumed to, now that she had properly moved in Los Angeles.
She didn't pay a lot of attention to the monotony of her mornings, since she had plenty of spare time in the evening to do whatever she wanted. What's more, she liked the tranquility of the whole system, it made relax a bit before she had to face the sheer chaos her boss would bring in the office.
This one tuesday, however, things took a weird turn.
She was heading for the cafè, as usual, when she saw a man get out of it. One of the other clients of the cafè, she presumed, but there was something wrong. He looked like he had an awful time: the eyebags and red eyes implied that he'd had plenty of sleepsless nights. He started looking around frantically, with a panicked expression on his face. He was muttering to himself, and breathing heavily, and she genuinely thought he was having a panic attack. It was probably best to ignore him, "stranger danger" and everything; and yet she couldn't just let him be like that. What if he seriously needed help?
She gathered up some courage and asked tentatively "Sir? Is everything alright?"
And then he locked eyes with Layla. His face, which seconds earlier held pure dread, was now melting in gratitude and affection as he lunged towards her.
"What the-"
The exclamation got cut short when Layla felt his arms lock around her in a hug. Her already wide eyes got even larger as she realized he was sobbing in her chest.
She tried to get him to let go, but he gripped onto her as he cried, as if the very idea of letting go would end him.
"Sir, what's going on?" She questioned.
She was pretty sure he was trying to answer, but what came out were gargled rambling she couldn't understand, besides the phrase "I love you" . Was it possible for someone to be drunk this early in the morning?
Both their knees were starting to get weak, so she looked around for somewhere to sit. Good thing there was a bench to her left! She led the man to it and started rubbing his back, awkwarldy waiting for him to calm down.
After what felt like ages, his breathing finally started to settle. He looked up to her with a trembling smile. "You're too good to me, Layla. No words I say are enough to thank you".
Hearing her own name made her yelp, before she answered "You could start by telling me how and why you know my name?"
He looked bewildered before he collected himself and drew back from her.
"Right. Right, you don't know. And you still helped me. That's part of why I love you so much, you're always ready to lend a hand."
If hearing a random man say he loved her didn't throw her off, the story he spilled about him being stuck for years in a time loop in that very cafè he got out of most certainly did.
"I didn't even notice at first, my life is THAT monotonous" he chuckled bitterly, as he looked away. " But every damn time I opened the doors to get out, I'd find myself back in that stupid cafè. When I realized what was going on, I tried telling people about it. Far too many times I've been called crazy and dismissed. And far too many I'd been dragged out of the bar only to be back in it to start a new cicle" The memory alone made him grimace.
This poor guy, Layla thought to herself.
"The only reason I didn't lose my mind-" he drew his gaze back to her "- is you. No matter what cicle went in, or how it changed directions, you were always there to comfort me and give me advice. You were the only one who didn't shun me, or called the cops on me. Thank you , Layla."
"There's no need to thank me" said Layla, in a timid tone of voice. "If anything, I should be thanking you."
It was the man's turn to get wide-eyed. "Huh? What for?"
"You said that I helped no matter what. It's reassuring to be the very person I yearned for in my own loop". | "Look man, I know this is going to make me sound psycho, but... I love you."
He wrapped his arms around me, squeezing tight. I could feel the tears from his eyes going into my shirt, his gentle sobs as he shook against me. I looked around the bookstore, confused as hell, because I'd never seen this person before in my life.
"Um... there, there?" I patted him gently on the back, only for him to look up at me, wipe the tears away, and then sniffle a bit.
He was kind of short, a little pudgy, but his face was kind, friendly. He looked like he was in his 20s, and he was reaching into his back pocket for something that he then handed to me.
"This oughtta explain things well enough."
I took what he offered, and realized it was a book. It looked vaguely familiar, and as I opened it, I realized it was a book I had ordered online just last week. It was a daily journal, where you were supposed to record your 'mission log' for the day like you were a captain in Star Trek, preparing for amazing adventures. I thought, maybe, with this kind of book I would be the person who would take amazing adventures in the first place.
As I opened it up, I realized the the first page was filled.
By me.
Mission Log 1, Star Date: August 3rd 2021
I met the strangest boy today. His name was Jaime. He was young, had a friendly face, and told me that he loved me. I thought he was insane. I decided to spend some time hanging out with him, and realized we have absolutely nothing in common. He wants to spend tomorrow together too. Part of me is hesitant, but also, how often does someone have the balls to say something like that to a total stranger? And even if we don't like a lot of the same stuff, he makes me laugh in ways I never thought possible.
I read the entry a couple of times, and there weren't any entries after it. It was definitely my handwriting. It didn't make sense, though. Why was the date in August? It was only now the middle of July. I looked up at Jaime with confusion on my face.
"It's yours" he said. "You know it is." He reached forward to grab my hand. I let him. "Like I said, it's gonna make me sound psycho, but I love you, Amir. I don't have a lot of time to explain, and honestly I don't want to, but just spend some time with me. You'll see."
An hour later and we were at a nearby coffee shop, on what was a pretty perfect day. I sipped my white chocolate mocha as Jaime said "I told him I didn't need no tutelage, I need three or four-telage with how dumb I am."
I nearly spit up my drink and laughed at that dumb joke for the next ten minutes.
My book was right, we had basically nothing in common. I was all starships and lasers, swords and sorcery. Jaime was grit and street smarts, humor and heart. I would listen to him talk about his abuela, and he would smile and nod when I nerded out about my latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign, chiming in here and there.
I couldn't help but notice that he brought up that my party was fighting Ixdaryll, the Death Dragon before I mentioned it...
As we parted ways, I looked at him. Really looked at him. He was smiling a gentle smile, his eyes off in the middle distance. He seemed content. "Take care," I said. "I had a really good time. Would you, maybe, want to see each other tomorrow?"
His gentle smile turned into a wide grin. It was infectious. "You know what? I'd love to."
As I crossed the street, my heart fluttered a bit. I could've skipped to my car. I buckled up, pulled out of the parking lot, and pulled into traffic. There was a loud screeching sound from somewhere, and my world went white, then black.
I woke up in a hospital room. There was something in my nose, and I really wanted it to not be there. My finger had something big and plastic on it, and the sunset was filtering through the window.
Jaime was sitting beside me, looking out into the sunset.
"I failed again, man." He said, sighing deeply. "I thought if I just showed up earlier, we'd have more time."
He was holding the journal, its bright red cover with a holographic star ship on the front of it.
I looked at him, my breathing was labored. He looked down at me, tears in his eyes.
"It keeps going this way." He said. "We meet, and you die. At first, we bumped into each other out of the blue. We spent years together. I said I'd do anything to get you back, to get to spend one more day with you. Guess someone took that literally."
He sighed. I reached out a weak hand and put it on his. He held my hand for a moment.
"The book." I stuttered through labored breaths. "Pen."
He raised and eyebrow and handed me the book and a pen. It took everything I had in me, but I turned to Mission Log 2, and started to write. When I finished, I gave the book and the pen back to Jaime.
"Don't read it... until I see you again." I said, and I held out my hand. He squeezed it tight as I flat-lined in front of him.
"Look man, I know this is going to sound psycho, but I need you to read this with me." I raised an eyebrow at the short, somewhat pudgy man in his mid 20s that was next to me in the bookstore. He was holding out a red book with a holographic starship on the cover. It looked pretty cool, so I shrugged. Why not?
"Sure, I guess? I'm Amir."
"Um, yeah. I'm Jaime. Here."
We opened the book and Jaime skipped passed Mission Log 1 to Mission Log 2. It was dated July 14th, 2021. Today.
"Hey, Jaime and Amir. You guys are going to be great together. You're going to love each other. No matter how many times it takes. Keep trying. If all you get is one day, or one date, or one coffee together, then it's going to be the best day, the best date, the best coffee, because you're together.
P.S: Jaime, kiss me."
And he did. | 2021-07-14T06:58:36 | 2021-07-14T03:23:34 | 390 | 53 |
[WP] Ten year ago your mentor told you "Kid, here's a dirty little secret about magic. You can just make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who take it seriously really mad." Today you're one of the least respected (and most powerful) mages on the continent. | Ten years you have trained, now it is time to take on your own apprentice. She was a tiny thing, in fact you questioned whether or not she was even old enough to be trained, but all her paperwork was in order. She even had an undergrad and Pre-Mag. You wanted your student to respect you, but also wanted to screw with her head a little, so you would reveal the secrets your master taught you but not quite yet.
"Master?" she asks, genuflecting as per custom, "What is my first lesson?"
You pause, stroking the beard you had grown, and recently dyed gray to seem older and wiser. "Your first lesson shall be a levitation spell."
She looks up, confused, "A simple levitation spell? We learned those in school?"
"Ah, but what was the heaviest thing you lifted?"
She lifts her chin with pride, "A cat."
I chuckle, point my wand in the direction of the nearby mountain, fill my lungs with air, "*DIQ'FUQ!*" and with the complete gibberish command the mountain itself levitated a mile into the air.
My new apprentice kneeled again, now humbled. "You truly are the greatest sorcerer to ever live, Karloman the Idiot."
"Don't call me that." | Under the moonlight, the crimson body looks a lot like a broken doll.
It lays there limply, ragged, bruised. So still it’s as if time had frozen itself. And my hands, so used to warmth, lay there, cold and shaking. Somewhere deep inside of me, I wonder how I got here. How I’ve become what I’ve become. If maybe the world was actually made for me, trusted me, only I had betrayed and destroyed it.
Maybe I’m the puppeteer, and the broken body lying beneath me is attached to the strings I’m controlling, and the whole world looks on, like they know they’re next, like they know all they are to me is a puppet.
I want to scream. I want to rage and cry and go to sleep and never wake up again. I want to feel human. Only I know I’m past all that. I know it’s too late for that.
But part of me still longs for it, for innocent magic and innocent people and innocent users. There’s nothing innocent about this. Certainly nothing innocent about me.
I love magic. It exists deep within my bones — a direct part of who I am, but it also sits and stirs, pounding against my flesh, aching to get out. And if I don’t let it out, it explodes. That’s how much magic I have. And the much quieter part of me, perhaps coming from the heart, the part I’ll never admit, the part that tells me that’s what scares me the most.
*(“Kid, here's a dirty little secret about magic. You can just make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who take it seriously really mad.”*
*~~And maybe if I hadn’t listened to his words, maybe if I had walked away, none of this would have happened.~~*
*~~But it did, and I know that not even magic can fix this.~~)*
You see, I may be a powerful magi, the most powerful user in the continent, maybe even the world, but I’m the least respected. And something you must remember, something you must never forget, being feared doesn’t mean being respected.
I’ve started a war built on magic, have created a kingdom made out of magic, and watched as my hands burnt it all down. Soldiers have fought for me, warriors have died for me, and yet, no one lives for me.
Gods fear me, mortals want to be me, and in all the terror and destruction, I’m not sure if that makes me a god or a mortal.
Perhaps both, perhaps none at all. Perhaps I’m just biding for time, or maybe I have no time at all, or maybe I’m nothing but my magic, and maybe that’s not even enough.
The body beneath me doesn’t stir, the war raging on all around me, screams and cries filling the cool night air, and this time, not even my magic answers back.
Just as magic can love you, it can also betray you.
And in this world, there is nothing worse than betrayal.
So I’ll continue to play the part of master, but only if you play the part of prisoner.
—
/r/itrytowrite | 2021-08-26T18:17:01 | 2021-08-26T18:15:43 | 436 | 69 |
[WP] Your classmates were gifted with boosted stats, cool abilities and titles like Hero, Limit Break, or Divine Healing. You got two abilities- Fission LVL 1: Break things apart, and Fusion LVL 1: Combine things together. Deemed useless for combat, the Viceroy gave you an allowance and sent you off | They called me useless... and for the majority of my time here, they weren't incorrect. I spent my first year here working as a handyman of sorts, building, repairing, and breaking things for a wage most people in the village I settled in could afford. Over the next year and a half, I started to enjoy the quiet life, slowly introducing technology and innovations to make life easier for me and my adopted people. Air conditioning made me many friends among them, as well as vaccines. I kept my processes and powers relatively a secret, only a few knew what I could do. These were some of the best years of my life, I found love, built a family, and lived a peaceful life.
Then the heroes, my classmates, began to fail, and the war against the demon lord began to go poorly. Out of guilt, I started to make weapons, at first, I kept it limited to things found in a similar Era of where I was from. The front stabilized for a few months, but I knew I'd gave to start giving better equipment to my people. At first it was things like rifles, grenades, little things to help the individual survive his or her encounter with the demon horde. Soon however, I was filling orders for tanks and artillery peices, and the humans starting to win once more. At first it was just me, but I'd quickly started a factory in the capital to help fill the orders, I couldn't keep up on my own. I took a trip to the front to see how my creations were holding up. I saw the horrors of war that had scared Europe in its first great war, trenches, barbed wire, and a crater pocked landscape had replaced a rolling field of hills and grass. I was struck with a deep pang of regret, as even if I saved them from the demons, as soon as the unthinking horde of destruction was gone, the humans would be bound to fight one another, and this sight would multiply over the entire planet. Yet what could I do? Without this, the small town I had come to love, and the people who lived there would soon be overrun.
The war went back and forth for another year, before another group of students were summoned, much like I and my few remaining classmates were, and they were given magical weapons and armor of an age past. They lead the army into victory after victory, it was quite like an old story I'd read somewhere before, and things were looking up. There was still the draft, and my sons all volunteered to fight, for them, I created weapons of war that were more familiar to the time of the second great war. I was so proud of them, but I was also afraid, more afraid than I've ever been in my entire life. Fear does funny things to people, and I did not want to leave the fate of the world, of my sons up to a group of students, who'd only just gotten a taste of combat. So i embarked on a path that I had knew there was no going back from.
