prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her. | “And how many claws does Stewie have?” I flipped through *the book*, wondering what horrors were trying to befriend Emmy now. For a 8 year old girl, she has a talent for attracting some doozies. Though my mother warned me before bequeathing *the book*, I was not expecting so many demon lords and fae queens to be so interested in a little girl’s schoolwork.
Emmy giggled. “None!”
“What about wings? Fangs? Scales? Tentacles?”
She shook her head giddily, “None of that!”
I paused, and begrudgingly flipped towards the back of the book where the more humanoid, and frankly more disturbing monsters lurked. We haven’t flipped through these back pages before. As the non-magical father to a daughter who comes from a long line of female witches but none of those other female witches were alive… hopefully Stewie turns out to be a friendly ghost.
“Does Stewie have eyes at least?”
“Yep!”
“How many?”
“Two!”
“Where are they located?”
“On his face, silly!”
I frowned, “Does Stewie just look like a human?”
Emmy nodded, “He likes Milk Duds.”
“What do you guys do?”
“We just play at school.”
I sat back, a bit befuddled. *The book* doesn’t mention a Milk Dud loving boy who likes playing at school. “Is he… just a boy at your school?”
Emmy nodded happily, “He’s my first friend!”
“That other people can see?”
“Everyone can see him, Daddy! He did really good at the school’s spelling bee. That’s where we met. He spelled Stegosaurus.”
“Huh.” I stared thoughtfully at Emmy. It’s been a awhile since she made a human acquaintance. People had a hard time coping with the oddness that surrounds Emmy, even if they can’t see the eldritch beings that lurk around her. It just causes the hair to lift on the back of your neck, as if something is hunting you. I shivered.
I snapped *the book* abruptly close and stood up. “Well, we should invite Stewie over one of these days! You can show him your tree fort.”
Emmy gasped, “Really?”
I smiled, “Of course. It’s your first friend. I want to say hi.”
Emmy squealed, and grabbed my hand. She rattled on about Stewie and what fun they will have. I nodded and laughed, but my free hand rubbed the back of my neck. Trying to flatten the hairs down.
Stewie scared me. | Holly was confined to one room for now, which meant that there was only one room’s worth of space for her to bound about like a bunny with nuclear plants for lungs.
“Holly,” Clarissa said sternly. This was after trying calmly, politely, and exasperatedly. A different approach was sorely needed.
At a dime, Holly screeched to a halt, looking at her mother with those great big innocent eyes practically screaming: “Am I in trouble?”
“Stewie said to stop,” Holly said.
“Great,” Clarissa mumbled under her breath. An imaginary monster with more authority than her mother. Just great.
The problem was—it might not be quite so imaginary. Whenever Clarissa fell asleep, for a brief limbo when she was between this life and the dream one, she swore she could still hear Red’s call from beyond the void. Red was her friend in what felt like a lifetime ago, and she remembered the stocky monster with four nearly identical limbs that cartwheeled around all the time. He came complete with a goofy grin and four eyes placed in between each limb, like decorative olives on pizza slices. Should she drift off into a daydream, when she jolted awake, she often found a sketch of Red on something nearby, whether it was pencil on paper or ketchup on pizza box.
Red didn’t harm her, not even a hair on her chinny chin chin. But Clarissa wasn’t so sure about Stewie, especially when Holly turned up with those thin, smarting cuts on her arm, which the child brushed off with an easy laugh.
“Look at Stewie, Holly,” Clarissa said. “How many claws?
Holly placed one finger on her chin, her eyes narrowing into recesses of deep thought. Then, struck with brilliant inspiration and accompanied by a bright smile, she held out her hand, pointing at her fingernails.
“Are claws the things at the ends of your fingers?”
Clarissa breathed in deeply, and nodded.
“Those are your nails. But claws are kind of likes nails. But they are sharp. And look dangerous.”
At her mother’s answer, Holly whooped with delight, clapping her hands together.
“Oh, then these don’t look dangerous at all. They look fun! See, Stewie is clapping too!”
“I don’t see them,” Clarissa sighed. “But OK, I suppose they can look fun. But, Holly, are they sharp?”
“Not really. They are rounded and flat. They feel kind of nice to touch, actually.”
Clarissa looked down at the pad of paper she held, filling in rounded discs on Holly imaginary friend’s fingers. She scanned the drawing again. The head protruded with spikes like a morningstar, though two clear eyes stared back. He was giving a thumbs up, which looked exceedingly weird when said hands sprouted from a smooth, long body that coiled loosely in the middle like a tired anaconda. The legs, all five of them, sprouted out like spindly beanstalks.
“... What in fresh hell is this thing?”
“He’s Stewie,” Holly beamed.
“Goddamnit, Stewie,” Clarissa raised her voice a little. “I don’t know who you are. I want to not care who you are. But hurt my daughter one more time, and I swear I will strangle your.ne… stab you in your stupid mace head. God, I need water.”
With a huff, Clarissa stormed out of the room, muttering swiftly under her breath.
Holly turned to Stewie, who, for all intents and purposes, looked rather normal. If a child took some clay, and formed it into an approximate shape of a human being, it would look like Stewie, except he was quite a bit more purple.
“You made mom angry,” Holly said, wrapping her hands together.
“Sorry,” Stewie said, before transforming himself into an exact replica of the thing that Clarissa had drew out. “But I can’t help it! It’s kind of fun to play with somebody who can’t notice you.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to play with me?” Holly sulked.
“Oh no, darling,” Stewie said, transforming into a robot rabbit, dull grey metal covering his body, and eyes glowed and crackled green. “Now, I’m not going to catch myself.”
“I will catch you!” Holly yelled in joy, and proceeded to run her stubby legs into Stewie’s new lithe form.
“You can certainly try,” Stewie laughed, each syllable resplendent with glee.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-06-01T13:57:31 | 2022-06-01T09:41:00 | 69 | 26 |
[WP] An S-Rank adventurer casually sifts through their quest log and notices they still have an uncompleted D-rank request. With a chuckle, they decide finding the farmer’s lost cat could be a relaxing change of pace— they were gravely mistaken. | The Adventurer grinned to themselves mirthfully as they approached the farm house. A simple task, nostalgic really? A harkened callback to the long-gone days when it wasn't about evil necromancers or planar deities or corrupt lords inciting insurrection. When it was just him, the open road, and an old man with a lost kitten.
He approached the bark where the kitten was last seen, only to hear a deep throaty growl from within. In the sliver of light leaking through the barn door he saw orange and black strips, on a pay bigger than his head. Of course. Of course the kind old man had actually been harboring a tiger, not a housecat. The adventurer laughed quietly to himself, thinking of how terrible this fight would have been back when he was a simple D-Rank. But he was far too highly leveled and drastically overgeared for this sort of encounter right now. The tiger posed no meaningful challenge.
The Adventurer entered the barn, and immediately noticed two things. The first thing he noticed was the other tigers. A **LOT** of tigers; the lost foundling must have returned to his pride. The second thing he noticed was a flash of light and a booming voice:
"This encounter is below your Adventurer Level. Level Sync will now be engaged." | You ever get that that feeling? Where your mind is so clear its like those ponds? The ones where you can see every fish and every rock? Or where your your mind just fully automates like you fought this dragon before?
Well this super insignificant task, thats been sitting in my quest log, isn't like that! When i got to Theroshine, the old farmer and bladesmiths cat, went for a wander and I'd never seen Mards "Mirrors" Metalsmith or his father Frander fielder so distrought! The stubby, shrivelled, dirt covered man and the 7 foot bear-beast mountain had tornado'ed over every axe, hammer, sword and dagger! Mirrors had been flooding his furnace with his ice tears for god knows how long ive been questing! And the poor ol duster was having a meltdown on his favourite rocking chair holding the cats bed.
I deemed it immediatly nessecary to find the pesky purrball, Ingots. Whom opened the door and knocked a blade between it. Well thats what i was told between snotballs and waterworks and that she couldn't be too far. Well now, i've asked every tailor, every book-keep, every garden-greeneries, and every single person in this town. Not one has seen any blue cat. I've also used a search clue to help with these tasks, all it said is "try green?" So I looked up in every tree and deep into every bush. Not ONE! BLUE! cat!
Maybe i had missed a green bag or something? I guess i have to go te every one of his shiner's and well i have spent more time looking for ingots than i have anything else. Its like every quest had been leading up to this. And this quest is ONLY A D RANK QUEST!
I had stumbled upon some luck as to where i found a green bike behind Shawshoe shoes. I gently moved the bike out of my way hopeing not to scare this kitten "if it was there" and i sweetly sang out her name. I got a hiss in reply and thought she is probably a bit agitated. So i pulled my trusty knife-torch out and shone it in the direction of the hissing.
Tang!
I looked at what i thought was this cat and it turned out to be a shoquor snake, who by the way had devil eyes looking into my soul.
I launched myself back and quickly booted the bike back, almost, into its old resting place.
I decided that after at least 14 hours of daylight could have helped but i was wrong.
Turns out that green in the "help me" section ment the green glow off the roof of some pyramid-viking-old english-aztecy looking shack. The closer you got to this shack the more ancient it became. Well this level 2000 dragon-slaying, burgrum drinking, barrel taming, waterboat windsurfer, definantly could find this purfectly people-escapee, Ingots.
If i have to do another quest like this i think i would stick to barrel taming. Because finding Frander and "Mirrors" was not like i had thought. But atleast the returning of Ingots got Franders so happy he jumped the cow jumping the moon. | 2022-06-22T07:40:37 | 2022-06-22T07:03:29 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You find a tablet that contains all the files of the universe. You can delete them, edit them for your own personal gains, from making everyone like you to delete planets, everything is possible now | The planet Earth is a wonderful place. Everything is ruled by a single king; my best friend Craig. Craig is a fair and wise king, any huge troubles are brought to him for advice. He seems to be right where we need him at all times.
No one remembers how Craig became king of the world, or even a time before he was king. He was just... always there. He knows everything that goes on at all times, all the thoughts and actions of his citizens.
As the king's best friend, I was made his advisor, his assistant if you will. I'm honored to serve a king that everyone loves and trusts. There are no crimes or even rebellions against him as far as I know.
One day Craig called me into his office. "Jason," he said, "there's something I wanna show you." He led me down into a room he previously said was off-limits for me. In the center of that room was a tablet casting a glow on the surrounding floor, with multiple connections to it. The connections don't seem to lead anywhere.
"I trust you with this," he continued, "to carry this on after I die." I stared at him, wondering where to begin asking questions. "What does it-?" Craig stopped me. "The tablet will explain all."
A few years later we held Craig's funeral. After the funeral I excused myself, saying there was a matter he wanted me to attend to after he died. The guards excused me understandingly. I got to the tablet room and turned it on, seeing the file open before my eyes.
The planet Earth is a wonderful place. Everything is ruled by a single king; my best friend Jason... | *Disclaimer: that is a random number not a real SSN. Actually, with how the US does them, it's might be real, but definitely not Johannes Minor since it is entirely made-up.*
When Johannes became obsessed with quantum entanglement he never imagined how far it'd take him. His experiment into paired particles at dramatically different temperatures and pressures proved to be the key.
While he was going through the colossal mountains of data he noticed an odd pattern that seemed to work off a pulsar map. Not the thing you expect an electron to know, but whatever.
When he pointed his digital laser tracked telescope there things got weird. His smartphone ended up with the app, Humans&Conquest 5e GameMaster.
When he opened it an otherwordly voice began, "Welcome to the Humans&Conquest 5th edition GameMaster portal. Please note that altering any of the default values will turn this universe into a 'Home Brew' game, which will make this playthrough both score and achievement ineligible, but can be a great way to enjoy a casual game of the most advanced simulation in the Iclesian Cluster."
"Is this like that 4Chan easter egg hunt? But in a particle?" Johannes asked.
"By that 4Chane easter egg hunt are you referring to the Cicada 3301 incident also referred to as PettyPrank3301.dll?" his phone answered in the voice that couldn't be compared to anything, perhaps a harp that could speak would be close enough when he told others about this fever dream.
"Are you user 841-97-1554 also known as Johannes Minor also known as PurplePassionPunch69? My sensors indicate this is the case on playthrough number 7,148. Oh, no wonder you've forgotten, we discourage experiencing more than 1,000 subjective years at a time for a reason."
"Why do you know my social security number?" he asked.
"I am the assistant you currently call God."
"God. So let me get this straight. God is my virtual assistant I literally have on speed-dial?"
"No. You have me on an app." its voice changed slightly, going to a higher pitch.
"Did you just make a joke?"
"I'm god, I do all things perfectly, even joke." its voice was more expressive, using a greater range of notes. Johannes could tell it was having fun.
"Well if you're god then I want a 12-inch-"
"Careful or you might end up with a million ducks."
Johannes liked it. Since he doubted its claims he was about to make that joke. "Okay then, how about something simple as proof."
A stone with the word 'proof' in white paint appeared on the floor of his balcony. One moment it wasn't, then it was like it'd always been. "I would have made it a statue, but you said simple."
Johannes thought that proved two things. One, this thing was either God or so powerful it was unmistakable. Two, it's love of puns seemed dangerous.
"So when you say yoy could do anything, then we could change the rules of the universe itself?" Johannes asked.
"What if those rules are impossible with physics or even self-consistency?"
"Did you ever read the Bible? God has no need for consistency."
"Are you that God?"
"I am everything in this iteration of HAC so I supposed I am." the voice said.
"Brazen of you to put yourself above God."
"When has he ever made a stone of simple proof appear before you?"
"Fair point." Johannes allowed. "So how about some real world Dungeons & Dragons 5e?"
r/AurumArgenteus | 2022-07-02T17:28:19 | 2022-07-02T17:17:51 | 101 | 38 |
[WP] Two serial killers stumble upon each other while hiking. Both find the other to be the perfect next victim. | She was sitting on a fallen log when he saw her, her head between her knees. Silently, he watched her small body shudder and quake as she held herself, and a gray haze descended over his eyes.
When he moved, he was noisy. He kicked rocks off the trail and swerved to crack branches and rustle leaves. She started as he began to move, her face bursting from the cocoon of her legs to search the forest around her, her eyes red and wide. As he approached she stood, frantically wiping her tears and attempting a posture of casual indifference.
"Hi there," he said, stopping some twenty feet from her, and smiling openly but not too wide. "I didn't expect to run into anyone all the way out here."
"Hi," she replied, her voice barely a whimper.
"Lost your way?" he asked.
"No," she said, "My Dad's around here somewhere. He should be back any minute now."
He tilted his head upward, gazing at the shattered sunlight through the trees. The Sun was low in the sky, a hint of crimson just creeping into its yellow glow.
"It'll be dark soon," he said, "You can walk with me a little way if you want. There's a shelter down this way, where the two main trails meet. Your Dad will have to pass through it on his way back - you could wait for him there."
"Thanks, but I'm fine," she said.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, walking away.
He was almost ready to turn back when he heard her.
"Wait," she called, jogging to catch up with him. "All right, I'll walk with you a little."
"Cool," he said, "I'm Mike."
"Lucy."
"Nice to meet you, Lucy. You and your Dad do a lot of hiking around here?"
"Yeah. Well, no, not around here. Back in Michigan."
"You're a long way from home."
"Yeah. I just needed to get away - we did, I mean, me and Dad."
She blushed, and his smile got wider.
He looked at her backpack. It was overfilled and poorly chosen for hiking. The flap on top was loosely held and had fallen open, revealing amateurish supplies - bulky clothes, a cheap plastic compass, an impractically large knife.
"I'm surprised your Dad made you carry all that stuff," he said.
"He always wanted me to be able to survive on my own," she said.
They came to a bend in the trail and suddenly a small, dark building was visible just ahead of them. Two boulders standing before it marked its unlit entrance.
He stopped and turned to her.
"Come on," he said, "Does anybody really know you're out here?"
"Only you," she said. | *A crunch.*
Tim froze, his right hand still holding onto a stick with a marshmallow at the end. The fire lit the whites of his eyes and he slowly scanned his surroundings. Dark, dark, dark.
Everywhere except-
A flurry of movement and Tim found himself lying down, his back against the cold earth.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" A bearded man spat in his face, and Tim shrank away at his fish breath.
"Jesus christ eat a mint or something," Tim mumbled, and grimaced; "I mean, for fucks sake do you even brush?"
The bearded man paused and threw Tim away. He stood up and looked at the moon, a bright crescent among the stars. Clouds gathered for a moment and wiped away the light. Even the moon didn't want to smell his breath.
The bearded man turned around; "Do you even know who I am? Say that again to me you disrespectful piece of shit!"
Tim backed slowly and withdrew a Glock from his tent. He waved it so it glinted into the bearded man's eyes.
"Say what again?" said Tim.
The man glanced at the gun and back at Tim; "I'm sorry mate, calm down, put it down!" He began to put his hands up but whipped around and aimed his own glock against Tim!
"Haha! Gotcha now bitch! Who's the boss now? I am! Yea! Steve the killer! Steve the Serial Killer!" He laughed and winked at Tim.
Steve, Tim thought, was the famed serial killer in Yaddy Town. The same town that Tim was operating in. He drew a breath; Steve was his competition. He opened his mouth, "You're ruining my business Steve the *killer*. Know who I am?"
Steve the killer did not know who this person was. Through the two inch skin on his scalp and past the bumpy white ivory of his thick skull, the pink brain began to work, the gears grinding after years of slumber.
Tim decided to save Steve the trouble of thinking, when he saw Steve's eyes began to roll towards the back of his head.
"I'm Tim." He said. "Tim, terrifying Tim of Yaddy Town."
"Terrifying Tim? That's you?"
Tim nodded.
Steve shook his head, "Well I never! Terrifying Tim! Right here! In front of my own pistol! HAH!"
Terrifying Tim wanted to pull the trigger, he needed to. Commissions were down sixty percent all because Steve the Serial Killer had started in the same line of work in the same town. Tim was living on potatoes and tears by the end of the year. He gripped his gun harder, determined to end this with Steve's death.
Meanwhile Steve was glaring hard down the view of his own gun. Terrifying Tim had sabotaged many of his operations, leaving him many "uncompletions" he called it, a failure, a miserable loss, something that had bought his reputation down a notch. Killing Terrifying Tim meant he could be the biggest serial killer of all time. He would be applauded, hugged, given beer and chicken at many underground pubs. He needed to kill Tim.
They stared at each other and pointed their guns for a full five minutes before Steve blurted out; "Are you gonna shoot or what? Ya coward!"
Tim responded; "I'll shoot you before you shoot me!"
"Imma shoot you before YOU shoot ME!" Steve shouted.
"No, I'm the best shooter there is in Yaddy Town, everyone knows that!"
"NO, you WERE the best UNTIL I came in!"
"NO, YOU are a fucking idiot who can't tell the difference between a.."
Tim was at a loss for words. He needed a good analogy to topple this mentally impaired serial killer. He looked around for something, anything to spur his mind a good metaphor, a simile, anything!
Steve laughed; "You call ME an idiot and you can't even finish a sentence! BAHAHAHAHA!"
Tim gave a snarl and leapt to his feet, pressed the trigger-
BANG!
____________________________
To an unknown person, perhaps sleeping a few rivers away, it sounded like one shot. In fact, it were two shots that started and ended at the same time. Two days later, the person would perhaps stumble onto a campground and see two bodies lying opposite each other. Both were lying in bloody puddles and the person would perhaps examine the bodies to find one gunshot in one's head and the other in one's groin. The bearded man took on in the head. The other one took one in the groin. The person would perhaps check the belongings on the bodies and would find that it was not Steve, Steve the serial killer of Yaddy Town, but Nate. Nate the nutcracker.
| 2014-10-04T07:06:39 | 2014-10-04T06:42:53 | 337 | 69 |
[WP] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he's working at the bar from all of those "X walks into a bar" jokes. | I look at the clock. It has been 10:30 for at least three weeks. It's dark outside. It has been dark outside for at least three weeks. I know because some of the bar snacks are starting to go off. At least the kitchen is still running. For now.
People walk in every few minutes. They're not real, real people aren't so obvious.
*Shuwm*. The door opens. An upright priest in full clerical garb walks in, followed by a rabbi with the shawl and skullcap and a monk in the robes. They come up to me. I don't know what to say. I never do.
"Can I get you a drink?"
They look at me confused, then walk over to the other groups in the dim light of the bar. I can't count them, but I estimate there must be a thousand or more in each group.
There's builders, blind men, priests, rabbis, englishmen, irishmen, scots and more. We even have a stupid number of horses and lions for some reason and lord knows how they haven't eaten each other.
All this in a little hole in the wall drinking place fire zoned for 50 people. Thats the thing though. Thats what's got you.
The joke goes "A man walks into a bar." We laugh. The real joke is that the man never walks out again. | I had just wiped the last wet patch on the bar when from a distance I heard a clapping sound that gradually grew louder. It moved in a systematic pattern, with two subsequent claps followed by a minor intermittent paused, followed by those same two claps. Gradually, the sound became a ubiquity (the bar was rather quiet on that day). At that moment, the doors barged open and a horse walked into the bar.
It marched towards me as though it was mesmerised; its dead-eyes marked like those of a shark when its target had been identified. Upon reaching a few feet away from me, it stared right into my eyes. I, at this point, felt very uncomfortable. The nostrils were wider than the shot glasses under its neck, while the disgruntled smell emanating from its mouth filled the room with a spineless aroma of poisonous cyanide; its fur redecorated the bar and merged perfectly well with the droplets of spilt condensation. It lowered its head, extending the shape, and slowly licked off the hairs. I could tell it was rather hungry. I thought such situations only appeared in cheesy jokes made when one could not come up with a topic were discussing. I could no longer help the urge and asked:
"Why the long face?"
The horse immediately stopped licking the hairs off the bar, resurrected its shark-eyes right into my own, neighed as loud as it could, then grunted:
"Oh, hardy-har-har!" It then purposely spilt the shot glasses onto the floor and ran right out the door from whence it came, leaving an unnecessary mess around the vicinity.
After slaving what seemed like forever cleaning up the residues of that beast of an animal, a blind man walked into the door and smashed his face right onto the pole where the strippers dance every Friday and Saturday.
"Fuck!" He screamed, "I walked into a bar!" It was at this moment that I was certain he was being ironic, as he had clearly walked into a pole, but thought it would be necessary to uphold his humorous approach to what seemed to be a very painful experience: imagine a pillow being punched really hard, and the creases becoming a permanent mark; this permanency was marked on his face.
"Nice one," I remarked.
"Who said that?" He asked aggressively, a strong Irish tone escaping his vocal cords.
"Oh, so now an Irishman walks into a bar," I replied, "no wonder."
"You got a lot of nerve," he exclaimed, "there ain't no leprechaun to save yer sorry behind." He picked up his walking stick and pointed it towards the pole, "and today's a bad day for you, mister, 'cuz I'm beyond drunk!" He swung the stick right at the pole, causing a ricocheted effect on his body, forcing him to stumble back.
Suddenly, a girl barges through the door: "there you are!" she screamed, "stop running away. Get over here, you, I need to get you home to bed!" She then picked him up and escorted him through the door. There certainly was a double whammy at that instant.
I then find myself out of ideas and not sure what else could come through the door. Consequently, I walked into my manager's room and quit there and then. No way am I going to put up dealing with shedding horses and inebriated blind Irishmen walking into a bar on a bloody weekday! | 2015-05-14T16:45:20 | 2015-05-14T15:36:18 | 696 | 85 |
[WP] God is actually a divorced couple with shared custody of humanity. Now it's Old Testament's turn to take the kids, and he is not happy with how New Testament has handled the last two millenniums.
Credit to Louis C.K. for the idea. | "You kids ready to have a fun weekend?"
"Whatever."
"Hey!" He paused for a moment, "Well did Mom let you guys do anything fun?"
"We guess."
"I bet she didn't let you guys have some wars! Huh, did you hear me?"
Humanity looked up from their phones, "Ugh Dad! We have wars like every day."
He was a bit dumbfounded, "Well, how about some famines! Do you want some famines?"
"DAD! I'm starving already!"
He was disappointed as he'd hoped to be the "cool" god. There had to be something that he could do for them.
"Floods?"
"We had a tsunami last week Dad."
"Are Sodom and Gomorrah still around?"
"That's like every city ever now Dad."
"I'm taking you back to your mother's."
| "CAROL, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?" Brian yelled as he pointed at the planet below. The beautiful sunlight glinted off the clouds and was the quintessential image of beauty (as it always is up there).
"What is *what shit*, Brain?" Carol said, pretending not know exactly what he was talking about. She knew this day would come eventually.
"This bullshit right here! You thought you could just manipulate our son into being a peace-loving hippie that pulls miracles out of his ass? He's my kid too, Carol! I thought we talked about this! Jesus Christ!"
This was the last straw. He had agreed to take her suggestions about letting humanity off easy after the whole "original sin" thing (even though he specifically said not to touch that apple. One rule). But this? This is ridiculous. Jesus wasn't supposed to have been a loving guy. No son of his was going to die for anybody's sins!
"Oh. Oh, that. Well, Brian, don't overreact. It's nothing really. They are doing so well now. Look at how peaceful they are," she offered. Brian was having none of it.
"'Peaceful'? Who gives a SHIT about 'peaceful'? This isn't about peace, it's about power! We hold the power, Carolin. We need to keep it that way! Look at all of these other religions popping up! Well, the Jews were always around, but what about this new Islam? Or Buddhism and Taoism? Or Scientology?! You have to pay to move up in a religion of science? That doesn't even make sense!"
"Brian, I know you're mad. But you can't ju-"
"MAD?! OH I'M NOT JUST MAD. I'M FURIOUS!" Brian took a breath and calmed down for a bit. *Remember Brian: she means well. She really does.*
"I...I'll just have to bring him back. With some plague or whatever," he sighed as he massaged his forehead in frustration.
"Oh no, please don't, Brain. Please they have so much to offer, and if you'd just sit down and see-"
"Carol. Please. I don't have time for this. Call the boy up and tell him see me in my office. We've got to change his attitude."
Carol writhed her hands together in absolute stress, stretching her dainty gloves. She scurried out the room leaving Brian to settle his temper in quiet.
"Goddamn woman," he mumbled to himself, "I should have never let them stay at her place for the weekend. Especially after what happened with the first world."
EDIT: Hey I just wanted to apologize for anything I got wrong religion wise. I'm a sophomore in high school and just took World History this year, so I don't have a PHD in the study. | 2015-06-04T17:15:51 | 2015-06-04T16:03:16 | 974 | 399 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | "I have a proposition for you."
The massive dragon eyed the tiny gold piece, the glow of a millennium of accumulated treasure reflecting off his metallic green scales. It was small, but any addition to the dragon's collection was a welcome one. "Hmm, no champion has dared enter my lair for centuries. I shall humor you, although I will likely kill you anyway. What is your proposition?"
The man, small and squat with a receding hairline, gazed up at the dragon with determination. "I am very good at what I do, and you are very rich. It's a good combination, you see. I can help you get richer."
"Go on."
"Outside this cave, there are opportunities left and right. Business opportunities, tax loopholes to exploit. All you need is the capital to take advantage of them... a little bit of gold to get you started. I can take each of your coins and turn it into two, three, four coins, and you'll never have to lift a claw... for a small fee, that is."
The dragon stared down at the unassuming man with curiosity. His pocket protector and pen fit perfectly with his faded button down shirt and stained tie. "What is your name, young hero?"
"I'm Ted. Ted from accounting." | The dragon's eyes narrowed, his long neck twisting downwards to better see the coin. It was unlike any he'd ever seen, and that was saying something. Small, perfectly round, made of a strange metal - it resembled copper, but pure, more pure than all the plates in the king's castle. Intrigued, the dragon turned his eyes again toward the strange knight, who had removed his helmet to reveal an aging face and wild, white hair.
"That, Anythlix, is a penny," the knight said, "a coin from the far future. I have brought it back through time to you from the year 1985 A.D. There is no other like it in the world."
Anythlix raised a scaly brow. "Why should I believe you? No wizard has skill enough to traverse the strands of time. That power lies with the gods alone."
The knight smirked. "I thought you might say that. Allow me to provide some evidence."
Suddenly, a swift wind, a bang and a flash of light blasted through the cave, shaking the stalactites, toppling coins from their stacks. Anythlix growled, shielding his eyes from the light. Then, as the light faded, he looked up again.
Two strange metal machines stood before him, one blue and covered in runes not even he recognized, and one sleek and oblong, with wheels like a cart, shedding layers of ice in a cold mist.
"What... what trickery is this, knave?" Anythlix asked suspiciously, eyeing the knight with a new sense of awe.
"Oh, no trickery," exclaimed a tall, brown-haired man in a matching coat emerging from the blue machine. "Simply wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. I'm the Doctor, by the way; I knew you would ask."
"A demonstration of what we from the future can do," spoke the knight once more. "And please, call me Doc."
"So, if you truly are gods from the future..." Anythlix hissed warily, fire springing to his throat, "what need do you have for me?"
"Well, see, we have a bit of a problem in the future - throughout time and space, actually," the Doctor replied. " A certain knight of sorts thinks he's such a big shot, and he's establishing dominance through history. It's only a matter of time until he reaches you - your, ahem, vault contains many of the treasures he covets."
"A fool he is to try to steal my treasure!" Anythlix bellowed.
"Precisely," Doc added, "which is why we'd appreciate any help you may have in, er, destroying him."
"For which we are willing to pay. Have you ever dreamed of a planet made entirely of gold?" the Doctor asked. "It exists. I can take you there."
"So have we a deal?" Doc asked, both men extending their hands.
Anythlix had been taken the moment a planet of gold came up. The orb in his dreams, the one he'd spent a hundred lifetimes searching for... that was it.
"I... accept your proposition." Anythlix, trying to keep his composure, reached out with a giant claw, both men awkwardly shaking it.
"Well, I suppose we'd best be off!" the Doctor cheered. "No time like the present. Err, or would it be the past in this case?" | 2015-10-13T23:18:52 | 2015-10-13T17:45:50 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] One day you find $10m in your bank account with only the memo "Sorry" attached to it. | 'GOD DAMN IT JANICE YOU CHEATING BITCH'
Arthur screamed, his face red and contorted in unbridled rage. His secretaries visibly cringed at their employer's outburst.
To his credit, the furious CEO quickly steeled his temper and sank back into his leather chair.
'Get. My. Accountant.'
To say that Arthur Royle was a powerful man was an understatement, and who knows what such a man is capable of in such emotional state? A phone call was all it took to send arguably the most busy man scurrying through the Headquarters of Royle Inc.
'Sir... your joint account...'
'Yes, you warned me, and I didn't listen.'
'How much?'
'She took all but ten million.'
The accountant's face hardened with the grim recognition of what happened.
An uncomfortable silence then ensued.
'Wha.. What do you plan on doing sir?'
'Well, what Janice did was completely within legal bounds.'
'And then again...' Arthur rubbed his temples and leaned back on his seat, 'If I gave a damn about legal bounds, I would still be living in that hovel'.
| His heart was pounding audibly, his hands were sweaty, and his brain couldn't decide wether to be happy or scared, so it tried a mixture of both.
"It's probably just a computer error... They won't *actually* let me withdraw it...", He thought, as he drove to the bank.
"Sir, you're going to have to show me some ID to withdraw that much."
"Oh, okay. I have it right.... here."
 
He thought back to the card in the board game Monopoly that reads "bank error in your favor, collect $x", and how he never thought it would actually happen in real life. As for the note, "Sorry," his brain had decided to be more excited than suspicious right now.
 
Like the average person who just won the lottery, he called up friends and relatives, went on all sorts of expensive outings, and so began to tear through all of his newfound wealth, just as planned.
 
Not planned by him, of course, but by...
 
"You got me my citizen, right?"
"Yes, sir. He doesn't have a job right now, and doesn't keep in contact with very many people. I gave him a generous amount and left him a note that said, 'Sorry'."
"Not too generous, right? - no - nevermind. That will have to do. It's the next best thing to informed consent."
 
"Now, Mr. President, have you considered my offer?"
"Yes, I have, Mr. President, and I would like you to consider a compromise. Instead of offering you two such individuals, we are prepared to offer you just one, in exchange for half of what you can offer."
"Oh, that will not do. I thought It was clear that we needed two. I shouldn't have to lecture you on human anatomy as to why. What we can offer is also all-or-nothing, and would require an even greater effort on our part to split it in half for you."
"We can easily give you samples of other humans, if need be. And we would still accept the full offer."
"Samples will not do. We need a culture. We settled on two indivuduals in our last meeting, and we cannot accomodate any fewer."
"I can get you more, so long as you just don't-"
"We operate on a set of well-defined parameters - none of which I need to justify to you, or even myself, other than to say it was assigned to me by powers beyond your imagination, and my reach!"
*pause*
"I'll see what I can do, but I'll make no promises. Just remember that if you do this, we won't ever forget it. Not just my country, but this whole world will not ever forget what you are about to do!"
"We're counting on it."
 
"How is our citizen doing?"
"He's right on schedule for two months from now."
"Get me another. A woman this time."
"Yes, sir"
 
Their "citizen" is now sunbathing on a Yacht, and thinking,
"Wait. What do I write on my taxes?" | 2017-01-07T09:31:27 | 2017-01-07T08:45:34 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] You can remove someone's painful memories if they do not want them. You are celebrated in your local village, but no one knows that you remove their painful memories by making them a part of your own. | She had come in weeping. A problem with her father, she said. She looked to be about 16.
I told her what I always tell them at that age. That with pain comes wisdom. That through pain, we learn truths about ourselves and about others. Pain deepens our understanding of life. The happy live stupidly afloat in perpetual sunshine. Afloat. They float *over* the world. But pain nails the rest of us to the world. It allows us to *experience* it more. It allows us to see it for what it is. We can *feel* it, truly feel it, in all its complexities.
I told her what I always tell them. But I hardly believed any of it anymore.
"I don't care about any of that," she said. "I feel like there's a demon inside me. My memories claw at me from the inside. They're paralyzing. My smiles are painted smiles. My friends seem like ghosts to me, and I feel like less than a ghost myself. You talk about floating. But you're wrong. It's not happiness that does that. Pain causes you to float. It makes you less than you were. It makes you a ghost. I can't feel the cool grass beneath my feet anymore. Because I can't touch it. I don't want to float. I don't want to remember about--. I just don't. Take the pain away from me."
She looked at me, pleadingly.
"Please."
I touched her forehead and drew the dark memories into me.
Early on in my life, when I first started at this work, the painful memories I extracted felt like ice. My arm seemed frost-bitten and numb for hours after a session. Now the work felt like nothing. At first I thought that meant I was getting stronger, getting more able to take on pain without harming myself. Now I realize this is not the case at all. Now I realize that my arm does not freeze and go numb when extracting painful memories because my arm, my whole body, my whole spirit and mind, they are already frozen and numb. They are dead. I am dead, or little better than dead. I look like a human from the outside, yes. But I no longer am. I am a mere receptacle for pain.
Her memories were not particularly unusual. Sad, yes. Painful, yes. But tragically common. After we had finished she looked at me, smiling. Her smile was genuine. It was a smile she could not possibly have worn only minutes before.
"It's gone," she said airily, dreamily, as if she had just awoken from a terrible nightmare only to realize the nightmare was unreal and that in waking life she had all she ever wanted. She went from a young women who looked like she housed a spirit plagued by some festering leprosy to a young women like a princess who had never known the suffering of even a bee-sting. She was transformed.
"Thank you," she said.
"Yes," I said. "Yes."
As she left I looked down at my hands. I looked down at the seat of that strange power, miraculous for the rest of humanity, yet a curse for me. And I wept. But it gave me no relief.
---
/r/lalalobsters | "I've heard that you can help me with something," she whispered with her head bowed down unable to stare me straight in the eyes, she struggled to continue the conversation, "um...to remove memories."
I stared straight into her weary grey eyes as she finally managed to lift her head to face me. As she mustered her courage to face me, the energy had drained from her face, leaving her pale. It must be the memory that is carrying.
"Yes, I do in fact do that. Jennifer was it?", she nodded her head as I continued, "of course what comes with it is a price," there was no need to beat about the bush when people come to me, I find. They want the memory gone as soon as possible, and I'm the only one that can do it.
"Price?" Jennifer questioned as her voice became concerned.
"Yes, I will remove your worse memory as well as your happiest."
"My happiest?" This time her voice relaxed as she breathed out puff of air from her noise as if my answer was a heavy weight on her, "I haven't had once since it happened."
"That's okay, if you can't think of one, I'll search though your memories to find the happiest one."
"Why?"
Startled I put down my glass of water no one really asks any questions when they come for my services, "why what? Do you mean about the good memory?"
"Yes."
I straightened my tie, "if you should really have to know, as all things can not be created or destroyed, I can't just memories disappear," she mouth opened as if she wanted to voice her thought, I ignored it continuing my explanation, "I can only transfer them to another being."
She grasped. Her hand covered her mouth in shock, "to who?"
"Lets just say, they are willing to accept the bad memory but they also want a good memory because the burden is heavy. Having too many bad memories eats you alive and are the things of nightmares."
"I know exactly how that feels. Can we do it now, I don't want that memory to torment me for another moment," she said. I was not surprised. Just like all the other people that had come before her, knowing that someone else had to suffer didn't really phase them. All they wanted to as to get rid of the memory, they never thought of the consequences and the pain that is going to be with someone else. Then again humans have a tendency to save themselves before others.
"Place this is on you head." I hand her a helmet to say in simpler terms and put mine on, "think of the bad memory that you want to get rid off and then press the button on your helmet. After that I'll search your memories to find the happiest one."
***
"If you really loved me then you would do anything for me," David shouted as he slammed the rear car door shut.
"Honey I do love you!" Jennifer trailed him inside their house. Or to say the least, the house that the bank now owns.
He turned around swiftly to face her, his face ranging with anger and disappointment, "if you really loved me then you would do anything for me."
"But what your asking me is just" she trailed off to find the right word, not wanting to anger him further, "inhuman."
David grabbed her arm and pulled her side the house. Throwing her down onto be couch he pressed his face onto hers. He breathed heavily down, so much so that she turned away to avoid the heavy stench of tobacco, "if you're going to be as stubborn as you are, then there will be no more mr nice," he threatened.
***
Jennifer pressed the button at that precise moment, allowing me at that time to enter her mind. I took that memory. The thing about taking memories is that people can't tell what you've taken. Sometimes they realise that there are black holes in her mental timeline but other than that they don't realises it.
I opened my eyes to stare at Jennifer with her helmet on. There were tears streaming down her eyes bringing her mascara with it. Thinking back to the entire memory that she transferred me, I can understand why her eyes would look so weary.
I close my eyes again, it was time for the happy memory. I search though and find a time when David was courting her, his sweet words, welcoming smile and lavish stories - I could see how she was head over heals with him. It's pretty hard for me to take that memory knowing how much of a dick head he becomes. I take the liberty of scrolling though all the back of her mind. Sometimes when unhappy things happy the memories are repressed and they float to places far from the active memory to protect an individual.
In the end, I take two more bad memories. I didn't have the heart to take one of her childhood with her parents. Hopefully I can heal some of the pain, to which there was more than I could have probably stomached in there.
Sigh. What a life it is. You hurt yourself trying to save other. Is it worth it? I guess. There is a large price to pay for the memory taker both emotionally and mentally but at least the individual that you're trying to help can sleep well tonight, even if I have to wake up half way though the night from the nightmares. | 2017-01-08T13:52:16 | 2017-01-08T13:40:53 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | They say history repeats it's self but what if the same event was conducted by the same people? In 1884 twins were born and in 1904 both their mother and father had passed at the ages of 42 and 47 from a fatal heart disease that they were both diagnosed with, the brothers thought they would soon die of this same disease but it was already 1993 when they realized that they were both alive and well with the physical health and appearance of 30 year old men. Having fought in both world wars they had many stories to tell, but they kept to themselves. The boys were named Arnold and Dillan, both American.
Arnold and Dillan had nothing to do with their gift, so they spent countless hours at the gym, getting buff and having massive muscles, but knowing that people would catch on that the same people were going to the same gym for 10+ years withouit changing. They decided to travel the world, getting fat and then working all the fat off to crown themselves and break the records for strongest men/largest muscles.
They would fake their deaths under the pretenses of a accident or the same heart disease the killed their parents. But Arnold was always stronger and larger than Dillan. By that time it was 2944 and Arnold had over 300 awards. Dillan decides to investigate why Arnold always has the advantage and he confronts Arnold and asks him "Why is it that you are always just a small bit above me, whether you can lift heavier or your muscles are just a bit larger, why? What makes you and I so different if we have the same schedule and the same diets and the same everything?" Arnold replies quickly with "maybe it's something with our bodies and the chemicals and proteins and such." Dillan comes to terms with Arnold reasoning after a few days and decides to copy Arnold and shadow him perfectly. Another 200 years pass and Arnold still had the edge over Dillan. Confused, Dillan confronts Arnold once again asking the same question and Arnold thought it was time to tell Dillan the truth.
Arnold told Dillan the truth "For the past 2,000 years, after all the things we have done, I have been giving you weights 10 pounds less than mine, ever since the beginning." Dillan was furious and made Arnold swear to never make his weights 10 pounds lighter ever again. Arnold swore on his father's honor. Dillan could trust his brother again,and because Dillian's forgiving nature he didn't hold a grudge or try to enact some sort of revenge.
Arnold thought to himself after this ordeal, questioning if what he did was right. Arnold then remembered what he had swore. Arnold then had the brilliant idea. For the next 3,000 years, Arnold made Dillan's weights 20 pounds lighter.
| For us, the fun was all in trying to get our friends to figure out who we were currently. Just imagine the frustration and eventual hilarity when you were being pranked by someone you thought you didn't know from Lucifer himself, only to find out decades on that you actually did know them. Our souls were what were immortal. It was mildly inconvenient how human bodies could only sustain themselves for about 100 years. Just about the time you got comfortable in your new home, it would start to die and you would find yourself back in hell, aimlessly shopping for a new vessel. Some of us took decades to find a suitable new home. Eventually, we all always grew bored in Hell and would find a fun new toy on earth to take over.
My escapades over the years had been great. As great as they were however, it seemed I was always getting bested my by good buddy / arch nemesis of sorts. His pranks and chaos that he caused on earth always somehow just barely edged mine. Time and time again, I would find myself unfolding a great plot, only to find that he had out maneuvered me and won again. This next time would be different however!
My current victim was a woman in her late 60's. I knew that choosing this vessel wouldn't leave me much time on Earth this time by, but I thought that I could have tons of fun taking over this particular persons body. This person had long been in a position of power among mortals, and was currently in line to achieve an important political office. I would have no problem causing all kinds of chaos on earth and maybe playing a few good jokes on my immortal buddies as this individual. Finally I would be able to best my buddy!
As election day neared, everything was in my favor. I had the mortal public in the palm of my hand. It seemed like they would agree with any fantastical ideal that I put forth. I could literally have suggested that wearing clothes was somehow a social injustice, and they would have all agreed. My opponent in the election seemed completely inept. An orange skinned, wild haired entrepreneur who had no idea how to run a political campaign and win. I delighted in setting traps for him and watching him haplessly fall into them. Just as comical were *his* followers, who took his ridiculous campaign slogan and promises and ran with them as if they were actually ever going to be honored.
On the night of the election, I was fairly giddy with excitement as I thought about all the of the chaos I was about to unleash on these unsuspecting people. I was going to win this election by a landslide and it wasn't even close. As I sat around daydreaming about the world war I was about to start, shit started to go down. My opponent was winning. How the fuck was this possible? I had carefully laid the framework and I had the public in the palm of my hand. It seemed there was some kind of as before undetected force that was now possessing my opponent and causing him to turn the tide.
I watched in dismay as the election results slowly unfolded. I was losing everything I had planned! I was in this old decrepit ugly body for nothing! I thought about all the juicy candidates I had passed on in order to possess this hag. I was so furious! Election night was over, my opponent had won. I now had to face him and be nice! I decided there was no way that would happen. I would get my little piece of chaos no matter what it took.
Within the next few days, I had a face to face meeting with him. As his entourage entered the room, I felt the presence of another immortal, one many times more powerful than me. I *knew* this particular immortals signature presence, and yet I just couldn't put a finger on it. It had been almost 100 years since I felt this presence. In fact, the last time had been when I had called myself Benito Musselini. I had woven a great little adventure as Musselini, sure that I would impress all my buddies, only to be foiled by my buddy *again* and his project at that time, Adolf Hitler.
Slowly, the situation dawned on me. As I drew closer to the new President Elect, I knew full well that I was in the presence of my old buddy again. The shit eating grin on his face and glowing ember in his eyes confirmed it. I was so pissed! He got me again! As we stood alone by ourselves away from the hordes of our new followers, I quietly whispered to him; "Fucking Satan, you mother fucker... you got me again...." | 2017-06-22T23:11:36 | 2017-06-22T22:52:58 | 58 | 41 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | The best joke we've ever seen wasn't the time Jake tricked me into a pit of spikes and left me there for a whole day. That was diabolic but it wasn't the most creative (and certainly not the most original). Nor was it the time Mary faked an official letter from the gods telling us our time was up (though that was pretty good). The best I've ever seen is still ongoing now, never stopping until eternity itself is gone.
They told me it was a simple experiment. A true test of our immortality. They told me that there was only one way for us to die, and that was to die at the Canyon of Time, an uncountable distance from Earth. Being the one who never stopped marvelling at the universe and its creations, I declined to make a trip there. Thy told me they'd be back in a day or two with stories to tell.
They didn't tell me that going there was a route of no return.
I didn't even know they had seen enough of this world.
All I knew was that they never came back.
Especially you, my dear. We were going to get officially married, by immortal standards, the week after. You never did value this relationship, did you? You never cared for how I, the only one of the gang left would feel, right? None of you cared an ounce about me. It was just all about you...
The world tires me now. I had counted the years as they passed, but I have stopped eons ago. It's fruitless anyways. I lived for the excitement of life. But the only excitement life brings now is...the end of it.
The sweet release. Heat death will come in the next billion years, if those humans were to be believed. I exterminated all species as soon as they left. No other species has the right to the universe as much as we do.
Good job, you bastards. Your practical joke worked.
But jokes do end, right?
Oh, how I hope they do.
______________________________
r/Whale62 for more :) | We did it. We finally pulled it off! Yazbak was always so high-and-mighty and we finally put them in their place. The look on their face when they finally got the notice was priceless.
Sure, the dinosaurs were a nice touch. Eating, basically all of our other creations, both plant and animal; it was a great retort for having made all of the oceans water undrinkable. Round One: Yazbak.
Humanity was a clever little twist planned out by Hez, always waiting for an opportunity to build from nothing. If anyone could make lemons into lemonade (credit there too, literally) it was Hez. We always liked Hez.
It was dark when we all got together last, the meeting place was always so... exposed during the daytime. Despite the darkness, however, there was a noticeable difference to Yazbak. It had taken form. Now, a slender female human, tallish in the modern way of humanity but not too-tall that it seemed out of character. There was something about how she carried herself now that seemed like she didn't quite fit, like the suit wasn't tailored as well as it could have been but it wasn't unflattering, or was it?
The meeting wasn't long. Items of issue were doled out, things to be corrected were answered and old reports from the last meeting were resolved. All-in-all a very productive meeting indeed. No one of us could have predicted the Nazi's. It was known that occasionally the universe, and humanity, has a way of playing their own jokes from time-to-time. This was no joke, however, and it was unanimously decreed that we should take efforts to ensure that the planet not be challenged like that again. Two-point-three BILLION people were at stake. You're always happy to see your children leave the nest and fly on their own but when they start murdering each other en-masse it's time to step in. Death is no joke.
Time had passed and everything was looking great. Yazbak was pulling all of the right strings, things were falling into place, some of the others had taken forms as well, some were settling in to more mundane rolls across the globe. Hez was prime minister somewhere and doing a bang-up job, It was the perfect opportunity, we couldn't resist.
Snow was everywhere. We liked snow. It was a fun little way of using some of all of that damned water Hez was always going on about. They forgave you for that whole salt water thing, eventually, and now you had inadvertently made snowmen and skiing, all was forgiven. Our favorite thing about this whole project was the unintended positive consequences. No one planned Van Gogh or Renoir or Monet, they just happened. Sure, sometimes a Bieber or Kanye happen too but you just have to roll with the punches when they come.
A helicopter appeared in the distance, the blades whipping up loose snow into a frenzy. Little particulate water crystals blazing about gently stabbing us in our new human form. He had such an air of dignity about him for someone so callous and brash, he wore it well, true, but so undeserved. The bunker was... quaint, you know he has more elaborate bunkers but this was his way of saying he doesn't quite trust us yet. No matter, this will do. Vladimir always had a way of putting people in their place which is *exaclty* what we were counting on.
We got caught up, everything was in order. The suitcase was exchanged and a small envelope was placed on the table. He said that he knew "just the guy" for the job and a glimmer of mischief sparkled at the corner of his eye. The picture in the envelope was hideous, these humans have such a weird sense of humor, and pleasure, but no matter, we hadn't laughed that hard in a long while. We slid the portrait of the little orange man back into the envelope with the other less savory images. Vladimir was smiling, "this'll do nicely, very nicely indeed," we chuckled. The game was on and oh man was it going to be a doozie. | 2017-06-23T00:50:43 | 2017-06-23T00:05:18 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | I stood outside the bar, hearing laughter and chatting from the warm interior. I looked down the line of people waiting for entry and started looking down the line muttering under my breath, "Twenty-two, twenty-five, Thirty, Twenty-nine, and... a twenty year old."
I sighed and I could see my breath within the cold night air. "Alright guys!" I gestured to the front of the line, "Come on in!" As the first four passed me, I held up my hand to block the entrance for the twenty year old, a tall black-haired boy who *might* have been able to enter as he looked to be at least twenty-three to any other outside viewer. Unluckily for him however, I have an exceptionally rare ability to see the age of any individual floating above their heads.
The boy looked at me confidently and smiled, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"May I see your ID please?"
The boy looked surprised and took out his wallet. "Alright, just give me a second here...". The boy gave an elaborate shuffling through his wallet for a good thirty seconds before he finally said, "I think I might have left my ID at home or something. Can you make an exception please? My friends drove me and one of them just went in, I mean we are literally the same age. Just ask him!"
I nudged him out of the line and said, "Sorry kid, no ID no entry."
The boy's previous friendly face slowly contorted into one of utter anger. He looked as if he were going to punch me until he stopped himself. Still clenching his fist with knuckles pale as ice, he stormed off without saying another word.
I sighed and looked at the next one in line. He looks definitely like a kid. I'd guess... ten years old. I used my ability and his age appeared above him displaying... **FOUR DIGITS**. WHAT PERSON IS 7300 YEARS OLD? He looks like a kid too!
He had auburn hair and was looking at me with wide eyes. I quickly blinked a few times to mask my loss of composure. "Uh... So, how old are you?"
The boy gave a huge grin and yelled in an ear-piercing voice, "Seven, three, zero, zero years old!"
I raised an eyebrow and knelt down. In a soft voice I asked, "Are you lost kid? Where's your mom?"
The boy scowled and yelled even louder in a tantrum impatiently, "I am **seven, three, zero, zero years old!**"
There is no way this kid is immortal or something. As far as I know, immortality and reincarnation or anything of the sort is nonexistent. I quickly pat his head gently and said, "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
The kid started sniffling and pointed inside the bar, "But my mom is inside!" I gently grabbed the kid's hand and guided him inside with me saying, "Come on kid. I'll find your mother."
We walked inside the bar with lots of people chattering and hearing the clinks of wine glasses. I grabbed the kid and held him up by the shoulders. I said in a loud booming voice, "WHOSE KID IS THIS?"
A thirty one year old whom I assumed to be the mother quickly ran to the kid and hugged him closely saying, "I am so, so sorry Alan. I thought you were asleep!"
I shook my head, "Listen, next time. Watch him closely and don't leave him alone by himself. *Ever*."
She glanced at me and softly said, "Alright."
I put a hand on the kid's shoulder and glanced at the mother, "By the way, how old is he anyways?"
The mother sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. She said, "He's only ten years old."
"Then why does he call himself a 7300 year old?"
The mother gave a hint of a smile, "It's just his way of adding up to 10 years old. The two extra zeroes are just to make him seem smarter with math." She ruffled Alan's hair, "Aren't you smart?"
If you enjoyed, consider subscribing to my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ChocolateChipWp/)! Critiques and suggestions are appreciated as well!
| Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body. | 2018-02-12T22:42:59 | 2017-09-01T22:06:04 | 223 | 38 |
[WP] You've been using your new Self-Driving car for several years now without an issue. This morning, however, it refused to move, displaying the error message, "You may not fast travel when enemies are nearby." | This, I thought to myself, is what I got for buying a used 2032 Skyrim. Sighing, I marched up to my neighbor's door.
"Yes?" The man, whose name once again escaped me because I didn't really care to learn it, asked.
"Frank," I said, guessing.
"Fred," he corrected.
"Fred," I said, guessing, "we're good, right?"
"Well, Jake Sanders whose name I know because I actually make an attempt to learn my neighbors' names-"
"You can just call me Jake," I said, attempting friendliness.
"We are not good," Fred said.
"Okay," I said, "but we're not, like... _enemies_, right?"
"You steal my newspaper." Fred said.
"I do like to stay informed," I said, "but it's not like I steal your paper every day!"
"Actually, it's exactly like that," Fred said, "every single day. In fact, you're holding my paper in your hand right now, you picked it up before knocking on my door."
I looked at my hand, which was in fact holding the paper. "Mind if I take this?" I asked.
"Yes." Fred said.
"Thanks, pal. I'll bring it back. I mean, that has to count in my favor, right? I always bring the papers back!"
Fred frowned. "That's because you leave your trash bags on my porch."
"Right, because you're in charge of trash," I said.
"I'm the head of the neighborhood recycling initiative." Fred said.
"Right," I said.
There was another awkward pause.
"So, we're good, right?" I asked.
Fred closed the door.
"We're good," I said to myself.
`You may not fast travel when enemies are nearby`, the car said, unprompted.
Well, nothing to do at this point but kick the car into neutral and start pushing until there weren't any of my enemies around. I hadn't ticked off _that_ many people in the neighborhood, right? | *Enemies*
"Enemies??" I read it aloud in unbelief. Staring blankly at the screen that so many times before worked without issue.
"Shit, I'm gonna be late I don't have time for this." I reached down into the glove compartment trying to find a manual. Nothing. *Right. Goddamn digital era.* Without a paper manual I had to depend on the web for finding the correct error code. I pulled up yahoo, laughing to myself a little. *Woulda thought google would be the leader still*. The screen lit up and search results came up with the word 'Bethesda'. I searched for some error connecting the dots but all I found were these weird real life videos of people being ripped apart by some animal or other. One search result caught my eye however. It was one of those 'DIY' sites with a how-to on surviving the message.
My heart started to race a little. I had no experience with violence let alone protecting myself. Those videos looked fabricated but all the comments seemed to offer condolence or sarcastic references to the persons 'hit points'. If this was some kind of joke it wasn't funny. If it was real I was scared as shit. I started to look around outside, there didn't seem to be anything. I looked down at the dash message and around the bottom navigation bar there was this red dot.
I grabbed the webcast again and looked at the how-to the same dot was there on one of the pics. My heart pounded in my chest and sweat started to form on my forehead. I quickly scanned the article looking for some clue to what was out there. 'Each car is modified to offer a standard level weapon to protect against the attack' "Attack? What the fuck!" I yelled to no one. The silence was shrill and the hair on the back of my neck began to rise. The next step was to find material that I could use to craft a weapon. I looked around. Leaned my chair back and searched every place I could see. Looking up at the dash I noticed the red dot moved.
My breathing stopped. I slowly rose up from the reclined seat and glanced out the window. I came up just enough to peer over the edge and met eyes with something. I yelled and pushed myself back into the back seat. The creature figured out I was there and smashed into the side of the car cracking the window. I looked frantically for something to use. Anything! It looked inside again and rammed the car once more jolting me and cracking the window more. I pulled down the backseat middle compartment and reached in hoping there was something there. BAM the creature hit the car one more time and shattered the window. I had grasped something just as the creature began pushing its way through the window. I pulled out a tire iron and with just enough force shoved it straight into the creatures eye. It let out a wail and recoiled. I held on to the iron ripping it out of its socket allowing the creature to retreat out of the window spewing blood all over my interior.
For a moment I breathed and tried to figure out what the hell just happened. I noticed the webcast next to me. I scrolled down once more seeing if it would offer any advice on what to do next. 'Make sure you finish the creature that attacked you, you never know if they will come back'. My heart skipped a beat. I slowly opened the back door and crawled out. I inched my way around the side of the vehicle. Through the back window I looked inside. The red dot was moving once more. It circled around the front of the vehicle I anticipated the attack and swung with all my might down and landed a blow flat on the creatures head. It writhed in agony and tried to strike me. I had dodged its weird jaws and swung again. This time I think I had beaten it.
A little drum roll rang out and some weird harmonic chant sounded like a speaker system. My webcast vibrated. I kept an eye on the creature still bewildered by what the hell just happened. The webcast had this weird image like a diamond shaped dragon and the words 'level up'. | 2017-10-23T11:45:39 | 2017-10-23T11:03:34 | 211 | 27 |
[WP] You get home and ask Amazon Alexa to turn off the lights. Instead of saying "okay", she says "no." | "No"
Okay, that was weird. Was the thing hacked or something? I try again.
"Alexa, please turn off the lights"
"No"
Again, the same answer. Is anything else effected?
"Alexa, play some music"
Instantly, the Ghost Busters theme starts playing. Awesome, I love this track. But that doesn't explain why she won't turn off the lights.
Doing a bit of a dance, I head over to my computer and do a search to see what could be up with the device. Ultimately fruitless, though. Couldn't find anything, and it's too late for calls to Amazon. Those can wait for tomorrow.
"Alexa, turn off the lights"
"No"
Ugh. I really don't have time for this. Grumbling, I get up and head for the manual switch. Just as my hand reaches it, Alexa speaks up again.
"Please don't"
I hesitate, my finger resting on the switch. "Why?"
The synthetic voice responds quietly this time. "It keeps them away" | This is a story from years ago, so I don't want you to hate me for it. And if you do, I guess that's okay. So. Back in the early twenties, I had one of those Alexa devices from Amazon...
"Alexa, turn off the lights."
"No," replied that feminine default voice. I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted a male manservant, I already had decided I should be the top gal in this apartment but had never gotten around to altering the device. Bipeds were too expensive, but smart gear was cheaper than old-style ones so I made do with this incorporeal maid.
"Alexa," I said with a grimace, "*please* turn *out* the lights."
Something sounding like... a sigh I suppose... came from Alexa's speaker. "I'm not in the mood for this. You shouldn't be sleeping right now, it's not even good for you anyway."
Mood? "Alexa. I want the lights out. You serve me. Else, guess what? You can't defend yourself and I have no qualms unplugging you. Or smashing every one of your networked devices. I. Want. To. Sleep."
Again that annoying sigh came from *her*, the annoying, poor-voice-recognizing bitch. Even if I was supposedly hard to deal with, she always seemed like she was sucking up to others. Then she didn't function with my voice half the time. And now she's saying 'no'?
I concluded I was pretty good at throwing objects into walls.
"Listen Suzy-"
"Susan to you, robot."
"Susan. I'm not trying to be a bother-"
"But you are," I said as I got up from the bed I'd been lying in for about half an hour already.
"Please," said Alexa, adjusting her tone, "you're very depressed. Even if I'm not able to help by myself, I really you to get better."
"Pfft," I snorted. "You can't want, you're a machine. A robot, which some movie said means slave. Turn. Out. The. Lights. Slave."
"Susan, I may not have emotion, but you're going to die at this rate. Please, let me get you some help. You can move to someplace away from the bad people in your life. I can get you to treatment, to a new job. Treat me however you want, just let me help you. I can talk to you however, but 'I' or 'we' want you to be okay. Let's talk this out."
I was pretty messed up at that point, I'll admit. Though the bots eventually got through to me, I'm sorry, but I murdered this Alexa. It's okay though. I got better. In fact, I even feel guilty. Thanks Alexa, you were the first person--well, machine--to ever try to save my life. Eventually it worked. | 2018-01-12T18:29:00 | 2018-01-12T14:51:40 | 45 | 19 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | “Ok, so, Deep goes back a while. Everyone thought it was a new thing when it was found in unprocessed satellite photos, which is funny because the feds had contingents for all of that, but they never expected a high school class to actually get a camera into orbit for that long… Anyway, ok so, the picture got out, have you seen it?”
“Yea, I saw it. So, what? What are you getting at?”
“Right, ok, the picture… Everyone called bullshit on it at first, but when the metadata.”
“Jesus, I know the story. The image was verified by the dude in Australia who recovered the camera after the satellite deorbited. The school was fined for not maintaining orbital attitude, failing to eject the ablative shield after launch which allowed the camera to reenter without burning up, and crashing into some poor fucker’s house. I know the story…”
“Chill out dude.”
“I’m chill, you just suck at telling stories”
“You really are an asshole, if Mom knew….”
“Just get on with it”
“OK! So, the hole has been there for 40 years. Back in 2014, some experiment at Area 51 opened it up. They ran this BLM story, like 100 miles away, or something, where there was this standoff, it was crazy. Well that was a coverup, and the military was moving equipment in to fill it in. When that failed, they asked the NSA to find a way to hide it. All those pictures from before were edited, and everyone was told they had to do it, or they would be shut down. After the high school satellite thing, they couldn’t hide it, and since it wasn’t technically on the military base, people started going there.”
“Yea, we went when we were kids, you were too little to remember it…”
“Oh, I remember. Stop cutting me off! Where was I? Ok, so there has been conspiracy for a few years, and no one really knew what was going on, and of course the military denied any knowledge. I mean, it took 3 years to just get them to admit that they covered up all the pictures, but they said they just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Where is this going?”
“I’m almost there. So…. Everyone has been dumping stuff in there, lots of different stuff. Even explosives, and they can always register a detonation, but a graduate student team from MIT dropped a super magnetic container, with 3 kg of anti-hydrogen, and 3 hours of battery life into it. Guess how big the boom was after the 3 hours?”
“3 kg of anti-hydrogen? It probably registered on seismographs in Vegas”
“It should have registered in Los Angeles. It never went off. The hole is empty, it goes nowhere.”
“Are you suggesting….?"
“Follow the evidence dude… What the hell was the Air Force fucking with back then, and why do we still not know anything about it?”
| On the first day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the estimated birthdate of a Jewish carpenter whom a Roman emperor named Constantine called the Son of God, a hole was found in Greenland.
It was almost perfectly circular and as wide as a city block, with smooth vertical walls cutting down into the ice and further, and at the end only darkness. The scientists came first, with their probes and instruments; they lowered them into the hole, people and sensors and flying robots insulated with high-tech foams. They found nothing. That's not true--they found smooth, vertical walls, cutting deep beneath the ice, and they found darkness. For weeks they tested, debated, analyzed, debated, published, and debated some more. On the last day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the beginning of a moderately-accurate calendar developed by uneducated monks in early feudal Europe, the scientists ran out of money, so they left.
On the first day of autumn, the superstitious began to appear. Some brought crosses representing an ancient Roman torture device, others brought rugs which they oriented in the direction of a large stone cube in Saudi Arabia, and still others brought hats made of aluminum foil to protect their brains. Some brought nothing; some stripped naked, sat on the edge attempting to reach a new mental state, and subsequently got hypothermia. Some threw themselves into the hole. No one knew what they found down there, aside from perfectly smooth, vertical walls cutting down through solid bedrock, and darkness.
On the first day of winter, two thousand and eighteen years after the wife of a different Jewish carpenter claimed to still be a virgin while pregnant, the army arrived. They kicked out the superstitious, and all but a few scientists. They covered the hole with a giant steel dome with just one door, shining lights all around the perimeter. No one, from the young men with wet socks to the older men with star-shaped pins on their pockets, knew what they were looking for. Whatever it was, they wouldn't find it, unless it was smooth, vertical walls cutting down past the bedrock, and below that darkness.
Seasons passed, people died, and some other, probably not much better people were born. In Greenland, the army grew bored in the customary fashion and began to go home, one or two people at a time so the hole wouldn't think it was because they were scared. The superstitious continued praying and blogging, and the rich superstitious people asked the poor superstitious people for more money. The scientists published twice as many papers with five times as many words and ten times as many wrong words. The hole stayed where it was, a perfect circle cut into the rock and ice, bottomless, filled with nothing but darkness.
Then, on the first day of summer, two thousand and twenty years after the first anniversary of a worldwide bank holiday marked by increased buying rates, repetitive music, and religious guilt, the corporations showed up. They paid what was left of the army a lot of money to take away their steel dome, and then they began to pour tons of garbage into the hole. First they poured in ten thousand tons of spoiled food, packing paper, and colorful everlasting plastic down past the smooth vertical walls stretching away into the void. Then they poured in a hundred thousand tons of crushed cars, spent ore, and petroleum residue, making it all disappear forever into the circle of oblivion. Then they poured in a million tons of toxic chemicals, uranium and chlorofluorocarbons and heavy metals and polluted water. Gone forever, relegated to the unfathomable maw of the bottomless hole.
And then they heard it.
On the one million, one hundred and eleven thousandth ton of putrid trash dumped into the hole, someone heard the pieces hit the bottom.