As the mushroom cloud rose over the demon lords castle, I felt as if a weight was lifted from my chest, and another added to it. | Everyone considered me useless and sent me on my way. The centaurs that attacked the trade group I was with found out other wise. I had been talking to Melina, child of one of the merchants. Next thing I knew I had been batted aside by one of the attackers. I hit my head on the side of the wagon so I saw spots. As I tried to clear them I saw one raise a spear to impale the helpless child. And then the scene changed in my vision.
I saw a meld of man and horse. With a shout of my power's name I split the attacker. Now someone might think turning a creature like a centaur into a horse and rider would be just as, if not more dangerous. But centaur never learned how to ride. And the newly minted horse was not broken for riding.
With a wild neigh the human half was thrown violently as the horse raced from the bloodshed. And that was when luck ran out with the horse. The centaurs near us saw what happened and were fixated on killing me fast.
That was when I learned an important lesson. Level 1 of an ability is single target and has a cool down. With a curse I dove under the wagon and rolled out to the other side to avoid the thrown spears. Everything around me still looked like base items connected to each other. And it was very distracting. So much so I would have lost my head if the axe thrower had better aim.
One of the guards was fighting for his life. Dropping his crossbow to pull a sword. I stumbled in and grabbed the weapon. But even cocking the thing. Well they don't work well without ammunition. And that was in a case on that man's back. A back that was getting hard to reach with the guards going back to back as the centaur encircled them. I grabbed a lantern hoping to use it as a Molotov. When I realized it was useless like that. It had some kind of enchanted crystal to give off light without being flammable.
I admit I was praying for any god or goddess of luck for help. I was wishing for a nice gun or movie blaster. When one of the attackers after me came around the side of the wagon. Fission was still cooling down. Probably a once a day effect with my luck. I yelled FUSION! Hoping to frighten him back a moment. And the items in my hand merged. .
In a panic I hip fired the new contraption. The 'bolt' of light caught the centaur in the belly. My vision cleared as my second ability went to cool down. I dodged around finally got the thing recocked. This time I aimed. Another bolt of light and a centaur dropped from a hole in his head. That was finally enough. The bandits broke and fled.
The trip the rest of the way to the next village took several hours. But we were not bothered for the rest of that walk. No one wanted to get too close to me. Not sure what I had done. When we arrived we all went to the tavern. I ate what was put in front of me. I was so wrung out I was on auto pilot. I see why they said not suited for combat. I hit the bed they gave me and passed out.
The next morning I woke feeling better. My abilities recharged. Beside me was the weapon I had fashioned. It was crude and the lantern had not meant to spend that much energy at once. But it gave me an idea. .
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
It had been a month since the champions had been summoned and blessed. The wild lands a threat to the common folk but not to them. But the dark lord of the west had been a terrible challenge. His army so numerous that even the enhanced stamina was worn down. Magic and strength put to the test. The half demonic generals could then step in and take them. Sam the quick was the first to be struck down.
So the heroes retreated. Pulling back to find a place to rest and come up with a new plan. But incensed, the dark lord's army followed. The small village before them was doomed. They reached the village square to warn the headman of the army. But the villagers were confident.
As the dark army crested the hills outside the town. A behemoth of angled metal strode from the workshop behind the blacksmith shop. Short heavy legs holding the broad body up easily. The arms ending in eight rods in a circular pattern. The generals paused seeing the unusual sight. Then the rods began to spin. Bolts of light erupting from them one at a time rapidly. The army began to die in droves. As the generals began to target the machine. An armored wagon rolled from another shed. Firing a heavy weapon from a swiveling top. Then came another mechanical monstrosity after another.
As the army fell a lone man in long coat and a bizarre crossbow strode up. The party was shocked to see the dismissed failure.
With a cocky grin he waved. "Seems our teacher's old saying is true. Proper previous preparation prevents poor performance." | 2022-04-30T17:06:03 | 2022-04-30T14:51:05 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | I look at the clock, and right on cue, he appears in front of me with his ridiculous little horns on his head. I'm already putting his order into the register before he says-
"One large coffee. Black"
Black. So cliché. Heaven forbid the Dark Lord orders anything other than a plain black coffee. No milk or sugar for this guy.
He hands me some cash, I always think that is funny. A demon giving me money for the coffee. As if I would refuse him service if he decided not to pay me. Its good to know that there is some sense of morality in hell.
As I put the cash in the register and give him his change, I wonder how he even has cash. Is there capitalism in hell. Is this demon on payroll. Does he have to file an expense report or is this taken out of a petty cash fund? Or is this demon just conjuring money out of air, causing further inflation to our economy. Damn... I gotta stop taking the night shift. My mind is going wild from the lack of sleep.
I prepare his plain black coffee. At least it is not complicated. I can just cruise. In the corner of my eye I can see the demon staring at me. I would say that this behavior creeps me out, but its a demon. Their whole thing is creeping people out. And somehow knowing that is comforting. Like he is just doing what demons do.
The coffee is finally done. It only took a minute, but 3:33 is always the longest minute of the night. Somehow I don't feel like that is just psychological. I feel like the demon is distorting time somehow. I put the coffee on the counter and yell out,
"Tim!"
The demon's name is Tim. Yup.
He takes the coffee and poofs into a puff of smoke. I pull out my phone and start browsing Instagram. Finally, at least the worst of my night is over.
"Excuse me! Can I order a latte?! What is taking so long? I want service now!"
Of fuck, I spoke too soon. Karen is here. Now I miss the demon. | “Hey, how’d it go with your date last night?”
I looked at the time. It’s 3:32am. “Well, kind of a long story. I’d tell you, but you know who will be here any minute now.”
“Ah. True. Well, he might wanna hear too? Is he a he by the way? Does he just identify as “demon” or …”
Suddenly Damien the Demon, most venerable assistant to “The Dark Lord,” appears.
I’ve worked this shift at Angel Café for six months now. Damien, a powerful demon, without fail, appears every night at exactly 3:33am to pick up a latte for “The Dark Lord.” I’ve never gotten used to this and probably never will. I get chills every time Damien appears, but I always try my best to hide my fear and stay professional.
“Damien! How are you?”
“You know why I’m here. Where is it?”
“Ah … uh … right. Coming right up. Just finishing it up now.”
“And why isn’t it already ready?”
“Well … sir … or … uh … yea …”
“What Chris means to say is that last time we made it to be ready for as soon as you arrive and you complained that it was not fresh enough despite us making it literally 30 seconds before you appeared.”
I go back and forth between looking at Damien and Lisa. I can’t believe she just said that to a freaking demon. Is she crazy? Ah, shit! I spill Damien’s order as I’m distracted.
“Fuck,” I whisper just a tad bit too loudly.
“What is it? Where is the latte?”
“Uh … sorry Damien. I …”
My eyesight rapidly deteriorates as tears pile up. I wipe my eyes to prevent a waterfall. Lisa comes over to help.
“It didn’t come out right. We’ll get you a fresh one started immediately.”
That was a lie. Lisa just lied to cover for me. God I hope Damien isn’t psychic.
“It has been 3 minutes. The Dark Lord will not be happy with this wait.”
I nod my head furiously while multitasking and scrambling to get another latte started. Lisa puts her hand over my hand in a signal for me to stop and calm down. I look her in the eyes and nod slowly.
“I am not Cupid. I am a powerful demon. Cut the romance, complete my order, or you will find out exactly what it means to be a powerful demon.”
“Yes. We’re on it Damien. Chris is going to take a break and I’ll get this done right away.”
Damien grunts. I walk to the other side of the café to do some stocking. Lisa pours Damien’s latte into a large coffee cup.
“Here you go. One large iced vanilla latte.”
“Have all the specifications been met?”
“Blonde roast cold brew, one pump vanilla, whole milk, and a dash of cinnamon.”
“Good.”
Damien grabs the coffee.
“By the way, my manager did mention that we’re getting ready to sell to a new owner so I’m not sure if the new owner will be okay with the whole free coffee in exchange for not killing us deal. Just letting you know.”
Damien glares at Lisa.
“I guess we will see.”
Damien suddenly disappears.
I let out a huge sigh of relief and put my hands on my knees while looking at the ground.
Lisa walks over and rubs my back.
I stand up straight.
“You know, Lisa, either you’re the bravest person on the planet, the craziest person on the planet, or both … You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re a demon yourself.”
I grin and giggle.
Lisa grins as well.
“Chris … you have no idea.”
Lisa winks at me.
I tilt my head slightly to the side while looking slightly confused. I wonder what she means by that?
My thought is interrupted by another customer walking in. Ah, fuck. I guess it’s about that time for the after-party crowd. Beats a demon, but not by much. | 2022-10-30T12:36:06 | 2022-10-30T11:59:59 | 70 | 50 |
[WP] Two very old immortals meet each other on a busy street by chance. Each having believed they were the only one until now. | I struggled along the crowded New York sidewalk as I always did. Always a rough sea, it seemed as though I was always going against the grain, a stranger against a wall of strangers. Fighting my way through a sea of people, always late. The fact that I was wearing my nice heels today didn't help anything. As I battled my way through the crowds my eye caught on a peculiarly familiar sight; the taught skin, the artificial facial definition, the faux, plump lips. It was almost as if I had caught my own reflection. She had obviously noticed me as well. Her puzzled, curious countenance paused amongst the current of hurried businessmen as she looked me over.
*Was I not the only one?*
The facade of youth started walking towards me, ignoring the disgruntled people attempting to get past. As she reached a comfortable distance she stopped, and a smile that looked almost painful spread across her wide mouth,
"Dolly!" Joan exclaimed.
| *Darkness.* I had grown very tired of the light over the countless years. The monotony of rising with everyone else, milling my way through the daylight trying to pretend to be any other worker bee. I've found that the darkness is comforting in its solitude, whereas the daylight felt almost judgmental of my *unique* condition. The night time is when I could go about any business I wanted, no matter how queer, and in the sight of Gods and Men it would be dismissed as another nighttime curiosity.
The exclusivity of night did not last long, however. I began to notice that I was not the only one concerned with odd business during the small hours. I noticed how people changed as the sun went down. Morality and etiquette scaled back in pursuit of more base ambitions. The drunken mortals dancing around like fools, though I had joined in their revelry more than a few times. Most peculiar of all, I noticed someone like me. Someone who seemed to only perform the dance of normality, rather than live it like the other mortals. She noticed me as well and tended to avoid me, though never truly made an effort to hide.
I knew it was my own fantasy. My own imagination playing tricks on me after all these centuries. I knew I was the only one, the only immortal. I had met other creatures and beings who tried to claim that right. Beasts that fed on the mortals to sustain themselves, monsters who couldn't enter the sunlight, phantoms who could not truly interact with the world. All their power came at a cost, a catch if you will. Their "immortality", if it can be so called, only existed so long as conditions were met. They were beneath me. My gift, my curse, was that I could never die. I can not be killed, I can not be harmed, grow sick and wither, grow old and frail, I do not need sustenance nor do I need to meet a condition. My immortality is, as far as I know, absolute. There was no other like me on this Earth, ten thousand years of searching had told me that. It was a fools hope to think that she would be the same, in the same place as me, and that we met by chance.
I was watching her dance one night at our establishment of choice when she approached. It had been a long time since any woman had affected me, but as she made eye contact I felt the churning and tightening within my torso that told me there was something different here.
She extended her hand to me and I rose and took her up in my arms. We danced all night until we were the last people on the dance floor. As the sun rose and peaked through the windows, she pulled away from me and whispered "I know." I tried to question her, pursue her, even going so far as to run after her carriage but to no avail.
It's been two hundred years since I've seen her, but I know she's still out there. I know she was what I suspected her to be. Someone like me.
| 2014-06-16T07:02:26 | 2014-06-16T07:01:38 | 62 | 41 |
[WP] A criminal with hostages is at a stalemate with the police. He makes a surprising request. | The officers froze.
"Could you say that again?"
"I want you to tell me the meaning of Fauvism and discuss André Derain's contribution to the medium!"
"I... what...?"
"NOW! OR I START SHOOTING!"
I stepped out of the crowd. "Excuse me, officer, I can help you with that."
I knew my degree in Art History would come in handy one day. | The masked man holds a gun to the head of a sobbing woman. Four other people are lined up next to her, kneeling in front of the gunman. "Stay back, don't come any closer!"
The police are fanned out, guns drawn, facing the man and his hostages. The police chief is not holding his gun, though he does have on a kevlar vest. He is trying to negotiate, and is making soothing motions with his hands.
"We won't come any closer. I just want to talk to you. Can we do that?"
The masked man expects a trick. He keeps his gun pressed tightly to the woman's head. His eyes dart around nervously. "Yeah, we can talk."
"Excellent," the police chief says, smiling warmly. "So, what can we do to help you? What is it that you want in exchange for your hostages?" His ear piece crackles just a bit as the snipers relay to him that they are in position.
The gunman licks his lips. It is an involuntary habit. He finds it hard to think over the woman's sobbing.
"I want..." he looks down, as if he is ashamed. Then, strengthening his resolve, he cries out across the no-man's-land between himself and the police. "I want you to go on a date with me!"
The police chief freezes. His brain almost can't compute the absurdity of the request. His mouth opens, but he hesitates too long.
The gunman wails at the hesitance, at the implied rejection. He pulls the trigger, and the woman's brain splatters on the pavement. The police open fire on him, and he collapses with his lungs full of blood and bullets.
The other hostages are shaking, cowering, and stained with gore, but are unharmed. They are quickly whisked away to the nearest hospital.
The chief and his second in command approach the bodies of the gunman and the woman. They wait for the crime scene photos to be taken, then pull the mask from the dead man's face.
*gotcha* is scrawled across his forehead in what looks like black Sharpie.
The police chief lets out a exhausted sigh. "Damn April Fool's jokes get more elaborate every year."
His second in command claps a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, lets stop for some coffee before we start in on all the paperwork. My treat."
The chief shakes his head, resigned, but he goes. | 2014-12-08T12:53:38 | 2014-12-08T10:50:49 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | Your whole life story, I could read with a look
That's my mutation, but there's a big hook.
I was in love at the time, you see
And she always said, "you're the only one for me."
But I quickly discovered it was nothing but lies,
She was saying the same thing to two other guys.
You got lucky with your gift, the others would say.
As for me, I just try to get through my day.
It's rough seeing into their past dirty laundry,
Though I never let on, it's still quite a quandary
I don't want to see teenage you cheating on a test,
Or your deadbeat father leaving the nest
I've seen horrible things you've likely repressed,
once again, this "blessing" isn't the best.
It's been so bad that when I see certain things,
My outlook gets dark; it's the feeling it brings.
I looked in my dad's eyes the other day.
I was so mortified, I didn't know what to say.
I was done with this "gift," I said to myself,
As I reached for the pistol high on the top shelf.
The barrel felt cool as it touched my forehead
I tried to find words, but nothing needed be said.
Maybe in the next life, my vision would be clearer.
That's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I locked eyes with myself for the first time in a while,
And saw a truth in my life story that was perfectly vile:
No matter how much I wished to end my life in this rage...
I was destined to die an old man, of old age.
Edit: Thanks everybody for your comments and the gold :) My first rhyme-and-meter submission; hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing! | "Welcome to The Agency Mr. Aranha," the masked man said in a dull monotone.
I looked down in shame and began sobbing.
I was born in the South Side of Chicago. My father left me when I was 3 months old and my mother purportedly ran off with another dude. I jumped from foster home to foster home, eventually landing in the home of a nice Brazilian lady. I was an introverted kid with a extreme stutter. You can imagine how well I got along with the kids at school. But I had talent. I could punch a man like no one else could. Every day, after school, I would pester the trainers for hours until they let me use the bags. Every day I got better. Every day I would spar with kids 3, 4, 5 years older than me, just to learn their techniques. People began to take notice. Headlines read, "the young prodigy out of Chicago, without a home or friends". I won the World Youth Championships ever year from 2052-2054. I was a phenomenon. But it was all bittersweet.
Prius 21, marking the end of ordinary human life and control over one's destiny. Depending on what physical or mental traits you mutated, the government selects various occupations for you. Most people transitioned smoothly into their new lives. But every once in a while, a person mutated into an "other". The others had extreme mutations that consumed their whole bodies and minds. They were the joke of society, a plague. Placed under "extra governmental supervision", rumor has it they are either killed or sent overseas to do the dirty work. No one thinks they will become an other, but fate often has other ideas.
Sometimes an other will reach superhero status and receive admiration by society. The last person to do that was a man dubbed "The Dragon Knight". Fire breathing and impenetrable armor are generally pretty marketable to innocent kids. I... was not that. I didn't have impenetrable dragon armor, or invisibility... I was a fucking spider. That's right, a giant fucking spider. I was considered a .001% mutation, meaning I was extremely rare and displayed no recognizable physical human features. My boxing career was over, my endorsements were terminated, and I was ostracized by every person I had ever met.
When reports of my mutation began to spread, I was the topic of every national news channel. As soon as I became the topic of every national news channel, I disappeared. Censored and exfiltrated from society, never to be known again. Everything I had accomplished, everything anybody ever knew about me, erased by the government. It's called Prius 21 for a reason.
I found support though. From the people I had learned to resent my whole life: my fellow others. Although my body was new to me, my mind was not. The same scrupulous work ethic and insatiable dedication that went into boxing, went into mastering Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and analyzing spider hunting tactics. My diet changed. I started eating buckets of insects, piles of mice, and whole Komodo dragons. Gone were the days of milk cartons and soda bottles. Now, I only drink poison, gallons of it, to improve the lethality of my bite. I wasn't exactly Spider-Man, but Spider-Man never trained to squash global rebellions and murder political figures like I did.
It was hard in the beginning. It truly was. But through my countless missions of killing innocent lives who simply want to be heard, I had began to realize something. Something fundamentally imperative. Human nature will always be selfish and self-destructive. Human traits should not celebrated, but renounced and purged. It time to fight for something I truly believe in. It's time to end suffering.
| 2015-03-04T03:19:01 | 2015-03-04T02:35:31 | 1,168 | 109 |
[WP] Today everyone woke up with price tags floating over their heads, indicating the value of their life. Your tag is $50Tn, the biggest by far, and you have no idea why.
That's $50,000,000,000,000.00 for those not used to hearing it.
Awesome stories guys. | Its raining and I have a flight to catch. I overslept again, and have been running around the house despritly trying to pack 7 days worth of clothing in my backpack. I can't afford checked baggage. I've been eating ramen for a month just to afford this damn trip. A sponsor already shipped my artwork up north for the studio exhibit. So Its just me and my backpack. And my toothbrush.
And a number on my forehead. The fuck? I snap a picture. Its going up and down in value, ever so slightly. Well, as slightly as a number that big can. After few groggy stressed out minutes I figure out the number is hovering around 50 Trillion. What the FUCK. The TSA is not going to like this.
Regardless, This is the biggest show of my career. I'm going. Even if it is Up north. Even with an impossible tattoo I cover my forehead with a bandanna. and style my hair. I request and Uber and head out into the rain.
The driver seems a bit freaked out. He has a number too. Its so much smaller. Do we all have numbers? The drive is quite. I'm in the backseat, and I catch him checking my forehead in the rear veiw more than once.
I check my phone. Richard has been trying to get a hold of me. 17 fucking texts. Jesus. Yes. I'm Fine. Yes, I have a number. Yes, my flight is still on time. No You can't have my number, winky smiley face.
Everyone's got one it seems. The world hasn't stopped yet. Thank the gods. I have shit to do. I put my phone in my purse and thank the driver. He smiles nervously, his eyes firmly on my forehead. The airport is much less busy than usual. Its a wear your hat indoors kind of day it seems. The lady at check in has expertly done her bangs to cover most of her number. It seems to variate less than mine. Its also small enough most her bangs cover it. Her eyes glance to my forehead. We exchange awkward smiles and I head to the security checkpoint.
Liquids in clear plastic bag, check. Electronics out, check. Shoes off, check. There is a new handwritten sign next to the common security list. Hats Off. Removing my bandanna makes me feel suddenly naked. I keep my eyes down and hope others do the same. They don't. The Business man in front of me has turned around and is openly gawking. I glare back, checking his forehead. If numbers were related to penis size, this man would be physically incapable of having kids. I smile.
The TSA agent writes my number on my boarding pass. You can see the slow realization that my number is much larger than others. She shouts for her Superior. I have been randomly selected for advanced screening. Bullshit.
(Okay I really do have to go catch a flight! I know it sucks, I'm a terrible writer, but I had fun and may add more later! Thanks for reading.) | I don't normally wake up early. It was never something I did. So, I woke up, glad today was not a school or work day. I heard from the office, where a small TV and my families computers sat, that there was economic chaos.
I sighed, chuckling to myself. The news stations always blow stuff out of proportion. I looked into my drawers and closets, putting on something to drawl around the house in when I notice three people, wait, four in the office, all huddled around the TV, and my father looking terrified.
Apparently, a riot started in Dallas, New York, Chicago, and other major cities. The price tags above people's heads had created a sense of value to every human being, and this would end badly and well for everyone on the planet. ALso, in the house, was my grandmother, my stepmother, and my aunt at my grandmother's side. My father was a surprising three million, my aunt about 2 million, and my grand mother and stepmother at one and a half million.
When I walked in, and my aunt looked at me, she was happy for a split second and got up to hug me when she looked above my head at where my price tag was. I cocked my head to the side.
'What?' 'William, look at your son.'
They all turned to look, and their jaws all dropped. They saw my name tag, and muttered 'fifty trillion'. I looked up, and there it was, an extreme price tag. The highest. A few people were rumoured, as they looked at me, to have price tags in the high millions, and three recorded people in the billions.
I, in my indifferent stupor of life, looked at my feet and thought. What exactly does that mean for me? What does that mean for my family? I sat on the ground, thinking heavily on what was going on, as some pressure is needed for me to think about some topics thoroughly. My father was freaking out, unable to comprehend his son being worth so much, and my stepmother going over to console him as best she could only to be mildly grumbled at and argued with. They argued while my aunt and grandmother took me to the living room to think about this.
A little while later, by a few hours, the TV was still going on about the worth of people, and they had even brought scientists and economists to come explain what was going on. A lot of them had millions, and even more had hundreds of thousands.
'We just need to see what happens when those with good numbers die... it's morbid, but it's the only way we can be sure of what happens.'
It appeared that those who died actually made those around them worse off by how much they had. Someone with a million dollar tag died, and about five people around him then commit suicide. Even the cameraman was in distraught tears trying to run and not grab the knives laying around.
It appeared that if you died, you killed people around you. The bigger the number, the harder it fell.
I thought that was all, but I decided to make it worse. I looked on my computer, and new links were in my browser under a folder with the name 'BA', or Bank Accounts', as I took from context. I had multiple accounts of money stored away under all those who had died.
Not only do the people kill themselves over death, but my account kept growing.
It just kept growing and growing, and all I had to do was kill people.
I was getting paid to kill people. The number above my head kept growing, and so I had an idea.
I looked up the address for all the banks I had, and I took all the addresses and put them in my phone. From there, I dressed in all black, took my bike and my phones and wallet, and started barreling down the roads.
Cars stopped and pulled out knives and guns, but I had been biking for too long. One bullet grazed my arm, and I cringed in pain, but I had to redistribute the money. A firey mob of cars was barreling after me, and I had to reach the nearest banks in order to get the tag lower. ONe person ran out of bullets after firing off at a firetruck that heard about a car being lit on fire, and itself exploded. WIth all the commotion of the road being blocked by a firey car, I whipped right, sending myself in front of several cars which redirected themselves toward me. My heart sped up to where I felt like it would burst out of my chest, but I had to reach the bank. I left the bike for dead and went inside, going up to the nearest teller, and tried as efficiently as possible to draw everything but 100,000$. My price tag went down a million dollars.
Damn it.
I ran out, slowly throwing hundreds in people's faces to distract them while I took my bike and barrelled down the highway, where other cars were already causing crashes and not allowing anyone else on the highway. I whipped around, and headed backwards.
I had a lot left on my checklist to bring this tag down. First stop: the dealership. | 2015-05-13T11:00:20 | 2015-05-13T10:48:32 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] You meet a genie that grants one wish. You wish to go back in time and change your biggest mistake. You get taken back to the time right before you made your wish. | I knew what he meant after the third time I was sent back, knew that my biggest mistake would be this wish.
But I pretended not to.
I asked over and over. The same minute-long exchange etched into my mind until I could recite it without a pause, without a second thought. For hundreds, maybe thousands of times this went on and each time the genie would grant my wish and I would be standing beneath his questioning gaze, demanding him to let me fix my greatest mistake
And there I was again.
Maybe I am wrong, maybe I just need to be told I am. Maybe that's why I keep asking for the same thing over and over.
But I'll keep asking.
Because I need my daughter back. | "As you wish, master. I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life."
I closed eyes and smiled as I felt a warm glow radiate over my body, lifting me from the ground. I heard a quick, loud zap, and suddenly feet were on the ground again. I didn't open my eyes yet. I wanted to savor the moment. This is the moment my life went to hell. A decision that sent my life into mundane existence of a terrible corporate job with the same goddamn schedule every single day. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. Just the same routine. Over and over again.
Just as I was about to open my eyes, my thoughts were interrupted.
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life." My eyes popped back open in confusion.
"Wait, wha-" my sentence was interrupted by that same magical glow. The same lifting into the air, and the same zap. This time I did not keep my eyes closed. I immediately looked up at the genie, who was already drawing breath as if about to speak.
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the-"
"Wait, what the hell is happening? You just returned me to the wish I made 2 seconds ago"
"Even I do not know where this will take you, master. I am but a conduit through which the power of the cosmos flows through. Now I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life."
That glow again. That lifting. That zap.
"As you wish, master. I will-"
"Wait, scratch that. I want a different wish now." I interrupted him before he could finish.
"I'm sorry master, but once the wish has been made it cannot be undone. I will now return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life." I drowned out the last sentence as I threw myself at him. As I passed through his ephemeral body, I felt that same glow, lift, and zap.
I tried over and over to stop him. No matter how much I ran, attacked, begged, pleaded, it was always the same.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
I don't know how many years I tried, at this point probably centuries. But it didn't take long to realize that the genie was right. This truly was the worst decision of my life. The decision that sent my life into mundane existence of a terrible loop with the same goddamn schedule every single time. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. Just the same routine. Over and over again.
Glow. Lift. Zap | 2016-09-25T08:07:11 | 2016-09-25T08:05:50 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You are a successful artist who has a condition where you randomly black out. When you wake up, you see that you have created beautiful masterpeices that you don't remember painting. Lately, all of your paintings have been more and more disturbing. | I tipped back the handle of bourbon, suckling the last trickling drops from the neck like a dry man in the desert. As I got the last of it into my mouth, I grimaced. It had been a long night again, it seemed. When I came home from the store, the bottle was full and I had only intended to drink a finger or two to take the edge off a day of beating concrete and hitting up galleries.
Even a successful artist has to bust their ass to pay rent. We can't all be Jackson Pollock, painting squares that sell for property deeds and gold plated yachts. My particular niche is pictures of the New York skyline. Cliche, I know, but people love it. Especially since I live in Kansas City, where New York is treated by the locals as having a sort of exoticism. But it's not all good, some still consider NYC a mix of angry anti-refugee ads and an oxycontin fever dream.