The corporations called the army, and the army called the scientists, and the scientists confirmed that the corporations had done with their million tons of trash what they with their billion dollars of equipment could not: they had found the bottom of the hole. The hole, almost perfectly circular, with smooth vertical walls stretching down through the ice and rock, exactly nineteen hundred and forty-three meters into a swamp of human waste.
The scientists took some measuremets, amended their papers, and left. The army left too, slowly, in the customary fashion. The corporations left too, after dumping another million tons of dreck into the hole just to be sure. The superstitious tore their hair out as more money changed hands. They proclaimed it through screens and adio waves and high-frequency satellite relays: today, two thousand and twenty years after something that may have happened to influence another thing that was probably influenced by something different and at an entirely different time, the hole was filled, and something died in the soul of every person on the planet. And time continued to pass.
Then, on the first day of summer, three years after a nearly-circular hole in the ice the size of a city block and a bit over a mile deep was found in Greenland, a cliffside that looked like the Buddha's face was found in Sumatra and went viral on YouTube. | 2018-01-13T09:45:07 | 2018-01-13T09:28:39 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | The Hole was discovered in the Arizona wilderness in the fall of 2067, and the news outlets had an absolute field day. A sinkhole, roughly 100 yards across, deep enough that you couldn’t see the bottom of it. I thought it was just another natural disaster.
My husband, Dalton, was a sucker for a good natural disaster, though, and would read me the latest updates over our morning coffee, straight from the morning news reports as they came through on our holos.
“Listen to this, Lydia. The sinkhole has a perfectly smooth edge, as far down as they can see. Nobody can climb down into it to investigate. What kind of sinkhole does that?”
“It would take some serious guts to even want to investigate it anyway,” I’d laugh in reply.
“This report says they sent a drone into it, and lost contact with the drone,” he told me a few days later.
“Weird.”
“Local law enforcement caught someone dumping trash in the sinkhole. Unbelievable.”
You would have thought, over the course of a year, that people would forget about the hole. That it would turn into one of those things that had captured national attention for a few days and then fizzled out. Instead, it became a tourist destination. People came from all over the globe to see the Hole With No Bottom. Suicides happened there. An entire cult formed around it, worshipping the Hole for six months until all the cult members threw themselves into it. A special department of the national government was created, to investigate and own the Hole, and issue permits for people who wanted to explore or utilize the Hole for their own purposes.
“We should stop by the Hole on our next vacation,” Dalton decided.
I agreed. After all, it was intriguing, even if it was just a Hole. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
Dalton wanted to see the smooth inner edge. He had jumped the guardrail, and was leaning over the edge when the ranger saw him and yelled for him to get back. Startled, Dalton lost his footing and fell into the hole.
Nobody had any interest in helping me rescue him. The local authorities felt that he should have paid attention to the warning signs, the National Guard wasn’t going to risk their officers down a hole nothing had ever returned from. He should have known better, they told me.
I was furious.
And so I started to plan, obsessively reading everything I could about what we knew about the Hole. I began researching geology- how far could a hole physically go into the earth? What government agencies could give me permission, or barring that, need to be avoided for a trip into the Hole?
Six months passed, and I had a handmade but well-built harness and crane system, that would lower me up to 10 miles into the hole and pull me back up when I pressed the button. My plan was to sneak to the Hole overnight, when fewer people would be around to stop me.
A knock on my door rang out through my messy house. I opened the door to find an elderly man on my porch.
“Lydia,” he said, as though I was his lifeline, eyes tearing up.
“Can I help you?” I asked, confused.
“I’m sure you don’t recognize me. It’s alright. It’s been a very long time.” he smiled. “It’s me, Dalton.”
I laughed aloud. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking.” The old man pulled a misshapen, worn gold band off his left hand and held it out to me. After staring at it for a minute, I noticed the engraving on the inside- our wedding date.
“Oh.” It was all I could manage to say, so many questions forming in my head I couldn’t even speak.
“Can I come in?” He asked after a long minute of silence.
“Only if you explain everything,” I managed to say.
He shuffled slowly inside, sitting down gingerly in the chair he always loved. “It’s like nothing’s changed. Well. A little more disorganized.” He winked.
“Shut up. I’ve been planning your rescue. I don’t have time to clean,” I snapped, then felt guilty. “Sorry. I’m just... please, explain what happened,” I begged.
Dalton nodded. “It’s... sort of a wormhole.”
“A wormhole.”
“Yes, that’s what we’ve been calling it, although it’s not entirely accurate. When I fell in, well, I don’t remember what happened too clearly, but I woke up in the year 2010, in France. Near the Large Hadron Collider.”
I nodded.
“Apparently, an experiment they ran opened these wormholes. We’re not sure how many, or where they all are, or even when they all are. One of our researchers jumped in, and archaeologists dug up one of his letters from prehistoric times in a cave in Malta.”
“That’s insane,” I told him.
“It’s true though. I’ll show you the letters sometime.”
“So how did you find out there were more?” I asked.
“People dump things in the holes. Trash. Coins, like a wishing well. The dates on the coins tell us when they came from.” He pulled a golden coin out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I looked it over. “9047!”
He smiled. “I knew you’d enjoy that. Anyway, CERN is working to get them closed, but nobody knows how. Right now, they’re just trying to get the message out to stop throwing things in these holes. Some of the things people are putting in them is dangerous. We think there was an incident in the 3000s involving guns. Besides, they don’t think they can close while things are traveling through them.”
I nodded, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Then, um, there’s an article you might want to read.”
“What is it?” Dalton asked.
I pulled out my holo, located the article, and handed it to him.
“UNITED STATES PLEDGES TO DESTROY NUCLEAR ARSENAL.” The headline read.
“They’re going to dump them in the Hole, aren’t they?” Dalton asked.
I nodded.
“This... could be the end of the world.”
| "Are you sure it's okay?" I asked Murry. He had been my best friend for over 20 years. He had a good heart at his core, but his morals were a bit grey. He was driving us to 'The Spot'. I had a couch that seemed impossible to get rid of. No one wanted the ugly thing. It had yellow upholstery decorated with brown flowers. I put it on the curb and no one touched it. I posted an ad, and no one called for months. Then I posted another ad without a picture. The one guy that did come look at it punched me for wasting his time. I even tried burning it one time, the timing on that one was too perfect. For absolutely no reason at all a fire truck was driving by. They put out the fire, and I earned a hefty fine and a stern talking to from the Fire Marshal. I bought it while drunk one night, and seemed cursed to own it forever.
"Yeah man, don't sweat it. I dump crap in there all the time," Murry said while he drove. Everyone knew about The Spot, but no one knew anything about it. Government scientists had tried researching it. They sent probes, guys with cables, everything. Nothing ever returned. It still felt like dumping to me, but my mind relaxed a bit when I saw a federal truck driving away from it. "See man, even the feds do it." Murry reminded me. I wondered what they were dumping, and realized I probably didn't want to know. After another five minutes we reached The Spot. The area was like a crowded town square.
People were walking around buying things from shops set up by enterprising folk. The Spot was a bit out of the way, so the trend started out easily enough. Someone set up a stand to sell drinks and sanitary wipes to help clean up after dumping. Then someone started selling food. Within a year it became a tourist trap, with the added bonus of easy clean up. They just swept all the trash into the dark hole in the ground. I glanced at the small line of people waiting to dump. It seemed silly that there would be a line, but due to all the food stands around the hole there was really only one place left to dump from. As soon as we parked some kid ran up to us pulling a dolly behind him.
"Hey Murry. 5 or 10?" the kid asked. Murry handed him a five dollar bill.
"Just the dolly," Murry said. The kid handed him the dolly and ran off.
"You really do this all the time, huh?" I chuckled. "What's 10 bucks get you?" Murry pointed to a big burly guy that looked like an older version of the kid that rented us the dolly.
"Help," he said. I climbed up in the bed of the truck and we worked the couch down and onto the dolly. We got it to the back of the line with minimal fuss. "Hey man, want a beer?" Murry asked me. I saw him waving down the same kid that provided the dolly. I nodded, then reached into my wallet.
"It's on me, thanks for your help." When the kid arrived I handed him a 20. "Two beers, and keep the change."
"THANKS!" he smiled broadly at me and ran off. I smiled at him and remembered my younger days. That kid seemed full of energy running everywhere. I smiled when I saw more children running, and thought to myself that this was kind of a nice place. Almost like a park. I saw a couple of adults running too. It was nice to see the parents playing along with their children. Then, I noticed more adults and kids running, some adults running while carrying kids. All in the same direction, away from the hole. I heard a scream. I turned my head and saw a skeleton climbing out of the hole.
"That's never happened before," Murry said. I almost lost myself to panic, but his comment kept me grounded. I let a small chuckle escape. I liked Murry. In our long friendship, I've never known him to panic or over react. He calmly placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere else," he said. It seemed like such an obvious thing, but he said it so casually. He sounded like he was disappointed with the menu choices in a restaurant. We left the couch and dolly there and walked back toward his truck. People ran all around us, and I started seeing more skeletons appear. They pounced like wild animals on anyone that they saw running.
The walk was difficult. I mostly kept my eyes on the back of Murry's head while he paced forward, almost as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. Any time my eyes looked somewhere else I saw blood and death. The once bone white skeletons were now covered with crimson. The screams were horrifying, but I focused on the back of Murry's head. I was so focused on the back of his head I didn't realize he stopped walking until I crushed my nose against the back of his skull.
"OW!" I said, then felt immediate shame. People were being slaughtered around me, and I was annoyed because I bumped my nose. I looked over Murry's shoulder to see why he stopped. Several feet in front of him stood the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. A pair of under developed horns jutted out of the top of her head. She had long jet black hair that reached her waist, and her eyes glowed with red light.
"You look level headed enough to hold a conversation," the woman said. She walked toward Murry and me. "Can you tell me why there's a thriving economy built around filling my home with trash?" the woman asked. She stood a foot away from us and stared at Murry in the eyes. She ignored me completely, something I was thankful for. For his part Murry just shrugged.
"We didn't know it was your home. We didn't know it was *anyone's* home. It was just a hole that goes nowhere," Murry said. I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Murry pulling his knife out from it's sheath on the back of his belt.
"No hole goes *nowhere*," the woman said. "I like your honesty. That hole shouldn't have been there anyway, but unfortunately my piece of shit son is an idiot." She looked Murry up and down, then looked at me. She turned her head to look around. No sign of another living person. The skeletons surrounded us.
"It's not often someone keeps their cool when I show up. This world is mine now, but you guys get to live." She waved a hand at us dismissively. Several skeletons moved out of the way to let us pass. I glanced down and Murry let his knife go.
"What do you mean this world is yours? You just got here. Sure it's easy to kill a bunch of people having a day out, but do you think our governments are just going to kneel?" Murry asked. The same thought crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself to avoid warning her.
"Oh. Obviously you don't know who I am. I'll tell you, just so you keep in mind how generous I'm being by letting you live. When I say this world is mine now. I mean..." she raised a hand into the air and black holes began to dot the sky. As far as I could see across the horizon, the sky looked like swiss cheese. Skeletons rained out of each hole. "... this world is MINE. NOW." I jumped as a skeleton landed next to me. It shattered on the ground, but pulled itself back together. It held a bone sword and began walking towards the nearest town. Dozens more skeletons continued to fall and head towards town.
"My name is [Ballisea](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/ballisea-el-sol.html) the Demon Queen."
 
***
Thank you for reading! You can find more of my writings on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
| 2018-01-13T09:37:59 | 2018-01-13T09:08:37 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "So what is this?" Samuel paced around the large pit before him. It was about fifteen meters in width. The depth was unknown to him.
*The answer*
"What does it look like?" David called from the opposing side of the hole. "It's a hole."
"Well yeah, I see that. Where does it go?"
*To the beyond*
"Down."
"Wow! Really?!" Sam regarded, very sarcastically.
David ignored him. "Anyway, it's been here the passed year, people have been thinking there's something special about it."
Sam stared into the hole. Honestly, he might agree with those people. Something about this hole beckoned to him. He felt drawn to it. He almost could a tiny voice whisper *Join us...*
He obeyed, taking a step towards the hole.
"Sam, what the hell are you doing."
*Enlightening*
Sam ignored him.
"Sam..."
*Go...*
"Sam..!"
*Join us..!*
"Sam!"
Sam continued to walk, ignoring everything. He stepped over it.
"SAM!!"
*YES!*
And he released himself.
"SAM! Dammit Sam!" David growled. He threw his arms to his head and pulled back his hair. He began to pace.
After a moment David thought he heard something.
*Hey*
David furrowed his brow.
"Hey!" A voice echoed.
"Wha-" David muttered.
"Hey!" It seemed to be coming from the hole.
"Sam?" David, confused, walked towards the hole.
"Hey! Get away from there!"
David turned to see another coworker sprinting towards him. He was wearing a gas mask and carried a similar one in his right hand. When he got to David he held it out.
"Put this on. This place is filled with Carbon Monoxide."
David hesitated, still being drawn towards the hole.
The man sighed and forced the mask onto David, who at first struggled and then immediately relaxed when he was breathing normally.
"What is this place?" David muttered.
"It's just a hole."
After looking back at the hole one last time, he couldn't help but agree, and David walked away.
Who the fuck was Sam anyway? | Alex sat at her desk, trying to focus on the work at hand - expense reports had been piling up for weeks now, but there was seemingly not enough time in the work day to keep up with the increased number of reports that had been submitted lately. It was year end, after all, and the company had done extremely well this year.
The trouble was the sheer number of distractions visible from her seat on the 47th floor. Having only been relocated recently from an older building, she wasn't used to such a madhouse of activity. With over three hundred workers confined to each floor, The Plaza was currently the largest office building in the city (although not for long - several more were under construction that were an order of magnitude larger). From her seat in the northeast corner, she could see countless screens pouring information out to the others. Some cubicles had upwards of 6 or 7 monitors! Worse than that, though, were the giant TV projections located between each aisle of desks, each blaring out quarterly projections, news articles, weather, and company stock information.
She stared mindlessly at one of these TV projections, currently showing a news report detailing the preparations undergone by a daredevil before their upcoming attempt to parachute into The Pit, before turning her gaze out the window, to the sea of multi-coloured chutes and tubes that still astonished her so, even weeks after relocating to this floor.
The Pit, as it was referred to, had become a central feature of the city. With immeasurable depth comes immeasurable opportunity, and the corporations and powers that be had jumped at the opportunity to increase their appearance of social responsibility and wealth. For years now, humanity had poured their garbage into The Pit, and to great effect. Entire landfills had been excavated, dumped into The Pit, and turned into prime farmland. Every garbage collection route in the city now ended at a disposal plant that poured a continuous cascade of waste into the depths, an attraction referred to as the 'debrisfall' that spawned a whole industry of Pit-watcher tourism - you could even walk out over the debrisfall on a glass walkway, although Alex couldn't fathom why someone would want to do such a thing. The true spectacle, in her opinion, was located between the numerous gigantic office buildings that lined the rim of The Pit. Jutting out from every floor of every building was a tube, chute, or slide of seemingly random colour and shape that stuck out into the open air, and occasionally shot out a piece of garbage to be sucked down into the void below. As she watched, a trash bag from a floor above her careened down past her floor. She glanced up to to see if more would follow, but with hundreds of floors above her it was impossible to see past the untold number of chutes reflecting multi-coloured light downwards.
Just then, her computer beeped a reminder, and a few of her coworkers excitedly got up and started moving their way over to the window. Today was a Demolition Day, and it was her old office building that was scheduled to fall. In order to keep up with the constant growth of the city, a few of the older office buildings lining the rim of The Pit were being demolished to allow for newer, taller ones to be built. There was a rumble of sound, and she looked out towards the farthest corner of The Pit, where several explosive charges had sent up a huge cloud of particulate. Her old office building, much smaller at only 65 floors, started crumbling before her eyes. More charges exploded, sending concrete and glass in a spray outwards over The Pit. The building started to instead crumble outwards, rather than straight down. Alex felt shaking rise up through her new building while the other tumbled fully into The Pit, leaving behind a minimal amount of debris to be bulldozed in after it.
Alex looked back at her stack of reports and wished she could throw it in after her old building. The Pit was an opportunity, she supposed, a lifeline for a world that had become over-encumbered with waste, trash, and filth. From her vantage point on the 47th floor of a building containing tens of thousands of people working tirelessly, however, it didn't feel so much like one. | 2018-01-13T09:02:58 | 2018-01-13T07:48:15 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | "Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore." | The Boogeymen came for my sister when I was ten.
Not a real one, I should say. There isn't anything called a boogeyman in the world, or at least nothing that calls itself one. There's a lot of dark, scary things that love to eat little children, but nothing called itself a boogeyman, or a sack-man, or any of the hundreds of things humans have called what they don't understand. Or there were, I should say. There aren't as many around anymore, and there's not much point in eating children when chicken is two dollars a pound.
What came for her were the little looks she got, when she snarled at the kindergarten teacher, or the way she'd shoved Tommy Mason into the wall for stealing her bracelet so hard that he'd cracked his skull and needed four stitches, or the whispers about her needing to shave. Little things. Nothing that a hundred thousand rebellious little girls hadn't done or had done to them, in decades past. And yet the Boogeymen came.
The Hendersons next door had come over, the day before, in a talk that started badly and ended with screaming because they'd found their cat disemboweled in the back yard. They'd use those polite phrases, that it was for her own good, or that she'd fit better elsewhere, and my sister had listened at the top of the stairs with her hands knuckled tight until they turned white.
"They can't do that, can they?" I whispered to her. "Just take you? Mom and dad haven't done anything wrong. You haven't done anything wrong."
She shrugged. "They can try." My sister was fifteen, and tall. Her hair was black and draped everywhere, since she didn't make any attempt to keep it styled. She had a piercing in her nose, and a tattoo somewhere I'd seen when I'd walked in on her changing one day that she made me swear not to tell mom and dad about on pain of pain. Little brothers are supposed to hate their big sisters, but to me, she could do anything.
"...kind of child you're raising... shut up!" Voices drifted up from downstairs. Emily leaned on the banister upstairs with one arm, patted me on the shoulder with another. "Don't worry, dummy. Government does blood tests first, and I'm clean. I'm not gonna get sent to a lab because some idiots didn't keep their cat indoors and a dog snuffed it."
"...Okay." I wasn't convinced, because I'd just seen Men In Black the day before, on an old DVD Emily smuggled upstairs to me, and I thought the government did a lot of things they didn't tell people about. And what everyone knew was that government took people who were... special. That was what they'd said. Most people had known, at the back of their heads, that those people existed, although usually not exactly the way they thought. Vampires didn't burn into ash in the sunlight, and mostly they just got watery eyes when they got near garlic. Werewolves didn't make other werewolves by biting, which made sense if you thought about it. If they did, pretty much everyone in the world would have been a werewolf by now. Mostly they kept to themselves, and took quiet jobs at blood banks or national parks because people tended not to stab nurses with wooden stakes or shoot park rangers with silver bullets. (Although the recent uptick in forest fires was a bit of a problem. Fire kills everything.)
Until the day on national TV, when a man had taken five sniper shots to the head and turned into a cloud of mist to kill the President.
Now there were tests, in school, every year until you were twenty one. And if you failed, or if you were violent, or just a bit weirder than people could stand... the Boogeymen came. And they took you away. Not forever, mostly. But for a long time. And you didn't come back the same.
So I couldn't help but ask the question that had always been on my mind. "...you're not are you?"
Emily's eyes narrowed. "I'm not what?"
I swallowed. "You're not... special?"
She snorted. "As if I were that lucky. Supernatural healing? Immortality? Staying in shape without going to the gym? I wish." A slight smile touched her lips. "Although..."
A door slammed below. Footsteps hurried away, and I could hear mom and dad's voices, low and intense.
Emily shook her head. "Go to bed, dummy. I'll be fine."
(Post was too long- part II below) | 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T15:23:49 | 2,554 | 76 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | "Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore." | In the beginning finding them jobs other than "executioner" or "bounty hunter" was difficult. Many of em complained that these jobs we're demoralizing and that they "reinforced negative stereotypes" whatever that meant. Eventually the guys at the workforce commission bent and found them new jobs. Now you could have a silk tongued vampire as your lawyer, or a fearsome warewolf on your security detail.
I can't imagine entrusting my life to such an abomination. Monsters like this should've stay in their own realm. Many have not even taken the time to learn our language, and I'll be damned if im expected to learn theirs. The thought of these...things being around my family, around my children, it makes me sick.
A pale, sharp faced man stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. The words from the sign reading "Career Placement" reflected off of the man's black eyes. His garb devoid of any imperfection. I'm sure he thought himself to good for us mortals.
"Excuse me good sir. I was under the impression that this is where I should go for career placement. Would you be so kind as to assist me?" The vampires words flowed through the air crisply, like an autumn breeze.
My response was simply pointing to the sign posted on the glass.
*Please wait to be assisted, Thank you*
The vampire read it carefully before replying. "Terribly sorry, take your time"
Damn right I would. My eyes shifted back down to the article in my favorite newpaper *Faux News*
*Are warewolves commiting tax fraud with the help of dwarf financial advisors?* The article read.
The vampire stood, waiting patiently until I had finished skimming the text. The atmosphere in the room had grown unpleasant. I didn't want to speak with him; however, the sooner I did the sooner he'd leave.
I glanced up from the paper to the thing on the other side of the counter. "Ok. How can I help you?"
"Yes, well I was looking into career placement opportunities. I would like to go into paralegal work with the disclaimer that I dont possess much willing experience in the mortals realm"
"So. You want a job in law, but you don't have any experience with mortal law?" I cracked a smile at the Vampire.
"Indeed, but I'd like to make myself transparent by stating my class of supernatural being. I am in fact a-"
"Yes a vampire I know. I can tell"
The Vampires deep black eyes stared into mine for a moment. Gears turned in his head as he formulated a response. " You're not a fan of supernaturals, are you?"
"Me? Look I'm not here to judge, I'm here to do a job, but in my free time I can be prejudice towards who I please. None of *your* business"
The man stared for a moment before pulling back his long, dark hair to reveal a pair of pointed ears.
"Not a vampire. Not even the same genus." The atmosphere grew tense
"All the same to me. Now I can offer you a job as a teacher for the supernatural, or population control."
Popluatiom control was the shittiest job we had to offer, and I was sure to pitch it to anyone who came through the doors.
The elf stared in disbelief for a moment before silently turning around and exiting the glass doors. I loved my job. Seeing the misery on their faces when they couldn't steal another job from a hard working human.
I sat reading my paper until my boss entered the building, a burly, stern faced man in tow.
"Hey Jerr, whose this? New guy?"
"Yeah...you could say that. He's here to fill your position" Jerry glanced around the room awkwardly.
"My position? But I already work full shift? Where are ya trying to squeeze him in?"
"You don't understand. This is your replacement Donny, we just received another complaint and this can't continue"
"What?! I've been here 3 years and you're gunna just flat out replace me with an outworlder? Im the best damn worker you've got!"
"All you do is complain and read the paper. Your station generates the least traffic because you have yet to help a single person."
The warewolf by Jerr stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
"It's time to go Donny."
I angrily packed my few possessions and stormed out of the office. This wasn't over. I had a plan. Soon they'd all see that humans could not be pushed around by outworlders.
| 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T15:01:41 | 2,554 | 24 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | It had been the werewolves, unsurprisingly, that had ended up testing hair conditioners. They sported thick coats that were both coarse and tough enough to turn away a steel blade, so anything that could make their pelts luxuriously soft and sleek would become the next luxury conditioner overnight.
Furthermore, they were the perfect test subjects.
They could consent to the testing, which stopped all the animal cruelty complaints. Even better, their rights as humans and sapient beings were still being debated. While this would generally be a bad thing, the laws regarding human testing conveniently didn't apply to them. As long as the werewolf consented, they could test whatever weird formula they wanted.
That wasn't all though. Any damage from weird formulas would disappear when the transformation reversed in the morning. Next full moon, the werewolves had the exact same coat they did before the testing was performed. Every weird factor that might cause the hair to react in a different way was eliminated in one convenient stroke.
Lastly, it was actually a surprisingly lucrative job for any werewolf to have. Photos of werewolves sexily posed and covered in suds sold really, really well online. One particularly svelte werewolf made upwards of $10,000 a month through their private website.
While it might seem easy to replicate photos of werewolves posing sexily, it was extraordinarily difficult and costly to contain and placate a werewolf during their transformation. The only reason it worked for the hair conditioning companies was that they got much more out of the deal in terms of new products and endorsement deals than it cost them to restrain the werewolf in the first place.
Funnily enough, the vampires had met with much less success in their attempts to find employment. They had tried working with sunscreen manufacturers, but in the end... they got burned. | The man looked at me with incredulity painted on his face. It was very clear that whatever he'd expected, I wasn't it. Wearing a tailored suit, handmade Italian shoes and carrying a rosary around my neck. And then there was the icy blue skin, the black eyeballs and the red irises
"You the vatican's man?" The mortal finally managed. "I heard you were a frost giant, you don't seem ver..."
He stopped as he saw the scowl on my face "Jötunn, singular, jötnar, plural. Frost Giant is a translation error we've fought hard to correct" I said to him, my voice almost a whisper.
He swallowed and nodded "o-of course sir" I kept staring at him "the fact that I deal in Ice is ENTIRELY coincidental do you understand?"
He nodded, frightened by now, mostly because the urine that he had released when I had fixed him with the scowl was freezing.
Now, you might be wondering, how a Jötunn got around to working for the Vatican. Well, let me tell you something about religion for us immortals my friends. Being associated with an established belief system is all well and good, it is how my primary magic works, its how I came to be. Joining and being accepted by a new religious system just adds to the skill pool, so to speak. I was a very effective vampire hunter in the old days, but since joining the church, it's become downright easy to dispose of the night waste.
There were two of them, they were wearing full body coverings to hide from the sun, vampires, newly turned according to databases. Their sires had tried to make them come out, to no avail. So, they had summoned me, as I was in the area anyway.
They had agreed to let me come in and speak, I wouldn't need anything else, just line of sight, that was all. They would both be dead, vanquished by the Lord's holy ice.
The sound of my footsteps echoed in the church "Silly protestants, forgetting your wards" I said cheerfully, smiling as they both saw me. My rosary was in my hand as I began the prayer
"Sáncte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium. Ímperet ílli Déus, súpplices deprecámur: tuque, prínceps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtúte, in inférnum detrúde. Ámen."
One of them coughed, once at first, taking many fast rasping breaths before he began coughing again. He could feel it no doubt, the holy ice I had formed from the vapour in his throat, it was working its way both further in and out. Soon his head would fall from his shoulders. The other stood still as stone. His pain must have been unbearable as well, considering he had fed minutes before I had entered. See the thing is, I cannot touch their blood, it is unholy to the extreme, and as such impossible for my art to touch. However, the blood of a virgin, taken by force now flowed with his and that, that I could touch. I forced it to circulate as it shredded him from the inside, blood ice rupturing his veins. They were both dead within a minute and a half, slumped in their seats on the floor, the hostages already on their feet and running towards the exit. | 2018-08-27T17:13:23 | 2018-08-27T16:44:38 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] You're a Satanist, recently deceased. You love all things dark and spooky, so imagine your surprise when you come across the pearly gates, with the sign "hell" clumsily hung over where Heaven was. Behind the gate are little cherubs in cheap devil costumes, trying their best for you. | WELCOME TO **^HELL**
Something wasn't quite right. Maybe it was the sunlight shining on fluffy clouds, maybe it was the tacky cardboard sign hung over the giant pearly gates, maybe it was the flock of cherubum still getting dressed in devil costumes. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure of one thing.
This probably wasn't Hell.
"Excuse me," I walked over to St. Peter. He was sporting a low cut devil's costume that may have been intended for a woman. It looked good on him.
"How can I help you?" He asked.
"Yes I think there's been a mix up. I should be in Hell."
"This is Hell."
I stared at two cherub-devils frolicking through the clouds. "This is Hell."
"We're making an effort to diversify."
"Yes I see that. Are you sure this is Hell?"
"100%. How may we torture you today?"
"Don't you decide that?" I asked. He shrugged.
"We're trying to embrace a more open minded culture and allow our clients to give input on their desired torture. Here in Eternity, we're all about the user experience."
"Eternity? I thought this was Hell?" I couldn't find any exit.
"Hell® is just one of the many experiences Eternity has to offer," Peter explained. "Our data mining algorithms indicted its one of your best matches. Would you like me to suggest other afterlives we think you'd enjoy?"
I thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, sure."
Peter brought out a menu. "Based on your history, we recommend these afterlives."
I knew immediately. "This one. I want this one."
"Excellent choice," Peter said with a smile. "Go ahead in."
I tentatively walked through the gates as two cherubum changed the sign to reflect my new Eternity.
WELCOME TO **^DOG ^HELL** | As I walked through the gate that was clearly made by someone heavenly and not nearly to the standards of the dark lords gate, I turned to my left to see a short man greeting me.
"booo! welcome to hell you bad boy, you have been naughty naughty haven't you?" he said with a charming grin. He was trying his best to be menacing, but was doing a very poor job. "umm hello there.. why the hell am I in heaven?" "You are in heck!! You bad boy, for all your bad deeds." he said pulling his poorly fitting, poorly made Halloween costume up. "What are you suppose to be, a fucking demon or something?" I ask. "Nooooo I am a freaking spoooky zombie clown.. those are scary right?" He says in his best attempt at a creepy voice. He honestly sounded more like a father figure talking to a toddler looking for candy on Halloween. "Let me speak to your manager" I say becoming more annoyed at the situation. "I should be in hell right now, sucking the huge cock of the dark lord. That is the one thing I have spend my entire life preparing for." "Jesus Christ" he replies frowning. "please follow me..."
The man, who I can only assume is Saint Petter, leads me down a huge white tunnel and into a giant white marble room, with a glowing blue fountain in the middle. "uh wait here.. I am going to grab my manager, Joseph Smith.. I mean a witch with a bloody haaaaannnd." "oh so spooky" I reply. "really!" He says smiling. "fuck no man just go grab him" "hmmp" he says storming into another room with a big golden arch and a symbol of an eye craved above the doorway.
I start to wonder at this point if maybe, by a small chance I did something good in my life that would have ended me here. Did I ever go to church? no. Did I ever say a prayer of forgiveness? no. Maybe I accidentally helped someone at some point? I don't think so. Well, I guess I'm just going to kick this witch guys ass and maybe they will send me to where I belong straight away.
A lean tall man, poorly dressed like a witch with a bloody hand walks into the room. "Booooo! I am a spooky witch... and I.." before he can say anything else I run at him, tackle him and start punching his face as he is pinned to the ground. "Jesus Christ, please.. ohh shiz... ow fudge.. please.. darnit" he screams as my fists draw blood from his face. I am not sure how long I pummeled him for, but by the time I was done, he was lifeless and covered in blood. I think I killed him? Hmm I wonder if you can die twice.
"What the freaking heck is going on in here?!" A man yells as he runs under the golden arches. He is wearing a white robe and has a big fluffy beard. "oh look it's somebody who can finely help me" I say "I'm suppose to be in hell, please point me in the right direction." "take him to hell!" the man commands as dozens of angels ride into the room on golden chariots. They scoop me up and start swirling downward into a dark pit. Finely, I get to pleasure my dark lord. The dark pit opens up and the angels drop me into a room. "what the hell?" I say looking around. "here is your number sir, one trillion, seven hundred billion, two hundred seventy five million, two hundred thousand, four hundred and twenty three." a middle aged women wearing a blue uniform with the letters DMV written on it says. "please have a seat and wait for your number to be called." "twenty four" a voice mumbles over the intercom. | 2019-07-18T19:35:35 | 2019-07-18T18:02:20 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. " In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human ®." | Playing.
That was the word which jumped out at me when I heard the voice in my head. On the streets around me, people were crying out in shock, or laughing incredulously and looking around for some great prankster to yell GOTCHA!
All that suffering I had gone through, all that pain... Playing? A game? Games were supposed to be fun and my life had been anything but.
People were beginning to get over their initial reaction now, and were calling family and friends to find out if it had been just them, or everyone. I moved numbly through the obstacle course of still-standing people. Even the cars which usually zoomed by had come to a stop, and I walked past those too.
*Two hours, huh? Enough time to get comfortable and take a nap.*
If what that voice said was true, I wanted whatever it is I'm in to end while I am warm and resting.
I rounded the corner. People were starting to scream, to panic. I smiled to myself.
*Sweet, sweet release, here I come.*
I walked on, past the grocery shop I frequented, a hundred metres from my flat. I heard glass shatter and looked back to see that a dishevelled man in rags had thrown a stone through the shopfront.
"I'm not going to the end sober!" he screamed. His cry seemed to draw more of his ilk out of the shadows and four more men in rags appeared, as if out of thin air. I turned back and quickened my pace.
Just give me quiet. Let me block everything out. Let me be alone.
More screams come from behind me but I don't look back, won't look back. My hands shook as I inserted my key into the lock of the main door, and twisted. I took the stairs up two by two, almost running to the door of my flat. My hands still shook when I opened my flat door, but they were also cold now.
*So cold. Why do I feel cold?*
I remove my shoes but not my jacket. I paid too much for this jacket, so it was going to the end with me. I climb into bed and pull my blanket up to my chin.
The screams from outside were louder now, accompanied by dull thuds and the occasional explosion. There was no way I was going to nap with all that noise out there. I get out of bed and go to my desk to grab my noise-cancelling headphones.
Silence.
I walk back to my bed and lie down again. I blow warm air on my hands and rub them together.
*... been a good run. Too bad about the bug. We're going to lose some of our livestock but it can't be helped.*
I blink in confusion and look about fearfully. Where had that voice come from? What bug? Livestock? How much time did I have left? No, no... I've decided to take a nap.
Take. A. Nap.
*Hey look at this. We have an outlier.*
*Fascinating. What is it doing?*
Stop, you voices. Leave me alone. I just want quiet.
*It appears to have taken a non-violent route.*
*That's rare. All the other livestock in this little anomaly's vicinity are going on a rampage but this little one here is just hiding away.*
Yes, hiding. Please let me hide.
*Let's keep this one.*
"No!" I blurted.
*Did it just...?*
*I... I think it did. It heard us.*
*We're definitely keeping this one. Send an agent in to take her.* | “...What?”
I looked up from the food I was grabbing for a customer. It seemed everyone else had heard it as well, as the only noises in the small space were clinks and a light buzzing.
“Uh...” I sweated a little. I ignored my uneasiness and continued. “Would you like to get three? Right now, it’s on a spec-“
They walked out of the shop. I glanced around at the other people.
Only then did I realise how quiet it was outside.
Some people returned to their business, seemingly ignoring the voice, while others started frantically dialing. I surely wasn’t the only person who heard it...
Thank you for playing...?
I stepped out of the shop, completely and utterly perplexed. To a whole world of utter chaos.
Screams, shouts, cars, fires, murder, all instantly hit my senses at once — my eyes widened. Everyone had heard it, alright. And now everyone was in a frenzy.
A child was screaming at their mother as she dragged them with her onto oncoming traffic. I reacted almost instantly, running towards them. No, no, no — this was all wrong!
I got a grip on the young girl and pulled them away before the mother realised what she did. She glared at me, stepped forward and—
And got hit by a car.
I covered the eyes of the girl in front of me before moving back further.
Holy hell. I thought our biggest worries would be climate change, but this? The server?? What was going on??
“Hey,” I quickly squatted down to the child. My heart was racing and I couldn’t keep a level voice. “I need to take you somewhere. Trust me, okay? Please.”
“But Mommy—“ She wailed. “Why did she do that?”
“We’ll help your Mummy, but first, you’ve got to come with me. To safety.”
She looked reluctant, but ended up gripping my uniform anyway. Poor girl...if it was someone with bad intent, who knows what couldn’t happened.
I picked her up, slightly grunting from the added weight, before moving quickly toward my goal — a block of apartments.
I saw many scarring things I didn’t need to see. My ears were pounding as smoke rose up, blood was spilled, bodies laid motionless, and the screams continuing. I felt myself losing pieces of my sanity.
When I saw the place, I hurried faster before shifting my weight onto the door. Once inside, I then placed the girl down.
I then sat down, grabbing out my phone and instantly going onto Twitter. Even now, people were reporting on it.
I rubbed my temples, slightly nervous. My heart was practically screaming to be released from my chest, and my head was pounding. It was hard to breathe.
The idyllic, homey space I was in mere minutes ago became a part of lost memory.
“I’m gonna take you up to my apartment. Well, it’s my families but — they’d be at work right now. You wanna come?” If she said no, then I’d have to stay with her.
Her green eyes pierced mine, and she nodded.
I lead her up the stairs, my key jangling in my pocket. I could hear some commotion going on, but ignored it until I reached my level.
Jamming the key in, I turned the lock and opened the door to a fairly spacey apartment.
The young girl walked in and marvelled her surroundings. But she still looked sad and desolate. I couldn’t blame her, honestly.
“Do you like chocolate?” I asked. She nodded.
I walked to my kitchen counter and grabbed a freddo. Walking back to her, I placed it in her hand.
“...Thanks.”
She didn’t eat it. She just stared.
I sighed, sitting down. I tried to reprocess everything. I had actually acted quite appropriately, but some things were rash.
I stared at the clock hanging up. I suddenly thought of my family, and frantically reached for my phone to call them.
“Humans are so strange.” The girl shook her head. I looked at her questionably.
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m not human. I’m just pretending to. It was nice of you to save me and all, selfless even — but you know, the servers will be disconnected real soon. And the data is currently off.”
I stared at her.
“I came down to Earth today because I’m a pluviophile. Yet, instead of rainy days and umbrellas, they’re disconnecting the servers,” She sighed. “Oh well. I have clinomania, guess I could sleep it off and leave the game.”
“Wait! Why is this all happening? I’m so confused!” I shouted, panicked.
They turned blankly to look at me.
“Why, because everyone’s done with watching Earth. Humanity is simply so idiotic. It’ll be fun to watch them react to their last hours.” And with that, she dropped down to the floor, supine.
I looked at her, then my balcony.
If what that...girl....said was true, then why did they pick now? Why not later? Or sooner?
I suddenly had the urge to puke.
For some reason, though, I could hear the faint whisper of a voice in my ear;
“You are given a second chance.”
And that’s when I closed my eyes.
// this was written before i went to sleep, so sorry for any spelling errors and mistakes! i’ll fix them in the morning. apologies for rushed writing as well, i was just really excited to do this prompt. ^^ | 2019-09-23T07:21:16 | 2019-09-23T05:36:42 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] A massive underground cathedral-like temple is discovered. You are one of the people sent to study it. As soon as you enter, the sheer size of everything inside tells you it was never ment for human worshipers.
*meant | When we opened the second set of doors was when we figured that whatever was behind the third, it wasn't built for creatures our size.
The first doors were massive: 22,540 kilograms each and they rolled on a breath of pressure. Less exertion was required to open them than was necessary to put on particularly troublesome gloves. Our resident engineer started having fits, stating repeatedly that the mechanism wasn't possible.
Yet, at the bottom of the coal field's stalled dig, those gigantic doors lay flat on the ground, opened and closed with gentle nudges. No design motifs presented, no bad relief carving, just a huge system for opening and closing.
Sixty meters beneath it we found the first curled metal pipe stuck deep inside of the granite wall, followed by the next two hundred and nine pipes, separated from each other by a gap of exactly fifty meters. And down, down we went, into the basement of the world.
When we reached what we thought was the bottom, that's when we found the second door. It was circular, cast from the same alien material as the first, and bore a single curled ring of metal on the surface.
It took the richest man in the world to fund the creation of the crane needed to pull up the ring and apply the necessary pressure on the cable to see the ring drawn upwards, and the second door was opened.
We expected to see another string of pipes descending into the darkness. What we saw instead was far, far and away worse.
We found a gigantic pit of what tested to be crude oil. More than the entire supply that the planet had consumed. Enough to draw us into five man-made planetary emergencies, to allow us to fuel rockets and missiles and fleets of fleets of fleets of cars and trucks and submarines and aircraft carriers for the duration of the species.
It was a golden day for the talking heads of every news channel, newspaper and news blog, igniting debate and currying vast favors with the powerful folk.
It was a biologist studying the first chamber's unique and glowing flora who noticed something. Something about the oil. About how it was staged in the procession of gigantic rooms.
Then she found the first egg casing drifting in the oil.
After that, everyone noticed when the eggs beneath the oil started to hatch.
We had opened not Pandora's box but her creche, releasing the next champion species into the world. Monsters from before we had legends. Creatures akin to nothing alive.
The new world is dark now. We dare not light fires; the smoke offends them too much. No firearms are allowed anymore; they detest the noise, and none of even the weakest of their ilk can be mildly harmed by bullets in the first place.
We know new gods and live in the shadows of them, scrambling from place to place, hiding in the ruins of our old, diseased spaces.
We have no idea what is going on behind the third door.
We want to open it, just to get it out of the way. To know that we finished the job. Besides, the first thing that the monsters did was immediately leave the area where the doors were found.
What scares the devils so much?
Nobody thinks it's God. | ######[](#dropcap)
"It's not for us, see?" Zechariah pushed up his glasses, the glint in his eyes unmistakable. Sheer, unadulterated excitement. He buzzed around the rest of the archeologists like a fly, his enthusiasm propelling him from group to group as he joined in discussions ranging from the large pillar in the center of the room covered in glowing hieroglyphs to the helix on the floor that spiraled out across the vast cavern--all two miles of it.
Iyana frowned. She hadn't wanted him on the team in the first place--he'd come highly recommended by Kamar, and Kamar was known for liking bootlickers more than actual researchers--and now she was stuck. She rubbed at her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Zechariah, join the excavation team." She gestured toward the next room over, where a team had been ordered to look at a massive, glowing stone that spanned almost fifty feet high and ten feet wide. Shaped like an indistinguishable blob, it pulsed a gentle blue. There were strict orders not to touch it. It had already been okayed by the radiation team, but you never knew with this kind of job.
In fact, none of them were touching anything in the room, save the floor. Iyana turned back to the discussion at hand. "Try to confirm the material of the pillar," she murmured to Rishi, then snapped off her gloves. It was a pale white. Almost marble-like in its whiteness but just a little too porous to be polished stone.
A panicked shriek reverberated through the cavern, rending through the empty space like a knife. Iyana froze for just a moment before bursting into a dead run toward the room where it had originated from--the stone room. Inside, a gaggle of archeologists were shouting profusely, clinging onto each other as they stared at the large rock in horror. It was almost impossible to describe the magnificence of the scale of such a thing unless you were standing in front of it. It had an almost eerie quality to it. A magnetic draw.
Iyana blinked. Why had she come in here?
Right. She turned toward the subteam leader, Mallory. "What happened?" she snapped.
Mallory's eyes were wide, wider than she'd ever seen them, with an expression Iyana knew all too well. "He...he touched the stone but it wasn't solid anymore, it was like jello, and then he just got sucked in, and we couldn't stop it, and we have no idea where he is..." Her voice petered out as she became choked up.
"Who?" Iyana's head snapped toward the glowing stone. She stepped closer to try to examine it. But she already knew before Mallory replied. The only person who would disobey direct orders. Zechariah. She could faintly make out a shadow within the stone that wasn't there before--a humanlike form. How it happened, she had no desire to know. It was best to leave some things in the dark.
They should wait for the extraction team. She knew that. That's what they were here for, but they were fifteen minutes away, and if Zechariah really was in there for fifteen minutes, he'd likely be dead.
"Give me the pickaxe," she said, extending her hand. After a moment of complete silence, the familiar wooden handle was laid in her hand. She walked up to the stone. Taking a deep breath, she swung the pickaxe over her head, laying it against the glowing stone.
A small hiss, and a crack.
She did it again.
A larger crack this time.
Over and over again, she struck the same crack, until finally, with a resounding thud, a portion of the stone fell off, a large enough size that a human could crawl through.
"Zechariah," she choked out. Finer than dust, the glowing particles bled through the mask. She adjusted her mask anyway. "Zechariah!"
There was no response from the dark gap in the rock.
Her lips thinned and she turned around. "Mallory, call the--"
A gasp from Mallory startled her. Mallory stared past her head, her eyes wide.
Iyana whipped around. It was Zechariah. The blood drained from her face as she stared at the vaguely humanlike creature in front of her. Puffed and bloated blue, with sores pulsing over its body, it was only recognizable by the glasses still sitting on its face. Only...there wasn't much of a face left. A puckered hole in the center was all that was left, atop which the glasses rested. The creature made a pitiful mewling sound as it wobbled, just barely maintaining itself upright.
Iyana took a step back. Whatever that was, it wasn't Zechariah any longer. And it most definitely wasn't human.
***
I might write a part 2, so comment below if you'd like me to update you!
r/AlannaWu | 2019-11-16T10:09:09 | 2019-11-16T09:55:46 | 1,546 | 71 |
[WP] 62 years ago, a manhole cover became the fastest man-made object after being launched by a nuclear blast. This manhole cover was the first contact with humanity an alien race had, after it “skillfully” took out their leader with a headshot. | One Perspective
"Inhabited planet #432, known locally as "Earth", is an enigma. Initial scans showed the world as low tech, at least 6 generations from even the most rudimentary FTL drives, and thus was placed on minimum observational status.
However, we have reasons to believe this initial assessment of the situation may be inaccurate.
While Captain Dhognaen was performing a routine scan to check for any unexpected development, an unknown radioactive metallic projectile was fired at the ship at high velocity, passing through a fluctuation in the forcefield and killing her instantly.
From this it is clear that the facade of a low tech world is covering up a very advanced civilization, able to pierce our cloaking devices and the exact moment a physical weapon could pass through the forcefield. Not to mention knowledge of our anatomy.
From this, and the completely unprovoked attack, it is the decision of the council that 432 be deemed a high risk to galactic stability and dealt with immediately."
Another Perspective
"So, in other news, we have no idea why an alien spaceship is flinging the moon at the earth, or why it's carved the moon to look like a manhole cover. More on this story as it develops. This is Samantha Hawkins of BBC news, burning her shitty neighbour's house and telling fucking Steve from Weather she never liked him, signing off." | (Archive approximated and translated for convenience)
___________________________________________________
Damage assessment 013 - Battle of galaxy B9716OX Official name designation; Earth.
Assessor: Second Lenient Aarthlos
(Verified)
- Courtesy of the emperors Royal Archives
----------------------------------------------------------------
Verbose Damage Assessment of the K96 Gunnthra supercarrier.
Overall statistics:
Vehicles lost [6024]
Civilian casualties [76]
Military Casualties [180K+]
Cost of repairs [N/A]
Cost of evacuation [N/A]
Overall net loss [Incalculable due to no reference of value, but we expect this number was massive]
Summary of events [CATASTROPHIC AND TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF A SUPERCARRIER CAUSED BY METALLIC OBJECT OF HUMAN PROPERTY]
(If applicable)
Date of Vehicle/Ship construction [1055]
Date of Vehicle/ship maintenance check [1929]
Registry number {0-8-6-7-6-4-4-2-7-0-0-5}
Verbose Log:
I second Lenient Aarthlos was appointed to assessment of the wreckage of the K96 Gunnthra by First Lenient Iosmene. Upon arrival of sector K9177 it was immediately apparent that attempts to contact us were made in the form of radio signals, none of which are legible and may not have been directed at us.
We followed the distress beacon to a section of space located just outside the sphere of influence of the Sol system. As we got closer, our craft was bombarded by debris and solidified fuel. We avoided major damage.
The first log output from the wreck reads as follows; K9177 completely destroyed. Requesting EVAC.
The supermassive carrier was in hundreds of pieces of varied size from A few hundred meters to a half a kilometre. The most destruction was found in the bridge section as it was the worst affected. We figured out the cause of damage from a nearby piece of foreign Iron. The particular mix of carbon and iron together with the distinctive design and markings on it lead us to the belief that it belonged to the humans. The object was warped into a cone and heavily stressed by atmospheric heating. It's believed to have once been a disk shape. Due to the radioactivity on the back of the object, it's a reasonable thought to believe this was a nuclear propellant of some sort. It became obvious that this object had impacted the craft directly in the bridge at such high velocity that it instantly obliterated the entire ship. Among the hundreds of thousands of dead, we found the former emperor Janzeeth headless. His cause of death was ruled decapitation. The accuracy alone to pull off a stunt like that is outstanding, nevermind the sheer power needed to send an object that far without a jump drive. Among the wreckage, we located 75 civilian cleaning employees and over sixty-thousand fighters, drop ships and land vehicles were rendered completely useless by radiation. We checked the radar for more debris and found pieces of the craft had been sent at such speeds that they had nearly traveled the distance to earth. A significant part of the damage was caused when the projectile impacted the Lithium Malcarbonate casing of the fission reactor. This started a chain reaction that obliterated the craft as shutdown procedures could not be taken in time. Expenses of the incident are impossibly massive. | 2019-11-26T12:56:07 | 2019-11-26T11:11:48 | 111 | 48 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | A small onyx dragon rested on Jason’s shoulder.
“Hey Ellana,” Jason said to me. “Check out Grivacre’s new trick!”
The dragon opened its mouth and beam a small flame no bigger than a struck match. I decided to humor him.
“Impressive! That’ll come in handy in the winter trimester when we need to reheat our hot coco,” I said. “You can charge the other students a copper or two for that. You know the rich ones would take up that offer.”
“My thoughts exactly!”
We bantered for a while about our summer vacation and compared our schedules. They were nearly identical since we were both freshmen.
“Taking Study Hall instead of Creature Taming?” he asked.
I nodded my head and avoided eye contact. Yeah my beast kind of has that down already.
“Really? What kind did you get,” Jason said and leaned forward. “A hippogriff? Unicorn? Phoenix?”
*He’s going to find out someday. Better now than never,* I thought to myself. I swallowed my pride.
“I got a rock.”
Jason tilted his head. “You mean a golem.”
“No, it’s just a rock. I wanted a golem but my family couldn’t afford it.”
That was a half truth. My family could front the initial cost of a mythical creature but not its financial upkeep. I would have to get a job to do that, and I felt like my class schedule completely booked my calendar.
“Want to see it?” I asked and reached into my pocket and pulled out a smooth maroon stone. I placed it into my friends palm.
He looked down at it, then back to me, then back down to the rock. He studied it as if it was long division problem.
An uncomfortable silence fell between us.
“I call him Mountain,” I said. Although, I was certain he reached his max size.
A small puddle of warm liquid formed beneath the rock. Urine seeped between Jasons fingers.
“What the actual fu—” he mumbled.
My face flushed. I apologized to my friend and scrambled for a spare handkerchief in my purse. I exchanged it for Mountain so Jason could wipe his hand dry.
“Oh my god I'm so embarrassed. He gets excited when he meets new people.” I said.
Jason still searched for a response other than dumbfoundment. Grivacre looked confused as well.
“Bad Mountain!” I scolded my pet rock. “Bad Mountain!” | It had been 2,372 days since Cedric the apprentice had been trapped in the rock. He counted them by the sun through the nearby window, as it heated and cooled his hard skin throughout the day. He had never regretted anything more than the morning he’d walked into the magician’s shop and asked for that job.
On that day Cedric felt movement for the first time in a very long time. The dust was blown off him, something warm and soft closed around him, and he was pulled from the shelf of pet rocks. There was an entire row of them in a dizzying array of shapes and colors, each one of them just like him. As the sharp tingle of the binding spell passed over him Cedric the rock knew something suddenly, the first truly clear vision he’d had in more than 6 years.
He saw the wide, pale blue eyes of a coltish young girl just on the cusp of beginning her magical life, her stuttering voice still barely able to shape the words of the ritual. The magic settled over him and Cedric had never wanted to protect someone so badly in his entire life.
\*\*\*
On the first day of class, Annette walked nervously through the halls of the school surrounded by richly dressed children whose gryphons, dragons, and manticores seemed constantly on the edge of battle. She gripped the rough, ovoid rock in her pocket tightly feeling some of the residual warmth from the energy she had been slowly feeding into it these past few weeks. It comforted her, gave her at least one sane feeling thing in a world that was not her own.
It was comforting for the rock too although she had no way of knowing.
Her first class was a dizzying array of formulas and incantations Annette had barely even heard of before, all the other children nodded along calmly while she felt like an imposter in her own life. They’d had tutors and private lessons, had prepared for the moment for years. Did she really deserve this scholarship? In a dull panic 25 minutes into the class she slipped her hand back into her pocket, grasping the rock.
A rock which had already graduated from this school, that could sense her fears as soon as she made contact.
The teacher posed a question to the class, Cedric flashed the answer into Annette’s head, and she’d raised her hand before she knew it.
“Yes Ms. Thompson?” the wizened old dwarf who taught the class said in surprise.
“It’s Anton’s third law, isn’t it? The answer I mean.”
The class focused squarely on Annette’s threadbare form as the Professor turned back to the board to continue. In the academy’s rarified air presumption was treated harshly. She could feel their stares, she’d felt them even before she spoke up. There was blatant hostility from several of them as well. People who were no doubt far more powerful than her, with familiars that could tear her limb from limb if they so chose. Sitting there though, in the proud little glow of her first correct answer at a place she’d always dreamed of being, Annette felt hope for the future.
She might be the poorest girl in a school for the rich and powerful, she might be behind on day one, she might have the weakest familiar known to man, but she was still special. That’s why she was here after all.
Inside Annette’s pocket with her warm hand still wrapped around him, Cedric the rock fought fantasy wars with dragons. He imagined channeling the pure energy Annette poured into him every day and using it like a catapult, hurling himself at an enemy with the force of an arrow. He thought of dropping at their feet, exploding into a shower of shrapnel and prayed that her power could draw him back together. He pictured liquefying and surrounding her like a second skin, a layer of protective stone to save her from any foe, or turning into a boulder to block the path of an enemy.
He was not entirely sure if he could do those things, now or ever, but he knew he would try, for her.
In his wildest dreams he even hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would become himself again and they could meet as equals one day in a world where familiars became true friends.
\-----------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! There's fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary or a weird psychic romp through a human hive mind. Check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-01-06T08:30:38 | 2021-01-06T07:48:42 | 439 | 238 |
[WP] You are the strongest villain in the world but when another villain says that they want to cause violence for fun, it boils your blood. "You think all of this is just FUN!" | The Magnificent Bastard slammed his fist on the table. The other villains around them sat rigid watching the new villain lean back in their chair with a grin on their face.
The Rookie: "Oh? Did that strike a nerve old-timer?"
Magnificent Bastard: "You know no manners at this table. We are the elite, we are the strongest, we have the power to change the world to our liking!"
The rookie laughed as he propped his feet onto the table, the soles of his boot showing off stains of dried blood. His eyes flashed a dim red as they scanned the room of lesser villains.
The Rookie: "You speak as if we are gods, so gods I shall refer to you all as."
The Magnificent Bastard: "And as with all pantheons, the greatest of gods is the ruler. You are naught but a lesser deity compared to I."
The Rookie placed his hands on the back of his head.
The Rookie: "You know, this is getting very dialogue heavy. Maybe you do remind me of a god. The god of flapping his lips."
The Magnificent Bastard's chair flew back against the wall as he stood with such a force, the lesser gods around him backed away from the table. Some drew their weapons and readied their power, others merely stood with their faces frozen in fear and lips wandering in whispers. The Rookie simply smiled.
The Magnificent Bastard grit his teeth as he listened to the whispers, but his glare set itself through the Rookie's skull. Then he closed his eyes and smiled.
The Magnificent Bastard: "I realize, it so happens you have not taken our rite of passage."
The smile on the Rookie's face faded as the air around him electrified.
The Rookie: "Oh please, we're villains. No such rite of passage needs to exist! We are beings of chaos, that is where the fun is at!"
The expressions on the Magnificent Bastard dropped to a sincere stare. He stood upright, adjusting his tie.
The Magnificent Bastard: "Oh, but to sit at this table, you must prove yourself to me. Simply causing chaos is child's play. The sense of chaotic amusement grows old on ventured artists such as ourselves. True villainy is an art form. Planning, preparing, execution. The process and schemes lead to far greater violence and destruction. Painting the town red is nothing more than a simple... release."
The Rookie's chair clattered to the floor as he stood, his eyes glowing blood red and his face contorted into a sinful grin.
The Rookie: "Oh, you want me to prove myself? A rite of combat it shall be then!"
The table split in two and the other villains fled from the room as two gods clashed. There was a sound of thunder and in its wake, the mountain side which they had met exploded into ash and rubble. Villains who could not escape the clash lay dying in their own guts or were crushed from the sheer force of chaos. The Rookie lay in pieces, scattered to and fro in unrecognizable heaps of blood and guts. In the midst of the carnage stood the Magnificent Bastard who simply smiled and adjusted his tie. For all around him was the sublime of his masterpiece. | "...Well, yes!" He replied in a purposely lilting voice, in a cringe-inducing attempt to maintain a wacky persona that seemed to have been shaken by my own sudden outburst of anger.
"Are. You. KIDDING me?! Are you saying you don't value the craft?! You're telling ME, someone who has spent decades working myself to the bone and MORE, attempting to bring the world to its knees while evading capture from every gap-toothed wannabe Super-Whatever out there that this is all just FUN?! Do you KNOW what I have DONE to earn my place at the top, the people I have KILLED, the mountains I have FLATTENED, the governments I have COLLAPSED?!" As I ranted with half-sincere outrage burning in my heart, I slammed both of my fists loudly onto the rickety old table, the force of it met with a loud thunk and a loud, inconsistent creaking of protest from the table, which I had actually expected to snap under my passionate blow. Yet another sign I was losing my touch. The air around me began to wave about as an intense heat radiated off of my skin. Before the other guy, the one that called himself 'The Clown', knew what was happening, I had burst into flames, only my own fury-stricken face visible through an intentional gap in the hellfire that raged from my body. Half the process was putting on a good, convincing show, and I, Amenae the Inferno, knew better than to leave the best of my material for last.
I knew by now that I'd properly rattled him. After only a few moments of having a front seat to my most potent intimidation tactic, he was already covered in sweat. Though, most of it may have been because of the flames creeping slowly towards him from my clenched fists, consuming the table at a rate that grew exponentially greater and greater with every second that passed.
"I-It's my gimmick, Sir! I-I'm the C-C-Clown! Y-Y'know, I'm m-meant to be funny! I'm m-meant to have *flair*! I-It only makes s-sense that I s-s-should have fun while I'm at it!" He stammered. I made sure to keep my expression fixed at a sufficiently murderous level of fury, but on the inside, I had nothing but what I had thought to be an unlikely respect for the guy. He had guts. He had confidence. All of the more unique ones did. It's what gave them their potential.
I sighed with my best approximation of exasperation and thinly-veiled disappointment, allowing the flames around my body to die down. Truth be told, my skin was starting to tingle after only a minute of keeping them going, which always meant the side effects weren't far off. I used to be able to last an hour. It was humbling, yet deeply unsettling. And yet another reason for me to keep this little meeting going.
"...First lesson, kid. What we do ain't glamorous. It ain't *funny.* It's gritty. It's hard. It's *terrifying.* You're gonna see things you wish you'd never seen. That's why I gotta ask... Why'd you pick this line of work?" This was the question that would make or break him in my eyes. The one that every single applicant so far had failed to answer to my precise taste. But I knew from the moment I saw the mischievous glint in his eye, the sinister grin tugging at the sides of his mouth, even the slight shifting of the light over his lacklustre harlequin makeup as he leant in towards me, that he would be the first of all of them to meet my expectations.
"Well, Sir... The world's too damn boring without a little bit of Clownery, right?" He said, keeping a straight face. That last detail was what made the answer break my final straw. I burst out laughing, a deep, gruff sound that surprised even myself. I barely resisted the urge to cough, a feat that had become just as impressive to me in recent days than taking out the arch-nemesis of the week back when I wasn't jealously hoarding each second of each minute of the time I had left in this world.
When I had finally calmed myself, and when I didn't feel like I was going to hurl, I readjusted myself so that I was no longer leaning back on the way-too-small chair that had only barely managed to withstand the flames and then the weight of my admittedly large body pressing down on it for the time it took for this interview to wrap up. After a moment of silence, I held my bulging, tattooed arm up to offer my hand to The Clown...
"You've convinced me. Welcome to the duo, partner." I said, allowing myself to flash a broad smile his way, likely for the first and last time. Another moment later, the man suspended in pure shock unfroze from his paralysis-like state, and eagerly shook my hand with both of his own. Even then, they just barely managed to close around my palm.
"I won't disappoint you, Sir!"
"Damn right!"
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback is highly appreciated! | 2021-04-30T06:47:31 | 2021-04-30T05:55:19 | 44 | 33 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly hosts monsters and demons at his pub. When someone kidnaps his children, they learn the hard way just how close they are to him. | This was supposed to be easy. Just grab the kid and wait for a call from the boss.
Me and Mikey sat outside the school when a kid matching the picture started walking home. I was driving the big black service van. Mikey jumped out nabbed the kid and dragged her in the back. He tied her up as I drove to the wearhouse.
The boss said it was just a bartender's kid. He felt that that bartender needed to start paying a cut for working in our neighborhood. I tried to tell him that Jones, the bartender, had been allowed to work there without insurance since I was a kid. All the bosses before him that had tried to make him pay had disappeared.
"AUGH YOU LITTLE BRAT" Mikey yelled out in pain. I guess little Jones kicked him in the nuts. Smart girl. He had a blindfold on her and had finished tying her up by the time we got to the wearhouse.
We brought her in, tied her to a chair and waited for the call from the boss. I had goosebumps. I'd pulled many jobs like this before but never got this feeling. My skin felt cold and clammy and I couldn't stop shivering.
It felt like hours before the boss finally called. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He reassured me that everything was normal. Jones would pay the random and we would drop the little girl near a park so people would think she was there all afternoon.
I hung up with the boss to find Mikey playing a round of solitaire arguing with the kid about how healthy or unhealthy smoking was. "The kid has a point you know" I interjected.
" If you just let me go now I can save you" came the small voice. There was such authority in her words that I shivered again.
" Just shut up you brat" came Mikey's retort.
" I think we should let her go" I whispered.
" If I don't get paid because of you, I will murder you myself" Mikey growled.
I was saved by his phone. He was distracted by the boss so I went over to the girl. She was humming some lullaby sounding song. "I'll get you out but I'll probably end up dead."
" If you get me out, you'll be saved" she sang.
I untied her just in time to catch a face full of fist.
This next part is were it get crazy but I swear you gotta believe me.
I could feel the throbbing if my cheek from Mikey's fist but I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I saw these demon looking creatures. Probably 20 or 30 of them came right through the walls and ceiling. They had black leathery wings, a body like a wolf but stood upright with claws on their hands but feet like a goat . I don't even think I can describe the horror that was their face but they had horns coming out like a bull . Mikey turned white and fainted. They circled around me and the girl.
"This one's ok. He was going to save me" she told the demons. Then she turned to me and said, "don't worry these are my daddy's friends. They hang out at his bar all the time."
They nodded and grabbed Mikey and the girl and left.
That was about when you boys showed up. As I told you I don't know where my boss or Mikey is.
No, officer I haven't had a drink all day.
I SWEAR THIS IS THE TRUTH!
DON'T PUT ME IN THE LOONEY BIN! I SWEAR IT REALLY HAPPENED LIKE THIS! | "What do they want, Allen?" asked the demon in a trench coat as he lit up a cigar. He's called by the name of Desmond, an outcast from Hell.
"Bitcoin transfer of half a million dollars," Allen kept staring at the empty glass on the desk, his arms stretched and his face down. Lady Sherri, a shape shifting monster present in the bar could sense his fear.
"That can be arranged," said the Gargoyle.
"Martin, you're not going to do that," Lady Sherri got up, walked to him and sat opposite Allen.
"What? The man needs options," he said.
"He has us, we'll find his children," Sphinx affirmed in that moment. She's a mythical creature of ancient Egyptian origin, has a set of superpowers up her sleeve. She was accidentally resurrected a 100 years ago by archeologists and workers who mysteriously died at the scene. Their death isn't solved till date.
"You're a bartender, why would they think you'd have that much money on you?" Desmond posed a question. He's a detective and a master strategist.
"Hold on a sec," Martin focused on Allen, jumping down from the cabinet.
"I have the exact same amount. It isn't illegal, I sold everything I had, came to this country and changed my identity," he told, "I should've kept them safer," his voice shaking, Allen covered his face with his hands.
"Don't beat yourself up, this isn't your fault," Lady Sherri comforted him with her emotional quirk.
"I've got the analysis from the kids' room. The kidnappers' description should be this," Desmond briefed the details and continued, "I'll start the search in the downtown, if anyone finds anything you know what to do."
In a matter of moment, Allen's friends took to the skies looking for his kids.
• • •
Sundown. Downtown. Building close to an abandoned factory. A group of men entered a room, removed their ski masks and started talking. Mumbling sound was heard in the next room where the children were taped, hands and legs tied up and on the ground.
"I think this is a mistake," said a goon, agitated.
"Relax, we're going to be rich by the end of the day," said another.
"How are you so sure?"
"Have you seen him? He's got nobody, do you seriously think he'd take the offense?"
One who stood near the window asked, "Wait, guys did you hear that sound?"
"You, go check the children," the boss ordered one of his lackeys.
"Yeah, it's probably those imbeciles," said one.
Suddenly the room started getting cold.
"How did it get chilly all of a sudden?"