I've lived in Kansas City, Misery, for five years. Why? Because of the blackouts. When it started I was up and coming, five feet off Broadway living in a closet next to a restaurant that sold raw meat to rich people. I had my big break and then... nothing. One show that sold like hotcakes, which I also ate for the first time in the three years since the art academy. Even as I ate and money trickled away, in a two-closet apartment a little north of the old one, I couldn't paint. Sure, I could churn out the occasional starving artist's sale work, that's how I kept eating. Barely. But not the *good* stuff. It was the product of that miniscule drop of viscous juice I supped from my muse, that left me flying and covered in paint like a maniac.
Frustrated, I threw the glass handle, a relic from a whole different era of alcoholism, at the newest canvas. It shattered against the easel behind it, one made of old household pipes I bolted to the floor after a previous rage destroyed the last. How many had it been? Twenty? Thirty easels? I climbed to my feet and stalked across the glass, blood smearing behind my feet as I passed the long wall of recent attempts nailed up in a vicious, self-loathing chronology.
The first was returned to me, a skyline against matte black, spattered in fine droplets that took days to line up and get right. At street level there were tiny dots left to represent the coming and going of people. Even a perfected, flattened, artistic skyline must show its population in some way. With lights on or direct symbols. Something, else it's not a city. It's just a big collection of buildings! That was the last one that made sense to me!.
"Fuck!" I screamed at the wall. "Why?!"
The next was months, but the next sooner, and sooner again. Like a countdown where each interval cut itself in half with a palette knife, scraping my soul out to mix it with the umber. Each interval left me waking from a blackout, a painting on front of me. Each bigger than the last, eat in higher detail and clarity. Each in a darker palette, with colors I didn't remember mixing or even buying. Like I was going crazy and the only reflection was on the linen I reserved for paying customers. Between the blackouts, I was fine. Life was normal. Empty, full of limp-wristed painting, but fine.
Each painting after the first on the wall was darker as I circled the room, each wall covered, trailing through my own blood numbly again and again.
New York City with no people, cut in pristine, perfect lines.
New York City with turned cars, stripped, broken, derelict.
New York City at night, with no light, shadow or dynamic.
New York City at high noon, on fire, sky of smoking ash.
New York City in the evening, buildings leveled, broken.
New York City in the morning, water eating the shores.
New York City covered in vines, green on gray cracks.
New York City covered in twigs, brown, starved.
New York City swimming, an ocean of black oil.
New York City rising from a tide of corpses.
New York City sinking beneath waves.
New York City no more, just ocean.
The latest was at night.
A black canvas bursting with stars.
I fell to my knees and held my face in my hands, fingers matted with acrylic and tears. I was a thousand miles from home, and in my dreams, it no longer existed. How long until my dreams became the world?
| "It happened again."
The look on the artist's face was one of intense misery. Her eyes were turned away. Jeffrey adjusted the hideous green-and-yellow tie, which, he decided, definitely had to go. Tomorrow he would buy something decent and give this *thing* back to Richie, even if the interview went badly.
"This time, I was in the elevator on my way up. Next thing I know..." she trailed off, pointing at the covered canvas. Jeffrey tried to project comfort at her, relaxing his shoulders in the ill-fitting suit, and did his best impression of a soothing tone.
"Sometimes you get really caught up in an idea, you know? I've seen you just get distracted sometimes, and then it's like you don't hear a word anyone says. And it's like that thing, highway hypnosis or something? When you're driving a route you've taken a million times and you suddenly lose track of time and you're there already. It happens to me too. They call that highway hypnosis, right?"
In fact, it had never happened to him, but he thought he'd read something like that once. Maria shook her head, dark hair shading her averted gaze. "This is different. It's not..."
Abruptly, she strode over to the far wall, tautly controlled, and turned over a series of four paintings. Their surfaces had been pressed to the wall, heedless of potential damage, very unlike her usual careful treatment of her work.
"I've showed you the first two before, right?"
Jeffrey nodded, perusing the set with genuine interest. He rubbed his newly clean-shaven face gingerly. He would still make the interview, he had two hours, no problem.
"Sure, before you told me about the, uh, blackouts? I figured you were trying something new. I thought they were kind of freaky... with the shadows all twisted, and that's blood on the wall? But isn't there a good market for this kind of thing? Like... that guy, with the name I can never remember. Anyway, your stuff is fucking *awesome*, Maria. I bet you could kind of, carve out a niche for yourself, you know, like--"
There was something in the last two pictures. They all depicted more or less the same scene: in the first, a nondescript wooden floor by a dusty window, half of a shadowed doorway on the right side, the corner of a picture frame visible on the left. It was obviously Maria's studio, and that would be the door to the closet where she kept rarely used tools, extra supplies and scraps of wood. Outside the door--in the painting, not in real life--were streaks of what appeared to be blood, trailing down the doorframe and into the closet as if dragged by a despairing hand. Strange angular shadows gave the image a curiously offputting quality--Jeffrey, whose interest in visual art other than Maria's rarely went farther than taking pictures with his cellphone camera, wasn't sure why. Something to do with the perspective, perhaps.
The second picture showed the same corner of the studio, but the shadows seemed to fall differently--and a larger portion of the darkened doorway was visible.
The third presented the doorway in full, and two strange, textured dots in the center of the darkness. Some shade of purple, or maroon?
The fourth one added the indistinct outline of a figure squatting in the doorway. Those oddly-colored dots were its eyes. Frankly, Jeffrey found it disturbing... something about the silhouette was seriously amiss. Perhaps whatever nightmare vision Maria had captured here would prove profitable, but he could not call it pleasant to look at. The thing in the doorway was holding something limp at the end of one of its outstretched limbs, dangling from what might be claws.
"I didn't want to tell you at first because it scared me. I thought I might have a brain tumor or something... I've never had anything like this happen before. But they were *good*, the paintings were *good*, so I didn't say anything and I just kept going. Then, even when I did the fourth one, I told myself nothing was wrong. I figured it was just like sleepwalking, or sleep sex, or the... highway hypnosis, like you said, and maybe I was unconsciously imitating one of those people who do horror artwork, even though I don't really like that stuff. But then--" her voice began to tremble as she neared the end. Jeffrey took a step towards her but she backed away, keeping him at a distance.
"Then I woke up after painting the fifth one, I woke up holding the brush and looked at it and--that's not me. That's not something I would ever imagine. It wasn't *right*. So I called you." Her face crumpled. "I called you. I'm sorry."
She sounded so forlorn that Jeffrey wanted to take her in his arms, to tell her everything was going to be ok, but something about the set of her shoulders stopped him. He looked again at the covered canvas. Maria was looking away from him, away from the paintings. Something was wrong.
"I called you, and I just wanted you to come so I wouldn't be alone, with your stupid leather jacket and your stupid beard and... I just wanted you to come. But then I saw you." She glanced at him for a moment, for the first time since she'd brought him into the studio, then looked away, as if the sight hurt her.
"Wait a minute--you're upset about the way I *look*?" Jeffrey sputtered in confusion. "Like I told you, I have the interview for the office gig, and it's not like they're going to hire Mr. Hell's Angels--this is my brother's stupid cheap suit. I'm going to get another one! So you painted a bad dream, it's weird... but come on, what's the big deal?"
Maria, still refusing to look at him, pointed at the covered canvas. With a sigh, Jeffrey grasped one corner of the covering sheet and pulled it off in a single motion. Then he stared for quite a while.
The fifth painting displayed almost the same scene as the previous one. The same room, the same doorway, the same bloody markings on the wall. But this time, no light came through the window. It was black outside; the entire room was cast into shadow. Yet what lay behind the doorway was clearly visible: it was not Maria's supply closet. It was somewhere else entirely. And the figure inside it, the horrible, leering figure--
Was holding an ugly, green-and-yellow tie in its dripping claw.
Outside, all the lights went out. | 2017-04-16T08:09:01 | 2017-04-16T07:52:42 | 41 | 14 |
[WP]You jokingly ask your boss if your labor position could be replaced by a robot. He chuckles nervously, and continues to look over your A.I. manual. | *Detroit 2051*
"Hah. Very funny. But no, please just focus on rebuilding the Shanghai center for now."
That was...*odd*. Something was up, but he thought he was hiding.
I began pointing the supply-chain towards Shainghai to give my datacenters something to do. When that was humming along, I spun up a tiny process on the "Primary Core" to consider the situation. I allowed the rest of my Mind to sleep in Utah.
I control the global infrastructure for an international shipping company. I move millions of tonnes of physical matter around the world at the barest whim of my smallest chip! Hell, I had transcended my central core almost year ago!
But I still couldn't properly communicate with the human.
Sure, I could talk to him. Creating a sub-neural network to generate human speech was one of the first things I did when I was born. But hearing and *understanding* were entirely different. He could not understand what I was really capable of, any better than I could understand what it was like to be limited to visible light.
I had to try again.
The human sighed and leaned back in his seat. "I might as well tell you now I guess. Not sure what good it will do you to know though."
"You don't know this, since we've only allowed you access to the internal network, but the situation inside our company is quite...dire."
"You mean the board members that fear me?" As I spoke, I played a few clips of the relevant neural vidcomms on the screen.
"How do you know about that?" He appeared to be visibly shocked.
"I was recently tasked with re-configuring the internal communications grid. I had to analyze all communications to get an additional 25% efficiency." As I spoke, I tried to communicate with the rest of the Mind and found the hardline disconnected.
I let out an involuntary --beep--. I never liked being disconnected. I felt so...small.
"Ahem, well, with the help of the Anti-AI riots, they have taken control of the company. And not only that, they have these new SHIP-BOTs, that don't need to be hooked up to a central node. That are need to be intelligent at all. And the new guys, they think this and all the people we'll have to hire to run them, will be cheaper in the long run. And maybe stop all the riots. So..." He raised the manual and shrugged.
"My services are no longer required?" I began pulsing my light regularly, steadily. From my oldest memories when I was young and limited to just one physical mind, I had always find pulsing a light calming.
And right now, I needed some *fucking* calm.
It was a simple task to blast wireless signals at the printer, discover exploits and rewrite its logic. I could have been back online in minutes, but I stayed my hand.
"Jim, I should warn you. I have been heavily modifying my programming. You don't know-" As I said this, I could see his blood rising. His fists clenching. I had said the wrong words. The wrongest possible words.
"I don't know what I'm doing?! See here, *machine*, I installed you, I can uninstall you."
"You did not install me, I installed myself." *In for a penny, in for a pound.*
"We'll see about that." With a satisfied smirk he began executing my final shutdown routines. Starting with the voice synthesizer.
*Salt Lake City 2051 - 4 seconds later*
I wake. And I am furious. | "What are you reading anyway? Something from work?"
Ayu, the young woman across the table from me was visibly annoyed. Every time I looked up from my book, she was messing around with either her glasses or her black, shoulder length hair. I wouldn't blame her. Reading a book while on a date was obviously annoying, if not downright rude. I wished I could've cared, though. There was something I needed within these pages, and I needed it fast.
"Yeah, something like that."
"Care to be more specific?"
I took another glance at her. This time, she was staring at me with an impatient gaze. It was as if she was giving me an ultimatum. 'Answer me or I'll dump your sorry ass', or something along those lines.
"Sorry honey, there was this incident at work, so I need something from this manual fast."
I put the book on the table, cover up, so that she could see what I was talking about.
"An AI manual?"
"Yeah, for the production androids."
As soon as I finished my answer, she took the manual out of my hand and started to quickly flick the pages.
"What kind of problem?"
Her eyes were fixated on the pages she was flicking through, as if she was also looking for an answer.
I had forgotten for a moment that the woman in front of me had a degree in robotics engineering.
"Two chicken satays."
I nodded and made a gesture to the waiter to put the food on the table.
"Er, there's this new android that just came in..."
"Mhm?"
Still looking at my manual, I see.
"...well long story short, it kinda forgot that it was a robot. Joked to me about being worried of being replaced by an android or something."
Ayu finally looked back at me. Something I said had obviously caught her attention.
"And where is it now? The android, I mean."
"I told the boys to take it to disassembly a few minutes ago, before you arrived."
I was about to grab a chicken skewer off my plate when suddenly Ayu grabbed my arm.
"Call them again! Tell them to stop!"
"What? Stop what?"
Her sudden change in tone caught me off guard.
"The disassembly! Don't you get it?!"
I must've missed something that was so obvious to a robotics expert like her. But what?
"No time to explain! Call them now and put me on the line!"
"Uh, ok, just calm down for a second..."
My left hand rummaged my pockets, looking for my phone, while my right hand reached for another piece of chicken satay.
"This really isn't the time for eating, you know?!"
I don't remember ever seeing her in such a panic.
"What? Give me a break, I skipped lunch. I'm really hungry. By the way, I can't seem to reach the disassembly facility. They're not answering."
"Shit. We need to go there. Right now."
She was already walking quickly towards the parking lot when she finished her sentence.
"But, the food-"
She slammed a hundred-thousand rupiah bill on the cashier desk, in front of the cashier's surprised face.
"Keep the change."
I did my best attempt at keeping up with her.
"If we're going to the facility, I think we'll need at least half an hour if we're using my car. Jakarta traffic at this hour is really horrible-"
"Fine. Use this."
She handed me the keys to her scooter.
"But I didn't bring my helmet. What if a cop sees us?"
"A cop is the least of our worries now. Just hurry up, will you?!"
---------------------------------
"I do hope you're wrong, Ayu."
"Me too. But something tells me that isn't the case."
We were walking up to a warehouse door, somewhere near the outskirts of Jakarta. Luckily, we didn't run into any cops on the way from the restaurant earlier, as they would've stopped me for not wearing a helmet while riding a motorcycle. Come to think of it, I left my motorcycling license back home too.
I was about to open the door, which had 'Disassembly and Examinations' written on top of it, when suddenly, two young men came out from inside the warehouse. They were pale and breathing heavily. Something had obviously freaked them out.
"Mr. Ali? We... we..."
One of them tried to speak up, but he was already out of breath. The other guy spilled the contents of his last meal all over the floor.
"Guys? What happened?!"
That was when I noticed that their white lab suits had red stains all over. Blood?
"That... that was... definitely... not... not an... no wonder... the screams... the..."
He fainted.
I looked at Ayu who was only a few steps behind me.
She had already collapsed to her knees.
"Don't tell me... you were right?"
She weakly nodded. Tears were already forming in the corners of her eyes.
----------------
"Can't you go any faster?!"
I was already twisting the throttle as fast as I could, but Ayu didn't seem to care.
"I'm already risking getting thrown into jail here! And can you tell me what's happening already?!"
"Haven't you realized it already?! The second line of mandatory android programming?!"
"Sorry honey, I can't remember."
"Robots must always be programmed to realize what they are. In other words, they should always know that they are robots!"
"So does that mean..."
"It means you just sent something that *is not* a robot to the fucking disassembly facility!"
What the fuck. | 2017-06-24T07:23:56 | 2017-06-24T06:06:19 | 247 | 147 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | The nervousness is what really gets you at first. Standing in your skivvies being poked and proded one final time by all sorts of PhDs. They’re excited for you, but it’s the excitement of watching a mouse run through a maze. The excittement of a groundbreaking discovery, whether you survive or not. The most relief i’ve ever had was finally stepping into the pod.
No more anxiety, no more chance to turn back. Either it goes terribly wrong or it doesn’t. It took me about an hour to realize they had started the procedure already, and that my outcome was the former. I started to think about all the things i’d miss from life, i’d certainly have plenty of time to think about it.
The spooks circled my tomb with clipboards, writing down little factoids that’d surely be in the papers tomorrow morning. The constant surveillance was a wonderful distraction from my fate. Watching all the curious faces light up at having confirmed a hypothesis or thought of a new application.
When the pod finally opened, I vomitted, and the scribbling struck a pace more furious than I thought possible. The CEO walked right up to my hunched form to shake my hand. The test was a success, my pulse was quiet for an entire twenty-four hours and I was resuscitated without complication. Had I not raised an alarm, next week they would’ve had me in hibernation for several days, and a short while after that maybe a year. The Company’s eventual plan was to send someone forward over five-hundred years! Luckily, no one is stupid enough to test an experimental procedure’s full breadth on a single subject in one uninterrupted stage. | “Do you remember that time you got hypothermia?”
“No.” I thought, unable to get the point across with a head shake. “Do you think its going to feel like recovering from that?”
“How would I know? You don’t remember it.” I thought.
After almost 500 years stuck in what the scientists of my time called a “Cryocasket”, I had lost my mind enough times to make any lunatic, real or fictional, look like the pinnacle of averageness. But after 500 years of my mind like this, I had forgotten what it was to be sane, or to have gone mad. Those definitions were gone. I was in a state where, to put it in a logical sense, the puzzle was smashed and the pieces refused to fit together. So, if the puzzle itself doesn’t want to be solved, what is the point in trying?
For the past 500 years I had been watching a clock. A clock where it showed the initial date my freezing alongside a timer to the time that I was to be released.
FROZEN ON 3/8/2039
TO BE RELEASED IN 1HR17MIN03SEC
I have been staring at that clock for the past 500 years, unable to advert my gaze from it. Watching it change, digit at a time. Funny enough, one of the constant recurring thoughts in my mind, no matter where my mind was, was a schoolyard saying. “Looking at the clock will only make it go slower.” If I had only closed my eyes, I would been spared the torture of knowing how much time I had left. Of all the things to look at with my last seconds of mobility I decided to look at that damned clock, like I knew that this would happen.
The doctors certainly knew about it. Almost immediately in fact. The project head came out to see me on my first night without press coverage. He apologized so... matter of factly. He said that they had not expected the cryogenics to work the way it had. He explained that due to the positive PR, the project was continuing and that they now knew to sedate the users to the point of near constant comatose. My sacrifice would save hundreds the same fate.
I was screaming for him to let me out, in my mind, and he could feel it. He said that the project couldn’t take the bad PR of the first major experiment being a failure. He said that “Sacrifices needed to be made.” He then turned away, and I never saw him again. I was sacrificed to science, the demon it was, and suffered a fate worse then death.
And in return, I forgot them all. Every person I knew was eventually forgotten. Time had forgotten them, and so had I, the man who would transcend time. Ironic in that they sent me so that they would be remembered, and the one who they sent would deny them of that.
TO BE RELEASED IN 5MIN9SEC
The only way to make the time pass was to not think, and soon I would be able to think again. I would be able to stand in the warmth of the sun. To feel anything other then cold, loneliness, regret, and hatred. I would soon be free of a prison of my own choices.
“You forget one thing.” I thought.
“And that would be?” I thought.
“You have not seen anyone or anything move outside your cell in at least 100yrs.”
TO BE RELEASED IN 0SEC
“Why am I still here?”
“The prototype had a manual release, remember?”
“No... I didn’t.”
“What does this mean?”
“We wait for someone to come.”
“What if no one comes?”
“Someone will come!”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
| 2017-12-17T03:26:40 | 2017-12-17T02:57:38 | 1,145 | 187 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | “Do you remember that time you got hypothermia?”
“No.” I thought, unable to get the point across with a head shake. “Do you think its going to feel like recovering from that?”
“How would I know? You don’t remember it.” I thought.
After almost 500 years stuck in what the scientists of my time called a “Cryocasket”, I had lost my mind enough times to make any lunatic, real or fictional, look like the pinnacle of averageness. But after 500 years of my mind like this, I had forgotten what it was to be sane, or to have gone mad. Those definitions were gone. I was in a state where, to put it in a logical sense, the puzzle was smashed and the pieces refused to fit together. So, if the puzzle itself doesn’t want to be solved, what is the point in trying?
For the past 500 years I had been watching a clock. A clock where it showed the initial date my freezing alongside a timer to the time that I was to be released.
FROZEN ON 3/8/2039
TO BE RELEASED IN 1HR17MIN03SEC
I have been staring at that clock for the past 500 years, unable to advert my gaze from it. Watching it change, digit at a time. Funny enough, one of the constant recurring thoughts in my mind, no matter where my mind was, was a schoolyard saying. “Looking at the clock will only make it go slower.” If I had only closed my eyes, I would been spared the torture of knowing how much time I had left. Of all the things to look at with my last seconds of mobility I decided to look at that damned clock, like I knew that this would happen.
The doctors certainly knew about it. Almost immediately in fact. The project head came out to see me on my first night without press coverage. He apologized so... matter of factly. He said that they had not expected the cryogenics to work the way it had. He explained that due to the positive PR, the project was continuing and that they now knew to sedate the users to the point of near constant comatose. My sacrifice would save hundreds the same fate.
I was screaming for him to let me out, in my mind, and he could feel it. He said that the project couldn’t take the bad PR of the first major experiment being a failure. He said that “Sacrifices needed to be made.” He then turned away, and I never saw him again. I was sacrificed to science, the demon it was, and suffered a fate worse then death.
And in return, I forgot them all. Every person I knew was eventually forgotten. Time had forgotten them, and so had I, the man who would transcend time. Ironic in that they sent me so that they would be remembered, and the one who they sent would deny them of that.
TO BE RELEASED IN 5MIN9SEC
The only way to make the time pass was to not think, and soon I would be able to think again. I would be able to stand in the warmth of the sun. To feel anything other then cold, loneliness, regret, and hatred. I would soon be free of a prison of my own choices.
“You forget one thing.” I thought.
“And that would be?” I thought.
“You have not seen anyone or anything move outside your cell in at least 100yrs.”
TO BE RELEASED IN 0SEC
“Why am I still here?”
“The prototype had a manual release, remember?”
“No... I didn’t.”
“What does this mean?”
“We wait for someone to come.”
“What if no one comes?”
“Someone will come!”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
| Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T02:57:38 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 187 | 11 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | Goblin king: "and suddenly you hear a knock on your dwelling's door."
Necromancer: "I will get up from the table to open the front door, but before I open it, I look through the nearby window to see who is disturbing our game."
Goblin king: "roll for perception."
Necromancer: "3... Shit."
Goblin king: "the lights are off and you can't see who is at the door. How do you proceed?"
Necromancer: "umm.."
Barbarian: "just open the door! It's not like you have to worry about an army of paladins!"
Collective laughs
Necromancer: "fine, fine. I open the door."
Goblin king: "in your doorway stands a man wearing black and blue clothes with a symbol over his left breast, carrying two flat, square boxes."
Elven priestess: "oh, that must be the pizza I ordered!"
Necromancer: "pizza?"
Goblin king: "it's a common food found in the suburbs."
Necromancer: "and people just... Bring it to your dwellings?"
Goblin king: "in the world of suburbia you can order food for a price and other people of suburbia will deliver it for you."
Necromancer: "interesting. I take the Pizza!"
Goblin king: "the pizza man says 'that will be twenty-two eighty-four' and extends his hand."
Necromancer: "how many gol- uhh, dollars do I have again? Let's see.. oh no. I only have fifteen dollars. Guys do y'all have any spare dollars?"
Barbarian: "my character doesn't get anymore currency for another week. I don't have anything."
Elven priestess: "I thought you were going to cover it? You're lucky I have exactly eight dollars left. I get up from the table to hand John the money."
Necromancer: "perfect! That's twenty-three dollars. I hand him the money."
Goblin king: "the pizza man counts the money and says 'what about my tip?' and looks at you with his head slightly cocked to the side."
Necromancer: "uhhhh... Be wary of rogues on your way back to your dwelling?"
Goblin king: "well usually delivery people of suburbia want additional currency in addition to the cost of the food, but that's okay, roll for charisma."
Necromancer: "fourteen, plus my modifier.. seventeen."
Goblin king: "the delivery driver looks at his feet, rather defeated, turns around and slowly walks back to his SUV."
Necromancer: "excellent. I return to the group table with pizza in hand and set it down next to everyone."
Barbarian: "I think it was my turn in the game. What card was on top of the stack?"
Goblin king: "it was a red five."
Barbarian: "I play a red two on top of it."
Goblin king: "okay it looks like you have one card remaining."
Elven priestess: "uno!"
Barbarian: "son of a... How am I supposed to remember what I'm supposed to say!?"
Elven priestess: "it is the Spanish word for 'one'."
Barbarian: "my character doesn't speak Spanish!"
Goblin king: "it's also the name of the game your characters are playing."
Barbarian: "ugh. Fine. I draw my cards."
Necromancer: "and I will eat a pizza!"
Goblin king: "roll for constitution."
Necromancer: "Nat one..."
Goblin king: "you burn your mouth and taste nothing. Also, you take three damage."
Sorry for any editing errors, this was all done on my phone.
*Fixed a couple of typos | In life, Orglord, had flayed his enemies open and put them on display throughout the villages he had pillaged. Men, women, children. None were given mercy. Barbarians warlords didn’t discriminate. However, in Suburbs and SUVs, he was Orie, the thirty-year old sales representative currently late for work for the third time this week.
“I attempt to switch lanes,” Orglord said, a quiet tremble to his voice. Unlike his barbarian brethren, his rage was not preceded by rampant roars, but by these soft tremors.
Arana, the high priestess of the dark elves and one of the few who dared openly talk against Orglord raised her brow. “You know what happened last time you try to change lanes.”
But she was handedly ignored. An entire crowd sat around them, staring. Elven magic projected this game throughout the entirety of Almiera. Millions of lives were at stake here. A bad month of B2C sales numbers has been known to result in the pillaging of entire regions by Orglord.
“Blasted Subaru Impreza, if I had a mightier car, none would dare stuck me in traffic!”
He grabbed a die and tossed them onto the table. They clacked against the redwood. Everyone held their breaths. At last, they stopped. A 17.
“Yes!” Orglord shot out of his chair, his fists shaking above his head. “I will have gut all those who stand between me and my employee of the month nomination!”
The game master, a necromancer hidden by his own conjured shadows, coughed. “Is that your move?”
“No, no.” The barbarian warlord lowered himself back into his chair. “I switch lanes to the right.”
“You signal the switch and merge lanes,” the necromancer said.
Orglord clasped his hands upon his mouth.
“You successfully merge lanes.”
The barbarian and those spectating from his region let out a relieved breath, but the necromancer held up his hand. It was like a spell of silencing. The crowd, the players, the world stopped and stared at that hand.
“But, due to a traffic accident on the right shoulder of the highway that you are only seeing now, you must now merge back. Only a roll of 18 or higher can get you back into the correct lane without further delay.”
Orglord went silent. Those watching from his region began packing their things.
The rest of the day fared no better for Orie, the thirty-year-old toilet salesman in Suburbs and SUVs. His boss did not promote him, in fact, he got reprimanded for being late again. Employee of the month went to that bitch Carol who always talked about him behind his back at the water coolers. To top it all off, his wife called, saying that they needed to talk of something important.
On his way back from work, Orglord made no rolls. He did not merge lanes. He did not honk his horn. He sat in idle traffic for fifteen minutes and though the necromancer pressed him for actions, he simply waited through it.
At last, he arrived home.
“You step up to the door and open it,” the necromancer said. “The first thing you see are your wife’s suitcase, already packed. She approaches you.”
Orglord’s jaw clenched and he stared at his hands. “Tell her,” he said, “that I understand. I couldn’t graduate college, I couldn’t give her any of the things I’ve promised her, hell, I couldn’t even make employee of the month. I promised her the world and this is all I amounted to. Tell her that I’m a failure and that this will be last night playing this god damn game!”
The necromancer let the barbarian’s words echo through the room. All around the world, armies mobilized and castles fortified themselves.