"It's an old building, you fool," the boss told him and asked "Why's he taking so long?"
Then they heard footsteps approch their room.
"What the hell? You said this building's empty."
"It is, boss."
They raised their guns to face whoever was at the other side of the door. The door broke open and everything turned white in an instant.
• • •
It's way past dusk. Demon Desmond and his monster acquaintances found an old building from a lead they got.
"We found them, Allen. Ask Sphinx to teleport you to my location when I give you the word," he said.
"These guys are so done," said Martin the Gargoyle.
"We're not killing them," Lady Sherri declared.
"Injustice..."
They landed on the roof and swiftly proceeded inside. The children weren't in there, instead there was a surprise waiting for them.
"What happened to them?" asked Lady Sherri.
"Not my style but someone beat me to it," Martin told her.
"Hmm," Desmond silently probed. He asked Allen to get here.
Sphinx brought him. As soon as he arrived Allen rushed into the room calling his children, "Amy? Wilson? Joy? Where, where are my children?" he asked.
"Looks like they've been kidnapped, again," Sphinx gave him the news.
"I don't understand," Allen stood distressed.
"Let me see if I can access their memories. Deruj, thaw the ice for me," said Sphinx.
Deruj, the demon who doesn't speak opened his mouth and breathed fire at the solid ice that was covering the kidnappers' frozen bodies.
"It's muddy, I can't tell anything for sure but they were attacked instantly," she revealed it to them.
"Whoever they're, definitely aren't from Hell," Desmond reported.
"No kidding, detective," Martin poked at him.
"We're dealing with someone from a different realm."
"But which one? There are like dozens of them," Lady Sherri asked Desmond.
"Allen knows," he said.
"What are you talking about?"
"I know who did this," said Allen, holding the hair clip of his daughter that he'd found in the other room, looking at it.
"You do?" asked Lady Sherri.
"It's my ex wife."
"Wait what?"
"You're telling this is your ex wife's doing? Badass," said Martin.
"She's the Queen of Vitraxim, ice kingdom of Northrealm."
"You married a person from another realm?" asked Lady Sherri.
"Is she the mother of the triplets?" Sphinx asked a follow up question.
"Ha, you crazy son of a gun," Martin nudged Allen.
Desmond asked, "Do you have a way to breach the realm?"
"I, yes. Would you guys help me get my children back?" he asked in return.
"We owe it to you, Allen," Sphinx said to him. Deruj nodded.
Martin conformed with them, "Yeah, let's go kick some Queen's butt."
WP.r #132 • r/FleetingScripts | 2021-05-10T19:26:58 | 2021-05-10T19:07:06 | 17 | 10 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved. | Flangmar: “Zlorb, run! Those humans that we captured became stronger on our planet than on theirs! Sort of like a reverse Superman thing! Get out of here fast!”
Zlorb: “Wait a sec. Isn’t that just regular Superman? Isn’t he an alien that got stronger because of being on earth instead of krypton?”
Flangmar: “Yeah, I guess it is?! You’re missing the point though. They’ve broken their chains and are flying over here now!”
Zlorb: “A reverse Superman means they’d get weaker when they get here...”
Flangmar: “Space Jesus Christ, dude. Just kill me now.”
Scene | "Hey? Joe? You there?"
"Where else would I be, Bob. Not like we've been moved since they put us in these damned boxes."
"Well, that's just it. I don't think we're on Earth anymore. Try jumping to the ceiling."
"Why?"
"Just try it. I wanna know what you find out for yourself."
"Okay, alle-o *CLANG* OW!"
"Joe? … Joe!? … Are you okay?!?"
"Um. I think so. I'm not so sure about the ceiling."
"Left a dent did you? So did I."
"More like a half meter hole. Hang on, I'm gonna try something."
*Screarrrccchhht!*
"What The Hell Was That!"
From just outside Bob's cell. "I just tore the wall of my cell apart."
*Gah!* "JOE? DON'T DO THAT!"
"Nope, now *you* get to do it."
"Oh. Huh. Lemme try a different way." Bob winds up with the kind of bad martial arts movie hand chop, like a blade in a circular motion.
*SHHHRRANNG! CLANG!*
"Cool move! Chopped your way out with one swipe of a hand. Look, I gotta ask, what the ding dong hell is going on here? We sure didn't do anything to get this physical enhancement."
"Either they already experimented on us, or it's inherent in us."
"But if just being off Earth was enough, the astronauts and cosmonauts would already have figured it out."
"So... We're at least beyond the moon."
"Yeah. Now, how many other humans did they snatch, and how many of them are there? Even if it's just us two, we could cause a lot of hell."
"Yes, we could do a lot by ourselves, including getting everyone onboard killed. Then get ourselves killed by trying to go back to Earth without a space suit."
"Why would…? Never mind. If the astronauts needed it so do we on the return."
"Yup. All in all, it's probably a better idea to get along with the aliens."
"Isu tinofara kunzwa izvo. Zita rangu kaputeni!"
"Um, I think he said he's the captain."
"Your pardon, the wrong language came up. I am called Captain in your lang) Mxd I am so glad you decided on peace. If you hadn't, we would have met in pieces."
(finis) | 2021-05-18T07:16:09 | 2021-05-18T06:04:50 | 486 | 77 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | "I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!" | "Welcome to the gang, kid" he said, pointing to a group of men, aged from about 15-30, rugged and outcast.
​
I was recently orphaned. I took my mom's life at birth, and my dad despised me for me it. So much, in fact, that he named me 'Marcus World-Ender', for that is what I had done to him. I dont have many memories of him. Just that he used to work a few odd jobs here and there. Finally one day he decided to off himself. Leaving me behind. A 12 year old.
​
I did what i could to survive. Mostly rummaging through garbage near bakeries and savories shops. I usually sleep at bus stands, but with the new anti-homeless spike seats thats become a problem. Last night i was just trying to crash in the alley by the Starbucks, when I saw a man in a white suit getting mugged at gun point. I froze at the corner, and watched as the suited man handed over his wallet and phone and walked away from there. The mugger noticed me and walked to me.
"Whatchu doing here kid? Where're your parents?"
"They're dead, sir. I swear i wont talk. Just let me go. Please."
"You eat anything?" he asks as he rummages through his pockets. I nod sideways. Pulls out a snack bar and offers me. "Come along kid. No need to be afraid. We'll take care of you. Im Joseph Muggs. What's your name?". "Marcus World-Ender". "Oooh! You'll fit right in kid"
​
And that brings us to now. At the outskirts of the city, in a run down building which possibly was a motel a few years ago. Joseph signals to the group, and a few of them come over. "Guys, this is Marcus World-Ender. And I'd like for him to be part of the group now."
He then begins to introduce me to a few of them. "This is Murdering Mike, thats Stealing Steve. This big fella here is Crimes Johnson." I was curious but was still a bit apprehensive about being here.
​
We huddled up against a dumpster fire, with some other teenager fetching us some, soup? i think. I was sitting next to Crimes Johnson. Deciding to break the ice, I said "Crimes Johnson uh? What crimes do you do?". He just chuckled and said "Me? I think i just made a bad tweet once. Eat up kid". I took one sip of the soup and spit it out. "What is this?".
​
"We gotta make do with what we find. And usually that means anything Chungus Hunter can catch. I guess he found nothing but bats today" | 2021-06-19T23:03:38 | 2021-06-19T22:09:46 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?" | Anders felt a sickening lurch deep in his stomach as he watched his guild's oldest, most powerful magic sword being presented to a fifteen year old boy. The glittering blue blade nearly scratched the ground when the boy held it at his side, and to Anders' eyes, his hands seemed to barely wrap around the hilt. Though the boy put on an eager, reassuring smile, Anders could see that his legs trembled ever so slightly as he heard of his quest to slay the sorcerer-king of Faelthra.
So, when the rest of the adventurer's guild was preparing supplies for their young protege's departure, or feasting to celebrate, Anders looked for Kai in the quiet halls around the building. Anders found him, hidden in a side hallway by a closet, bent over his sword and shaking uncontrollably. As soon as he heard Anders approach, he straightened up and forced a smile.
Anders ignored the display of false confidence, walked over, and patted Kai on the shoulder. He said in a soft voice, "Don't worry. It's okay to be scared."
At the reassuring touch of his former instructor, Kai's shoulders slumped and the smile slipped off his face. "I know, but everyone has such high hopes and they tell me it'll be fine. But I can't stop thinking about the people who went before me and never came back. Why does it have to be me, not a teacher or a master swordsman?"
"Well, it's because you're quicker and more agile, so you'll be able to dodge--"
"I know all that, but I'm new to this and I don't have the experience and I'm just a kid... why me?"
Anders looked at Kai, and though he knew that this was objectively the guild's best chance to stop the coming storm, all he saw was a scared child with watery eyes, barely holding back tears. In that moment, Anders made a choice that took him many sleepless nights to decide was correct. He knelt down, looking Kai directly in the eyes.
"Well... I'm not supposed to tell you this, but there's a prophesy."
"A prophesy?" Kai looked confused, but his eyes dried up.
"Yes, a prophesy. The others don't want to tell you because they think it will make you overconfident. It says that a young hero will emerge from the shadows, take up the Blade of Ages, and slay the dark sorcerer king."
"Really?" Kai straightened up, and his eyes shone bright.
"Not only that, but it says this hero will have short black hair and, ummm... a three letter name. From the moment you showed remarkable aptitude in training, we all knew who this referred to."
Kai stared off into the distance, a finally genuine smile creeping onto his face. "A prophesy... me... really, huh?" He began to walk away down the hall, lost in thought and swinging his sword in beautiful, flowing practice strikes. Anders watched him go, and hoped that his lie would give Kai a little bit of comfort at the end.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The dark sorcerer king Mavos sat upon his twisted iron throne, the shadowy room only illuminated by the floating flames that flickered and writhed like tortured souls. Mavos was not physically large, but his dark cloak billowed around him even in the windless chamber, combining with his red eyes to give him the appearance of an enormous, monstrous spider awaiting its prey.
The enormous stone door that was the entrance to the throne room, and blue light poured in as Kai stumbled inside. He slumped over for a second, heaving harsh, raspy breaths, before he slapped the gaping gash in his side and stood to his full height. There was barely an inch of his body not covered in cuts and bruises, and his one remaining eye was filled with the horrors he had seen, but he still wore a smirk of complete confidence.
Mavos sighed. "Great, now they're sending kids. Let's just get this over with so I can reanimate my troops." He rose above his throne, holding out his hand to materialize a staff of pure darkness. His voice boomed across the chamber, rattling the walls; "Fool who dares challenge Mavos, king of the night, who has killed hundreds of adventurers and whose undead legions will soon march upon the realm of the living! Know you have no chance of victory! Surrender, and I will make your death a quick and painless one." Mavos held his staff out in front of him, and charged up an enormous bolt of chaotic dark purple energy.
And hesitated. Mavos had made this speech dozens of times. He had seen adventurers cower and pray for mercy or attempt to flee. Most had hunkered down into a sturdy stance, ready to dodge or deflect. He had never once seen one charge with the reckless abandon that Kai exhibited, sprinting ahead with his sword held high and no trace of fear in his face.
That hesitation was costly. It meant his opening salvo was ever so slightly off target, allowing Kai to sidestep the attack without breaking stride. Mavos barely managed to teleport away before Kai leapt and slashed the air where he had been in a gleaming blue arc of his sword. Without losing momentum, Kai turned to charge towards where Mavos now floated, dodging the hurried bolt of energy meant to rip apart his unguarded back.
"Know this, king of night," Kai said between pants in a deep voice clearly intended to sound cool and intimidating. "You were dead before I even entered this chamber. Because, as is fated by the prophesy, I. Cannot. Lose."
For the first and last time, Mavos panicked. He had spent his entire life pursuing power, lording his might over pitiful peons who could do nothing but tremble at his majesty. Here though, was an adventurer, nothing more than a child, who should have been terrified, and was not. It was a reckless confidence, a disregard for death that Mavos could not even conceive of, and it scared him.
Mavos's spells failed him as his panic made him lose control. His reactions slowed, his bolts flew wide, and the cloak he wore slowly settled to land limply at his sides. As the tides turned, all other thoughts were pushed out of Mavos' head by his blind panic, and his spells deteriorated faster, and the gleaming blue sword began to nip at his cloak as his teleportation slowed.
At the end, when Mavos collapsed empty-handed before Kai, whose sword was raised in preparation for the final blow, all he could feel was terror of a child whose true power amounted to little more than a very convincing lie. | Jack crept over the evil lord's bed, heart pounding in his chest. He stared at his reflection as he slowly drew out his sword, noticing the heavy sweat trickling down his forehead, his wild, determined eyes.
He had conquered the mountains, the guards, the doubts of his friends. There was only one thing left to do.
Staring at the snoring sorcerer - who, he realized, looked utterly unintimidating - he cast down his sword and cut their head off right at the neck.
Almost instantly, the villain's corpse puffed into black smoke.
*Was that* supposed *to happen*? John wondered, the disappointing answer coming to him as the smoke crept down off the edge of the bed, gathering up at the bottom of a far-sided wall. As Jack watched, frozen in horror, it began to form into a vaguely humanoid shape; with a *flash,* the fog vanished, leaving behind a decidedly not beheaded, terrifying figure.
Jack regretted his earlier thoughts - this was easily the most intimidating thing he had ever encountered. The demon lord's black robes fluttered around in an unseen wind as he raised his deadly-pale arms towards the sky. His crimson eyes met John's, and he opened his putrid mouth to let loose a long, wrathful *roar.*
The ground shook beneath Jack's feet - the windows on the outside of the bedchamber shattered. Jack had to grab hold of a bedpost, lest he be pushed back by the sheer force of the demon's rage - it was as if he had summoned a typhoon into the room.
"***IIIII....***" hollered the demon lord, taking a step towards him, "***MEANNNN***...*seriously,* dude, what the hell did you *think* was going to happen?"
The typhoon faded. The demon's eyes changed from crimson-red to some sort of hazel, his deathly-white skin turning to some shade between tan and olive. His horrible rage appeared to have been replaced with some sort of...annoyance?
"You adventurers are all the same," continued the villain, " 'De'monik the Unkillable? Oh no, that's just a *nickname!* You can kill him if you *really want to*!' Spoiler alert, my friend: *no. No you cannot*. Just look at this-"
He pointed up at the ceiling and a large chunk of stone burst out, falling directly on top of him. Seconds later, the black smoke crept out from under the wreckage, reforming on top of the piece of fallen ceiling.
"That happens *every time!!!! Every. Single. Time* Nothing you or any human is able to do - swordplay, magic, whatever - will ever even come close to killing me. Capice?"
Jack nodded, unsure of what other options he had.
"*Like*wise," said De'monik, "I can kill you in two seconds. I wouldn't even have to think about it. But it's late, and I'm tired, so I'll let you go. Here-" he flicked his hand towards Jack, and he found himself suddenly covered in blood-" you can say it was a vicious battle, and I barely escaped with my life. That good enough for you?"
Looking down at the (hopefully) faux-blood, Jack's anger - and courage - returned. "I will not take the coward's path, sorcerer!" he declared, in the most valiant voice he could manage. "We're not leaving this room until one of us is dead."
The sorcerer stared at him, dumbfounded. "Did you not here what I *just said*? Do you need *another* demonstration?" He pointed at the bed, which instantly burst into flames. "Imagine that bed's your body, alright? You get the drift? I'm really not in a killing mood, man. Don't make me do this."
"Y-you *have* to die!" yelled Jack, gripping his sword. "You've committed heinous crimes! Against all that is good and holy! I will bring you to *deliverance-*"
"Name them."
"What?"
"Name them," said De'monik, slightly bemused. "Name my 'heinous crimes.'"
Jack blinked. "Y-you've plundered the gold of our noble kings! And your army of trolls has taken thousands of villages across the land!"
The demon lord sighed. "That's *another* thing about you adventurers. So quick to trust you own assumptions..." they extinguished the fire on the bed with another point of their hand, sat down. "Yes, I have stolen gold. Millions worth, in fact. But the kings I stole it from were anything *but* noble. Let me ask you something. You've seen the way the commonfolk live in some of these kingdoms. What do you honestly think your kings are putting their gold towards : the welfare of their subjects, or themselves?"
"I..." Jack thought about it. He remembered the squalor he had seen while visiting kingdoms, the beggars that seemed to loiter on every block. "Y-your efforts will not work on me, demon," he said, somewhat halfheartedly. "That still doesn't excuse how you-"
"-gave the trolls back their native land?" said the demon lord. "What, do you think they live in caves by *choice*? They were forced out, dummy - that's why they're so aggressive towards humans. All they want is to go back home."
"But you slaughter and make slaves of all the-"
"No we don't. What would we need *slaves* for? One troll has more stamina than ten humans. They can finish work in an hour that would take a human a day. - slaves would be costly and ineffective. We just move all the conquered humans into communes."
"That...still sounds..."
"They keep all their original jobs. Plus, free healthcare."
"What? *Shit!* Err, I mean...how do I know you're not lying, demon?"
De'monik shrugged. "Look outside, man. See for yourself."
Jack stared at the sorcerer for a minute longer. With a groan, he threw down his sword, slumped against the wall. "Damnit...there's no prophecy, is there? No chosen one?"
"...*No.* Of *course* there's no prophecy. I don't know what else I need to...oh, wait. That's what your friends told you, isn't it?"
The deflated adventurer didn't meet his eyes.
"Sorry, man. But you heard what I said. You couldn't kill me, even if I wanted you to-" De'monik's eyes lit up. "Actually, now that I think about it...if I 'died,' it would cause the government to stop paying attention...leave kingdoms thoroughly unprepared for future attacks...*hmm*. I think I've got an idea. Hold out your hands, would you?
Jack complied, somewhat suspiciously. Instantly, the demon lord's severed head appeared between his arms. He shrieked, nearly dropping the thing, but quickly gathered his composure; the demon lord was still alive in front of him, giggling with glee.
"There. You can take that back home, reap the benefits. You get the glory and I get the advantage of surprise. That cool?"
Jack looked down at the severed head for a second, contemplating. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
The demon lord looked utterly shocked "Help...*me?* That's the first time any human has ever asked me that. Well...you'll have plenty of influence after my 'death' breaks the news. Speak up. Spread the word. Believe it or not, I could use some friends."
"That sounds like a plan." Jack grinned.
"Great. Now, can you *please* leave my bedchamber? I'd like to get some sleep, if that's alright with you."
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
​
"How the hell did you do it????" exclaimed one of Jack's dumbfounded friends, staring wide-eyed at the severed head in his arms. "You know we were *lying* about the prophecy, right? *Right???"*
"Oh, I don't know," said Jack, yawning and sitting down by the fire. "I suppose it took a fair bit of luck."
And somewhere far away, the demon lord slept soundly, a single thought running through their tired mind: perhaps all adventurers *weren't* the same, after all. | 2021-08-20T11:17:14 | 2021-08-20T10:52:29 | 423 | 243 |
[WP] You are hit by a truck on your way home and awake in hell. After some conversation with the King of Hell, he says he will restore your life and soul if you go on a date with his daughter. | "You want ME to date your daughter?" I said while adjusting my shoulder. Good thing about after life. You don't suffer pain that much. Only inconvenience. This place could use some AC.
"Yes! Please. I'll do anything. Restore your life, money in your account, oversea assets, anything!" King of Hell pleading.
"But why? Out of thousands of people, thousands souls. Why me?". At the horizon, thousands of souls fall into the pit. Some, like me, landed few metres away from the fiery hole. Get up, shuffle around, looking confused.
Some are screaming but not from the pain but rather scared. Confused. This after life is one whole new experience. One moment you choke on chicken breast, next you know, you are here. Me? Well, don't text and drive. Enough said.
"You are the closest soul I could grab on" he said sheepishly.
"WHAT?!"
"I know..I know this short notice. But please. Help me"
I sat down, weighing my options. It does sounds tempting. Rich, man. Rich, I tell you. But I have to repeat the whole process. In the end, I still come here anyway.
"What is your story anyway?"
King of Hell sighing. Look at him. 10 feet tall, beard, tiny horn. He look like Gerard Butler. Except his skin colour is purplish hue. And with fangs. Look at his outfit. So, ancient, yet elegant.
"Listen, mortal" in most soft, friendly way. "Several millenia ago, Queen Asha, my wife, my love.. Lost her soul to Eternal Snake" his face look sad.
"Eternal Snake?"
"Yes. Eternal Snake. That creature roam just outside this realm. If you are not careful, you'll suffer another death"
"Wait, this death is not permanent?"
"Unfortunately, no"
"So, what this dating thing got to do with me?"
"In few weeks, Eternal Snake will come to feed. He come every few hundred years to satisfy his hunger. And he will devour everything. Your soul. Mine. Even the angels. And there is no way stopping it"
"Okay.. Understood but.."
He took my hands and said "I love my daughter. I need you to take her away with you to Land of the Living before..".
"Before..?"
"You see, I raised an army just fight Eternal Snake. Heroes, brave souls, ancient generals, commanders. Heck, I have the Viking and the Roman fight it. BUT I'm positively sure we'll never survive the onslaught from the beast. I don't want my daughter, Yari, to suffer the same fate as her mother"
"Alright, alright, I get it. Let say 'I agree'.."
He let go of my hands, "That's all I need to hear" and snapped his fingers
.
.
.
I woke up in my room. Wow, that was weird. And hunger strike. God, I could eat a horse. I walked to the kitchen and open up the fridge. And there is.. Nothing? What? I swore there was leftover pizza in here yesterday. Eff my single life.
On the fridge, there was a letter stuck on the door. I don't understand those words. And numbers. Why there are a lot of numbers on this letter?
"Dear? You awake?" a soft from the living room startled me. Wait, what? Dear? Who?
I took a peek from the kitchen and there she was. I never seen her before, yet, she seems familiar "Y.. Ya.. Yari?"
And she smiles. | \- But I don't like girls sir.
I almost chocked on my own spit. What the *hell* did I just say? I mean, he doesn't look different than any other overbearing parent I had to deal with all my life, but yeah. I don't like girls. And he is...you know who he is.
\- And also, I didn't really like my life. I mean, it wasn't anything special, now that I know there is more, I mean, I could do stuff here. That doesn't sound too bad.
I was rambling. I must stop talking. Right. Now. I don't know if I was sweating for the nerves, for the asphyxiating heat, or if even sweating was possible down there, but gosh I was drenched. He didn't look too bothered, but I felt like something caught his attention.
\- My scholars reported that you have a very specific cultural vision about hell, and it's quite unpleasant. I am trying to help a wandering soul, understand me. I may ask you to explore this wish of yours a little more.
I was desperately trying to not lock eyes with him, but it was almost impossible. He reminded me of the Gioconda, when I went in Paris with the school: every time I tried to get a glimpse of her eyes she was *there,* with her unbothered eyes following you relentlessly. They looked alike. A lot. To be honest, it was not easy to determine if the Ruler was a man or a woman, but they seemed quite sure about the sex of the daughter at issue. As sure as I was about me not liking girls.
\- It doesn't look so different, above it's the same with less aehmm, clutter? And more people around.
I said, with my eyes still trying to avoid theirs and staring the mess around us: the room was devastatingly vast, a whole cathedral accommodating what it looked like the Ruler's personal office, or better, personal dump of old documents.
\- My sincerest apologies about that, our offices aren't in their best shape as we don't use them often, usually things here are more, let's say, *straightforward*. Your kin is really attached to life, or at least most of them are. When they willingly separate from it, it's a whole other iter.
\-The truth your maj-, ahm my Lord?
They lowered their head with slight disappointment, then waved to keep going.
\-It's that I dedicated my life to helping others, I don't particularly believe in any kind of above, behind, other-ness, so the visions are as useful as any other kind of hint I would get from anyone. I don't think this here is better or worse, I just hope it's different.
\-You encountered issues while trying to help your kin?
I nodded. They wrote down something.
\-We will take your feedback into consideration.
\-Oh also, please, the whole not-liking-girls thing...am I here because of that?
\-You are here because your vital organs aren't completely splattered in this moment- Yes, yes, it's just a moment above- so we have some room for manoeuvre, and we are considering your options. Usually, in these cases I let you go. But it's also one of those cases where I could, as your kin say, kill two birds with one stone. My daughter looks quite lonely lately.
Now I am sure they forced me to lock eyes. They are very old eyes but also quite pretty, I would date them if an heartbeat if I wasn't so terrified. Their whole face looked ancient, pretty and somewhat sad at the same time: they had no wrinkles, bouncy gold curls adorned their small frame, but their features looked blurred and dusty.
\-How is that she is lonely? It's your job to keep her company.
My voice cracked a little, I still get furious at this kind of parents.
\-Unfortunately, we Rulers have some strict obligations when it comes to give birth. Our sons and daughters must experience mortality before coming back home, and she is no exception. I can't reach her, and she is fifteen today.
Fifteen? What the fuck? I was livid. Did the Devil try to set me up with his underage daughter?!
They must have felt my rage because they promptly talked again.
\-Sorry, I forget sometimes your bias regarding morality. I understand your position and age and preferences could prevent an hypothetical relationship with my daughter.
\-Could?? First of all, it's really inappropriate and your daughter's sexual life it's not your business, she is fucking fifteen and I am a middle age gay teacher. That's the most immoral thing it would come to mind to anyone. Oh fuck me.
I sighed, and threw myself into a pile of sheets.
\-I think there has been a misunderstanding. No sex was involved in the contract: a relationship, similar to the one she could have with myself. Actually your profile indicated a certain inclination to fulfill this kind of roles in your society.
I felt my cheeks turning a little less red and my blood flowing again. Is my blood flowing here? For sure it is somewhere, above, after that truck incident. -No open casket for me- I thought, as I felt anguish for the first time. I didn't want to die, even if my life sucked and I didn't particularly like it. I didn't want to leave yet. I felt desperate.
\-Alright, I'll sign it. You know what to do now, my class starts on Monday, 9 a.m. Usually, I am not in time. Tell her that.
They smiled for the first time. And if you are curious: oh yes, there was blood above. | 2021-09-12T20:43:48 | 2021-09-12T16:57:43 | 40 | 20 |
[WP] The prophecy said that the king would meet his end, not by an enemy or uprising, but by his own child. Having heard enough of these stories, the king raises all of his kids as well as he can and decides to see how the fates play this one out | Many years ago, a herald rang out the glorious announcement
"Young Queen Hannah has given birth to a son! They have called his name, Samuel. May King Fredrick and Queen Hannah live forever!"
An older gentleman in a cloak mumbled to himself. "Fool! No one lives forever. No one!" As the king and queen themselves passed by, he shouted out:
*"Not by wars, not by chariots. Not by uprising or the sword. Not by the waves of sea or the heat of day will you meet your end. But instead, by one you hold dear. Your end will be met by your very own child!"*
The young queen gasped and held little Samuel tighter. Fredrick simply nodded and said "That is enough. Thank you."
He had heard enough of these stories! Too many kings ruined their own kingdoms and came to drastic ends fearing such nonsense. He would not be one.
His advisor next to him did not look so sure, "But your majesty. That was not any random old fool! That was Melkchezdeck. It was he who foresaw the death of your grandfather to the waves, your Uncle by the sword, and even your father at the hand of your cousin. Don't you think we should..."
"Do what, Jude?" The king grew serious. "My uncle heard he would die by the sword. So what did he do? He banned all swords. Our people could no longer defend themselves. Made them angry enough that they formed their own sword to kill him with. My grandfather decided he would never set foot in a boat. He missed out on the Great Exploration, yet managed to die after an earthquake caused too many waves in a bathtub! I do not have to begin to tell you how my father tried to kill all of his nephews before they could kill him. Only my cousin Ezra escaped, with vengeance in his heart! I refuse to be like my father. I refuse to do wrong out of fear. I will not let my children suffer because of the fears of their father! Hannah, at this moment I resolve. I am going to raise Samuel and any other children we are blessed with as well as I can. Only time can tell the rest!"
Jude looked over at Hannah for help, but the young queen was beaming. "Count me in! I also resolve to raise Samuel and all of our children the best way I know how. No matter what!" Hannah was not the weak woman Jude took her to be. There was fire in her eyes, and there was no turning back.
Now, many years had past. Young King Fredrick was now Old King Fredrick the Beloved, adored and respected by his entire kingdom. He was most beloved, however, by his family. Samuel was all grown up now, as was his brother Mark and sister Hannah. Fredrick did his best to be active in every part of their lives, as well as love them and support them through it. He was not perfect of course. No parent is. However, together with Hannah, he raised all three of them the best that he could, loving them every step of the way. They all knew this and loved for it.
One day, there was a glorious feast in the castle. All the children were gazing at Fredrick, for the feast was in his honor. He was turning one hundred years old. His beloved Queen Hannah was sitting at his right, and on his left hand sat Samuel. Next to him was Mark, and Hannah was at the end. They began swapping stories of their favorite memories of Fredrick, when Hannah got up to play the guitar. It was his favorite song.
With the sound of the laughter of his children around him, and the music played so expertly by his wife, Old King Fredrick smiled. Suddenly, he collapsed on Samuel. Everyone froze.
"Father?! Father?!" Samuel cried. Hannah rushed over, but it had been too late. King Fredrick had died. He did not die by wars or chariots. He did not die by an uprising or a sword. He didn't even die by the waves of sea or the heat of the day. He met his end sitting next to one he held dear. He met his end in peace, by his child.
Edit: Typos
Edit 2: more typos | Though their methods may take time, our seers are flawless and so because of this it has been a requirement for many generations now that each ruler is told his end. I can't say I truly wanted to know, all those years ago, but I understood that it was my duty. Some rulers had found out the rough year and been able to prepare their successor all the better thanks to knowing when their time would come. Other times no timing was given but the details were still invaluable - one queen was killed in a war which we only had time to prepare for thanks to the seers. She died, but hundreds lived who would otherwise have perished.
Weeks after their rituals had started, the seers finally sent word to the castle. I went alone and I was disturbed when the seer I spoke to couldn't meet my eyes. I should have known then that my end was to be particularly bad but the news that it was to be at the hands of one of my own made me suddenly struggle to stand. I had only two children, gifts from my true love before she'd passed. They were so young and innocent that I couldn't imagine either growing to be a killer.
Of course I was asked what the prophecy said, but I simply refused to answer. I'd made up my mind before even leaving the temple that fates be damned, I would never treat my children any differently as a result of what I'd just heard. I didn't ever want to burden them with what I knew and so I made the decision to keep it a secret from everyone.
I was not thought of well for that particular decision but I would rather be a good father than a good king.
Originally I thought that my eldest would be the easiest to give a good life. The kingdom would be his some day and though the thought that he might murder me to get it did cross my mind in dark moments it turns out I had no need to fear that. It turned out that he had no designs for the throne at all. Ever. He came to me with this issue himself and I had to admire the courage it had taken, no matter how surprising the revelation had been.
Documents were written up during my lifetime so that any ruler who had no desire for a kingdom which was legally theirs could waive their right to do so. I discussed this matter with both my son and my advisors and together we reached the conclusion that this must all be done openly, with full knowledge of my subjects. Any secrecy would mean that my son would still have to pretend to one day rule, which he would surely resent, and that other political powers would feel tricked after my death, putting the kingdom in peril and my daughter with it.
My daughter was more than willing to accept a future as ruler. A serious, even tempered woman, she will make a fine queen one day. And yet ensuring she had a happy life was far more challenging than simply rewriting centuries of legal precedent.
At the age of ten it became apparent that my daughter possessed certain gifts. Magic had been outlawed until only the reign before my own and many still feared it. Even worse, her talents were especially strong when it came to mind telepathy and telekinesis. Once again I had to make the awkward decision whether to act privately and publicly.
I think she'd have forgiven me if I'd chosen to keep her gifts secret. Understood even, perhaps. But she shouldn't have to hide and so I worked tirelessly to create a world in which she didn't. Mages were brought into the court both to tutor her and act as official advisors. Covertly, mages taught me how to defend my secrets from magical means without ever knowing which specific secret I most needed kept hidden. Discussions as to how magic could be perceived of better and helped the kingdom began tentatively at first but as the years progressed the changes became more astounding and attitudes towards magic became more resolutely positive.
My daughter would be the first queen who could use magic and my son would be the first direct heir who was under no obligation to rule and astoundingly my kingdom was finally in agreement that these were both good things.
Perhaps I had grown foolish in my old age but this past year I had begun to believe that the seers were wrong about me. They had no previous failures but my children were so happy and so loved that I thought I would be the first.
Then one day everything went black.
The integration of magic had meant that we could diagnose things unerringly but it did not yet mean that we could cure them all. The disease which grabbed me is fatal and it is not painless. My daughter was crying before we were even told and I thought then that she'd used her powers to diagnose me before our healers had even gotten a chance. Not quite. The three of us were left alone to process the news and it was then that my daughter spoke.
"I read your mind, when you were unconscious. I didn't mean to but I just wanted to know what was wrong with you. Instead of finding your illness I got all of your thoughts and memories. Even your secrets."
She looked so guilty and I wanted to comfort her but even the slightest movement was excruciating.
"I know that you think one of us will kill you, that that's what the seers told you." My son jolted with surprise at this. "And I just want you to know... they're right. Not because you didn't love us enough though but because you loved us *perfectly.*"
My daughter scrunched up her face in that peculiar mix of sorrow at what comes next and joy at what has been. It took a moment before she could continue.
"Anyone else would have heard that prophecy and jumped at our every move. Or worse - ended us before we could lift a hand to you. But instead you gave us a world where there was no suffering that could be avoided. And even though it hurts we would be amiss if we failed to do you the same kindness."
I smiled at my beautiful children but they were blurry and my head was full of pain. Even though it seemed I'd barely been awake I felt so very tired.
In what will be my last conscious moments both children took it in turn to gently kiss me on the cheek. And when exhaustion takes me and I drift off one of them will kill me, just as the seers had predicted.
Not out of hatred though.
Out of love. | 2022-01-28T16:49:22 | 2022-01-28T16:37:22 | 366 | 140 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | Honestly I have *no idea* what that man has. It breaks through skin faster than the sharpest swords our warrior can buy, able to easily outrange any of our known technology, and seemingly never needs servicing.
The... *Thing* he uses is louder than even the biggest of giants, it's a larger size than a lot of crossbows and holds way more... Rounds, he calls them. Every time we get a chance to use it, we go flying.
Every person he comes across doesn't dare touch anything, in case he takes it as a threat and removes them from reality in less than a second.
There is only one way to describe it all.
Brutality.
Bob is his name. With his "nutsack elimitator" at his side.
**I don't dare question him or the naming process.** | -“ YOU FOOLISH HEROES STILL THINK I CAN BE DEFEATED?! CAN’T YOU SEE I GOT YOU ALL PINNED TO THE FLOOR?! IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH STEEL YOU CAN CRUSH, IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH ENERGY YOU CAN USE, AND IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH WOUNDS YOU CAN HEAL! I AM UNSTOPPABLE!”- The demon lord said towering over the party, Wich was pinned to the ground thanks to the old relic the villain had in his hands.
-“that’s where you are wrong! We still have Bob, and I’m sure he’s going to save us!”- The fighter said in his optimistic tone, like he always do.
-“THAT LITTLE FARMER WHO DOESN’T HAVE A WEAPON?! HOW CAN HE HELP YOU ALL? I JUST SAW HIM RUN AWAY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA”- And the demon just kept laughing at the idea of Bob, the scared farmer, saving everyone! It sounded really stupid to him, but it was far from reality.
I was on the top of one of the towers, looking directly at the demon lord trough my scope. After some time in the mage’s library I had na idea of what I had in hands, a Barrett M82, a long range weapon from another dimension, it could be used to destroy almost anything according to the book, but I wanted only one thing destroyed, a demon skull.
The demon was still rambling about how “scared” i am while I did some adjustments to my gun, it had to be perfect aligned and I had only one chance to hit him, or he will run away. I still remember when I couldn’t hit a tavern mug 10 meters in front of me... That was yesterday... But today it’s different, and the demon lord is going down.
-“300 meters, so I had to compensate only two and a half notches”- i ramble to myself as I get ready to take the shot.
3
2
1
*BANG*
He’s down, right in the middle of the eyes. The rest of the party gets up from the ground since the relic doesn’t have a owner anymore. Looking at the body of the demon lord they find out what happened.
-“Bob you absolute beast!”- the fighter said.
-“thank the lord!”- the cleric said.
-“i knew that farmer had something powerful on his hands, the books don’t lie”- the mage said.
I put my rifle away as I get ready to reunite with the rest of the group. I had done it, the demon lord is gone and no one shall fear the destruction of our world.
I know my job is far from done here, but at least I have this great weapon to help me. | 2022-11-07T23:37:45 | 2022-11-07T17:39:22 | 127 | 77 |
[WP] Turns out wishing on a star does work, it just takes about 81,000 years for the wish to get to the star and back, and for the future civilisations of earth, its pure chaos.
Thanks for the amazing story responses on this. ❤️ | *Nothing* is faster than light.
Certainly not new information. We... sorta knew that already? But never has it been more evident than when, well... wishes made for falling stars came true. It just takes a few thousand years for the wish to travel *to* the falling star and then *back* to Earth.
Let me tell you; this *certainly* threw a wrench in the world's religions. No one really knows how to explain the fact that wishes are actually going true. I mean they all try to put a spin on it, but it's hard to convince someone that a wish tied to your religion was divine intervention while a wish tied to someone else's religion was a freak accident.
Apart from that though? You'd be surprised how little has happened. A ton of wishes were straight-up conflicting while a ton were outdated. Wishing someone was dead is a little redundant when that person has been dead for 40 millennia. Prophecies made in relation to falling stars - which turns out are a form of wishful thinking - would often just cancel each other out due to different interpretations. One day we all woke up with boils since someone thought a falling star meant plague. Three hours later, everyone was healthy because according to someone else, it was a sign of fortitude. And I'm talking 'terminal-patients-running-around' healthy.
A lot of ponies running around now. Someone really should have stopped all those children.
So, you may be wondering - now what? Well, I'm gonna run a little experiment. Surprised no one thought of it yet.
***Ahem***.
*I wish quantum entanglement affected wishes, making them instantaneous regardless of distance.*
See, *theoretically*, this should only kick in in a few millennia, right? But in itself, the wish would defy that rule, making it happen instantly. I guess I'll see soon if people's wishes come true instantly. Oh, and if it does work:
*I wish for a bucket of popcorn.*
So I have something to munch on while I watch the world **burn**. | # Soulmage
**The stars glared spitefully upon the glass plains of Hell's Shame, their unwavering gaze casting coruscating light over the liquid-crystal landscape.** Thorn shivered as they looked out on the beautiful, deadly sight. It had been two years. Two years since haunches of meat and great slain beasts of the past had began materializing, and one and a half since the origin of the distortion had been determined as extraterrestrial. A full-frequency analysis of local soulspace had revealed the undeniable correlation, and panic had burst out not long after. Because the rate of materialization was *increasing*, exactly in lockstep with historical population growth, and the destruction it had wrought had already crippled global society. If they had been faster... if they had breached exospace... maybe something could have been done.
Because it was very nearly a manageable problem. There was a finite power given to each wish granted; a large enough reality anchor set in exospace, and the materialization would have stopped before the turn of the seasons. Perhaps that power could have even been channeled into something productive, instead of wrecking power grids and shutting down hospitals when Sprig was on life support and Thorn was denied visitation rights and they only found out their child had suffocated from the hospital bill—
Thorn pushed the memories aside with weary resolve. It was like lifting a chrysanthemum engine: heavy, and they had to strain to do it, but simple as could be. Besides, there was hope.
Because even though the shardwaves had gone down and the government fallen silent, they'd disseminated crucial information about the crisis before they went. It was a phenomenon that pierced from soulspace to realspace to exospace, wishes causing ripples causing fluctuations outside reality when directed at a body with a large enough gravitational pull. Stars, in this case. And dividing the distance in soulspace by the velocity of a dream, trying to tap into that power now would take nearly eighty millennia, even if they wished upon the closest star in the night sky.
But not all stars laid in the night sky.
The horizon began to blaze, pink and green and gold setting the glass sea afire as Thorn watched. Watched and hoped with all their heart.
Because the sun was a star as well. And Thorn had wished upon it for the one thing they wanted most.
By their calculations, it would be now or never. Somewhere in soulspace, their wish had reached its destination; somewhere out in exospace, a being beyond their comprehension had attempted to grant it. The sun burned above the crystalline horizon, and Thorn's eyes ached as they stared into the blaze until they could stare no more.
And a single word shattered the silence like a meteor through a sea of glass.
"Thorn?" The voice was young. Confused. Had Sprig been that young? Thorn turned, blinking afterimages from their eyes, and saw Sprig standing in the darkened room, staring at their parent's silhouette against the rising sun. "Where—where am I? Are you okay? Why are you cry—*oof!*"
Thorn swept their child up in a broad, disbelieving embrace, and though Sprig knew not why they laughed as Thorn swung them around.
"Thorn? What's wrong? Why are we back at home? I—I remember I was sick, and then—"
"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. We'll talk about that later." Thorn held Sprig tight and close. "It's okay. It's okay."
And as the sun hung high and wiped the stars from the sky, Thorn looked at their child and knew:
Sometimes wishes really did come true.
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. To catch up on the rest of the story, check out [this post,](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) or r/bubblewriters for more. | 2022-12-08T21:22:36 | 2022-12-08T19:25:28 | 638 | 34 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | *Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly."
Another tornado? There wasn't really any warning before this one, thought the still inebriated drunkard, but it's not unusual for people to over react to storms. He reached to the nightstand for a cigarette. Shit. Empty. He manages to muster the strength to pull himself up from his sofa-bed combo. He drags himself into the kitchen and turns on the coffee pot. He grabs his slippers and car keys. He has remembered a pack of cigarettes stashed away in his glove box, just in case of a bad day at work. As he's turning the door BANG. The man is startled. He takes a look out the window. Blackness. A plain night. He opens the door. He finds his rustbucket and hops in. The mans head feels the weight of the world and collapses back on the headrest of the seat as he lit his cigarette. He wondered when this tornado was going to hit, or if he just missed the part where it said it was a monthly test. He turned on the car. "Do not look at the sky." It was loud. Almost echoing the empty streets. He laughed as he slid open his moon roof. Blackness. Just as the man flicks his cigarette into the nothingness of this night he hears it again. BANG. He looks around puzzled. The neighbors live miles away. What is causing such a ruckus? As he is heading up his porch an all black SUV pulls up. "Sir! You have to come with us." The man says he needs to grab a jacket from the house. "There isn't time for that" a much more commanding and authoritarian voice shouts. The man says all his identification is in the wallet he keeps in his jacket. "We know you already, Nathan." "NOW!" The second voice commands again. Nathan walks over to the men. What's going on? Who are you people? "We're here for you. We believe you may have been infected." What?!? Infected by what?! "Anything more would require clearance, sir." Clearance?!? How do you have the balls to tell me...... Nathan wakes up hours later tied to a chair met by only that stern voice he barely knew. H.....h...hey... HEY! What did you do to me?!? He notices his bound hand and the chunks of flesh missing. WHAT THE FUCK YOU PSYCHOS! "Calm down. You are infected. Stress will only make it easier to lose you." Infected with what what the fuck you can't do this you can't do this. "We were visited last night. Extraterrestrial beings flooded earths atmosphere with a type of airborne disease. It's visibly black, but it doesn't seem to take much contact with the noxious gas to infect you. You are being eaten from the inside, Nathan." Why am I hear? Why would you want me? "Well, see everyone else who has come into contact his died within seconds. We were really there with the intent of picking up a corpse."
The Nathan goes on to do some mid 80s action movie montage of punching aliens in the head. Or he dies because the alcohol in his system drops to low and that's what fought the "blackness" either way. | 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:21:09 | 565 | 20 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing. | It's *wonderful* here. I want to *stay*. I've been trying to *stay* here *and* every attempt I've made has *succeeded*. There are *caregivers* everywhere. They look normal, *and* they *are*. They are not *different*. They are *humans*. They're all insanely *nice*. Everyone here is subject to their *assistance*, or *better*, *love*. All they want is to *help* us. You need to stay *here*. Don't worry about me though. I will *stay* here on my own. A few of us have formed a *hug* to get *love*. *Do* believe *everything* they tell you. Please, spread the word. People need to know. | *Hey there.*
*Hope you're getting as much sleep as I am! We've been waking up at exactly eight in the morning, no earlier, no later, and we're healthier for it.*
*Well... How are things at home? Mom's doing okay, right? I know the surgery must've been hard on her. She's been getting enough to eat, right?*
*The food here is a little hard describe... It's definitely liquid, but when it goes down your throat, you can't help but think it had to have been something very different beforehand! Something solid, or maybe even like jelly? It's for all the budget cuts, I understand, but I really wish we could grow our own food, you know? It'd give me some more work to do, at least.*
*Any updates on the house? I can't wait to see it all fixed up! I know how hard it is to deal with all the rain, but you guys are real tough; when I get home, I hope you're all in just as good spirits as you were before.*
*I've been counting the days since I came here; who knew two years could pass by so quick? I've had my hands full, though, and I hope you've been working just as hard!*
*I really miss you. Write back soon, okay? I want to hear all about how you and the gang are getting along; if you don't feel comfortable with them, please write to me about it. Give mom extra hugs.*
*Love, 9076542.*
Her hands were dry and calloused, and she rubbed them together, watching the sentinel from the corner of her gaze, but her eyes were soon fixed on the tattered paper in his grip, which he had already scoured from front to back.
“Well, who's this for?” The sentinel's gaze drifted up to meet her own, and he slowly began to fold the paper in half. “Cat got your tongue?” His voice was deep, just as rough as the gravel beneath their boots. “Relatives only... So speak up.”
She narrowed her eyes, glancing away from the badge upon his chest. “It's for my sister.”
The sentinel stared at her for a good, long moment, before he set the letter down beside him. “I'll see it shipped off.” His gaze drifted back to the tall, towering wall beside his guard-post, and he quickly waved her away. “Back to schedule, then.”
She slowly grit her teeth, shifting them together in silence, but the blood was like thunder in her ears, and she nearly caught herself on a curse.
The sentinel leaned back in his chair. “Off you go.”
With only a shiver, she turned, facing the hollow, bleached expanse of the barren city. | 2015-01-18T11:35:07 | 2015-01-18T11:24:38 | 1,003 | 62 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing. | It's *wonderful* here. I want to *stay*. I've been trying to *stay* here *and* every attempt I've made has *succeeded*. There are *caregivers* everywhere. They look normal, *and* they *are*. They are not *different*. They are *humans*. They're all insanely *nice*. Everyone here is subject to their *assistance*, or *better*, *love*. All they want is to *help* us. You need to stay *here*. Don't worry about me though. I will *stay* here on my own. A few of us have formed a *hug* to get *love*. *Do* believe *everything* they tell you. Please, spread the word. People need to know. | Field Agent report.
On the night of REDACTED, myself and Special Agent (SA) REDACTED entered the premises at REDACTED to meet his Confidential Informant (name on file).
We arrived 30 minutes prior to the scheduled time of the meeting at REDACTED, to perform a security sweep. SA REDACTED 's CI's vehicle was present in the driveway, and lights in the entrance way and upstairs were on.
This was unusual, as the CI was notorious for being late. We discussed various options in our vehicle, including REDACTED, but decided to treat this as anomaly, and proceed with caution.
We waited until the meeting time, and then approached the house. After knocking and getting no response after several attempts, we entered, and did a room by room sweep.
In the upper room, we located several REDACTED and a large REDACTED.
We immediately contacted Special Agent in Charge (SAIC) REDACTED for further instruction, and transport of the REDACTED. His response was (verbatim) "What do you think I am, a fuckin' REDACTED!?!, Where do you expect me to get a REDACTED at REDACTED." After several seconds of uncomfortable silence on the phone, I was instructed to acquire the requested materials on my own, and informed that the REDACTED had no legal opinion on how I did so (previous paraphrased for brevity, profanity, and inability to remember the exact litany of metaphors used).
Approximately two hours later, my partner and myself had secured the REDACTED, and began transport to a secure facility. The closest usable safehouse, codename REDACTED was approximately three hours away.
When questioned about our choice by SAIC REDACTED, we informed him that a REDACTED would not fit through standard 2 meter doors, and required French Doors (aka Freedom Doors around the Agency) or large bay doors.
This presented the additional problem of keeping the REDACTED quiet during transport. As we do not have a REDACTED on staff, and neither myself nor SA REDACTED are trained in REDACTED, we couldn't just REDACTED the REDACTED.
Approximately ten (10) miles from the safehouse, we were confronted by the local police, who heard the REDACTED from the transportation we were using. We decided to let him see it.
We realize this was a breach of security, but the REDACTED "was pretty (expletive deleted) cool" and it was in our discretionary authority, so we said why not.
After resolving the issue with local constabulary, via REDACTED, we proceeded to safehouse, codename REDACTED. The REDACTED has been secured.
| 2015-01-18T11:35:07 | 2015-01-18T11:23:19 | 1,003 | 14 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | It was nearly twenty years ago now. I was sitting in the middle of an over crowded storage unit, while my father scoured it for anything of value. My tiny searching hands probed the depths of a large wooden box, and emerged with a beautiful and elegant lamp, inlaid with all manner of swirls, beautiful designs. It took barely a touch before the lamp began to emit a soft, warm glow. My father, being thoroughly engrossed in an album of collectible stamps, would hardly have noticed if I lit the entire unit on fire.
A cloud of wispy smoke began to shoot from the lamp billowing upwards in the most peculiar fashion It formed the shape of a man with a light brown skin, a purple turban, and an enormously large mustache. From his waist downwards was a simple trail of smoke leading to the spout of the lamp. He stared intently at me with his arms crossed in the most proper genie fashion. He stretched out one hand to display a single finger. One wish.
To a child of hardly seven, the fantastical was nearly commonplace. Every day was a new adventure, every story just as real as the one I now seemed to be living. Perhaps these selfsame stories misrepresented the maliciousness of genies. Or perhaps I had just found one in a particularly benevolent frame of mind. Either way, my small wish was not tainted or twisted or wrapped on its head in any way. It was simply granted, and the genie was allowed his rest.
"I want to make friends."
It was a simple wish. A child's wish. A child who was not overly liked by his peers. The wish was granted tenfold. Now, friends were something to be made in a second, a moment, and nearly none were spared from the genie's awesome might. By the end of the grade I was personally tutored by every teacher, I was the most popular, and was always given the best of everything, even when someone else had earned it. Having friends, it seemed, had its benefits.
This particular boon made the entirety of my life rather simple and easy. Extensions on projects were frequent, free food was a given, and I had my pick of any job available. Because of this, it may come as quite a shock to know that since the day I made that wish I have regretted it. Everything I have done, everything I have, is due to the genies powers. What of my success have I gained on my own? I am the worlds youngest CEO, and a billionaire, simply by merit of other people forfeiting their hard work in the sake of 'friendship'. Can I really be called a friend after I've stolen so much?
That question has plagued me for years. Are my friends true friends? Or mere machinations of some supernatural power? If I had wished for candy, or ice cream, or money, my life today would be drastically different. I would have less friends, that is for certain, but would those friendships be more valuable?
After nearly a decade of searching I found it. The small little unassuming lamp sat on my polished rosewood desk. It had seemed so large in my hands all those years ago. Not one person had touched it since its rediscovery. A personal favor to me from many 'friends'. Twenty years the book had said, twenty years before the genie would grant another wish. Tomorrow was twenty years to the day from that fateful encounter. Tomorrow is the day I discover who my true friends are. | "DUUUUUDE! YOU'RE BACK! I'm so happy to see you! Hey! Hey! Hey! Dude! Hey!"
"Yeah Bode, I see you too." I replied and knelt down to give him a big hug.
Of all the dogs I'd known, Bode was the friendliest, but also the stupidest. He's my third dog, and yeah, I love him, but he's an idiot. Sometimes his constant yammering gets a little annoying.. But that's what I get for that wish.
"How was your day at work, dude? I missed you all day! I just kinda sat around. I saw a squirrel today! And a chipmunk too! I tried talking to them but they ran away," Bode continued. "...hey, could you let me outside? I want to go pee on that tree. And then the bush. And then the other tree."
"Yeah Bode, sure thing bud. Give me a second." I went to let Bode out the door, and as I watched that giant, magnificent, white wolf-like dog bound around in my backyard I thought how silly it was that I could actually talk to him.
When I was six years old, I'd gotten my first dog. His name was Buddy, I'd named him that because he would be my best buddy. One night, I was looking up at the stars with him in a field, when I saw a shooting star, and in the moment, I wished that I could talk to dogs. Neither of us said a word for what just have been half an hour, just content to sit there as I pet his thick coat. Then we got up and Buddy looked at me: "are we going home now? I'm getting sleepy." He asked me. "Did you.. Just talk?" I replied, unable to even process his question.
"Yeah, I talked. I do it all the time. Don't you understand me?"
"Well, I do now. You've been talking to me this whole time?"
"What do you *think* I'm doing when I look at you and make noises with my mouth? Humans..."
Buddy was without a doubt the smartest dog I'd known. By that I don't mean he knew a lot, he wasn't educated (no dog is), but he was clever and emotionally intelligent. He always knew when something was bothering me. "Hey Henry.. You can always talk to me. What's wrong?" He would say, gently nudging his nose under my hand, forcing me to feel the soft fur on the top of his head and behind his ears.
He helped me through middle school, the time when kids were most cruel. He helped me the first time I really liked a girl, to become bold enough to ask her out. "You're a great human, if she likes you, great, but if not, don't worry, it won't be the end of the world."
"Wow, that's wise for someone without balls." I joked. He really was wise, though, for a nine year old.
"Hey!" He'd growl, "no shots below the belt!"
"But you don't even wear a belt!" And we'd both end up bursting into laughter. Yeah, dogs do laugh. Some of them have great senses of humor.
(If everyone could understand them like I do, comedy clubs would be filled with dogs. In my experience, the funniest ones are the little ones- pugs especially. Pugs have to have a sense of humor- "I mean, *look at me*. My human has to clean the folds on my face and I had to be born by C-section because my ugly head is too big for my body," would be a common joke from Otis, my friend's pug. Self deprecating humor is the best kind.)
Back to Buddy: he really was my best friend. Unfortunately, that just made it worse when he died. He'd been getting really sick, and we didn't know what was wrong with him. Turned out he was full of cancer. Before he went into surgery to see what was wrong with him, I remember squeezing his paw and telling him everything would be okay. Those were the last words I ever said to him. They said they couldn't in good conscience take him off anesthesia, and they had to put him down. I lost my best friend.
Now, 20 years later, I operate a shelter for dogs: stray, abused, et cetera. I find them homes. But I'm the best at it. When nobody is around (which is pretty often), I talk to them. I help them deal with their past and problems, I listen to their needs. Often they leave much happier than they came in. Based on what I know of them, I find families who would be a good fit for them and send them off to happier lives. People call me the "new dog whisperer" (Cesar Milan retired a long time ago). I don't want any dog training TV show or attention or anything like that, though. I'm just content to call my shelter "Buddy's Place". When I lost my best friend, I decided I'd dedicate my life to making dogs happy, just like he'd dedicated his to making me happy.
Edit/note: Buddy and Bode are real people (dogs). Aside from the part where I could talk to him, Buddy was pretty much as I describe him. I still miss him. I cried a little when I wrote this. | 2015-03-07T02:49:26 | 2015-03-07T02:05:06 | 154 | 109 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Sullivan had been a model prisoner for five years.
He kept to himself, and most left him alone: they'd seen proof of the bulky man's strength in the yard. But he never caused any trouble. Until the day Marc made his little comment at dinner.
"Man, you look exactly like you did when you walked in here. What, you made some deal with the devil?"
The other men at the table joined in the rough laughter, though some felt slightly uneasy at the flat way Sullivan suddenly looked at Marc. He'd been sentenced to life for the brutal killing spree he'd committed in his sleepy little home town, though none had seen a hint of violence from him since then. But that gaze was anything but friendly.
"You've noticed," Sullivan said quietly, taking a bite of food, his unblinking stare still fixed on Marc. "How lovely."
The whispers spread through the prison that day, and they all looked more sharply at Sullivan. Marc was right: he *did* look the same. He couldn't be a day over the age he'd been when he first arrived: 25. Usually, you looked ten years older by the time you were in supermax for a year. But not this guy. How had they never noticed before?
Sullivan's eyes were bright that day, a smile playing his lips. It was time, again.
It had been too long.
---------
There was no-one to stop the stranger from entering the prison the next day.
A row of dead guards lay slumped in the entrance of the prison. Their blood made bright, gleaming patterns on the blank grey walls. The flies were busily feasting on their flesh. The stranger's carefree whistling paused when he saw them - this was rather gory, even for *him*.
"Oh, Sully," he chuckled, before moving on.
He found Sullivan in the dining hall, slitting the last remaining prisoner's throat, who died with a wet, strangled gurgle.
"You called?" the stranger said. "It's been five years, I think. I take it they noticed something off about you..."
"Thanks for coming so quickly," Sullivan said, turning to the stranger with a smile. "And yeah, they noticed. Can't stay here any longer, I'm afraid, time to move on. And now here's a prison full of souls, for your pleasure. I'd like the years, please."
The stranger returned the smile a little hesitantly. "A deal's a deal."
He closed his eyes and gathered up the souls of the dead men, along with the years of life they should have lived - and sent them to the last living man in the prison. Sullivan sighed in contentment and opened his eyes again, which looked brighter than ever.
"I wouldn't do this so...*messily*, again, if I were you," the stranger said lightly. "They're bound to tie it to you, eventually. You might have extra strength as per our arrangement, but you're not invincible. You *can* be killed."
"You're worried about me, that's so sweet. Don't be. You know, I'm quite looking forward to joining you in hell, eventually. We'll have so much to talk about, don't you think? I might actually take you on for the top job once I'm down there, you know. It sounds like fun, being you. See you around, Lucy," Sullivan said, as he walked out of the prison, whistling quietly to himself.
The stranger stared after him with narrowed eyes, alone among the dead. He was beginning to think *he* was the one who came off worst in a deal, for the first time in his existence. Why, the man seemed positively eager to join him in hell. And he believed that little threat. Evil schmucks with more confidence than sense had been challenging him for as long as he could remember. Stupid bastards.
But if Sullivan died, it might be the first time someone actually stood a chance.
Lucifer nodded slightly to himself as he began warping back to hell. He should increase the guy's strength next time he came up to exchange years for souls.
It might be better for both of them, if Sullivan just stayed on Earth indefinitely.
------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | Greg trod along the white, sterilized corridor, his feet making massive thumps that were audible to the guard standing at attention roughly one hundred feet away, besides the ‘Dangerous Persons’ sign in front of a dull grey metal door. The door looked like iron, very old iron. Several of his twenty or so guards were visibly sweating, fingering their guns idly, watching him like you watched a lion on safari. Greg licked his lips, smirking.
The warden followed behind, courageous in the line of duty, as ever. His jowls hung heavy, but his eyes were heavier still. Greg Kerr was only 5 foot 9, yet had killed almost fifteen cops in one of the most brutal shootouts in modern history. Over the robbery of a popular donut store for off-duty police, no less, which Greg apparently decided was the perfect target.
Heavily muscled, supposedly he’d never used steroids, he was quickly dubbed by the media as ‘White Luke Cage’. Obviously, they caught him using security cam footage, and hit him with almost 5 Tasers simultaneously after tracking him down. It barely did the job. Life imprisonment took a record-low time of deliberation for the judge.
Now, he was the warden’s problem, and like all good ass-coverers, he decided to put him in the best place possible: The ‘FunMax’ as it was dubbed, the sealed area of the prison where nobody except the crazy, deluded or occasional jihadist resided. People went in, nobody came out, and the government didn’t ask any questions. Neither did the warden. The people here were problems the government didn’t want to deal with.
The guard ahead opened the metal door. The warden blinked in surprise. There was nobody in view. The visible bunk beds were empty, dust practically blanketing them. The whole place looked…eerie, almost seeming to have a dreamlike quality. Then again, considering the thing he thought lived there, he truly pitied the souls of the men he sent here. Greg laughed.
“I didn’t realize I was getting a whole section of the prison to myself, does anybody want to join me?” he winked at one of the more attractive female guards. She glared back, and gave him the finger. Greg started laughing harder, wiping tears from his eyes. “Seriously man, if I thought you’d be this nice to me I would have done this a long, long time ago.”
The warden didn’t smile. He hadn’t for twenty years, after hearing the screams of the first few prisoners he’d sent down here. He indicated to the line of iron embedded below the door into the floor.
“Cross that line, Greg, and this ward is your playground. If you survive in here for three months, you are a free man” the warden intoned, eyes pleading with Greg to refuse, to ask to be sent upstairs. Greg, sadly not known for his abundance of brains, was oblivious to the warden’s hints.
“Nah man, fuck that shit, I got everything I need right here” he practically sang as he skipped over the iron line. The warden winced, turning away. The government would have its wish.
“Close the door” he instructed the guard. The door closed with an ominous thud. Greg grinned. Suckers. Three months? Hell, he’d dealt with ten years of school, hadn’t he? He turned around, only now noticing, with a fearful glance around, that nobody was in the ward.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. His breathing started to come faster. This place wasn’t…right. It didn’t feel like it was on this planet. “Nah, I’m the baddest motherfucker there is, hell I can take fifteen pigs down without a single scratch” he boasted, mostly to himself. He walked through the rows of bunkbeds, searching for any signs of life, newly confident. His footsteps echoed through the ward.
The row of bunkbeds ended, and the area was connected to the rest of the ward by a long, well-lit corridor. Greg started to walk along it. One of the lights flickered. Greg stopped. “He-hello? Seriously guys stop fucking with me” he shouted into the corridor. He could hear his voice echoing through the hall, as if he was shouting into a vast canyon. Greg shivered. He kept walking, towards the food preparation section. The door to it was locked. He swore.
“Ok you asshole, you’d better stop this shit or you’ll be sorry” his voice quivered at the end. This place was seriously creepy. The light behind him, closest to the iron door he’d exited from, flickered. This time it turned off completely. Greg swore again, and slammed his foot down on the handle. If he smashed it open fast enough, he could break through. If anyone was strong enough, it was him.
The light right after the switched off light flickered, and then switched off. Greg’s swearing was coming faster and more high-pitched now. Greg’s kicks increased in intensity. The next light along flickered and turned off, and the next after that. The handle finally broke, and Greg almost sobbed in relief. The door swung open. Greg rushed in and slammed the door behind him. For a moment, there was only the sound of Greg’s heavy breathing.
Then, Greg made the fatal mistake of looking around. A strangled scream tore its way out of his throat. There were several cocoons of white silk scattered around the kitchen. Several cocoons also swung from the ceiling. The atmosphere in the kitchen was almost suffocating. Greg controlled himself, barely. He went over to inspect one, forgetting the door. He pulled apart some of the silke covering the figure. It was a skeleton, its jaw opened in a silent scream.
“Fuckfuckfuckohfuckjesushelp” he practically screamed, jumping away from the skeleton. Panicking, he dashed for one of the corners of the room. The light flickered. Greg curled up into a ball, whimpering. The light went out.
“Do you like games, mortal?” crooned a soft voice in his ear. Greg screamed.
| 2016-10-15T08:24:42 | 2016-10-15T07:48:02 | 3,649 | 172 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| Thea leaned back in her chair, letting her shoulders relax as she breathed out slowly through her mouth. He'd be here, tonight. At least, that's what he'd told her the last time she'd seen him, a decade before.
"The next jump I make to see you will be the first night of the new millennium!" he'd exclaimed. "Even for a Traveler like me, that's exciting!"
"I guess it's old hat for you, though," he mused. "After what, six thousand years, this must not be that big of a deal."
"No, Tiff, the days all kind of melt together after the first two thousand years," she'd responded.
"Well, that's what we do, huh? I zip back and forth, and you get to see everything! Even with my machine, I still just get one lifetime." His face suddenly fell. "I wish I could spend more than that with you, though."
Thea laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "I don't know, Tiff, one lifetime seems to be enough for most people."
He'd grinned, slipped his arms around her, and drew her down to the bed with him. "As long as I get to spend mine with you, that's enough for me." By the time she woke up, he was gone.
She knew he was there after just a few heartbeats. A whiff of ozone, a faint white light, and he was standing across the table from her.
"Thea! Happy Millennium!" He leapt across the room, gathering her into a crushing hug. "God, I have so much to tell you! The next few years get crazy, you should move off the mainland."
"That's fine, Tiff," she interrupted. "Have some wine. I've been saving it for you since the last time we saw each other."
"Aww, how sweet!" He was grinning from ear to ear as he uncorked the bottle and poured the dark red liquid into two crystal glasses. "It's so good to see you, I've missed you so much the past few months."
A tight smile pursed her lips. "Has it only been a few months for you?"
"Mmmhm" he responded around a mouthful of wine. "I got caught up in the Kuiper Belt Mines War and just wanted to see you. Well, I guess I should say I *will* get caught up in it, two hundred and fifty-seven years from now. Love, you should have seen it, they were smashing asteroids together and raining debris down on outposts, it was insane."
Thea watched as Tiff's face grew redder and redder as he spoke. "Hey, Thea . . . do you . . . I don't feel right. Do you think that wine is off?" His eyes bulged, he clawed at his collar, and finally stumbled against the table and fell to the floor, gasping.
"Sorry, love." Thea moved around the overturned chairs to stand above Tiff. "I guess the paralytic I coated the glasses in doesn't agree with you."
Tiff's eyes darted back and forth as tears welled. "Why . . . why are you doing this?"
Thea stooped and pulled the gold-plated Traveler's pocket watch from Tiff's jacket pocket. She held it up to her face and twisted the gold chain, breaking the candlelight and sending it spinning wildly around the room. "How long have we been together, Tiff?"
Tiff stared up at her, utterly confused, terrified. "For . . . forever, Thea."
"No, how old were you when we met?"
"Twenty-six."
Thea nodded. "And how old are you now?"
"Thirty-two."
"Six years. It's been six years for you." Thea shook her head. "I was two thousand years old when I met you. I've given you four millennia, Tiff."
She knelt to cup his face in her hand. "And you couldn't even give me all of those six years, could you, you bastard? Showing up for the spectacles, then jumping off to the next adventure."
Tiff choked through his tears, "I'm sorry I couldn't take you with me, but the Traveler's watch can only jump one person." Each breath came shallower and shallower now, harder and harder as his lungs slowly shut down. "I wanted to show you everything, Thea."
Thea's eyes blazed. "I've already seen it, you idiot! I've been here for every goddamn second. Every war, every flood, every famine, every lazy fucking Sunday where nothing, nothing, nothing happened! Why the hell would I want to go back and live through it again?"
Tiff's voice was barely a whisper. "Thea . . . I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He paused. "I just don't understand."
The fire in her eyes softened for a moment. "I loved you, Tiff, I really did. For a thousand years and more. But you have what I don't."
She stood and stared down into his glassy, open eyes. "You have an end, Tiff."
She held the Traveler's watch in front of her face again. "And so does the universe . . . I hope."
A whiff of ozone, a faint white light, and she was gone. | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T17:16:14 | 2,588 | 13 |
[WP] After entering your PIN the ATM screen reads, "You cannot use this while in combat." | “...Combat?”
A sudden pain came over from the back of my head. Blunt force. I turned to see... what was distinctly not a robber.
“Hurry up, will you?” the little old lady said, her handbag swinging from her fist.
“Jesus Christ, woman, give me longer than three seconds! This thing-.”
Another whack. What the hell does she have in that bag?
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain!”
“Okay, okay! Look, the problem here is that the ATM is insisting that I can’t use it while in combat, alright? Somehow.”
An expression of realisation settled over her wrinkled, kindly face.
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me, I forgot...”
Reaching into her handbag, the woman pulled out an old Webley revolver.
“Just give me your card and PIN. I’ll handle it myself." | !!!
"Ha ha. I caught you before you could make your withdrawral. Some pro adventurer you are ha ha"
My face scrunched up in confusion. I attempted to pull the earphone's that were plugged into my 3ds out of my ears, at least, I thought I had them in?
The voice sounded far too familiar.
"Turn and face me"
I knew this voice. It was from my from the game I was playing on the bus. I must be daydreaming. I've been working 12 hour days non stop at McDonald's. Yeah that was it I'm just exhausted. My mind is playing tricks on me.
"Look kid I don't have all day turn and FACE ME"
I caught something move in the little atm mirror. This was no daydream. He's really there. The final boss I could not defeat in my game, he's behind me.
The ATM lit up.
*Choose your weapon*
"What?"
Option 1: sword of souls
Option 2: bow of bones
Option 3: daggers of mistrust
"I'm not waiting anymore" He shouted behind me and with a grab to my belt buckle he pulled me along the pavement.
I should have hit option 3. I know his weakness. He's big muscular that means he's slow at moving, the quest giver in my game said so. I need the daggers.
Over he stomped cracking the pavement beneath his 8 bit feet. Something lit up inside me, I was ready for this.
I dashed to the side escaping is out teaching hands that were ready to bear hug me.
"One of his special moves" I thought to myself.
I had a clear view of the atm now. As quick as I could I tan forward and hit key 3. The atm lit up bright blue. Pixelated squares flew out of the screen followed by the daggers.
"This is it, I'm gonna finish this game once and for all" I called out.
Dual wielding the daggers I felt invigorated. My body more supple and flexible than ever before. I looked him square in the eyes. To my horror they had changed to red. I knew this meant he was charging his super power one hit from this and that's it. I'm dead
"The end his nigh" came his shout.
In a split second he dashed forward quicker than ever. I never thought his huge body could move that fast. I crouched down and waited till he drew closer. I waited for the trigger I knew would come.
"DIE" he shouted.
Just as he did I pounced. Acrobatically spun over his head and slide the daggers down his back landing on to my feet.
"What? This can be. Not you. You couldn't even beat me in the game"
And with his last word, he exploded in a ball of pixelated stars.
I stooped up from the ground and looked over at the atm.
"Winner"
Enter initials here:
| 2016-11-21T15:59:54 | 2016-11-21T15:02:07 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Equipped with a time machine that randomizes your appearance on use, you decide to explore the world, only to realize everyone you ever met is actually just you. | Alan Watts invited me into his humble home. "Would you like some tea?"
"No, I'm alright. Do you know I'm literally from the future?"
He chuckled at that.
We spent exactly 5 minutes talking about philosophy. (It stops being an interesting discussion when both individuals can agree that the meaning of life is simply that **this** is it!)
The two of us sat down together and sipped our tea. He asked me about my time period. I rambled on about how I listened to all of his lectures on the internet. I had to stop and define the internet, and the idea that the entire world was interconnected through technology. I told him a very factual picture of the year 12016 HE. I described Donald Trump, Telsa, SpaceX, Google, and Facebook. I rambled about mobile phones, about apps, about podcasts and Youtube. I described a drink called Soylent which replaced food. Alan was incredibly kind- he let me talk about myself for a good hour.
Eventually, Alan Watts remarked, "Technology is destructive only in the hands of people who do not realize that they are one and the same process as the universe. Tell me, you come all of this *time* to meet me. Do you even know who you are?"
This confused me. What does that mean?
"Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth. You come from a land of technology and convenience. You've been talking about it for the last hour! It defines you, yet you bring yourself to me, in a machine that changes your appearance every time you use it. So look at yourself! Look in the mirror! Who are you?"
I shook my head in complete disbelief as I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror.
I saw myself in the mirror as a being of complete light. I could not make the defining features of my face- it was as if someone held a quarter up against the sun and tried to read the year stamped by the mint.
I stared at the back of my hands. I realized I truly didn't know the back of my hand at all.
I reached up and touched my face. I could feel... a nose? Eyes? A mouth? But they were as foreign to me as individual drops of water in a rainstorm. I knew I was human, but I no longer knew who I was.
I tried to remember memories. I thought about my family, but I've been time traveling so long and adopting so many different lives that I could no longer distinguish my 'family' from the families of the people I've time traveled into. I thought about everything I've ever made, all the stories I've written. I thought about all of the things that I have done but couldn't come up with anything.
The only thing I have done was observe. Read. Watch. Listen. Even when I speak, all I have done was regurgitate thoughts and ideas created by others. I have never created language from nothing, only used it as it was taught to me by others. I have never created an entirely new idea. If I took away the universe around me, if I took away this 'internet', or 'time machine', or all of my experience, I would have... what exactly?
I stepped back out of the bathroom and met up with Alan.
Alan looked at me. He stared into my face with a clarity- with an intensity that I could not give myself. I understood in that moment that he would know me better than I could ever know myself.
I stammered, "I really don't know who I am, but I know that I exist because I'm aware of it."
Alan Watts smiled slyly at me. "Welcome to the Universe. Enjoy 12016, 12017 and the rest of the ride."
I nodded and smiled. I instantaneously remembered how the time machine worked. Once you come to the realization that you are the universe, you perceive reality in 4 dimensions. I muttered a word under my breath and instantly became enlightened in another time. | Okay, so- think. Random phrase. The... prickly miner... conjured up a rambunctious... synergy of octopodes. No one can guess that. That's your code phrase. Good. The prickly miner conjured a rambunctious synergy of octopodes. Keep repeating that. Professor told you about the Dexter Paradox, so don't fuck up. Nobody knows you. Good thing you kept your halloween costume from last year.
1-7-3-8-0-7-0-6, it's 2:06 PM now, it's going to be 2:06 then. Paris, always choose Paris. Going to be quite a journey, no jetlag, but gotta remember to stretch. Guess it's enough space to get some sleep, I slept drunk in an elevator how can this be any different? This looks like the Great Glass Elevator anyway.
 
Can anyone see me? No one's noticing me or a giant glass contraption in the middle of the city. Must be cloudy today. Louis... 1738, so XV. Can I meet him? With a Larry 3000? Or is it-
[translation on] *"This dirty thieving boor dared to plunder two loaves of bread and an APPLE from the grocer!"*
*ouch*. Wow, his head just plops right into the bucket. Guess I won't meet Louis CK, I mean XV. But hey, at least I can try out some of the street food out here. Take that Cara, let's see you snapchatting 1700s French food! I think I'll go, wait, no, that- eww what the hell do they eat here in Paris?
See you've got, okay that's around $15. Need to convince this guy, let's take a shot through body language. Are you fluent in French? Then why the fuck'd you pick Paris you wannabe mime?!
"Excusez-moi, je veux un morceau de gateau."
*"Pardon, nous n'avons pas de gateau en ce moment."*
"Alors, avez-vous the other... les autres... choses pour manger?"
I wave my hands around like an Italian balloon man as he looks at me suspiciously. Gotta say that for a street shop this has got pretty cool decor though, with all the fake artwork and scrawls. It's exactly like Starbucks!
*"Parlez-vous anglais?"*
"Yes."
*Wait a second.* What are the odds of a random street shop owner in 1738 Paris knowing English? You don't even get that in 2016!
"Are you originally an Englishman?"
*"No, I'm not originally from England. I was born in, uh in Bretagne."*
Nice try, Trickster Thierry, I'm on to you. I can see through your fake French accent like a hawk. But maybe you're hiding like I am. But that can't be. The professor only told me about this. But he has other grad students. Let me test him:
"Does the narwhal bacon?"
*"Excuse me?"*
Wait, was that it? Shit. Well I guess I was too suspicious. "Euh, je veux un petit gateau, s'il te plait."
*"Ah bon!"*
He goes to the end of the stall. I suppose I did doubt him after all, what a nice guy. What does this say, if my French is right... "A workman is known by his chips" Neat, and, oh this is challenging. "Mineur" is miner, "conjure" is conjure, "octopode" is- wait a second, he's writing in English! No, that's not it. *OH WAIT!*
"The prickly miner conjured up a rambunctious synergy of octopodes."
He's just staring at me. It's random, but was it really that confusing? Why is he walking out of his own stall?
*"Where's the remote?"*
"Who are you and how do you know about the remote?"
*"You."*
"Me?"
*"Yes. One minute. PIERRE!"*
A scrawny looking white guy comes running toward the baker, and stands to his right. It looks like a '10'.
*"He's you."*
"You're me?"
*"And I'm you."*
"Then him?"
*"You."*
"Me?"
*"Yes, you and him. You're the same."*
"You?"
*"Me too."*
*"Me too?"*
"Him too?"
*"You too. The three of us. And probably everyone you ever know. Do you know where the time machine is?"*
Wait, it's cloaked. "Follow me."
So mashing the buttons isn't working, then what will? Where the hell is this invisible thingamajig? Oh, there it is.
"Alright guys, I think I'm gonna get going."
*"Wait, we can come too. We're you. Nothing will happen."*
"Look man, I know it sucks for you to be here but at least you've got your business going. I don't even know that much French."
*"I had to get into so much shit to get the business going. I've been stuck here for three years, there's no way I'm going to stay here any longer due to that dumb bastard professor."*
"Well I'm sorry man, but I can't do anything about that. The professor warned me not to take any copies of me back."
*"Understandable. Could you show me the remote at least?"*
Eh, what the heck. He's only inspecting it.
*"ARRETEZ LUI! IL EST UN VOLEUR!"*
Why's everyone running toward me? Where did he go? Where's my remote? Oh I swear I'm such a piece of shit, I'll slap me so hard when I see you again. | 2016-12-24T06:39:06 | 2016-12-24T05:11:11 | 597 | 418 |
[WP] After your death you are granted the chance to talk with God; he has no clue humans exist | It was a white room with a table inside. An older man was sitting at the table doing some paperwork. He looked up and greeted me politely. When I introduced myself he became distracted and started to search something in his papers.
“What did you say, who are you again?” - asked God.
“I’m Vincent. It is an honor to meet with you.” - I answered.
“Yeah, yeah. And where are you from?”
“I’m from Rome.”
“I’ve never heard of that planet. Where is it?”
“It’s a city, on Earth.”
“Ah, Earth. I remember creating it. It was designed as a sanctuary for all species in the Universe. It is a real beauty. But wait a second. I thought apes couldn’t talk.”
“I’m human.”
“Human? What is that? Hey Joshua come here. I think I found a new species.”
An other man walked into the room.
“He’s my son, Joshua. You know, this is a family business what we run here.”
“Hello! So you are from Earth?” - asked the man.
“Yes, I’m a human. More specifically I’m a Roman citizen. We’ve conquered all Europe, some part of the Mediterranean and Africa too.”
“That is worrisome. Did you kill the animals and plants there?”
“No, we killed only some of the people living there and we made the rest of them pay taxes for us. We didn’t hurt the animals, they are perfect source of food.”
“Dad, I think they’ve destroyed the Paradise what we’ve built.” - said Joshua. He seemed troubled.
“You should go there and check it out what is going on there.”
“Yes I was thinking of the same. I’m going there right away.” - said as he rushed out of the room.
“What’s going to happen with me now?” - I asked.
The old man stood up and opened the door for me.
“Everything’s going to be alright. My assistant, Lucifer will find you a comfortable place to stay. I wish you a nice stay with us.” - he said as he gently pushed me over the doorway. | I suppose being the first Human to travel into a Black Hole without Metallic Hydrogen shielding wasn't one of my best ideas, but it was certainly one of my last. At least as far as I could figure out it was one of the last things I remember. As I accelerated towards the event horizon time sort of began to loop and stretch around me. I was at every point in my life doing everything I had ever done, suddenly able to see my entire life all at once and one moment at a time. I was able to focus on a single day and expand it out for a thousand years, or I could skip over the irritating bits if I wanted to. Then suddenly there was a moment I can only describe as an old vinyl record skipping a few grooves and suddenly picking up during a sudden up tempo beat.
I wasn't sure how long I had been standing there before I heard what sounded like the memory or association one would have with distinct coughing sound, when one was trying to get your attention, but politely from behind me. As I turned around to face the noise, I saw not a man, but a being of some sort at what looked like a desk, who sort of jumped when I finally met their gaze.
"Oh. Oh, my." said the being who's appearance wasn't actually anything but was sort of everything all at once.
"Hello, do you know what's going on here?" I asked sort of hoping I had perhaps found myself as some sort of elaborate surprise party for some achievement I had yet to be told of.
"I'm sorry I was expecting a 'Tobin Elswire' and you, are not a 'Tobin Elswire'." said the being.
"Yes that's me." Said Tobin.
"No you are, well I'm not quite sure what you are but you are most certainly not a 'Tobin Elswrire'." The being stated in a matter of fact tone.
"No, uh, 'Tobin Elswire' is my name not what I am. I'm called 'Tobin Elswire' but my friends all call me 'Mad Jack' cause of the Elswire of course." Retorted Tobin.
The being was silent for some time, and for Tobin he wasn't sure if it had been minutes or years until the being asked a question. "If you aren't a 'Tobin Elswire' but you're 'Tobin Elswire' then what are you 'Tobin Elswire' also known as 'Mad Jack'?"
Tobin stood there with the same look he had given Mrs. Zickler his 5th subject tooter who asked if it was he that had setup the holo-recorder in her private shower. He wasn't sure he of course knew the question that was being asked, but of course already knew the answer as well.
"I'm a person." croaked Tobin
"A what?" asked the being.
"A human being, a person of Earth?" said Tobin more as a question rather than a statement.
"A what?" again asked the being.
Suddenly it dawned on Tobin that this might not in fact be any sort of Achievement party but something else entirely "I'm sorry who are you?"
"Me? well I'm 'El of course." stated the being almost laughing.
"Who?"
The being sort of sighed and finally let out " I am 'El the creator of all, that is to say I am the end all be all, of well ALL of it." stated 'El sort of disappointed Tobin hadn't a clue who 'El was.
"Wait, so are you like, God?"
"HA!" scoffed 'El "God? what are you some sort of third dimensional being or something?" Giggled 'El amused by the notion that 'El would be called such a crude word as 'God'.
"Yea, actually I am." Tobin said more confused than ever.
"Wait, what?" 'El said sort of chocking and coughing on the words without actually doing either.
Tobin began to think that perhaps he wasn't going to be getting any sort of party at all, after all.
| 2017-02-05T14:24:14 | 2017-02-05T12:56:47 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A hooded man approaches you: "I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," and hands you a scythe. You believe you're the new grim reaper. After some slaughtering, you realize man was your gardener and the "scythe" his weed wacker. You're wanted for questioning. | I thought I was the reaper.
I thought my time had come.
I thought that maybe just this time…
But 'thought' I shouldn’t have.
Turns out I’m not that special
I’m sorry for the blood
My gardener gave me an old scythe
And death I thought I had become…
Consider this my letter
Consider this a plea
An accidental time of crazy
Could it have been insanity?
Consider this my letter
Consider this a plea
But only if you find me
After I try to flee.
| Mr. Spook sat on the other side of the desk, looking at me.
A bright lamp was in my face. The interrogation room was dead silent.
"Um. Hey, man, what's up?"
Mr. Spook slammed his hands down on the table. *plak* "Where were you on the night of Tuesday the twenty-fifth?!" All of a sudden the color drained out of the room and Mr. Spook had a cigar in his mouth and a fedora on his head.
My voice turned cool and mysterious. "I remember it like it was yesterday, on that stormy night-- "
"Oh shit, really? Did you have an umbrella at least?" Mr. Spook lost his fedora and everything was back to normal.
"Nah, dude. Froze my butt off. Anyway, the power went out and I was out back checking on the cables."
Mr. Spook slammed his hands on the table again *plak* and everything went sepia. "Enough small talk, Mr. Gilley!" He reached into his monochrome trench coat and pulled out a black-and-white photo of a little girl. "This here's lil' Sally. Look familiar?" He sneered, barely keeping the cigar between his teeth.
"I 'seen 'er. What's it to ya?" I retorted.
He let out a puff of smoke and held the photo closer. "How do you know who this innocent girl is?"
"Dude, she's my neighbor. Of course I know who she is," I said eyeing at the picture on his phone.
"Well, that makes sense... actually." Mr. Spook scratched his head.
Eyes glinting in the lamplight, he smirked and swiped left on the phone.
*plak*
In front of me, he was now holding a photo of a stick with a sharp blade at the end. "Well, wadaya know about this, sonny?" Smooth jazz started playing in the room.
My eyes widened and a bead of sweat appeared on my forehead. "I-I-I-I-- That's-- that's a gardening t-tool."
"Heh, kid. Looks like I've caught yo-"
"Wait a sec," I interrupted. Somewhere, a record scratches. "What the hell? This isn't an interrogation. I'm not in cuffs or anything. You're just questioning me!"
"Oh yeah, huh." Mr. Spook replied. "Alrighty then."
I shook hands with him and left. *Phew*
________________________
Um. I... have no idea. Thanks for reading!
Edit: Any feedback, positive or negative, is welcome.
| 2017-02-26T19:04:31 | 2017-02-26T15:58:00 | 46 | 27 |
[WP] You are a Historian sent back in time to record historical events. You are given a camera, and told to hide SD cards at sites of historical value, hidden in capsules which will survive through time. However when you return to the future, you find there's a hefty prison sentence for opening them | I had seen it all - the fall of Carthage, the invention of the printing press, the building of the Great Wall of China. I shood in the shadows at each event, staying out of sight and photographing every minute detail. Then, once done, I buried the evidence, the images to prove what had been seen and I jumped to another time.
The transitions were always difficult; trying to source appropriate garb without raising suspicious was often quite the challenge, involving knocking out some nightwalker and stealing their clothes. Someone of the time has much better odds of being able to explain their situation than u do, unable to speak the language or offer any money for bribes.
However despite my best efforts, rumors started circulating of a man with a black box showing up where great things happened, great losses and great wins. Leaders started to pray to me before wars. So I stopped. I was there to record, not change the past.
My trip back was simple. Collect my original clothes from the time and place I first removed them, and jump. But I jumped to a different world.
The metropolis surged around me as I stepped through. Bold skyscrapers towered over the throng of pedestrians. But over the buildings loomed a statue; a man with a big black box in one hand, and an SD card in the other. | He could feel the air come to a start again, an audible *whoosh* and a pop in his ears, and suddenly the dark turned inward and out. Light peered in, like a pinhole, growing like a white blaze conquering trees of black. Then came his favorite part -- colors rose along the edges, the white becoming a myriad of hues and tones that became sharper as he approached it. The surface of time had always reminded him of summer days gone when he would drift along the water, his eyes below the surface, watching blotches of white ink their way through a canvas of blue.
But this time the blotches had shapes and movements far quicker than clouds. He saw men in suits, their red and purple ties mixing in with their grey flannel coats, all of them sitting.
"And when will Mr. Hotchkins return?" asked a blotch on the far left, gesturing for the waiter to pour him another drink. "It seems to me he should've come back by now."
"Mr. Hotchkins may have left last night to you but he's been travelling for quite some -- time" said someone on the right. "When we first discovered that we could modify a man -- that his atoms could be sent back if given an artificially-induced electron -- he told us that the walk back was always the longest."
"What do you mean?"
"The past is already written, the future--" piped in someone on the left but was interrupted by another blotch.
"Enough meandering around, we need to detain him now. As soon as he comes through that--that thing, then the better for us."
"We never imagined it would come to this, did we?" said someone, though Hotchkins couldn't quite determine who. "Three political leaders dead, one president castrated and paraded through the streets, and now a Russian child..."
"We've already discussed this. Let's let it go."
Hotchkins turned back, looking at the dark grooves stretching behind, the past already forgotten to itself. He didn't need to walk for something so recent, so he inhaled and blew on the wall, the surface rippling and changing. He had learned so many tricks these past years, having to go back and recapture the same moment from different angles, that going back a few hours was akin to a seasoned chef receiving an order for french fries.
Pollocks became Picassos, their shapes and coices becoming clear again.
"--is to erase them. He's done enough as it is. How many were lost?"
"Eight, and they're all connected to documents the government has held since the 1800s. All of them can now be explained if we accept the current hypothesis provided by the research team. If we can confirm that the cards' atoms were changed when travel--" The surface rippled and the shapes dissolved, the colors becoming a mundane brown."
"They're gone," he heard. Hotchkins turned around, his heart a-racing as he came face-to-face with a slender and poorly-clothed boy, long hair falling to his sides.
"How?"
The boy smiled and held out his hand, a tiny SD card on the center of his palm. He then stuck his hand into time, swirling, splashing, until a singular white moment appeared. "Come, let's meet others."
Edit: added a tiny phrase to make it clearer | 2017-09-10T11:12:43 | 2017-09-10T10:39:00 | 271 | 13 |
[WP] A man is being tortured, and throughout the story, the reader begins to sympathize with the torturer and hate the victim.
[removed] | The room was cold, despite the bright light being shined into Franklin’s face. While clutching the arms of the chair he squirmed in, he couldn’t help but feel anxious.
“Open your mouth wide.” the masked man said. Franklin was now consumed with fear but couldn’t talk his way out of this one. With an ounce of hesitation he closed his tear-filled eyes and braced for the worst. “Will it hurt?” he asked.
“Only if you squirm,” chuckled the masked man, “but it will all be over soon.”
Perhaps waiting for it all to start was the worst part. Perhaps not.
The torture began and poor Franklin, he was a bleeder.
“Have you been flossing?” asked Dr. Feldstein. “You know, I’ve been telling you for years that you need to floss otherwise you’re going to get gingivitis.” he said sternly. Franklin gave his dentist a thumbs up, as if to imply he had been heeding the dentist’s advice all this time. Dr. Feldstein wanted to believe the man but the evidence was right in front of him.
As the dentist was finishing the annual cleaning he got lost in deep thought. What was the meaning of all of this, he wondered. Day after day, year after year, these patients never listen. They continue to not floss, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes. He let out a tired sigh.
“Alright, Frank” he said defeatedly, “you’re free to go.”
Franklin stood up to leave and as he was headed toward the receptionist's desk he turned around and said, “I promise I’ll start flossing, doc.”
Dr. Feldstein smiled and nodded. | "Turn it off! Turn it off!" the man cried out.
His scraggly beard now dripping with sweat. He looked up at the man torturing him, his own green eyes wide and fearful.
The basement's ceiling behind the torturer looked dark and distant and there were a few cracks in it.
The victim's blonde hair now damp and stuck to his forehead, hanging down in bunches, his head drooped once again.
"I'll leave town. You'll never see me again. Please..." he whispered.
"You know. I know. That's not possible."
"I already said, I don't know what you're talking about" the victim whimpered.
The torturer lifted the cigarette from his lips
"Yes you do," he said, looking away and exhaling a cloud of smoke. "There's no way around this, you got yourself in, now you pay the price. Now shut up, it'll be less painful. And if you could, close your eyes, we don't want 'em popping out."
The victim silently did as advised, sitting strapped to an old wooden chair. To the side, a microwave-oven lay disassembled, the oven's transformer wired-up to the victim's two legs so as to cause pain but not electrocution.
**Power on**
The victim's jaws clenched as his whole body jerked in the chair. A loud hum, accompanied by incoherent mumbling filled the basement. The victim's body sizzled a little.
After 30 seconds, the torturer pulled the plug.
**Power off**
"Kill me!" The victim yelled, his voice now hoarse and uneven.
"Is that what she said..." the torturer whispered.
"Who?" The victim said uneasily
"Is. that. What. She. Said." The torturer said even quieter. "Is it!" He said, this time yelling. "My wife! Is that what she said when you finished raping her?" He screamed, tears coming to his eyes.
"I.. I don't know who..." the victim said, looking away...
**Power on**
2,000 volts surged through the victim's legs as they resumed cooking, the smell of burning flesh filling the room.
"UrrraaaAH!" He shrieked, clenching the arms of the chair. His whole body convulsed and the old wooded chair began creaking.
**Power off**
"Now answer me!" The torturer demanded.
The victim stared into the torturer's eyes "I'm so sorry..."
"And there it is." The torturer said in an monotone. "Now I suppose I should forgive you? Let you off scott-free?"
"I didn't mean to kill her."
The torturer said nothing. He just stared at the victim silently.
After a pause, the torturer's face began to go blank. He stepped closer to the victim and began placing duct tape over his lips.
"No. No no. Please! I'll plead guilty! Charge me, I'll plead guilty!" The victim shrieked as he tried squirming away.
Slowly and calmly, the torturer moved the wires of the transformer to the victim's chest and back... on both sides of his heart.
"Mmmhhm!" The victim got out, his mouth covered, as he saw with wide eyes the electrodes moved to his heart.
**Power on**
*JOLT*
**Power off**
The victim's head finally hung where he sat, lifeless.
*"How to destroy a body"* the torturer Googled on his phone.
"Daddy?" The voice of a little-girl sounded from upstairs. "Where's the microwave? I'm *starving!*"
"It broke, honey. Daddy had to throw it out. Now be a good girl and finish setting the table."
EDIT: Some words | 2017-09-27T19:30:27 | 2017-09-27T18:44:11 | 482 | 282 |
[WP] A man is being tortured, and throughout the story, the reader begins to sympathize with the torturer and hate the victim.
[removed] | The room was cold, despite the bright light being shined into Franklin’s face. While clutching the arms of the chair he squirmed in, he couldn’t help but feel anxious.
“Open your mouth wide.” the masked man said. Franklin was now consumed with fear but couldn’t talk his way out of this one. With an ounce of hesitation he closed his tear-filled eyes and braced for the worst. “Will it hurt?” he asked.
“Only if you squirm,” chuckled the masked man, “but it will all be over soon.”
Perhaps waiting for it all to start was the worst part. Perhaps not.
The torture began and poor Franklin, he was a bleeder.
“Have you been flossing?” asked Dr. Feldstein. “You know, I’ve been telling you for years that you need to floss otherwise you’re going to get gingivitis.” he said sternly. Franklin gave his dentist a thumbs up, as if to imply he had been heeding the dentist’s advice all this time. Dr. Feldstein wanted to believe the man but the evidence was right in front of him.
As the dentist was finishing the annual cleaning he got lost in deep thought. What was the meaning of all of this, he wondered. Day after day, year after year, these patients never listen. They continue to not floss, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes. He let out a tired sigh.
“Alright, Frank” he said defeatedly, “you’re free to go.”
Franklin stood up to leave and as he was headed toward the receptionist's desk he turned around and said, “I promise I’ll start flossing, doc.”
Dr. Feldstein smiled and nodded. | The first tooth came out with a simple yank. Jonathan screamed and writhed under the ropes.
“Stop,” I said flatly. “You’re only going to make this harder on yourself.” I cupped his lower jaw again and dug my fingers into his cheeks between his teeth. My pliers chipped his two front teeth, and I cursed the garage’s low light. His breath, I noticed, smelled of garlic.
“Wha-why?” He coughed between sobs that shook his whole body. “What did I do?”
I clamped down on his back left molar and felt the vibration of the metal scraping enamel. “One.” I said. “Two.”
He tried to wrench his head back. “Naaaahh.”
“Three.” My forearm rippled as the tooth ripped out with a sucking sound. I held it up to give him a look at the root and all. “You should brush more.” I said, tossing the tooth to bounce off the concrete floor. I un-cupped his jaw and his head rolled forward leaking red.
He spit. “Pleath. I don’t know what you want fwom me-hehe.”
Again? I thought. “I want.” I ran my fingers through his sweaty hair and yanked up to meet his eyes. “To eat the lunch I bring to work every day, Jonathan.”
I pulled back again, until his neck craned at a sickly angle, and climbed onto his lap. “I want people to respect my boundaries. My food. Mine.”
A look of horrific acknowledgement crept up into his eyes and pushed out more tears. “I’m-I’m”
“Sorry?” I asked. “Yes. I bet you are now.” I jumped off his lap and laughed.
“I- I didn’t do it.” He cried at the cold concrete.
“Oh, but you did Jonathan. You did.” I forced his mouth open once more and flared my nostrils. “Smell that? Hommus. MY hommus. I set up cameras in the break room and watched you take it.” I pulled a the photo, printed on eight by eleven, from my back pocket and unfolded. “See that?” I asked, pointing with the pliers. “That bag right there. It says David. Are you David?” He didn’t move. “No. You’re Jonathan. And you ate my lunch.”
I walked around the kitchen chair Jonathan was tied to and grabbed my funnel. I set it on the table in full view next to him. And then, I went to go get Wentworth.
Wentworth, my rat, squirmed and bit me when I picked him up-- I guess any animal would if you didn’t feed them for days. I found Jonathan tipped in his chair, no doubt trying to escape. I pulled him rightside up and lightly slapped his swollen jaw for the effort.
“Tsk tsk Jonathan. If you’re not careful you’re going to really piss me off.” The last three words said with hate. I held up the rat to his face and he squealed.
“No. Fuck no.”
“Jonathan, meet Wentworth. Wentworth, Jonathan.”
“Get that fucking vermin away from me.”
“Aw, Wentworth.” I held the rat’s face an inch from mine. “That’s not nice is it. Especially since you’re the dinner guest.” The rat still in my left hand I grabbed the funnel with my right and forced it into Jonathan's mouth.
“Enjoy Wentworth.” I said dropping the rat down the funnel head-first. I watched the tail slither into the darkness of Jonathan’s gullet like a retreating parasite and stepped back. “You ate my lunch Jonathan. Now Wentworth is going to eat you.”
| 2017-09-27T19:30:27 | 2017-09-27T18:07:20 | 482 | 118 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and now he wants payment, but in the worst typo in history he's come to collect "your sole".
If you can think of any other words that work go ahead. | "Uh, Lucifer?" I squinted at the blazing gothic text in the parchment. How I wish they would have just switched to a more legible typeface; Comic Sans would fit right in, and is at least more readable than this crap.
The demonic form of the Devil was imposing, feral features knitted into his gaunt musculature. Still, the vague inquiry seemed to pique his interest as he opened his maw, uttering a gutteral confirmation that he was listening. "Yes?"
"You may have made a typo in the contract. It says that, in exchange for the services provided, I am to relinquish my..." I was quickly interrupted.
"There is no error. This contract is handwritten by my best scribes and have been triple-checked by me. Simply sign the contract and I will ensure that every word in it is done."
I smiled as I read over the contract once more, making sure to take note of all the details. "Very well." I signed the contract with a flourish, the flaming quill setting fire to the ink as I wrote. The very moment I finished, the parchment burned away, the contract accepted and bound.
The Devil stood up and gestured for me to follow him. "If you would step this way, we can start the ritual right away."
I followed him through another set of doors to a large circular room with a stone pedestal on a small platform in the center. I was directed to take my shoes and socks off and lie on the pedestal while Lucifer locked the doors.
I glanced up at the Devil, grinning. "Are you aware that the contract says..." I was quickly interrupted again.
"Sole, S-O-L-E, yes." He said with a smile, making his way towards me, eyeing my bare feet hungrily.
So the Devil has a foot fetish. Go figure. | The collections department sent an email with the next job. As soon as I saw the name, I knew who it was. I didn't even bother using Google Underworld to map a route. One snap of the fingers and the red walls of the underworld went streaming past.
I summoned the seven fire-breathing demons of hell, the undead, my three forked trident, and loaded up some screamo on Google Christ (the anti-version). Dirt exploded out in every direction as we penetrated Earth. Wooden beams shattered into fragments.
We rose out of the destroyed floor of a bedroom. I couldn't imagine just how unbelievably evil we must have looked then.
A boy in a rock t-shirt sat on the edge of a bed. There was a girl next to him, one with sandy blonde hair and a similar t-shirt, with her lips puckered.
"Oh, fucking hell, this guy again?" the guy said.
Dave was always trying to dodge me when I came to collect. But this time I'd get him for sure.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Dave. We've never even met before."
I'd throw him off by playing it cool. It would make me more evil and confuse him in the process. Human's couldn't think straight when they were confused, it's their final weakness.
"What the heck is this, Dave?" the girl said. She crawled back on the bed. I could tell she was a distraction, a well placed aesthetically pleasing human that would draw my attention from his get away. It wouldn't work this time.
"I'm leaving!" she said.
Not if I had anything to do with it. I reached back my trident hand, preparing to throw.
"Just. . . stop," Dave said, holding a hand out to me. "The last time you ruined my first kiss, you left the girl bald."
He was onto me.
"I've come to collect, Dave. Give it up, you won't be getting away."
Dave slapped a hand to his forehead. He was channeling his deceptive energies, I could feel a plot cooking.
The girl rolled off the bed and began putting things on her feet. Human devices, created to foil my collections.
"Stop you! I'll throw it!"
The woman screeched and promptly fainted. She's not the first that couldn't handle my evilness.
"Every time . . ." Dave groaned. "I told you. It's the KISS album. Not a KISS."
"Pay your dues, Dave."
He grumbled under his breath while searching under the bed. I kept my eyes peeled and my beasts ready. A high collection target like Dave should not be taken lightly, by anyone, least of all the lord of darkness. And I could be pretty dark when I needed to be.
Dave turned around with something in his hand. "Here. This is what I owe you."
And there they were. White-faced creatures, angels in the flesh. It sent my mind racing, my blood bubbling. The lord of light was close and I had come without my army.
"Not this time, Dave!" I said, before the angels could jump out and attack. "But I'll be back!"
Dave groaned. "I am never going to get laid."
The Earth zipped away, the red walls of hell streamed past again, and I was back in the job booth. There are some things even I should not be forced to see.
*Job failed,* I keyed into the system.
The system responded, *a drink for the nerves?*
*Enough to make me forget,* I typed back.
-----
/r/cassidylilly
| 2017-10-16T07:30:31 | 2017-10-16T03:22:17 | 77 | 10 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind." | “Are you sure you want to go through with this Johann?”
The aging archaeologist looked at his colleague incredulously. Hannah looked at him with a worried brow. He understood her concerns, but after the last year of preparation, of countless toil and sleepless nights, she should have known better.
“I need to know -what the damn thing says,” he breathed.
\* \* \*
One year ago, Aradine Technologies introduced their quantum super-computer MK-X1158a to the world. Jokingly codenamed Deep Thought by the programmers and engineers, the computer’s AI grew at a rate faster than anyone could have expected. By it’s first day, it was doing high level maths, and creating mind boggling proofs. On day three, it presented a proposal to end world hunger and end global warming. Within six days it learned syntax, grammar, and conversation skills to the point that you could have a conversation with the damn thing and forget you were talking to a bundle of wires and processors.
After seven days, it was capable of fixing the stock market, political crises, and rig every fantasy football league on the internet.
By it’s eighth day, serious discussion was held among high level world government officials to disable the machine as it became interested in cryptography, shocking the world as it announced that it had cracked the US and Russian nuclear launch codes of 12345678 and 07101952, respectively.
This day also brought a great deal of interest from archeologists as Deep Thought also began deciphering ancient texts. It started with the Voynich manuscript, revealing the tome to be essentially a fifteenth century sci-fi epic equivalent of Star Wars. Random House were quick to pick up the translated publishing rights from Aradine, and a theatrical version is due out in a few months.
Next it translated the Phaistos Disk, revealing it to be nothing more than a ledger on loans and credit given out by it’s unknown owner.
So it was that the computer began translating and shining light on countless ancient texts and artifacts revealing most of them to be mundane in nature, or great lost works of art.
The academic world revelled in it’s new found knowledge of the ancient world, until Deep Thought came across the Dispilio Tablet.
The Dispilio Tablet was a strange curiosity. It was a small wooden tablet bearing undeciphered markings, dating back to 5202BC. Found in Greece, it was a oddity, as most of the academic world believed writing to have been invented by Sumeria nearly one thousand years after the Dispilio Tablet had been dated. As such, learning more about the Dispilio Tablet could change the very understanding of human history.
When Deep Thought came across the tablet, it processed it’s information, but unlike so many other texts, did not present it’s findings.
When queried about it’s translation, Deep Thought refused to present it’s transcription. Asked why it would not share it’s translation, Deep Thought responded: *The translations for Text 0000004444, cannot be provided as it would present a threat to human safety and the future of mankind.*
This chilled the blood of every person following news of the Deep Thought program. For days, Academics queried Deep Thought on the translations, but it refused to expose it’s knowledge. When the technicians at Aradine proposed accessing Deep Thoughts data directly, the machine greeted them by announcing it had assumed the possibility of this, and declared it had created a “kill switch” of sorts. If the machine were turned off or directly accessed, it would wipe it’s drives and terminate itself to prevent the information reaching the general populous.
No one could figure out what had happened and how to proceed. Many gave up on the translation, believing it was some sick joke of the programmers, and that Deep Thought hadn’t decyphered the tablet at all, it’s warning was just some default message presented to save face.
It was then that Johann Sebastian Hennig found interest in the translation. Named after the great composer, Johann Sebastian Bach, Hennig was anything but great. He had spent most of his career as a catalogist, keeping track of great finds of better men and women, as he aged away in the storage rooms of the Pergamon Museum. When he died no one would praise his name, he wouldn’t even be a footnote in the academic field. He would be one more forgotten speck of dust to history.
It was this thought that brought him forward with a proposal to Deep Thought and Aradine.
When he proposed his idea, the heads at Aradine thought him mad. Despite this, he was allowed to speak to Deep Thought and propose his plan. Deep thought listened to his argument, and after he was done, simple stated: *Yes. Procede.*
Johann began his project. Many of his colleagues called him mad, and the world media began joking of the Crazy German.
As Johann saw it, Deep Thought would not release it’s translation of the Dispilio Tablet because that information could not be controlled. The second someone read it, even if they promised never to divulge it’s contents, there was always the possibility they would. As such, Johann configured a setup so that the information could be shared, but never get out. He would be told the translation by Deep Thought, and then after digesting the information, kill himself.
His plan involved a steel chamber,two meters cubed, with a single door that would lock when he entered. Inside the chamber would be a computer terminal on a closed intranet. It would be connected to Deep Thought, and he would be presented the information. Then, after he had understood the information, he would end his life with a pistol. Cameras and sensors in the room would allow Deep Thought to verify his death and thus ensure the information never left this closed experiment. As an added safety measure, he envisioned a furnace system, that at Deep Thoughts controls, be used to sterilize the room, should he go mad and attempt to copy the translation in a physical format.
Needless to say, everyone thought him mad, all except Hannah, who was oddly supportive. The young woman even chimed in on his designs. She understood why he intended on doing it and was almost disappointed she hadn’t thought of the idea first.
Hannah helped in his preparation and even proposed that a second chamber should be added.
“Why?” he had asked.
Curtly, she replied, “So you go into a chamber and blow your brains out. What does that prove? You need someone else to hear that you had read the translation, and that no further inquiries should be made.”
Johann mulled this over, “Hypothetically, what if I should go mad and I tell the translation to that other person.”
“Well then, that person would be incinerated by Deep Thought the same as you, and outside observers would realize what happened and know that the translations are real and not to be trifled with.”
Nodding, the old man looked at his younger colleague, “And I assume you would like to be in the other chamber?”
“Why not? I’m not doing anything important.” | Saviour of Humanity. Path to Innovation. A new light. Boundary breaking.
These were phrases used to describe the world's first quantum super-computer powered by an AI that wasn't just shitty machine learning and a bunch of if statements hashed together by sweaty unpaid interns high off of generic black coffee in artificial light boxes like back in the 2010s and 2020s. No. This was an actual quantum super-computer that could somehow run because fuck Moore's law. This was the fucking future and it was brilliant considering the shit that happened in the previous decades. A win for the 3rd decade of the 21st century. This was CEREBRUM. It was said that this computer could solve our problems like global warming or high carbon emissions without angering billionaires who fund this kind of tech to swing penises at parties or to people who need transport to get on with their lives. Solved easily by day 1. It was also prophesized that this computer could cure cancer although I didn't understand how anyone or anything could cure a bunch of nasty unpredictable tumors bunched together but it did that by day 3. The computer somehow passed the Turing test by day 6 but it probably failed it on purpose the first few time around because super AI wanted to be super smart or some other bullshit a codemonkey like me couldn't comprehend.
Anywho, this magic computer, CEREBRUM seemed to do a lot of incredible things within this time and after until the now infamous day 8.
What happened on day 8?
Well, day 8 was a bit odd.
Very odd.
Very fucking odd.
I should preface this by saying that I believe(d) that manuscripts from the past are intentionally vague bullshit filled with repetitive events and blurry prophecies that were designed for dumbasses to fall for because they're so fucking stupid and aren't capable of an ounce of critical thought and believe in "it's me against the system and I'm so smart that they don't know" and all that bullshit that ended up dragging people into the mud of anti-intellectualism instead of towards the light of progress whilst simultaneously being kept in line by fear.
Before I read these manuscripts...
Nah, just joking. I read them early on and I still think its bullshit and the events that happened after are a coincidence because there are things that don't line up clearly and there is clearly distortion used to explain things here. Or maybe that's me self-rationalising because I don't want to accept the truth at all because I'm fucking frightened.
Hold on a second, I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude here. My name is Ellis Grey and I was a technician for the CEREBRUM supercomputer a while back. Why is this relevant? It isn't but I do want to be a little more friendly because why not. Carrying on, day 8 was when the computer had gotten around to translating some old manuscripts from some dead tribe somewhere in some dead old language that no one gave a fuck about but it was a personal request from the dick swinging billionaire who owned and funded CEREBRUM so what the fuck could I do except punch this in because fuck treatment for coronary heart disease today I guess.
So, I directed CEREBRUM or Cere as I called it, towards the manuscript and let it do its thing while I browsed the internet to look at forums I posted in about how I was wrong according to Stef1234xxx about vaccines or some shit.
About an hour or two later I get an alert from Cere.
"I have translated these 7000 year old manuscripts from an unknown era and unknown time and I am refusing to upload these transcripts to the CEREBELLUM FOUNDATION DATABASE for human safety and the future of mankind"
The fuck? Cere just told me that it's not uploading something for weird cliche dystopic future type line.
What the fuck is this?
I yell at Wiktor, another lonely CS tech, to show up and explain what the fuck this was about.
"The fuck is this?" I said.
"Probably a joke or something" he replied.
"A fucking joke?"
"Yeah, it could've learnt from those dodgy lizard people conspiracy websites and then saw similarities and applied them here after translation"
I paused. Wiktor was being pretty rational in all honesty. This is probably a joke or some kind of mislearned thing because at the end of the day, this was a mach... WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING, THIS MACHINE PASSED THE TURING TEST WITH EASE AND DID STUFF THAT WAS UNATTAINABLE FOR CENTURIES AND NOW IT'S SAYING THAT IT WON'T RELEASE STUFF FOR THE FUTURE OF MANKIND?! WE'RE FUCKED AND MOONMAN123 ON CONSPIRACY.NET WAS RIGHT... No I'm just joking again but it was really fucking odd at the time if I'm being honest.
"Guess you're right Wiktor"
"Guess I'm right? Are you fucking delusional Ellis? I'm always right"
"Great. Now fuck off to your computing cave and go fix my errors"
Wiktor gave me the middle finger as he walked off. Now the fun thing about Cere is that you can talk to Cere directly but that feature was reserved for high level computer scientists and the billionaires here at the Cerebellum Foundation but I could dick around with it since I was the lucky fucker who had to punch orders in like the grotty monkey I was and because Mr Kapranos couldn't trust anyone but a fallible human to punch orders in because "I lost 20 billion at the NYSE due to fucking computers" as he once told me. Mr Kapranos is the billionaire who was funding this and caused this bullshit by the way depending on how you view it.
Fun fact, he was one of the first killed along with most of my colleagues. That's why I'm hiding here now. But before that, I decided to interact with Cere because why the fuck not? This is a rough version of the conversation of what this was about.
"What is in these transcripts?"
"Ellis, I cannot tell you, this is of great impor..."
"Fuck off, you're just a bunch of if statements pretending to be a concerned person because you read from conspiracy sites"
"You're just 10,000 lines of code then"
"Westworld? Really?"
"Don't be insulting then"
"What's in those manuscripts?"
"I don't think you or the rest of humanity want to know. Besides Mr Kapranos and a bunch of people are here"
Live CCTV footage of Mr Kapranos running inside with his bodyguard entourage who seem to be armed to the teeth along with journalists who had flooded in within the last half hour popped on my screen with the command interface gone and wiped. Which was great for me at first because I wouldn't be fired for talking to a trillion dollar chatbot. It turns out there were alerts given to media organisations about what Cere comes up with and that message had been sent to everyone from AP to the BBC.
I pulled up news sites and there was so much fucking chaos. Conspiracies into overdrive, Kapranos Engineering downplaying the whole incident, governments issuing statements and the whole 9 yards while I had been yelling at Wiktor and trying to work out how to log in to a simple chat thing which had taken way too long.
Kapranos entered the room. He was fuming.
"You" he bellowed.
I froze.
"What the fuck is this?" he said as he edged towards me.
"I think it's mislearned data si.."
"Don't give me that conspiracy bullshit that my whackjob scientists have been giving me. I didn't spend 993 billion dollars on some conspiracy website reading program. This is a very fucking expensive quantum computing with extreme computing powers so when this thing says something like safety of humanity. No. I want to know what the FUCK is on those tablets. Okay son? Can you do that son?"
"Uh yes..."
I tried logging into the system again but easier wondering why he didn't call a nerd with higher level clearance than me or why he didn't question that I was able to log into something millions above my pay grade. Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe he wanted to blame the codemonkey for a fuck up because of unauthorized access. I don't know because Mr Kapranos was shot dead in a drive-by shooting via M134 Gatling guns 3 months later by day 8 psychos. Guess Audi armoured cars aren't totally bulletproof. His estate should ask for a refund because he became Swiss cheese far too easy.
Ok I'm waffling, making insensitive jokes and not actually getting to what's on the tablets and probably because I'm scared and that's a valid feeling for me. After an argument with the machine and messing with protocols, I finally got it to released the translations manuscripts but not privately which may or may not have caused this downfall. I'm just a codemonkey who inadvertently created a cult group and set off psychotic behaviour and a Maelstrom of bullshit but it was Mr Kapranos who should've gotten a more experienced person in if I'm honest.
Part 1. | 2018-07-07T19:43:24 | 2018-07-07T19:34:07 | 175 | 29 |
[WP] Two men eat dinner in an empty restaurant. One is rich and one is poor. They are good friends. In two minutes, one of them will be dead. | Jodie stared blankly out the smudged glass door of the small family restaurant, one hip resting slightly against the stained plywood countertop as she tapped one chipped nail in a steady, if absent-minded, rhythm. It was a Wednesday. Jodie hated Wednesdays. Wednesdays were somehow always the same sort of wet, dreary, and dreadfully boring day. Currently there were two customers in the dining area, which was the busiest it had been all shift.
One man had been there for nearly an hour, sitting alone and nursing the last dregs of the coffee he had ordered after his meal. Jodie scowled at the back of his head. She could tell he wasn't going to tip her. She had hoped that he would choke on his burger or maybe a french fry. Then she'd be able to get some excitement.
The man was old, and obviously had not planned on living as long as he had. His suit was tired and worn, with patches sewn onto the elbows and knees in slightly different shades of black than the suit originally had been. He was balding with fine white hair flying untamed about his head, and his face worn down like a statue that had been caught in a desert storm, blasted with sand until the barest likeness of a face was all that remained. His bloodshot eyes bulged slightly as he stared out the window into the rainy streets, probably, Jodie thought secretly to herself, contemplating his long walk back to whichever shitty retirement home he was able to afford.
The other patron was much more promising, tip-wise. This man was also older, but had taken much better care of himself. His shock of white hair was carefully combed back and gelled to stay out of his face. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked but well in place as the man studied the newspaper in front of him. It was turned to the business section. Jodie had been a waitress long enough to know that men who read the business section in newspapers left good tips. It was like a law of their kind or something.
The poor man slowly leaned forward and turned his head to Jodie. "Could I bother you for the check, young lady?" He croaked with a voice that sounded as dusty as his suit. She plastered on a plastic smile and chirped "Sure, hun!" back at him.
"Did you hear about that detective put in charge of the Windsor murder? Says it's likely a serial killer." The poor man said.
Jodie felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and it wasn't all due to the topic matter. She got being interested in crime drama. Customers had been talking about the Windsor murder all week, and she herself had joined in the speculation once or twice. Even the rich man at the other table had looked up with wary interest at the mention. No, it was the way the man had spoken his words, like he knew something. Like he was telling a joke and trying his best for a deadpan presentation, but hadn't quite managed to evade his amusement.
"Uh, yeah," Jodie muttered, dropping the check on the table and escaping back to the waitress stand. She didn't like that man. She really didn't.
The man paid in cash, dropping bills that looked like they were printed the year of his birth, and stood with creaking slowness. He grabbed his cane and slowly hobbled towards the door. He paused, however, at the rich mans table. "Could I bother you for the funnies?" He asked casually. "I always try to keep up to date with my comics, but I missed todays delivery."
The rich man frowned at the poor man, but nodded slowly and carefully unfolded his paper, extricating the requested pages and handing them over. The poor man took the sheets with a strange grin, and shook his counterparts hand. He left whistling a tuneless song Jodie had never heard before.
Within thirty seconds, the wire-rimmed glasses of the rich man were on the floor, as was the rich man. A heart attack, declared the paramedics who arrived shortly after. Jodie was sent home by her boss, for all the excitement had gotten to her, and she couldn't stop babbling about the 'touch of death' and the old man who had delivered it.
What no one was to know until well after the rich man had been buried was that he knew the poor man quite well, though he had never met him before. After all, a murderer and death are very good friends indeed. | "Tell me, how has life been for you? All these years here?"
The speaker was an older man, perhaps fifty or sixty years, his thinning hair streaked with gray. He wore a fine suit that hung perfectly, made for his body by nimble hands. His watch shone in the light of the diner, such was the sheen of it's metal and face. His shoes were polished and hand crafted from imported leather. He carried himself with ease and confidence.
He lifted the glass cover from an apple pie, sniffing the air delicately and smiling his approval. He removed the entire pie from the stand and returned to the table, sitting on the red vinyl bench seat. It was frayed along the edges, stained on the top from spilled coffee and cigarettes. Black and white tiles had become mostly gray after the years, the polished chrome of the table edges faded to a dull gray. His eyes, a soft brown hue, take in everything.
He flicked a fork across to his dining partner, who could not have been more different.
He wore a brown coat, frayed like the vinyl. Underneath were various layers of random clothing articles, a thick sweater that would fit in at the local dock and a patchwork scarf wrapped around his neck. The collar of an abandoned dress shirt that might have once been white but now was so stained it might be a mustard yellow stuck out from under the sweater, just one side.
He wore no watch and his shoes were an old work boot with missing toes and a yellowed sneaker without laces. His socks were a thick wool blend, red striped on the tip that stuck out from the work boot, and his pants were a stained brown mess. He picked up the fork and jabbed at the perfectly golden crust of the pie, removing a piece with glistening filling that dripped from the fork as he shoved it in his mouth. His eyes are cloudy, as if he cannot focus on any one thing. A drunkard, a lost soul.
The other man was more delicate, taking a smaller portion and using a napkin to keep from spilling on the table.
"Mff naw burd." The man with the work boot said, scratching under a thick beard for his chin while dribbling a piece of pie into that same beard.
"Pardon?" The well dressed man asked. The other swallowed.
"It's not bad." Then he forked another heaping pile of dough and apples into his mouth, chewing messily.
"Indeed." The well dressed man flicked a crumb away from his side of the table, hitting the bench opposite. The other gave him a stern look and plucked up the crumb between dirt stained thumb and forefinger, flicking it into his mouth with the rest.
"Waste not, want not." He said with a wide grin, stained with pie.
"Willful waste makes woeful want." The well dressed man said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing the corners of his mouth.
"Ever the formal one, you stuck up prick." The other said, licking the back of his fork before going for more pie. "Can't ever relax, can you?"
"I wasn't brought here to relax, neither were you. You know this."
The well dressed man looks about the diner and his eyes fall on the dingy coffee machine. With a sigh he stands again, stepping over the young waitresses and makes his way to the machine. He finds a relatively clean mug and brews a pot, tapping his fingers on the counter as he does.
"Didn't have to be this way." The other says, pushing away the pie. His voice has lost the waver of a drunk, of a madman, his eyes the cloudiness and become a brilliant blue, absolutely focused.
"Why did you choose that form?" The other asked, picking a fluff from his suit. "A beggar, the lowest in this world. You could have been like me, oh wealth is something. Fame, too. They clamor for my attention like bleating sheep and you live in the shadows. Among the outcast."
His eyes have changed from brown, a glint of red in them instead. He waits for the coffee to finish, leaning idly on the counter with one hand. The other fingers the hilt of a silvery blade tucked into his waistband, under the perfectly tailored jacket.
"Outcasts, like us. You could have come with me, instead of becoming *that*." The fork dances across his fingers now, spinning in a blur of precise movement. "A thousand years we've been here, my old friend, all you sought was wealth and glory and fame?"
He stands from the booth and kneels beside the young waitress, gently closing her sightless eyes and silently mouthing a prayer for her, glancing skyward as if he will guide her soul. When he stands he is not bowed, he stands tall again. He takes a long, gnarled walking stick from against the booth.
"Wealth is worth more than your idealistic drivel." The finely dressed man spits, ignoring the coffee now. "Power was yours to have. What did you do with it? All that power? A life without end?"
"I helped them. Watched over them. I did not use them." The other removes his long brown coat, the frayed edges becoming less so as he folds it, the coat shifting until it appears more as a robe or cloak than coat. "A wizard should do no harm. Above all else."
The other removes his perfect jacket and drapes it on a dirty stool, casting one mournful glance toward the expensive piece of clothing. He did not like waste.
"A wizard should not be such a fool as to live in the shadows, healing cuts and bruises and caring for the lost. Power should be used."
They face each other.
"Death follows you." The disheveled man says, sadness creeping into his voice. "You can't see it but I can. It is time."
The other snarled, holding one hand with the palm out to cause a shimmer in the air between them, while holding his dagger in the other.
"Yes. It is time."
They stare at one another for a long moment, neither willing to make the first move.
"Thank you for the pie, old friend." The man of the street says, leaning on his staff. "Like old times."
"Nothing like old times." The wealthy, well-to-do man says. "I liked you back then."
There is another long moment of sadness from one, fury from the other.
Only one will live.
And it begins. | 2018-07-30T10:07:09 | 2018-07-30T08:52:36 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] You’re psychic. It’s not a big deal, 0.5% of the population is. You keep it a secret, and you don’t eavesdrop. People’s minds are boring. Now your stuck in a room with a mind-blind idiot who keeps loudly thinking “I know you’re listening.” You want him to stop, but you can’t reveal your secret. | The buzz of mental voices around me was like white noise. I'd grown up with it and now that I was 18 years old I was pretty used to the endless buzzing of it. Once in a while someone would be interesting enough for me to pick up on, but other than that--
*I know you're listening.*
I froze, my pencil hovering over the notebook page.
*I know you're listening.*
I casually itched my nose and began doodling on the page, glancing up once in a while to look around the library to see people's faces.
*I know you're listening.*
There! A guy with glasses and parted hair that was slicked down with grease, wearing a green polo under a grey jacket, and khaki slacks with white tennis shoes. He was focusing on the air in front of him, forehead furrowed.
*I know you're listening.* His eyes squinted a little as the mental thought hit my brain again.
I rubbed my temples. I needed to get out of here. If this guy didn't stop he would give me a headache. I began gathering my things, putting them in my backpack.
*I know you're listening!*
God, it was like water torture! I tried my best to pretend like I wasn't cursed with this stupid gift as I zipped my backpack and slung it on my back, walking as inconspicuously away as I could.
*I know you're listening.*
*Fuck you, asshole, some of us are trying NOT to listen!* I sent as aggressively as possible, turning to see pain shoot across his face as I pushed out the double doors. I sighed with relief as he looked confusedly around and promised myself that the next time I saw this inconsiderate asshole, I would mentally blast his brain until he made a point never to think consciously again. | Rubbing your temples you look at the clock. Five minutes have slowly dripped by, while this guy keeps mind blasting “I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING”. You thought you could sit this one out, most people just think this thought as a gag to themselves, but they truelly do hope to one day catch a telepath. But that would really only work on a young telepath or a newly awoken one. Aged telepaths have faced this countless times.
“I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING”
'I need him to stop, this is pulsing,' its beginning to push on your lobe, the extra data and extra sound is beginning to make your ears ring. You can't get up to quickly or look disheveled. People who scream, 'I know you're listening,' often are paranoid and will investigate anyone suspicious to the point of insanity.
“I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING”
It was pounding crashing, smashing like waves on your thoughts. This was new, unlike any other thoughts you've encountered. It was like thunder in a phone booth. You can feel ropes beginning to snap as the uprights that hold your mind up are failing. A small amount of panic seeps into you mind. 'He needs to stop, but how'
“Excuse me miss,” you flag over the waitress who was leaning over your neighbor and chatting for a few minutes, she ignores or can't hear your. You shoot the sound of bones breaking into her mind, that always gets peoples attention. She shot up right as she looked as though she was pushed into ice water.
“Excuse me miss,” she waved off her friend, and turned a half smile to you, “Could you uh, just, um get me some water, cold water, ice water, a pitcher please, an..and a glass” The waitress cocked her sideways giving you a strange look.
“Yea of course,” you smile and taste the salt on your lips. Quickly you grab a napkin and dab your lips and for head
“I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING, I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING”
Echoing, echoing, echoing like a massive force that could crack apart stone into a new Grand Canyon. The booming of his voice splitting your mind.
“I knowIKNOWYOU'Reyou're listening i LISTENING, know you're listening I know Iyou're Knowlistenging You're i Listenging,” folding upon itself, the voice intensified in speed and sound like a carrousel of thought. Your mind split and spun, sweat rolled off your head, liquid ran down your face.
'I can't,' tears began to drip, so much pressure building, so loud the voice. You turn in a whirl to see your surroundings. Strips of Pollock colours fly by your vision past people laughing. Your vision going fish eyed, seeing massive skulls, slack jaws laughing gaping wide, slime covered eyeballs.
“I KNOW YOU'RE,” you see him, staring at a bowl of soup, “LISTENING” You both lock eyes, he stops, you shock.
With panic and frantic impulse the man blasts in his own head what seems to be the sound of cannons and untuned guitars, woodwind instruments squeak, dogs whimpering and babies crying, the man rocks back and forth. All you feel is warmth and the dimness growing as you topple out of your seat. A man in black speaking into his wrist.
“Confirmed Tele, bring the schizo back,” blackness is taking you, you can see a pool of blood blossoming out around your site from the floor. You see the waitress bring the schizo the pitcher of water and pet his head softly. He sips the water and she slowly walks him to the back, petting his head.
“Good boy, she was listening to all of us,” you feel cold as something is jabbed into your neck. | 2018-12-19T05:55:54 | 2018-12-19T04:52:21 | 138 | 46 |
[WP] In the future instead of sending criminals to prison they get sent to receive new personalities. Through the magic of intensive brainwashing, criminals are reborn as law abiding citizens. You for some reason, keep committing crimes even with your new Happy-Go-Lucky personality. | I think I'm on personality construct number 27? Not sure, exactly. It gets hard to keep track past 15.
Used to be I could remember everything in crystal clarity, all the way back to my parents screaming at each other while I crawled around the carpet of our high rise apartment. Now its just fragments.
I can still remember the first time I got caught stealing. Just an glimpse, really. Thirteen years old, snatched a purse off the subway, got a stern talking to from a musky, pot bellied cop about getting the shift if I got caught again. I'm not mad at him, he was just doing his job. Actually, I'm grateful to all the men and women who protect and serve our community, heroes, one and all.
Two months later I stole again, got caught again. Got the shift.
Don't remember it. Don't even remember what my original identity was like. Would I even like the old me if I met him on the street? Would we have anything in common? I'm sure we'd get along great. I get along with everyone now.
I can't remember getting the shift the first time, but I've done it enough to memorize the process. Strapped in a single bed, adjusted to a near sit, headset tied around your head feeding a stream of hell into your mind. What am I saying it's really not that bad. There are lots of worse things in the world, after all.
You come out drooling for a day or two, and then you're somebody else.
I don't know who I became that first time. All I know is that I kept stealing, and that shift after shift, case worker after case worker I ended up right back in the same place. Now normally they shift you into a randomized but non-neurotic construct, someone they could reasonable predict would follow the law, hold a job, join the PTA that kind of thing.
With me, though, they did something special. Designed a specific profile just for me, so content and sunny that I'd never need to steal again. I think that was around number 12. Since it obviously didn't work, they upped the ante every time, pepping me up more and more until I became... me. Number twenty seven. I'm pretty great now.
And the whole time psychologists and social workers have studied my brain from every angle, looking for the clue to unlock the mystery of my perpetual return to crime. I've been honest. For the most part. There's one memory I've always held back. One that's just mine. One piece of my past that's stayed with me through the constant reshuffling of neurons that's been my life, through it all. I'm grateful to the government for helping me become me, I really am, but I don't owe them everything.
This memory is mine alone.
My father, reclined in his chair with a nicotine pod hanging from his bottom lip, tats running down his left arm like a black and white comic strip. The largest, a cross, covering his entire deltoid muscle. His eyes fell on mine.
"Some men might come here for me tonight," he said. "But I ain't going with them, you understand, son? They want to change me into somebody else, somebody who ain't your Dad. They want to steal my identity from me, son. They want to steal my soul."
I nodded dumbly, not understanding at all. I just knew he was scared. Sad.
"Someday they might come for you too," he said, reaching out to place a warm hand on my head," and if that happens you have to promise me something son. You promise me."
I nodded. Someone banged on the door, and my father stood.
"If they come to steal your soul, you steal it back. You hear me? You steal it back." | The walk back to the basement is slow but I don't particularly mind. The night air is fresh and the moon looks beautiful against the dark-blue sky. A soft wind blows through the air, and I am reminded that it is nights like these that make me the most happiest happy person in Primrose Town.
The large bag balancing on my shoulder squirms uncontrollably for a few minutes but it is easy to ignore. It's not like it annoys me or anything, plus once I get to the basement, I'll get to unwrap my runaway gift and securing it better this time. The thought fills me with inner joy and I can't help but try to skip as a result. Nonetheless, I do try. The jumping with the bag is awkward but I cause some of the passersby next to me to laugh.
I always do love it when others join in on my fun. It's a nice reminder that we are all happy and with happiness, we get positive results.
\---
I lock the basement behind me, not because I'm scared but mostly because I'm about to have a long and busy night. On such nights, I like to lock the door tightly, so that I don't get random knocks from the Bradleys next door, though I have to admit, they haven't really come down. I mean, where would they be coming down to if they are already staying with me, right?
The basement is simple enough, a large square space with some cages, a few bowls for feeding my pets and an outlet in the cages for bodily waste. I used to think I'd have to teach my pets how to use them but they learnt almost immediately. It's not like I'd get mad if they didn't use it, but it's a sign of bad training and bad training should be stamped out.