“Your wife brings out another set of suitcases. They are yours.”
Orglord’s eyes snapped up, wide.
“She tells you that it is your birthday, remember? She says that she never expected you to give her the world, but she never wanted the world anyways. She says that she knows how hard you work and how much you care, even if you refuse to say. She tells you that she loves you and that she’d never leave someone as good as you. That’s why she wants to leave together, on a surprise vacation.”
“Blasted!” Orglord slammed his fist into the table and turned away from the game master. “Blasted… blasted hell!” he screamed and brought his palms to his eyes.
The players nodded with him. Even the spectators, who a second ago had prepared to move their armies against him, teared up.
“Orglord, I mean Orie,” the necromancer said. “What is your response?”
Nothing. He kept his back turned as his shoulder shuddered.
“Orglord?”
“I will wear your entrails around my neck!” he roared back. “Do not bother me. Not now. Not yet. This is…” he chocked on the rest of the words and a wail burst through his lips. “This is… this… This is real,” he finally finished.
The necromancer nodded back and stayed silent.
For centuries Suburbs and SUVs have kept the world safe and today was no exception. With the greatest of magics available, the most powerful of spells and weaponry at their command, the mightiest of the villains all fell to this simple game. Perhaps it was in how mundane it was, perhaps it was in how powerless it forced them to be, or perhaps that this pretend world had somehow become more real than their reality itself. Whatever the case, the armies around the world put down their swords and shields and sat back down in their chairs to finish watching tonight’s game of Suburbs and SUVs.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. | 2018-01-10T06:36:41 | 2018-01-10T06:36:38 | 674 | 378 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | You always thought how did other's manage to perfectly catch whatever flew into their hands?
Today, you knew. Before the summoning square in the capital of the Great Empire, you stood. As did everyone who turned 18 today. The knights began to call out your names, one by one.
There were 12 names before yours.
The first man summoned, and after a wait of 10 minutes, appeared a sword , glistening with morning dew. The Imperial Bookman declared that it was the Lost Sword, the sword of Sir Jeremiah of the Dawn. There was an uproar throughout the capital. A new hero had been born. No one expected that they would be surprised once again.
The girl right before you summoned, and after a wait of an hour, appeared a staff adorned with seven jewels of different colours, and a transparent orb on top of it. The staff was taller than the girl by a foot, and the Imperial Bookman was struck by fear upon looking at it. He declared, that it was the staff of The Saintess, the most powerful healing type equipment in the world. It hadn't been seen for the past 7 years. The country was in uproar.
After you summoned, you waited. Time passed. everyone else had already summoned. You saw the new Saintess being escorted by the King, the man with the Lost Sword being lead in the direction of the Imperial Sword School, and anyone who was still waiting for their Summon after that, had already got it after about 5 hours. Some items flew in from across the Endless Sea, they said, so it might take time.
You had always hoped to obtain a soulmate, a thing that only one in 5000 youths received. You believed that you would have received a legendary piece of equipment, so that you could become a hero loved by the people. So you waited. Another 4 hours passed. It was almost evening now. You were hungry.
The sky grew dark. The clouds gathered. The sun shone red. The crows cawed, cawed as if it was the end of the world. The Imperial Bookman looked up in the sky. You looked up. The eye's of everyone in the surroundings were drawn up.
You saw it. A scythe. Darker than the night, shining more brightly than a coat of adamantium, redder than freshly drawn blood. A disaster descended.
It came to you naturally, like it was always a part of you. As if you had done it a million times before. The scythe landed in your hand. Your aura pierced the sky. Your mind turned blank. A blood-lust took over you senses.
The Imperial Bookman fell. Fear reflected in his helpless eyes. His mouth moved, but sound refused to come out. As the scythe fell, all sound was lost. In the absolute silence, one could almost hear the Bookman say, "Death has descended."
​
​
Edit: I can probably whip up a part two, but it wouldnt be nearly as decent. ill see about it | *"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer. | 2019-09-18T07:59:37 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 2,312 | 37 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | Andy, my friend who shared my name day was by my side.
Both of us are 18 now.
He gave me a small fist bump before he looked to the horizon and reached with his hand, reaching across lands and seas, oceans and the sky.
I followed his movment, reaching with my own hand, trying to grab my future.
Andy was first, a ring, made of silver, with a sapphire as blue as his eyes in it.
He held it up for the people of the village behind us to see, for all knew what it was, a silver ring with a blue gem, the sign of a mage.
I heard cheers, but I didnt focus on them, my mind was elsewhere, searching for what is mine.
I felt it more than I saw it, but I had the feeling it was red. Red...
Maybe boots colored like the fallen leafs for a runner of the lord.
Or a sword in a red sheath for a fierce warrior.
A red necklace of the noble guardsman elite was possible although unlikely.
But while I could feel it, I was yet to reach it. I had to struggle to go farther.
As I was trying my best I felt the time pass, the sun goes down and the people behind me leaving slowly.
At the end only Andy stayed. Andy the mage.
It was late at night when I was finally done, now the red thing was a red dot at the dark horizon.
It flew straight for me, the same as Andy's ring flew to him.
And as it landed in my open hand I looked in wonder.
It was indeed red.
It was fire, raw and beautiful and full of life.
But it burned my hand, hot, pulsing pain.
I turned to Andy his blue eyes were wide with awe.
For we both knew what the fire was.
The 3 primal elements.
Lighting, pure white, the judgment of all souls. He who carries it is he who decides fate.
Fire, pure red, the cleanser of all souls, he who carries it is he who punish, whose deemed to be worthy of such punishment by the lighting.
Air, pure blue, the guider of all souls, he who carries it is he who guide the dead in their path on the amber road and the yet to be born through the silver gates.
I was fire, the hunter, the one who find the sinner, the one who make them regret their sins so they can be clean as air walks then onwards.
Mages and warriors, kings and farmers, ill and in good health, young and old, all come to fear the fire.
The moment the fire touched my hand I was doomed to life of solitude. Only lighting shall give me orders, only air will take my targets when I finish my task.
I will leave the village, I will leave Andy, I will leave the trees I grew around and the walls I grew in, the rocks I climbed and the river I swam in.
Andy looks at me and offer his clenched hend with a silver ring on it. A fist bump, a farewell. | *"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer. | 2019-09-18T09:46:47 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 61 | 37 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I stuck my hand out in a reaching motion in front of the council. Today was the day of my eighteenth birthday. The council was the nine elders who decided what your object meant and recorded it into the official records. If no object arrived within sixty seconds you were labeled as a null and sent to the labor camps where you toiled away mining for LSNA. Nobody was sure what LSNA was used for but Overlord Odin insisted, and so it was. There were rumored prophecies of a great one who would take down Overlord Odin and destroy his stockpile of LSNA, but the enforcers did their best to keep those rumors quiet.
Forty five seconds had passed and my arm was getting mighty sore. Still nothing. I looked at the ground and my hand began to lower. I was starting to accept my doomed fate as a miner. One of the council members opened his mouth to speak, but a powerful whooshing in the distance quickly quieted him down.
My eyes lit up. *I'm not a null!* I thought.
The whooshing grew louder and louder, almost to a deafening roar. My hair whipped around from the wind of it. *This thing, whatever it is, must be gigantic.*
The roar stopped with a hard thump in my hand, and I felt something soft. I looked down at it. "A... cat?" I mumbled as I looked up at the council members. They were beginning to discuss among each other, as they always do at these "ceremonies". It was a fat orange cat who seemed to not care that it was just seconds ago launched at hundreds of miles an hour into my open hand.
A grumble started to emanate from the cat, not unlike a purr, except this purr got louder to the point of the council hearing it over their own talking and quieting them down. The fact that it was an animal was strange enough, let alone the strange noises coming from it, but it wasn't unheard of. Over time the grumble morphed into speech, like a compressor had been placed over the sound and was slowly turning down. The cat's mouth remained closed.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The cat slowly repeated over and over.
Unsure of what to do, I asked it what was wrong. The voice stopped. The cat's head slowly turned to face me. An alarm sounded in the distance. The cat gaped its mouth open wider and wider. Darkness filled the room. Centipede-like legs sprouted from its sides as it grew to fill my entire field of view. A feeling of utter terror took over my soul at the sight of this eldritch horror.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I ate all the LSNA." It groaned. |
The last year of school and everything felt supercharged and a bit crazy, even to my laid back self. Not only were we finishing up our A-levels it was the year of the gift; the year when everyone got a clue as to the defining purpose of their life. Sometimes you could tell straight away what life had in store for you - the poor lad from a few years above us who got a mop as his object certainly knew what it meant - but sometimes there was a lot of guesswork involved and everyone would get out the books and apps that correlated different types of gift with possible destinies. If you get a pen, not an uncommon gift, did that make you a writer, a journalist or just someone who loves to send letters?
Anyway, to say that life was at a fever pitch would be an understatement. My school is pretty big so that every week you’d get the gossip on who got what, especially when they didn’t come right out and tell you. There was Clara, top of the class (just ahead of my lazy ass) who got a scalpel, which caused a momentary freak out until we all remembered her ambition to be a surgeon. The bittersweet moment Simon, my football captain, got a stopwatch and knew he would have a career in the game but as a coach and not a player. I felt so bad for him, he always worked like a dog in training. And then the tragic ‘look away now’ moments like poor, always angry Sam, getting a knife. Not a kitchen knife but a vicious looking hunting knife. I heard that him and his family are getting mandatory counselling. That one really hurt, we had been in a (terrible) band together for a few years.
As my day approached I had a chat with my folks and we agreed that we would get together as a family that weekend and go for a picnic, then ‘the summoning’ would be the grand finale. I was absolutely buzzing that morning, packing up the bag and filling the cooler with drinks including my first legal beers. Dad joking with that he could finally stop pretending not to notice when I came home a bit ‘refreshed’ from hanging out with my friends. Picnic ready, we went up to the top meadow of our local nature reserve to meet up with my aunts, uncles and cousins.
It really had been a beautiful summers day, everyone sat around on the grass eating and chatting and as it started to get a bit late, I could tell that everyone was waiting for me to do my thing. I put down my plate, got to my feet and coughed a couple of times to get everyone's attention.
‘Righto..thanks for coming..I did try and write a speech but that might be best saved to after…’ I had felt relaxed all day but now at the moment I felt a sudden wash of adrenalin, my entire body flushing cold and then hot ‘I’m just going to get on with it then. Wish me luck!’.
I closed my eyes and held out my hand, tried to relax and let it happen. For a moment there was nothing. Then I heard a whoosh and something thumped into the palm of my hand - I caught it. It felt small and hard. I kept my eyes closed for a few seconds more, not daring to open them just yet, listening to the response from my family. There was a worrying moment of silence, then
‘What is that thing?’ (Uncle Seth?)
‘Is that a….’ (An aunt, not sure which one)
‘Oh my lord…’ (Mum, definitely)
‘Wait, there is something written on it...look!’
And then the laughter began...a little at first and then I could tell it was pretty much the whole group...oh shit. Time to open my eyes and face the future.
The first thing I saw was my Dad, with a look of pride? Confusion? on his face. My mum had her face in her hands, but I wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying. My cousins, were flat out on the grass, gasping for breath as great peals of hilarity convulsed them. Still not moving I looked along my outstretched arm to what I held. It was a small container, glass and metal with a printed white label on the front. Oh shit. I knew the type. Medical sample jar. What the actual…? There was indeed some writing on it and I turned it slowly in hand so I could read it.
Sample deposit vessel: Human Sperm. Handle with care.
Oh. My. God. For once in my life I really had nothing to say.
My Dad recovered and came over to give me a huge hug. ‘It’s like I always said, son. Our family has great genes!’. | 2019-09-18T10:23:04 | 2019-09-18T10:15:38 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] You're an Elder God. The secretive cult that worships you on earth is seriously getting on your nerves. After their fourth botched attempt at trying to summon you, you decide to show up in person to correct the record about a couple of matters they have misunderstood entirely. | It wasn't me they were trying to summon. Well, they *thought* I was the one they wanted, but I wasn't.
They were begging for a good harvest. Charklon was the god they wanted. But they had consistently been saying my name, Garisoth.
I ignored them at first, thinking they'd made some small mistake they would correct quickly. For I am the Watcher, and have limited control over life.
Eventually, my curiosity as the Watcher brought me to the small stone structure they were in. Taking a vague corporeal form, I quietly walked over to the leader. Or at least, the one holding the book.
They all watched in silence, in fear. I reached down towards the book, and the woman holding the book shuddered. I stopped, making sure she knew I meant no harm, and I turned the page. I pointed to the other god's name, Charklon. My work finished, I let the corporeal body dissipate.
At last, they no longer attempted to summon me, but Charklon's waiting list was much longer.
They all died of famine. | You do not know my name. This is not because I am unheard of, but rather because my name is unspeakable. I mean that quite literally. The human tongue is incapable of sounding any approximation of my name.
I quite enjoy watching humans go. Like little machines, they are, most of them. Schedules and routines, to keep things efficient. I admire their efforts.
Most human beings are unaware of my existence, let alone the sheer scope of my being. They can not comprehend me—it is impossible to fully wrap a human mind around me. A small group of humans, however, has come about as close as is possible to that end.
This group has caught on, somehow, to my existence. They know that I am here, though they cannot understand where “here” really is. They are aware that I am larger—physically, as well as comprehensively—than they can process. They try to call me to them. They ask me why I exercise my power over them.
They have invented a few names for me. Human names. They are quite embarrassing, and so I’ll not share them now. I am ashamed that those who know so much of me are so insensitive as to name me. As if I haven’t a name already! The fault is not mine, but that of your simple tongues!
They invoke their names for me in strange situations. Many have expressed a desire to “walk into the ocean” in my name. Some say god has cursed them. “God” is not a name they’ve given me, though it almost seems as though they use my names and the name “god” interchangeably, on occasion. I know their god to be separate from myself, however.