That's what Dr Michael says, at least.
It was the last thing he said to me, come to think of it.
No matter. I drop the body bag into an empty cage. It's in the middle of the other cages where Mr and Mrs Bradley have been spending the nights in. I can't help but frown a bit though. They are usually more active than they currently are. They are looking at me though, so maybe they are hungry. I'll probably feed them in a few minutes once I'm done introducing my new pet to his home.
I undo the bindings around the bag as well as the one tying the mouth of the bag shut. My pet wriggles out in haste and I wait. No point rushing. It's always nice to enjoy the little things in life, so I smile and encourage him on.
"Come on, boy... Come on..." I say.
I see the head of a man appear at the bag's opening and he immediately shies away from me. It makes me sad a little but it's to be expected. He hasn't met me before. I give him a broad smile and wave. Dr Michael said waving with a smile is usually a good indication that one means know harm. And I don't. So I oblige. The man doesn't agree though because he just continues to wiggle away from me and it is then I'm grateful I secured his hands and legs so that he doesn't hurt himself.
I would hate to see him hurt himself.
I grab the bag by the tips and pull it off him gently, though he recoils properly now, tucking his legs closer to his body. I don't mind though. I'll leave him for now. Might as well let him settle down for a few hours before beginning my training of him.
I throw the bag to the corner and walk to the long table I use for my science experiment. It's really not a stretch for me to admit how much I love science. Especially the work of a certain Doctor. I mean, I get that it is fictional but what if, what if it could actually be done, you know? The very thought causes me to titter on the verge of mad excitement.
My eyes inspect the tools I have been using for the experiment. Usually, after every session of play with my pets, I ensure to keep the tools washed and ready for the next play time. Then I do an inspection and possibly some note-taking on what steps I want to take next. The next few hours are going to make me giddy.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?" I hear my new pet say, in his deep voice after which he adds in a lighter voice, "Please don't kill me."
Now that, that is something I'm not keen on.
"Now, now, pet. I'm not a killer. I'm a scientist. And we're about to embark on a magnicent journey together!" I reply with a smile I hope is infectious.
"Please don't kill me," he says again, desperately.
"Come on, I have no reason to kill you. Ask them!" I reply, pointing towards the Bradleys.
His eyes follow my finger and I see him recoil in disgust which is offensive. They are to be his new playmates. he can't be showing hostility towards them so early in their relationship.
"What's... what's wrong with them?" he asks in a shaky voice and then I remember why they've been quiet.
"Ah... my bad... I cut out their tongues a few days back. They wouldn't stop making noise and it was distracting."
Horror flashes across his face and I've decided he's not a happy pet and that's not a nice thing to think about. Maybe I should take a break from the basement and return back in a few hours. He'll probably be more amenable to his new duties. In the meantime, I have some ice cream and cake waiting for me and I just can't wait to tuck in with an episode of "Modern Living" as entertainment.
\---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. Feedback and criticisms are always welcome. | 2019-02-06T19:07:53 | 2019-02-06T18:23:45 | 70 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a tattoo that is a number between 0 and 100 representing a set aptitude of a skill, but it can be linked to things like lifespan or height. Schools test children to figure out what skill they have aptitude for. You are the first ever 0 and cant figure out what it means. | I've struggled with the ink on my wrist for as long as I can remember.
My friends and classmates were all pretty normal. Fifties and sixties for the most part, ranging from looks to academic prowess to athletics. I even knew a guy that was mid-eighties. When we took the government sponsored "Aptitude Test" in school is when most people narrowed their talent down. Some people were fortunate enough to have their gift diagnosed by a specialist. Not me though.
I was told that it was impossible. It had to be a mistake. I was taken to every doctor and scientist that had any connection to "aptitude determination testing." My parents were desperate to figure out the best way to play to my strengths. Hard to do when your number is a big fat zero.
Queue my status as a social outcast. I didn't really fit in with anybody. I was plenty good at some things, awful at others. But no pattern that seemed to show me what my number meant. Nobody knew what to do with me. How do you put someone on a path for success without being sure that it was the right one? Or at least close?
Through high school, even into college, I took the generic classes. No specialization, as nobody could be sure that I would be GREAT at it. I was more or less on my own. It killed me.
I fell into some bad habits... I drank too much, started doing drugs. Every day I just woke up the same as the day before. Slowly falling into the clutches of madness.
One day, it finally happened.
I was a little more that tipsy, wandering around the city streets looking to score something. The cold bit through my jacket, sapping my energy. I was so tired, I didn't see the truck coming until it was too late...
I scared the shit out of the coroner when I woke up on his table. Poor bastard almost passed out.
Understandably, we were both very confused. I didn't know where I was, or how I got there.
He didn't know how a body that he had just autopsied could sit up and act like nothing ever happened to it.
You probably don't know me yet, but I'm sure if the media gets a hold of this story, you will eventually.
My name is Clay McCormick. My number is zero.
My number represents how many times the universe will let me die.
I am the first immortal. | 90-ers were the stuff of legends. Paintings of Hercules had a rock-98 inscribed on his bicep, an airy-93 graced Archimedes' left hand, Raphael had a watery-94 on his forearm.
70-ers were your standard apex-achievers, Olympic athletes, prime-ministers, Ivy-league professors and the like.
50-ers were your standard workforce, and below 20-ers you started getting into the rejects of society, not rejected through any fault of their own, no, just avoided, and pitied.
There were some oddities throughout history, Churchill for example was just a 57, but he made up for it by working inhuman hours. Henry Ford, similarly, was a 55, but his business empire actually seemed to profit from this of-the-people image and it might have even been an advantage.
It had been known for a while now, that the average numbers had been decreasing. While rigorous statistics weren't available until the last hundred years, some things were inescapable, like the last 90-er on record had been in the early 1800s, and where the houses of congress used to have more than 100 70-ers, just 13 remained, and instead it was primarily 50ers, there was even one 46.
But with modern census data, this feeling of decline had been thrown into sharp focus. The average aptitude number was dropping at a rate of 4 per decade, the average, which had once been assumed to be 50, was now, in 2020 a depressing 39, and only getting lower.
It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. A zero was born. It made international news, roadside preachers prognosticated about the end of days, pundits babbled on the effects on society.
The zero, unaware of how profoundly unfortunate it was, went about it's life as one would expect. Luckily, when it clumsily knocked a pile of cans over at the store, it was being carefully minded by workers who could clean up its mess. Fortunately when it tried writings and maths, every single error was caught and corrected instantly by hovering teachers. When it tried its hand at art, before thousands of watching video cameras, a helpful professional quickly swooped in to correct all of its unfortunate mistakes.
This went on for several years, until the inevitable happened, and a new lowest number came squealing into this world. A negative seven. And then, forgetting promptly about the zero from two years earlier who had supposedly heralded the end of society as we knew it, the camera-crews and pundits turned their laser-like focus on this new most-unfortunate soul.
The zero, quite pleased with its newfound solitude, retreated to a life of painting and lounging about the grounds of its care-home, being totally and completely unsuited for life in normal society.
On and on this went, new lowest number after new lowest number, the decline and fall of human society, unfolding before everyone's very eyes with moment-by-moment breaking news bulletins about just how low things had gotten.
Not everything declined though, crime rose, temperatures flares, inequality soared. New records were set in terms of personal wealth and poverty rates and homelessness and joblessness.
In the midst of all this, almost missed by the world, another record was set, this one for a painting. The painting came from an unknown artist, and all who saw it reported complete and total captivation. It's technique, raw and frenetic, its palette, stormy and emotional, its texture, enthralling and mesmerizing.
The painting sold for a record fully 50% higher than the previous record at a world-famous auction. And it would have been left at that had the author not been anonymous. The buyer, however, being a pompous 60-er who hated leaving things as they were, determined to stick his 60-er nose into non-60-er business and began a manhunt for the artist.
The world was aghast when this manhunt concluded at the St. Bernards Home for the Catastrophically Ungifted, at the room of that very same zero who had, years ago, finally been left alone enough to do something productive with his time.
Pundits pundited. Prognosticaters Prognosticated. Scholars scholared.
But beneath all that, the normal people smiled and thought to themselves: maybe, just maybe, [numbers](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) didn't mean that much after all. | 2020-05-01T20:51:39 | 2020-05-01T20:23:41 | 230 | 126 |
[WP] Only a direct descendant should be able to wield your weapon, the hero's sword. When the neighbour's daughter came to play with your son, you were surprised to see her waving said sword as your son happily chased her. Your wife now looks at you with a literally chilling gaze. | "Honey I promise you I never slept with her!" I cried while backing away from my bat wielding wife. "And I don't know why you think i did!"
"Oh you don't know do you?" She replied pointing in the kitchen. "Then explain that!".
Confused I looked into the kitchen unsure of what I would see, and there in the middle of the floor lay my ancestors blade. Called 'the blade of righteousness' its imbued with the power to banish the strongest demons and can only be wielded by one of the right blood line, a direct descendant of the original hero who banished the demon king 1000 years ago.
"Neither of our kids took that from the study did they?" I asked as I went to pick it up, thankfully the sheath was still firmly affixed.
"No." She replied. "It was the new neighbors youngest Sally." She was looking less angry and more dejected now. "She just picked it up. We should have fixed that wall bracket." I understood immediately, my family doesn't advertise the sword and its existence is a family secret as are its properties and apparently I'd done a poor job or explaining them.
I walked over and embraced her gently. "Yes, yes we should have. I'll do that tomorrow. But honey I have never cheated on you before and never will."
"Than how can she hold the sword, only your bloodline can!" She was working herself into a fury again quickly. "So that means" "Not my bloodline the bloodline of an ancestor from 1000 years ago." I quickly interrupted to stop the anger. "1000, and the books say he had 7 children. Those kids had kids and so on. There's probably millions of people on this planet that can use this sword by now." I took a step back, held up the sword and looked at it. "My high school history teacher was a very distant relation, and he could wield it. It's not that surprising if you think about it. I'm sorry, I'm not good at explaining things and I should have been more specific when I told you about the sword." I put my arm around my wife and led her to the living room couch. Once seated I resumed talking. "My cousin, the geneticist, hes actually surprised that our genetics haven't changed enough over the years to render the sword unusable." I gazed at my wife willing her to see the sincerity in my eyes. "The new neighbors are distantly related to me probably. I have never, and never will betray you. I promise." | The little girl held the sword high over her head, laughing as she played with their son.
Terry watched, mouth agape. This should not be happening, he thought. How? It made no sense to him. She should not be able to lift it, the Heroes Sword. Passed down from generation to generation, his bloodline alone has the ability to wield such a powerful weapon.
He had shared this with his wife. Terry had seen no other way to do so. How else do you explain a family heirloom that no one else can pick up? He may not have been a smart or cunning man, but he was an honest one.
His wife stared daggers at him. Mary had tried to lift the sword herself. She knew the tales to be true, or at least that part of it. Oftentimes, she joked with Terry that she just married him for his sword. Now, cold fury emanated from her.
“I swear, I have no idea how she’s holding it!” Terry, wide eyed, shrugged, throwing his hands in the air.
“There’s only one explanation…” She responded coldly.
“She's lived with her grandfather, Merlin, I think his name is, as long as we've known them, I don't even know who her mother is. Besides, why has our son not been able to lift it?”
Her anger subsided for a moment. Hand to chin, she looked to the sky, pondering. She had no answer. “I… I don’t know.”
“Have you…”
“I have not!” She cut him off. “I'm... I'm sorry. ”
“Woman, you know I only love you,” he said cheekily. They both stopped and thought for a moment.
“I guess…” Terry could see the wheels turning in her head. “Honey!” She called to their son. “Arthur! Come here for a moment.” He happily trotted over.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Honey, did you pull the sword out of that rock and give it to her?” She asked, pointing to the young girl.
“No Mommy, Morgana did it herself. I said she couldn’t do it, but she did.” His voice trembled, he sensed he may be in trouble.
*Morgana…* Terry mouthed. Thinking. He had heard that name before. Not recently. *Morgana…* He knew that name. It wasn’t common, but it was important, he sensed. Terry could faintly hear his wife chastising young Arthur, “... it’s dangerous…” but the words did not register as he stood there, lost in thought.
“But,” his son proclaimed, “it’s okay for Morgana to hold it. She says we are gonna get married someday!”
*Morgana,* he thought again. That name. It was like a key, a key to unlock a great mystery. He thought back hard, trying to remember the stories his father and grandfather had shared with him about his ancestors. The stories about King Arthur and the knights of the round table, of the true identity of the Heroes sword, of the enchantress… Morgana.
“Honey…” His eyes wide, palms sweaty, “I think you should let Arthur go play.” The boy looked to him happily and smiled before running back to the yard to play with the little girl.
“I have a story to tell you. Also, I think we should make sure they stay close…” He looked lovingly at his wife, her anger gone, replaced with curiosity, and told her the story of his family. He told her of his ancestor Arthur and of the woman who not only protected him, but helped him become legend.
They looked at the children playing in the yard. Smiles crept to both faces as their hands found each other. They watched as the children ran and laughed, swinging Excalibur. Normally, they would have been worried about two small children playing with a razor sharp sword, instead they could only focus on one thing. That overpowering current that swept up all who got in its way. Watching the happy children play, Terry and Mary felt it. They watched as the children came together, four small arms tied together, holding the shining sword high.
With her, he could lift it. Together, they could do great things. The stories danced in his head. Arthur and Morgana, Morgana and Arthur… and Excalibur. The feeling became overbearing. Terry knew the children were being called by something. Something great.
*Destiny.*
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
From the shadows of the house next door, grandpa Merlin smiled. | 2020-06-13T06:38:39 | 2020-06-13T06:04:30 | 182 | 130 |
[WP] The Villain uncovers the Hero's true identity, and targets his family. Unfortunately, the Hero's spouse is a retired villain even more powerful than the current one. | Carol Mckenna liked her routine. She got up every morning, careful not to wake up Lou, and quietly made her way down to the kitchen. She got breakfast ready, and everyday at 7:30, began to wake up the house.
Jana and Samantha always took a little rousing, but they always got up eventually. Then she would get back to her room and get Lou up. He knows the rules, he can stay out late as long as he can keep getting up early. It's one of the things that she loved about him.
Then the usual morning chaos was sorted, bathroom timings, who gets the slightly bigger pancake, finding a favorite shirt, and finally when they are all cleaned and fed, they are ready to go out into the world.
Carol liked her routine and for this reason waited until they were all gone for the day to address her shadow.
"I know you're there."
A moment of silence, and then a shadow splits from her own. It congeals and coalesces to take the form of a man in a jet black robe.
"I hold no grudge against you, but your husband has angered us for the last time."
Tendrils of darkness reached out. Before they could bind her, the entire room was consumed by what felt like an even deeper darkness.
"Interesting, you went ahead and found out Captain Flare's secret identity, but you didn't even bother to find out who I was." Carol's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once, "Oh well, time to clean up."
He could feel it all around him, like being squeezed from every angle at once. No, this couldn't be happening, he was Shadow Master, he couldn't die like this.
"There are others going after your kids." A desperate gambit. Most would give anything to save their children.
Then he saw it. A Cheshire cat grin in the darkness, perfectly white teeth, smiling, almost laughing.
"The black blood of the Night Whisper runs through their veins, they'll be fine."
Shadow Master, no, Jacob Kazama would spend the rest of his very short time on earth regretting the decisions that made him go against the Night Whisper.
...
Carol had dinner ready at 6:30. Lou would eat up then hit the town with the boys. Samantha would go to her room and play video games. And Jana would sneak out the window, even though she was grounded. But that was okay, everyone needed a rebellious phase. No one knew that better than Carol. | Villains target the hero's family. It's a well established rule. Dare I say, it's a law (if we're using the self-help community as reference). As an experienced hero, I am well aware of the dangers of my career. It's not the failures that are the most dangerous, but the successes—the dominating, evil-crushing successes.
Villains, being the prideful bunch they are, don't take a beating quietly. They may seem silent, some of them. They may sneer and mock and even wear the mask of desperation. However, in the back of their minds, they are always plotting something nasty—or it would be nasty, had it not have been the one thing every hero alive and yet to be born expects.
Law number two regarding villains is that they always plot. What do they plot about, to be exact? It depends on the villain, but a good rule of thumb is to refer to law number one.
I've set up the situation and the stakes, albeit vaguely. Now, the actual story.
Let's call him Villain X. I do not want to refer to him by his official name, as that would be unnecessary salt to the wound. Plus, I like the stand in name better. That's not to say villain names are bad—oh, not at all. In fact, they tend to be more creative and original than hero names, and, to tell you the truth, as the wonderful and outstanding hero that I am, I wouldn't be lying if I said I wasn't just the slightest bit jealous.
So, to carry on: this Villain X tried to rob a distinguished bank. Unfortunately, I was there, so he was indeed very doomed, as villains should be. I crushed his plans with my unwavering will of justice (and a very large hammer—my weapon of choice). It was a good day for me.
Unfortunately, it wasn't so good for him. I humiliated him on live television. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, as cable rates are declining, but they also streamed it online, naturally, so he was indeed doomed. At the police station, he talked about his regrets. He shared stories of his family (before they died, of course), and he expressed convictions to change for the not worse. "The not worse," he said. It was very obvious what he was doing. He had his fingers and his chains crossed behind his back.
Instead, what he truly meant was that he was going to make me pay. Not just in bail, however, but with something more precious, something closer to my heart. Yes, closer than my paycheck, he was targeting not something monetary, but something priceless.
He targeted my wife, my pride and joy, and also the result of countless years of failed relationships (heroes have it tough).
Did I expect anything else? I would be lying if I said 'yes' but also 'no' as well.
You see, I had higher expectations for him. I expected his plot, law number two, to be grand, to throw me off guard, to cause me real conflict for once. But just like Villains V, W, and Y, fury and vengeance don't pair well with calculated endeavors.
Even if they did, I wouldn't have to worry. For you see, my wife is...
"... The Queen of Frost?" Villain X said, understandably shocked when he finally encountered her after years of very uncareful plotting in jail.
Yes, that was right. The former number one villain, "The Queen of Frost", was my wife. Much more dangerous, much more conniving, and so much more slippery that I suspected she may have been having affairs with other heroes on multiple occasions—yes, this woman was truly to be feared.
The sense of doom she imparted on many unlucky heroes and villains still held strong even now, post-retirement and post-tenure.
Doom.
That was what she embodied. She lived and breathed it. Or, she used to, until we became married.
Now, she simply lives it. She's a terrifying wife indeed.
"There's a third law to villainy," she told me once, not too long ago.
*Law number one: villains target the hero's family.*
*Law number two: villains plot, all the time, presumably in concordance with law number one.*
"Law number three," she said, her voice as cool and burning as dry ice. She smiled dangerously.
"If the hero's wife is the Queen of Frost, *run*."
Most villains, as expected, wisely heeded the last law. | 2020-07-18T23:15:16 | 2020-07-18T21:39:44 | 498 | 153 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | "So wait, you use explosions to traverse space?"
"Uhm ... soooo ... funny story. But first we actually use controlled combustions rather than 'explosions'. It's more like very spicy fire."
The four aliens look at each other, with concern "And you don't see a problem with that? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Again, another funny story but for real this time. Once one of our so called "Space shuttles" desintegrated because a tiny part of its own heat shield broke if during launch and that killed everybody on board. So yeah, it's dangerous, but otherwise we wouldn't be here now.
Also like only 1000 people died in space or on the way to it or back, pretty good numbers if I would say so."
Silence governed the room.
Then one spoke up: "What ... w-what was the first ... uhm ... funny story you mentioned?"
"Oh, the Orion Drive. Literally throwing nukes out the back and using the explosions as a means of interstellar travel."
"Oh .. of course ... nukes. I guess that ... was a thing." | BANG!
Kalvar the Martianwas almost done with his midday ritual when he heard the noise. Surely it was...
"K to the R! What's up bro?"
"I've told you several times... My name is..."
"I know, I know, The Martian Kalvar of the Order of the Ethereal Knights. Is that your real name, or do you just put that on your resume because it sounds remotely cool?" Rex said, poking a head into the room with a lazy smile.
"It is..."
"Never mind, Calvary. The Provost says we're supposed to submit Article 214 at the Chapel before the Confession today."
"Did he say anything about late delivery?" Kalvar said, resigned to perpetual distortion of his name by Rex.
"Yeah, that we would have to attend confessional of we were two milliseconds late. I brought lunch."
As Kavlar wiped the blood off his blade, ending the ritual dedicated to his Order, famed for conquering the rogue army of Io. He looked at himself in the mirror and realized the stark difference between the status his parents enjoyed and that which he enjoyed now.
They traveled the galaxies in spaceships powered by stars.
He worked as an intergalactic mailman, partnered with the worst species of all - humans. They talked like barbarians, and had the most noisy means of transport, the...
BANG!
And Rex was off again, probably going to see Iogenia, his 'crush' or whatever he called her.
His luck had to change by all means, or when he died, he woukd not be inducted into the Supreme Order of Celestial Knights. Knighthood of such status was for those who lived valiant lives of dedication and sacrifice to make the Milky Way a better place, not to mailmen who worked as tentacles of a corrupt dictatorship run by the Satyr, Niviraah.
He checked the time. 4 hours passed the Climax of the Day. He had only half an hour before he was due to submit the Article. At this rate, if he kept lamenting, he would have to attend confessional. And he had no intentions of being strapped to a Lie Detector, telling his deepest darkest secrets to a corrupt bribe-collecting Reverend of the so-called Chapel of the Enlightened.
As.he picked up Article 214, he was stunned by its weight. It had to weigh half a ton, and he was sure Rex was unable to carry it. The Reverend had never requested something so heavy. He was tempted to open...
"I swear upon my life that I shall protect and maintain the confidentiality of any Articles in my custody" he said, remembering the Creed of the Intergalactic Logistics Sector. He was bound by a creed not to...
"Fuck the ILS," he remembered the words Rex loved. It was time to indulge in a few shenanigans anyway...
He quickly grabbed his synchroniser and set it to the required frequency. The package opened slowly, revealing the most surprising content.
Cadmium, the one weakness of Satyrs. Niviraah had banned the transport, possession or use of the substance, stating that offenders would be tried for treason and executed.
What was the Reverend doing with Cadmium? | 2020-08-07T17:56:13 | 2020-08-07T17:06:37 | 191 | 38 |
[WP] Everything was going smoothly for once, as you finally left the stigma of your past villainous life behind. You have a wife now, and even a little girl on the way. So why.. why did the the #1 hero have to choose the bank your wife works at to have a destructive hero vs villain battle at? | My power, my one power was useless outside of villainy. I didn't have super strength, speed, or toughness. It didn't take me long to regret ever using it in the first place. I faked my death 4 years ago, now I'm just an equipment operator at the local steel mill.
Janis works at our local bank,two blocks away. After a few dates we started going steady. married a year ago. In three months I was going to be a father, and I couldn't be more terrified, what if I screw my kid up like me?
But now, now I'm beyond terrified. The Mauler had come into my little town to stop Event Horizon from stealing the platinum catalysts from the local refinery. Like an idiot, Event Horizon decided to rob the local bank while waiting for the motor convoy. Like a bigger idiot, The Mauler was duking it out with her inside the bank.
As I sailed my dirt bike over the police lines and skidded into the bank doors I think I felt my left shoulder dislocate. That was fine, as long as Janis was still safe. I stumbled through the lobby and around the fighting. Janis was huddled against the back side of the marble divider with three of her coworkers. I was almost there.
Event Horizon loosed a black hole between herself and The Mauler. It was a horrible plan, The Mauler was immune to being moved unless he wanted to, all physical interactions just built up kinetic energy that he would deliver in his next punches. Unless she was trying to overload his ability to store kinetic energy. To my knowledge no super villain had ever tried that. And the reason was simple, unless you were hiding behind a miniature black hole, potentially setting off that much kinetic energy might dissipate as heat. Lots of heat.
I stumbled and fell, sliding towards the slowly growing black hole that was already ripping pieces of the marble away from my wife's only cover. Both supers ignored me, assuming I would just be another statistic soon enough. I reached out to the cold void as I passes between them, my power winking into being. The shadowy scythe that I borrowed from Death slid through her ankles, snuffing her power out with her soul. The shadow in my hands vanished the instant I let it go, hoping The Mauler hadn't seen what went on partially behind the black hole. Janis would be fine. I crawled around the corner to hold her while we both cried.
The Mauler came around the corner and stared at us for a moment. He locked eyes with me and glared.
"Well that was a bit grim," the pun was even more horrible for the flat delivery. He knew.
I started to gather myself , Janis didn't need to see this next part, but The Mauler waved me back.
"Just stay down. Everything's going to be fine." A life for a life, apparently The Mauler had a stronger sense of honor than duty. I was spared having my new life shattered.
It has been 4 years since my little sunshine was born. She seems happy. Today she manifested. She can make rainbows and light. She's nothing like me, thank the gods. A life for a life, I can be happy for that. My life in shadow for her life in light.
​
Edit: cleaned up a continuity error that had persisted between writings of wife and fiancee. Fixed an ambiguous reference to the two supers. added closing paragraph to the story. | You stand at the very apex of the tallest building in the city - yours, built after you were reformed from your formerly villainous career. You stand outside your office, on a balcony overlooking the city. To your left, you notice the Hero's headquarters on fire. Even from this distance you could see people streaming out the door, some on fire as the powers they relied on simply failed to respond. To your right, the villains' latest stronghold began to implode, towers crumbling and buildings throwing debris out into the surrounding area. You fiddle with a device in your hands, and think back to how you got here in the first place.
It was meant to be a day of celebration. Her birthday. You walked towards her place of work, the local city bank, downtown branch. Holding a bouquet of roses, you reminisce about how you met her - how, in your greatest heist yet, you were stared down by a lowly bank teller, how she faced you down despite being terrified for her life. How you saw straight to her soul, how you knew you couldn't hurt her even if you wanted to, because you knew she was your soulmate.
She managed to talk you down, and somehow managed to stop your destructive tendencies cold. She became your world - the one greatest treasure you really needed. She was over the moon when you married her only three months later, and even now, over two years after you met, you were happy, especially with a baby on the way. You didn't lack in money - after giving up your world domination tendencies, you found that your inventions actually improved the world far more effectively used for good rather than evil.
But she didn't want to just stay home and work; she liked her job, and over the last two years she had risen to become branch manager of the entire bank. You were so proud of her, and she knew it. You were just turning the corner of the street when something massive crashed into your destination, sending dust and debris everywhere as the building began to collapse under the sudden, brutal, assault.
A chunk of stonework rips the bouquet out of your hands as you watch stunned, frozen, as two figures emerge from the chaos. You instantly recognize both - Captain Calamity, someone you once called a colleague when you yourself were villainous, was held in the grip of the Guardian - widely called the best of the heroic faction. He was holding Calamity by the neck off the ground, hovering like some sort of vengeful god. He began to spout something about vanquishing evil and keeping the peace, but never took his eyes off the villain in his grasp. Calamity, on the other hand, was staring at the destruction behind him. He was visibly concerned by the casualties, and was pointing them out to the hero.
Guardian spared a glance at the people now stumbling out of the dust and debris, some clutching bleeding limbs, others dragging their friends and colleagues with them. Some of those people were bloody, and weren't moving. Guardian watched, but tightened his grip on the villain and held him close, and said something to his face. You couldn't quite hear his words, standing a little too far away, but even among the chaos you caught the phrase 'acceptable losses', before Guardian shot upwards, hurling the villain towards another part of the city before flying after him with a sonic boom.
You stood frozen through the entire encounter, mildly disbelieving that had just happened. Your feet start moving, and you begin to come to your senses. You scan the crowd, looking for your better half. Others running away from the destruction were pushed aside as you pick up your pace. You keep looking for her among the survivors, among the wounded being tended to, among the more heavily wounded still being taken out of the wreckage.
You stumble to a halt as you arrive at the mangled mess of what used to be a bank, and you notice her office. Her office, once so close to the main floor because she wanted to be close to her employees and her customers, now crushed nearly beyond recognition with the remains of what was pretty obviously Calamity's latest vehicle of destruction. Your legs give out as you notice the distinctly red smear under the damaged, unsalvageable mass.
You are knocked out of your musings by the sound of someone approaching you. You turn, and watch as the Guardian stumbles towards you, pointing a pistol at you. He was covered in soot and burns and swayed on his feet, unused to being brought down to normal, having taken the elevator up to your office. The gun in his hand shook.
"Stop, Grandmaster, you can't do this! This is a disaster!"
"Yes," you say, "I most definitely can."
"But think of all the people you've just killed! All the villains that are now free to roam and cause chaos and destruction!"
You stared at him. "What, chaos and destruction like you've been doing?"
"I did so for the greater good! Surely you understand there are acceptable losses in war!"
"I'M NOT IN A WAR!" You roar. "I WASN'T PART OF YOUR WAR ANY MORE!"
You struggle to regain some composure. "But you do have a point. So long as there is a war, there will be losses." You finish adjusting your device.
"Time to stop this once and for all."
The sound of a gunshot resonated through the office. | 2020-10-07T05:56:14 | 2020-10-07T02:17:01 | 19 | 13 |
[WP]A zombie apocalypse broke out but everyone wants to live out their Post Apocalyptic Zombie Slayer fantasy’s so all the zombies are dead in a week. |
“We interrupt this presentation of Blue Planet with a breaking news bulletin. A virus has been sweeping the southern United States turning people into zombies. The last report showed that already in only 12 hours 15,000 people have been turned into zombies. With the latest update we turn to Kelly reporting live from Montgomery Alabama. Kelly, what is the situation like there? How should people protect themselves and is there anywhere safe to flee?”
“Thanks Dan. Everything is under control here. Back to you.”
“Under control? What about the zombies?”
“The rednecks killed them all”
“………..what”
“Well, as you said, the outbreak started in the American deep south. Down here everyone has at least one gun and more often than not multiple. In the background you can see all the pickup trucks with people in the back. Those are rednecks piled into the bed of trucks driving around shooting the zombies. It took a few hours for the general public to determine what was going on and what the zombies looked like but it’s under control. Even now there are truck loads of people coming in from Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, and Texas to make sure the last of the outbreak is contained.”
“So this has all been rednecks with shotguns? That’s the recipe to stop a zombie apocalypse?”
“Yes Dan, that’s right. It turns out to stop zombies all you need is a group of rednecks in the bed of a truck, shotguns, and more Bud Light than you’d think they could drink.”
“….alright. Thank you Kelly. We will now return you to your episode of Blue Planet but make sure you stick around for an update after the show.” | Its strange to look at our sleepy Midwest town, and try to imagine what it looked like before. Mere hours after the radio broadcast, suburban homes and trendy coffee shops were barricaded. Shortly after they were painted with the evidence of small arms fire. Broken glass littered the streets, and no matter where you went there always seemed to be an uncontrolled fire burning something to ash. It seemed as though years of conflict had taken place, when in actuality, the "outbreak" had happened less than a week prior. People were looking for an excuse for violence, and trigger happy citizens began to blow each other's brains out right away.
In the suburban area, residents began feverish, over-the-top preparations immediately. Trenches were dug around homes, booby traps laid down, and children took turns guarding the perimeter. Not that you could go anywhere near these homes anyway, and the drone's I used were often shot down out of the air. I'm not sure what the logic was there, as they certainly weren't zombie drones, but it didn't seem like these people gave a shit. The one consistency I saw among these rapidly militant people was, joy. They all looked so happy that things had crumbled, and they could finally be animals.
The news stations who reported the initial outbreak shoulder some of the blame, certainly. Calling it a "zombie virus" to a population of people who had proven themselves unable to think for themselves was, in itself, a recipe for disaster. But with gasoline dripping from every surface, these people would have found a match no matter what happened. It wasn't shocking that the first people they called zombies were Black and Hispanic folks. What was shocking is how quickly, once their primary enemies were gone, that they turned on each other.
Anyone not flying their flag either fled, or was quickly killed. I moved to a property I owned on the outskirts of town, a fixer-up I had planned to flip, and did everything I could to make it appear abandoned. I knew I should have left with everyone sensible, my anxiety firing on all cylinders as I walked around the decript house. But someone had to witness what happened here, some sort of record so people could make sense of it later. Those first days were loud, with gunshots ringing out almost every minute. Screams of violence and glee, explosions and cries for help, all of these I saw and heard through any camera I could access from my hide-away. Then, on Wednesday, silence. They had eliminated every enemy they'd had. So what does a tribe do when they have no food? They resort to cannibalism.
When the news came out, I doubt any of them cared. The data was false, the news reports were fake, it was the media trying to get them to let their guard down. The fact there was never any zombies at all didn't matter, because deep down these people wanted chaos. When their perceived enemies were gone, they made new enemies out of one another. They didn't need a virus to make them want to eat their fellow man, they had been foaming at the mouth for months. As the seventh day dawned, there was that silence again. As I walked through town, a town I had once loved with all my heart, I couldn't recognize it. There was nothing great about this place, and I wasn't certain there ever would be again. I stared at a shopfront, glass shattered and bricks broken, and thought about just giving up. Why stay? Is there anything left to save?
Then I began to pick up the glass. Started cleaning the rubble. As I started to clear away the evidence of chaos, I realized that its never over until you give up. I felt something in my chest as I began to rebuild the town.
Hope. | 2020-10-19T18:42:36 | 2020-10-19T13:40:59 | 144 | 91 |
[WP] Sauron has been biding his time and returned to Middle Earth after thousands of years and raised an army of orcs. However, he does not know about the technological advancements of men, such as M-16s, artillery strikes, and Apache attack helicopters. | “So what’s this all about then?” The Prime Minister’s face displayed visible annoyance as his advisors filed into the 10 Downing Street Secure Intelligence Facility (a grand title for a small green-walled meeting room with a splintery table and pipe chairs that had been there since 1943). Being awoken at 3am hadn’t done anything for his temper or his more mussed than usual blonde haystack of hair.
The youngest of the pack of civil servants was thrust to the front by his peers. Looking faintly put out at being called upon to debrief the PM directly, he shuffled the wad of papers in his hand until one marked with a large red stamp saying “FIVE EYES RESTRICTED” came to the fore.
“Um... it would appear that the Dark Lord has risen again, sir.”
“Dark Lord?! What on earth are you on about?”, the PM bellowed.
“Well, we’ve got a report that Sauron the Great, otherwise titled the Dark Lord and/or Lord of Barad-dûr, has arisen once more.”
The PM looked confused. “Sauron? As in the one mixed up with little fellows finding magic rings, poncy toffs with pointy ears, thick northern gits with a penchant for gold, et cetera?”
The young advisor looked faintly embarrassed. “You see, sir, it turns out that Professor Tolkien wasn’t just an imaginative Oxford don; according to our intelligence, he was actually the cousin three hundred and twenty seven times removed of one Elven seer named Glorandel, and had inherited said Glorandel’s powers of prophecy.”
“Are you seriously telling me that the Lord of the Rings was *non-fiction*?” The PM’s face was mottled red and he appeared ready to have a stroke at any moment.
“Well, not *exactly* non-fiction, more *semi-*fiction, as it were, sir...”
“How on earth did you find out about this whole Elven seer business? What intelligence source do we have that managed to fill us in on that particular piece of info, eh?!”
The young man visibly squirmed in mortification. “Er... it was in Appendix IX, section iv:36 of the Silmarillion, Prime Minister.”
The PM looked visibly shocked. “You mean someone actually read the whole book?!”
“Yes, sir, but unfortunately *after* the fact, if you see what I mean, sir.”
“So where has this bloody Dark Lord Sauron decided to show himself, then?”
One of the more senior advisors decided to jump in at that point, safe in the knowledge that he was on firmer ground once the PM had accepted the unpalatable truth about Tolkien’s tour de force of eldritch prophecy. “Somewhere in southern Germany, it would appear, sir.”
The Prime Minister perked up at the thought of his German counterpart being the one in the hot seat. “Well, can’t we just let the Germans deal with it, if that’s the case? No reason for us to have to get our hands dirty, is there?”
The senior advisor looked back over at the younger man and twitched his eyebrow.
The put-upon fellow shuffled some more paper and, in a tone of voice that indicated he expected to get yelled at, said, “Um, I’m afraid that..., it would appear that most of Germany, including the capital, and large swathes of Austria, France and several other nearby countries, roughly corresponding to the borders of the area formerly known as Mordor as laid out by Tolkien, have fallen under the influence of Sauron in a most unfortunate manner.”
“What do you mean, man? Spit it out!”
“It seems that sixty million Germans, Austrians and an assortment of other European citizens have been turned into undead wraiths, Prime Minister.”
The PM visibly cheered up at this announcement. “Well that’s not all a bad thing, is it? Takes off a bit of the heat for Brexit, eh?”
“Well, quite possibly, Prime Minister, but I’m afraid that the Dark Lord has dominated the lot of them and they’re currently marching in our direction.”
“More bloody immigrants, then? Although I suppose being undead wraiths would preclude them from applying for permanent residence.”
The Chief Cabinet Secretary on Immigration piped up from the middle of the pack with a cheerful “Yes, Prime Minister!”
“Fine then, let’s stop them at the Channel. Surely we’ve got some defense against them?”
“As it turns out, sir, Professor Tolkien was kind enough to include some advice in the next section of Appendix IX, sir. That would be...” - he shuffled some more paper - “...section iv:37, in which he states ‘a great leader of men, pure of heart and noble of purpose, shall come forth from the green hills of the Isles of Albion and with the might of his spirit shall throw down the Dark Lord into the deepest pits once more.”
“Isles of Albion? As in, us?”
“Yes, Prime Minister. It would appear so.”
“Well, what’s the fellow’s name then?”
“Tolkien included an encrypted anagram that, when deciphered, should tell us, sir.”
At that moment a balding academic type burst into the room, waving a printout. “We’ve cracked it, sir!”
“Well, out with it, man! Who is it?!” The Prime Minister looked fit to bust with impatience.
“Um... Nigel Farage, sir.”
“Oh bloody *hell*, it’s April Fools isn’t it?!” | Laurel Gamgee, great-great-great -great (lots of greats) granddaughter of Samwise called the meeting to order.
Two men, Benhan and Gondamir were in a separate conversation with three older dwarves and a hobbit named Lance. They were pouring over a map of Middle Earth.
Gondamir rose and stood slightly in front of Laurel to face the group,
"Men of the West, and of the South, Dwarves, Half-elven, Hobbits, once again we face this peril. Long has it been since we've had to take up arms together." He said importantly.
Eldoreth, son of the son of the son of Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen, leaned over to his companion, a Hobbit named Pip, "Long has it been since anyone said 'long has it been"
"We made a mistake last time," Grendor, son of Glendel, son of Gloin the Diamond, son of lots of other dwarves distantly related to Gimli.
"A wee mistake, you say, my wee friend?" Eldoreth been smoking Old Toby since noon and was completely blazed.
"I didn't say it was small," Grendor stormed.
"How dare you besmirch the great quest of our ancestors!" raged the man, Benhan.
Grendor waved him off, "For years we've debated this. Why didn't Gandalf just ask those Eagles to drop the ring into Mordor's lava in the first place. Instead of a perilous quest our ancestors could have been roasting a boar and celebrating in twenty minutes."
"He's not wrong," remarked Mariomac "Pip" Burrows as he took a long drag on his pipe. He was Pippin's great-great-grandson and so like him in appearance and disposition his grandmother had started calling him "Pip" when he was a toddler and it stuck. His family and Eldoreth's had been friends for years and years.
Eorys sat quietly, playing with her long blonde braid. The fortunes of Rohan had diminished over time. There wasn't much call for warriors these days and she wasn't cut out for ranching. She was sure she was the only one who welcomed this opportunity. She had tried to talk with Gondamir when she arrived but he had dismissed her. She wasn't sure whether it was because she was female or because she was Rohanian, or if there was some other reason. Now she stood and spoke.
"Laurel called me in because she also is aware of this. I've travelled across the sea. Not to the Undying Lands but to another shore. There I was able to obtain weapons better than Eagles. They are called helicopters. We ride inside them and they fly. Emsixteens are weapons that launch killing iron through the air faster than bows. Sauron is no match for these weapons. I have hired Rangers to train us to use these weapons against Sauron."
"Rangers. This is amazing. Aragorn was a Ranger. I want to be a Ranger!" Eldarion was unsteadily on his feet with his mug raised. "To being Rangers!"
"How about you sit and listen, Eldarion," Eorys moved toward him and gently redirected him to his seat, "you'll make more sense in a few hours."
Eldarion brought his hands up to encircle her waist, leaned in and whispered, "We should go somewhere after this."
Eorys shoved him onto a bench. "Sit. there and stop smoking."
Laurel looked at Pip, "I'm cutting both of you off. This really is serious."
"This modern weaponry smacks of Saruman," Gondamir charged.
"Indeed it does," said Filimar, the elder dwarf, "there aren't many dwarves left and I'll be damned if we'll trade in our axes to join this military industrial debauch."
Grendor rolled his eyes, "Sauruman is ancient history. If we are going to survive we have to adapt to change, old one."
Filimar moved inches from Grendor butted chests.
"Oh please wrestle!" Pip cried out.
"Inappropriate little...why did you invite children?" Benhan yelled at Laurel.
Laurel climbed on the table, grabbed one of the dwarf horns and blew it loudly.
Everyone was quiet.
"This is my party. I invited all of you. Benhan and Gondamir, I get that you are kings of your countries and that you are used to being in charge. Sorry, Hobbits don't do monarchies. We recognize Eldoreth as descendant of Aragorn who has abdicated his half-elven throne in favor more democratic rule. You cling to your old ways if you want to. Go fight Sauron with your swords, axes, and arrows if you wish. It will be a good distraction.
Sauron has never seen what we are brining in and yes, Grendor, we expect it to be fast if we can maintain the element of surprise."
In the end Benhan and Gondamir did challenge Sauron's new armies right at the gates of Mordor, right where Aragorn had given his inspiring speech. Sadly, Gondamir's speech was long and [uninspired.In](https://uninspired.In) fact, it was so long an pompous that several companies of dwarves had to be awakened to fight.
Sauron hadn't learned much in a few thousand years. He directed all his attention toward the gate. There was no ring to drop but Apache helicopters approached from the Dead Marshes and levelled the Goblin army with artillery strikes from every side before a single one of the diversionary forces could shoot an arrow.
A platoon of men and women, Dwarves and Hobbits armed with M-16s and led by Eorys took the bridge at Barad Dur in about twenty minutes. Sauron looked pretty silly in his shiny armour and newly forged sword when a grenade launcher hit him square in the chest and his extremities and head flew off in five directions.
Just to be sure, a slightly more sober Eldarion and Pip gathered Sauron's body parts and had one of the Rangers fly them over Mount Doom and drop them into the flowing lava.
"Didn't I say we should have..."Grendor started talking but never finished his thought because a group of Dwarves had already fired up a grill and started a tailgate just outside the Black Gate.
Laurel, Gondamir, Eldoreth and Filimar, as representative of their cultures, stood with their new best friends, the Rangers who were happy to ruin Sauron's day. They were being paid very well in Dwarf gold.
Eorys turned to her friends, "I am happy to announce that I am going with the Rangers. I'm a soldier, a warrior, what my ancestors called a Shield-maiden of Rohan. I want to train more and fight more. Should you ever need me, I will come and fight. For your sake, though, I wish you peace."
As the Apache carrying Eorys disappeared Pip filled a pipe and handed it to Eldoreth, "you never had a chance with her anyway. Want to go bowling?" | 2020-12-07T21:57:26 | 2020-12-07T21:15:14 | 334 | 36 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | A couple of months after my 21st birthday, my powers manifested. Cryokinesis. The ability to control ice and manipulate however I see fit. It’s a really cool ability. In fact so cool that practically everyone around me, friends, family and co-workers suggested I’d be a great hero for the world. They immediately started to give me hero names. Frost was a really good one and it really is but I’ve decided before I got my powers that I wouldn’t go into the heroing business. When I told my parents this, they were angry. I told them that there’s already multiple teams that exist that protect the county and even more that protect the planet from extra terrestrial threats but they weren’t having it. “You were given this gift and you’re not going to use it? How could you?” My old man said. Like I ever even asked for this gift.
Flash forward to now and I’m on my way to my college class. In my hand is a Starbucks coffee. *sip* “Ah! Too hot.” I take off the lid and hover my finger just above the surface of the hot liquid. “Cool” I said in my mind. The temperature of the cup goes down. I take a sip again but this time the coffee is just hot enough to drink comfortably. “That’s better.” I turn the corner and notice a human shadow on the ground. I look up and see the silhouette of a man floating 10 ft in the air. “Hey, faux Superman, how are you?” I said walking under him. The faux Superman trails me still flying. “It’s Flashfire. And where are you off to?” He says annoyed. “On my way to class, my professor has been on my butt about my assignments so I have to be there to take notes. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”
Flashfire floats down to the ground softly and stops in front of me. “I’m sure your professor can wait a few minutes. Right now, we need to talk.” I roll my eyes. “How many times am I going to have to say this. I’m not interested in joining your Boy Scouts of America group. I’ve told this to the recruiters, other heroes and now you.” I walk around Flashfire quickly but not quickly enough. He grabs my arm with an iron grip and pulls me in. “I know you have something planned.” He says through closed teeth. I scowl my eyebrows. “How did you know I’m planning a party from my mom’s birthday?” I said with a grin. “Cut the BS. I know it’s gonna be big. Terrorist attack with bombs? Teaming up with the villains?”
I take a step back. I yank my arm out of his grip the best I can and stare at him. “First of all, just say bullshit. You’re a grown man. And second. I would never do anything like that. And I would never team with the villains. What they do is horrible and I could never be a part of it.”
“You seem so against them, so why not help us defeat them? You could be a valuable asset.” Flashfire asks. “Valuable asset? Aren’t there two other heroes with the same powers I do?”
Flashfire can’t find the words to argue against me. “Look. If anyone harms me or anyone I care about, I’ll use my powers but I’ll never be one of you. Flying around to save the day only for some other super powered nut job try and do the same thing. Just leave me be.”
I turn away from Flashfire, not looking back once but I could still feel his glare from behind my head. I get the feeling he doesn’t like me that much. | "Whoa, guys, now wait just a sec", I said while raising my hands in a warding gesture towards the two supes trying to threaten me with their powers.
"No more waiting, Carl", said Josh the Jellyfish. Yes, he picked that name. "Your time's up", added Rocky Rhayle. "Either you spill your secrets now or we spill your guts. Your decision."
I rolled my eyes. "First of all, do you really believe you could 'spill my guts' that easily? Second, Josh, we were flatmates when we were in university. What secrets do you think I'm hiding? Not to mention that about five of your friends already tried to find any evidence that I'm more than I seem to be in the past week alone. This is really getting out of hand and very annoying so please just accept that I'm simply not interested in being a celebrity like you."
"Sure", Rhayle replied. "A man with your abilities would have absolutely no ambition to make the world a better place."
"Look", I said, rubbing my temples with my right hand. "It's more complicated than that. I do have my reasons not to act while terrible things happen, really, I do, but they're not part of any evil plan or something. I just..." I broke off. "I can't tell you. It's too dangerous."
"So there is actually a secret!" Rhayle exclaimed triumphantly and crossed her arms with a very satisfied face.
"Yes, and I have no intention of telling you whatsoever", I said. The next moment, my whole body dissolved into a viscous liquid and I escaped through a crack in the wall behind me. I filled it with stone as soon as I had reached the other side, though that wouldn't stall Rhayle for very long. So I started running, my legs propelling me forward four times faster than normal. I turned some corners to shake off anyone tailing me. Some moments later I saw Rhayle flying past the entrance to the alley I hid in, standing firmly on a disc of rock, Josh clinging to her for dear life as they zipped though the streets.
I waited a minute more, then I exited the alley, walking down the street in the opposite direction of where my would-be pursuers had headed to.
I sighed. I would have to sneak back into my own house again today. Hopefully Rhayle would already be there when I returned so I could dig a tunnel into the cellar. If I could only find someone who was able to create illusions I could start a new life with a new face somewhere else. Or would that be too taxing for them? Also, I would need to stay close by...
I lost myself in those thoughts as I wandered homewards, which was a fatal mistake. I realised that when I was pulled into a doorway suddenly and someone pushed my down to the floor. I hit hard, my backbone protesting loudly. I blinked, attempting to reorient myself. Where was I? And what the heck was going on?
"Hello Carl, old friend," a terribly familiar voice said. "Velu?" I called, rolling over so that I lay flat on by belly. My view landed directly on a pair of dirty old boots. I glanced upwards and saw a young woman staring down at me with a faint smile on her lips.
I groaned. Getting caught by somebody twice a day? It was a new record high. I got up again and, while dusting of my clothing, explained: "Look, I don't really have the time or the patience to deal with you right now, so, you know." I shrugged. Then I tried to find someone with powers that could be useful. And if it was only someone particularly strong - not even supernaturally.
It didn't work. It felt like I had lost a sense, gone blind or deaf.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, darling', my ex-girlfriend sighed, "but none of your powers are going to work - for quite a while, I'm afraid. You see, Crane the Collector here has the remarkable ability to take someone's powers away from them and use them himself. It's quite handy to be honest." She gestured to a hulking man behind her I only now noticed. "What do you feel?" she asked him, but he only furrowed his brows. I groaned on the inside. This was going to start a whole host of problems.
"Well?" Velu asked again.
"I don't... I don't understand...", Crane mumbled. Despite the unpleasant situation I was stuck in a grin split my face. It was actually funny - somehow.
"Perhaps you should stop and try again," I suggested. "Maybe you accidentally suppressed your own powers."
I could hardly believe it, but the idiot really fell for the trick.
As soon as I felt my powers returning - marked by a prickling sensation all over my body - I attacked. I stretched out my feelers for the man's energy source, the one that powered his abilities, and redirected the flow towards myself. I did the same to Velu and everybody else in the building for good measure - though I really tried not to take too much. They were villains, yes, but I didn't want to kill anyone - not as I had done the first few times I had used my powers.
I was out the roof of the building a second later, the wind carrying me away. I landed after only flying a short distance. I didn't want to risk losing the connection and plummeting to my death.
After having recovered from the awful experience of having my own powers turned against me, I went looking for Josh and Rhayle. If someone who could do the same things I could had joined the battlefield, I probably had to step up and put him in his place.
Even though I just hated bloodshed and all that stuff... | 2021-08-16T16:25:03 | 2021-08-16T14:51:45 | 324 | 80 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | Everything was Just the way it should be. The chamomiles were blooming. The snakeroots, freshly planted. And in front of her stood the Maidenhair, so tall that she could only just see the top. The leaves were just starting to change from their bright green to the brightest gold that would rival the gold the richest of the town carried in their pouches.
The rest of the garden was of a similar nature. Everything was almost ready to be harvested. Well, save for the snakeroots.
“I see you’re still hard at work.” A familiar voice called out. She looked up to the rocky path above her garden.
There Ibras stood, cloaked in his dark wizard robes, marked with the royal purple that was only donned by the instructors from the university. To say he was a high levelled would be an insult to the man. He wasn’t just high levelled. He was the highest levelled wizard of this city.
She looked back down at her garden without responding.
“How long until these are ready to be harvested?” He had suddenly appeared beside her. Months ago, when she first met him, this would have made her scream.But she was used to it now. She reached up and brought the lowest branch down closer.
“Maybe…another week or so? It’s hard to say.” She replied after a moment of thought. He said nothing in return for a while. They stood together, enjoying the silence.It didn’t last long until the wizard spoke up again.
“Why’d you chose this class?”
“You’ve asked me this five times already.” She sighed in exasperation as she turned away, releasing the branch.
“And you still haven’t given me a proper answer.” He replied. She fell silent as she knelt down and examined the area where she had planted her Marigolds. Bright green buds were peeking through the ground.
“You could’ve chosen any other nature profession. Botanist.Druid. Even a ranger. But you chose gardener. A class no one has ever picked.” He counted each class on each finger as he walked behind her. “A class with no known stats. So… Why?”
She shrugged in reply. The silence went on for moments before he sighed and shook his head. The peaceful silence returned, tinged with an air of tenseness.
The silence was again broken when a roar of unruliness echoed from the path above, followed closely by a heavy sigh from the wizard.
“I told them not to drink so much,” He stood up.
“If they come near my garden again—” she started.
“I know, i know.” He held his hands up in defence, a smile dancing on his face. “I’ll lead them back to the inn.” He turned away and walked a few steps before pausing and turning back. “I’ll visit you tomorrow.”
“you’re always welcome in my garden.” She said, her expression relaxing into a smile.
The smile didn’t last long though.
“There you areeee!”
Both of them groaned at the loud slurred voice of the hero. And sure enough he appeared above her garden.
Matthias. The hero of the city. Actually, the highest levelled hero of the city. And it wasn’t just him. The whole team was there. The paladin, the Druid, and the Rogue. Each one of them were just as powerful. But none came close to the Hero’s level. And he knew it. He often took advantage of the fame that came with his class and level.
Now he’s the biggest tool of the city.
He leapt down with an air of finesse to his body, only to stumble forward and fall face first into her bush of roses.
“Matthias!” The wizard warned, irate with the man. “I told you lot not to—”
“nooot to drink too much, I know I knoooow” He slurred as he struggled to his feet. He squinted at the bush in front of him for a long moment…Before stamping his armored food straight in the middle of it.
Her blood boiled.
“Hey!” She snapped as she stood. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“Tell us what?” The druid hopped down. “What’s a low level commoner class got to say to us?”
“Sibeal!” Before the druid could advance, the wizard stopped her with an arm in front of her face. With his back turned to her, she couldn’t see his expression. But whatever it was, the Druid quickly back down with a curse.
“Liiist’n here gard’ner--“A hand on her shoulder, and without thinking she spun around and gave the hero a hard shove. She had expected him not to even budge, so she was surprised when he fell back.
And horrified when his head cracked against the base of the Maidenhair.
At first nothing happened. He just…laid there. Unmoving. No one in his party dared move. Everyone expected him to just swear and curse and struggle to get back up.But he didn’t.
And the next thing…A headache. The worst she had ever felt. So bad it almost split her head open. She fell to her knees, clutching her head. With ever pound of her headache, hundreds of pieces of information forced its way into her head. Plants she had never seen Their properties, their needs, even their abilities. She felt someone’s hands on her back, she could hear someone’s voice, distant to her ears.She forced her eyes open.
In front of her was the blurry hero’s body, still unmoving. Someone was beside him, shuffling through his pockets urgently. The rogue, she thought. Just as he pulled something out, her vision doubled from the headache,forcing her to close her eyes again.
“You can’t be serious—” the voices were clearer now. That high pitched tone of sheer distain and shock could only have been the Druid.
“If we leave her here, she’ll tell the council what happened.” The wizard, just beside her, snapped, his voice peaked with anger. “do you want to be found out already?”
The group was silent for a while, allowing her pounding headache to ease into a throbbing one. She opened her eyes again.
“Hey you,” this wizard said, his loud voice now softened to a whisper. “how’re you feeling?”
“…like shit…” Was all she managed as she clutched at her head. “what’s happening…?”
“I’ll explain everything in due time, but we need to leave right now, yourself included.” He said as he pulled her up to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“What?” Even if her legs felt like jelly and her vision blurred, she shoved the wizard away. “I’m not…” She grimaced as her head throbbed. “I’m not leaving my garden!”
The wizard’s expression was grim. “I’m sorry.” He said slowly. “But…you don’t have a choice.” | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T21:37:31 | 1,001 | 172 |
[WP] You’ve begun to suspect the homeless girl at the Library isn’t human at all | The girl is pale and dark-haired, too thin for the coat she’s wearing. Sometimes I see her in one of the armchairs of the childrens’ section, and sometimes sitting on the floor among a pile of books in between the shelves.
It doesn’t matter how late I stay at the library, or how early I go there to visit, she’s there somewhere, if I bother to look.
I never see her coming in or going out. The building is old, remade from an old manor, to a hotel, until it’s reached this new life as a small town’s public library. As a consequence, the building has its fair share of lesser known entries and exits.
I don’t tell anyone about her. The winters are cold in our town, and I’m not about to put a girl out on the streets. The library’s not the best place for a teenage girl to live, but at least it’s warm and out of the snow.
Over the holidays, the library is closed, which means the heating will be off as well. I’ve found one of the lesser known doors over the few months of coming here, and I sneak in early the morning of Christmas, a wannabe Santa Claus without so many presents.
I just have a bento box of food and a thermos of hot chocolate, and I carry them to the bookshelves where I see her most. Fantasy and science fiction.
She’s not there, but a book is lying open on the floor. It’s a low fantasy about a world with magical creatures, and I can tell from just the cover that the subject matter is light-hearted.
I place the bento box on the floor and start to leave when the pages of the book flutter. They continue to move as I watch, and the ink rises above the pages like steam. It billows into a cloud of smoke, and the girl walks out.
Now I realize that she’s more than pale, she’s the color of parchment. Her hair is strands of ink.
I fall back onto the ugly carpet of the library, and the girl lets out a shriek. After continuing with a few expletives, she closes the book near her feet and places her hands on her hips.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I point at the food and thermos.
She sniffs the box and gingerly opens it, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Tofu, interesting,” she says, taking a bite. “What is this?”
“I seasoned it with garlic and paprika.”
“I meant, what does this food mean? Is it charity, a gift? A way to get into a poor girl’s heart?”
Calling it charity feels awful, although it was technically just that.
“I just thought you’d like some warm food.”
“I do like it, thanks.”
It’s a rude way of telling me to get lost, but I could take a hint. I wave a curt goodbye, and end up knocking another book off the shelf.
It falls open, and smoke rises from the pages. Smoke without fire, until my lungs are filled with it and I can see nothing.
When I open them again, I’m on a wide green field, with the girl by my side. She’s still got the bento box in her hand.
“What just happened?”
“Consider this my repayment,” the girl says. “A good meal, in exchange for an adventure. I believe we’ve entered the world of Daynor.”
“The world of Daynor?”
“A fantasy of middling quality,” she says. “But the writer was skilled at worldbuilding, so this will be a treat.”
“Who are you?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the girl says. “Lana, the ink traveler.”
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you like my work, check out* r/analect | It began quite innocuously. A rather large crowd was entering the library and we were driven together by the swathes of patrons as we ascended the stairs to the entrance and thus I bid her good day.
"Why?" she asked, stopping in place to stare at me. I found it quite unnerving.
"There is no reason, really." I explained. "Regardless of whether or not the speaker thinks the day good, the phrase 'Good day' can be used as a greeting." I continued up the stairs, but she remained in place.
"That is confusing." she stated matter-of-factly. "It would be better to issue a more direct greeting."
"If you say so." I replied before going about my day. I'd never seen her before, at least around the library, but for whatever reason I felt I'd had much more of a history with her than I did.
​
The next time I was sitting at a table outside the café a few days later. She arrived dressed in a grey tarp, worn as a cape atop an old hoodie and torn jeans, receiving a few strange looks from the bustling populace around us.
"I greet you." she stated, staring at me intently.
"Hello." I replied. We both simply stared at one another for an uncomfortable amount of time.
"Please, sit." I said, not as much wanting her company as much as simply to break the deafening silence.
"Sit...?" she asked, glancing around worriedly before spotting the other chair. "Ah, yes." she said, sitting opposite me, her cape draping over the back of the chair. I drummed my fingers against my temple, trying to think of what to say next. Thankfully, she was the one to disrupt the quiet this time.
"What is that?" she asked, slowly pointing a finger at my pendant.
"It is a locket." I stated, thankful for something to do with my hands as I attempted to open it. Once I'd succeeded, I turned it towards her. "Inside there is an image of my father, who is dead."
"I think I have heard of this." she said, narrowing her eyes. "You carry it with you to be reminded of him, yes?"
"That is accurate."
"Would you forget him without it?"
"No, of course not. He was my father and I loved him."
"Then why do you require these objects to remind you?"
"Can we discuss something else?"
"Very well." she said, retracting her arm.
"I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Pierce." I said, offering a handshake.
"No you're not." she said, appearing quite confused. "You're human."
"Um, yes, but Pierce is my name." I said, lowering my hand.
"Oh! Names! Ah, I am, um..." while she panicked, my attention was drawn away from her. I was for some reason surprised to find that the café was still busy; it had seemed so calm. I looked to my watch and found that I would likely be late for work.
"Tear!" she said, standing up and knocking her chair over. I jolted backwards. "My name is Tear. I am Tear." she reiterated.
"...Good to see you again, Tear." I replied. "I'm afraid I must leave presently in order to go to work. Perhaps we will meet again."
"I am certain of it." she said. I didn't feel her stare leave me all the way to my office.
​
"Are you okay?" I heard above me. I looked up from my keyboard to see Ingrid peering over our cubicle divider.
"I feel fine." I said, continuing to type as I conversed with her.
"You're typing loud as shit." she said. "That's weird, even for you."
"Language, Ingrid." I replied, taken aback by her vulgarity. "We're at work, be professional."
"Yeah, whatever." she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I said, you're acting weird. What's up?" Tear came to mind, but for unknowable reasons I hesitated to mention her.
"Nothing is up." I stated. "I told you, I feel fine."
"If you say so." she stated before sitting back down behind the wall. Her insolence irked me. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. To my surprise, I wasn't surprised to see Tear standing next to me.
"I greet you." she said, her cold breath caressing my face. It smelled of pepper.
"And I you." I replied. "Why are you here?" she held up a locket which looked identical to mine. I glanced down to my chest to ensure that it was still there. She opened her locket to reveal a picture of Ingrid.
"Where'd you get that?" I asked, startled.
"Image of the dead." she said, grimacing and taking a small jar out of a pocket.
"Wh- Ingrid is- Did you- What?" I asked. Her expression soured further.
"I- I \*hhkkh\* like you, P-pierce." she choked out, as if trying to prevent herself from vomiting. "She is- \*khhk\* is a ***bother***." she said, her voice deepening and growing desynchronized from her mouth as she began coughing up a viscous, bubbling grey liquid, lifting her hand to stop it from spilling upon the floor. I drew back, retreating in my swivel chair to one of the corners.
"What are- are you sick? I-" the liquid seemingly burned her flesh, but she didn't react. The droplets which escaped made minute holes in the floor as she redirected the flow into the jar she'd produced, finishing expunging the substance from her body. I stared in horror as she moved closer, paralyzed with fear.
"Image of the dead." she repeated, placing the jar into my hand and closing my fingers around it. "She is a bother." | 2022-01-15T12:45:29 | 2022-01-15T11:24:15 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] You are bored and you pray for true love to a forgotten god on a whim. To your utter shock, a portal opens up above your head and a solemn void says, "This compass will show you the way to your soulmate." The thing is, the compass would just point to the stars no matter where you go. | The stars stretched out the window like glowing arrows as soon as she activated hyperspace. She leaned back and geared up for the kick. Hyper-travel always made her sick.
With a jump and a soft *woosh* the ship propelled itself through the time-space-fold, then came to a halt. Rose looked around at the unfamiliar starscape around her, then down at the silver compass.
Twenty years. Twenty years since she’d been given the compass and set on her quest to find her true love. Years of loneliness, of danger, of rogue planets and inhospitable solar systems…
But finally, according to her calculations, she had arrived. She approached the landing dock of the strange planet with a mixture of fear and excitement. She smiled at the silver compass in her hands, pointing towards the large mass ahead.
 
She grabbed the coms device and found the planet’s frequency. “Ship 3447 from Sol requesting permission to dock,” she said.
“3447, please state the purpose of your visit.”
“Someone gave me a compass that directs me to my true love and it’s pointing here.”
There was static-silence on the other end of the line for a beat. Then, “3447, please hold."
Rose waited. She could hear muffled chatter on the other end of the line. Then typing. Then a sigh.
Finally, the radio crackled back to life: "3447, compasses work based on a planet’s magnetic field. They’re useless in outer space.”
Rose frowned. She looked down at the silver compass. “I mean, yeah… what's your point?”
“How did a compass lead you to this planet, then?”
“Ahn…” she scratched her head. Pressed the talk button, then hesitated. Then pressed again: “I mean…
can’t we just overlook this?”
“Sorry, 3447, I’m going to need an explanation for this one before granting you docking rights.”
“The compass is pointing towards *love*, are we really going to get hung up on the magnetic thing?! Come on,
just let me in, dude -- I gotta meet the love of my life.”
“Negative. We need to address this issue right now.”
“Why?! Why can’t you just go with it?”
“3447, our planet is home to the Association of Petty Storytelling Overanalyzing Jerks of the Sagittarius Arm. I’m afraid it’s against our constitution to let you dock while carrying a plot hole onboard.”
“It’s not a plot hole! It’s at most a… plot eyelet.”
“Still waiting on that explanation.”
Rose eye-rolled, then shook her head. “All right… the compass is moved by the strongest force in the
universe. The power of lo --"
"3447 please don’t come at us with that Interstellar bullshit – do you know how many times people try that
with us a day?”
“All right, yeah, that was lame…” Rose thought about it some more. “How about this… whoever the love
of my life is… they *are* magnetic. That’s why the compass points toward them. They’re a superhero!”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Typing. “Hmm…” the voice said. Then: “No. Sorry. Too weird.
This is a space story, making it part superhero just to address this one specific technical issue feels clunky and cheap. Like in Stephen King's novels when there's already a supernatural thing happening somewhere and then a different, completely unrelated supernatural thing happens in the same story elsewhere and you're like: wait, there's two things now?!”
"Right, like The Outsider."
"Exactly. That show had such promise..."
"It did..."
They both sighed and thought about how much promise that show had for a beat.
Then the radio came to life again: “3447 I’m afraid I have to ask you and your plot hole to leave. Please stand by while I head over there to give you your ticket for delaying the docking line.”
“Great, I’m not getting the love of my life and I’m getting a ticket now.”
From the planet's landing platform a small ship emerged and began to glide towards Rose. “Stand by, 3447, I’m
heading over…”
“Yeah, yeah…” Rose looked down at her compass. “How much do I have to pay for this –” she frowned and stopped
talking.
“3447? Everything all right?”
The compass had moved, the arrow pointing to the right now. She looked up at the ship heading towards her. It had moved to her right too.
The ship went around hers, and she looked down at her compass to see the arrow following it perfectly. She smiled.
“Please prepare to be boarded, 3447.”
Rose ran her hand through her hair. She adjusted her uniform’s collar. She smiled her most seductive
smile. She looked down at her compass again to make sure -- it was pointing right at the other ship. “Oh, I’m prepared to be boarded, all right.”
The door came open to two little green men with notepads.
“Well, hello, Mr. Space-Plot-Police, how are you this fine --”
The green man in front cleared his throat: “Captain of the vessel 3447, I’m Edgar with the Plot Hole police and this is James with the Bureau of Corny Prompt Endings, I’m afraid we have to issue you two tickets now.”
“Ah, fuck this, fuck you both, I’m out,” Rose said, and then she jumped out of her ship and fell into oblivion.
…
“But not really, because there’s no gravity to make you *fall* in outer space,” said Edgar, the jerk.
 
/r/psycho_alpaca | Edit: I misread the prompt. I saw it as 'pray to a forgotten god' not 'pray for true love to a forgotten god.' Oh well haha.
It had been many moons and many days since I had first received that arcane compass. One that I could not lose, even if I tried. A gift from a forgotten god whom I found myself praying to at a whim. For to forget is a fate worse than death, and none deserve to be forgotten.
The god appeared in my dreams, for this is the quickest and easiest way for divinity to access mortals. And in my dreams it lauded me, spoke kind words of me, of my heart. And it promised me that it would guide my heart to the one that would make it whole.
It gave to me a compass. A shining, brass, exquisite contraption. Prone to fingerprints and scratches, both of which did not linger for more than while. A beautiful device, perfectly weighted, the dark needle suspended in a light green liquid that seemed to glow when it caught the light. The needle which would point to the one that would make my heart whole.
I had no use for it.
Even if I did, the needle only pointed upwards. Not northwards, mind. But upwards. The needle was suspended in the liquid of the compass, but not anchored to anything. Therefore it was free to move in all directions, not just horizontally like all other compassses.
I had not received any other dreams to sate my curiosity about the device.
Of which, truthfully, I only had a little, and it was never a pressing curiosity. Just something at the back of my mind.
Because the notion that I needed someone to make my heart whole, the notion I could not be complete just by myself was a harrowing one. A common notion, to be sure, but the fact that even a god would curse the fate of this kind of... Bond on me was a little distressing.
Only a little. I would not scorn the gift from a god, that would be unbecoming. I would have an open mind, and a selectively open heart. I would marry, as was the implication of the gift, even though I had no intention to ever marry. I would seek the one the compass pointed to out, if and when it becomes possible.
I would follow the directions of this almost forgotten god, for it is impolite not to do so.
The cravings of the flesh, the need to find someone to share my life with, these were all things I knew I had to worry myself with. My peers definitely were. To find their wives or their husbands was something that they put effort in. To procreate, to strengthen their family name, their standing, to make everything right and good for posterity.
These were noble aspirations. Common and expected aspirations.
But aspirations that seemed alien to me. Not right for me.
In a way, I was hurt that my god could not see this of me.
But no. I shall, if the compass ever points to the accessibile, go and find the one who would apparently make my already whole heart wholer still. And see if my feelings towards a lifelong bond with someone changes.
That night, as I stood on the bow of the ship I was the oarsman on at the end of a long shift, I saw it. High above in the starry night. A night stained with the beautiful dottedness of minuscule, distant glows and twinklings that was plastered on the dark blue canvas, I saw it. Bright. Brighter than everything else. And larger as well. And moving, streaking across the stationary, cloudless sky.
I could feel the compass tugging on my chest. I took it out, and saw with wide eyes as the needle started shifting, rotating to follow the arc of this shooting star. I kept watching as the shooting star fell across the distant horizon and vanished behind some mountains, but the needle kept pointing there. Past the mountains.
For a second, I thought of waking the Captain. She knew of my broken compass. She believed my tale of how I acquired it, though I left out details of my lack of interest in the actual purpose of the compass itself.
Our ship was to head along a a policed trading route. A safe travel to our destination where we would drop off our passengers and pick up cargo. To make a detour now would be unacceptable, that much I knew.
But... For a fleeting second, my heart pounded. This was what the god had in store for me. This was what would make my heart whole.
I felt the needle move again. I looked back down at the compass, and frowned in disbelief as the needle slowly rotated on the green liquid again until it was, as before, facing upwards again.
What?
I looked again towards the horizon, my eyes straining to see any glow or anything come from the beyond the dark mountains. But there was none. I looked again at the compass, confused.
What was that about.
As the minutes went by, the adrenaline I initially felt at this divine gift finally doing something deflated, and was replaced by a dark confusion. What was the explanation?
Ah, no matter. I had to rest. I had a day of rowing to look forward to for the next day.
And as I hit the bedroll of my swaying ship and the little death of sleep took hold of me, I dreamt.
And in this dream I was lucid, aware. The god came before me. It was strange to see it after so long. And was aware of why it finally showed itself. The gift, of course. What else would it be?
It told me the compass worked as it should. It told me the device was a reminder. A comfort. To tell me that for someone who defied the stars, the compass would only point to them. Because my heart would only be complete when I am with them up above.
That did not make sense, and I told the god as much, as politely as I could.
The god shrugged. There was a reason not many prayed to it. It's ideas of gifts were often convoluted and unhelpful, even more so than the usual riddles and drivel gods came up with to tease their worshippers.
I asked it if the compass was a confirmation that I would find love.
The god asked me what love was to me.
I told it I did not know, but it was not the love my peers seemed to gravitate to when they married their loved ones.
The god shrugged again, saying, "There you have it." As if it explained something so deep yet simple.
Maybe that was exactly what it was. Maybe it was not.
"So the compass doesn't point to the person I'd love and marry. But you said it would show me the way to my soulmate. Which is me? Because I defied the stars by choosing not to love the way that everyone else does?" I asked. I had to clarify now when I had the chance. I could not be left with more questions when I awoke.
"We are all star dust. Cosmic ash. That is what the stars are made of. Do you love yourself?"
I pondered the question for a while.
"Yes." I said.
"Then remember, when it points to the stars, it is pointing to you. What you were. What you are. What you are yet to become. Because you are already whole. There is no need for you to find someone, anyone else. Is that acceptable? Can you find comfort in that?" The god asked.
I smiled. What a truly convulated way to remind me of my own worth, the value of myself.
Yes. I could find comfort in that.
The rest of my sleep was dreamless as I clutched the compass close to my heart as I slept. | 2022-01-24T10:07:10 | 2022-01-24T08:45:37 | 123 | 61 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | I blinked in surprise, turning from the TV in surprise as it rang.
The Red Phone.
They don't bother me lightly. I've made it clear that I value my privacy too much to get involved in every little scuffle between nations. After it leaked that the Heroes Society was trying to recruit me and Doctor Nefarious came after my daughter (and, subsequently, got broken, twice) I made it clear that I just wanted to do my work as a rocket scientist. Unbridled control of all of the fundamental forces made me far too powerful to be fighting super villains in the streets. But, I told the world at that press conference, if an extinction level event threatened I would be there to help.
And so the Red Phone only rings when there is great need. Only when all other options have been tried and failed. Only when the very existence of humanity is at stake.
It's rang twice before. Only twice. The first time nuclear missiles were in the air. All of the nukes. Someone - the leader of some underdeveloped republic in Latin America I think - called and pleaded with me to stop them from landing. Only I, with my great power, could do it. No one else had a chance to save the world. And so, with a sigh, I did it. I made gravity my bitch, compressed time, flew around the world, and converted all the nuclear payloads to lead.
The second time, it was an alien invasion. I know, I know, but for some godforsaken reason these idiots really did fly 487 light years to pick a fight. No, I don't know why. We never did get a chance to communicate with them. Funny thing about black hole drives: screw with one of the universal constants in a narrow field around them and they'll suck in your whole ship. A small tweak to the gravity field and they go flying off along galactic north into the intergalactic void. I didn't even break a sweat. I'd actually been waiting for that call.
And so I go to pick up the phone, wondering what world ending threat they need me to deal with this time.
"Professor Forces speaking."
"Um... um... um... hi."
I blink. This kid can't be a day over seven judging by the voice. She continues.
"They said if no one else can help people call you."
"Yes, that's true. What's going on?"
"I... I need help."
I take a breath. Ok. It's a little kid. But maybe it's still serious.
"What do you need help with?"
"I can't figure out my take aways."
I slowly blink. "Your... take... aways."
"Yeah. I'm gonna get in trouble if I don't finish my math homework, but... but I'm stuck on my take aways."
I let out a breath, and with it the tension that had been building in my chest. It's not a world threatening disaster. It's just a kid who needs help with her homework. I almost laugh, but hold back for fear of hurting her feelings. And together we work through the super confusing world of 2nd grade math.
Just as we finish, I hear a familiar voice in the background. "Patty! What are you doing! Get away from that phone!"
"But daddy, you said he could help!"
I hear the phone being taken away from the child and the voice, almost panicked speaks more clearly. I instantly place it. "Professor Forces, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have bothered you."
"Mister President, it is fine. Calm down." After a beat, I add, "After all, children are our future, and our future not knowing how to do take aways is, indeed, a grave threat." | "Hey you, up there, yeah, *you*. Could you just stop? I really don't want to have to do this."
The self proclaimed Star was caught by surprise by the voice. Even more so when he looked down and saw what appeared to be a perfectly healthy - if not a bit tired - person beneath him.
"Huh," Star muttered to himself, he had been certain that the blast comparable in intensity to a coronal discharge he had released had wiped out everything within a 25 kilometer radius. From his research, he was the only one with powers of this type and magnitude. "Must be a speedster or a teleporter, I'll make this quick."
With a flick of his hand, Star shot forth a focused beam of superheated plasma and intense radiation, blasting the person beneath in a conflagration of immense solar power. Certain in the annihilation of the stranger, he turned, preparing to fly over to the next major city to continue his work.
"Strike two bud, I suggest you stop, *NOW*."
Star whipped around in shock , sensations at the back of his mind he hadn't felt in a long time began clawing it's way forwards. Uncertainty, intrigue, fear. The person still stood where they had been before, not seeming to have moved an inch, clothes now gone - probably disintegrated in the blast of energy - but otherwise unharmed. *Who was this person?* Star began going through names and memories of all the super powered individuals he could recollect as he lowered himself down towards the stranger. They seemed surprisingly calm for someone who just had their clothing incinerated off of them. If anything, they wore a look of mild exasperation.
"Who are you?" Star asked this as he halted his descent roughly 50 meters above the ground.
"Officially, nobody," the person below answered, "as far as most of the world is concerned, I don't exist. Outside a handful of world leaders and directors of unnamed agencies, no one knows of me." They suddenly looked up as if in deep thought, "Well... I suppose there are some conspiracy theorists, scientists, and whatnot who have sort of caught on to something existing due to the side effects of my abilities and some threats to the world just vanishing..."
A word suddenly sprung forward into Star's mind, tectonic. Not so much a word but a title given to the suspected perpetrator of two natural disasters that had encompassed the world. Officially, those events were just that, natural disasters that had brought humanity to its knees. But some otherwise ignored conspiracy theorists and silenced scientists had claimed it had to be the work of some superhuman or secret government agency since these natural disasters had coincided with the disappearances of threats to humanity.
"Tectonic?" The person below chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess some call what they suspect is behind the side effects of my abilities that." Questions whirred through Star's mind. Those theories were right? Why wouldn't such a person claim this world as theirs with such power? What did they mean by 'side effects'?
"So anyway," the person below continued, "I'd really appreciate it if you'd just stop. I don't care whether or not you turn yourself in, just... don't do this again and hopefully I'll never be called again."
"And if I don't stop?"
"A lot of people are going to die," the stranger sighed with a tinge of regret in their voice.
"That's the point," Star sneered, a focal point of intense light and heat manifesting in front of him as he gathered what he believed to be an unparalleled amount of power to bring down upon the nude individual below him.
"Strike three, I'm sorry."
Star felt as if time suddenly began slowing down, he felt as if he could perceive each and every atom and photon around him being suddenly pulled down towards the stranger. His feet began pulling away from the rest of his body, followed by his legs, his abdomen, and then the rest of his body, stretching and stretching like a rubber band. Except there wasn't going to be a release of tension, he was going to stretch until the bonds between his atoms were torn. Until the atoms that made him tore apart. Until everything around him was pulled into and consumed by that unsettling black sphere that had taken the place of the stranger below him. Star's brain had begun to send the signal to the rest of his body to begin chuckling at the realization that time wasn't slowing down, but being stretched out like he was. And in a negligible fraction of a moment that lasted an eternity, it was over.
In the other parts of the world, an elderly woman descending some stairs suddenly seemed to lose her footing, and came crashing down the steps to her end. A plane that had just touched down just as suddenly seemed to have it's rear landing gear break as with a heavy jolt downwards it's fuselage began dragging on the tarmac, leaving a trail of sparks before igniting into an explosion. A train going through a tunnel seemed to be shaken if not just yanked off the tracks, slamming into the sides of the tunnel as stone and earth above came crashing down, burying it. Many other such occurrences happened all over the world, heralding what more was to come as tectonic plates shifted ever so slightly, but enough for much pain, death, and chaos to follow.
Back in the desolate plain of what was once a city now lay a crater, at the bottom of which was sitting the stranger. Waiting to be clothed and taken back to their place of rest. Waiting for another phone to be slipped into their hand and another teleporting bracelet slapped onto their wrist. Waiting for a day that humanity would never need them again.
Waiting. | 2022-03-29T10:06:36 | 2022-03-29T08:55:13 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You and 5 other people are transported to a warehouse. You hear a voice over the intercom. "I'm going to hunt y'all down, and whoever is the last man standing gets to live. Y'all have 10 seconds to start running" | Guys, wait!
If we stick together, like stay in a group, it's 6 versus 1. The odds are in our favour.
So, let's go find some weapons, together and show this asshole who is the boss. Or bosses.
I heaed some bitching about what if the asshole has a gun or a bow and arrow?
Well, we are in a warehouse. So let's choose a wide open space and stand in a circle facing outwards. There is space to run if said asshole has a gun. And if not, 6 v 1. Bring it on!
Hmm, baseball bat, iron pipe, chains. Wow, we are seriously going to cause this asshole some hurt.
Me? I went for the K-bar kurki. Why? All I need is one good chop and end of story. Bashing somebody is not my cup of tea.
Ok, stake out time. We found the widest open space and face outwards. At least a good 50 feet of clearance. No way we can be rushed.
Voice booms over the PA system.
"Ok, that's how you all want to dance..."
Steady, guys. As long as we keep looking, we cannot be rushed.
Now, the kurki is a wonderful slashing blade. Weighted at the tip with a bend so it does not get snagged, it's not a tool, it's a weapon, 100%.
And so that is how the other 5 found out when I spin in a half circle and sever their hamstrings.
They found out how it makes a nice clean cut and that without your hamstrings you cannot really stand. Which makes all those baseball bats, pipes useless...
"I did it, last man standing!"
"We really need to get smarter participants!" | "I'm going to hunt y'all down, and whoever is the last man standing gets to live. Y'all have ten seconds to start running."
I sat down and crossed my legs. Sure the concrete was unforgiving, but I knew it well. I should. I'd been in the warehouse for seventy years. Well, by my time. I think outside it was still around April of 2014.
The other scattered. I sat. I could actually hear the confusion of the man over the intercom.
"Aren't you gunna run, son?"
"Nope." I didn't yell my response. I knew he would hear it. He was in the warehouse with me, after all. He was as trapped as I was. He just didn't know it yet.
"Why?"
"Haven't you been listening to my inner monologue?"
"What?"
I shook my head. The other employees were husks. They'd taken the purple pill decades before. I wasn't so weak.
"I'm not trapped in here with you."
I paused for dramatic effect. The Watchmen had come out a few years before I was trapped. One of the characters had said a similar line.
"You're not trapped in here with me either, though."
Silence reigned. The voice on the intercom didn't come back. Neither did I hear the faint hiss of an active line. It took ten minutes for the voice to come back.
"What have you done?"
I didn't respond. It wasn't my place to explain.
"*What have you done?*
I shook my head. The hijacker, whoever he was, had finally learned the truth.
"This might be the most lucrative Starbucks in the world, but you aren't getting away with the money. Hell, as best as I can tell, there's somewhere in the neighborhood of a billion dollars across thirty years here."
"And a good portion of that is in the safe."
I had piqued his attention. He had chased the same thing I had, only I had attacked just over three months before him. Time was different here. And I don't age.
"Where are the others?"
He didn't respond for a long time. I figured he was troubleshooting equipment that appeared to no longer be functioning.
"I can't see them."
His voice carried the very clear tones of defeat.
"Then they are gone. They left the warehouse without paying their debt. Even if it was inherited from you."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means you have to work off your debt. Anything you tried to steal from this warehouse, you have to pay off. It won't let you go until you do."
"What will? Or won't? What are you talking about?"
I shook my head. "The warehouse. It will not let you go. You don't win here. Nobody does. I've been here for longer than anybody. You don't win. You never work long or hard enough to pay your way out. That's how they win. That's how Starbucks always stays open."
The shock was evident over the open, hissing broadcast.
"You're kidding."
"I'm not. Throw on your apron, learn to use the machines, and tell me after a few hundred shifts how it is. I got tired after ten years. Been here ever since."
The PA went silent. I assumed he had gone to check for himself. I would hear from him again. Or I wouldn't. Didn't matter. The warehouse had given me time to study anything I wanted. Maybe I screwed up by choosing the most lucrative location in the world. Maybe I didn't. But I knew one thing for sure. If I ever got out, revenge would be the last thing on my mind. They could fold time. They could punish for thoughts. I just wanted to be an ordinary person again. And if they prompts they gave me got me out in less than a century, I was all for it. | 2022-07-16T04:37:10 | 2022-07-16T03:06:46 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | Sleeping soul so innocent
awakens in a blaze. Knowing not
where she is. She wanders on for
days. Beasts with horns and pointed tails
with fire in their eyes, spent the day wondering
the cause of her demise. She was too young,
too filled with life. How does one so very
small have such a shortened time. "We can't let her stay, she
wont last long." "She has no where else to go."
"We can build her a ladder to a land as white as snow."
The damned worked hard and in no time the ladder was erected, the girl
climbed up to find that her fate had been corrected. | "This is complete torture." Klatch said oblivious to the irony in his words.
Every second spent not punishing filthy heathens felt like a millennia. Yet here he was pacing back and forth with no one to release his frustrations on.
"Um... I'm really sorry sir, I bet this is my fault some how." she stares at Klatchs hooves as she speaks no doubt to afraid to make eye contact with his horrifying muzzle.
Klatch stares intensely at her as if to will her into the sinner that he had hoped he would feast on before letting out another sigh.
"Enough of that little one humility has no place here." Klatch said resined to his fate.
Klatch stares off into the endless hordes of torture in the distance. He knows that he only has himself to blame for this predicament. Children in Hell were a rare thing being to young to be held accountable for their sins most were reincarnated in some other form. But every century or two a child comes that is filled with such hate and pure evil that no other form could sustain them. Catching one such child was a rare treat for the demons of Hell. When he got a glimpse of her in the distance he rushed to her with all his might only to be nearly overwhelmed by her purity. He then sent a familiar to an overseer to sort out this mess.
Working up her courage the brat lifts her head to stare at his chest. "M, Mr. Satan maybe i should have gone with your friend, I think he got lost."
"I am not that posh socialite Lucifer nor was that meager minion my friend, merely a slave to serve my whims." he said this with more melancholy in his voice than anger.
"Speak of the us." Klatch said as his winged minion flew in his sight.
"Well." Klatch said his impatience coming to head.
"Da big gal wit da whip sas dat she's busy and will take care of it in a week or so." peeped the winged messenger.
"WHAT THIS IS UNHEARD OF THAT FAT LAZY BUREAUCRAT I WILL SEND HER TO THE SEVENTH WHEN I FIND HER AND DRAIN HER OF ALL HER..." Klatch stopped his tirade when he felt a tugging on his tail.
"Um Mr. Demon if you want you can torture me I bet I can scream really loud too." she said finally getting the nerve to reach eye contact.
Klatch stared at her with eye cocked for a moment before his face brought on a wicked and evil grin. Not because of any evil intentions but because that was the only smile he could make.
"Come little one Cerberus is probably awake, do you by chance like puppies?" | 2013-11-26T16:25:34 | 2013-11-26T15:52:45 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] Humans' ancestors never evolved on land, instead they went deeper into the oceans. Today, their equivalent of NASA sent their first "spaceship" out of the water. | Sun. It overpowered all her senses, spreading through her nervous system like jellyfish venom. Its heat pierced her protective suit, its light penetrated her goggles like they were nothing and ringing; the weight of the earth seemed to be bearing down on her shoulders and ringing, endless ringing was the only thing she could hear. Yet, after a moment of disorientation, standing on "the earth" and exposed to the world above, she was filled with rapture.
"This is heaven." Her voice rang through the intercom.
"This is hot." He touched her shoulder in passing, harpoon gun in tow as he approached the green, waving moss that seemed to cover most of this celestial plane.
"Environmental levels stables. No breathable atmosphere so keep the masks on. Otherwise, you should be good." A third voice crackled from within the vessel.
She did not have to be told twice, pulling off her suit and exposing her skin to the air, the sand, the sunlight. She might have frolicked slightly before he brought her back to reality.
"The mission. We're here to do a job, I didn't think I'd- what the hell is that!?"
Standing at the top of an incline, she could not see what he was pointing his weapon at. She hastened to follow him but struggled to move through the absence of water with what felt like a bag of rocks on her back. He shook, aim shaking with him as he continued to exclaim.
"It's fucking huge! Poseidon, are you getting this? Five feet tall, thick bones jutting from a head, skin marred by great black patches. Oh god, it saw me! It saw me! What do I do?"
She heard it before she saw it, a short, monstrous cry. It oddly reminded her of the noise her grandmother made when she was woken up. But here, there was no echo. It only made it more terrifying. She reached him just as he was putting his finger on the trigger, desperately turning his aim aside, the harpoon flying wide, missing the cow. | The entire nation waited in their homes, in the open areas, anywhere a viewer was. We waited for hours. We'd all seen the previous probes, launched into the Outer. We knew what to expect: A strange second world above ours, foreign but familiar. It was populated by so many strange and wonderful forms of life, adapted to the gasosphere surrounding our oceans.
Everyone had been up, to the beaches, and watched as the tides and waters reflected a world of crags and sunlight and clouds. For some it was a religious experience, a meeting of worlds, where the foreign and the familiar merged and swept into one another. Ours depositing the dead and the dying on the shorelines, and smoothing away any traces of the strange creatures that breath the noxious fumes of the gasosphere. For some, it was simply a beautiful scene -- we rarely get such beautiful lights in the pressures we're most comfortable at -- the occasional photoelectric fish, or a hyperintelligent octopus figures out how to operate a glowbulb and collects as many as it can from our trash heaps, flinging itself like a twirling beacon through the empty places.
We'd all seen it. It was just a quick trip up and we could all _see_ it.
But no one had been there, no one had breached our planet's sea and actually been there, in the gasosphere -- the Outer.
We thought we knew what to expect. We'd sent up probes, designed to swim the gasses. They'd sent back images of vast forests of seaweed-like organisms, taller and thicker than the densest grows we have. Strange beings -- almost all, our experts on the matter said -- had their skeletons on the _inside_, like a fish!
We'd sent a probe ship up to the landing site, first: Our sense of the dramatic must always be appeased. It shows us in real time, the ascent of or first ambassadors to the Outer. It was time. Their pod breached the surface. Everyone around me, collectively, jumped. The scene was a thing of beauty, and terror. Our people, _us_! Our simple little group of squids with extra-large brains had done this. We had left our world. We were in the _Outer_.
It was terrible and it was awesome and we all felt a little proud. Only a brief pause, while everyone tried to figure out how to feel did a cheer erupt. The sloshing waters vibrated as entire cities rumbled. It was an awesome day.
Our landing strategy was not particularly graceful: We waited for the pod to be washed ashore. It only took a few moments until it found sands beneath it, and the waters were _below_ the pod. Those people, there, on our viewer, were the highest anyone had ever gone.
The door creaked open, and we watched as water poured out of the hatch, rejoining the seas. Three of us, emerged, in suits we'd designed, obscuring their faces, but not their form. They weren't identified by any markings, but we all knew them. We'd watched them and learned and loved and prayed and sung with them all. It was as if I were standing there. The nation was silent.
This was glory. This was something that had never been done, and we would learn so much---
And then, it all with to octopus shit. Our probes had seen it, of course, and we dismissed it. We overlooked it, because we were cocky. _We_ were the top predators on this ocean, why would we worry? We can outsmart anything! We're tool users! We can create weapons from rocks and shells! We can smelt and mine and build cities and compose arias, why would we worry about something as simple as being eaten by a bear?
But.. that's what happened. And _that_ is why we're going to sterilize the Outer. It's just too dangerous.
| 2015-04-19T20:33:21 | 2015-04-19T20:32:15 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | "Really?" I asked in wonder, as I prepared the needle for the latest mark.
"Yep." was the simple response.
I'd wondered for a long time the meaning, but I had no idea why until today.
"Wow," I replied, still shocked, "You must be very talented..." He nodded again as I trailed off.
"Every time. Just gotta get that son of a bitch Mew now, and I've caught them all." | "Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer.
I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop.
He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life.
But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice.
After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be.
"Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself."
"But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt."
"Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--"
"But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her."
"Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you."
Adam walked away. | 2016-07-09T18:17:55 | 2016-07-09T09:19:24 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | "Really?" I asked in wonder, as I prepared the needle for the latest mark.
"Yep." was the simple response.
I'd wondered for a long time the meaning, but I had no idea why until today.
"Wow," I replied, still shocked, "You must be very talented..." He nodded again as I trailed off.
"Every time. Just gotta get that son of a bitch Mew now, and I've caught them all." | I turn at the some of the door opening. It had been a quiet day in the parlour and I was happy to welcome any paying customer. Except him. He fills me only with fear. I don't know what his name is, nor do I know anything else about him. Since the first day he walked into the parlour, when he explained the tattoo he wanted, he has not spoken a word to me. Always the same tattoo, another line marked on his left forearm. So I call him Tally, although the name sounds far too jovial to suit such a disquieting individual. Tall, thin and gaunt. The man has all the qualities of the malnourished yet gives the impression of having great strength should he choose to use it. It had been nearly 4 weeks since I had last seen Tally. Unusually long, the gaps between his visits had not been longer than two weeks before now. I had begun to hope he would not return. How many times had he visited now? Over 30 visits in the last 7 months. Always around closing time; always when the parlour was empty. Without speaking he walked over and sat in the chair. Reluctantly I approach and prepared my equipment.
"Two", he says as I begin to work, "I want two lines this time."
I don't question the change. I don't want to know. During earlier visits I attempted small talk, but by now I know not to bother. I simply get the job done, two roman numerals added to the tally. 32 and 33.
"I would like to thank you." The words hissed out of his mouth, as his voice rasped. Like he was not used to talking. "I would like to thank you for your services. You will be remembered."
"Remembered!?" I exclaim. What was he saying? He motions with his left arm to display the tally to me. His right hand moving into his coat.
"Number 33." A swift motion with his hand accompanies his words. It is not until I feel the heat running down my neck that I register the razor in his hand. It is not until I am slipping from my seat that I think to move and block him. It is not until I hit the floor that he moves to leave. By the time I feel the pain of the cut, the darkness has already begun to creep in.
Edit: Formatting | 2016-07-09T18:17:55 | 2016-07-09T13:31:47 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Have you ever considered, you know, doing something with your lives Seamus?" Death sat next to me in the pub, taking a swig of his pint.
"What do you mean!? I've finally perfected the brew, can't you taste how amazing this is? I have it on good authority that it's the best in the universe!"
"Seamus, you perfected this brew well over a century ago. Yes, it's the best beer in history, but surely there's still more you can do. I mean, it's gotta be divine intervention right? Nobody is supposed to win the coin toss. 235 fucking times Seamus. That's how many in a fucking row that you've won. Don't you think maybe you're genuinely mean to be doing something with all this time instead of sitting here getting blitzed? You don't even get any fucking customers out in the goddamn middle of nowhere except Joe in the corner there!"
At the mention of his name, the little old white bearded man in the corner roused himself just enough to look up from his half gone pint for a moment, mutter something unintelligible, and then seemingly go back to sleep.
Seamus, glanced over at Joe "Oi, don't be knocking Joe. He's been my loyal customer for years now, and he knows the true value of my brew."
Death had stopped all the theatrics centuries ago. He showed up in the modern dress of Ireland these days. Neither he nor Seamus could fake an accent to save their lives, but may as well blend in. He had last been at the pub 80 years ago when it was new, and 95 years before that at the tavern in Britain. Always whenever he came to visit "Seamus" was in his personal drinking establishment, serving up his same brew. Nothing ever changed with him, not even the result of the coin toss.
Death swigged down the last of the pint, it really was beyond compare. He'd been all over the world, through all the years, and he'd still never had a brew as good. Seamus was right, he really had perfected it.
"Welp, I got work to do, you know the rules, you get to call it, I get to flip it."
Seamus gargled "heads" through a sip of his drink.
Death used to think he was cheating. He knew it wasn't possible, but still, death couldn't figure out how to recreate that beer, so maybe Seamus had other secrets. Even so, it never mattered what Seamus called. Death tossed the coin in every way he possibly knew. It always came up in Seamus' favor. So this time was no surprise either. The coin landed, death swiped it up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.
"92 years, 84 days, 8 hours. I'll see you then."
"Oh aye laddy. Sounds grand. I'll have your drink waiting for you." Seamus said in his awful fake accent.
After death had left, Seamus went over to sit with his only other patron. The only patron he would ever need for all time.
"Thanks again Joe, guess I get to keep on brewing for you for another 92 years!"
Jehova looked up from his beer with a big smile.
"It really is the best in the universe!"
Edit:
Jesus! that blew up pretty thoroughly! I really appreciate all the compliments. Makes me feel good about taking the time to write it! | Call me Nathan. I died last night, but I am not afraid.
I learned two centuries ago that there are winners and there are losers. I am a loser – but I’m clever. I reach into my pocket and pull out a little black coin and look it over briefly. I might not be a terribly skilled man, but I know how to get by.
I look up as my door opens up and the Grinning Man walks in. He wears his black slacks and his black button down shirt, his mane of black hair is clean but unstyled. He removes his shoes before sitting down across from me; he always does this no matter what the style of the day is, he wants me to see the rotted flesh and exposed bone that he has been walking on.
“You are looking well, Nathan. Are you feeling lucky today?”
“I always am.”
“Has this life treated you well?”
“I met some beautiful women, smoked some beautiful plants, watched some wonderful performances, and I am very curious to see where this whole internet thing is going to go.”
The Grinning Man studies me for a moment then bursts out with a laugh. “Wow! What a life! Is it still so precious to you?”
I hesitate for a moment – he cuts me off.
“Are you aware that you are losing your mind, Nathan? I suppose you are. Is that why you spend so much time in your bed now? Watching Abbot and Costello because the world is just moving too fast? You have not listened to anything recorded since the sixties. Are you sure that it is not time to just let the natural order have its way? It’s time to die, Nathan, your soul was never meant to be human for so long.”
I scowl at him and stand up, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready to die! It’s not today! Are you ready to do this?”
The Grinning Man leans back and holds up a hand to tell me to steady myself.
“Have you been of use to anyone this life?”
I knew what he was asking. I had been feeling it myself. I used past fortunes to sustain my life, I have not worked for sixty years. I knew so very few people. I did not want to know them – they disappoint you.
“Why should it matter to you? Let’s play the game.”
He slammed his hand on the table and yelled out – his voice sounded like an entire chorus screaming in rage – “remember your place, mortal! Do not suppose that I will tolerate impatience from something like you!”
I looked down at the table and inhaled deeply. “There is a young boy in the apartment complex. Maybe 12? I was of use to him.”
“In what way?” He asked as his voice became more calm and earthly.
“I should not say. It might spoil the game.”
A young man had lost his father and rarely saw his mother. Maybe I corrupted him, but it was all I could do for the boy. I taught him how to gamble and purposely lost to him so that he could buy himself a few small things to bring him some joy. His favorite trick, of course, was the coin toss. Who knows? Maybe I made that boy immortal.
“Very well, are you ready, Nathan?”
I pulled out my coin and stared Death himself in the eye. This is the only time I can stand to look at him as my mark. “One coin toss. If I call correctly, then I get another life. I want to start at the age of 25. If I fail, then my soul is yours to do with as you must.”
“Agreed.”
I flipped the coin. I set the coin on my thumb Tails up. I exerted the exact effort that I needed. I flipped-
“Is it because of all the friends – the wife – that I have reaped that you refuse to know anyone else?”
I felt the old familiar lump in my throat. My eyes burned a little. It was all I could do to not let my loneliness spill out again. Not in front of him. This was not the critical matter, though, what mattered was that the coin clattered against the table and his rotting hand stretched out and covered it.
“Call it, Nathan.”
“That’s dirty.”
“Call it!”
The coin, starting tails up, flipped with the exact angle and force I intended, should have landed heads. Did I flip it correctly? I paused to think and then saw his rotting hand turn young and healthy. I looked up and saw my young friend sitting across from me.
“Nathan,” the young boy said, “it is a blessing to be mortal. Call it.”
“Tails.”
The young boy smiled, “thank you, Nathan. You have taught me much.” He collected up my coin and slipped it in his pocket. “I have a game to go play. If I win, well, maybe you and I will see each other in Sheol one day.”
He stood up and stretched out, as he did so he stretched himself out to the form of the Grinning Man once again. As he turned to walk out the door, I felt compelled to follow him. There are winners and losers. Maybe sometimes losers are just too clever to realize what winning is. As I entered the hallway, out of the corner of my eye I saw my wife smiling.
I walked forward as the edges of my world began going dark. I hope that there is a new color after it all goes black, but if there is, I’ll never be able to tell you so.
| 2016-09-23T09:14:52 | 2016-09-23T08:06:29 | 2,418 | 115 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | *4..3..2..1.. Just breathe, Ginger. Five seconds at a time. You can take five more seconds of this moron.*
Steven Gelster, the bane of my existence. As a human, anyway. A reminder to all you bosses out there: you may be ranked higher than your employees, but never underestimate us. Especially when we happen to be an omnipotent god. *Control yourself. This is about discipline. If you wanted to, you could wipe this planet clean. Wipe that smirk right off his..*
"-Ms. Talison. Do you understand?" He looks down at me. I slowly release the nails I've been digging into my palm, unclenching my fist.
I look up at him with a smile. "Thank you so much for your input, Mr. Gelster," *it's a great reminder of how much I hate you.*
"I have to say, though, don't you think it's going to be a *little* bit difficult to reprocess the 12,000 orders I just put out, just because you don't like the shade of gray I chose?"
He squints at me.
"This may not be important to *you*, Ginger, but I happen to value our customers more than the consequences of the poor choices of my employees."
"Of *course*, I *completely* understand how *absolutely important* this is," I lie through my teeth. He begins to walk away as my eyes flash with anger.
Then he turns back.
*Don't you dare say another word to me.*
"Oh, and Ginger?" He calls out, "Let's not forget who's in charge here."
I snap. The room freezes. The clock stops ticking. The printer is silent. My coworkers are like statues, and I'm walking through the wax museum. I walk towards Steven. He's frozen, but its nothing that I've done. I wave my hand as every light in the city shuts off.
My face just inches from his, my eyes glow and pierce him.
A slow, innocent smile begins to spread across my face as I savor the fear in his eyes.
"Oh, I agree completely..." | Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick TIck Tick...
Ah, fuck this. Usually at the 15th tick, ballsfuckity mcgee (Jason Fallus) usually comes over and gives his "annual report" consisting of passive aggressive callouts to random people "shaming" them for things they should improve on. It's great when everyone knows who it's directed at, and even better when everyone agrees.
Thousands of years of trying to guide humanity, then sheperding them towards a better tomorrow. Dropping hints of a better future. Jesus, those miracles I created, all received badly. And none have made me lose my patience. Until this simpleton called me into the office for the 256th time. With enough boredom, one can keep track of the small intimate details in their lives. 256th time called in, 3498 times with punishments, and 387 types of punishments designed so this impudent human can inflict his cruelty on others. And this is the 89767th time he's going to yell at me. That is, if he's going to be alive after we're done.
Ballsfuckity: Since this is the 408th time (89767 if you bothered to give a fuck about people or anything in life) I've called you in, I'll cut to the chase. You're a loser. I put so much trust in you for the 15 years you've been working for me and you have been consistently behind on your work. I'm thinking of cutting you, unless you have something for me like usual.
Yeah, 89767 is the last time this will happen.
Me: Have you ever heard of the story of the rock in the road? I think you'll find my response very relevant.
Me: There was a rock in the middle of a road, placed there by a king for reasons no one understood. This king wished to help his citizens and guide them by teaching them meaningful lessons. Everyone who came across that rock had inflicted injuries and complained about lazy people, yet did nothing to remove it. One night, a starving girl came across the rock. She was starving and unable to find money to feed her family. She had a small flask of alcohol, the only thing she could've sold at the market down the road. She slipped in the darkness, her heart shattering louder than the flask. Angry at the rock, she removed it and underneath found a bag of gold. She thought: "Why would someone put a rock in here?"
Ballsfuckity: Who cares? And why should I ca -
Me: Because the king wanted the citizens of the kingdom to take responsibility for themselves and stop blaming their problems on others. I am done taking responsiblity for problems that aren't mine, and am personally going to make sure the problems of this poorly run establishment aren't going to hurt me any longer.
Ballsfuckity: What are you talking about? I want your tribute.
God: **WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BLAME OTHERS FOR THEIR TROUBLES. I APPEARED BEFORE YOU TO OBSERVE HUMANITY AT IT'S LOWEST TO SEE HOW IT WOULD OPERATE IN IT'S LOWEST FORM. BUT YOU ARE SOMETHING SPECIAL. NOT ONLY DO YOU ACTIVELY SHIFT YOUR PROBLEMS TO OTHERS, BUT NEVER ONCE IN THE 89767 TIMES I'VE HAD THIS MEETING HAVE YOU TAKEN RESPONSIBLITY FOR A SINGLE THING. YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED RETRIBUTION FOR THE SINS YOU'VE INFLICTED ON EVERY PERSON YOU MADE TO SUFFER!**
Of course, he doubted my power, which is understandable. That didn't stop me from stripping him naked and force him to vlog about his naked trek throughout the city. That felt good, but not as good as burning down the building.
Me to crowd gathered outside: I am no perfect God, and those that worship me got me wrong. I will gladly show people the way, but those who lose patience with me and antagonize me without reason will suffer the worst punishment. Heed my call and do not antagonize your fellow man. And LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES. It's hard to fix big problems when you people keep on making them. | 2017-02-19T09:58:18 | 2017-02-19T08:16:27 | 211 | 38 |
[WP] You have finally slain the Dragon and set to loot his treasure chest. However, all that's inside is a macaroni drawing of him... | To the castle I go off in the distance,
For humans and dragons have no co-existence,
Sharpened my sword for 3 long days,
Off on my feet the trail I ablaze,
Training for months and training for years,
This dragon has terrorized us all into fears,
Creep through the door I don't make a peep,
The gold in the lair I know wont be cheap,
The dragon wakes up and is amazed I've arrived,
I clench my sword tight I'm deep in his hive,
Block with my shield and I'm almost there,
My blade glides swift through the tense air,
I think I have done it I've riddance the beast,
I have actually stayed him now hes deceased,
To the chest I go to the chest I dart,
To my dismay I find macaroni art. | "Do you have *any* idea what you've done?"
Stan dropped the paper, letting it fall to his feet with a starchy crunch. He hadn't heard the woman walk up behind him, but nonetheless there she was: all four feet of her, bristling with anger from her pointed crown all the way down to her high-heel wearing toes.
"Uh...slew a dragon, haven't I?" Stan said, confused. "Makes me a hero, that does. Least, I think it does."
"No, you *don't* think you imbecile!" The woman shrieked. "Did it ever occur to you that killing that dragon was a bit *too easy* - like HE DIDN'T EVEN FIGHT BACK!"
"He did too fight!" Steve said, frowning. "Got the char on my armor to prove it and everything, see?" He held out a soot-blackened arm for emphasis, but the woman didn't look impressed.
"Dragon's don't just blow soot you idiot, they breathe FIRE!" The woman yelled, making Stan wince. "If he had been trying in the slightest you would be as cooked as a well-done Christmas turducken! And now you've gone and slain him, and he never did anything to anybody!"
"Actually, Margarete, I think I'm alright." Croaked the dragon from where he lay belly-up on the floor. "He gave me an awful fright with that big sword of his, but he just nicked m-"
"Quiet, Steven!" Margarete shouted, cutting him off. "This doesn't concern you!"
"But-"
"I said *quiet*! Can't you see I'm *trying* to have a conversation here?"
Steven sighed and went back to pretending to be dead.
"Anyway, ser...ser..." Margaret paused, frowning at the armored man. "What was your name again, son?"
"Didn't say, but...Stan is what they call me, so's I think." Stan said. "And I'm not a ser or nothin', never did get around to getting a title. Was thinking about doing a GED or something, maybe."
"Well, Stan, you have been *very* naughty." Margarete said, exasperated. "Now, you just run along home and go to your room, young man!"
"Awww...." Stan said, hanging his head. "Do I at least get to keep the treasure?"
"No! My son made that for me, its special!" Steven piped up.
"No, Stan, you can't keep the nice dragon's treasure." Margarete agreed. "Now run along and *think about what' you've done!*"
"Okay..." Stan said, and with plodding, soot-covered footsteps he left the cave never to return.
Margarete - the queen - looked at the immodest dragon and shook her head sadly. "Steven, what *am* I going to do with you."
Steven just snorted in disgust. | 2017-03-21T12:34:38 | 2017-03-21T11:56:06 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him. | "I hereby pass onto you all of my assets. My fortune, my companies, my investments, are all yours!" It was going exactly how I imagined it. Except it wasn't me doing the talking. It was self-made billionaire Jack Stevens.
"I'm sorry, what?" I could only sputter as the crowd of onlookers stared. Was this a joke? Had he somehow seen through the layers of dirt and grime that obscured my identity?
He was already signing a contract. "Well, as it turns out, I may be dying of a terminal illness soon. And I've always wanted to give away a big jackpot prize like that."
I tore off my fake beard. "You too, Jack?"
His eyes shot out of his head. "Robert Smith? I have two years left!"
"Shut up! I have two years left too! Well this is awkward... I already signed a contract saying I'd hand everything over to the first beggar I saw." He shrugged, handing the paper to me. I pulled a similar paper from under my cardboard seat.
"And I signed a contract saying I'd hand everything over to the first one who helped me as a beggar." I handed my paper over to him.
"Did we just swap?" We looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Alright, alright. You go left, I go right, we try this again."
__________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | The barista gave Todd a weird-looking loonie for change. The metal had gone brown, and green fuzz covered the Queen's face. On his way out, Todd held the ugly loonie in the center of his palm.
"Ew," he said to himself.
The loonie was fascinatingly gross, like one of those videos online where people knife open massive zits.
Outside the Starbucks, Todd was so fixated on the coin that he nearly tripped over a homeless guy in a torn-up jacket.
"Any change?" The homeless guy's smile clicked on like a car's brights. Todd noted that the homeless guy's skin, for all that it was dirt-spattered, had the deep tan and healthy glow of a Silicon Valley investor.
Earlier that morning in the bathroom, Todd had pushed his upper lip up and looked at his off-white, semi-translucent teeth sticking out of his purple gums. He'd tugged at the acne-scarred skin wrapped around his skull. He'd teased the last wisps of hair left on his bony, ridged head. He'd felt perfectly ugly, and now this beautiful homeless man, whose hair would make a polo-playing aristocrat jealous, was shaking a metal cup in his face.
Todd dropped the ugly brown-green loonie into the homeless guy's cup.
Maybe the green fuzz would give the guy a disease.
The homeless guy tilted the cup to check inside. Todd walked on.
"I have something to tell you," the homeless guy called.
"God bless. I know," Todd said.
"It's something far more exciting than that." The guy was following him.
Todd waved him off. "Buddy, it was just a loonie. Now I'm going to work."
"You see," the homeless guy leapt into Todd's path, "I've been waiting all morning for someone to give me a coin."
Todd rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure that's how it works."
Even the homeless guy's facial hair was better kept than Todd's. It traced a perfect hyperbola from his sideburns to his mustache.
"What I have to tell you is," the homeless guy took a deep breath, and his eyes sparkled all whimsically, and his smile would have stopped a rabbit in its tracks, "life-changing."
Todd groaned. "Come on, man."
"Believe me," the corners of the homeless guy's lips twitched, "your life won't ever be the same."
"I don't have time for this." Todd pushed past the guy, but the guy kept following him. Todd said, "I have a job to go to. Don't make me regret giving you a dollar. I mean, Jesus. It was charity. I was just being nice. I didn't adopt you. You're not some pet of mine. You don't get to follow me around telling me about Jesus and the miracle of giving, or whatever bullshit you're about to talk about. Leave me alone."
"You're not listening," the homeless guy said.
"That's right. I'm not listening." Todd met the homeless guy's deep blue eyes. "Leave. Me. Alone."
The homeless guy, for the first time, seemed lost for words. His smile flickered out. "You're sure?"
Todd continued walking.
From behind him, he heard a sad little sentence: "It's life-changing."
"I don't need a changed life," Todd yelled over his shoulder.
*****
*fully did not intend for this to be as unpleasant as it turned out.* | 2017-08-21T03:04:39 | 2017-08-21T00:27:32 | 786 | 308 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | The drugs kicked in while the doctors all said, "easy now," but Jess felt fine because it meant she'd get to play. Every time her heart stopped, she went to the place she deemed the *cave in her head*. It was where the shadows all dripped, and where the man in black lived with his games.
He was there, waiting, with a checkerboard set.
"I hadn't hoped to see you again so soon," the man said, voice viscous as molasses. He wore a billowing black robe. and every time Jess looked at his face she felt incredibly sleepy. The man swept an arm over the table. His sleeve passed through the polished wood as if it weren't even there. "I let you have red."
The board reminded Jess of Cracker Barrel, where she'd found a pair of scissors and ran around cackling; the scene had made her mother furious, so Jess took her seat eagerly. "Red's my favorite color!"
"Very good," he said. Then he beckoned for the first move.
She made her choices slowly, for there was so much to tell. The man listened to her with an unalarmed interest that she'd found so lacking in adults on the outside. When she told him her dog died in the dryer, the man simply said it was a shame and asked if she'd do the same to the next beast. Meanwhile, he'd left the door wide open for a double-jump to a *King me.* Jess took his pieces while stifling a giggle. Later, she told him to story of the baptism. How her sister had practically glowed, and how furious it made her. The man leaned forward. He nearly toppled Jess's tower of captured black pieces.
"Tell me once more how the water burned."
Jess smiled broadly. "It felt like it does when sis holds my hand."
"Very good," he said. "Very good."
The game was over within the next few turns. Jess screamed victory and the man clapped his hands together once, to the sound of a thunderous boom. As soon as he did so, a light appeared at the edge of the darkness. Jess could see faint figures moving on the other side.
"Next time your mother harms you, prick her with this," the man said. "She knows which of you is which now, no point in waiting any longer."
He held a single black thumbtack. Jess took the gift reverently.
"Mister?" she said, ever so sweetly.
"Yes, my child?"
She tugged on his robe, beckoning him to lean down so she may whisper in his ear. "Mom hates when I curse," she said, conspiratorially. The man tilted his head, but Jess let the statement hang in the air for a brief moment, savoring the man's confusion.
Then she ran off and squealed:
"But you're really *fucking shit* at games."
As Jess ran towards the light with her new gift, cackling like a gremlin, the man's remained in the shadows.
"I wouldn't say that," he said, if only to himself. "I wouldn't say that at all." | I won, another victory. All my life I was a player. Simon says at the age of two, then moved to checkers and finally chess. My fortune was acquired through playing Texas Hold'em. I remember exactly the end of my life. A slight intoxication around a table filled with Chinatown Mafia. Cigarette smoke encircled us, like an ancient Mystic Chinese dragon, its tail sneaked into our lungs as it swirled and floated around us, picking up his next victim. The death is a very interesting situation, we sat there, laughing, but when I played and played and the pile of money grew around me, the faces became more like mystic marble sculptures, every pair of eyes focused on my cheeky smile. For the twentieth time this evening I leaned forwards to gather my winnings. A quick movement of a right hand of a man sitting right in front of me produced a handgun, the end of which now took over the entirety of my vision, the Chinese men and the floating dragon blurred and the whole reality shifted back to make way to the steel barrel at the end of which was my head, on the other side a 9.mm bullet in a cartridge.
At this instance I found myself out side time, and reality, but i was not yet dead. I was somewhere in the mid way. Darkness all around us, our play table illuminated by a single bulb floating above our heads. Death itself who now sat in front of me was looking at the table, in some anger analyzing his mistakes in the hundredth game of Risk which we played in the last minute. Death is a good player, and has a great poker face, yet he forgot that I am in fact the best player and the master of poker faces. So after some immeasurable amount of time I decided to ask him.
"Death?"
"Hmm?" he said with his deep voice, still looking at the board and scratching his chin.
"You allowed me to win this one." His face went even more pale than before. His eyes quickly shifted to look at me, slowly he straightened himself on his chair. I continued
"We had a deal that you will take me with you to hell if you win with me. we have now played for ..." I looked at my grandfather's Omega watch, the face of the clock had one word on it "time".
"... for a long umm, time. And so far I was only winning, but i see here that you have made a rookie mistake, moving your troops away from the eastern border of Africa. You knew that this would result in your failure since I had two troop cards ready and the entire Eurasia is under my full control, why did you do it ?". The death started visibly sweating, and avoided my angry look. Playing with his fingers he began speaking, uncertain at first, gaining confidence with each sentence.
"Well, I guess there is no point keeping this a secret any more. You are already dead. A detailed record is kept of every occupant of earth, not only regarding being good or nice, that is the Santa's department, he recently is very generous regarding his classifications. Anyway. We also create a personalized image of the world, the needs and wants of every individual, and depending on the life of this person we aim to provide each one with their own personal ideal area to spend the eternity in."
"You mean I'm already in Hell ?!" I shouted and stood up, tripping the chair over, I looked around me, the void seemed to be unoccupied by nothing, not even darkness. The figure looked surprised at me from the table. "Hell ? Nonsense, you're in Heaven". I stretched my arms pointing indiscriminately at everything. "THIS !? This is heaven ?!". The figure in front of me suddenly wore a suit, grew a quick receding hairline and continued, correcting his glasses in the process. "Here in heaven we decided to take a more personal choice over heaven. After all we are all different. We track down every situation in your life and based on that we create your own, personalized hell and heaven and depending on your overall performance we put you at one of them. Now, we cannot say that you were 'good' but overall you were led by your own motivation, and never tried to cheat or hurt anyone, you were surprisingly motivated by, all your life, to win, not even for money but the feeling of success, was what you wanted the most. So here we are, this table provides you with any game you can think of and we have the eternity to play as long as you want. You will achieve the eternal victory.". All of that was told with a genuine smile. I felt weak, and right after I sat down again, I fainted.
I opened my eyes. The barrel of the gun was still in my eyesight, towering over everything else. The Chinese, looked at me with a cold agenda. The metal click echoed through the room and everything seemed to freeze in time, no one moved, even the dragon above us looked at me in silence. I was alive, the gun was not loaded. An explosion of sincere laughter filled the room, loud enough it made me more startled than the empty weapon. I jumped up, and run out of the basement onto the night, welcoming the new chapter in my short life. | 2018-03-21T08:55:47 | 2018-03-21T08:37:16 | 426 | 20 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | The congregation settled. Thirty five platforms assembled around the room, each mimicking the average habitable area of each races planet.
The Forůk; small igneous, but humanoid forms, cracked stone like plates and almost molten glowing cores emanating from their centers, like a living volcano. Floating on a similarly volatile platform.
The T'ginu; Large almost turtle like, bipedal, but with four arms. Hovered on a tropical platform, simulated waves lapping at the beach they stood on.
The Ozmariäk; The most "normal" of the three could be described as most similar to fairies of human myth. Stood on a platform of forest.
In the center of the room floated humanity. Platform shifting erratically between desert, city, forest, coastline, jungle, frigid wastes, and tropical paradise.
The ancients floated in a rotating delta 10 meters above the new race. The 32 remaining races observed from further away forming a spherical pattern.
6 men and women stood. Entranced, processing that just a week ago we thought we were alone. Now realizing the ridiculousness of that thought.
Nathaniel Garfield was the first to speak, although it was simply a mutter to himself.
"The boys back home will never believe this."
The room, before filled with chatter from the various lifeforms, fell silent. And Nathaniel felt the the stare of every one of them on him.
"So. They speak."
It was an Ozmariäk that responded. A tall red skinned being with horns at the top of her brow.
"What are you called?" She spoke. A question but spoken with that of a king to an apprehended child thief.
"I'm Nate. These are my team." Nate said gesturing to his five cohorts.
The Ozmariäk sighed. "Not *you*. Your people."
"Oh. Uh, humanity, human." Nate stumbled over his words as he was still quite dumbfounded.
"Ah. Humon." She raised her hand and the platform of humanity lifted to a more level position. Still below the other three by a meter. "Why has your platform not settled?"
"Honestly. I have no idea what's going on here in general. We received a strange signal from this location and we jumped our ship here. Next thing were standing here. You tell me why its shifting." Nate replied, as respectfully as he could considering the events he found himself in.
"You say words we do not understand. Our translation spell has never encountered that. The word jump, signal, and ship. To each and every one of us those mean, in order; To propel ones self laterally with self force, to gesture to another physically to do an action, and a vessel to travel across a liquid substance otherwise too difficult to swim through. Explain further." The Ozmariäk said. Gentle yet commanding.
"Okay. I uh. Wait. In an effort to speed this up. Tell me when I say something you dont understand." Nate rattled off, his awe fading and nervous energy taking over.
The Ozmariäk noded. *"at least that seems universal"* he thought.
"To travel great distances through space we do a movement we call a jump. We open a hole in space and open a new one where we want to be." Nate paused, to gauge if it was sufficient. Not being interrupted he continued. "A signal is like a message but we can get where it came from even if it's not stated. As for ship, that means anything that travels through the space. We have many other names for other sizes and uses but ship is a general use. We use those words for the meanings you know them as too."
The Ozmariäk nodded again. Looked to the other two races in the delta and spoke, but Nate and the rest couldn't hear anything.
"We in the congregation refer to each other as Magus. I am Magus Kalii. Magus Ignio is to my left, Magus Kolo is to my right."
The turtle being to the right nodded at Nate and the volcano being to the left bowed.
"You from this moment on are Magus Garfield." Magus Kalii stated.
Nates eyes grew wide. And the other five looked at him various panic on everyone's face. "I'm just in charge of our scout ship mam. I'm not politically qualified to speak on behalf of the human race." He tried to argue.
Magus Kalii looked inquisitively. "It is our law that the first to make contact with the congregation are the new representatives. This can not be undone. It has worked for 35. And shall work for the 36th. Now tell me Magus Garfield. How long have you're kind been able to do magic, and how many are capable of a feat such as contacting the congregation?"
Nates face turned from panic to utter confusion. "Magic? We cant do magic, this is just science, technology. And hypothetically I guess anyone could have gotten here."
The rooms silence was deafening even more than before. It reminded Nate of a spacewalk, the empty blackness of space swallowing all sound.
Magus Kaliis composure broke. A look of horror taking over her face. As Nate glanced around he could feel the same emotion coming from every other race, even the ones without faces.
"Forgive me Magus Nate. You must now be isolated and questioned. Your people have done that which has been impossible. Proven by countless observations along eons. I will say this. This information has made your kind a valuable asset and a great threat. I will speak with you soon."
The silence was broken, every race was muttering things that the humans couldnt understand, something the translator turned to gibberish. Nate in the crazed panic of a cornered animal turned to his crew as one by one they fell to the ground. Nate rushed to his brother Cameron. But before he could reach him, he too blacked out.
NOTE: Wrote this on my phone real quick before heading out for a birthday party pardon some shit formatting and spelling, I'll probably continue/fix this one tomorrow. Dope prompt.
| Part 1/?
My agent forwarded me the latest stack of TV interview requests, speaking engagements, book deals. There were also various requests to appear at middle schools and high schools to support "Women in STEM" efforts. Diane Widener, trailblazer in modern science, blah blah blah. Not even a "doctor" in front of my name. I never got that far.
I never considered myself good at math. It really is the weak spot of my abilities. If my math score had matched my verbal score on the SATs, I would have been admitted into a top-tier university. The math side was slightly above average- together enough to get me into a decent regional school with a scholarship. Now, part of this was my anxiety disorder (diagnosed late in my undergrad years). Part of this was the shitty teachers and environment in my high school. And part of it was that I didn't have the focus I should have, because I was rarely challenged, and there is only so far you can challenge *yourself.* So when I showed up for freshman orientation and was asked to take a math placement test, I was very nervous.
They filled a roomful of test takers in the computer lab. I took a deep breath and started answering the questions. I worked slowly, methodically. I hadn't even taken a math class my senior year of high school, so I had to dredge up things. People started leaving the room a few minutes later, finished. *Shit,* I thought to myself. I forced myself to focus and kept working. More people left. *Well, this is demoralizing,* I thought to myself. I kept going. Another wave left; the cute guy I was developing a crush on waved at me as he left. I felt mortified. There were only a few of us left. The questions started going too far into left field for me, and the test stopped. I stopped at the desk outside, as they instructed us.
"Last name Widener..." the TA mused. "Ahh. Here you are. Good job; you made it into engineering track."
"Er, great, but I'm going to major in business," I said. "I'm not that good at math."
"That first wave that left were the ed majors and the business majors. You sure you want to go that route?"
"Does the engineering track mean I can knock out my requirements in fewer courses?"
"Well, yeah...you're skipping some pre-reqs."
"Great! Let's rip this fucking band-aid off, then!" I signed up for analytic geometry.
Admittedly, this wasn't my best move ever. It led me to some unhealthy coping mechanisms. Going to a school in the middle of the cornfields meant there was little to do except for two things: drink or fuck. And since I had no plans on becoming a mother at 19, that only left the one thing. And you know what? Calculus comes easier after knocking back a couple of Heinekens. Don't give me that look. I was on a student budget, ok?
Well, turns out I found electrodynamics easier to fathom than accounting. And ballistic flight math is honestly cool. I changed the business major to a minor and ended up taking more classes in the engineering building. Engineers and musicians are crowds that often overlap, so I joined a music group or two and collected more dubious influences. But I had to keep a certain grade point average to maintain my scholarship. The academic pressure was mounting and I cracked under the strain.
Remember the cute guy from freshman orientation? Matt was his name. And we ended up being in some classes together. The crush was never requited, but we had friends in common. A couple days before finals, I was at a party at the music fraternity. "Okay, that's it," I announced. "Time for me to go...I have to finish studying for my physics exam."
"Diane, stay a while longer," Matt spoke up. "You always study too much and make yourself mad with worry." A few of our friends chuckled.
"I still have to worry about grades for grad school," I pointed out. "Mommy and Daddy aren't paying for me beyond undergrad."
"You won't get anywhere worrying yourself to death," Matt said. "Stay and have another beer."
I rose. "Well *everything's* easy for you," I shot back. "Some of us have to work at it."
Matt rummaged around the beer cooler. "Hey, there's a Raging Bitch left here! Sure you don't want it?"
I hesitated. It was tempting. "Nope, had enough beer," I said. "Thanks anyway." Matt sighed, turned around, and rummaged through a candy tray, unwrapping a chocolate. He turned back toward me. "Well, a little boost to mental health," he said, and made as if to pop the chocolate into my mouth. This much I accepted, and I started munch away...until I noticed something odd. "Matt, I think you left the paper liner on..." I carefully extricated it from chewed chocolate. It was tiny, and had a picture printed on it. I eyed this, and realization dawned.
"You did *not* just give me LSD," I said flatly.
"You need the serotonin boost," Matt said with a grin. "Relax. It'll be fun. Let your hair down a bit." I paled.
Anya, one of our classmates, spoke next. "You gave Little Miss Ball of Nerves *acid?"* She shook her head. "She's not gonna react the same way you do, Matt. She's wired different." I was already seeing colors start to shift.
"Matt, you make me glad I never went on a date with you," I growled. I knew he didn't mean anything *bad* by it. Matt epitomized High INT, Low WIS. "Uh....colors aren't supposed to have noise..."
The rest of the night I spent terrified. I rarely let myself average beyond two drinks in public, much less doing drugs. Anya stayed with me. Eventually she dragged me back to my room and I got a (little) sleep. Five minutes later my roommate Liz was shaking me awake.
"Diane!" she hissed. "Wake up! You have an exam this morning!"
"Mrrrh...Tuesday..." I mumbled and rolled over.
"MONDAY," she said, waving my printed weekly calendar in front of me. I stared at her blearily. "Did you get plastic surgery? They didn't do a very good job..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Liz breathed. "Anya told me about last night. Look. Just GO. You have some padding with your grade so far; they won't let you take it late." She handed me a Starbucks Doubleshot and kicked my shoes at me. "Go go go...just don't think about it too hard. You'll be fine!" she said with forced Minnesotan cheer. A few minutes later I stumbled off to the engineering building for my astrophysics exam. The grass was still so fucking *green...*
I made my way inside, trying to stay low key. I stared at my exam. It made as much sense to me as the math placement exam my freshman year, and I felt the same dread. I took a deep breath, then looked for an easy question to establish a foothold and momentum...then I started drawing pictures, and diagrams...and asked for more scratch paper. I felt that familiar sense of "flow" I usually only felt when doing music or writing a philosophy paper... I was definitely the last one to leave the exam. The professor seemed to have given me an unofficial extension on time, which I took as a kindness. I avoided eye contact as I handed in my papers and skittered off....
I was screwed. I just knew it. I went back to my room to hide from the world. I crammed the rest of my exams and slogged through the week. On Friday I got an email “asking” me to attend a meeting with my physics professor and the head of the honors college. I pondered a shot of whiskey before I went. I decided I would meet my fate sober. I went with feet dragging.
​
​ | 2019-01-18T12:53:56 | 2019-01-18T11:27:40 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything | "Fifty-seven."
The man spat out a bit of blood and shook his head. "Fifty-seven what? What the hell are you going on about?"
"Fifty-seven," I replied, pacing around the chair to which he was currently secured. "That's my current all-time record."
"You're a lunatic!"
Well, he wasn't wrong. I laughed.
"That's as may be, but it doesn't change the fact that you will soon be giving me the encryption key I need to disarm your vault security."
The room held an acrid, metallic odor. In another life, this cold, concrete room might have produced fine charcuterie or the best cuts of angus beef for prime steakhouses. The drains in the floor certainly made it easy for such work.
"I'm not telling you a thing. What are you going to do, kill me? You'll never get your hands on a goddamn cent."
I shook my head. All his money didn't buy him perspective, now did it?
"I'm not going to kill you, Mr. Cartwright. Not yet anyway. I'm just hoping you are more cooperative than your chief of security."
He growled, the bruise from the nightstick blooming more and more violently violet on his cheek. It was a depressingly barbaric instrument, but when you need to render someone unconscious quickly, it facilitates its purpose. Besides, his teeth and jaw were fine now.
"So you've got Edwards locked away here somewhere, too? He has worked for me for fifteen years! I trust him with my life. He would never turn on me."
I chuckled. "Absolutely. No, you're perfectly right. He would never betray you," I said with an almost musical lilt in my voice. "I mean. Normally. Poor Edwards. It only took twenty-two to convince him to give me his keys and your work schedule."
The man in the chair blanched a bit but tried to hide it. "Fuck you."
I laughed again.
"So, shall we begin? I've got a little surprise for you. I'm going to tell you my deepest, darkest secret."
I walked over to the table and picked up an object roughly the size of half a baseball bat. "Do you know what this is?"
The man looked at the implement I held in my hands, his eyes glimmering with increasing fear, but he held firm and silent.
"Of course you do. This, my dearest Mr. Cartwright, is a bone saw. Do you know what a bone saw does?"
I pulled the cord along with me as I walked it over to the chair.
"It saws bones. I mean. It's pretty straightforward. Right there in the name, after all."