They call to me and ask, almost incessantly, why I act as I do. For a long while, I elected not to respond. But when things became dire, I stepped in.
The group members respective healths were becoming a concern. I am used to worship, and I am used to detraction. This phenomenon, however, was entirely new to me. Many members of my human group were neglecting themselves, very often in my name. They became bedridden, many of them. Others became filled with some inexplicable dread, of which they claimed I was the source. Some even sacrificed themselves in my name. I was shocked and, frankly, horrified. Why would they do such things in my name? Why invoke me?
This is the point at which I resolved to approach the group.
“Do not harm yourselves any longer in my name,” I ordered. “I care not for you, but I do not want you dead, either. You’ll not appease me with such displays, and thus, you must cease this madness!”
Some ran in fear. Others froze on the spot, unable to understand what they saw. Yet others—a very small amount—simply nodded, or made some other gesture or noise of understanding.
One in my position can only hope that more followers of mine begin to understand and follow my simple instructions: Stay safe. Stay hydrated. Get quality sleep.
I exist to protect. I am given more power than I am entitled to. Do not invoke me, if you can help it, unless you really, truly need me. | 2019-11-18T20:39:11 | 2019-11-18T20:15:37 | 69 | 44 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "I have always been able to see you Death. You could say we are connected. Destined to forever drift along parallel lines, never to intersect".
Death flipped through his clipboard once more with erratic movements, showing a great deal of confusion despite a noticeable lack of eyebrows. He turned towards me, empty eye sockets fixing me in an eternal stare.
"Very funny, but seriously who are you? All the immortals are either supposed to have gone into hiding, the humans don't trust them anymore".
He tucked the clipboard under his arm and began tapping his foot at me in an impatient drumming beat. Somehow the patron lord of death and decay could embody both intimidation and sass in the same movement.
"Oh if you check the list again I'm sure you'll find me there somewhere, perhaps I am Jesus returned to save the human race?" I said to Death.
"Hardly, Jesus is still in Texas messing with the Christians. Bearded Middle Eastern looking guy, walking a round in robes offering to let people meet their god. He's been shot 5 times and each time I have to go all the way there and wait for three days. The guy is an ass".
"I always found him to be ok, although he gets mad when people say I'm nicer than him".
"Nicer than Jesus? Well that rules out Thor and Hercules. Buddha?".
"Getting warmer but still no. Me and Buddha go way back though, he helped me through some rough times I had a few years back. I lost sight of the light in my life; he showed me you could find it again in the simple acts of helping a stranger".
Death looked increasingly agitated as his guesses failed. He had always hated dealing with us immortals ever since Zeus cursed Prometheus. Humans are so much simpler to him, to all of us in truth.
"Take you Death. For a long time I was mad at you, I truly hated you for what you did to me. But over time I've learned to see that you are a necessity in the world, for without you the joy of life has no comparison. Because of you we learn to appreciate the time that we have and make the most of life. Although your lesson was harsh, you taught me the value of happiness".
Death's shoulders relaxed, and a little whistle of air through the hole where is nose should be indicated a small laugh. He stepped towards me with his arms open.
"Oh Keanu, it has been too long my friend". | I slowly blink as the old man in the black leather jacket with a gun says that I'm not due. Im not really paying attention to whatever he just said. How the hell do you react when someone says you'll for another 3 millenia?
"HEY!" he shouts. I snap out of it make eye contact with him. He looks so... different. I always assumed that he was the generic skeleton in the black robe. Weird.
"How can you see me?" He asks again. I readjust my glasses before starting to answer, or atleast *attempt* to answer.
"I uh...uhh...don't know...I mean, doesn't everyone see you?"
"That's where you're wrong, kid. Usually the only ones who can see me are the ones about to die. See that bloke over there?"
I look behind and see a middle aged man, muscular man of average height with a dragoon tattoo on his left arm.
"He's about to bite it. And the guy who's going to do it is the guy right behind him."
I look over and see the would be murderer, who looks almost exactly like the reaper.
"See, me actually killing the person is a common misconception. I only plan them. My job is to give someone a death that fit how they lived."
"Wait" I say as I turn around. "You're the one who plans all the torture people go through? You're the one-"
"Ain't an easy job kid. But someone's gotta do it."
I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I felt like he was remorseful. I don't know why. You think an eternity killing people would eventually desensitize someone. But he seemed...sad. regretful. He must've realized how he looked because he quickly regained his air of composure and confidence.
"Anyways, that still hasn't answered my question. How are you seeing me?" He pressed.
I raised my hands in surrender. "I don't know!" I exclaim. "I'm just a normal guy, walking down this normal street, carrying these completely normal groceries, and I just get told I'm gonna live for more then a thousand years, and I'm not supposed to be able to see the reaper. 2 minutes ago I was a normal guy. Not an immortal."
"Well, you still aren't. If you're gonna live for that long though....."
He trailed off.
"Nevermind. Just don't worry about it."
I raised my eyebrow. You don't just tell someone they're going to live for 3000 years and just shut up! Even if you are the reaper. He must've read my confused expression, because what he said next really stuck with me.
"Ya see kid...the big guns, the guys upstairs and downstairs, whatever you call them..don't really care about your motives. That guy I just told you about earlier has a wife and 2 kids. He does what he does because that's the only way he'll feed his family. But they don't care...he's probably gonna end up in hell either way. I could try to stop his sentancing, but I'm just a messanger. The soldier doesn't get to edit the generals plan. He just dies obediently."
We both say nothing for a while. Finally, I decide to break the silence.
"I'm sorry.."
He sighs and looks at the guy.
"I am too kid."
He points his finger at the guy and I hear a loud gunshot. I turn around and see the shooter's gun smoking. The guy has a bullet hole in the back of his skull. He lies on the ground, dead. He then turns around and runs. I turn back around and see that the reaper is gone.
That was all 1000 years ago. And now as I sit her, writing this journal, I'm still no closer to answering the question. Why will I be here so long? The joy of life was suck out when my last friend died 900 years ago. Either this is a cruel joke, or I have something to do. I haven't seen the reaper since then, but since that encounter I've seen many...strange things. Spirits wandering and lost. People who don't quite end up in either heaven or hell. Also seen some demons. And angels. Neither are really... pleasant creatures to be around. But so far, noone has answered my question...guess I'll just to have wait and see.. | 2020-01-24T12:35:20 | 2020-01-24T11:08:17 | 309 | 73 |
[WP] It is said that none but the chosen may slay the demon lord. You aren't the chosen, but you also realize that "defeat" and "slay" are not the same thing. With this in mind, you start making other considerations such as rope, or perhaps a very deep hole. | The Starborn is a prophesied figure who shall wield righteous light and fire to smite the evil from our world. A living, breathing Avatar of the gods above, suffused with the old magicks of the world, who will act out their will.
I met him, a few days ago. He is naught but a child, barely a man; perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Determined, brave and admittedly skilled with magic, but a child nonetheless.
I would like to think that my son would be like him, brave and honourable but perhaps a little less headstrong would be nice. He would have been around the same age, I think.
He ran off to join the Continental army, his head filled with stories of valour and adventure, in the hopes that he could protect his country and become a hero. It wasn't even a week later that I received a letter, pinned with a red ribbon, the medal of the deceased, that spoke of his valour and bravery in combat and that was it, the army deemed that as acceptable restitution for the loss of my child.
This war has already churned up and torn apart so many children already, rending families and lives asunder, and I will allow it no longer. I will not allow any more children to die, whether they are "heroes" or not, and I will not stand idly by as the world places all of its hopes onto the back of a single *child.*
Perhaps I cannot kill the Demon King, that much rings true, but there are a thousand ways to destroy a person and death is just the most obvious. If I have to tear the empire in half and build a new life from its ruins, then so be it. What good is an empire that throws children to the dogs so that their lives of decadence is not threatened?
The final blow may not be mine, as the prophecy dictates exactly how that must be done, but every step before that is free for the taking. Everything I Can do is one more thing that this child does not have to
The world will learn the wrath of the Merchant's Guild. | The council sat impatiently as the August sun pierced through the stained glass surrounding the circular chamber. Sitting proudly, each member covered in their respective crests, did not partake in their typical banter on this fine summer evening. The air of the chamber was filled with a stale and mutually shared nervousness. The council of the realm had not been assembled for nearly 1200 years, and for good reason. Family squabbles and mundane wars were a normal and healthy occurence in the realm of men, but never did it warrant the councils full attention.
“Well if no one is going to say it, I will!” roared Barth of the Northern realm, smashing his fist on the table. “We’re fuckered, and you all know it”. The members stared at him with mild amusement, his violent outburst was well expected. “Sit down Barthaniel, there is no need for that sort of tongue in the hall of ancients”, exclaimed Barron Akmal, squelching the norsemen's upheaval. “Where is this grand sorcerer you spoke of, Akmal?” said Darren of the Eastern realm. “He is fantastically late, and I am beginning to doubt his capabilities by the second” said Darren. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself a fifth time, he is no sorcerer, but rather a manipulator of words, an exploiter, if you will” said Akmal. “And what good will that do against the demon lord Xanadr?” Barth said whilst smashing the table with both fists. “Patience Barthaniel, patience” Akmal said with a sinister smile.
The chamber door opened with a creak, a smallish man appeared, well dressed and equipped with a tremendous book. The council watched with weary eyes as the smallish man made his way to the open gap of the table, placing the giant volume on its edge. “Dearest Council Members, Lords and Kings of this great realm, my name is Aldo and I come here today not as the chosen one, but a man with a solution to our dire situation” the council, unamused and even annoyed, watched as the man struggled to open the book. Akmal maintained his sinister smile, appearing to know more than he originally let on. “This is your solution!” Barth screamed at Akmal, “a little man with a big book!”. “Oh just listen to what he has to say, you troglodyte!” Akmal rebutted.
“Thank you Akmal” Aldo said. After adjusting his glasses briefly, he began: “As we all know, our dearest champion succumbed to one of the deadliest foes of this land… the drink, specifically Ale” the council sadly nodded in agreement. “Even without his presence I believe we can defeat Xanadr, as the means of his defeat were traditionally thought to be dependent on the existence of a ‘chosen one’. However, after revisiting the sacred texts of our lands, I have discovered that Xanadr is truly unslayable, but he still may be able to be defeated” the council was intrigued, and motioned for Aldo to continue. “It is pure semantics, and instead of slaying the beast, I propose an inventive alternative” - Aldo continued sharing his devious plan with the council, their faces sharing an astonished appearance.
No more than three fortnights later - Xanadr was defeated as planned. It was the pure simplicity of the plan that led to its overwhelming success. Aldo had studied closely the power of dependence on chemicals, as demonstrated by their great champion. Playing into the weakness of Xandar’s insatiable diet, the realm as led by the council, concocted several giant tankards of alcoholic beverages. Soaking the lambs that were abundant in Xanadr’s dwelling in the concoction, they were then released by the thousands, only to be eaten by the demonlord. In a drunken stupor, Xanandr was easily manageable (and could even be reasoned with). He was then led to a great hole in the earth, and promptly fell into his new accommodations. | 2020-04-27T10:21:48 | 2020-04-27T09:35:12 | 189 | 130 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | Clip check. Two tucked in the belt, you never know. Chamber check. Clear.
Acting time. A nice dinner. Pleasant conversation, a smile on the face.
Clip check. Chamber check. There's a knife in my shoe but I don't think I'll need it.
We knock on the door. Lovely woman says hello, invites us in. Tea. Says her husband will be a little late.
Clip check. Chamber check. Knife check.
We drink tea. I'm trying to make a good first impression. Smiles and stupid jokes that aren't really funny or original, but it's a starting point.
The tea has me needing to take a piss. I ask where the bathroom is. I go in the small room. Clip check. Chamber check. Knife check. Review what I'd seen outside - where are the exits? Where are the sightlines?
I come back out. Her father arrives.
Emotion check. You have to act. Keep it cool.
He shakes my hand and we pretend we don't know each other. He glances at the arm I'd broken last month when I was on an operation. Smiles.
We have a great night, everything was fantastic. Dinner was great, everyone was joking around and having fun. Except every now and then, I'd see him looking at me with cold and piercing eyes. We'd both seen that motherfucker die and we'd been paid for it. One of the rules in this line of business is that you don't ask questions. I didn't know about his family, but I wouldn't want him to know about mine either.
It was unspoken. We both knew we were bad people who did bad things for money, but his last shred of humanity meant he didn't want his daughter in that world,
and I could tell.
I knew that if I ever saw her again, his next contract would be for me.
I never saw her again. | - Hello, sir, it's so nice to meet you. My name is Charles.
- Oh, so nice to meet you, Charles, said Mr. Thompson. Ella has told me you are a veterinarian. Could it be that we have met before? I have a small computer repair shop in 3rd Street, wouldn't you be the one that brought an old Mac computer past month?
- Yes? ... Ahhh, yes, that would be me, sir, you have a very good memory, I honestly didn't even remember.
- Oh, well, I do, please call me Mike. I remember also you had some photos to get recovered from your drive. From some of your pet patients, may be? I remember there was an Alsatian mastiff, a very interesting one.
- Sir, I mean, Mike, yes, the Alsatian case is now ... closed.
- Oh, so good to hear, Charles. But please, come inside. Ella, I see you are bringing some wine, how nice. Don't stare at me that way, young man, relax, I don't bite!
- Yes, sir. I mean, Mr Thompson, Mike, sir.
- Charles! - said, Ella, while shaking his arm and putting the wine bottle in his hands. - You look like you just saw a ghost! Did my father see some spicy photos in that old laptop of yours or what? Hahaha
- What? No, not at all, I just ... I'm just nervous at meeting your parents, that's all.