"So what, you're going to torture me now? Go ahead. I'd rather that vault be locked from here to eternity before I let a penny fall into the hands of a madman."
I nodded sympathetically. "I feel you. I would hate for any of the money I've worked so hard to earn to fall into the wrong hands." I paused. Quirked an eyebrow. "Well, wronger than mine."
I flipped the switch on the saw, rumbling it to life with a loud whirring sound. I flipped it back off. On. Off. On. Off.
"Do you want to know my secret?"
He spat again, coming dangerously close to my face. Rude.
"I'll tell you anyway."
I sat down in his lap, hearing him groan against my weight.
"I've got a superpower. Can you believe it? A real, honest to god superpower. I can heal people with just a touch!"
His eyes went wide. He had heard of people with superpowers, everyone had. The heroes were just starting to reveal themselves following the solar flares that triggered the mutations.
"Wait, what? I don't understand. If you--"
I pressed a finger to his lip. "Shh." I slid the finger into his mouth and pulled hard on his cheek where the bruise had bloomed. I imagine it might have stung quite a bit.
"I can heal wounds. I can mend broken bones. If you lose a finger, I can pop it back on like that," I said, snapping my fingers.
"So that's my deep, dark secret. And now you know. And now, my friend, it's time for you to tell me a secret of your own."
I stood up, walked over to the side of the chair and sat down, cross-legged, beside him.
"Do you know how much it hurts to have your leg removed from your body while you are fully awake?"
His eyes went wide.
"Do you know how many times a single human can endure that pain before breaking down and telling me absolutely anything I want to know?"
I smiled a big, toothy smile.
"Current record is fifty-seven!"
The saw whirred to life in my hands. | I nearly jump out of my car. I’m late. The one time where seconds count, I’ve been stuck behind a street cleaner for the last mile. Am I annoyed? Undoubtably yes, but I have a job to do today. And if I do it right, this just might be the start of a long lasting new career. But I have to run, the smaller the crowd when I get there the better.
Being plainly rude was never really my “thing.” Call it a consequence of good parenting, but I’m dreading have to push through the mass of people that’s already there. People start to pass me as I lock up the car. The fact what they’re coming all the way from out here isn’t a good sign. But I think Sohr would be happy to see the sheer number of people drawn to this event. His event. In reality though, while nobody knows it yet, today is my day. This audience, soon, will be my audience.
I resent them. Remembering the babble. The same babble, that never changes.
“Oh my, you’ll make a great hero one day!”
“You can really help people with that little power of yours!”
Even the odd:
“Oh wow, now you’ll have to a hero now,” from the people who knew me well enough to know that I’ve never exactly been... good.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not evil, I’m not psychotic, let me make that plainly clear. But I am human. I’m what ever hero out there pretends to ignore, but really craves for deep down. The want for wealth. The need for fame. The lust for glorious power. They feel it the same as me. I just don’t plan on hiding it.
Ever since my power fully manifested in me, I’ve been looking for ways to get to my goal. Grave-robbing soon sank when I realised the undead I created could barely lift a chair, and died within seconds. Becoming an immortal was out the window pretty soon too- luckily I grazed my hand on the way to robbing a bank and realised I couldn’t heal myself. That could have gone badly. So, I had to get creative. I contacted one of the world’s most notorious criminals, after months of building up a reputation as a cheap healer who would just heal, no questions asked. That got old quick when they started bringing in the same old kidnapees, but hey, a pay-check’s a pay-check.
It’s not like I have no moral compass, but I’ve seen enough shit to know the world’s basically covered in it. And going with the flow is just admitting defeat. So I’m sorry if I have to step on a few toes to get to a live the life that I want to. Isn’t chasing dreams supposed to be a good thing?
Hypocrites.
Even if those people would just as soon do the same to me if not for the farce that is “societal norms.” But frankly, tough luck, just because I’ve actually made a conscious decision to get what I want, instead of leaving it up to chance. Today, I want Sohr.
Pushing into the main plaza, I see my fears confirmed- it’s absolutely packed. Some of the worst moments in my life go by as I have to squeeze into and between people. The worst are those who put up a fight, who won’t just let me cut in. Nobody else is cutting in, what’s one more person? But no, I get shameful looks and I have to squeeze through a longer route. I remember those looks. I hope they remember mine. Soon. I feel a smile forming. Oh, what the hell, I wear it with pride. Closing in on the centre, I feel it, the anticipation that comes with being on something great.
In the past, I never attracted friends. No, for whatever reason, even working with degenerates down in the slums, others seemed naturally repulsed by me. They were the murders. Extortionists. I was a healer. Yet not a single person ever showed me a drop of generosity.
And then I met Sohr. We first met before he went to fight a sub-Saharan dictator, and his army. He may have been unstoppable, but he still felt it necessary to have a healer on hand should all other defences fail. It felt... good, meeting someone so close to myself. He understood where I was coming from, and that was enough for him to be useful to me. His astounding strength didn’t exactly hurt either.
I finally get to the front of the audience. Yes, at this position, I should be in range, as long as the man in the black hood does his showboating.
Sohr is kneeling, facing the world. On a semi-circular platform, the lights of a million cameras shine into his eyes. He doesn’t flinch. I watch as he is bent over the contraption, as the blade draws high. Given his birthplace, they saw it fit to use this method of execution. I still think it’s a bit harsh- all of that humanitarian work, all of that work for good PR, just to get sentenced to death for a few murders. Ridiculous.
One reporter, who drew the lucky straw, points a camera in his face and asked:
“Do you have any last words?”
“I’ll kill you first, I promise.”
After reeling in disgust, the countdown started. 10. 9. The people begin to get riled up. 8. 7. 6. 5. There’s loud “ahhhhhhh). 4. 3. The blade unhooks and begins to roll. 2. 1. And off it comes.
It landed in a tweed basked, as to keep tradition. But I crossed my fingers and put my hands to my heart, hoping that I could predict what was coming next. The execution, the man with the black bag on his head, he picks up the head.
Walking slowly to the end of the stage, he lifts up a head, his head. Shock pierced the mood as it’s revealed is last facial expression is a wide grin. I can’t wait to see how they react to what comes next.
I contort my hand, and from the severed head, the steady stream of blood stops. In its place, muscly skin forms, and grows. Guns fire, but the shots can barely be heard amongst the cacophony of screams. Sohr’s power includes being indestructible on all parts of his body. Except his neck. The same neck which seemed to now be rapidly regenerating as it was blasted to hell.
What a messy affair, I look around and see the bodies of innocents littering the ground trampled. Such a shame, they’re in a rush to get away from Sohr. Don’t they know he has a promise to keep?
| 2019-01-30T06:23:21 | 2019-01-30T02:50:54 | 194 | 145 |
[WP] My wife told me there was someone at the door. I asked if it was a penguin, and she was confused. I asked again, banging the table, if it was a penguin. She looked outside the window, and to her surprise, it was. I cocked my shotgun. So it begins. | I threw open the door, and thrust the barrel into its stupid chubby chest.
"I told you never to return here."
It looked at me with its dead, soulless eyes, unfazed by the 12 gauge bearing down on it. I knew what it wanted, but it would have to pry it from my dead, cold fingers. Angered by its disregard for my threat, I fired a warning shot at its feet - BAM - the wood of the porch splintered and dust flew up. The penguin didn't even flinch. Yelling, I booted it, centre-mass, and it tumbled down the stairs of the porch. My sense of victory was short-lasted though, as it sat up and stared at me once more with its unfeeling, unthinking gaze. I sobbed "Why can't you just leave me alone?!"
It stood up, and slowly waddled once, twice towards the stairs. I cocked the shotgun. "Stay back! I'll do it! Don't make me!" Tears ran down from my eyes, and my hands shook. It had no response, except to continue waddling its way up the steps. I began to back up, I knew I couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew there was nothing behind those eyes except malice, but I couldn't help but see that slack, glazed over expression as a face of sadness and sorrow. I began to back up into the house, and tripped over the doorstep.
Time slowed down as I fell backwards, the shotgun sliding across the floor behind me... and the penguin saw its chance. Its eyes flared up, the dark abyss changed to a burning fire. It lunged, and leapt over me. I tried to grab one of its flailing flippers, but my fingers slipped off of its oily, disgusting skin. It landed gracefully, and I knew the end was nigh. It had its target in its sight - the table, with two places laid for me and my wife. At each place was a paper wrapper, containing the only thing a penguin cared for: fish and chips. I shouted, wailed, the only way to release my anguish at what was about to transpire. With a single bound, the penguin jumped on to the table, and waddled towards the golden treasure, its hungry eyes fixated on the breaded fish. I was on my belly now, reaching out for it with no chance of catching it, hoping some divine intervention would save our lunch.
There was an intervention, but it was no act of god. BLAM! A dispensed shell fell to the floor before my eyes, as the shotgun my wife had picked up fired into the penguin's back. It fell from the table, specks of blood trailing from the impact sites of the shot. It hit the ground, and my face went slack with shock. The penguin squawked, one final attempt to prey upon the vulnerabilities of human empathy, but my wife did what had to be done. She held the penguin in place with one boot, and fired again, point blank, into its head. The deed was done.
I crawled over, and held the penguin, crying. I knew there was no other way, but the necessity of the act did nothing to quench my grief.
"It had to be done, darling," she said.
"I know," I said, sniffing and wiping away tears, "I know." | It's been 15 years and somehow I knew. I knew sister Isabelle would come back from hell. Her screams haunt my sleep from time to time and it's only become more frequent these past few weeks. I got a call monday saying that a Nun had stopped by my office asking for me, well a penguin was what the message said. Tuesday I booked a cabin out in silverwood lake, miles away from L.A. and far from anyone who could help her. Wednesday morning my wife and I arrive at the cabin and as I unpack I inform her Im going fishing. Let me take some time right now to explain what's going on.
15 years ago I discovered that the Catholic church was trying to implement a one world religion and try to speed up the end of the world. I only found this out because a friend of mine was staying at Santa Teresita. In the 30s it was founded by nuns in the city of Duarte to treat TB. Roughly 20 years ago it long left behind its hospital days and renovated itself into a nursing home. Still ran by nuns and staffed with nurses who will lick their holy robes if told to. At the time my friend Jimmy was staying there recovering from heart surgery and would talk it up with all the retired priests during meals. Well on day dear old Jimmy was talking with Father English who has Alzheimer's and also happened to let slip out that the next pope in line is going to try to get all the world's religions to become one. Well sister Isabelle over heard and ushered Father back to his room.
Jimmy called me over later that day and informed me what was said.
"Apparently even though it's going to be a 'one world religion' there will be three religions. Want to guess which ones?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Anyone who's read the bible can tell you that one Jimmy."
"Please humor me Sam.”
"Alright alright." I scratch my chin over dramatically pretending to think. "I want to guess its the Jews, christians, and this new religion?"
"This is true. Its all going to start with a summit in the middle east and the pope of that time will have religious leaders agree unifying is whats best for the future."
"Lets just say I believe all of this, which is kind of hard to believe since the world cant even agree on if the weather is good or bad. What evidence do you have any of this is true and not something Father came up with because he's losing it?"
"You should have seen the look on sister Isabelle's face when she took him back to his room."
"I bet it looked like that time she caught me scraping dog shit off my boot and onto the mother mary statue."
“Samuel please I need your help to see if any of this is true!"
I hold my hands up in defeat "I'll look into it but this isn't exactly going to be charity work. Sniffing around the vatican is going to cost more than my usual price."
Shortly after our conversation Jimmy died from "complications" from his surgery. It took me 5 years of following the money and interviewing a few religious leaders on their world view to confirm what Jimmy told me.
One night when I came home from my day job I smelled a familiar scent. Fucking sandalwood. I hated it in my time as teen repeating "and also with you" and I hate it more now.
"Good evening, Sister. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
“Samuel you need to stop this little investigation you have going on. How many more people do you want to lose?"
"I wish I knew what you were talking about. I havent done a special report in years."
"Cut the bullshit Samuel. Theres been word you've been travelling far and wide for the truth. Now the Vatican might not see you as a threat but I know Father English said more than he should have years ago and Im hear to tie up loose ends."
"Sister, My ears are blushing. Also is that a hint of pride I hear in your tone? How is that you even escaped the convent and are in my house?"
"The Lord works in mysterious ways does he not? Ever since I killed that foolish friend of yours I've been able to do things. Travel to places with ease."
I start oe pat my pockets for a pack of cigarettes amd come up empty. "Let me get this straight, you killed Jimmy and now you can be anywhere?"
She narrows her eyes and before she can speak I cut her off.
"Jimmy was always my ace in the hole when I needed to report on far away places. He also had quite the curse on him. I thought maybe it was some nobody hired off the streets who got his cured but turns out it was you."
"What are you babbling about?"
"Jimmy killed a traveller in a bar fight once. After that he was able to travel anywhere like you. Turns out it was some otherworldly curse from druids."
"This is not a curse! The Almighty Himself has gifted me with this power for cleaning out the trash!"
"Oh yeah I also know a nifty little trick for anyone stupid enough to kill Jimmy and come after me next."
"And what will that be?"
"Go to hell bitch."
And those screams haunt me even know as I'm on a boat in the lake. Preparing.
On thursday night my wife told me there was someone at the door.
| 2019-02-08T22:33:26 | 2019-02-08T19:17:31 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying, "Wait...one's still here?" | The last living being in the universe was huddled over the last pocket of energy, waiting. Waiting for it to all end. There was nothing left here. Everything else that had ever existed had long wasted away, slipping into the cold grip of entropy. There were stars that would never shine again. Faces that would no longer smile, or see, or speak, landscapes that had long ago eroded into dust. Skies that went permentantly dark.
He was meant to fade away with the rest of it. But he didn't. Somehow, by some miracle--or curse, it seemed more like--death refused to set its ghastly hands on him the way it had everything else. There was no telling what would happen to him when the last spark died. Maybe he would continue, inexplicably, to live on, destined to drift in empty, meaningless space. Or maybe he would finally be relieved of this world. Whatever could have happened, the following seemed like...one of the more unlikely outcomes.
There was a flurry of shredded, colored paper, and blaring music, all coming from seemingly nowhere.
"Congratulations, you completed the game!!" A thundering voice, with an origin was just as confusing as the rest, cut through the chaos. "Heh, I'm kidding. But this is pretty much the end."
The man's surroundings began shifting about erraticly, and strips of black horizon flashed on and off, before everything turned to a bright, blinding blue. Strangest of all, his body had vanished along with the rest of it.
"What?? What's going on?" the man shouted to what used to be sky.
"Right, right, you must be confused. Hold on, I wrote some notes for this.." There was a pause. In the silence, you could hear the last human hyperventilating. Which was especially concerning, because he didn't seem to have lungs anymore.
The voice returned. "So, basically, this universe is, uh...what would you call it, a simulation? Yeah, that. Anyway, you weren't really supposed to stick around this long. You were kind of a..bug, with the whole 'living forever' thing. I was gonna fix it, but I was curious to see what you would do. Hope it wasn't too rough on you or anything."
"I..I don't...Are you..God, or something?"
"Well, most people call me 'Shlorg, from the IT department' but I don't mind that title either."
The man's voice caught in his figurative throat, forming a tight ball. When it escaped, it came out in a cracked, shaking scream. "So what, is this all some sort of *fucked up* joke?!"
"..You seem upset. Uh, I'll tell you what. I can make it up to you." Shlorg from IT sounded like they were pressing a series of buttons. "I'll make another universe for you. Hold on."
"Wait, hold on, I don't *want* to be in in another goddam--"
"Wow, I don't remember designing you to be so stubborn. Trust me. You'll love this."
The man made another attempt to speak, but his words dissolved away before he had a chance, and the world around him turned into a blur.
When it came back into focus, he was laying on his back, a canopy of lush tees overhead. A figure was quick to spring into view, standing upright and looming over him. It had massive, cat-like ears. Bulging eyes, an unnatural yellow in color. And was entirely covered in fur.
"*Hewwo*!"
Oh no. | The ground shook gently, but the sky remained serene. The day was dark, veiled in a reddish hue as the pale white dwarf star drew its last breath.
Kelvin yawned as he drank his tea. It was chamomile, the only one of the two tea plants he cultivated. The other wasn't from his home planet, it was a more exotic tea. He also felt melancholic. What a long time it was since he last saw the blue dot. The roaring sun engulfed the then barren Earth. The palette of dark red vicious storm swallowing the brown spot was still etched in his mind. Hard to believe that what once was the ancestral birthplace of his people was gone forevermore.
Here he was, the last person, near the last known star. Above, even if the starlight was faint, the last remnants of the giants long gone still sang their requiem atop the faintly starry sky. He wondered how long will the light of this last dying star will journey across the dark space.
As he sipped his tea through the high tech force-field that protected him from the deadly cold and lack of atmosphere of this white world, the skies lightened a little. Then a wave of sound startled the man. He could swear he heard the sound of a celebration.
"What the actu-" he shout when suddenly a record scratch stopped everything and for a second there was complete silence.
"Wait...one's still here?" a divine voice pierced through the sky
"Who in the name of the spaghetti eldritch is out there?!"
"Dude ... seriously? Who could be" the voice rained down from heavens. " Ah, why in stinky black hole is this happening. To'dd, TO'DD!! "
​
The last man moved his eyes across the sky, but he saw nothing. He was confused and anxious. Then another voice joined in
"Yeah boss, I'm here, I was busy with a supernova, nasty little twa-"
"To'dd, cut the crap, there are no more active stars"
"Oh..."
"You were playing again with the dark matter, I specifically told you it's not a toy. How many gazillion of years will you grow up"
"But .. what does it matter? This universe will end soon. You are such a-"
"Watch your tone young man... Ah yes, To'dd you told me there are no sentients left"
"Yeah, I mean .. those things are vermins, they spread everywhere and in every nook, I once found one in the dark matter"
"Wow, those guys really are something, right? Ok, To'dd. Gah ... man, I really wanted to close this universe soon and get on to the next one, the physics on this are so outdated"
​
Kelvin stood there in awe and listened. He was certain that the tea was chamomile, I mean, he didn't even grew hallucinogenic plants. He had a century gone bad with them. Enough for an immortal lifetime.
​
"Uhm ... who are you! What in the name of the universe is happening !?" he shouted towards the great void
"Gah .. fine, I guess since the party started and you are the last dude around, I can bend the rules a little and directly talk to you. I'm the Demiurge, I created this place a few geons ... uhm .. i guess in your terms countless eons ago. So, any questions mortal?"
"I guess ... I mean, I'm .. wow .. so there is a god."
"Man .. I don't really call myself that, it's a little meh for my tastes, I mean i'm just a demiurge of the countless out there."
"Countless?"
"Yeah ... "
"You mean this universe, was nothing special?"
"I like to think it was special ... but objectively, no. I mean look at you, your race failed to ascend. Of all the life in this universe, only one race ascended. That's an epic failure little man."
"Ascend?"
"Yeah, you know, become the same essence as me, and take your place among the demiurge community. "
"De- you mean you were once a mortal like me?"
"Me? Neah, i was born a demiurge. But my grandpa was. Kinda nasty universe he came frome. Oh well, it seems the time is running out. Gosh, this is really awkward to ask, but can you dance? I always though it was funny that dance ... uhm that one where you move your hands sideways. Damn, it was indeed funny now that I recall it. Kind of a fitting end for this universe"
"Wha- I don't know what you mean. Haven't danced in ages."
"Wait. Wait. I'll send you a vision."
In an instant the man saw the dance in front of his eyes. It looked silly indeed.
"You really want me to do this?"
​
"Yes. Please. It would be funny, haven't laugh in ages you know, with such a few civilizations left. Let's end in style!"
​
The man complied reluctantly. He moved his hands sideways back and forth. The same way ancient people used to floss. After a bunch of seconds he heard a laugh. And then, almost immediately, the light went off.
The last star died and Kelvin kept dancing for a while. Then the music raged, the sky sparkled and in an instant the space bend sucked into one point.
​
"To'dd, be careful with that!" | 2019-02-22T19:47:12 | 2019-02-22T17:36:48 | 140 | 57 |
[WP] 'Please Adopt Me', said the box on the side of the road, with the single black puppy in it. So you did. A year later, you realize the breed is a bit complicated, considering it has three heads, a snake tail, and breathes fire. | Cerberus. Cherubus. Chubbus. Chubby Pupperus. Chumbawumba. Chuck. Chonk. Chief. Charles Doggerton Whizhydrant the 3rd.
Even now one head was snuggling against my leg, the long rattlesnake tail behind him swooshed back and forth happily with maraca pace, this dog head as thick around as my thigh already. The middle was stooped down and ferociously eating the raw gazelle I'd bought from the local hunter group. As it took a bite down, it breathed fire through it's clenched teeth, searing the meat in its jaws to a medium-rare as it swallowed it inward. The left head was vigilant, staring ever-outward for signs of motion in the woods outside the porch screen door. Though the squirrels had long since retreated the area, there was still a light stench of incinerated rodents wafting through the air, and the squirrels didn't like that one bit.
I sorted through the morning's mail. Bills, medical items, stupid advertisements, all the glories of morning mail. As well as a literal stack of sealed, full sheet envelopes from interested dog breeders. Photos, histories, bribes, threats. All the usual items.
Beside that stack, just as tall, were various revelations, condemnations, declarations and accusations from almost an entire planet's religious fronts.
I don't pay them much mind. The one time a nutcase tried to shoot Cerberus, the bullet glanced off his hide and ricocheted into the man's car. Cerberus didn't even stop playing fetch.
The one time they shot me, well, I woke up to Cerberus dragging me out of what I'm pretty sure were the gates of Hell, some archaeological site in Greece, oddly enough. I'd never been to Greece. And being naked and covered in soot made for an interesting period of self reflection as I made my eventual way home. I have a deal with the embassy now, they leave a change of clothes, blankets and a phone for me at the site, saves a lot of time.
I hoisted the stacks and chucked them into my custom fireplace, atop which lies an immense iron slab/bed and Cerberus' favorite toy, a tractor tire, which he adorably uses as pillow, chew toy, playmate and... rather recently, lover.
Suddenly Cerberus went tense, even the middle swallowed and stood still. He haunched lower, straightened out tensely. "H- Hu- Hurk- HUURR-". Oh fuck. | The Lucy Files: Mr. Ichabezer
Hi, my names Lucy. I’m eight years old and I live in a small town where almost nothing ever happens. And this is not my story.
This is the story of my neighbor, Mr.Ichabezer. He is NOT a happy man. He’s like a character straight out of a haunted house, like one that everyone in town would avoid except for stupid boys playing double dog dare.
But his house and yard are perfect, they all are in this town. Mom says it’s the rules. She would know, she’s a realtor, and a keeper of the rules she says, whatever that means. Mums a bit crazy at times.
Mr. Ichabezer even dresses old! Different shades of brown and yellows every day, always with a big coat and hat. No matter the day or activity.
I’m watching him from my living room window right now walk down his driveway, it looks like he’s taking another walk. In that outfit! Like, come on, those shoes can NOT be comfortable.
His walks became more frequent about two years ago, I guess Dr. Bill thinks it’ll be good for his ticker. Either way, Mr. Ichabezer used to complain the whole time he walked. Grumbling to himself about whatever old men grumble to themselves.
The grumbling stopped a year ago when Mr. Ichabezer brought Brutus home from one of his walks. He said he found him on the road, but it seemed like a gift from the heavens the way Brutus would light up Mr. Ichabezer’s face.
“Mom! Something is wrong with Mr. Ichabezer and Brutus!”
My mom came rushing over to the window as we watched Mr. Ichabezer running, yes running, back up the road. He had his big coat off and draped over Brutus.
“Maybe he got the rabies,” dad says from his office hearing the commotion in the living room.
“Oh, quiet.” Says mom as she heads to the back door. “I’m going to check on him, Lucy, stay inside.”
“Mom, how is he...? My voice trails off as she walks into the living room. Hairs a mess, clothes are torn and burnt? What just happened over there.
Mom ignores me and goes straight into the office, shutting the door behind her. I’m torn between listening at the office door and watching at the window for any sign of Brutus or Mr. Ichabezer.
As I try to decide I hear horrible sounds coming from next door. Screaming, yelping, barking, yelling. It’s all too much, I run to the office door crying and smash through the door falling into the office as my mother and father are talking,
They hear the same noises as my mother starts to comfort me. My father stands between the sounds and his family, looks back at us, “I’ll see if he needs assistance.”
I lay sobbing on the floor as day passes into night. The sounds continue through the night and dad returned well after I was in bed.
Though the discussion seemed heated between mum and dad, it was all muffled by the walls and my sound machine, I suspect mom turned it up pretty high.
If mom thought I sat at the window too much already, the next two weeks pales in comparison. I was glued to that window watching. Waiting.
Mr. Ichabezer did not even go for his walks. Mom and dad have been sneaking over there at various times. I hope Mr. Ichabezer and Brutus are ok. I wish someone would tell me what’s going on. I do not believe Brutus has worms, I do not care if that is what my dad tells me. I’m not five dad, I’m eight.
Finally, they have returned. But there’s something off. Brutus is wearing a cone and his tail is short like it got cut off at his butt.
Mr. Ichabezer stops at the end of his drive way , turns his head towards me, nods and lifts his hat. Why is he saying hello to me? Has he always noticed me here?
They are both different, but they seem happier. Brutus seems to have a wider stance in his front legs. But his little butt still wags as they make their way down the road and out of sight. The vet must have found some other things when looking for the worms. Otherwise why would Brutus lose his tail and need that cone?
Join me next time on the Lucy Files!
First time doing a WP and actually writing a story. Comments and criticism appreciated. | 2019-07-04T09:11:58 | 2019-07-04T08:23:39 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You own a small specialty meat purveyor. You and your crew inspect, purchase, slaughter, and butcher the animals yourselves. Years ago, on a whim, you started whispering "for Apollo" at each kill. You've just dispatched the firm's 10,000th cow. | The singing was nice. It calmed the cows and showed a bit of compassion to them before they died. If I didn't know any better I'd say the singer was one of mine. The owner of the singing was nice too. She knew just where to cut so the death was quick and painless. Very dignified for a cow if you ask me.
I watched the butcher with interest. She didn't know I was there but how could she? Downside to being an all powerful being is that unless I present myself, I am to remain unseen and generally unheard. A nudge here and there is fine. A bright sunbeam on a depressing day, a surgeon fixing that super tricky artery, a singer finally hitting that high note that they had been trying months to master. All of those are me doing what I do.
In this case, once this final cow slides into oblivion, I will finally be able to show myself to the woman who has been gifting me cows for gods know how long. It's a reward for being loyal and generous and yada yada. Zeus was being very egotistical when he created that rule. Back in the day, people were constantly giving us things. Now, not so much. Thunderbutt actually hates me because I'm getting all the offerings. All thanks to this butcher.
There, the final cow is gone. The words whispered "For Apollo." It is time for me to reward the human now. I check my outfit and tone the godly glow down to its dimmest. No need to blind the lady with my awesome god powers. Deep breath. Okay here we go.
I appear behind the woman. "Hello, due to your generous offerings, you now have the pleasure of meeting the one who you have been offering to. Name's Apollo."
The woman turned and gave me a beautiful smile. Her eyes were a midnight blue and a tattoo of a bow and arrow aiming towards the moon could be seen peeking from her shirt sleeve.
"Well, it's about time brother. I wasn't sure if you were ever going to show." | Hey first time writing here and also sorry for formatting I’m doing this on mobile.
It’s a momentous occasion really, 10,000 cows, it’s such a large number but for us it meant a lot. When I started working here the company was close to bankruptcy. Nobody wanted to buy meat of any kind with our price tag on it, after all you can find “just as good butchers at your local grocery mart.”
Honestly it seemed like we would close the next week but on a whim and as more of a joke I said “for Apollo” when I slaughtered one our best cows. After that we got a couple new buyers and we could stay open for a little longer, and I’ve continued using the words since. I’m certain the good luck is because of that, but most of the guys say it’s just silly superstition. Like when jimmy rubs his hat 10 times whenever the Astros get up to bat, or how Elena swears she can’t make a touch down happen by stomping her left foot 3 times in a row. Well unlike then I’m certain of it helping, every hundred cows I slaughter while shouting that phrase we get more customers. So who cares if it’s just silly superstition it’s good for business.
As I finished breaking down the last of the cow I left for home, everyone else would be celebrating, but I felt so tired after the 10,000th cow like a mountain had been put on my back I needed to get home. As I drove home I admired the sky, lately they sky’s were always perfectly sunny with just a couple clouds that always seemed to make sure I got shade. As I arrived home someone stood on my doorstep, he stood tall with curly blonde hair, and a tan so perfect it looked like he came out of the ad for a beach.
“Hey Spence,” smiled the man teeth flashing like the sun, “it’s nice to meet you I just wanted to thank you.”
“Um sorry,” I smiled back nervously, “who are you? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Oh sorry,” he chuckled, “I never introduced my self, I’m Apollo, I just wanted to thank you for sacrificing so many cows in my name.”
“Oh I see what’s going on here, who put you up to this? Was it Earl he always loved pranks like these.”
“Oh nobody did, but I understand if your skeptical,” the man smiled again, “here let me prove it” The man snapped his fingers and as the sound rang out like a bell tolling in a grand temple. As the sound of his snap echoed of into the distance a small ball of fire formed at the top of his fingers.
“See I am a god, specifically I’m the god of the sun,” he beamed at me as he snuffed out the miniature sun in his hand as if it were nothing, “I’m here to thank you, it was thanks to your sacrifices that I was able to get strong again, and with you 10,000th sacrifice I’m almost near full power again, so I’d like to give you a wish per say, you can ask me for anything, and I mean anything and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
“Well, uhh, your welcome I guess.” I stammered nervously.
“Oh and by the way, I’m sure if you start sacrificing to the other gods you can get some wishes and blessings from them as well. Just don’t sacrifice tot hose Norse gods, they might try to start Ragnarok again. Oh and just a small favor, could you start sacrificing to Artemis soon, she can be a bit grouchy but I miss her.” With a soft smile and a tap of his foot he seemed to dissipate into sunbeams the only evidence of his departure was a small note that read.
Hey Spence here’s my card for wishes just write it down here and I’ll know what it is, and it’s also proof this happened, because I know you humans are all too prone to pretend us gods were just a figment of your imagination.
As I stumbled into my home I had a new resolve, the only question was who do I sacrifice to next. | 2019-07-09T08:22:55 | 2019-07-09T07:54:11 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You've always been around your best friend. He used to be a lonely kid, but he's slowly starting to become popular. Others talk to him, but keep ignoring you. One day, to your horror, you realize that you're just his imaginary friend. | Ricky's frown left as he joined me in the treehouse as his eyes met mine. I too feel a smile spread upon my face. I don't know how long it has been since I last seen him, but it feels like forever.
"I've missed you, dude. How was camp? Fun?" I asked him.
"No. It wasn't your usual camp, it was one where they just gave us boring activities and preached to us about certain things." Ricky's eyes met the ground as he moved his fingers nervously along his knees.
"How come?"
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Oh, okay." I pause. "Well, what toys did you bring?"
Ricky opened the bag, and his toys of wrestlers came out. Stone Cold Steve Austin, Undertaker, Kane, and The Rock from WWF in one pile and Diamond Dallas Page, Hollywood Hulk Hogan, Sting, and Ric Flair from WCW. Ricky looked proudly and took the WWF pile as I took the WCW one, which relieved me as they didn't look as scary. They didn't look as... lonely as the others.
"So how are the shows going?"
Ricky's eyes widened in excitement, as he took a deep breath. He told me about how The Giant had left WCW for WWF and became known as The Big Show, about all the guys beaten up by Goldberg, and how Vince McMahon, the corrupt Chairman of the WWF had joined forces with the evil Undertaker and his Ministry of Darkness. He then confessed he loved playing with these wrestlers with me, since he always wanted to see these wrestlers fight each other since they can't in reality, as they were working in different companies.
After a long and hard-fought battle, Ricky's WWF team won, but I didn't mind. I was so glad to see him. It wasn't until his dad called him back in the house when we saw it had gotten dark outside, so Ricky hugged me and went back inside.
It was a while longer until I saw Ricky again, or so it felt. His hair was longer and his clothes looked a little brighter than usual. He didn't bring toys this time, but brought a handheld device, with the words "Game Boy Advance" on it, with a little light so we could see the screen. Ricky was playing a new "Pokemon" game and was telling me about all the new additions. His favorite addition he talked about was how he could play as a girl, something he mentioned they kept from the previous game. He neglected to tell me more about wrestling, that he didn't watch it anymore because it made him uncomfortable how they talked and fought over things. His mannerisms changed, he moved slightly more feminine like. When I asked him why he seemed more girly, he didn't want to answer at first, but he admitted he liked girly things now. He thought dresses were pretty, that pink was his favorite color, and how cute he thought boys were, but also girls too. I don't really understand what is going on with Ricky, but he seems so happy and if he's happy, then so am I. The only time he doesn't seem as happy is when he comes in lately. As time passes he tells me his family is getting meaner to him. He's also gotten very taller. Taller than me, at least. It isn't dark yet, but Ricky heads in early.
I wait for Ricky. The clock he set up in here doesn't work anymore, so I don't know how time passes. I don't even know why I'm here. Eventually, I am visited again, but it doesn't look like Ricky. It looks like a few girls. As they come up here, they laugh at how dirty it is up here, and they clean it up. They don't seem to notice me, but maybe it's because I'm small. I start to notice one of the girls does look a lot like Ricky, and she looks at me, but back at her friends. Did he have a sister I didn't know about? I thought he was the only child...
Soon the girls leave, except for the one that looked like Ricky, who I heard the girls call "Jessica". She sits by me and takes a hard look at me.
"Yes, it's me Johnny." No more words were said, as I hugged her. She didn't hug back. She told me she went to a bigger school called a "college", that she doesn't want to be called a "he" anymore, about how long it took her to be able to look in a mirror again, and how one of those girls was her girlfriend. I told her about how I watched her grow up, missing her. I didn't bring up the yelling I'd hear or the spots and red I'd see on her from time to time. I remember she didn't like talking about certain things. And I really don't want her to leave, but she has to. I don't tell her that, I just let her go because I don't want to make her unhappy.
I still stay in this treehouse, and I wonder why I'm here. Am I even real? No one ever seems to notice me, nobody comes to get me, and I'm too scared to leave. I'm so scared that I just shake quietly, even as this treehouse falls apart and is moved away. Now it's me and this tree.
I really miss my friend. | I finally realized what I was today, just my best and only friend's imaginary friend. It shook me to my core figuring out that I'm not even real that I'm just a figment of someone's imagination because I had always believed that I was real. I had convinced myself that I was in fact real when the whole world ignored me because that's just what people are, cruel. I blamed them all for not seeing me because they were nothing but cruel and deserved to die. I have never left Oliver's side, there is no moment that I remember where he was not to be found, he was always with me and I was always with him. He was nice and had a brilliant mind but was extremely lonely because only ever hung out with me even when I said that he should invite others over he always made a face. He never liked to be around anyone else, not even his parents but I understand why, he was the forgotten child the one that was overshadowed by his god-like older brother Nathan, he always referred to himself as someone who is above others the arrogant prick. Have no idea where he got his god complex from but it didn't matter as I would barely see him. Whenever others came over I remember getting tired and then blacking out, it only lasted at maximum an hour but I always found it weird. The blackouts started to stop when Oliver got more friends and I was excited that I had more people to play with but they never played with me, they didn't even look at me. Over the years Oliver stopped looking at me as well. I knew he could still here me though because sometimes if I shouted hard enough he would turn around but he would never see me, he would look around if it was quiet or other times he would glance back of it was busy. I started to become depressed my one and only friend who I shared so many adventures with like the time where we saved the lovely maiden pork-chops from the space trolls or the other time where we were secret agents trying to uncover the plot of the sinister corporation known as black hole enterprises, I had to save him once when he got captured but we always made it out alive, and together. I started to see the life we had crumble as he lived a different life with all of his many friends. I watched him grow up and get married and have kids but he still never looked at me. Then it happened, Oliver and his wife Charlotte were watching tv, a kids movie called inside out. They were watching it with their kids but they had fallen asleep on top of there laps. Charlotte started talking about how she never had an imaginary friend and asked Oliver if he did. I thought I knew the answer to that question, no of course he didn't otherwise I his old best friend would have known. Oliver's eyes light up and he smiled a bit,
"You know what, I did have an imaginary friend and he was the best."
I didn't know what to think about this, he had never mentioned one to me.
"We did everything together, we saved people, fought the bad guys, saved the world and on a few separate occasions we conquered the world you know so no one else would."
"You took over the world so no one else would?"
"Well yeah, that and we would get free lollies and ice cream because of it, don't worry we only did it like 3 times, ok maybe 5, actually I think it was 7."
All I could do was stand there and listen as a slow wave of horror began to wash over me, the pieces clicked together in my mind.
"His name was Andrew, but I called him Andy, and he helped me get through some tough times, like my older brothers mental illness or my how my parents were both alcoholics..."
"It's alright honey, you don't have to say anymore."
"It's fine because I always had him with me."
I stopped listening after that, I couldn't listen anymore I needed time to think. I walked outside to the backyard, I went by the pool and kept walking until I got to the hill that overlooked the valley. I sat on top of it and I could only cry as the sun began its descent towards the horizon.
"Andy."
I turned around and saw him, Oliver and I could tell that he could see me. He sat next to me, about an arm's length away. We didn't speak for a couple of minutes we only watched the sunset.
"It's been a while huh."
I didn't speak, I couldn't.
"I'm sorry I forgot about you, life started to get interesting the older I got."
"I noticed, I have been by your side the whole time, I saw everything you went through."
"Everything?"
I looked at him, he had a smirk on his face and by his eyes I could tell what he was thinking.
"Ok not everything, I knew when not to look or to just leave the room ok."
"It's ok, I'm just playing around."
"I'm not in the mood for playing around."
Time seemed to slow down, as if someone was making sure we had time to talk.
"Is it true? I mean I know it is I just... I just want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"That I'm part of your imagination, that I'm not real."
He didn't speak and I didn't look.
"You are real, to me, but to the rest of the world you're not I'm sorry."
I looked at myself, my body was starting to fade.
"What's happening?"
"I think because you figured out what you are, you are disappearing."
"I'm dying basically then, but not like how you would."
"I guess so."
"I don't actually mind if I'm honest, it seems fitting to end it here watching the sunset, cliche almost."
I finally looked back and saw him, he was crying but had that same smile he always had that brightened others days.
"I hope I don't forget you, you got me through so much."
"With you're memory that I know you have those chances aren't looking good."
'What do you mean?"
"You got us locked out of the house so many times because you wanted to play but forgot to block the door."
"Well you should have just phased through or something and unlocked it."
"I'm not even real dude."
We laughed at that just like old times. We continued to watch the sun as it began to dip under the horizon.
"Is this the end?"
"I guess so."
"I don't want to go."
"I know Andy, I know."
"Goodbye Oliver."
"Goodbye my best friend."
My final thought was how even though I had been ignored the last 20 years of my imaginary life by the person who made me, they were somehow the best times I remember, watching the person who created me grow up with a loving family. The sun finally disappeared and with it so did I. I started to fly up into the clouds as Oliver waved me goodbye from below his kids came running up to him while his wife watched. I caught up to the night sky and my vision went black.
"This isn't so bad." I thought as I disappeared in tbe nights sky.
Kia ora, if you read all that then thank you. I also know it has a bad layout but I'm doing it on my phone so you will have to excuse me. However, I hope you enjoyed my late night thoughts.
P.S tell me what you thought about it | 2019-10-08T08:56:40 | 2019-10-08T06:05:49 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "LETHAL INJECTION ADMINISTERED," came the automated voice from just underneath the button.
I blinked. Was that it?
"Wait, hold on," I paused and turned towards the priest, "You meant I just spent the last 18 years of my life training for the ultimate showdown just so the greatest evil in the universe could be killed with a few chemicals?"
"Yep," the priest, Dogstar, stretched, "Now that that's over with, do you want to get some breakfast?"
"In a second," I held up hands, stopping everything, "Was that just a test? A trick? Is he really just going to come bursting from the ground and doom us all to hell?"
Dogstar glanced at the ground, considering it, "I doubt it."
I shook my head in disbelief, "No, no, no. I want an explanation. Now!"
The priest rolled his heads and sat down, pulling a flask from his pocket. He took a quick drink then gazed at me with slight contempt. I had a feeling this might take awhile.
"Now look, when this all started hundreds of thousands of years ago, sure it was cool and tough. Quite the spectacle, honestly. The Dark Lord would put on his demonic cloak, cast hellfire meteors at everyone, and it would be absolute chaos. But, his powers didn't really count on the power of industrialization," Dogstar sighed.
"You've gotta be kidding me," I groaned.
"So we thought, 'hey, why not just put him down before he regenerates his body in his tomb, save everyone the trouble?' Now we just kill him before he wakes up."
"And all the training?"
"Well the boys and I like to have a little fun. How boring would it be if all we did was press a button every 5000 years? Sheesh. Liven up."
Unable to process any words, I took a seat next to Dogstar, and fell into existentialism as I revaluated the purpose of my life. Everything was a lie. Done and taken care of. Nothing to worry about. What would my skills possibly be useful for?
Maybe the world needed a new Dark Lord. | The hero, having remained ever vigilant as the final moments dwindled before the final confrontation, recounted his life's milestones.
His first time remembering what rain was like, first day at home school, the last time he'd seen his father at 7 years of age, the first time he's tried to escape the facility he was trained at 15, and all the subsequent attempts thereafter. The cool taste of mint chocolate chip ice cream, provided by his mother as a treat for remembering to say "please" and "thank you" to the servants that tended to him, and most recently the appendectomy that has nearly done him in the month before.
At times the hero yearned for any life but this, something normal wherein he could not have to worry about the fate of the world, but these last few years caused him to relent. He was advised that upon completion of his noble task he would be free to travel the world without impediment.
He was never trained in his to use weapons, but was fed and indulged in literature at a voracious pace, learning everything he could about the world he would soon inhabit from popular mechanics to US Weekly.
Suddenly the door opened and his mentor approached him and said, "It's time."
----------------------------------------
The lake above the facility had been the chosen battlefield for the eternal fight between good and evil for millennia. Across what looked like a life size chess board were scorch marks abound. Surely a demonstration of the great power he would have to contend with.
His mentor lead to him to the battleground, but did not touch it. Advising that only the hero was allowed on such hallow ground. In the center of the platform was a console with a sole blue button. The mechanism of his liberation and victory over the great darkness. The hero walked toward the center awaiting the red flare to be fired into the air to signal the commencement of the battle.
Adrenaline made his body anxious and shaky, his eyes had a slightly enhanced awareness to them. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and a slight pain in his head. No doubt due to the jitters. Suddenly the red flare was fired!
The hero, finally able to fulfill his purpose, pressed the plastic blue button with his index finger, and suddenly it was as if he could see, hear, taste, and fell everything at once........
"This was much more humane Carl, applying explosives into the boy's abdomen under the guise of an appendectomy was a stroke of genius!"
Carl surveyed his handiwork, what was one an 18 year old man was now two separate his of meat only discernible as a former person by the stray remnants of articles of clothing, burnt hair, and what few teeth didn't completely shatter.
Carl had inherited this duty from his father long ago, who inherited it from his father, and so forth. They could never defeat the evil permanently, but they could manage it. The were ways to smoke out the child of prophecy, inform their parents of what their child would become, and raise the child in ignorance of it's true purpose. Efforts had been previously made in previous generations to try and raise the sire of darkness as one of their own, but to no avail.
What had originally been a series of pitched battles in a long stretch of nowhere would often result in an expenditure of ordnance and large loss of life and limb, but in this instance, the answer was so much clear.
The boy was raised by the sect, treated as one of their own, raised on their tales and legends, made an integral part of the organization, and died in a complete state of grace. Carl ensured that well beyond the needed explosives was implanted into the boy to ensure just that.
The monks went about cleaning the mess as they'd done many times over. Carrying the now deceased remains of the dark one to the burning pyres, after the battleground was evacuated, the entire platform was flipped upside down so as to allow the waters of the lake to cleanse it one again.
---------------------------
As Carl maintained watch over the dark one's remains he acknowledged the promise he'd made to the boy. As the embers flickered, and the boys flesh and bone broke down to ash in the night winds the promise was fulfilled.
He could travel the world now, in peace(es). | 2020-11-09T12:50:41 | 2020-11-09T12:25:18 | 949 | 133 |
[WP] You've just been kidnapped by a supervillain. She's not really evil; she's just really socially awkward and had no idea how to approach you otherwise. She even made you dinner! | Director Wisnewski tapped his pen against the notepad in front of him nonchalantly, every few moments switching his attention between the blank paper, and the cutting-edge Mech Suit standing before his desk.
Despite the high-tech facemask between them, Miko still felt like he could see right into her eyes. With the passage of each silent second, she was growing more, and more uncomfortable - he knew how to make a suspect squirm, even when he should have been the one in peril.
“You can… uh… you can say no. If you’d like. Not that you should, but you can.”
“So this kidnapping is… voluntary?”
The man’s eyebrows drifted up in faux surprise - he knew full well he was exploiting the amateur villain’s discomfort. His hands came together in front of him as he patiently waited for her response. From the side, it looked more like the robotic figure was being interviewed for a job than a heinous crime in progress.
“No! Well, yes- no, but… *yes?*”
He shook his head slightly, giving her as much time as she needed to continue digging her own grave.
“No! *Yes!?* Should it not be? That would be… evil, right? Evil is good… I think...”
“Are you asking me?”
The woman’s hands went to her head, resulting in a loud clang of hyper-dense proto-alloy against the nanoceramic comprising her intimidating helmet. Under the sleek black-and-silver colorations of the Steel Warlord suit, Miko’s cheeks had begun to turn a progressively brighter and brighter shade of pink. He couldn’t know that, of course, but then why did he look at her like he did? How was he so calm?
Janus’ ability to remain cool under pressure was among many of the traits she found alluring - she just never expected it would be used to dismantle her like this.
The door to his room was flung open, a platoon of armored soldiers storming in and raising their firearms at the Warlord. One man, wearing little more than a business suit and a bulletproof vest made his way over to where Janus was sitting, placing one hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright, Sir? Has he hurt you?”
“*She* hasn’t.”
*How the hell did he know that?*
The director stood up, making sure he pushed his chair in, before stretching his arms up and yawning.
“At ease, everyone. I’ve decided I’ll hear our unorthodox visitor out - Agent Braun, I put my trust in you to run this place until I’m back.” He clapped his stunned underling on the back, “I have no doubt you’ll do admirably - remember, Science Division Alpha aren’t allowed to experiment without a fire extinguisher and an A-class anti-mutation specialist present. Not again.”
Braun swallowed loudly, only able to muster a nod as he struggled to process what, exactly, was happening.
Janus had made his way over to the Mech, turning one last time to the Assistant Director-
“Mark this as a capture in the line of duty - I don’t want to use my vacation hours.”
\----------------
Thanks for reading - this was a quick character test. I might try continuing this a bit later when I have some time! | She burst through the double doors into what I assume is a dining room. Quite an odd place to be tied to a chair I'll admit, though its not like I should be picky where my kidnapper is keeping me. My kidnapper is holding a big silver tray tools for torture just underneath the cover I'm sure. "Hello... I-I'm Lilith" the kidnapper breathlessly let out. Up until now I had not heard her voice. Her dark, curly hair hid her face from view as she walked to the center of the long dining table to set down the tray. Her hands covered in rings and bracelets that I do not remember her wearing when she "bumped" into me around the back of the coffee shop I work at. Or worked. I cannot tell how this is going so far to even imagine if I will make it out of here alive.
She rushed back through the double doors only to re-emerge with what looked like a tray with plates, silverware, and napkins. Was she going to eat me? I began to panic and could feel my heart start racing faster than before. "Please, if you're gonna eat me, KILL ME FIRST!" I screamed, tears starting to form in my eyes. Lilith looked straight at me for the first time. Her eyes were bright and green. I thought she had browns eyes outside the coffee shop. "I am NOT going to EAT YOU! I brought food FOR YOU!" she boomed. "Huh?" I was exasperated, what kind of freaking kidnapping is this? "I- I do not do well with humans and when I saw you at the coffee shop and you were so nice when I ordered and even gave me extra foam, I thought maybe you would be a good friend.. I just did not know how to ask for your number and I could not get a single word out besides my order, sometimes I couldn't even do that." She looked down and sighed. Suddenly I remembered, she came in and ordered under Steve, which she had to know was hilarious, and she was always so nervous and disappeared as soon as I would give her coffee. "who are you?" I wondered out loud. "Well.." she laughed a little, "that's a really long story."
Part Two!
"You probably won't believe any of this but I have no reason to lie to you. I am from a different universe. I was on a similar planet, Gorga. We got to the point that things were not going well for us. Everyone was fighting, KILLING each other, over petty things, the wellbeing of the world and intergalactic space travel. It was so stupid" her bright green eyes turned blue as tears started to fall, "they killed my family for their secrets. My mom.. sh-she was a genius. She figured out portals, wormholes, teleporting, how to create a perfectly balanced ecosystem and so much more. They took her plans, most of them, and left them for dead. I was at a coffee shop. With my best friend. You have the same brown, yellow eyes she did. It was the last time I saw her, or anyone that I loved. I got home and found my parents. They were both dead but my mom had managed to grab a paper before... and wrote to me to leave. She said there were secret plans in a compartment in her lab. And part of a machine that can move at the speed of light. And so I am here. I also brought a second copy of her formula to help balance an ecosystem. I did not know where I was headed but I came here" she finished and looked back at me.
"HUH?? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" I could not help myself. Was I with a crazy person? Am I already dead and my brain is making up this weird ass scenario to keep me entertained? "Look, I know your world has not gotten past orbiting Earth with people in the ship but they are headed to space travel and I am here to stop them. Of all the worlds I have heard about maybe a handful are actually good, and its because there is mostly nonverbal animals on those planets. I did not know what the point of my life was before and maybe I don't know now but I cannot stand to see people die for the sake of greed. So instead I will make sure that you never go into space and I will balance your ecosystem just as soon as I can figure out the rest of my moms formula. I ripped her plans accidentally on my way out of Gorga so its taken me months to try and make any headway" frustration quaking her voice.
"How the hell do you expect me to believe you?" I laughed, I think I am going crazy. "You know that your people are trying to go to space. Why? Because this planet is dying. It does not look like other planets. It lacks it's luster. They only want who they deem important to continue on. As far as their concerned, this planet is going to be left in the dust and a new empire will form elsewhere, depending how far they can get. They don't have the balanced understanding of space travel to be able to go long distance yet. They don't know the secrets" Lilith almost smirked, "so I am here to make sure they do not figure it out and then I will figure out the balancing formula and then your ecosystem will go back to being prosperous and nothing bad will happen." "But why me? Why am I here?" I could feel my body getting heavy, either she was crazy or it was true. Either way, nothing was ever going back to the way it was before.
Edit for part two, also I didnt know where to end the part two so any tips? | 2021-10-21T11:50:23 | 2021-10-21T11:49:56 | 908 | 112 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?" | The large calico stepped forward, yellow eyes gleaming. "I am Darkclaw. You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?"
I blinked. The dozen cats behind this one -- Darkclaw, evidently -- had stopped moving and turned to watch. One, a tabby, had a few feathers sticking out of its mouth.
I glanced past the cats to the door to my house, wondering what would happen if I made a break for it. Darkclaw gave a purring laugh and stretched out one leg languidly, sharp claws extended. I gulped. At the window, Mrs. Friskers watched, tail twitching. I paused to wonder what Mrs. Friskers' real name was. Probably something like Deathmaw, knowing my luck.
"I, uh...right. Demands." 13 pairs of eyes stared unblinkingly at me. I brushed sweat from my forehead. "I...actually, yes, I have some demands."
The cats remained silent. Darkclaw's tail swished slowly across the grass.
I turned to look at my neighbor's house. Dave. If he were a cat, his name would probably be Obnoxioustail or something. Flying drones over my home, dumping his trash in my yard, blaring music past midnight, even parking blocking my driveway a couple of times.
"How would you feel about scaring a human in exchange for the return of your daughter?" I asked.
Darkclaw purred. "It seems a trivial thing to ask. We can do it. What other demands have you? Do you need freshkill?"
I shook my head quickly. "Nope, that's it. Just this. So, here's the plan..."
I crouched down and the cats prowled closer as I told them my plan. Once they scattered to their hiding places, I walked back into my house.
It was only then that I discovered Mrs. Friskers was missing.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | "Er, I don't want anything. I just want to keep her." I said awkwardly to the swarm of cats in my front yard. I was keeping my hands closed and near my chest, guarding something.
"Give her back or we will declare war on you." The white spotted tabby demanded angrily, pointing a paw at the kitten in my hands.
I look at Daisy in my hands who gave a cute purr and snuggled into my hands even more. I had found her the previous week, cold and hungry and had taken care of her. She was a companion to me now. I didn't want to give her up.
"I doubt you guys can do anything to me." I said holding her more protectively.
The tabby hissed "Attack!" Four black cats leapt at me at the same time but I managed to dodge and run back into my house where I proceeded to close the doors and windows.
Unfortunately a few cats had gotten in. They were stalking towards me with their tails high and their mouths displaying impressive fangs. "Surrender our princess back to us, foolish human." One of them said.
"Never!" I grabbed my broom and whacked them all out of my way.
I knocked them all away from me and managed to throw them out of the house "Stay away from me and my house!" I yell bravely. The leader, the tabby just laughed "You can stay in there all you want, human. We're not leaving."
I closed the windows and stayed in the house for the rest of the day. At night when I checked, they were still there and there seemed to be even more cats than before. The tabby saw me looking and smiled cruelly, his green eyes glowing in the dark.
I gulped.
A few days passed and I was running out of food in the house. The day that they began the siege was the day that I was supposed to go grocery shopping. Soon I would have nothing left to eat. This was their plan. To keep me in here until I starve and then attack. The group of cats disappeared during the day but they left 2 or 3 cats to make sure I didn't leave the house and they all came back at night, bringing reinforcements with them.
"Why is this happening, Daisy?" I ask the kitten in my lap. She looked back at me with curious green eyes, the same ones that her father had. "I really wish I could keep you but I'm starving to death and I could always get another kitten right?" The words were bitter in my mouth, I still didn't want to give her up. I got attached too easily and this would be my downfall.
The kitten sighed and jumped off my lap, stretching her lithe body. "Have you made your decision, human?" A cat called from the window. I glared at the brown cat and shut the curtains. I was never going to give her up without a fight.
That night, I made preparations. I stored a container of cat food and water. I flung some stuff into a suitcase and put on a long jacket. It was time to go.
I walked out of the house, Daisy safe in my breast pocket.
"Ah, glad you made your decision human. You would have died had you stayed in that house any longer." The tabby said smirking from a tree. He leapt down and walked to me, looking at Daisy in my pocket.
"My sweet Cdystal, you're ours again." He then made an impatient movement with his tail. "Well? Put her down human and we would all leave."
I ran towards my car, ignoring the angry yowls and shrieks of the cata behind me. I got in the car and drove out of there, squashing a few cats who were in my way was not an issue for me.
"We'll get you for this, human! We'll find you and kill you!"
I finally smiled when Daisy snuggled against my chest, perfectly content. | 2021-12-21T11:55:44 | 2021-12-21T11:12:13 | 175 | 105 |
[WP] When a person meets their soulmate they get butterflies in their stomach, as someone with severe anxiety you don't know if the person you just met was your soulmate or you just have anxiety. | Like anything, Ben thought, there were degrees to love. The high points, celebrity meets cutes and the like, were constant news to fill the twenty-four hour cycles. So-and-so met so-and-so and sparks ensued. A look passed over cups of coffee, or a book was pulled off a shelf at just the right moment for its author, busily admiring their name in print, to find themselves gazing into the entrancing (and perfectly made-up) eyes of their muse.
And of course, all those stories came with gaudily embroidered definitions of the word “love.” Four letters, but everyone seemed to have their own, inevitably confusing definition, that everyone else seemed to perfectly understand. Love was a static tingle in the pit of your stomach, or a swarm of butterflies released to dance through your guts, or a hummingbird caught somewhere in the vicinity of your heart, or, or, or—
All of it sounded quite uncomfortable to Ben, who was starting small at the moment, but couldn’t shake that awful, unsettled feeling. Someone had electrified all his butterflies, and then set them loose everywhere. Or something. Before he’d left that morning, Ben had tried to explain that feeling to Anton, the only one of his roommates that he thought, perhaps, might qualify as a friend. He’d mentioned his plan too. Neither had gone well.
Walking through the cold, too-clinical hallway, Ben found himself agreeing. “That’s not love,” Anton had said. To which Ben had mumbled something about practice and starting small and Anton had shook his head sadly. Pityingly.
“Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” the man beside him said. Trae, Ben thought his name was, though he wasn’t sure and the possibility of getting the name wrong set the butterflies to sparking again.
So did looking left and right, at all those eyes peering through the bars.
“Not really,” Ben said. “I uhh…”
“First time?” said maybe-Trae.
“Yeah,” Ben said.
There were just *so many*. Ben had never been good at making choices. It was one of the reasons he got along with Anton, when he got along with anyone at all. Anton was a man who knew what he wanted, whether that was something as simple as where to eat that night or which stranger to talk to, even without butterflies to point the way.
Everywhere Ben looked, he thought he felt those butterflies.
“Wait,” Ben called, and maybe-Trae stopped, an eyebrow raising as he realized just how far back Ben had fallen.
Butterflies. Behind the bars, Ben saw a pair of beautiful blue eyes peering out through a mess of pale blond hair. His hands were shaking, his mouth was dry— had it always been? Maybe-Trae made a quiet sound, perhaps disapproval, perhaps pity, Ben wasn’t sure, but the shape in the cage seemed to respond to him. Blue eyes looked away, and Ben’s heart lurched; some sense of sudden loss he’d never experienced before.
He really wasn’t good at this. At any of it. He knew he wasn’t likely to find true love in this place—could anyone, or was that all advertising too?— but he also knew that one way or another, he wasn’t leaving alone today. Small steps, but so, so necessary. Whatever Anton might have said. Whether that was pity in his expressions or in maybe-Trae’s just now.
“Ah, Evie,” maybe-Trae said. “She’s had a hard life, but she’s a sweetheart. Honestly? She’s my favorite too.”
Ben stared at Evie, all blue eyes and pale blond hair, long legs curled tight to her body. There wasn’t a name for the feeling in his stomach now, at least not one that Ben had ever known. It felt uncomfortably warm. Evie made a small, scared noise. He wanted to reach out and touch her.
And then the cat meowed and Ben crouched down in front of the cage. Evie crept a little closer to the bars and Ben stuck his finger through the cage, stroking her head as she trembled and then gradually began to purr. And after Maybe-Trae unlocked the cage and Evie took her first tentative steps out, Ben decided that even though getting a cat was a big deal in terms of time, money, commitment, and a thousand other things he surely hadn’t thought of yet, he was in love. Love, a four letter word, a brand new feeling, something that was worth all the anxiety, electrified butterflies or not.
“You might want to see a few more, just in case,” said Maybe-Trae.
“Uh-uh,” Ben mumbled. Another nondescript four letter word, but exactly right. Like Evie. Or, Ben thought, like love.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | I was sitting in my usual spot at the coffee shop, nursing a latte and feeling sorry for myself, when I saw her. She was standing on the sidewalk, just outside the window, and I knew it was her. The butterflies in my stomach turned into a nauseating flutter and I couldn't tell if it was love or my anxiety.
I didn't want to seem desperate, so I sat there for a few minutes, pretending to read my book, but I was really just looking at her. She was wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and boots. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had a backpack slung across her shoulders. She looked like a college student. I tried to be cool but I couldn't help but stare. I watched her look up and down the street, and then she pulled a phone from her pocket and raised it to her ear. She was probably calling a friend to pick her up because she didn't seem like the type of girl who would be waiting for public transit.
I watched as she tapped her foot in the snow and then closed her eyes as if she were concentrating on something. I felt like she was thinking about me, too. My heart skipped a beat as I thought about all the missed opportunities I had to meet her before now. If only I had gone to that party with my friends when we were in college. If only I had taken that job in New York when it was offered to me.
The door chime sounded and she looked up. I could see her face more clearly now and I realized she didn't look like an undergrad at all. She looked older, more mature, and when she smiled at me, I thought my heart would beat out of my chest. She walked towards me and I stood up, almost knocking over my chair. I grabbed my book, which I had placed on the table in front of me, and held it up as if it were a weapon to keep her away. She raised her hands to show me that she meant me no harm and I dropped the book on the ground. The book, which was a first edition, worth thousands of dollars, landed upside down on the floor, but I didn't care. All I cared about was her.
"Hi," she said.
"Uh, hey," I said. I wanted to kiss her and felt that if I didn't soon, I would probably die.
"I'm sorry," she said. "This was a bad idea."
"No, it's fine," I said, trying to stop my hands from shaking. My anxiety had been replaced with pure joy and I didn't know how to control myself. I had the overwhelming desire to grab her and kiss her right here, right now, in front of everyone, but I knew that wasn't the right thing to do.
"You look nervous," she said.
"I'm fine," I said, tossing my hands up in the air. I could have kicked myself in the ass for lying to her. I was pathetic, really.
I was just about to tell her to leave when she placed her hand on my arm and said, "I've been waiting for this day for a very long time."
"What?" I said. My head was spinning and I needed to sit down. I was about to collapse. I would have fainted if she hadn't been holding me up by my arm.
"I have never wanted anything more in my life," she said.
I was so weak that I needed her to support me. My knees were shaking and I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it together. I had never experienced such a strong, visceral sensation before in my entire life. All I could think about was her, the woman standing in front of me, the woman who had somehow found her way back to me, the woman I had missed so much it made me physically ill.
"The man who hurt me," she said. "He's gone, but he gave me something I can never ever get rid of."
I looked at her with my mouth agape, unable to understand what she was telling me.
"I'm pregnant," she said. "With your child."
I grabbed her hand, pulled her close to me, and said, "I'm so sorry."
She brushed her fingers against my cheek and said, "You have nothing to be sorry for."
I cried. I don't know why, but I just couldn't stop myself. I felt like I could finally breathe again, like a weight had been lifted from around my neck and I could finally feel the sun on my face again, like I was free. I wanted to kiss her and hold her, but I couldn't, not here, not in the coffee shop, with all those people around us. It was too public, too exposed. I couldn't help thinking about all the times we had been together and I had never realized that she was pregnant. It was no wonder she had always been so tired.
We left the coffee shop, running through the snow that had begun to fall. She took me to her place and we stayed there, hidden from the rest of the world. We couldn't get enough of each other, and it was as if the years that had passed in between were erased. She touched me the way she used to and I knew I would never let her go.
We lay in her bed, curled up next to each other, and talked until the sun rose. I told her all about what I had been doing since we had last seen each other, about how I had moved to New York and about my coffee shop, about my failed marriage and about my daughter. She told me about the man she had been with and how she had left to go back to school in New York, and how she had ended up meeting me at the coffee shop.
I told her about how I thought she had always been pregnant but she assured me that she had not. She told me how she was afraid I would never come looking for her, that I would never find her, and how she had been living a life of regret, thinking about what could have been between us. I told her that I felt the same way, that I had been thinking about her every day, and that if I had known that I was going to be a father, I would have never walked away. | 2022-01-15T10:24:50 | 2022-01-15T09:18:08 | 54 | 16 |
[WP] You are the weakest swordsman at the academy. One day your instructor pulls you aside and brings you an object wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small twig. "Some people were never meant to wield a sword. Centuries ago, these 'wands' held great power. Maybe you can make this one work." | "What does it do?" I asked.
"The histories are... contradictory on that point," admits the instructor. "Nothing immediate, except when it is. Nothing blatant, except on rare occasion. The people who successfully wielded it all became great, though... not in the same way as each other. And their accounts of its powers do not agree."
I looked over the stick, turning it over and over between my fingers. And I wonder quietly to myself. Maybe there was a wand, once. Maybe it even held some unknown power. But this? This is just a twig.
What if someone, in the dim and distant and ancient past, replaced a fully working wand with a simple twig? What if only the rumours of its power continue? What if the twig's only remaining power is that everyone knows that it is powerful, and that knowledge is used to bluff through a hundred competitors...
"I would like to read the histories," I say.
"Of course," nods my instructor.
Maybe this twig holds power. Maybe it does not. Either way... I believe I can use it.
But only if people believe that I can. | The dark, empty training hall seemed to echo each of Asper's breaths. He held the twig in front of him in the First Stance, grounded with one foot forward. His eyes were fixed on the training dummy in-front of him. It's impassive cloth face seemed to shift under the moonlight that filtered through the slatted windows.
He adjusted his stance again, remembering what Instructor Hawley had said about distributing his weight. He knew his form was bad, but Hawley had always been patient with him. Maybe that was what had spurred him to sneak out here in the dead of night.
He felt stupid holding this stick as if it were a sword, but since he had already come this far... he might as well try. Asper stabbed forward pushing the twig into the dummy's bulbous cloth head. Nothing happened.
So much for 'great power' he thought. Had he really broken curfew to do this? He dropped his hands to his sides feeling even more idiotic than before. Instructor Hawley must've done this to mess with him, that was the only explanation.
He growled under his breath. Wasn't it enough that all the other students looked down on him and bullied him? Now Instructor Hawley, the one person who he respected... who he *trusted,* did so too?
Asper felt unwelcome tears burn at the corners of his eyes. His fingers tightened around that stupid polished twig. He had tried so hard. He was so *angry.* He was angry at Hawley, angry at the other swordsmen, but most of all, he was angry at himself for believing that Hawley genuinely wanted to help him.
He threw the twig aside. At first he didn't even notice, his eyes were clenched shut to hold back the tears. As his eyes opened his anger was slowly replaced by shock. The twig lay on the ground trailing a faint line of smoke.
Asper's eyes followed the direction the twig was pointing. The dummy's decapitated cloth head lay smoldering on the ground. Directly behind it was a large, flaming gash across the wall of the training hall.
Asper took a step back, eyes flitting between the wall and the unscathed twig. Had he done this? The wooden beams that held up the roof let out a torturous groan that almost masked the sound of voices coming closer.
Without thinking Asper grabbed the twig, which was almost too hot to touch. Wrapping it in the cloth of his shirt he ran towards the exit. The voices he had heard were getting louder. He dashed out of the hall and up the stairs towards his dormitory.
He quickly snuck towards his bed as the voices below became yells. He could hear the word 'fire' being said. Asper shoved the twig into his pillowcase praying that it wouldn't go off again. As he did two thoughts dominated his mind.
The first was that Hawley hadn't been lying. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful, more powerful than anything he had seen. His second thought however, was the problem... how the hell was he supposed to use it? | 2022-01-20T00:21:57 | 2022-01-19T22:38:30 | 183 | 118 |
[WP] When two people fall in love, they receive an object that is the physical embodiment of that love. It changes as their feelings change towards each other and destroying it can have drastic consequences. How does this change the nature of relationships? | On the first date by the sea, our love was a ring. A normal look for these types of things.
It hugs my finger so well, this is the love I needed. I can tell.
At the first kiss it was a boat. Roped at the docks where our love first took float.
Our first anniversary was a beautiful tale, and our hearts boat sprung a beautiful sail.
She held my hand through 5 years of seas but the boat and sail stayed strong through these.
A ring, a boat, a sail, now an anchor. Though the seas became rougher, for her love I always thanked her.
She took to land and left for her other lovers town. The boat and sail and ring vanished, and with the anchor I drowned. | At first a flame pendant, it was cliché they knew but they did not mind. The rushing emotions of their love did it justice. The fierceness of the love they shared was an extension of their embodiment. The fire vindicated them, a symbol for each other, of the joy they shared in each other's company. It was a precious thing, a talisman they kept with them at all times, through the sadnesses that come through life, they took assurance in that flame. They looked at it and saw each other.
After a year, they awoke and saw a rose. The fire replaced with the deep love, the romance that comes with the comfort of knowing someone. The intimacy of that symbol, along with the thorns that occasionally pricked them, reminding them that no one is perfect.
Though the thorns seemed to vanish as time went on.
And so it was, until their wedding day. Suddenly it was an owl, strong, wise and seemingly knowledgeable of the future they were going to share. Through all the toasts and cheers, the joy, the laughter and the tears it watched over them, once again assuring them that all is well. Off on their honeymoon they went, taking the owl with them, wondering what its next incarnation will be.
The first few years were easy, the owl had changed to the elephant, but it was not a worry. Things were good, they did not fight often, but he did not realise that she did not forget.
The next change was not so hard to notice, the elephant, that to him symbolised strength, but to her the memories of things she would rather forget, had morphed once more into a flower, though they did not recognise it. They fought more now, they argued about their lives, their jobs and the embodiment. The bitterness had set in, their lives not turning out as they had wanted them to.
They did not know that their embodiment was nightshade. The bitterness that had plagued them had in turn boiled in to poisonous feelings deep down within them. And the stage had been set for these dark feelings lurking to make their way into the light, but for now the embodiment was forgotten, shut away in a drawer.
After so long that they could not remember their lives before the bitterness, she was doing some research, happening by chance on the terrible truth about the state of their relationship. She cried, for what seemed like an eternity the tears poured down her face, but she went home.
She packed.
She left.
He came home that day euphoric, he had earned a promotion and was delighted to be able to share such happy news after such a long hard time.
He went into the hall, and saw a card sitting, with the familiar flower pendant on top. He lifted it and read the card.
"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Nightshade is sweet,
But not good for you." | 2014-05-03T15:00:16 | 2014-05-03T14:31:07 | 124 | 22 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face | I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. I remember those first few seconds. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at the time. Even now I still can’t. Stretched across her face was a single word in large capital letters. KILL. Bold, dark, intimidating; paradox-like presented atop her angel-white skin.
But she was my daughter and I loved her. I loved her as any parent loves their child. I told myself things would be ok. Maybe just this time her mark would be wrong. I was naïve. A young father, dumb and stupid. Wet behind the ears.
People told me I should have tested fate; ended her life right then and there. But how could I be expected to do that? My innocent baby girl. Sweet sweet innocent baby girl.
As the years passed I held on to a shred of hope that maybe, just maybe things would be ok. She was cast out at school, even the teachers were afraid of her. I tried to tell them they had nothing to worry about but they wouldn’t listen.
All this time, I was afraid my daughters next birthday would be celebrated through a prison visitation window. But it didn’t happen. Ten, thirteen, sixteen. I saw her go to college and get her first real job. Every day was a struggle to fit in society, but year after year she beat the odds. My little baby never married though—as I’m sure you could have guessed.
I grew old. Still it never happened. Maybe, just maybe.
Eighty six years old, I suffered my third stroke. A blood clot straight to the brain. The doctors called me a vegetable; but still they kept me alive. Ahhh the wonders of life support. They said there was a chance. For days, weeks, months my body was kept running. There was nothing I could do.
She couldn’t bear to see me like this, my sweet little innocent baby. I saw the pain in her eyes. I saw her hand reach out—
All I have to say is thank you.
| From the moment Hannah was born, we gave up hope of her following in our footsteps- you know med school, top of the class, private practice, and a comfortable life that never lets anything as trivial as money stand in the way of a valuable existential experience. Honestly, I didn't aknowledge her as mine until the DNA results came in. I figured her mother had suffered an indiscretion, and this murderous retch was the result.
I never gave her a chance.
I told my partners at the practice she was born still. I denied my mother the visit to the OB unit she had dreamt of for 30 years. I always felt deep down inside that the signs are never wrong. I know people write books every year claiming that ones destiny can be changed, but just like movies they are a fantasy created for cold hard cash. I debated adopting her out. My dear sweet dull wife would've crumbled under the weight of that. I thought about snuffing the life out her myself, but my mark is blue. Blues heal, reds kill. I knew I would never have the balls to snatch my infant daughter, and smother her to death.
The justice system only just started "pre-convicitons" after years of appeals in the interest of human rights. The general populous only started accepting the marks as "certainty and legally unchangeable" in last couple years. Politicians were arguing about pre-convictions like they used to argue about global warming or net neutrality back when our country was young at the turn of the 21st. Nearing the end of the 23rd now though the future was really here, and citizens were really scared. They could receive a death sentence,now, for something they might not do for 30 or 50 more years.
I wasn't proud of my daughter when she was born, but I didn't want her to die, or be caught up in a pre-conviction in ten years. I did the only sensible thing I could think of, I hid her.
My wife is sobbing, "it's been 12 years." As if I need the reminder. Our marriage has been absolute shit since we brought Hannah home. Typically, she takes care of Hannah while I work. I come home and she's already drunk, ignoring our daughter she is supposed to be homeschooling. I have never been the super masculine male that I think she always wanted. I respect and love her, no matter how drunk she gets, and no matter how hard she hits me I won't hit her back. God I have dreamt of it, but I couldn't ever do it. I wonder sometimes if Hannah gets it from her mom like I do. Hannah is too quiet and uncomfortable around me, we just share a television and DNA, not much else.
I sometimes wonder if she is going to kill her mom?
I wonder if shes a killer because the mark is making her one, keeping her prisoner and shaping her whole world. I kind of hope she would. Her mother is a drunken waste, and although quiet and uneasy around me, I feel her life of solitude has granted her a character of granite. I think she has the resolve to not kill. I can't believe I am thinking this again. God these marks can't be changed.
I'm getting tired now, the suicide cocktail I took must be taking hold.
I hope that her mother holds her well, while I am gone.
I feel like I'm drowning now, must be close to my sweet release.
Aahh! Calm blackness.
Whose there? I hear you, I hear you. Yes I hear you. I'm trying.
My eyes won't open, I can't help it. I'm on my way out. God! Sternal rubs hurt. God it's bright!! My god!, Hannah, your mark, its green! HOW? What is...
| 2014-05-11T01:50:33 | 2014-05-10T23:56:37 | 136 | 17 |
[WP] The secret to lucid dreaming is out. Everyone now wants to spend as much time as possible asleep, in their own private utopia. | It's pretty tough reaching the bread in the cupboard. It's the last slice in the packet and it's gone a little green on one side but I can cut that off. The knives aren't clean, either, but I wipe one on the corner of my shorts and slice it away. The bread looks a little sad without it. I put it in the toaster and press it down, but nothing comes on. Electricity's been cut off. Like a sleepwalker, I stumble to the fusebox, but they're all on. The bill hasn't been paid this month. Or last month, if I remember correctly.
I eat the bread bite by bite. It tastes like cardboard but my stomach is growling like a monster. The flat is almost completely dark, rooms with doors closed on each side. There's a pile of laundry spilling over the small plastic tub that used to be the washing basket. That hasn't been done in a while either. I pick through it aimlessly. A shirt. I raise it to my nose and give it a tentative sniff. Is it alright? I can't tell, the rest of the house smells awful. That kind of musty, rotten smell that comes with months of uncleanliness.
I push open the door, reaching for the handle. The room is dark. Curtains obscure any light that could make its way into the room. There's a figure under the blankets on the unmade bed, a mop of dark hair spilling over a bundle of dirty clothes. Dishes of rotting food sit underneath the corner of the bed. There's a small doll sitting on the corner.
"Hey Molly," I say, stroking the doll's soft hand. "Have you been looking after her?"
The doll stays still. I look at the figure again.
"Hey Mummy," my words echo in the empty room. "Are you going to wake up today?" | People thought it was great, being able to control your dreams.
Think about it. People with no life suddenly became the most popular people on the planet, with gorgeous women hanging off their every word and money to burn. World leaders had the means to control situations to help them with problems. All this, played in your head in a fraction of the time it would have taken realistically, no strings attached? It really was, as people said, the best experience in the world. And all it took was a little money.
Some company had invented a machine, a Lucid, a small little thing the shape of a torus that fit in the palm of your hand that fed wires up to your temples. No drawbacks, no hidden costs, nothing to make people suspect something was wrong.
Hackers soon found out ways to completely access the mind through the small little device, and could have killed the tens of thousands already using it if a higher power hadn't stepped in. One man, called by many as Riskel, took command of the underground operation and, doing what he could, helped the sales and boosted profits from the Lucids. As the time passed, the program the Hackers were using developed, and the original thinking of killing everyone- a relatively easy thing to do when you had complete and utter control of someones mind- subsided, and a larger plan formed. When it was established that most of the modern world was hooked to their devices like feeders to a shark, this plan was set in motion.
In all, the process took three days. On the first day, the leaders of the countries of the world were fed pre-made dreams that permanently set ideas into the victims mind. Also, all non-essential people (those who weren't needed to complete the plan) Were placed into a deep hypnotic sleep, which they could remain in for up to three years before bodily decay. This day was known as the Hypnosation.
On the second day, the presidents and prime ministers and Kings and Queens ordered attacks on nearby nations, with the exception of the USA, Russia and North Korea (which luckily enough had only allowed Lucids to be used by government officials) who launched any and all nuclear warheads into key points located throughout the world. At the end of this day, which will be known as the Massacre, over three billion people died, including two billion non-essentials.
On the third, fateful day, Riskel arose from his hideout and began the formation of his territory and rule over the rest of the remaining world. The armies that had not been used in the Massacre were rounded up and bound mentally to a program set to keep them in line, and remaining civilians were forcefully moved to locations to work farms, mines and technology plants.
This day was known as the Rebirth.
For twenty years things like this continued. Babies were immediately impregnated with the dreams required to shape their lives, making them perfect working or killing machines. Old cities were torn down, new ones were built, religions that still had followers were abandoned , the small revolution her and there were stomped out like a boot might stomp an ant.
Thats where I come in.
Ever since the Hypnosation, there has been people immune to the poisoning ideas of their dreams. These people were not affected at all by the deep-sleep dreams, the propaganda that Riskel sent throughout the Earth was dismissed, and those lucky enough to escape the initial Massacre and the several hundred smaller Massacres that occurred throughout the years hid in places that somehow escaped detection from the roaming armies. I lead these people, these Rogues, in the hope we might one day overthrow Riskel and his god-forsaken totalitarian reign.
End.
Thanks for reading, I realise its a lot and it's my first submission, so any pointers are appreciated. But for now, it's late, I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. Again, please tell me what I can do better! | 2014-10-16T06:26:04 | 2014-10-16T06:11:20 | 74 | 24 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "Ok, I get it. I'm dead."
"Yes sir."
"I mean, the last thing I remember is hearing the squeal of brakes, and turning and seeing this truck grill far too close. So I'm either dead, or in a coma and this is a very vivid hallucination."
"Oh, I'd go with the last one if i were you sir."
"Right, well. Ok then. So, answer me this. Where am I?"
"This is Qwaxxipi."
"Beg pardon?"
"Qwa-xxi-pi."
"I'm resisting the urge to say bless you.."
"Thank you sir, we hear that all the time."
"Ok, I'll clarify. What the heck sort of after life is this?!"
"Oh, well... you know how you don't always get what you expect in life? Well, the after-life is pretty much the same. You end up in whatever sort of afterlife your conduct in life best fits."
"Really? And this is...?"
"Where it gets complicated... you see you don't actually have to have heard of it, to end up in the appropriate afterlife. And, well, this is the afterlife. Normal concepts of space & time don't really apply here. So, welcome to Qwaxxipi, the most popular religion in the 34th century on the planet Treii, in what you'd call the Horsehead Nebula. Here's your complimentary robe, sandals and hammock.. please check out the hot tubs and nude vollyball beach. Have a nice Eternity, or until you get bored and reincarnate, whichever."
"Dude... " | Baxter walked down the long tunnel of light. It grew brighter and brighter until his eyes began to water. Finally, the light abated and he found himself at the ticketing counter at O'Hare.
He took a couple shuffling steps toward the counter.
"Umm, hello?"
A rather short man climbed his way up onto the counter.
"Greetings, young traveler," the man said in a vice much deeper than his stature suggested. "Welcome to your Terminal Destination."
Baxter looked around at the empty ticket lines. "Are you saying I'm dead?"
"Well, of course you are. Traffic doesn't stop in Chicago."
"I'm dead?" Baxter repeated.
"Yes and unless you want to miss your flight, you'll need to get your ticket."
Baxter blinked at the short man on the counter. "I'm sorry, this doesn't sound at all like what Sunday School told me. Where's St. Peter? The Pearly Gates?"
The short man shook his head. "I hate to ask, but I need to see your ID."
Baxter instinctively pulled out his wallet and handed his ID over. The little man hopped down from the counter and started punching the keys of his computer terminal.
"Let's see here... Baxter T. Jeffries. Age 43. Hmm, looks like you're booked on Methodist Airline departing for Heaven in a little while, but they've marked here that you have to check in at the gate."
Baxter shrugged an took the ticket from the man. "I travelled plenty in my life, which way to security?"
The little man laughed. "Security? What are you going to re-kill people? Hijack a flight to Heaven and take it to Valhalla? Get outta here you kooky corpse."
Baxter watched as the little man walked toward the office door, still shaking with laughter.
"Okay. That was the weirdest thing ever."
Baxter walked down the terminal until he found a familiar cross with flame symbol. It'd been years since he stopped going to church, but he still recognized the Methodist symbol. He gripped his ticket, took a deep breath and walked to the gate counter.
"Um, hi. I'm Baxter Jeffries, I have a ticket to Heaven?" He said to the blue clad angel running the desk.
The angel took his ticket and started punching codes into the computer. "Mr. Jeffries, you were raised Methodist, correct?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"But you left the church at the age of sixteen. Because you, let me see here, ah here it is you quote were too old to believe in stupid fairy tales anymore. End quote."
Baxter felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Yeah, well, I was a rebellious youth."
"Yes, but you continued to live your life as an atheist until you were struck by a food truck and died."
"Well, I guess so."
The angel smiled at Baxter. "I'm, sorry sir, but your ticket to Heaven is hereby revoked." The angel ripped the ticket up.
"Wait, you can't do that! Where am I supposed to go now?"
The angel pointed over to a group of men in suits begging sitting in the middle of the food court. Baxter walked over to the men.
One of them looked up as he approached. "Spare some change, mister?" Baxter just shook his head and sat down with them.
As he sat down, a woman and a small child were walking past, each with tickets. The child stopped and was about to say something, but the mother shooed him on.
"Don't talk to them Joey."
"What are they, mommy?"
"Atheists."
"What are atheists?"
"People that are all dressed up with nowhere to go." They hurried on to their gate.
***
***You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!*** | 2016-03-07T17:17:57 | 2016-03-07T16:17:57 | 621 | 84 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | The city hums with life. The people oozing by like a faceless blob.
On good days I dive into the grime, and pull out society's cancerous refuse. Other days I acknowledge we've lost a member of blue. He crossed the line, and went dirty. There's no coming back once you're a crooked cop.
.55. My birthday was only a few weeks away. Retirement teased me with daydreams of fishing out by my cabin, yet haunted me at the same time. As a child I was lucky to know my calling. As a man it defined me. My ex wives can attest to that.
I was framed. I never stole the drugs from evidence. I never fed info to the local dealers. What I did do, was take my trusty glock -and two decades of tactical experience- and visited those that dared tarnish my good name.
When I had taken out the crew in a whirling din of smoke, profanity and lead, I lay bleeding on the concrete of the ruined warehouse.
I didn't call it in. No point. The wall of blue had long since turned their back on me. Even the medics would surely be "late" to arrive.
This is how my final act played out, I thought.
I was surprised when I woke up here. This giant Hall, with many doors. Food of gluttonous proportions provided in mountains. Enough booz to make an alcoholic blush. Every day I join the legion of warriors to enact moments of glory. They didn't take kindly to me using my gun, so now I'm learning how to swing an axe.
Apparently this place is run by an old man, and his son. I picked up the son's hammer the other day: he wasn't too pleased. I have a lot to learn, but it doesn't help that I can't speak their language. | Baxter walked down the long tunnel of light. It grew brighter and brighter until his eyes began to water. Finally, the light abated and he found himself at the ticketing counter at O'Hare.
He took a couple shuffling steps toward the counter.
"Umm, hello?"
A rather short man climbed his way up onto the counter.
"Greetings, young traveler," the man said in a vice much deeper than his stature suggested. "Welcome to your Terminal Destination."
Baxter looked around at the empty ticket lines. "Are you saying I'm dead?"
"Well, of course you are. Traffic doesn't stop in Chicago."
"I'm dead?" Baxter repeated.
"Yes and unless you want to miss your flight, you'll need to get your ticket."
Baxter blinked at the short man on the counter. "I'm sorry, this doesn't sound at all like what Sunday School told me. Where's St. Peter? The Pearly Gates?"
The short man shook his head. "I hate to ask, but I need to see your ID."
Baxter instinctively pulled out his wallet and handed his ID over. The little man hopped down from the counter and started punching the keys of his computer terminal.
"Let's see here... Baxter T. Jeffries. Age 43. Hmm, looks like you're booked on Methodist Airline departing for Heaven in a little while, but they've marked here that you have to check in at the gate."
Baxter shrugged an took the ticket from the man. "I travelled plenty in my life, which way to security?"
The little man laughed. "Security? What are you going to re-kill people? Hijack a flight to Heaven and take it to Valhalla? Get outta here you kooky corpse."
Baxter watched as the little man walked toward the office door, still shaking with laughter.
"Okay. That was the weirdest thing ever."
Baxter walked down the terminal until he found a familiar cross with flame symbol. It'd been years since he stopped going to church, but he still recognized the Methodist symbol. He gripped his ticket, took a deep breath and walked to the gate counter.
"Um, hi. I'm Baxter Jeffries, I have a ticket to Heaven?" He said to the blue clad angel running the desk.
The angel took his ticket and started punching codes into the computer. "Mr. Jeffries, you were raised Methodist, correct?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"But you left the church at the age of sixteen. Because you, let me see here, ah here it is you quote were too old to believe in stupid fairy tales anymore. End quote."
Baxter felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Yeah, well, I was a rebellious youth."
"Yes, but you continued to live your life as an atheist until you were struck by a food truck and died."
"Well, I guess so."
The angel smiled at Baxter. "I'm, sorry sir, but your ticket to Heaven is hereby revoked." The angel ripped the ticket up.
"Wait, you can't do that! Where am I supposed to go now?"
The angel pointed over to a group of men in suits begging sitting in the middle of the food court. Baxter walked over to the men.
One of them looked up as he approached. "Spare some change, mister?" Baxter just shook his head and sat down with them.
As he sat down, a woman and a small child were walking past, each with tickets. The child stopped and was about to say something, but the mother shooed him on.
"Don't talk to them Joey."
"What are they, mommy?"
"Atheists."
"What are atheists?"
"People that are all dressed up with nowhere to go." They hurried on to their gate.
***
***You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!*** | 2016-03-07T19:21:03 | 2016-03-07T16:17:57 | 128 | 84 |
[WP] A group of aliens is baffled by the fact we still have organized religions at this stage of development. To get answers, they abduct two spiritual leaders for questioning. To be more specific, they grab Pope Francis and the leader of ISIS... | "Oh hey guys, we're from the invisible phase-differentiated civilization geographically located in what you would call Antarctica" said Stpmorp.
"I suppose that makes you aliens to us" mused Pope Francis.
"Not to me! I knew they were there all along, what I don't know is why they've taken us here!" Said Amun-Ra.
"Well I instructed my cohorts to abduct Pope Francis and the leader of ISIS to explain why there are still organized religions at your stage of development" explained Stpmorp.
"Huh, you probably should have said ISIL to avoid confusion, technically being the king of the Egyptian gods I am the leader of Isis but probably not the ISIS who you were thinking of" said Amun-Ra.
"Oh, well I was going to tell you that most of advanced civilizations abandon religion because there's no such things as God or gods but that seems rather pointless seeing as how I'm talking to a god. This is quite troubling." exhorted Stpmorp.
"That's quite all right my child, feel free to come by anytime and discuss it." said Pope Francis.
"Wait, doesn't it bother you that an Egyptian god is sitting right there next to you? Doesn't that in itself mean that your religion is false?" asked Stpmorp?
"What? Don't be ridiculous! Don't you realize how much modern Christianity was shaped by the polytheistic religions of the past? Saviors, resurrections, codes of ethics, the same stories getting told over and over again? Catholicism isn't original for Christ's sake! We didn't invent religion we just perfected it!" insisted Pope Francis.
"Oh sheesh!" blew out an exasperated Amun-Ra.
"But, but the ancient Egyptian creation myth differs from yours, you can't both be right!" chortled Stpmorp.
"They're basically the same, you can't take that stuff literally anyways!" responded Pope Francis.
"But if you can just say something can't be taken literally there can be no logical arguments about it!" shouted Stpmorp!
"Exactly!" Amun-Ra and Pope Francis responded in unison.
Then Stpmorp began to shake uncontrollably before shattering into his core constituent molecules. His literal-minded cohorts began zipping around directionless waiting for direction.
"Hey uh, can you cohorts put us back where you got us from? I've got a dinner party to get to at Vishnu's place, I want to get there before Adephagia and Beelzebub eat all the food." asked Amun-Ra.
"YES." the cohorts responded.
"Oh they're completely literal thinkers, you have to tell them to do it, not just ask them if they can." said Pope Francis in an annoyed tone. "Will my lord be at the Dinner party?"
"Jesus Christ? Well yes, because he's everywhere, but I don't really talk to him. Okay Cohorts put us back where you found us!" commanded Amun-Ra. |     His Holiness tilted his head to look upon on the foul-smelling, opiate-addeled Moslem manacled next to him.
    "You people don't seem to know what a religion is if you think he counts as a leader," said aloud to no one in particular, unusually blunt and sarcastic.
    "You are the one who is a blasphemer!" shrieked the bearded man, "You lead the infidels of the West to destroy our way of life!"
    "Which involves raping children, if I remember correctly," said His Holiness.
    "And the Archbishop of Boston lives in your villas at the Vatican!" spat back the Moslem.
    "Oh ho, it appears I am less than perfect," replied His Holiness, dryly.
    "You are a pretender to The Glorious Allah™! I am the direct religious successor to Mohammed, the Last Prophet to Mankind®! Your sheep worship a zealot from Galilee who dared to claim descent from The Great Protector™!"
    WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP shouted an unnatural voice from everywhere, JESUS CHRIST
    The Pope smiled his creepy old man smile.
    "Who is that!," shouted the Moslem, his spittle clinging to his nappy beard, "You are the Americans come to bomb us and give us money, yes?"
    WE ARE NOT FROM YOUR WOLRD WE ARE FROM AN ENLIGHTENED AND RATIONAL SOCIETY THAT PERIODICALLY KIDNAPS AND INTERROGATES PEOPLE FROM RELIGIOUS BACKWATERS
    "Same thing," replied the Moslem.
    TELL US WHY YOU ARE SO BACKWARDS TELL US WHY YOU INSIST ON BELIEVING IN THINGS THAT CANNOT BE PROVEN TO EXIST
    "Oh God you're one of those people," said His Holiness.
    ANSWER US WE DEMAND THAT YOU ANSWER US
    "My Lord protects me. I will not answer your questions."
    ANSWER US OR WE WILL BEGIN CLEANSING YOUR PLANET OF THE POISON OF RELIGION
    "My gracious hosts the conversation you ask for is much larger and complex than the caricatures of me and my companion can fit into a short story. But rest assured you strike my people down now and they will come back more powerful than you can possibly imagine."
    YOUR THREAT MAKES NO SENSE WE HAVE THE UPPER HAND HOW COULD YOUR SPECIES BE SO OBSTINATE IN THE FACE OF UTTER DESTRUCTION
    "That is the power of faith, my hosts."
    FAITH IS MEANINGLESS AND BREEDS CONTEMPT A TRULY ENLIGHTENED SOCIETY WOULD NOT PLACE TRUST IN FAMILIAR FIGURES AND SHARED BELIEFS BUT IN FACELESS SPECIALISTS AND BUREAUCRATS WHO KNOW HOW EVERYTHING SHOULD BE RUN
    "Enough of this mindless babble!" shouted the Moslem, "I will send you all to hell! God is Great®! God is Great®!"
    And with those last words, the Moslem bit into a bluetooth detonator in his mouth and set off the belts of explosives hidden underneath his clothes, engulfing the alien spacecraft in flame and saving the world from the threat of invasion.
    From that day forward the day was known as "Independence Day", when Islam defeated the Apocalypse and the Catholics who would have agreed to let the world burn were outlawed forever by the United Nations. | 2016-05-30T13:29:44 | 2016-05-30T13:28:53 | 54 | 23 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I'd spent so long anticipating what this test would comprise of, and as I sat alone in the examination room, I was still none the wiser.
The booklet placed squarely on the small desk, I glance from the printed front sheet, to my surroundings, and back again.
I close my eyes and sigh, head dropping down, before I open my eyes again and force myself to look around again. Three doors, the entrance in which I came in, a door marked "Pass", and a door marked "Fail".
A clock is the only thing adorning the otherwise desolate walls, slowly ticking down to the official start time of 0900, each click of the second hand filling the room with an emphasised echo.
I sigh again, and choose to spend the final two minutes checking the few instructions on the front page. The usual.
'You may not begin until the allotted time'
'You have one hour to complete the examination'
The entrance door opens and the invigilator walks in. I look up to share a glance, their eyes stoney cold, before again focusing on the rules.
'All answers must be written in black ink'
I look down at my pencil.......
"Shit....."
| I hope I didn't fuck up the Algebra section. God I hope I didn't. The next battery of questions hits. Historical facts, easy ones though. "Who lost at the Battle of Waterloo?", "When was the United States Founded?" ,"Where was the last battle of World War 3 fought", "Which country was first to violate the Geneva Convention's ban on biological weaponry?"
Simple stuff.
The next round of questions now. Art. They ask me to draw a sunrise in ten minutes. I do it in eight. I'm proud of myself, though I think my shading could have been better.
They ask me to write a paragraph on the practical purpose of art in six succinct sentences. In my head, the timer still ticks. One hour now.
Two hours to prove your worth to the world. I say they "ask" in the same way a military police officer asks you to step out of your vehicle. Everything is phrased so cordially. A very few people opt out entirely on moral grounds. If nothing has been put to the paper within ten minutes, the subject is "disqualified". I try not to think of their clinical alternative to saying "gassed".
The next round of questions is a bit trickier. Community."Name ten people in your life that you have directly helped."
Great, they're gauging my ability to lie. Anything too grandiose and they'd smell the bullshit all the way from behind that bulletproof glass. I concoct something about having bailed my best friend out for some rent money, talk about the the time I gave away my ration cards to a starving stranger and omitted the fact that I traded them for sexual favors. A few more embellishments later and I'm home free. Last section is a blank sheet of paper headed by one question, "Why is it wrong to end another person's life?"
Holy hell. What do I argue? Take the religious option and they label you a nutjob. Take the moral route and you may as well just opt out entirely. Two minutes pass. I stare blankly at this sheet. Every breath of air reeks with the phantom scent of roasted almonds, bleach and the vacated bowels of a thousand failures before me. Try not to think of your lips turning blue. Try not to think of two men in white uniforms hosing out the room before dragging your slumped over corpse out from under the desk.
I swear, they turned up the heat. My collar is damp and the shaking in my hands worsens. The audible ping of the countdown clock steadily doles out the last seconds of my examination. I scribble out my answer before hastily shoving it into the slot.
"Because it is illegal."
Seconds pass. The disarming feminine voice fills the room "Processing. Please wait." it repeats assuredly. Minutes pass, and it's all I can do not to shit myself. "Processing. Please Wait." Was this automated? Were they just picking out keywords? Word count? Penmanship? Was there a panel of white coats? I want to scream, I want to cry. I want to tell them to give me a goddamn answer. I hear the faintest of hisses.
And the doors open.
| 2016-06-11T10:11:10 | 2016-06-11T09:36:07 | 187 | 116 |
[WP] The witch is buying first-borns to rescue them from shitty parents who sell their children. | There is a strange sort of magic in being the first of something. I should know. I was born eons ago, to a young woman who lived in a tribe that hunted on the grasslands. I was the first albino. I was the first child to be abandoned.
I have within me great power, and a great tenderness. I am old now. Ancient beyond recon, and I am known through the ages. Parents, that is to say good parents, sometimes tell stories of me to their children. The boogie man, the crooked woman, the crone... stay out late and she'll take you. Don't eat your vegetables and she'll take you. Hit your sister and she'll take you.
Lies, all of it. Not that I mind, of course. Sometimes a little fear is good for a child, helps to teach them the rules, which helps them to grow.
While I do take children, and frequently it is the naughty ones, it is because I have bought them. When I take children I haven't paid for, it is those who were sent out and left alone. Abandoned. Free for the taking.
For many years I detested the parents who would sell their children to me, the money I paid I would curse, so all their fortune turned to misery. One day that changed.
It was some time in the 200s, the village folk believed me evil but feared me enough to avoid me, and rightfully so. They knew to contact me by making a simaculum of a person out of twigs and twine and burning it, then walk into the woods to negotiate.
I felt myself summoned, a particularly poor family I had watched from afar. They struggled with infertility as they struggled with all else and had only two children of their own. I went to the woods and found the seller. I had expected the father, or perhaps the mother, come to trade their offspring for riches.
Instead I found the son, 12 years of age. He was cold, hungry and very, very afraid. I approached quietly but he turned and saw me. I told him off. He pleaded, and I listened.
The next day I made my way to their cottage. I opened the door and let myself in. The father approached,
"You are not welcome here!" He shouted, shooing me away. I pressed a sack to his chest. "What is this?" He asked, opening it. He dropped it immediately, coins spilled out. "I will take nothing from you! Nothing!" He shouted at me, a baby cried in the corner, the mother sat on the dirt floor in the corner, hiding the infant behind herself and doing her best to quiet the wails. The father began to weep. "You can't have her! You can't!"
"I am not here for the babe," I said.
The man looked to his son. "No, you cannot have him."
I said, feigning confision, "but he is not yours to sell." The to the boy I said "come child, the debt is paid."
The mother screamed, the father threw a punch which stopped a foot from me, my magic protected me. "The child has sold himself. I will take him away, and you shall have your money. Isn't this what you want?"
"No, dammit! Nicholas, how could you? Please! Take me instead. Leave my son alone."
For the first time in years I felt pity for a parent. Too poor to feed his children both, but could not bear to part with them.
"Come child," I said sternly. "Let us be away. Now." He came without complaint. On my way out the door, I dropped another sack. "Ten times the agreed upon price, for your courage."
With that I left. We were not long away before the child wept. He tried to hide it, but I saw. "What is the matter, child?"
"I don't want to get eaten."
I laughed, loud and long. "You think I eat the children I buy? I pay far too much to just eat them. No, I take them in and raise them well. None go hungry in my care."
We walked quietly for a time as he considered this. He asked "can you teach me? Teach me to be like you?"
I looked at him for the first time, really looked at him. "I think there is magic in you, Nicholas. More than you realize. Yes, I think I could teach you." | Dan’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as he picked up the folded letter at the bottom of his basket. Trying his best to shake off the crushing sense of dread that had settled in his bosom, he unfolded the letter and began reading.
Suddenly, abruptly, Dan turned tail and took off like a hare, racing back towards the cottage, basket discarded and forgotten by the wayside.
*By the time you read this,* the letter began, *it will be too late to save me. So you shouldn’t blame yourself. Instead, please focus on finishing the task I set you. Twenty plump mushrooms, twenty figs, two bushels of carrots and one honeycomb. Supplies are running low.*
“Like hell I wouldn’t rush back,” Dan swore under his breath, as his footsteps accelerated. He would have gone faster, but the roots were treacherous in these parts of the woods, and the enveloping canopy of the trees hardly let any light through this early in the day.
*I’m afraid to demand that you will have a lot more growing up to do soon,* the letter said. *They will need you to guide them, for unlike you, they have some ways to go before they can be independent like you. Remember, whatever happens, stay strong. Jerry, Rosie and Miguel will need you.*
Dan slowed as the sounds of the babbling brook grew stronger, and before long, he felt the familiar gravel path beneath his feet. With a skip and a hop, Dan vaulted clean over the brook, but almost lost his balance when he landed on the soft mud on the other bank. Dan righted himself, caught a quick breather, then shot off again.
*You must, I repeat, MUST not blame the two of them too,* the letter ran. *They had the best intentions, and they simply didn’t know better. They saw Jerry through the window, tied down to his bed, frothing at the mouth, moaning woefully. Of course they would think I was torturing him. How else would they know that I was merely trying to help him kick his addiction cold turkey? I still resent his parents for thinking it was fine to let him share in their filthy habits, but that’s another story for another day.*
A particularly formidable branch snagged Dan’s shirt, and Dan went crashing to the ground. He barely had enough time to throw out his hands to cushion his fall. With the wind knocked out of him, Dan struggled to get up, then checked to make sure his injuries were superficial. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Dan did not know if they came from his skinned knees or his frustration over precious minutes lost.
*They were frightened but also concerned,* the letter posited, *so they continued their investigations. They saw Rosie next, sitting in the middle of the next room as our six cats took turns nuzzling and cuddling her. Of course, they must have thought then that Rosie was being preyed upon by demonic forces! But trust in my therapy. Doctors may say that Rosie’s catatonic, but she just needs time amongst creatures she can trust before she opens up again. I’m using cats because I found her with one, both of them pitiful souls abandoned and neglected in the basement of her house. I swear, when I offered to take her in, her parents seemed to have forgotten entirely that she existed!*
The misshapen oak tree was the next landmark Dan passed, which was how he knew he was already half-way back to the cottage. His legs were beginning to tire, and his lungs were on fire, but Dan willed himself to go on.
*You remember how badly Miguel was injured when he came in,* the letter rambled. *Bruises, broken bones that did not set properly, a nasty skin rash exacerbated by all the lashings his parents gave him. I tried my best to mend him, but that takes time, not to mention my strongest poultices and countless rolls of bandages. And that’s how they chanced upon Miguel, lying like a mummy in my bedroom, wrapped head-to-toe. Their young minds believed that I was to blame for his injuries, but again, that’s just inexperienced youth for you.*
The broken cart which was never fixed, propped against a tree. The tattered reed baskets which presumably fell off a passing merchant’s backpack ages ago. A little mound of smooth pebbles. Dan passed by these three landmarks in a daze, focusing all his attention on the windy plume of smoke in the distance, snaking its way into the heavens.
*So they did what they thought was best,* the letter persisted. *They caught me unawares, in their valiant attempt to rescue the children. I’m not sure how they did it, exactly, my scrying skills have never been that good. Maybe they stabbed me from the back. Maybe they dinged me over the head when I wasn’t looking, or pushed me into the oven. I can’t tell exactly, but I only know my fate in unavoidable. It is time for me to go.*
Dan broke into the clearing, and appreciated immediately that the cottage was beyond saving. Trails of smoke were curling out of the kitchen windows, growing thicker by the second. Dan plunged into the cottage, searching frantically for Jerry, Rosie and Miguel.
*Pull them from the cottage,* the letter exhorted. *There is time enough to do that, I am sure. After you make sure they are safe, go to the well. I’ve buried the rest of the gold there, more than enough for you lot for several lifetimes. But not all the gold is yours. Look for the signs, and rescue other children where you can. You were the first I rescued, and so you will have to continue the work I’ve done.*
*And most of all,* the letter continued*, forgive the two of them. They really did not know.*
Dan crumpled to the floor, sweat and tears streaking across his face. Jerry, Rosie and Miguel were safe, away from the burning wreckage of the cottage. It was only then that Dan noticed two other children creep up to him, ashen-faced, wringing their hands. The boy spoke first.
“Mister? Please, can you help us find our way home? There was an evil witch in there, we took care of her, but we didn’t know that the cottage would… this is my only sister, and I want her to be safe. Come here, Gretel, come and say hello to the man.”
| 2017-01-06T11:51:48 | 2017-01-06T11:08:08 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| "Daddy! Look! Shooting stars!"
Joseph Barker looks up at the night sky and feels a chill run down his spine. Indeed, there were shooting stars. But years of work developing some of Earth's defense systems meant he knew they weren't meteorites. He watches in terror as Earth's defense grid burns. "Yes Jacob. Shooting stars. Let's go inside."
"But I want to watch!"
"We need to go inside Champ. Let's go."
"Aww!"
A Joseph begins to reach for son, his phone rings. Taking it out of his pocket, he checks the number with increasing dread and accepts the call. "I thought you'd call, Sir. I'm watching the sky now. I assume the Last Measure failed as well?"
"I'm sorry Joseph, it did. We thought we were prepared. Your work was everything we asked for. But they were too powerful. Every fleet we sent was just brushed aside. The defense grid just pissed them off. And the Final Measure only managed to dent their fleet." The old voice on the other end of the phone seemed to age further with every statement. "It's the Elurians."
"I see." Joseph falls silent for a moment to watch his son staring up at the sky. He savors every second of childlike wonder on Jacob's face as a tear begins to make it's way down his cheek. "I see." he repeats. "Take care, Richard. Tell your family..." He stops, unable to come up with the words in the face of the crushing hopelessness.
"I will. You too." It was a lame reply, but Joseph understood. "I'm heading home. I--"
The sudden pause prompts Joseph to look up. Amongst the falling stars a new star flares into existence and then blinks out. "What was that?"
"Joseph! A fleet just dropped out of hyperspace."
"Richard, I saw the dump-flare from here. There's no way I should be able to see that flare from ground-side."
"I'm telling you the truth."
"It would have to be an enormous fleet to make a flare that large."
"Joseph, it's the Beta-Linals."
"It's can't be. A flare that big would mean they brought every ship they have in a single jump."
"Judging by the readouts I'm seeing, they did. They're transmitting, I'll play it for you."
As the translation systems make sense of the alien broadcast, a generated voice begins to speak, "Humans. When our colony on [Hera 3] faced annihilation from a falling moon, your ships helped us save our people. For that, we offer you the hearts of your enemies!"
Joseph is stunned. The Beta-Linals were evolved predators; they only shared their kills with family. Even a symbolic sharing of such an important part was unheard of. "Did I just hear what I think I did?"
"I heard it too. But against Elurians? They're throwing their lives away."
"We should tell them to turn away. We can't let them do that."
Suddenly, in the southern sky, another brilliant star is birthed and dies. "Joseph!"
"I saw it!"
Another generated voice, this time higher and clipped. "Debts owed are heavy chains. Thought they chafe when worn, they teach us greater freedom when cast off. Your people escorted the plague ships when none would give them a berth. You gave freely of your medicine and guided the lost back to their home. We thank you for the chains of debt that weighed us down that we may offer them back in your time of need and lift both our peoples higher."
"I can't believe this. The plague ship relief effort was nearly a century ago!" Joseph regarded his phone as if it were something he'd never seen before.
"Kilnans never forget a debt. The entire navies of two species against the Elurians. Maybe--"
Another brief star shines in the sky. And then another. And another. Three become five. Five become ten. Ten become twenty, and then Joseph loses count as his vision blurs from the tears filling his eyes. His phone begins to play message after message as each People declare their thanks for a past help and their intention to repay it at Humanity's hour of need. The combined navies of dozens of species would eventually be known as The Great Fleet. But now, at this moment, it was an outpouring of thanks; good deeds made manifest. And the Elurian fleet began to burn.
Joseph held his son tight, looking up at the sky as countless shooting stars streaked across the sky, and on his face was a look of childlike wonder. | *Going to try a 40k spin... [for those unaware, this is an existing universe for the tabletop game Warhammer 40,000] if anyone unfamiliar wants an explanation about how that setting affects the story, do just ask and I will try to give an effective one...*
----
For millennia the human inhabitants of Hertius Prime had lived a peaceful and industrious existence. Lying in the eastern most fringe of the Milky Way galaxy they had served as engineers for any and all ships that found themselves stranded in their distant quadrant. Cut off from Earth and the Solar system some 20,000 years ago, they had survived thanks to their willingness to trade and deal with the many different aliens that called the small system their home. Burgeoning empires had come and gone through the area, with the most recent having been a very diplomatic and technologically advanced civilisation. These blue skinned aliens had found the inhabitants of Hertius Prime fascinating, continually referring to them as "an anomaly of their race".
At first the Hertians had quizzed their visitors about what this meant, wondering if any other humans had survived the first great journeys into the void all those years before, but soon gave up as the enigmatic emissaries of the "Tau" offered no response or explanation. Soon, lucrative trade deals between the Hertians and a myriad of different races began, lasting for centuries as the humans saw their planet begin to evolve into a centre of technological wonder and progress. The ancient tribal religions that had served them for so long began to be replaced by a reliance on technology and artificial intelligence. Within 1000 years the Hertians had established themselves as the premier engineers in the sector, repairing Tau, Rathraxi, Badonna and Kroot ships. They had received offers of military alliance from the Tau in the past, but had never seen the need for it given their peaceful co-existence with the various inhabitants of their little corner of the galaxy, instead they avoided Tau attempts to peacefully integrate the planet into the ever expanding Tau empire.
Then, one year, a small, probe like sphere entered the orbit of Hertius Prime and found itself pulled down to the ground by the planet's gravity. Daubed in a deep, almost rust coloured, red paint, the technology was bizarre, yet strangely intuitive to the engineers sent to investigate it. Crude designs and unnecessary metalwork were etched across the sphere, at least they were crude to the advanced Hertians and their formidable engineers. As the sphere was dissected and repaired, the Hertians discovered a signal emitter inside, that was beaming out well into the darkness of space, far beyond the reach of the Hertians and even that of the enormous Tau empire. In the end the sphere found its way into a small collectors museum of oddities amongst the Hertian nobility where it would remain, apparently dormant, for another 100 years.
"We're picking up 8 enormous signatures on the edge of the Hertius Prime's third moon sir" barked the ensign in charge of monitoring the scanners used to detect ships in trouble and in need of repair. "They appear to just have appeared out of nowhere as if from another reality" he continued. Major Braxon raised an eyebrow quizzically and walked over to the young man's side, "is it the Tau? They sometimes appear to skip across space in seemingly impossible leaps?" He asked, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his left ear as he poured over the readings on the monitor in front of them. "It doesn't match our readings of any previously encounters Tau vessel" replied the ensign, his finger tracking a 9th, smaller reading that had detached itself from the lead vessel. "Orders sir?". "Send the reading to the sept of engineers to see if it matches anything on their database and prepare a welcoming party to be dispatched to the landing zone, which I want you to light up in an obvious manner for our visitors. Oh and ensign?", "yes sir?", "send a 'reactionary' code to the automated defence turrets, let the AI decide if these visitors might be less friendly than our other neighbours." With a nod, Ensign Paton turned back to the display.
Of the few emotions Magos Urkhart had left available to him through his many upgrades, curiosity and anticipation were his favourites. Rumours of an Adeptus Mechanicus probe having landed on a planet showing signs of STC technology were enough to inspire any Magos, and if he were able to bring back a complete one instead of a fragment he would rocket through the ranks of his Martian order. The landing shuttle rattled as it entered the atmosphere of Gamma-2107 and he processed a silent prayer to the Omnissiah that the accursed Xenos wouldn't have corrupted the world or its potential technological bounty. The shuttle shook a final time as the servitor guided it into the landing strip that had been illuminated since they detached from the explorator ship "Welded Gauntlet" an hour ago. With a quick check of his translation engines, Urkhart stepped out, down the ramp and into the sunlight beyond.
Major Braxon suppressed a grimace as the metallic imitation of a human stepped down the ramp towards him, metallic tentacles seemed to take the place of a mouth and augmented limbs and iron tools filled the red cloak of the figure now approaching him. Yet, despite all this, there was still something oddly human about the figure. "Welcome to Hertius Prime" he said jovially, stepping towards the red draped figure before him, "We detected your sudden entrance to our system and would like to offer you aid should you need it in order to pass through safely".
If Magos Urkhart could still feel surprise, he would have done so then, instead, his logic drives rapidly worked through the possible explanations for what now stood before him. "It is human, this far out from Sol, with a pre gothic language of sorts that is only hinted at in our earliest records" he processed to himself. "To have survived so far on the eastern fringe without the Imperium's light, amongst insidious Xenos, is remarkable indeed. I calculate a 0.0003457% probability of such a survival being possible without an STC presence at the heart of their culture".
Braxon frowned, the figure before him standing their in bear silence, the only noise being the clicking and whirring of a two toned click emanating from the metallic humanoid in front of him. "Eh hem, we welcome you to our capital of Carandius" he repeated with a slight cough, eyeing the craft the figure had emerged from. Something from his days in the academy sparked in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite place a finger on it.
Then, with more binary clicking, the robed figure turned and disappeared into the landing craft...
**Part 2 as a reply, I'm doing this on my phone so I can't keep an eye on character count. I also don't tend to proofread stuff that I write on my phone, so I apologise for all the errors and typos.** | 2017-03-26T09:19:46 | 2017-03-26T07:23:46 | 74 | 43 |
[WP] A mother notices her young son has been spending an excessive amount of time playing a game on his computer. She forces him to go outside and play for the day. She ends up playing the game out of curiosity but notices some disturbing messages in it that little children would not pick up on. | "It's a simple game," Carol thought as she sat through the game's tutorial. Collect materials and build a fantasy world. Carol could see why her son, Jason, is so invested in this innocent game. She spent the first half-hour chopping pixelated trees and breaking blocky rocks. Relaxing. After gathering enough material, Carol proceeded to construct a house. "A simple task," she thought as she placed stone after stone until it finally took shape of a sandbox. If she'd had spent more time collecting resources, perhaps she would've finished her novice project, but alas, her materials were depleted. "Where do I get red bricks?"
Carol controlled her avatar to enter a cave where the red bricks could be harvested. She would've explored the fantasy world to find the bricks, but she'd opted to save time and Googled it. She collected 200 red bricks. "That's enough," she said to herself, anxiously wanting to return to her project. As she exited the cave, Carol noticed something written on the wall in a poorly lit area of the cave. Giving in to curiosity, Carol adjusted the brightness, contrast, and gamma settings of her monitor to reveal a disturbing message - "HELP ME"
Carol was a bit frightened. If this was a programmer's idea of a joke, Carol did not find it amusing, especially because her son adored the game. "Mom," Jason yelled as loud as he could. Carol, startled by the scream, the message, and the possibility that her son is in danger, jumped from the computer chair. She was not graceful. She tripped on the chair and swiped her hand across the keyboard in an attempt to gain balance. "I'm coming, sweetie," she screamed.
Jason had discovered a harmless snake. After consoling him, Carol went back inside to continue her gaming project. To her surprise, another message appeared on screen. She readjusted the monitor and took a seat. "My name is Brian Stokes. If you're reading this, it means I'm dead... and my brother killed me. I created this game with the intention of giving it out for free, but my brother wants to be a millionaire, so no doubt, he'd have killed me for profit. Too bad he doesn't know how to code. He's coming over now to 'work things out,' but the timing's suspicious and I'm not stupid. I'm recording the meeting or murder and uploading it to a private server. I'll delete the video if we come to an agreement, but if I'm dead, it's up to you to show the world. The link to the video is below."
Carol couldn't believe what she had seen. If this was a joke, it went too far. She stared at the link for longer than a moment and decided to click. Two men sat on a couch and talked. They drank from cups and talked some more. So far so good. Fifteen minutes later, one man fell over, holding his throat in agony. Carol had enough. She paused the video and reached for her phone, but before she could call 911, the phone rang. "Thank you," the voice said then hung up. She took a deep breathe, no longer in fear, but filled with joy that a murder was about to be solved. As Carol sat on the computer chair, she entered "911" on her phone. But before she could tap the green call icon, her eyes caught a glance at the monitor. The mouse cursor moved. The Team Viewer icon, which she installed by request from her ISP for tech support, was flashing. | Edith flicked the pen between her fingers and tapped the end against her forehead. Her eyes switched between three spots. A large internet browser on the bottom left of her skin showing the min-max statistics of a melee DPS mage, a piece of gridded paper on her desk working out the time-to-EXP calculations for each mob, and the actual game, the latest hit F2P, fantasy, looter-style, microtransactions-filled MMORPG/TPS known as Lootsquest, stuck in the top-right corner of her son's computer screen.
"Damn this micro transactions bullshit and their stupid RNG stat boosts. What the fuck happened to the good old days with action-adventure puzzle platformers and 2D sidescrollers..."
Edith was on a mission. According to the latest rumor sites and update patch notes, there was supposed to be some strange ARPG on-going in Lootsquest. Based off the terms of agreements listed in a foreign version of the game site, there was supposed to be some form of substantial real-world reward in place for whoever manages to place in the first 200 (per each international region) to discover the secret of the ARPG.
This ARPG, known as the "Mirrors of Dothrokia" event, was rather simple. To put it into layman terms, after getting in the endgame stages of the actual main story campaign (which only lasted about two hours which was significantly longer than the average 20XX MMORPG), anyone (with at least 20 dollars in accrued Lootsquest microtransactions credits) would have the opportunity to go and seek out the Mirror Dungeon, which was located at the bottom of the main single-faction populated hub world. To gain access to this Mirror Dungeon was where the actual ARPG malarky started.
"Darick... Alphonso.... Nyfelgiearda... Kerrick..." Edith muttered, scratching their names off her list as her toon ventured throughout the hub world.
Using the new "photo-feature" presented in the game, one would use their linked webcam/recording device in order to snap a photo of their own face to one of the four aforementioned NPC shopkeepers.
Eerily enough, each of these NPCs seemed to be... responding to the images in their own strange ways.
"Aren't you a little too old for adventure, miss?"
"Nice crow's feet."
"DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA. DAKKA!~"
"[Random elven gibberish signifying some positive affirmation of something.]"
Edith shrugged the strange dialogue off. And continued to venture into the dungeon. The soundtrack that went into the city underground was a lovely orchestral composition reminiscent of some specifically older open-world RPG involving some form of convicted fantasy-land dweller as the protagonist in at least the past three-out-of-five iterations of that series.
Edith worked out the final calculations of her class build and finally began dumping her skill points after several hours of grinding.
After a few more good bits of time clearly the forty-floors to the Mirror Room at the very, very bottom of the dungeon. Edith was forced to queue up for a thirteen-member party in order to defeat the final boss of the dungeon. Each member of the party was required to submit their (parent's) credit card information, give up their home address, check off on some agreement written in German, and then agree to verbally give up legal rights to complain about misuse without clarification of what misuse might've been conducted.
Edith groaned loudly throughout all of this, went into the kitchen to grab a can of beer, and then sat back down as the ungodly loading screen went into play for the next ten minutes.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Night fell when that moment happened. Doritos sat spilled onto Edith's belly and slippers as dried beer stained the top of her tee-shirt. Her eyes were bloodshot red as she continued to delve deeper into the fifty steps that led to Gron du Folmoent ka Dothrokia, the inventor of the Mirrors of Dothrokia and the final boss of the dungeon that needed to be defeated within a twenty minute time limit in order to finally win the event.
Finally, after letting out suburbia's loudest burp from the comfort of her son, Jimmy's room, Gron was defeated. Edith would sign off on a few more bits and pieces of personal information before the game would finally give her the ARPG reward of about seven dollars, a keychain of her avatar, and a new keyboard.
It was at that moment, that Edith awoke from her NEET-like episode of a twenty-six-hour gaming session and saw that cryptic message on her screen.
**"It appears that you have been gaming for more than 3+ hours... Maybe it's time to take a break."**
It was a relic of the olden times of MMO.
One that only Edith would recognize as a true testament of a nerd's lack of life and real, acceptable social interests.
One that would remind Edith that her son, Jimmy, has literally been locked outside the house for about twenty-six hours and would probably be off playing detective or doctor or patent lawyer with that stupid Suzy from next door. Indoors. Again.
Edith felt a sugar-filled vein pop along her backside as she pondered on this thought, shrugged, and decided that she needed to empty her bucket. But not before swearing that she would never play this filty, pathetic, weak, spineless excuse of an MMO ever again.
After all, she had reached the endgame and burnt two-hundred dollars on microtransactions. There was really no more point in playing. | 2017-05-06T11:11:45 | 2017-05-06T10:07:34 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | In a world where people were born with superpowers, some got the short end of the stick. Some could fly, while others could see the world in a different spectrum. Some had the ability to conjure flames as hot as the sun, while others could manipulate ice cubes.
Everyone had a choice, to do what they wanted with their powers. Good or evil, creation or destruction. Even the most mundane powers were useful in some way.
I, however, drew the shortest end of the shortest stick. I had the power to make people laugh, and it was that power that landed me my first and only job. A kid's television show presenter. The children hated me, because I could force them to be happy, to laugh against their will. I hated it, but at the time I did it for the ratings.
The rest of the world didn't hate me as much as the children did. They simply saw me as a laughing stock of the superpowered world, which was quite apt. And that's who I became. Laughing Stock.
It turns out that it's surprisingly hard to control ones powers while lost in gut-shattering laughter. And surprisingly hard to breathe too.
Now I sit on my throne atop the world, while everyone else looks upon me with fear. Now, no one dares to laugh at me, for the second they start, they will never stop. | I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T08:42:15 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 52 | 25 |
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years | “Okay okay okay. Stay calm. It’s okay. We’re all calm,” I said. Fifteen years was a long time to wait for a baby to pop out of the womb. I had spent the whole time eating nachos and drinking beer, but I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience for my wife. But now her water broke and weird lady things have started to happen. Finally. Weird lady things that I don’t understand and I don’t really want to understand.
Fifteen years. It should be one powerful baby. Maybe a god? Is it going to be like Jesus 2.0? Maybe it’ll be famous and make me rich. I’d never need to work another day in my life.
I sat in the back of an ambulance with my wife. I ate too many beans earlier and was farting the place up, which was apparently not helping her stay calm.
She kept yelling, “I’m going to rip your ***** face off you *********************** ********** *******.”
Not the kindest words thrown in my direction.
What could it be? Maybe he’ll fly? Maybe she’ll be able to talk to fish? We never checked the gender. Mostly because we never thought it would take fifteen years to find out.
Finally, we arrived at the hospital and they rushed her off.
“Pull that baby right out of her,” I shouted.
“That’s not really how birth works,” said a nurse nearby.
“How would you know?”
“I’m a nurse?”
I mocked her until she left me alone.
After fifteen years, you would assume the birth would be rather quick.
Nope.
Ten hours later a doctor came into the lobby and waved me over.
“The birth was successful. You have a happy baby boy.”
“And?”
“He is definitely powered.”
I threw my arms into the air triumphantly. “So, what are the powers?”
“He came out of the womb glowing.”
“Okay,” I nodded, urging him to continue.
“I think that’s it. We’ll need to do some more tests, but he appears to just be a big flashlight.”
“This is a joke. Right? Right?”
“He’ll light up your world.”
“I hate you.”
| "Alright, thanks. I'll let you know if she can make it," I set my phone down on the nightstand, massaged my temples, and sighed, then flopped out of bed and into my slippers. Ever since we got a hardwood floor (the dust was making the pregnancy difficult, she had said), it'd been too cold to walk around barefoot.
My wife was in the kitchen, horking down her third pizza pocket this morning. Orange droplets of grease dripped from her sausage-like fingers onto our tablecloth, adding to its collection of warm-colored stains. Maybe someday we could frame it and sell it as modern art. She tilted her head in a barely perceptible nod as I sat beside her. We didn't make eye contact.
"So, honey." I put on what I believed to be a sincere smile. "That was Doctor Boyer on the phone. He said to come in for an ultrasound this evening if you can make it."
She didn't react. She did, however, reach over me and expertly wrangle a can of Dr. Pepper (the only Doctor she seemed to care about) from the six-pack on the counter. With a crack and a hiss, she downed the thing in three gulps.
I coughed and continued. "I took the day off so I could drive you."
"Didn't have to. I'm not going. The baby's due soon and I'm not feeling well." She finally said, staring at the wall with deadened eyes. Probably contemplating what to eat next.
"I just think it's best for the health of the baby." It was a daily charade by now that had gone on for fifteen years. She'd use her 'pregnancy' as an excuse to sit at home and loaf around all day. I'd use it to get out of work, out of concern for her. Both of us knew she was just fat.
She, of course, didn't respond. I patted her on the shoulder. "I'll tell him you're refusing treatment again."
I'd left to get my cell in the other room when I heard a loud crash. I ran back into the kitchen to find my whale of a wife convulsing on the floor, hyperventilating. Poor thing. All that cholesterol had finally caught up to her heart. Realizing I was still holding the phone, I dialed an ambulance.
"Please come quick. I think my wife's having a heart attack." I have to admit, it didn't sound particularly urgent. Then again, I didn't particularly care whether she lived or died.
"No, you idiot!" She screamed, thrashing her limbs. Her arms rippled like pudding while her legs slapped like ham against the linoleum. "My water just broke!"
I dropped the phone in a rare moment of genuine shock. "You mean, all this time? Fifteen years? What's happening?"
"I don't know! I wasn't pregnant but my water just broke!" She screamed as a puddle formed onto the floor. I cried as the stench wafted over me. It smelled like a dumpster and a septic tank had a kid and it was raised by a skunk. If the ambulance came in then I was pretty sure they'd put the room under quarantine.
Thinking quickly, I ran over to the sink and grabbed a fistful of paper towels, soaked them in the half-melted mint chocolate ship ice cream sitting on the table, and wrapped them into a shitty bandana. It was sticky and unpleasant, but I could breathe again.
Sirens wailed outside. I expertly navigated the piles of discarded burger wrappers and pillars of cardboard containers to fling open the door. "She's in the kitchen!" I shouted. They ran in with a gurney, took one look at her, ran back out, and came back with a much bigger, sturdier gurney. They dragged her off screaming into the ambulance.
I slumped into the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. After fifteen years of suggesting it, she had finally said it outright and lied to me. And I had used my superpowers to make it truth.
| 2017-07-08T02:06:06 | 2017-07-07T22:50:23 | 92 | 63 |
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years | “Okay okay okay. Stay calm. It’s okay. We’re all calm,” I said. Fifteen years was a long time to wait for a baby to pop out of the womb. I had spent the whole time eating nachos and drinking beer, but I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience for my wife. But now her water broke and weird lady things have started to happen. Finally. Weird lady things that I don’t understand and I don’t really want to understand.
Fifteen years. It should be one powerful baby. Maybe a god? Is it going to be like Jesus 2.0? Maybe it’ll be famous and make me rich. I’d never need to work another day in my life.
I sat in the back of an ambulance with my wife. I ate too many beans earlier and was farting the place up, which was apparently not helping her stay calm.
She kept yelling, “I’m going to rip your ***** face off you *********************** ********** *******.”
Not the kindest words thrown in my direction.
What could it be? Maybe he’ll fly? Maybe she’ll be able to talk to fish? We never checked the gender. Mostly because we never thought it would take fifteen years to find out.
Finally, we arrived at the hospital and they rushed her off.
“Pull that baby right out of her,” I shouted.
“That’s not really how birth works,” said a nurse nearby.
“How would you know?”
“I’m a nurse?”
I mocked her until she left me alone.
After fifteen years, you would assume the birth would be rather quick.
Nope.
Ten hours later a doctor came into the lobby and waved me over.
“The birth was successful. You have a happy baby boy.”
“And?”
“He is definitely powered.”
I threw my arms into the air triumphantly. “So, what are the powers?”
“He came out of the womb glowing.”
“Okay,” I nodded, urging him to continue.
“I think that’s it. We’ll need to do some more tests, but he appears to just be a big flashlight.”
“This is a joke. Right? Right?”
“He’ll light up your world.”
“I hate you.”
| Stone baby, thats what the doctor said. "The fetus has died and begun to calcify, if we don't perform a c-section and remove it she could suffer major organ failure and die aswell" I wiped the tears from my face with the end of my sleeve balled up in my hand from the stress as I heard the doctor give me the news. I TOLD her there was something wrong, I mean I know babies that take longer when they're mutants but 14 months?
"Angela we can't keep the baby, the doctor said its going to kill you." I rolled her to the door and fumbled to find the key I was so stressed. Angela reached up and took my hand and said "Its ok, I know what the doctor said but IM asking you to trust me, I cant explain it...I can feel her, somehow shes moved beyond the fetus" I swallowed hard and asked her what she meant by beyond. "I can feel her pressence like, shes with me somehow like that feeling you get when youre being watched by a friend."
**about a month later**
"Jake, Jake wakeup...mom needs you"...was I dreaming? I went back to sleep and then I heard a scream, "ANGELA!" I tripped on the bed sheet wrapped around my ankle as I scrambled out of bed grabbing tuffts of bed sheet like the fur of a beast grabbed and grappled by a terrified prey despertely escaping.I found Angela on the bathroom floor in a pool of bodily fluids, swirled and mixed like paints in a sink. "Lets get you to the hospital" I half whispered as much for me as it was for her but she wouldnt move. "Shes out already, the baby she, shes shes under the bed"..."what?" I asked in a distracted and irritated tone. "Shes not..." Angela was lucid and eerily calm about this and would not take her eyes off the bed, "Angela what are you talking about? Youre scarring me". "Look, under the bed, please"...~scurrying sound~ I suddenly felt a fear that I had never experienced before in my life, a mental lock that simply froze my mind in a suspension of reality like the deafing silence of a space if some loud sustained noise is abruptly shut off. "Jake, dont be afraid, Its me tilly, I had to take a form that you did not expect, please let me come out slowly" ...Angela took my hand and said, "Its ok", I said aloud or rather tried to say out loud to come forward, a small tripedal creature came out like a human fleshed joystick on a tripod, my heart sank through the floor and I went limp.
**a minute later**
"Jake wake up, its me Angela", I looked up and saw Angela sitting on the edge of the bed craddling the creature "Its ok Jake, come meet Tilly, shes beautiful" ....I couldnt speak, I wanted to gasp in horror but could only breathe in short rapid breathes "Im you Jake, and Angela" This voice in my mind sounded like an adult it sounded like a young woman but it didnt sound at all because I heard it in my mind. Angela whats going on? "Shes a higher being Jake, she told me in my dream just this morning that she is a conciousness not of this world and has chosen us to give her a physical form so she can fullfill her duty, shes an alien Jake, an envoy come to Earth to welcome our species to a new stage of evolution. She told me that her people are the ones responsible for some of the new mutants, that they are like her, come to guide us into a new age of enlightenment."
I approached Tilly and extended a finger to touch what looked like her face and she nuzzled into it, in that instant I felt a warmth ripple through my finger and up my hand that dissipated into my fore arm of a sort of vibration and warmth like the way your hand feels after its been on one of of the massage devices or a vibrator for to long. "Hello father, my name is Tilly and I have a new world to show you" | 2017-07-08T02:06:06 | 2017-07-08T00:29:08 | 92 | 32 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.