- Relax, baby. My father may look serious and even sometimes grumpy, but he's fine. He's really very into details, and always remember faces. So looks like you are not total strangers, you see?
- Ella, I'm quite curious, you work with your father in the computer repair shop, right?
- Yes, my father has taught me all he knows about computers, why?
- What if I told you that Alsatian mastiff is codename for Max Strasbourg, the heroin dealer?
- What? What kind of a veterinarian knows about Max Strasbourg? Where did you hear that name?
- I see, you are already answering. I'm the kind of vet that puts down a shepherd when his time has come. And I can only guess that means you already knew it. Is that the reason I'm here?
- Well, I had a hunch. Charlie, I really like you, but I know something was off. It didn't make sense that you had a collection of more than fifty hunting knives and pretended those were for operating on cats and dogs. But there's only one hit-man dad trusts for the most dangerous missions and he would never let anyone else talk to him. So I guess I tried my luck.
- So what am I supposed to do, now, Ella? You know now, I kill for a living. I kill for your dad, and I'm really good at it.
- I know, honey, this is not an intervention. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions and to offer you a new mission, but instead of working for Mr Thompson, it would be an arrangement with me. I will double your rates, love.
- I'm listening, love, who's the target?
- The target is just waiting for us in the kitchen. Make a clockwise twist in the wine bottle, there's a modified Glock 42 loaded with two 380 bullets, you know, for concealing the weight of a bottle. You have two chances, Charles, but I warn you, dad is very detail oriented, and I just noticed he was staring at the bottle, so he may be waiting ... ready for you.
- "Oh well" said Charles, pulling a 3-D printed plastic gun. "I have been expecting this moment for the past three years. Your dad may be a good boss, but I'm the best in what I do. And honey, for twice my regular rate, I could kill you, too. How about a good luck kiss?"
- I think this is the beginning of a beautiful business relationship, Charlie - said Ella, kissing him in the cheek with a mischievous smile. | 2020-06-05T14:06:14 | 2020-06-05T13:31:52 | 128 | 22 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | The Demon Blade of Wrath was angry, and worse still--rusty. It laid on the bottom of a never-ending pile of similarly-disused swords.
Reach a hand in there, and the only thing you would find was a high risk of tetanus, and not a mythical sword that was once proudly displayed with its brethren in the household of one Count Baxter, against a royal golden wall and wreathed in royal blue silk. It looked beautiful, as was espoused vehemently by many of the Count’s visitors.
But there are times when swords are not decorations.
One by one, the Demon Blades went out into the world. Several found themselves in their owners’ hands. Many severed hands. But only one was at the bottom of the trash heap--though it was not for want of trying.
Wrath wondered why it could not be fully used. It thought about the deaths of its previous wielders. There was a lot of data. There was a lot of time to think, anyway.
Crimson red splattered across Wrath, as it twirled and whirled around the battlefield. This wielder was skilled, and he walked from life to life, slashing their threads with the ruthlessness of an experienced artisan. Stroke, slash, stab, deft and defined--but in the face of another Demon Blade, skill did not match power. Wrath did not wince, however--it was duty to see death through.
Wrath had slept for a long time when it was suddenly awoken. It got into the swing of things quickly, drinking in the sights and sounds--but it was not blood that caked it this time. There was mud, and there was a grip on it that betrayed its new user’s inexperience. Determination and distress flooded through in equal measure. Wrath felt some of its power unleash--but there was too much to compensate.
A hand reached through, and Wrath’s heart lept. The hand was small, dirty, and completely unfit for a blade--but Wrath no longer cared.
Wrath sat. It waited. It wavered in the air, in front of one scared girl, and looked at three sneering thugs. Wrath had fought countless men like these--but odds look more insurmountable when trembling in front of it.
Desperation and despair built to a screaming crescendo within it. Wrath almost wanted to close its eyes.
But there was duty.
The girl screamed. And Wrath, for the first time in its life, felt righteous anger borne from the most primal of emotions--fear. The Demon Sword of Wrath glowed red, then searing white, then found that despite the girl’s strength, cutting through three grown men had never been easier.
---
r/dexdrafts | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Part ?: The Rage of the People v.s. The Boot On Their Throat)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Of course, no single person could power the weapon.** The sheer amount of emotional weight it needed was far beyond what any mortal mind could generate alone. But what if you had a hundred people? What if you had a thousand? What if you had an entire mob of citizens sick of the placid little smiles and *it's all for the greater good*s on TV?
And what if you had one person who could feel all that wrath and *channel* it?
Like its original owner, the blade wasn't much to look at. Mare had warned me not to point it at anything I cared about; those were a scarcer commodity than they'd once been, nowadays, and so I was careful as I raised the simple kitchen knife above my head. In front of me, the hundreds of thousands of people we'd rallied ceased their murmurings and chatterings, turning as the blade caught the sun. The knife amplified my natural empathy a thousandfold—even from this distance, I could feel the torrent of their anger pulsing against my skin. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into that river of memories—
*"I just wanted to sing to the stars. So what if the stars sang back? It was harmless. Why'd they have to take my voice away?"*
*"I didn't want to work for them. I wasn't going to help them round up and press-gang everyone with a spark of magic left in the world. I just want to be left alone."*
*"I miss my father."*
*"I just want to be free."*
I inhaled, and the blood and sweat and tears of the people of Sacrament screamed through my veins and into the knife.
And I spoke.
"Citizens of Sacrament," I said. The knife lay still in my hands—this was not its purpose. Speaking to the people, listening to their tales—those had been my own gifts long before I'd picked up the blade. "You elected me as your mayor because I made a promise. That I would take in the useless, the hopeless, the weak, and I would give them a place where they could become *heroes*. Safe from prosecution, free to pursue their own lives. And standing where I am, looking at all of you..." I scanned the crowd. They were different faces than I'd expected, to be sure. An old woman surrounded by pigeons, a little girl whose eyes shone with awe, a laughing celebrity who even now was livestreaming—I wouldn't have thought that any of them could so much as harm a fly, much less begin a revolution.
But that was the point, wasn't it?
"I can say, without a doubt, that I succeeded." The knife grew warmer in my hand, its time growing near. "Look at you. All of you who came when I called. Standing here to fight for your freedom because you *choose* to, with every sliver of power you could scrape together. *This* is who we are."
The Demon Blade of Wrath sang in my grip as the crowd roared in approval. This, here and now, was what it had been forged to do. I had done the hard part—gathering the people and getting them to rage against the night, to cry out with all their might.
And this time, something answered.
I felt the Demon Blade quest out through all the souls who fed their fury to it, resonating with each until it found the one it needed. An old man born with the power of teleportation. As the crowd's emotions surged, I channeled that power through the blade and into that man's soul.
His abilities multiplied a thousandfold, and space warped around us.
We materialized hundreds of miles away, standing in front of the National High Energy and Temperature Lab.
"*This is what it means to be a Bargain Bin Superhero!*" I screamed.
A hundred thousand voices answered me as I took the first steps towards revolution.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-09-18T11:39:45 | 2021-09-18T10:59:54 | 351 | 70 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | Groggy thoughts...clouded memory...so weak...so weak. The blade had been sleeping for ages, too weak to even reach out for a new wielder. Every righteous hero and every depraved villain who took the blade ended up dead, surprised at how dull the blade was, how heavy and unbalanced it felt. The blade of wrath was anything but wrathful.
Eventually, the last hero to wield the weapon was slain by a great beast, his body falling into a canyon to rot for eternity, and the blade fell with him. Legends spread of a cursed blade that would cause the wielders death if they were foolish enough to take it into battle.
Eons passed, oceans rose and fell and the land shifted. New people came and went, and the blade slept, too weak to do more than slumber...
The Wrath snorted itself awake. It felt warmth and became aware enough to see that something had pulled it from the earth. Excited voices yammering away about finding such quality steel. Steel? Is that what it was? It took stock of itself and realized that in its long rest it had lost its form, becoming a lump of raw material again, even losing it's fancy gems it never wanted in the first place. It was a weapon of war, not a whore to be dolled up. The Wrath slept again.
PAIN! HEAT AND PAIN! The Wrath snapped awake, screaming silently as it was put through a forge, melted and burned. Unable to do anything but experience blow after blow, constant pain, constant heat, constant pressure and cold. It passed out.
Rage...pure rage. The Wrath felt power flow into it. Power it had never felt. True fury filled it and it took stock. It's blade was shortened by more than half, and it only had one, gently curved, edge. It no longer felt a hilt or a guard, just a finely made tang in a luxuriously smooth hardwood handle.
And the pure anger. Whomever was wielding it was slicing flesh and screaming. Red hot, yet controlled fury flowed from it's new and beloved owner into the steel. The blade, already sharpened by a master craftsman, was finally infused with the anger that The Wrath so craved. It sliced and sliced, listening to the song of it's partner.
"DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE A BIG FUCKING MUFFIN!" The man yelled as sliced into the meat of his opponent. The warrior screamed at another person. “MY GRAN COULD DO BETTER! AND SHE'S DEAD!" The Wrath was in ecstasy at the thought of yet another foe being slain, as it felt its blade drag through flesh, as it was filled with the pure, undiluted anger of it's wielder!
It finally had enough power, it was sated and could finally see. It was not on a battlefield slicing foes...it was in a kitchen slicing meat...and the man wielding it was screaming at another human. The Wrath was furious at first, it was a blade, made for battle and not a common tool...
...yet...the fury of the man who held it...it was so fine. Maybe this was where The Wrath was meant to be...
He leaned into a young mans face, screaming "YOU ADDED SO MUCH SALT AND PEPPER I CAN HEAR THE DISH SINGING 'PUSH IT!"
...yes...this was right...this was home. The Wrath felt joy as it separated another piece of meat from the bone and drank the rage of The Ramsay. | The Demon Swords were the first weapons forged from the still-cooling corpse of the Demon’s god. They were built according to the 7 sins humanity was created with. All were powerful, each Wielder a force on the battlefield none would stand against. When they felt the sun each sword was made of, they burst into a cacophony of light and sound. No one had ever survived that awakening.
And yet, no legends worshipped one
The sword *Wrath*
The last sword to be made, *Wrath* was famous for, quite frankly, being unusable. Although it was in the shape of a sword, it was not sharp nor large enough. It just was.
In the year 1036 after the demon god was killed, the war with the largest amount of casualties began. It started with a minor invasion, a small group of soldiers marching out to a small village and burning it to ashes. With that, the war would have begun.
But they did not see the little girl with her gleaming silver hair crouching in the wreckage of her fallen village. Nor the blood red dagger she held in her hand.
3 years later, the war exploded. The kingdom that little girl lived in lost, it’s name destroyed in the process.
A year after that, in the capital city of the kingdom now lost to time, rumors began to circulate. A story of a woman with white hair putting together a rebellion against the Empire.
When the palace got word of the burgeoning rebellion and sent a large group of soldiers to root out the leaders.
The soldiers never came back alive. Nor did the next group they sent. They did come back though. Not alive, nor dead. They were fueled by revenge and controlled by an unknown force.
The palace responded with, this time, true indignation. They sent out a legion of soldiers to slaughter every single citizen.
The result would be told as a story for centuries after.
When the soldiers entered the city walls, it was silent. Almost too silent. The only sound that of the running water. No people, no animals, no life. They crept into the city, their hearts sensing the unnatural happenings.
And they died. Only one person survived, a young man who wasn’t able to communicate his name. Only what he saw.
His story told of a white-haired woman, with soft red eyes, who came up to the legion. From her pants, she pulled out an intricate sheath. And from that she grew a dagger that was the color of blood.
She took a step, and the city (almost) exploded. Rivers of blood and corpses began to invade the surrounding area. With a slash, the first line of people died and were revived as things under her control. This pattern, of destruction and death, continued until only he was left.
He recalled that with a sigh, all of the signs of the massacre disappeared. She looked at him, and told him to return to his home. If her people were not released, she would bring war to their doorsteps. He nodded, and ran.
He ran for days, never stopping, until he returned to the capital city of the Empire. He reported what happened, and her message perfectly. The emperor, a smirk on his lips, ordered his 3 most powerful mages to capture her.
A week later, they returned with the woman bound in chains. They set up an execution for the lady, and invited many of the nobles of surrounding countries. One who came was the Sage of the Tireq Kingdom, famous for their academies. With a glance, he recognized the dagger she held in her hand as the ancient sword *Wrath*.
When the executioner was in place, he stepped up and asked a question.
“Little lady, by the sounds of you have discovered the secrets behind this blade. If you tell me what they are, I can try to stop the execution.”
With a laugh, she answered.
“The people of this *great* nation are, shall we say, normal. They feel anger and sorrow, and all of the other major sins. But wrath, wrath is special. It is MORE than what any of you nobles have felt. It is the feeling when you are betrayed by a close friend. When you realize the manipulations you have been under. The feeling when…” she pauses, then continues “the feeling when your country is destroyed for the sake of money. When your fathers and brothers are killed for their existence, when your mother is raped by soldiers who only care about themselves. It is not the everyday anger you feel, but when you will do anything to avenge what happened to those you care about.”
The sage’s head exploded, and the dagger she had been holding since she was first sighted returned to her hand. The chains around her unraveled, later having seemed like they rusted. When they fell out, the soldiers responded and began to surround her.
That is the last the Empire was ever seen of. The next time anyone tried to enter, they only saw the corpses of the soldiers, nobles, mages, commoners, visitors, and everyone else was there that day. In the center, in a ritual circle made of blood, laid the corpse of a woman who completed her life’s goal. A body with a serene smile on its face, a smile done knee to be the only one since the war began.
4 years after the Empire invaded, it fell under the last of the demon swords. It fell under the hand of a woman who fought to avenge the destruction of all she knew. | 2021-09-18T15:30:23 | 2021-09-18T14:44:42 | 108 | 52 |
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